Chapter 11 – Matched

"Alright, let's have it. Release the shellder."

With a flash of light, Silas materialized on the floor in front of Lorelei. His shell was shut – as usual – though he did open it up just a little to peek out. Upon catching sight of her, however, he opened up a little more and stuck out his tongue curiously. Apparently, he could sense that something was different about this particular human.

We were at the water tanks where most of Snowpoint's water pokemon population resided. Granted, some aquatic digimon also spent a large portion of their time in the tanks, but for the most part, pokemon dominated the scene there. Most of the smaller pokemon gathered near the edge of the tank, eyeing us out of curiosity. Word must have gotten out that a shellder was present, because within mere moments a cloyster had hauled itself up to the edge of the tank to get a good look at its genetic relative.

General Harding had gone over to the edge of the tank, and had started an animated conversation with the cloyster – I presumed that it was his Lala. Several spheal happily nuzzled him, and I got the impression that he might have been previously acquainted with them also.

Lorelei gave Silas a brief once-over, and turned to face me. "Now, shellder are actually a single-typed water pokemon, and only manifest their ice typing when they evolve. But usually, we can check if the affinity is matched for ice even before they do so."

"If you say so," I nodded. "So... is there a good match?"

"Talk to him."

"Umm, how?" I asked dumbly, scratching my head. That was a problem indeed, given the current... state of affairs between the two of us.

"Just ask him questions or whatever – I need to see some interaction between you two," she shook her head. "Bah, I almost forgot to let Nana out."

"Nana?" both Silas and I turned to look at the pokemon she had just released, which turned out to be a jynx.

"Ah, the affinity consultation," the psychic pokemon commented, as its hair was whipped around by an intangible breeze – or maybe it was her psychic powers. "Has it begun?"

Lorelei smirked, "He'll have to talk to the shellder first."

"A shy one, I take it?"

"More like clueless."

I stared at Silas, unsure of what to say to him. He wasn't even looking at me, and had instead turned to look at the water tanks with his back to me.

"Silas?"

No response was forthcoming from him, but Lorelei and Nana began exchanging whispers. Feeling even more lost and clueless than I had been when I first spoke to him, I decided to give it another try.

And much like the shellder chowder incident, the second attempt was the one where I got physical with Silas.

"Alright, let's have some guy talk," I huffed, stepping up to him and lifting him off the floor. He let out a disgruntled squeak, and nearly slapped me across the face with his tongue. By the time I evaded the offending appendage, he was already withdrawing it and shutting up... as usual. "I know you can hear me in there, so I'm going to get to the point – do you want a repeat of the soup incident?"

His shell opened slightly and he let out an angry chirp.

Lorelei threw her head back and laughed uproariously upon hearing what Silas had said. "Oh, my goodness – you're the new trainer who tried to boil his shellder?"

"Umm, well- I-" I stuttered, blushing furiously.

"Well, it's no wonder that he harbours such... lovely feelings towards you," she giggled. "But then again, the natural bond we have here... what do you think, Nana?"

The jynx cocked her head to one side. "It is... an unusual bond indeed. Despite your apparent mutual animosity, it is clearly a strong bond in its own way."

I shook my head. "That doesn't make any sense."

A soft whistle was heard, and I got a feeling that Silas was actually agreeing with what I said for once.

"Your water affinity matched you to him as a shellder," Nana said softly. "Most ice types and their basic forms have a certain personality – that was what perfected the match."

"So you're saying that there are compatible personalities between the two of us?" I deadpanned. "I highly doubt that."

"You'll just need to work on your bond with the shellder, boy," Lorelei shrugged, after regaining her composure. "Think of it – he hasn't poisoned you, so it's obvious that he's giving things a chance."

"Wait, what?" I gawked at her. "Since when have shellder been poisonous?"

Silas blew a raspberry, eliciting yet another laugh from Lorelei, "He says that you're as dense as a slakoth if you didn't know that shellder could secrete venom. And before you ask, yes, they can learn Toxic."

"Well, bummer!" I was dumbfounded. So my starter could have killed me in my sleep, it seemed – but he hadn't. "So, Silas... just who's the scheming bastard now?"

He actually turned to glare at me, and spat a gob of purple fluid at my feet.

