"For all intents and purposes," Toshizō finally said after three weeks of Kondō's moping, "you are retired. You've been more useless than even Souji. You might as well do as you were told."

He just gave an apologetic smile and turned back to The Romance of the Three Kingdoms. There was no doubt his instinct was to get back into the fighting. Luckily the official story was that Kondō Isami had been arrested, so he couldn't well go walking about and risk being recognized. He was stupid right now, but that logic, at least, he could obey.

But if Kondō-san had been depressed before, he now saw only the bleakest angles of things from his position on the tatami in his room. The distraction in his gaze said he was agonizing over Isao's decision. Kondō's compulsion to keep fighting butted up against his friend's advice, his sacrifice, leaving him paralyzed. He worried more for Isao than if he himself had been taken into custody.

"If you're looking for answers, I doubt anything in there will help."

"When was the last time you read this?" Kondō asked, fondling the edge of one page with shaking fingertips.

Assuming I've read it ever. It was so like him to assume that his own habits were universal. "I'm afraid I haven't had the time to read for pleasure since we started this whole Shinsengumi affair."

"You have to make time for these things, Toshi. You've never been good at that." There was a twitch in his lips—not an imminent smile, not sadness. Nothing. There was nothing behind his words, no trace of that familiar spark in his empty eyes.

Kondō was breaking. Without his baseless confidence he was little more than a frightened man—afraid of making decisions, afraid of their consequences, afraid of the weight of his own katana. If he hadn't been weakened by their defeat at Fushimi, and the loss of Gen-san, and Souji getting worse, and Koufu, and Sanosuke and Shinpachi's departure—if not for all of that, he might have been fuelled to act on Isao's behalf. Once, he was a shōgun of a man. Now, he was very nearly broken.

"Make time for something else, Kondō-san," Toshizō said tiredly, setting a hand atop his head. "Make good on your bushidō name. Have heart."

Toshizō's bed had felt especially comfortable for some reason, so he had slept well enough. But a nightmare woke him early. The specifics were fuzzy, but the feeling was that Kondō-san had been killed. Not in battle, and not allowed to commit seppuku, but executed. Toshizō awoke nauseated, and with a splitting headache, and the coziness in his covers only unsettled him further so he stood and stretched. It was nice to awaken alone for a change; he should've loosened the reins on the tama long ago.

The sky was just turning a lighter shade of navy than the tree line; in time the grass would alight with orange. He walked outside along the night-damp engawa, around past Kondō-san's room, just to make sure he was safely within. Even asleep the man's brow was furrowed with concern. Toshizō felt a pang of guilt for his own relief.

He spotted the glow of candlelight, a hint of murmuring in a room across the courtyard, so he veered off to investigate. Kondō was something of a lost cause at present, but the tama had been more soldierly than ever. As Toshizō penned countless petitions for Isao's release, Tōshirō and Sougo had been strict as business, not a hint of bickering or even that latent friendship in their staid conversations, working from scraps of reconnaissance provided by Yamazaki and Sagaru.

Upon entering he found Tōshirō lying awake on the floor, ankle across his knee, hands pillowed beneath his head; Sougo sat at a low writing desk, tapping his lips with the end of a calligraphy brush. "You ought to at least invest in some fountain pens," he said to Toshizō. Even Sagaru was sitting against the wall, drooping head slowly drooping lower.

"Have you three slept at all?"

"I bet smoking is better for you than this," said Tōshirō, lips tensed around a thin bamboo reed.

Sougo blinked drowsily. "I bet it's not."

He bit down, making a show of how the fibers crunched and ground between his molars. "Could wear your teeth down in a minute."

"Stop that, Tōshirō-kun. It's too early for your shit."

He crunched defiantly.

"At least you could get fillings for that," said Sougo. "Smoking weakens the roots."

"That's a lie. That's Big Health or Pharma or whatever trying to pry me away from my harmless addiction."

"Fine. It's your jaw. I'm surprised you haven't cracked a tooth on those things yet, Hijikata-san."

He stopped crunching, uneasily settling for gnawing with his incisors.

"How's it coming?" Toshizō asked.

"Show him the map, Sougo."

