For Shinrei, there was something peaceful about passing the night with Lena's fragile sleeping figure in the palm of his hand.
Across the base, systems had powered down to their nocturnal minimum. The White Sheep scattered far afield for reconnaissance were likewise inactive under the cover of darkness, with only their most basic proximity sensors alert for abnormal movements around them. It was the time of low tide for the vast sensory input Shinrei processed, leaving his world relatively almost silent save for the background whispers of twenty-one Shepherds still conversing—a low chatter he was simultaneously aware of, yet able to comfortably disregard in favor of his own inner thoughts.
At the forefront of those thoughts now was Rei's encounter with Lena as a child. For all the nuances of human recollection that could be lost in assimilation, the image of her from that time still stood out vividly to Shinrei: curled into a ball on Rei's narrow bunk, a threadbare blanket tucked over her, a dingy stuffed rabbit that served as the base's mascot clutched in her arms. As a Shepherd he could only translate the memory of scents into a form of data rather than a physical sensation, but he knew the smell of smoke had lingered in her hair, despite her best efforts to quickly scrub clean in the communal shower while Rei ran interference.
Even so, the sleeping face Rei had watched over on that far-away night was somehow as peaceful as the one Shinrei looked upon now.
Lena was a miracle; his miracle. There was nothing in the cold logic of machine programming that could dissuade his human essence from believing that, for mere coincidence could not explain her. Beautifully delicate yet incredibly strong, the silver thread that had once tied Rei's past to Shin's present was now the future lifeline of all the Eighty-Six.
…So this one is your princess.
The electronic impulses that flowed through the Legion's collective consciousness did not resemble human words at all, but Shinrei understood the raw intent with perfect clarity. He sighed inwardly, turning his focus to the seething presence he meticulously held bound deep within his overarching being as the Legion itself.
Kiriya, he acknowledged grimly.
He could feel the shifting attention of the other Shepherds as they took note of the interaction. He made no attempt to obscure it from them; they were all just as much a part of his mind now as Shin and Rei were a part of each other. They already knew everything he meant to do, and were aware that this moment was inevitable.
Something equivalent to a manic chuckle slithered through his connection to the Morpho. You're slipping, Cousin. I've been conscious enough to hear you plotting your schemes all night—
Because I allowed you to be, Shinrei answered calmly. I have no intentions of deceiving you. We need your help to carry out our plan.
And I have no intentions of cooperating with you. If you release my targeting system and expect me to do your little favor, my only promise is to spare no one within my reach.
No. You will do exactly what I ask you to… and when the time comes, you'll be eager to.
You're a fool. The only way I'll obey your bidding like a dog is if you reprogram me, and you won't do that because you've sworn not to tamper with the 'mind' of any Shepherd. …As if any of us were something more than lines of code now. All we are is the will we carried with us when we died—and you know exactly what my will is. If you want your precious Eighty-Six to be free, then tell me you'll march into the Republic and obliterate the humans who left so many of them to be slaughtered. Promise me the chance to make someone feel the pain she felt—!
Shinrei placidly ignored the tirade, taking his time assembling the data that would be his reply. Kiriya's genocidal rant continued for a full three milliseconds—until he was stunned silent by an abrupt pulse of auditory information that flooded his consciousness, as Shinrei essentially forced one of his own recent memories into the other Shepherd's mind.
"It's good to hear from you again, Captain Nouzen." The voice of President Ernst Zimmerman of the Federal Republic of Giad crackled over an analog radio frequency. "How are you and your men holding up?"
"We're managing," Shinrei answered simply—in a voice that was carefully altered to be that of Shinei Nouzen alone.