"... so you know Toxic, I take it."

By then, General Harding had finished his little conversation with the cloyster, and had come over to see just what was going on. Upon seeing Silas demonstrating his little venom-spitting act, he grinned.

"Ah, a little precocious, this one is. Lorelei, could you ask him how he learned Toxic? Babamon usually doesn't teach them TM moves."

"Ask him yourself," she replied with a huff. "What do you think I am; some kind of translator?"

"Dear, if there are two people whom that shellder hates, it's me and his trainer. He won't be answering any of my questions anytime soon, unless he thinks it'll get his trainer in trouble," he smirked. "Though the reason why he hates me is still up for grabs, though."

"So, shellder-"

"Silas," I interrupted her with a frown. "His name is Silas."

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. "Very well then – where did you learn Toxic, Silas?"

He remained silent for a while, and finally answered her question with a series of soft squeaks and whistles – perhaps he was worried that she too would eventually sanction future attempts to turn him into soup. Both she and General Harding appeared surprised upon hearing his answer, though.

"Really, now?" she turned to General Harding. "Did you know about this?"

"No, I didn't," he shook his head with a puzzled frown. "This does shed some light on the case, though..."

"What's going on?" I asked. Damn it, what was with these people and being cryptic?

It was General Harding who answered the question – and of course, he tried to cover his earlier statement up. "He says he learned it from a tentacool we used to have in the vault. It's no big deal, really."

I was just about to ask him whether the tentacool had been Tammy's when I caught Lorelei's gaze. She shook her head ever so slightly, and mouthed the word 'no'. Since his back was to her, General Harding didn't notice it, although he did see my confused expression. Silas flicked his gaze from General Harding to me, and narrowed his eyes.

"Everything alright with you?" he asked. "You look unsure about something."

Discretely taking in a breath of air to soothe my nerves, I blinked once and smiled. "Oh, that's nothing – must have been wandering miles away."

I felt something wet on my leg, and saw that Silas had wrapped his tongue around it. He was pulling himself closer to me, and looked up at me with a narrow-eyed expression.

"Whoa, and now he says that he's got his eye on you, and that he wants a word with you later!" General Harding exclaimed in surprise. "Really, you've got a feisty one there, hah!"

As I picked him up and freed my leg from his tongue's grip, Silas let out a morose whistling sound. General Harding and Lorelei looked a little unsettled by it, and even Nana the jynx – who had wandered over to the water tanks during our little discussion of sorts – turned to look at Silas. Somehow, I got the feeling that he knew more than he was letting them in on.

The question was, just what did he have to tell me? And of course, there was one major obstacle to overcome before we could have any words in private – if he wanted the words to mean anything, that is.

"Umm, Silas?" I tapped the back of his shell. "You do realize I have no idea what you say most of the time, right? So unless you want a game of charades, words in private won't do much."

Before he could come up with an undoubtedly caustic response to that, Lorelei offered a helpful suggestion. "We've got the highest population density of digimon in Sinnoh over here. Don't you think we'd have headsets that could translate pokemon speech?"

"Oh, I see... Would it be alright-"

"Just don't break it," she sniffed. "Nana will assist you in borrowing one – I've got a ton of laboratory reports to check. Farewell for now."

And that was how, fifteen minutes after the interview of sorts, I found myself in an unused laboratory with Silas on the bench. I had been loaned the translator headset by a rather cheerful scientist who was working with a glalie and a snowgoburimon, and so it was indeed a big moment.

For the first time since he had been paired up with me, I would be able to understand what Silas was saying to me.

xxx

"Testing, testing... Is this thing on?" I asked awkwardly as I adjusted the headset on my head. Note to self; get a haircut, since hair is presently shaggy enough to prevent headphones from sitting over ears comfortably.

"I think it is," Silas replied flatly. I could only stare at him in response to that, causing him to sigh. "Oh, great – looks like my trainer's just turned into a dummy."

"Hey! This is the first time I've been able to understand you, so cut me some slack," I grumbled, swatting him on his shell. "So, just what did you want to say to me that was so private and confidential?"

He stuck his tongue out with a whistle. "You seem to know something about the tentacool incident."

"Yes..."