Toshizō joined him at the desk as he pushed a sheet of paper across the surface. "I thought all you had were bits and pieces."

"The Yamazakis brought this last night," said Sougo. "Careful. My notes are still drying."

Not only did they have the outline of the grounds where Isao was being held. But there were doors drawn in, and which were open at what times, and which went largely unused. There were paths marked with various dotted lines, each standing for a different patrol, with a guard count for every time of day.

"Look," said Sougo, "Zaki even added vision cones." Indeed, little triangles offered approximate zones of sight for each static post. "And he didn't believe me, that Metal Gear teaches valuable life lessons."

"How did they do this? Surely they'd have to be inside the gates to get this much detail."

"We don't ask for the particulars of their methods," said Tōshirō. "They're getting it done, and they keep coming back with all their limbs. Knowing Susumu, it's probably all to scale, too."

In the corner, a half-asleep Sagaru grinned and nodded.

"You still with us?" Toshizō teased. "Welcome back."

"Thanks."

"But they had some gossip for us," said Tōshirō, staring through the ceiling. "Sounds like they're getting tired of keeping him. Like we probably need to move in the next few days."

"Well," Toshizō said, hoping that his dream wasn't a vision. "There is a wealth of information here. Surely you have drafted quite the plan."

"In part. They're still unclear on where he actually is. But they can reliably get onto the grounds. Bramble grows thick on the eastern side, and it's a hike. Even on the off chance they cut it back—"

A sudden flash of light gave him pause—it was like lightning, but several times brighter, harsher on Toshizō's migraine. "The hell was that?"

Tōshirō stood alert. "You hear that, Sougo?"

Toshizō focused his ears; it was faint, but he heard something of a whooshing, like the rush of wind between buildings. Or maybe the hum of an approaching storm. But lightning that bright would have to be close by, and there had been no accompanying shock of thunder. . . .

"Maybe danna should check it out."

"You want his head to implode?"

"Of course I do."

"Well . . . it might be best if we didn't stick our faces out there first. We don't know what sort of faction we're dealing with here."

"What's going on?" asked Toshizō.

Tōshirō jutted his chin toward the door. "Take a look."

"This is all very disturbing."

"Just you wait."

Suspiciously he approached the shōji and nudged it open just enough to peek through. Even in the early morning darkness it was obvious that there was . . . some sort of . . . craft? But floating.

In the air.

Slowly he slid the doors closed again.

Is that right?

"Looks like we called it, Sougo."

"No," said Toshizō.

"No?"

"No. That's—no."

"Yeah. Well, they didn't come in guns a-blazing, so it's probably fine for us to go investigate."

"Toshi?"

He jumped and whipped around to find Kondō-san approaching from the hallway, dragging his feet as he rubbed his face. "What's all the fuss in here?" All he could do was point dumbly past Tōshirō and Sougo and a drowsy Sagaru, crowding into the now-open doorway. Kondō leaned toward them and angled his head. "What is going—whoa."

"Yeah," said Toshizō.

"But that's—no."

"I know."

As they spilled out into the courtyard, muffled voices could be heard emanating from the . . . deck? Was there a deck on that thing? "Shut up," it said, "you're too conspicuous. It's bad enough we had to roll in here with this gaudy excuse for a vehicle."

"Ahaha. You're one to lecture about staying under the radar."

Toshizō was . . . . well. If ever they doubted the tama, there was absolutely no cause for it now. "It's. . . ."

"A flying ship," said a long-suffering Tōshirō, "I know."

"Son of a bitch," said Kondō.

"It's huge," Toshizō protested. He might've imagined something the size of a raft, at most, but this couldn't be possible.

"Nah, this one's small. Oi," Tōshirō shouted, "you Amanto, or what?"

There was creaking as feet moved about the deck, and another absurd bout of laughter sounded, followed immediately by a loud whisper: "You really need to keep your mouth shut. I implore you."

"Why, what's the big problem?"

"Reasons, Tatsuma. Just quiet, alright?" Illuminated by on-board lights, a man—a very normal-looking man—with long hair and a pale haori peeked over the edge.

After a bit of shock wore off, Tōshirō grumbled. "Well, that's it, boys. We're done! We're fucking doomed, fucking Zura's come to finish us off."

