Chapter 21: A Shinjuku Reunion (Pt 2)
(A major thank you to
Siatru, Thearpox,
Sunny,
Gremlin Jack,
Grig9700, and
WrandomWaffles. All contributed to editing or beta reading this chapter at various points, and it has profited massively by their example. I am truly sorry for the long delay in getting this out to you, the audience. I hope I won't keep you waiting this long with the next chapter.)
APRIL 21, 2016 ATB
SHINJUKU GHETTO, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1733
"…Think she's the one you designated as 'Cherry'? Should I send her up? Over." The handheld radio chirped in the insurgent's hand as he released the transmit button. The ensuing static buzz was just another small source of irritation for Kallen Stadtfeld in a day already brimming with petty annoyances. The way that 'Trainspotter' was smirking at her was another. Kallen could freely admit that he was a handsome man, and the sleeveless t-shirt he wore did an excellent job showcasing his powerful biceps, tanned almost to a nut brown from hours under the sun – if it were any other day, she might have enjoyed the mancandy.
But today, his smirking interest was just another annoyance, especially because Kallen apparently now needed his permission to go up the stairs to her brother's apartment. Ever since she'd gotten the text from Naoto letting her know that Tanya was back in town, seeing the younger girl again for the first time in months had been all Kallen could think about. She'd suffered through the bi-weekly meeting of the editorial staff of the Ashford Academy Gazette, doing her best to stay engaged with her fellow club members despite her eagerness to leave. As soon as the clock ticked over to half-past four, she'd made a beeline to the MagLev station… Only to learn that the usual route to Shinjuku was undergoing scheduled maintenance.
A circuitous train ride and an "entry fee" later, Kallen entered the Shinjuku Ghetto for the first time in months. She honestly hadn't expected much of a change from her last visit to the last enclave of the Japanese in the Tokyo metropolitan area, apart from the seasonal – sewage cooking and fermenting in gurgling almost-clogged drains, instead of freezing in the gutters.
Naoto, never the most communicative, had become downright taciturn over the last few months. Her brother had all but ordered her not to come to the Ghetto, though the texts expressing that order had couched that command in encouragement to focus on her studies and her budding career as a string reporter instead.
While Kallen had resented the command to stay in the Britannian Concession, she'd initially gone along with it. Naoto was, after all, her superior in the organization, as well as her big brother. Besides, she'd had plenty of work to do, even if it was very unsatisfying compared to the adrenaline rush of combat. Tanya and Naoto had both pointed out to Kallen that nobody else could do what she could; at first, Kallen had been happy for the reassurance - now, she only wished that she was a bit more replaceable.
When the texts from Naoto had slowly tapered down from once a week to once every few weeks, Kallen had begun to grow worried. To make matters worse, her mother was also getting increasingly worried for, and angry at, Naoto. His complete lack of communication was driving her up the wall, and so she had taken to asking Kallen about her brother whenever the two had a moment alone. It took much of Kallen's limited supply of patience not to vent her irritation on her mother - their rebuilt relationship was still new and somewhat fragile, and Kallen privately feared backsliding into the
Britannian Tanya had called her out as.
Despite her resolve to be a better daughter, Kallen knew that her patience was far from endless. Before her willingness to wait snapped completely, she had approached the only person in the Britannian Concession that she knew Naoto couldn't avoid. Inoue, who was still running the Rising Sun communal dinners every Friday night at the refugee camp set up for the Honorary Britannians in Toshima.
Inoue had been surprised to see her, but Kallen had come prepared with a good reason to drop by - nobody else was reporting on the miniature refugee crisis happening right in the middle of the Tokyo Settlement, so Kallen was stepping in to fill the niche. Inoue, of course, hadn't been fooled by the earnest explanation, and had promised to smack Naoto when she got back to Shinjuku for her. Kallen was delighted by the promise, but not as much as she was at the news that her brother was alive, working hard, and making great progress with the tasks left in his care by Tanya.
Kallen hadn't pressed for further details. Even that short conversation in potentially hostile territory had been a risk, and Kallen knew that if Tanya had been there she would have chided her over the breach of information security.
So it had come as a great surprise when Kallen had entered Shinjuku and found the stench of sewage almost completely absent. While that was perhaps the most welcome change, it was less impressive than the amount of obviously fresh construction. Everywhere she looked, once cracked tenement walls sported fresh cement patches, and roads glistened under fresh layers of asphalt.