"And unless I'm very much mistaken, you actually want to get rid of Zachary Harding somehow."

I raised an eyebrow. "I want him gone, yes. But saying that I want to get rid of him is stretching it."

"Semantics," Silas said smugly. "So... just why do you want him gone?"

"You know why. He and lots of others in port control are corrupt. I'll have no part in it!"

"And you're better than him how? He never tried to boil a pokemon, to the best of my knowledge," he deadpanned.

I groaned and covered my face with both hands. "Will you please let that issue rest already? It's probably going to be my epitaph at this rate."

"That would be funny," he said, as he let out a delicate, whistling laugh. "Anyway, back to the tentacool issue... what do you know?"

I frowned as I tried to recall the conversation I'd had with Lorelei. "His previous assistant died under mysterious circumstances – she had been poisoned by a tentacool. Her tentacool died shortly after that. They thought it was due to excessive toxicity of the tentacool, but it wasn't."

"Anything else Lorelei told you about it?"

"Nope," I shrugged. "So... what's the big secret?"

"That tentacool is the same one who taught me Toxic," Silas said quietly. "Shortly before it was killed, that is."

It took a second for my mind to process his words, and when they finally sank in, I squinted suspiciously at him. "Are you saying you saw it being murdered?"

"Not directly, but I do know that Zachary Harding was spending a lot of time with it before it got killed," he replied. "No tentacool dies from self-poisoning that fast, believe me. They tend to get sick and develop festering illnesses first."

"Wait, so this means..." Lorelei had mentioned that someone might have framed General Harding for murder, but here my starter was, suggesting that he had been the murderer in question. "So would he have made it resemble self-poisoning?"

Silas merely withdrew his tongue. "I do believe you've made your acquaintance with Medusa."

"Medusa? Damn it, Silas, stop speaking in riddles!" I said snappishly. "How could he have-"

Only then did I make the connection between a tentacool being poisoned by its own venom's potency and Medusa in the context of General Harding.

"Wait, his tentacruel killed it?"

"We suspect so, but none of us dare to say it out," he said, with a hint of fear in his voice. "He's the head of water pokemon in Canalave, and all of the pokemon on his team are extremely loyal to him."

I could only stare at my shellder out of shock for a while. What, you think it wasn't a big thing for me to discover that my boss was apparently a murderer? And of course, it wasn't as if I didn't already have a bone to pick with him (not that I'd let him know about it, of course).

"So... why did you take the trouble to tell me all this?" I asked Silas. "I can't exactly do much, and I wasn't even around during the incident in question."

He opened up his shell a little, and glanced about to make sure no one was eavesdropping on us. "But you do want him gone, and that works in our favour."

"I could probably nail him using the corruption charges alone... there might not even be a need for murder allegations."

"Trust me, it'll be better this way," Silas insisted. "And there's even a prophecy floating about among the pokemon which probably confirms it!"

"Oh?" that caught my interest. "What prophecy?"

"I haven't heard it for myself, but it suggested that there would be a trainer of water pokemon involved in several incidents that would change the world. And apparently, he would be forced to leave his home for some reason."

"Why couldn't you hear it for yourself?" I asked curiously. "Surely it would have been passed along?"

He rolled his eyes. "My dear trainer, only those referred to in a prophecy can actually hear the actual words to begin with. You could be standing next to the psychic who made it and hear nothing but gibberish or silence if you weren't involved in it. And even if you did hear it, who's to say it's accurate? Those things are notoriously unpredictable."

"If you say so," I murmured, trying to gather some semblance of coherent thought. So basically Silas was offering me dirt on General Harding, which could aid in my mission of working my way up to a commander's rank at port control. "Could you get more concrete proof on the matter?"

"I can try, but I'll have to spend more time down at the water vault."

"Too suspicious," I shook my head. "Unless you can think of a valid excuse, I doubt that we can get away with that without arousing suspicion – Babamon's probably on his side."

"Hmm, that is true. You know, I take back what I might have said earlier; you aren't entirely brainless."

"I feel the love," I retorted sarcastically. "And then there's the problem of you relaying the proof to me."

"If you get an official inquiry into the matter, they'll get the psychics out," he said with a flick of his tongue.