The man let out a smooth laugh and slipped his hands into his sleeves. "Zura jan—"

"You dumb idiot. You could've just left us here to rot, what the hell are you doing?"

He tilted his head, a little dismayed at what was not glorious praise. "Rescuing you, of course."

"That's pretty much what I mean, were you even listening?"

"You underestimate my powers of negotiation. Gintoki will owe me big after this one."

"Did he put you up to this?"

"No. In fact, I don't think he's realized you're missing."

Sagaru's jaw set forward. "Then what makes you think he'll feel indebted to you for this?"

"Yamazaki," Tōshirō spat. "The part that should concern you is the fact that we've been here for half a fucking year. And we haven't been noticed? With the top of the Shinsengumi lopped off, how have whole districts of Edo not devolved into riots?"

"Details, details," said the long-haired man, lazily waving a hand. "Deep down, Gintoki thinks of you as his friends. As such, you ought to understand what that means to him." This seemed to placate Tōshirō, who sneered in reluctant agreement. "And, it's only been two days."

"Ah. Scuse me. I don't think I heard that right."

"Two days since you all can last be accounted for."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"You mean I'm five months older for no reason?"

"Details, I say."

Tōshirō gave a short sigh and crossed his arms. "You sure you want to do this?"

"I'm already here, aren't I?"

"Doesn't mean we'll stop coming after you."

"I didn't expect that to be the case. Besides, I felt . . . that the world was out of balance, with you gone. Indeed it seemed to nullify my work entirely."

"You're an insane motherfucker."

"I can't argue, but you may want to be careful with the name-calling."

Slowly Toshizō met Kondō's gaze. Was this man a joui radical? Zura, they had said . . . was this Katsura? And how exactly did they get on such familiar terms with him? Maybe the tama were more incapable than even Toshizō realized. And whoever this Gintoki was, he seemed to have a stranglehold on several organizations spanning all sides of the political arena. For Katsura to hold such an act over his head and not the Shinsengumi—Gintoki appeared to be the real puppetmaster of their world. How had he gone without mention thus far?

Whatever they were to each other, it wasn't friendly. Tōshirō's mouth may as well have been sutured shut, as much as he struggled not to bite back. Zura smiled passively, which made Toshizō unreasonably angry. "Care to introduce us?" he said.

"Well. . . ." Tōshirō was kneading his forehead with the heel of one hand; with a sarcastic sweeping motion of the other he announced, "The great Katsura Kotarō. And the Kaientai, apparently."

A man in an ostentatious red coat and dark spectacles stepped up beside Zura and waved. Sakamoto too? In his head Toshizō assessed the names (ryō, tatsu—that did check out) before something in his memory triggered: That laughing idiot?

As if reading his mind, the idiot laughed.

"Shut up, Tatsuma, I'm warning you. You're cutting it very close here."

"And yes," said Tōshirō, "Kotarō is written small—big—son."

For a moment Toshizō just looked at them. Of all the things that were clearly wrong with this entire exchange, for some reason it was this that dragged a great, painful snort of a laugh from his soft palate. What a stupid fucking name.

"Aaalright, Haku-san," and he felt Tōshirō conducting him back indoors as Zura's eyes narrowed.

"Had I said that aloud?"

"Hush." Zura was jolted as the ship lowered, nearly striking the building. "Hey," Tōshirō warned, "tell your guys to watch it."

"You may come aboard, if you like."

"Nuh-uh."

"Fair enough. Maybe once we settle terms of a temporary truce."

"Is that what we're doing."

"Would you like to return home, or not? Truce is the only logical next step."

"Excuse me for doubting your logic. You've made it here—bravo, et cetera, but you still haven't explained how we're all getting back."

"Elizabeth assured us that the path would remain active—"

"What's that Elizabeth thing know about inter-universe travel?"

"Ah—no, this is someone else. It should remain open long enough for us to collect you and return to our universe. We just fly the ship back through."

"When you put it like that, it sounds like the reapers sent you to drag us back to dark space or funnel us into some kind of abominable science pr—"

"Stop it, fukuchou," Sagaru pleaded, "this is crazy enough without you bringing other fictions into it."