This conference between the recently assimilated new will of the Legion and the Federacy President—who amiably insisted on being called by his first name—was their eighth communication. Most of the previous ones had been well over two hours long. Over time, their conversations had progressed considerably: from a world-changing cover story of the Legion's supposed disabling through a virus delivered by Spearhead Squadron, to the matter of liberating the Eighty-Six, to casual topics of their personal lives. …Or at least half-truths drawn from fragments of both Shin and Rei's former lives, for the identity Shinrei presented to the unsuspecting head of state was that of a very human soldier who had led the mission to bring down the Legion. Much as he disliked having to deceive a man who was unmistakably earnest and caring, he estimated that the odds of Ernst being able to accept the truth at this early stage were miniscule. When the time was right, and he was sure Ernst trusted him enough to believe in his good intentions, he would confess to what he truly was; but for now, his one goal was to secure the support or at least the non-interference of the surrounding countries in his plan to save the Eighty-Six.
Nor was he willing to allow the Federacy access to the Legion's true base of operations. He had organized a false one at another large installation, complete with several hundred now-inoperable husks of Black Sheep, and offered that location to Ernst as proof of the Legion's demise—making sure to expose no technology that the Federacy had not already studied. Meanwhile, the story was that the survivors of Spearhead Squadron were already on their way back to San Magnolia, to confront the Republic with the outside world's knowledge of its crimes.
"You could have our help dealing with the Republic if you'd ask for it," Ernst said pointedly. "Honestly, I'm still not clear on what you plan to do without outside political intervention… but considering what your people have been through, I can understand your need to achieve this closure for yourselves. I'm only worried about how those bastards will react when they learn their secret is out anyway."
"I appreciate your concern, but please trust me, Ernst. We're doing everything we can to ensure that no one on either side gets hurt. …After all, the Eighty-Six have a lot to prove to the rest of the world as well."
"If you mean those rumors a few people latched onto that you're all some kind of savages, that's a load of nonsense. The fact you were the ones who defeated the Legion should do more than enough for your public image…" There was a pause initiated by the faint sound of a door opening and closing. When Ernst continued, the voice-analysis filter through which Shinrei processed his words detected a mild note of irritation, presumably at the intrusion. "…And when you promised that you want to handle the situation in a non-violent way, I could tell you meant it. So in the meantime, if there is anything I can do, please let me know."
With auditory perception beyond human imagining, Shinrei could hear the breathing of whatever person had entered the room with Ernst. For a nanosecond he debated whether to continue with the conversation; but he decided that if Ernst trusted this individual enough to let them remain, he would accept that judgment. After all, word of the Legion's fall had spread through the Federacy and other neighbor nations already, and the current subject matter was not too sensitive for an aide or fellow official to hear.
"Thank you, Ernst. Your trust means more to me than you can know. If anything, once the Eighty-Six are out of danger, we would ask for your aid in providing resources to rebuild the Republic—with the guidance to help them grow beyond their prejudices. I don't know if the minds of many of the adults can be changed, but the children shouldn't be held responsible for what they've only been taught. In their own way, they're just as much at the mercy of those who caused our suffering. That's why—"
Out of the blue, Shinrei's benevolent speech was interrupted by the gasping cry of a young female voice.
"No… oh no!"
Bemusement flickered through him. Ernst's uninvited guest was nothing more than a child? And what in his words could she possibly be objecting to?
At this point, Ernst audibly gave up trying to hide his impatience with the young interloper. "Frederica, I told you not to come in here while I'm on a call this important. Now what's—?"
"He—he's like Kiriya!"
That name and its implications sent a lurch of surprise and unease through Shinrei's entire vast being: a momentary freezing of every active Legion unit under his power, from Shepherds to White Sheep. With his ability to think along multiple channels at once, he gave a wordless signal of reassurance to the Shepherds, even as another part of him was quick to confirm that the Kiriya he knew remained forcibly dormant. If there was indeed some connection, the last thing he wanted was for the mad Morpho to awaken and begin struggling against his control at that moment.
Meanwhile, he was well aware of the several seconds of chilling dead silence that stretched out on the Federacy's end of the transmission.