I paused for a moment, thinking about it. Technically speaking, this was mutiny of a sort. But then again, I reminded myself, it was for the greater good, which probably made it justifiable.

Or did it, really?

Nevertheless, I had a smile on my face when I gave Silas an affectionate pat on his shell and said, "You know, I think we could make this work."

"Only as long as it takes to get that guy behind bars or something – he just creeps me out. After that, I'll go back to being the worst starter anyone could have wished on you."

"I won't be holding my breath at the altar for you."

"Deal."

xxx

Several hours later on when I looked back and reflected on our little talk, I realized that Silas had been right all along when he labelled me as a scheming bastard.

After all, my first full conversation with him had been little more than a plot to get my boss kicked out of work on a murder charge, of all things. If that wasn't a sign of conspiracy or scheming, I really don't know what would be.

Of course, I grudgingly acknowledged that Zachary Harding was indeed an indomitable opponent. And obviously, he being a genuinely nice guy to be around didn't make things any easier, either.

I really couldn't make head or tail of the whole thing. On one hand, I was prepared to betray him and get him hauled up to the stand as a murderer, but another part of me insisted that I really didn't want to go ahead with it.

My sleep on that first night in Snowpoint was plagued by dreams filled with the lingering shadows of my doubts.

xxx

If there was one thing that I had to say about the Snowpoint installation, it would have been that it was definitely an interesting place to explore.

Exploring the installation's non-restricted areas was interesting in itself, as was meeting some of the overworked personnel. Apparently, most of them tended to suffer from gastric problems and insomnia, due to their habit of not sleeping and eating according to a regular schedule. And as it turned out, most of them were more than happy to discuss their work in the cafeteria over a cup of coffee.

According to a materials engineer that I met in the cafeteria, research and development were their main priorities up in the laboratories; self-preservation and personal well-being took a back seat to that.

"We do wonder what happened to that kadabra, though," he had said with an air of detached indifference. "Had a whole crate of those new pulse rifles on it, too."

"Pulse rifles?" I was impressed. "Thought those didn't exist, or at least not yet."

"Oh, believe me, lots of stuff exists over here that most people think doesn't. Take what I'm working on, for instance – it's an offensive gel."

I raised my eyebrow. "Did you just say an offensive gel?"

"Sure I did," he nodded happily. "It's actually a swarm of nanomachines that congregate into a gelatinous form. So we can actually control them remotely and make them smother a target or maybe even cause damage on a microscopic scale."

"How's that useful in a fight?"

He had hesitated for a moment. "Well, I'm not sure about that yet, but I've got the assembly methods perfected. Maybe someday it'll turn out to be useful – even if it is for some mundane application like busting tumours in a cancer victim's organs."

"You don't know for sure?" I frowned. "How would you know if it's up to your expectations, then?"

"Oh, it's already satisfied the initial design parameters," he grinned. "I was supposed to make a remote-controlled gel that could serve as a camera, so that we could slip it through cracks and the like for espionage missions. Imagine that, would you? I'd say that the military would probably appreciate a spy camera that can slip under locked doors and through even the tiniest of openings, and completely remote-controlled!"

So it seemed that some of the researchers up at Snowpoint didn't even know why they were doing what they did – they just kept developing new ideas with the hope that someday, someone would find a use for their creations. It was quite a scary situation to think of especially when you considered that they were actually handling all manner of hazardous chemical and biological materials.

But I guess the term 'mad scientist' couldn't have existed without a reason now, could it?

xxx

Aside from the installation itself, the great outdoors turned out to be yet another interesting place to be. Silas and I had stepped out somewhere after lunch during our second day there, and had actually taken a short walk out of the compound. The guards at the perimeter had assured us that as long as we remained within sight of the installation, we'd be safe, and so I had carried him out.

A couple of the off-duty guards had followed us, because they wanted to smoke, of all things – given the sheer amount of hazardous substances in the facility, no smoking was allowed within the compound. So I ended up chatting with them while Silas had a field day sitting on a pile of snow, sticking his tongue out and catching snowflakes on it.

"So, you're from Canalave, eh?" a towering giant of a man had asked me while he puffed on his cigarette. "Nice place to be, last I remembered."

