CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Surgeons did not normally divulge details about the procedures they performed, at least not when it pertained to specific patients. Confidentiality was generally held in high, almost sacrosanct, regard. Even inquiries from next-of-kin were often balked, if consent was not written down and signed in triplicate.

Dr. Fukunaga, however, who was at the cutting edge of his field and had been very excited about the innovative procedure he performed on Thalia’s arm, was a true scientist. He had boundless enthusiasm for his work, and needed little prompting to talk about it.

What little reluctance he displayed was soon overcome in the face of the Vice-Commander’s insistence. He was not a man to be trifled with, not even when he was conducting an interrogation from a hospital bed.

“Of course, nanotechnology has been in use for some time in helping to reconstruct bone and even some of the softer tissues on a molecular level, far too small to be worked with in any traditional way,” Dr. Fukunaga was saying.

“By nanotechnology, you mean microscopic robots, correct?” Harada wanted to be very clear on every point.

“Yes, correct. That constituted the early stage of the operation on the lieutenant, but even after the maximum reconstruction had been accomplished, there was a high proportion of bone and muscle tissue loss.”

“How much would you say, in terms of percentage, Doctor?”

There was a small pause, as Dr. Fukunaga considered this. “I would have to say between 35 and 40 percent on average, diffused through 70 percent of the upper arm – keeping in mind that’s after the nanites worked their magic. Really, it wasn’t so long ago that Lieutenant Cairde’s wound would have left us no choice but to amputate what was left of the limb and replace it altogether.”

Harada winced; the memory of Thalia’s arm hanging limp at her side like a red flag on a still day came vividly back to his mind’s eye.

“During the course of the operation, did you notice anything anomalous about her physiology or anatomy, perhaps in its response to the surgery?” he asked, rousing himself from his unpleasant memories.

“Since you brought it up, Vice-Commander, I did notice an odd quality about Lieutenant Cairde’s anatomy, resembling a magnetic field in some of its characteristics, when we introduced the biomechanical elements to the existing anatomical structure. I first noted it in phobic tendencies displayed by the blood, but as we brought in each of the tissues to interface and bond with the artificial components, I saw it was a diffuse reaction, not limited to the blood. Her lab work does show anomalies as well, but I expect you’ve been over that already. She’s not fully human, but it’s not clear to me what other species she represents. It’s not one familiar to me.”

“Doctor, I want to pose a hypothetical question, if I may,” Tetsuya said.

“Please do.”

“Let’s say this procedure you performed was done on a patient who could take other forms temporarily – the form of a large bird, for example. Can you speculate on what effects the operation might produce the next time she tried to assume the shape of the bird?”

The doctor looked mystified, but intrigued. “I’ve never heard of such a species, but speaking hypothetically, I would say any ability to fly would be severely compromised. I’m no veterinarian, but of course birds have hollow bones. The components we’ve put in place would not adjust to accommodate that. I would imagine they would weigh down one side of the body entirely, being so much higher in density than the other side.”

“So, still speaking hypothetically, what might be done to remedy that, if anything?” Here at last was the crucial question, and yet Harada was already nearly certain there would be no definite answer.

The doctor thought for several moments. At last he shook his head, brow still furrowed. “I really don’t have enough information to even speculate intelligently. The procedure itself is still so new, there’s no history to consult. Perhaps if I can consult with a specialist in the physiology of the other species, we could come up with ideas cooperatively.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought. I’ll see what I can do to get some expertise on the other side involved, and then contact you again.” He had already suspected he would need to request help from the medical field on the other side of the Eridanus Supervoid in order to get anywhere, but wanted to be sure he covered all possible routes of inquiry.

“I look forward to it. This is all quite intriguing. My apologies that I was unable to help in some real way.” Dr. Fukunaga bowed politely as he took his leave.

“No apology necessary – so far it’s all hypothetical,” Harada said.

***

Sekiguchi was awake and recovering, but uncommunicative. He would not speak to anyone, but merely lay gazing out the window near his bed. First Squad Captain Okada Seizo had come in when notified he was awake, but did not attempt to talk to him; he merely handcuffed Sekiguchi to the bed and left.

Okada’s silence, however, was not empty; it was fraught with the kind of tension that precedes a storm or battle. Sekiguchi noticed this, and wondered why the young captain should have developed such deep personal hatred of him. There must be something hidden there; it was intriguing. He had long been aware that wherever there is strong emotion, there is also weakness to exploit.

The rivalry between the Shinsengumi’s First Squad Captain and Vice-Commander was well-known, so on the basis of appearances, the captain’s anger could not be rooted in loyalty to Harada. That was as good a place as any to poke in order to see what emerged, however; so next time the captain came by Sekiguchi’s room to take report from the guards, Sekiguchi startled them all by making a sudden request of Captain Okada.

“Captain, please relay to your Vice-Commander that I would like to speak with him when he can make the time to indulge me,” he said with his usual polite apathy. He had no real wish to speak with Harada Tetsuya, but he wanted to see how the captain would respond.

“Why would I do that?” Seizo asked, his tone mild but his eyes glinting red.

“Why you would not do that is what interests me more,” Sekiguchi replied.