"Captain Nouzen," Ernst said at last, very slowly and carefully. "In all our conversations, I have felt nothing but a sense of your sincerity and goodwill. But now I know there's far more you haven't told me—because I know what the Legion was truly capable of doing to its victims." He exhaled a heavy breath, and his voice grew unexpectedly soft. "You aren't exactly human anymore, are you?"
After a full two seconds of deliberation, Shinrei chose to abandon the algorithm that had transformed his metallic double voice into singular human tones, and responded as the machine he was.
"It's true, Ernst. …How did she know?"
It said much that Ernst did not immediately fly into demands or accusations of what Shinrei really was, or what his true intentions were. Instead he answered the question, calmly and directly.
"This young lady has a certain inherited gift. You might call it clairvoyance of a sort. …Her name is Frederica Rosenfort, or more properly, Empress Augusta Frederica Adel-Adler—and before the fall of the Giad Empire, a young man named Kiriya Nouzen was her personal bodyguard." A grim pause. "I suspect that tells you everything you need to know."
That much was true, as the pieces instantly came together. Shinrei could not actively delve into Kiriya's memories without rousing him from his locked-down state, but in previous chaotic wranglings with his cousin, almost everything that spilled from Kiriya's mind was thoughts of the "Princess" he worshipped… and images of the violence he wanted to inflict on the entire world he believed had taken her from him.
Yet evidently she was still alive—and possessing an extraordinary power of perception. Not unheard of in the royal bloodline, Shinrei knew; but in exposing his true nature to her, that power had just obliterated the cover he'd crafted so carefully to gain the trust of the President of the Federacy.
To his surprise, it was Frederica Rosenfort herself who did the most to repair the damage her revelation had wrought.
"He is like Kiriya, but he's himself, or… himselves?" Her small voice shook as if what she somehow read in Shinrei was causing her physical pain, but she forged on, seeming determined to convey her vision to Ernst. "He's so much more powerful, but he's not the Legion—or not the Legion that was. Not the Legion that made Kiriya suffer so much. He's a person, even though he's a machine too… and he really doesn't want to hurt anyone."
After a pause that felt like an eternity to a machine, Ernst made the one request he was thoroughly entitled to. "Tell me everything this time, Captain."
Shinrei did precisely that; and incredibly, with Frederica's endorsement, the President accepted his word.
As Kiriya's mind was filled with the recorded memory that carried his Princess' voice, the reaction was nothing more or less than Shinrei expected.
…Princess…?
In that pulse of baffled yearning, there was a softness Shinrei had never felt from Kiriya before. At the same time, he detected a rise in the Morpho's core temperature, the prickling signals of circuits straining to will movement into electronically paralyzed limbs. The most monstrous of the Shepherds had been roused with an intense motivation—and that had the potential to become extremely dangerous.
It's true, Shinrei asserted, taking care to further tighten his control over the Morpho's physical form. Frederica is alive. She misses you, and she suffers your pain every day—and she doesn't want you to hurt anyone in her name.
A wave of darkness washed through Kiriya's essence. Suspicion, contempt.
It's a lie… You created that recording to try to trick me into doing what you want! How dare you use her memory like that—!
No. I'm not capable of lying to you, because you're a part of me. If I tried to be untruthful, you would feel it as much as I did. There was a great deal of Rei in the gentleness of that statement, while the methodical calm that followed it came from Shin. …But in any case, you don't need to believe me. Frederica can tell you herself.
Before Kiriya could protest, Shinrei projected another recording into his mind—and this one was visual as well as auditory.
The image that blossomed into Kiriya's consciousness was that of his Frederica: a little older and taller than the young child in his memories, but still a small and delicate figure. Clad in a more modest blue dress than her royal robes of old, she stood in front of a desk in Ernst Zimmerman's study, her hands clasped demurely over her abdomen. She looked directly into the camera that recorded the message—and her scarlet eyes brimmed with tears at the very thought of speaking directly to her knight once more.