"Speaking of which—you, with the hair," said Zura, indicating Toshizō. "Under no circumstances are you to speak with Tatsuma. Understood?"

"You're not ordering me around."

"Just roll with it," said Tōshirō, "please."

"No no no. No. I played along last time because it was you, I'm not about to let some Chōshū trash—"

"Do you want us out of your gorgeous hair or not? He's got the spaceship—"

"What is this sudden obsession with my hair?"

"Look, man, don't fuck this up for us. This is . . . precariously unprecedented."

"Quite," said Zura, pouting.

"Just do as he says?" Tōshirō sighed before adding, "It looks good short."

"Thank you."

"Not as good as Saitō's."

"Okay, well."

"Or Heisuke. Or Harada, damn—"

"That'll do, Tōshirō." By now the lesser members of the Shinsengumi were beginning to filter out-of-doors, alternately gaping at the apocalyptic hellscape before them, and at their fukuchou in supplication. "What the fuck, by the way, am I to do about—pardon. What are you going to do about this."

"About what now?"

"The whole of the neighborhood witnessing your airship?"

"First of all, it isn't my ship."

"It's a ship. In the middle of my complex. It's about as impossible as finding a seashell in the middle of a desert."

"That's maybe a bad example, dog. Third, airship is wildly inaccurate and/or hilariously archaic."

"What happened to two? Certainly you have some kind of . . . I don't know. Some way to alter memories? Additionally: kiss my ass."

"What is this, Men in Black? We have awesome technology, don't get me wrong—"

"Actually," said Tatsuma, "before I left the 12th division—"

"And now he's experiencing the bleeding effect, jolly good."

"That's it," said Zura, "you're grounded forever." He grabbed Tatsuma by an ear and proceeded dragging him inside the ship as the man inexplicably laughed between curious proclamations of ow.

"They should get the ship in the upper atmosphere," said Sagaru. "No air traffic control, no customs—"

"Oh, excuse me, Hijikata-dono," said Zura, pausing with Tatsuma wriggling under his fingers. "I don't believe I've seen your illustrious leader."

"About that," Tōshirō said, grimacing with a ruffle of his hair. "Exactly, hhhow committed are you to bringing us all back? Exactly."

/ / / / /

Tōshirō and his men knew the patrol patterns and the shift changes, but had almost no information on the individual guards themselves, other than their custom of bringing women in from the red-light districts, rather than going out to meet them.

This, of course, became their ticket in.

The guards never had women visit on two consecutive nights (too much a strain on their stipends, certainly), so the plan was to drop by in disguise the night after a rendez-vous. That way the extraction team wouldn't have to deal with the real women, or with a conflict of information from an outside source.

Staffing the plan also went better than expected. The haku were too busy putting out social fires elsewhere, so the tama could only be afforded Susumu for continued reconnaissance, since he technically didn't exist anyway. Tōshirō, Yamazaki, and Susumu would monitor the situation from hiding and infiltrate the grounds another way, while the other contingent would, ideally, walk right through the front gates. Zura volunteered for prostitute detail, and miraculously, so did Sougo. Apparently his need to bust in and rescue Kondō-san personally trumped his dignity as a male. (Zura seemed quite taken with Saitō's "androgynous grace" and insisted he come along as well, nearly losing a limb in the exchange.)

But this . . . left something to be desired in the female department. Toshizō reluctantly agreed to lend them Yukimura after some top-notch guilt-tripping and the assurance that Sougo and his katana would be flanking her the whole time. Yes, even in a dress he would be openly armed, because Sougo.

As drab and plain as this world was—especially given what a bunch of country samurai had access to—Tōshirō figured the clothing would present the greatest challenge. Even at Sougo's meager height, he was much taller than most women in this world, so it stood to reason that a kimono long enough to fold over correctly at the waist would be difficult to come by. And Zura was taller yet.