More importantly, the people of Shinjuku were just as changed as the district itself. Young people moved with straight backs and squared shoulders, even as they struggled with heavy loads. Exposed concrete and years of graffiti were being painted over by several teams of paint-can wielding elders and children. A young man missing one leg below the knee sat on the stoop of a building, mending a pile of torn clothes with a darting needle and thread, but his eyes were lively and bright as he worked, chatting with one of the elderly people spreading whitewash on a wall.
Compared to the slouching, aimless crowds Kallen had pushed her way through during her previous trips to visit Naoto, these people all moved with energy and purpose. Everybody seemed busy with something, but nobody had the keen edge of desperation or fear that had once seemed omnipresent in Shinjuku.
More surprising than the change in attitude was how armed Shinjuku had become. Despite the Britannian prohibition on the Japanese ownership of weapons, blades and cudgels were plentiful in the streets of Shinjuku. Everywhere Kallen looked she saw small groups of men and women, all wearing identical red headbands and sporting knives, batons, and at least two pistols per group.
Kallen would have thought the clusters of armed people simply another gang, except that she had seen those same headbands worn by some of the volunteers that accompanied Inoue to the communal dinners. On second glance, the pedestrians thronging the street didn't treat the headband-clad people with the wariness and fear typical to interactions with gangsters. They were treated with respect, yes, but it was the kind of respect that Kallen recognized from her relationships with most of her comrades in the Organization, a mutual respect built on shared goals, experiences, and bonds.
A mutual respect, indeed a camaraderie, that Kallen certainly wasn't feeling at the moment. Instead, she could almost feel the pressure of the gazes and sideways looks. Nobody troubled her, nobody even approached her, but the way the eyes of every headband-wearing tough followed her as she made her way down the once-familiar streets was grating.
Not that it's a huge surprise, since I'm probably the only natural redhead in Shinjuku apart from Naoto.
It was annoying, seeing how much of a stranger she had become amongst "her" people. Kallen had spent months on the other side of the wall, living the life of the Britannian that she knew she wasn't. While she had been gone, the world inside the ringing walls of the Ghetto had moved on, and now she was left gawking like a tourist.
Much as she wanted to put all the blame for her newest degree of separation from the rest of the Japanese on Naoto, Kallen was guiltily certain that she could have pressed for updates harder if she had really cared. On the other hand, she shouldn't have had to tell Naoto to keep her in the loop in the first place; absent Tanya's presence, it was clear to Kallen that Naoto had fallen back on old habits. The moment he'd had the chance, her big brother had wrapped her up in cotton and put her away in Ashford, safe and sound, while he had apparently built an army, conquered at least part of Shinjuku, and started rebuilding the place. He'd grown canny: instead of directly denying her the chance to help, he had kept her focused on the tasks Tanya had left behind before haring off into the wilds of central Honshu.
Now, after delays caused by pointless meetings, overdue railway maintenance, and her own distracted fascination at Shinjuku's metamorphosis, Kallen was being kept from welcoming her best friend back home and from giving her
beloved big brother a piece of her mind by this idiot with a radio! Even worse, she was a full hour late to her reunion with a person who adored organization and loved timeliness! 'That's not fair,' she thought to herself, fuming as the bastard's knowing smirk widened, 'he is just doing what Tanya told him to do – the radio and all these code names have her fingerprints all over it…'
"So, you're the Commander's cherry-girl, huh?" Kallen's eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at the fool in front of her. Irritatingly, the anger just seemed to confirm something for the ape, and his smile broadened. The temptation to punch him in the throat was nearly overwhelming, but Kallen kept her anger tightly leashed, as Tanya had taught her to do.
They're on my side, after all, or at least Tanya's, Kallen reminded herself, keeping her hands open and relaxed at her sides,
So let's keep it friendly...
Letting her face slide into the contours of her typical school mask, Kallen injected just a hint of Milly's infuriating smirk into her smile and channeled her step-mother's haughty arrogance as she angled her head just enough to look down on the taller man. "What? Are you jealous? Don't worry, I'm sure a gorilla like you will find a girlfriend eventually!"