“I can’t be bothered to run messages for criminals.”

“I had forgotten your fondness for your superior officers,” Sekiguchi said, raising one eyebrow. They both knew he referred to the crisis within the ranks of the Shinsengumi that had been brought about by the traitor Date, whom Sekiguchi and his second-in-command, Wataru Aoi, had nurtured and used. During that incident, Okada had pretended to betray Harada in order to join the divisive faction led by Date; in this way the young captain stayed close to Chief Kato and prevented his assassination. The fact that Okada’s betrayal had been a mere pretense was a genuine shock to many of the traitors, who were counting on the seeming enmity between the Vice-Commander and First Squad Captain.

“Loyalty does not have to come from fondness, but then I wouldn’t expect you to understand that,” Okada retorted and began to walk out.

“Then perhaps it is not your superior officers for whom you harbor a fondness, but your slightly subordinate officers,” Sekiguchi suggested, never raising his voice.

Okada Seizo stopped dead in the act of reaching for the doorknob. He turned his head, but did not face the prisoner. “Be careful what you imply,” he advised. His voice was low, but full of menace.

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Sekiguchi smiled in satisfaction. “She’s something entirely unique, is she not?” he said. “I confess, it’s really she with whom I want to speak, not Harada Tetsuya, but somehow I can’t imagine he would allow that to happen.”

“She who?” Okada asked, one hand on his katana.

This was without doubt the correct trigger in the captain’s case, Sekiguchi noted. Of course it was; who else but Thalia Cairde could inflame the passions of the most self-controlled among them? The Vice-Commander’s will of steel bowed to hers, by some accounts, so it should be no surprise that the young captain was equally smitten.

“Why, your magnificent Lieutenant, of course. Who else in the Shinsengumi would command my attention?” he said, allowing insult to color his tone. He saw Okada’s hand tighten on the hilt.

“You don’t get to mention her name,” Okada Seizo said, his voice shaking just a little. “Don’t think I won’t kill you where you lie.” He was beginning to see red; this man had nearly destroyed three members of his Shinsengumi family, and was still an active threat to them all. It was difficult not to slaughter him. It wouldn’t take much provocation; he would have to tread very carefully.

“I wouldn’t think any such thing; that would be an error in judgment, Captain Okada, and I rarely make those. Everyone in Edo is well aware of your reputation for reckless violence,” Sekiguchi replied nonchalantly.

Okada finally turned. His eyes were expressionless, dead, like a shark’s. “For someone who boasts about rarely making errors in judgment, you’re very close to making a fatal one,” he said.

Sekiguchi eyed him speculatively, knowing he still had not fathomed the true root of Okada’s wrath. “How long do you plan to carry a torch for a woman who loves your superior? You had not struck me as either so romantic or so foolish,” he said, probing for another telling reaction.

Seizo sneered. “I imagine that’s your best guess, but it’s really not very creative. In this case, not very accurate, either. I don’t have time for word games. Understand this: now that your traitor is gone, there is not one member of the Shinsengumi who will help you. There is no way in or outside of all the Hells that you’ll ever set eyes on Lieutenant Cairde again, if any of us have anything to say about it.”

With that, he left.

“Then none of you will have anything to say about it,” Sekiguchi murmured to the closed door, smiling gently.

***

Two weeks later, Hellfire Rising’s First Lieutenant Wataru Aoi was awaiting the Commander of the Mimawarigumi in his ornate, elaborate, overdone office. Natsume Ishida was not even remotely ascetic; it was doubtful he had ever been called upon to sacrifice any wish of his, and it was never doubted by any who knew him that it would be a dangerous proposition to expect it of him.

Wataru was already impatient, though he had not been waiting more than ten minutes. He found the officers of the Mimawarigumi boring and pretentious; they were far more interesting to themselves than to anyone else, like most wealthy people. Their souls did not know how to truly sing; they only imitated the stilted, dusty, irritatingly flat tones instilled in them by generations that had gone before them.

All in all, the Shinsengumi were far more interesting, as were the members of Kirito’s agency. However, they were forced to use what tools came to hand, and that right now meant the Mimawarigumi was their best option.

At last, Commander Natsume entered. He looked like what he was: a pampered, bored, and insufferably arrogant holder of unmerited position.

“Well, Wata-chan,” he said, knowing his insulting familiarity would irritate Aoi, “to what do I owe this singular honor?”

“It’s near time to send a squad for Sekiguchi-sama,” he replied shortly.

“Ah, splendid. When exactly did you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow evening; the Shinsengumi changes the guard at seven.”

“And does it matter to you how we time it?”

“Not particularly. The Shinsengumi are not important at this juncture; they’re merely a nuisance.”

“And as such, perhaps they ought to be swatted,” Natsume remarked. He concealed a deep, consuming hatred and envy of the Shinsengumi beneath a veneer of contemptuous indifference; the particular object of his loathing was the Demon Vice-Commander, who had soundly humiliated him at their last confrontation.

This was well-known to Hellfire Rising, and was one of the many reasons they were finding it convenient to make use of the Shogunate’s elite police force.

“There will be opportunity to swat to your heart’s content,” Wataru assured Natsume. “Most particularly the Vice-Chief.”