"Oh, it's alright. Nothing quite as exciting as the stuff they've got going on here, though."

His short, bespectacled companion had chuckled at that, "Trust me when I say that it's not as fun as you'd imagine it to be. Most days, we're worried whether some of the loonies they employ here will end up blowing the place up. Did you know, one of the scientists once blew up a toilet by accident?"

I had to suppress the urge to laugh upon hearing that."And how did they manage to do that?"

"Well," rumbled the taller of the two guards, "no one knows for sure, but when they found him, he was in a state of shock and asking everyone what the fuck was going on."

"I'm sure Lorelei was very amused to hear about his little... escapade," I laughed. "She does seem a little uptight."

"A little uptight?" laughed the tall guard, as he stamped out the remains of his cigarette in the snow. "Son, that woman could do with a good screw or several."

"An opinion we all share, and that she is aware of," added the other guard, as he offered his friend his lighter. "Though you'd best not mention it directly – the last person to do so ended up being tied up and made to sit on a block of ice for three hours."

I reflexively winced at the thought of having certain unmentionable body parts placed on ice for prolonged periods of time. Meanwhile, Silas had somehow managed to bury himself in the snow, and was contentedly lounging in it with his tongue sticking of it.

"Cute shellder you have there," commented the big guard – whom I'd mentally designated as Goliath.

"He's alright," I replied, going over and standing over Silas' exposed tongue. "Oi Silas, you alright down there?"

Silas slapped his tongue on the ground, and let out a muffled chirp.

"Silas?" asked David – my nickname for the smaller guard. "That's an interesting name for a water-type."

I shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Well, he's the silent type, so it was a play on the word 'silence'. I guess it was that, and I'm horrible with names in general."

"Silas means 'of the forest' if I recall correctly," David said helpfully. "It's more common among older grass-type trainers."

"Oh?" I'd never actually bothered to look up the meaning of Silas' name. "Well, at least it has a decent meaning."

"No forests under the sea, though," Goliath let out a chuckle. "Unless seaweed and corals count, that is."

Silas let out a whistle that sounded somewhat distressed.

"Are you alright?" I moved over and eased him out of the snowy nook he'd been hiding in. "What's up?"

A furious bellow answered the question before he could say anything further, though. The tree-line started about fifty feet from where we were standing, and some of the nearest pine trees began rustling as though they were being shaken vigorously by something that definitely had some anger management issues.

"Shit, get back to the compound!" David cursed as he drew his sidearm. "We've got an ursaring incoming!"

"Go, kid! We'll cover your back!" Goliath ordered, pulling a sawn-off shotgun out of his winter jacket – well, he was a big guy, so it managed to fit in there.

"Thanks, guys!" I nodded, returning Silas and drawing my own pistol – just in case of anything.

The three of us briskly made our way back towards the compound, even as the bear-like pokemon stepped out of the forest and began sniffing at the air. Fortunately for us, the ursaring had significantly bad eyesight, which prevented it from immediately catching sight of its probable prey.

Just as we made it to the gate through which we'd left the compound, three more ursaring appeared out of the forest, pawing at each other and squinting in our general direction. The frigimon and two magcargo that were on duty at the gate tensed up, as did their handler. Within a minute of the wild pokemon slowly making their way towards the gate, some reinforcements had arrived on the scene, in the form of a froslass and three sneasel.

"Phew, that was close," I said once we were safely back in the compound. "But just how did he sense them coming? We couldn't even see them until after he'd alerted us."

"Shellder evolve into a partial ice-type, kid," Goliath said with a shrug. "Something about elemental affinities or the like, I'd wager."

Furious roars were heard from the gate, and we turned as one to look at what was happening. One of the four ursaring was already dead, covered in severe-looking burns courtesy of the magcargo guards. Two more were swiping futilely at the froslass, which was trying to make it past their fur with Ice Beams. As for the fourth ursaring, it was locked in a grapple with the frigimon, whose fists bristled with ice crystals. Even as we watched, one of the two ursaring that had been ganging up on the froslass had its back torn open by the three sneasel, which cackled with delight upon getting covered in its blood.

"Ah, the daily drama that we live with," sighed David. "And we didn't even make it to three cigarettes each, today."