The man grinned back with irritating ease. "Thanks Cherry, I appreciate the support. Sorry to get your hopes up, but I like 'em a bit older – come back in a few years and if Kaho hasn't kicked me to the curb yet, I'll give you a date or two."
The draconic anger that laired deep in her bones stirred slightly, but Kallen was mostly just amused. Now that the initial exchange was past, she recognized this as a dynamic she'd had in the past with Tamaki – playful taunting and teasing, without any real emotional stakes. "Well, if she doesn't kick you to the curb, I'd be happy to give it a try! You guys just got back from the training camp with 'Commander Backpack', right?"
'Trainspotter' narrowed his eyes slightly at her. Next to him, his silent partner's hand drifted towards the butt of his holstered pistol. "What if we were, huh? Who's asking?"
"Cherry!" Kallen replied with a grin that she didn't even have to force. Her previously overwhelming annoyance had surprisingly melted away – shooting the shit for a second with people whom she was confident were on her side had let her forget for a precious moment about how pissed she was at Naoto. It had been way too long since she could just relax and talk to someone without carefully watching her words. "You know, the person you were obviously told to look out for?" Kallen scoffed, before adopting a theatrically pompous tone "Don't you know who I am? I am the foremost student of the Tiny Terror of Shinjuku herself! The one you call… Backpack!"
The two men chuckled and relaxed, the brewing tension dissipating. Trainspotter's face returned to its easy grin and his partner's hand continued to drift right past the pistol and settled on his hip, where he made a show of scratching himself. "No shit, really?" Trainspotter laughed, "So you know what she's about, yeah? Hope you enjoyed the months off – she's probably gonna put you in a refresher course or some bullshit!"
Before Kallen could respond, Trainspotter's radio crackled back to life. "Backpack to Trainspotter. Send her on up, and keep me posted if anyone else drops by. Backpack out."
Trainspotter nodded towards the door to the stairwell. "You know the way up, right?" Kallen nodded back, and he grinned in reply. "Head right on up."
"Thanks," Kallen replied, heading up the stairs, "Once I finish up here, we should have a spar – I'd love to see how badly Tanya's standards have been slipping, without me and Big Bro keeping her on the straight and narrow."
The stairwell door swung shut on the jeering reply from Trainspotter and the laughter from his partner. As she made her way up the flight of stairs, Kallen let the smile subside, schooling her face back into a more businesslike expression.
Away from the impromptu distraction provided by the two guards, Kallen's anxiety began to make itself known again. Instead of worrying about Naoto's well-being, Kallen found herself focusing on how she'd describe the events of the last few months to Tanya. It felt like she had plenty to report, but little of real significance. She could only hope that her best friend and mentor wouldn't be too disappointed in her; Tanya was always very hard working, and pushed everybody around her to be equally diligent. Compared to what Tanya had likely accomplished in a season away, Kallen found it hard to be confident in her own meager achievements.
As Kallen approached the apartment door, she took a deep breath and tried to let the worry flow out from her. Whether or not Tanya would be disappointed in her, whether or not Tanya would be happy to see her again… It was too late to change anything. Before her resolution could desert her, Kallen reached out and knocked on the splintered surface of the door.
A moment later, a deadbolt slid home and the apartment door swung open.
"Hey there, Kallen! Good to see you again!" Her brother's best and oldest friend stood framed in the door, smiling at her from beneath his familiar pompadour. While Ohgi's smile and hair were just the way Kallen remembered, he now sported the same farmer's tan as Trainspotter did three floors below.
Although his nose is still peeling… That's gotta itch…
"Ohgi!" Kallen hastily bobbed a perfunctory bow in greeting before stepping close and pulling the former teacher in for a hug, which he returned with a fond smile. "It's so good to see you again!" She squeezed him one more time, to which Ohgi reacted with a theatrical groan before she released him and stepped back. "How was your trip? Did you get back okay? Did you have any problems?"
"Hey, hey, slow down, slow down!" Ohgi held up his hands defensively, warding off the storm of questions, "Everything went fine – but what are you still doing out in the hallway? Come on in, Kallen." He stepped back into the room and to the side, and Kallen slipped in after him, closing the door as she passed… And froze in place as she took in the sight of the other two occupants.