"Kiri…" The little girl's lip quivered, but then she sniffled and resolutely smiled for her beloved former guardian, even as apologies spilled forth. "I'm so sorry, Kiri. I'm sorry you've been in so much pain all this time because of me. But you see now I'm alive, and I'm safe, and I don't blame anyone for the things that happened in the past—and I don't want you to, either. I don't want you to hurt anyone. Please don't try to, Kiri, because that would hurt me too—and even you. Remember how gentle you always were with me instead. That was the real you—and I promise it's the you we'll try to find again. But first you have to show everyone that I'll still be safe with you. I can't ever come to you if you still want to hurt other people, and…" Another telltale quiver. "And I wouldn't want to, because I'd be upset with you. So it's your choice, Kiri. …As for Captain Nouzen's plan, I told him I can't ask you to help if you don't want to, because all my life I've put so many burdens on you already. But just know that… if you did help him, and you were part of saving the lives of the Eighty-Six… it would make me happy."
Tears spilled at last as Frederica reached out to the camera. "You're still my knight, Kiri. You don't deserve the anger and pain you feel… and now you can let it go. Just once, you can be a knight to other people who need your help too. If you do that, I know you'll start to feel better. And when you get to come home to me, we'll find a way to heal it all, so you can have peace even now." She offered one last dewy smile. "Please, Kiri… I'll be waiting for you."
As the recording abruptly ended, Shinrei could feel the anguished tension spiraling through Kiriya's essence.
I want to see her…
Expressed in a form beyond human words, the Morpho's reaction was a whisper of an impulse at first—only to give way a millisecond later to howling shrieks of mingled rage and desperation, like a child denied the toy he clung to for comfort. I want to see her I want to see her I want to see her—!
You can, Shinrei cut him off firmly. —If you choose to honor her wishes.
Kiriya seethed with indignation. My Princess made no demand for me to help you.
That's true. She didn't… but I am.
As a part of Shinrei, possessing unfiltered access to his emotions, Kiriya should have known better than to be surprised; yet that response rippled through him anyway. Even after having been both a human dog of war and a nihilistic weapon of mass destruction, the young knight was still so much a naïve boy that he could underestimate the resolve of a being with millions of lives in his hands. In his own absolute devaluing of all other humanity but his Princess, he had lost the very comprehension of the price that being was willing to pay to protect humanity.
In reality, after all, that price was trifling. Shinrei's compassion was not so pure as to leave him with no easier options than merely placating Kiriya. For the relentlessly pragmatic entity once known in part as Reaper, fostering a reunion of two wounded and yearning souls—one of them already long dead—meant nothing compared to securing the survival of an entire race.
…And if I still refuse to help you play the hero? Although a faltering note of defiance lingered, Kiriya no longer commanded the arrogant self-assurance their exchange had started with.
Then I'll delete you from existence, and take the Morpho for myself—and I'll lie to the Princess that you had to be destroyed because of the danger you posed to humanity. …If that even is a lie.
There was no bluff in the declaration: not only because Shinrei meant the threat, but because he couldn't conceal the weight of it upon his own emotions. He didn't try to. Even toward a being who roiled with the hatred and violence that had long consumed Kiriya, it was difficult to be so ruthless, because he could also feel the pain and longing at the root of Kiriya's rage. He truly didn't want to hurt his lost cousin who had suffered so much already. Yet even so, for the stakes he was fighting for, he would be as cruel as he needed to be.
After all, it would be far from the first time a part of him had killed in the name of benevolence.
Even if she believed it… the Princess would never forgive you. It was such a feeble assertion, even Kiriya knew it was meaningless in the grand scheme.
I can endure a child's hatred of me if it means thousands of other children will live. Shinrei was unwavering. You have nothing to offer that can change this, Kiriya. Help us save the Eighty-Six… or at the end of this, your Princess will be the only one left on the losing end, because you never will return to her again.
In the wake of that devastating picture Shinrei painted of Kiriya's young mistress bereaved, a five-second eternity stretched between them.
…Damn you, Reaper, the Morpho grated at last, and fell sullenly silent.
And Shinrei knew that he had won.