But that too turned out to be a non-issue, because he apparently came standard with his own woman's kimono. (Yes, even on a straightforward mission like picking up a few dudes from an alternate universe he packed his lady clothes, because Zura.) Tōshirō considered going tsukkomi on that shit but didn't figure the long-winded—and likely nonsensical—response would be worth his time. And Yukimura called in a favor with some of her contacts to procure a pair of flashy embroidered kimono and assorted accessories for herself and Sougo. (Tōshirō could have sworn he heard the word "princess" used in all honesty in relation one of them, but again—not worth asking.) The more impressive of the two borrowed kimono was reserved for her, since as the only biological female (and normal human, with a functional brain) she would have to lead the charge and do most of the talking.

What had begun as a clandestine hail Mary was now so sophisticated that they even had a makeshift base, a tent set up a few miles from the target. They decided it was safest to leave the ship in orbit; without shuttles, they'd have to travel there the old-fashioned way. A minor inconvenience for a batshit plan that was somehow coming together. For the first time in weeks, Tōshirō felt a twinge of hope.

Preparations went favorably quickly, and it just so happened that the guards had been hosting their lady guests when the Yamazakis came back with their insane map. So that night (after a couple power naps), Tōshirō and his team found themselves walking to meet Yukimura and Susumu, who had arrived at the base early for setup.

But now with Zura in tow—already in costume, hair bound loosely over one shoulder—it was shaping up to be one of the most awkward hikes of Tōshirō's life.

There was no need to feign interest in small talk, so he jumped straight to the point. "I guess I don't need to ask how you noticed we were missing."

"We knew there was a raid scheduled for last night—on our timeline, that is. Day one of two."

"Yeah, that really pisses me off, by the way."

"Understandable. And when you failed to arrive, we got curious and started investigating. Needed to know if it was rescheduled, you know, really threw a wrench in our plans. This was supposed to be board game night. Arkham Horror. Lots of setup."

"Something tells me you're not kidding."

Zura looked right at him, serious as death. "Why would I joke about that?"

"Sorry," said Tōshirō, holding up his palms. "I'm sorry. So, do you usually know when we're coming, or . . . ?"

"Let's not get carried away, Shinsengumi fukuchou."

"Can't blame me for trying. It's a rare opportunity."

"Isn't it."

Right—we're not the only ones hoping to do a little recon. "And how did you . . . get here? You mentioned a path."

Zura shrugged. "We followed the portal."

"There's a portal?"

"Some girl had torn one open in Kabukichō. With that as your last known location, it was easy to deduce what had happened to you. Had a hell of a time getting a spaceship in there—"

"It wasn't the microwave?"

"Oh. No, that was just a bit of media sensationalism. The affected units were all recalled before even hitting the shelves."

Tōshirō gritted his teeth. "In your face, Yamazaki. Wait—wouldn't it have taken you to Kyoto, like us?"

He shrugged again. "Plot convenience. It's not like this is a video game, with spawn points and autosaves and hot dogs and such. The path is free to wander as it wills. Perhaps it's tied to your contact—Haku, I believe you called him—rather than a particular place."

"Well, Hijikata-san," said Sougo, "I guess that explains it. You were drunk and didn't watch where you were walking."

"Me? I seem to detect several other boneheads beside me, you can't pin this all on me."

"Oh, I'm just a loyal follower, Hijikata-san."

"That is the exact opposite of what you said to Kondō-san."

Zura noticed Sougo's expression darken. "May I ask what happened with your chief?"

Tōshirō opened his mouth to answer some sarcastic bullshit, but Sougo cut him off: "He gave himself up in place of his friend."

Zura frowned, nodding respectfully. "Who was that?"

"He's . . . uh . . . also Kondō," said Tōshirō. "Another one."

"Oh. I didn't know he had a brother."

"Not a brother—"

"Or do you mean like a family ghost?"

"No, why would that—"

"This isn't a ghost realm, is it?"

"What are you even saying anymore?"

"Forget this. I don't want to be here, I don't want to do this." He reached into his bosom and whipped out a walkie, shouting, "Mission's off, Tatsuma, we've got—"

Tōshirō snatched it away as Sougo and Yamazaki restrained Zura. "It's fine, Sakamoto, the mission is not off."

"I can't read you, repeat."

"Don't worry about it," Tōshirō shouted, "there are no ghosts, and everything is going fine so far."

"AhahahaHA! Were you expecting ghosts?"

"Nope; not even close."

"There's no need to yell, I can hear you just fine."