Ohgi had changed over the last few months – beyond the tanned skin, Kallen had felt firm muscles under his unseasonal jacket, presumably hard won over the course of endless days of training that she was desperately curious to hear more about. However, In comparison to both her brother and her best friend, Ohgi had remained all but untouched by the passage of time.
Tanya was on her feet, facing Kallen, and for some reason slightly red-faced. Kallen could only hope that she hadn't been arguing with Naoto, who was still seated at the table.
The other girl looked just as eye-catching as always, although Kallen found herself somewhat of two minds about her own newly acquired tan. The longer hair was fetching, but more importantly the lean muscles clearly visible along Tanya's bare arms were a sign of significant improvement in Tanya's constitution as well as her strength. If her body was getting enough nutrients to grow at least three inches taller while having enough surplus to build muscle, it seemed like her days as a half-starved sack of bones were well and truly behind her. In Kallen's opinion, that development couldn't possibly have come soon enough.
Naoto, by contrast, looked awful. In three months he had aged a decade, and looked like a man on the brink of bidding his thirties a reluctant farewell. His face was crusted in stubble, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and his hair, as red as hers, hung lank and greasy halfway to his shoulders. Most worryingly of all to Kallen, his eyes seemed to look through her for a moment, before suddenly snapping back into the present and onto her face. He hastily forced a smile onto his face and she followed suit, cursing herself internally as she did so.
Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit! I knew he was overworking himself, and who knows what else! He always does that, and then he forgets to look out for himself! I should've come down here months ago! Fuck, I should've brought Mom down here months ago to slap some sense back into him! Ugh, I'm such a horrible sister…
Ruthlessly forcing down the wave of anger at her stupid wannabe martyr of a big brother and her own spinelessness, Kallen stepped forward into the studio's small living area and scooped her friend up into a warm hug, skipping the customary bow and apparently taking Tanya by surprise, judging by the minute squeak. A moment later, a pair of slim arms snaked around Kallen's back as Tanya returned the hug.
"Happy birthday, Kallen." Tanya muttered. "I am sorry to report that I didn't think to get a gift for the occasion."
Smiling at the blonde's overly formal tone, Kallen responded in kind, affecting a nasal Pendragon-style noble accent not unlike her step-mother's. "And a happy birthday to you, Commander Tanya. You're twelve now, correct?" She chuckled, and squeezed another small squeak out of the other girl before releasing her and stepping back a pace. "Congratulations on another year. I've got a sack of ground beans straight from Area 6 back at the Manor with your name on it!"
Tanya's crystal blue eyes opened comically wide, and Kallen had to resist the urge to laugh at her enthusiasm.
The poor girl's probably been coffee-less for months! "Th-thank you for your gift, Kallen. You did an excellent job picking it out." Tanya's brow abruptly furrowed as she scowled ferociously up at Kallen, but her eyes still glittered with pleasure and amusement. "Don't think you can bribe your way out of your report, though!"
Same old Tanya - always trying to be professional! It kinda makes her look a bit silly sometimes… Silly and… kinda cute…
"Wouldn't dream of it!" Kallen replied, giving into her darkest impulses in front of such an adorable menace and tousling Tanya's sunny head. Tanya's scowl deepened, but she made no attempt to evade Kallen's hand, stoically enduring the headpats even as her blush darkened and deepened. Seeing her clear embarrassment, Kallen abruptly felt ashamed of herself and jerked her hand away from Tanya's surprisingly soft hair.
What the hell, Kallen? You don't like it when Milly touches you, so why would Tanya like you touching her?
Aware of the sudden shameful heat spreading across her own cheeks, Kallen desperately tried to find a way to exit the suddenly awkward situation. A second later, her gaze landed on her brother, and she abruptly remembered that she was supposed to be angry at him.
Oh, remembered that, did you? An inner voice jeered as Kallen's blood started to heat back up.
You've been stewing on it for months, and it went right out the window! And isn't anger so much easier to deal with! You know how to be angry – after all, you've been angry for years… Since Daddy abandoned you and then came back years later like it was all okay!
"I'll start my report as soon as I've given my brother the
friendly greeting he's definitely earned!" Kallen snarled, forcing that hateful nagging voice that sounded amazingly like her step mother back down. Ignoring Tanya's sudden look of confusion, Kallen stalked past the girl and over to the table, dropping down into the empty seat across from Naoto.