Natsume raised his refined eyebrows, though he did not show half as much interest as he felt. “Oh?” was all he permitted himself to say.

“Sekiguchi-sama needs to make use of their new Lieutenant; that is the main goal of our undertaking. To do it, he needs to win her sympathy, at least for a moment,” Wataru said.

“And how will this affect the Vice-Commander?”

“Not in the loop, are you?”

“It’s not important, is it? Why should I be?”

“Because if you were, you would know already that Vice-Commander Harada Tetsuya is engaged to marry Lieutenant Thalia Cairde. I trust I need not spoon-feed you any further about the potential in this development, for both your goals and ours.” Wataru Aoi’s face never revealed much, but he now wore a slight smirk that vastly irritated Natsume.

“When did this happen?” Natsume exclaimed.

“I don’t have time to catch you up on all your enemy’s gossip, Commander. Just be sure all is as it should be by ten tomorrow night,” Aoi said. Without another word, he departed, having had quite as much as he could stand of the rarefied atmosphere within Mimawarigumi Headquarters.

“Tch,” Natsume Ishida said, irritated. He was uncertain what pissed him off more; the fact that Hellfire Rising had known of this engagement before he had, or the condescending method by which Aoi had delivered the news.

They had heard – because who hadn’t? – about the first woman officer in the Shinsengumi, and been annoyed by her instantaneous good publicity. She was from some off-world species, by all they could gather, and her first appearance was notorious in the melodramatic style typical of the Peasant Police.

There was no doubt in Natsume’s mind that they had arranged her performance ahead of time somehow. She had become Edo’s darling overnight, all the more because of her strenuous efforts to avoid the press. A touch of mystery clung to her, enhancing her public appeal.

When he saw the instant stardom achieved – however unwillingly – by the new Lieutenant, Natsume Ishida had suspected the Shinsengumi of hiring some kind of actress to portray an officer. He surmised that they had finally broken their all-male rule in a desire to top the Mimawarigumi’s modest surge of popularity with their newest three captains, all elite bad-boy types the ladies swooned over.

This was classic projection on his part, since he had promoted these boys not for any merit, but merely out of jealousy. His personal goal was to supersede the popularity of the Shinsengumi’s top officers, the Chief, Vice-Chief, and First Squad Captain; he was particularly intent upon humiliating Harada Tetsuya in any way possible.

There had been a clash over a smuggling bust eight months past, and Harada had publicly humiliated him simply by doing his job and criticizing Natsume for failing to do his. Harada had said, bluntly and quite publicly, that the difference between them was that the Shinsengumi placed utmost value on honor, while the Mimawarigumi placed utmost value on the appearance of it. An unforgiveable insult; that it was the simple truth never entered Natsume’s calculations.

In Natsume’s mind, the two police squads were in direct competition for press and star-power. The fact that the Shinsengumi could not be bothered with the sort of hollow gesture he regularly accused them of never occurred to him; image was so all-important to their police force that he could not grasp the relatively small value placed on it by the Shinsengumi. For all their snobbery and sneering, the Mimawarigumi hierarchy was surprisingly concerned about popularity polls.

Natsume Ishida donned his royal-blue coat, admiring its crisp lapels, gold-thread embroidery, and general pristine condition in his reflection. He tied his cravat in the latest style from England, then made sure his appearance was impeccable in the multiple mirrors that hung on his wall before departing to find the Demon Vice-Chief.

It would seem he had been remiss in not offering his congratulations. It was an unforgiveable oversight that must be remedied at once.

He stopped on the way out to give the orders for tomorrow night’s raid on the hospital. It would need to be done smoothly, if possible. Much as it would be a pleasure to shed the blood of some Peasant Police, for diplomatic reasons it was unwise, unless clearly provoked.

***

Harada Tetsuya, who had finally been discharged from the hospital a few days earlier, cursed vilely when he saw the insufferable Mimawarigumi Commander making his fastidious way toward him on one of the busiest streets in Kabukicho.

He turned quickly, hoping against hope that Natsume’s appearance was a coincidence that had nothing whatsoever to do with him. He could never meet Natsume without it coming to blows in some way, and this was only his second day back on full duty. He preferred to avoid pointless diplomatic skirmishes as a general rule, but even more so now.

Thalia came out of the dango shop where she’d gone to get their lunch. “Good timing,” he said, taking her arm and steering her firmly up the street.

“Weren’t we going the other way?” Thalia asked, confused.

“We’re going in the direction that faces away from the bevy of approaching assholes,” Harada muttered, teeth clenched. “Don’t look back, it’ll encourage him!”

“Encourage who? What bug crawled up your ass and laid eggs? And what about lunch?” Thalia demanded.

“If I have to talk to Natsume I’ll lose my appetite,” Harada said grimly.

“Harada-kun,” came a fussy sing-song voice.

Thalia’s first instinct was to laugh. “Is he serious?” she asked, delighted.

“He’s like a pox. Not funny, trust me,” Tetsuya said, knowing it was too late to avoid the meeting Chief Natsume was clearly determined upon when Thalia was this entertained. He sighed and braced himself.