Except there was, because every time Tōshirō squeezed the talk button, Zura tried drowning out his voice with this was not informed consent and they didn't tell us it was a supernatural gig and I'm not dealing with this again. "Sorry, Sakamoto."

"You want to hit him yet?"

"Nggh, so badly."

"Don't let him fool you, he's not afraid of ghosts."

"Thanks for the tip. What is it with you people—no need to yell," Tōshirō muttered, pocketing the walkie. "Hypocrite. I'll be taking care of this, thank you."

Zura wriggled free and daintily adjusted his kimono. "Just because I'm not afraid doesn't mean I enjoy dealing with the undead."

"I am right there with you, but Kondō's friend is not a ghost."

"Oh. But you said he didn't have a brother?"

"N—oh my fucking—"

"I'm confused."

"I see that, would you shut up and listen? This is an alternate universe. You get that, right?"

"Of course, I'm not some sort of numbskull."

"P—goddamn it." Tōshirō paused to sigh. Just. Ignore it and move on. "Populated by alternate versions of ourselves."

"Are you saying he made friends with himself?"

"In a sense, yes."

Zura was quiet for several moments, chin in his fingers. "That seems egocentric."

"Doesn't it? Except, Hijikata-san, you actually are afraid of ghosts."

"Die in a fire, Sougo."

"So there's another one of all of you here?" asked Zura.

"Yes," Tōshirō sighed, relieved that they finally seemed to be making progress.

"What about me, I'm famous, is there one of me?"

"For better or worse, yes, there's a Katsura running around somewhere here."

"What about the other joui?"

"Yes, but Takasugi and Sakamoto have already died." This prompted Zura to make a little celebratory fist. "What . . . what is that."

"What's what?"

"Why did that make you so happy just now?"

"I won 300 yen."

"You made a bet on that?"

"Tell him," said Zura excitedly, indicating the walkie hidden in Tōshirō's clothes, "tell him I won."

"I'm not telling him you won that measly bet." Tōshirō took a few more steps before pausing. "Wait, if you bet on that, why did you have so much trouble letting go of the ghost thing?"

"Alternate universes are less thrilling somehow."

"I am so glad we're already enemies."

"You know, though," said Yamazaki, "the guys here are having a vampire problem."

"Vampires, but no ghosts?"

"Don't sound so disappointed," Tōshirō said. "Got any crazy ideas that might help them?"

"Wait until morning, I suppose."

"Sunlight? Actually, from what I hear, they pretty much have that one licked."

"The vampires?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my. What about fire?"

"They're vampires, not the Ghost and the Darkness."

"Don't be a smart aleck, I'm trying to help. Potions?"

"What kind of potion?"

"Made from the remains of other vampires."

"What's that supposed to do?"

"Keeps them from rising at night."

"Why should that work?"

"It's not my spooty theory, I don't know. While we're at it, why should sunlight work?"

"Good point. Who even takes the potion?"

"Family members of—oh. No, that was so the ill wouldn't become vampires when they died."

"I've never heard that one."

"Today you learned, as it were. You should listen to more podcasts."

"Is that a real thing?"

"Well obviously it wouldn't work."

"So naturally you suggest it."

"We're a sci-fi, not a supernatural. If this is the sort of universe with honest-to-goodness vampires, then you can't discount any of our so-called fictional remedies either."

"Well . . . the problem isn't with preventing vampires. They've been knowingly creating them."

"That sounds like a bad plan."

"Something we agree on. But now they find they can't control them."

"So that's the goal?"

"I think at this point they're just looking for a way to destroy them en masse."

"Have they tried cooking for them? Perhaps if they claimed to be some kind of vampire-friendly catering service—"

"Are you talking about garlic right now?"

"—delivered free of charge at the behest of some pro-vampire benefactor. However—"

"Zura."

"—it would be difficult to disguise the smell. But I wonder what it is about garlic, exactly, maybe if they could isolate the relevant compound instead—"

"Katsura, please shut up."

"Unless . . . what did Sally use? Worm's wort?"

"Forget I fucking asked."

"Frog's breath," said Yamazaki.

"Seppuku."

"What the hell for!? Fukuchou—no, get away from me with that sword!"