"Hey there, Sis," Naoto smiled as he greeted her. He sounded a bit raspy, but his voice was still strong. Surprisingly, something about it reminded Kallen of their father.
And just like Dad, he's trying to push me away and leave me alone. Dammit, Naoto!
Kallen took a breath, but found the calming technique didn't reduce her anger in the slightest. It did, however, chill the molten rage she felt at Naoto running off to endanger his life yet again while insisting she remain safe and secure in the Manor that certainly wasn't home to the Stadtfeld family, to say nothing of the Kozukis.
"I bet you didn't think about Mom at all when you decided to work yourself to death, did you?" Kallen began, ignoring his greeting. "I'm sure there were always very important things to do instead of sleeping, and surely taking the time to shower and eat would have led to the final victory of Britannia."
Taking another breath, Kallen continued her tirade, venting three months of worried anger and loneliness. "You promised me, Naoto! You promised me you'd treat me like an adult and stop trying to leave me safe at home! You promised me I'd be a part of this! And then you just dropped off the map for almost three months! Inoue only ever gave me the big picture, but even then I still knew you were risking your life and overworking yourself, just like always!"
Abruptly as always, Kallen's anger burnt itself out, leaving her with the ashes of numbing grief and a sense of emotional exhaustion.
I can't stay angry at him… He's worked himself to the bone for months for Japan, and for me and Mom, but…
"Why didn't you ask me for help?" Kallen asked, voice low and uncomfortably husky, "Why don't you ever ask me for help? What the hell is the point of winning our freedom if you're not there to enjoy it with me, Big Bro? I know I had my own work, but… I could've helped out, somehow. And Mom's worried sick, Naoto. First you didn't call when the Christmas thing went down, and then you didn't call her for the next four months… You haven't visited her since October, Naoto…"
After a moment, Naoto slowly reached out across the table and took one of Kallen's hands between his own. Kallen was tempted to jerk her hand away from her brother, to reject his touch, but the angry impulse faded away almost immediately. His hands were surprisingly cool against her own, considering how warm the apartment still was in the heat of the late afternoon.
"I'm…" Naoto swallowed slightly before continuing, his speech slow and slurred slightly with fatigue. "I'm sorry, Kallen. I'm sorry that I didn't keep you informed, and I'm sorry that I've been so crap at reaching out to communicate. And… I'm sorry that I've been leaving you and Mom alone for so long. I'll have to reach out to her, see what I can do…"
Almost convulsively, Naoto closed his eyes and swallowed hard, throat visibly working as he sought to master himself. Kallen felt an urge to comfort him, but held fast in her resistance. She was, she reminded herself, still angry with him. It was hard to remember that anger when she felt his hands squeeze hers for a moment before relaxing.
Did… Did his hands always shake like that?
Just as the younger Kozuki was starting to get a bit worried about what was going on in her idiot brother's head, his eyes flickered open. The tiredness was still there, but below it was a familiar firmness, the same that she remembered from childhood arguments when she'd tried to follow her brother out into the streets at night. Her heart sank slightly; she had never managed to convince Naoto to let her follow him into danger back then either.
"But I am not sorry about leaving you out of my work in Shinjuku, Kallen. I should have kept talking to you - you're right, I screwed up. But you and I both had jobs to do, and both of them were important. The money your articles brought in was crucial." Naoto's voice was unyielding and unhurried as he presented his case. It was, Kallen realized, like hearing her father speak when he had made up his mind about something - a statement almost more of inevitabilities than possibilities.
Implacable tone or not, Kallen wasn't intimidated by Naoto's attempt to crib notes from their father's speech patterns and tried to interrupt, but Naoto rolled right over her attempt to voice an objection as he continued to speak. "You wanted to be treated like an adult, right? Well, this is what it looks like, Kallen! You don't like your job? Tough. There's nobody else who has the right background or connections, so you don't have much of a choice. I can find plenty of people who are just as good or better than you at fighting – I can't find anyone else who can listen to bratty nobles gossiping without suspicion, or who can put sympathetic stories out into the Britannian media environment!"
"Well, what about finding someone to take care of you, Naoto?!" Kallen shot back, yanking her hand free of her brother's grasp as she angrily came to her feet, hands planted on the table and leaning over her still seated brother. "Did you think about that, huh? Look at you, you're a fucking mess! Everybody I saw coming into Shinjuku looked like they'd gained weight since I was last here, but you look like you've lost ten kilos, and you didn't have much to lose to begin with!"
Any concerns Kallen might have had about making a scene in front of Tanya and Ohgi had been shattered by Naoto's seeming inability to understand just how
fucking concerning it was to watch your beloved older brother work himself to death. "You fucking idiot, Big Bro! Don't you see you're risking your life here? How the fuck are you gonna help Japan if you're too weak to lift a gun!? What the fuck do you think I'd do if you died, you… You stupid idiot!"
"Anything for the Cause. Anything for a free Japan. Isn't that right, Kallen?" Naoto smiled wryly up at Kallen as he threw Tanya's words, the phrases that had served as her mantra through the endless annoyances of Ashford Academy, back in her face. "Every hour our people are enslaved is one hour too many – a few sleepless nights isn't so heavy a price to pay."
It was, in Kallen's opinion, a low blow to invoke the logic Tanya had used to convince her to stay in Ashford in their current fight.
I just want you to take care of yourself and let me help you, you fool! Can't you see that? Before she could say, or more accurately scream, her thoughts right back into Naoto's face, both Kozuki siblings were distracted by the flat
crack of an open hand slapping down on the table between them.
As one, both Kozukis turned and looked at the very unimpressed blonde standing next to them. "Now that I have your attention," Tanya began, looking from Naoto to Kallen and back, "please wrap up this touching family reunion and get to your report, Kallen."
Internally cursing her fair skin once again as she felt the radiant heat of embarrassment spread across her cheeks and neck, Kallen coughed and straightened up, looking away from both Tanya and Naoto. "Fine, I think I've made my point." She hesitated for a moment, but turned back to Naoto and muttered "It's good to see you again, Big Bro… Looks like you've accomplished a ton. Good work."
Naoto smiled at her, leaning back in his chair and slouching into a more relaxed position as the tension eased. "Thank you, Kallen. I know you've been really busy too, so how about you tell Tanya all about the progress you've made?"
Accepting the implicit peace offering, Kallen lowered herself back into her seat as Tanya joined them at the table. She had to focus. Now that all the pleasantries, including a chat with Big Bro, were done with - Kallen closed her eyes -
I have a job to do.
Letting herself sink fully into her insurrectionist persona for the first time in months, she mentally peeled away all other aspects of her character; sister, daughter, diligent student and junior reporter. Trying to return to the purity of purpose she'd felt standing in that gruesome subway station, to the moment when Tanya had demanded the deaths of everybody who still drew breath.
I am a professional, doing whatever I must for The Cause. Japan will live again.
The Revolutionary opened her eyes, and nodded towards her commander. "Over the last three months, I have made significant inroads into the student social scene of Ashford Academy, in large part due to association with the Ashford Gazette. I have further deepened my connection with Rivalz Cardemonde and worked to bring him deeper into the Rising Sun's fold. Unexpectedly, improving my relationship with him has also boosted my social status at the Academy."
Tanya's eyes sharpened with interest, and she unconsciously leaned slightly in towards Kallen. "I was under the impression that Mister Cardemonde was the ne'er-do-well son of minor nobility. But if associating with him is improving your public profile, there must be more to him than meets the eye."
"Just so," Kallen nodded, "in fact, it turns out that Cardemonde isn't even his real name; apparently, his parents despise each other, and he sided with his mother and took her maiden name. Despite this lack of family unity, he somehow got onto the Student Council as the secretary."
Kallen suddenly hesitated, realizing that Tanya probably didn't understand why that was important or surprising.
She didn't even get to the sixth grade before the Conquest, so there's no way she'd know what an ordinary student council does, much less understand Ashford's true center of power! Though why does this logic sound so hollow here? Anyway…
"So," Kallen began, speaking slowly as she tried to explain why a group of students had so much power without sounding silly, "in most schools, the Student Council isn't very important. They mostly handle extracurricular matters, school events, and maybe some light administrative work. At Ashford Academy, Milly Ashford is the Council President, and since she's the Principal's granddaughter, she can more or less do as she pleases. Which means that the Council can open or shut clubs, dole out discretionary budgets, proclaim new events on a whim… Even disrupt classes if she pleases."
Kallen paused for a moment, then decided to hammer the point home. "Sitting on the Council is a big deal, which makes Rivalz being involved a surprise."
Honestly, that doesn't even begin to cover it. If push comes to shove, they've got more authority than the teachers themselves. The Principal indulges Milly way too much…
"So," Tanya began, frowning in concentration, "this Student Council has real power, despite being populated by students, and somehow a social nonentity like Mister Cardemonde ended up on the board. And because of his prestigious position, as well as his access to the budgets, you are benefitting from being publicly associated with him?"
"Partially," Kallen nodded, "He also has a generally friendly personality, and seems to know everybody to one degree or another. So everybody knows and generally likes him in return. Unfortunately, my association with him hasn't been a complete plus…" Kallen paused for a fortifying breath, and continued. "So, it somehow got out that I was with him when he got hurt. Worse, he must have told someone all about our trip on Christmas, because everybody knows that I was the one responsible for him being in the Honorary Britannian district on Boxing Day in the first place."
"…Judging by your lack of urgency, I assume that your cover is still intact despite this?" Tanya inquired, raising a dispassionate eyebrow. Despite her cool tone, Kallen could detect a faint note of concern.
Whew! She's not angry!
"Yes. No need to worry about that." Kallen confidently replied, "No, the real problem with that information getting out was Milly, just like it always is with anything that happens in that damned Academy. It turns out that 'Miss President' didn't like having one of her private toys damaged." Kallen hesitated, torn between her dislike of the Ashford heiress and her duty to report what she had seen to her leader as accurately as possible. After a moment, her duty won out, and the student insurgent reluctantly admitted the truth. "Actually, that's… Not quite right. As much as I don't want to give her any credit, I think my original opinion of Milly might have been… wrong. Partially."
"She is definitely a spoiled brat who has no idea how good she has it. She's way too handsy, and she loves manipulating people – so she's definitely a Britannian noble – but…" Kallen sighed, irritated with herself as well as the absent noble.
Dammit! I hate being wrong! "But she really does seem to care about the students at her family's school. At least," she hedged, "when she's not the one messing with them."
Shortly after the New Year, Kallen had dropped by the Student Council's clubhouse to drop off some forms regarding the school paper's budget. Almost the instant she had entered the Council's meeting room, Kallen had come face to face with Milly Ashford. The blonde's typical leering smile was nowhere to be seen, and before she knew what was happening, Kallen found herself maneuvered into a side room for a "quick chat" over tea.
The ensuing interrogation had been surprisingly competent and thorough. For the first time, Milly hadn't made a single joke or a pass at Kallen, and had kept her wandering hands by her sides. While the lack of casual sexual harassment had been a welcome surprise, Kallen found that she almost preferred it to the icy formality.
I never realized that being called "Lady Stadtfeld" could feel less comfortable than "Hot Stuff". Ugh…
After serving tea without so much as bothering to ask how Kallen took it -
"Two sugars, isn't it? No need to bother, I already know" - Milly had, in the politest terms possible and with the cold confidence of a queen on her throne, demanded an explanation.
"Did you have any idea what you were doing, Lady Stadtfeld?" Despite the blonde's perfect genteel poise - little finger primly extruded as she sipped from her cup, Kallen was somehow intimidated. "I suspect not - after all, what finely bred lady would knowingly hare off to a violence-racked common neighborhood with only a fellow student for company?"
The cup had clicked against the bone-white china saucer, and Kallen fought the anger that instinctually rose to counter her worry. 'Either you are not a true noble daughter of Britannia,' the insinuation hung in the air like the Sword of Damocles, 'or you acted in a singularly foolish manner. Which was it, Lady Stadtfeld?'
Kallen had answered truthfully and told Milly that she had known that some Honorary Britannians had been attacked, and that she had seen the smoke rising, but she hadn't known how intense the violence had been. She had been equally truthful in stating that she certainly hadn't intended to expose Rivalz to anything like the aftermath of a murder, leaving out the detail that the exposure had been a net positive for her and an unexpected bonus to bringing Rivalz along with her.
"So you truly were a fool." The rebuke had cut surprisingly deep. For a moment, it wasn't Milly chiding Kallen for her choices, but the faceless lady-in-waiting who had tutored her in noble etiquette and conduct on the orders of her father.
Thankfully, Milly had decided to believe her protestations that she hadn't expected anything along the lines of a public lynching. Instead, the student president had settled for explaining how unhappy she was with the risk to members of her student body, and with how concerned she was about Rivalz, who apparently was having trouble sleeping now. Kallen had made the appropriate noises of concern and sympathy, trying her best to indicate her submission and contrition until the Ashford heiress's harangue finally wound down.
Just as the tea had grown cold and Kallen had been certain that the conversation was over, Milly had managed to well and truly undermine Kallen's understanding of her character. While the head of the student council was just as cold and formal as she had been throughout their little
tete-a-tete, she had rather directly asked Kallen if
she was okay in the aftermath of her experience, and if she needed any legal or medical help.
"Fool or not, you're a student of Ashford as well, Lady Stadtfeld," Milly pointed out, "and as the elected head of the student body as well as the granddaughter of the Director, it is my job to make sure that you are happy, healthy, and ready to learn." Milly had reclined back into her chair, hands tented below her chin. "If you need help with anything, even the consequences of your own poorly thought out actions, I'm here for you. Besides…" A hint of Milly's usual smirk touched her face for an instant, "some mistakes can be pretty fun, just as long as you don't get caught."
Initially, Kallen thought that this was another veiled threat, one too subtle for her to pick up, but Milly's concern had bled out around the icy noble mask.
Plus, the fact that she just slipped up and made yet another sex joke makes it unlikely that she's actually some sort of social chessmaster. Kallen could only conclude that she was, in fact, sincere, and that somewhere along the way she had misunderstood Milly Ashford. She was still a pain in the ass, overly talkative and likely a pervert, but she wasn't the cold-hearted manipulator Kallen had thought she was.
They had returned to the meeting room in silence. Kallen had quickly handed over the documents that had brought her to the clubhouse in the first place to Shirley Fenette, the Council's treasurer, before all but fleeing from the seat of Milly's power as quickly as she could without abandoning the pretense of ladylike behavior.
"…So, I managed to dodge any official punishment," Kallen summed up, "although Milly's been a bit distant since then. She was actually cold enough to me in public on a few occasions to get some idiots gossiping about what had happened between us, but after Rivalz started improving, she just got distant." Kallen shrugged, still not entirely sure how she felt about the development. On one hand, it meant Milly had stopped trying to grope her whenever they met; on the other, it was almost certain that Milly wouldn't be passing any information along, much less taking her into her confidences and giving her access to the Academy's files.
Pity, that. And just when Milly finally showed a trace of not being a complete bitch too.
"Fortunately, seeing something real for the first time in his life wasn't enough to scare Rivalz off. He approached me right before the first weekend in February and asked if the people from the neighborhood we'd visited still needed help, and if he could do anything."
Rivalz hadn't been subtle in his approach either. Just as Kallen had been making her way out of the Science Wing at the start of the lunch period, he had stepped out of the crowd of milling students and asked her whether or not the place they'd been at still looked like charred garbage.
The very public question had left Kallen momentarily shaken and unsure how to answer; and just like always, the younger Stadtfeld had immediately responded to uncertainty with anger. "He was really lucky we were in public, or I might've knifed him," she admitted, shaking her head ruefully. "I thought he was mocking me, or trying to make me look like a sympathizer in front of everybody. I mean, who asks something like that in front of an entire crowd of gossipy students, right?"
Kallen had thankfully managed to master her anger before she'd lashed out. She'd automatically uttered some vague platitude to publicly answer Rivalz's question, hopefully heading off any curiosity from the onlookers, before making a bid for privacy by asking if he wouldn't mind joining her for lunch. The susurration of not-so-quiet whispers from the ring of students very deliberately not looking their way at the invitation had nearly been enough to set her off again, but fortunately Rivalz's jerky nod of acceptance drew her attention back to the main priority, and to her mission.
The lunch conversation had been a tense situation for all involved. Rivalz had been twitchy and uncharacteristically irritable, and while Kallen was no longer as on-edge as she had been early on in her career as a spy, the fear of discovery remained a constant companion. Neither ate well, picking at their respective meals as Kallen tried to fill Rivalz in with as many details as she could without sounding suspiciously well-informed. To her pleased surprise, not only did Rivalz no longer look haunted by his month-old trauma, he seemed determined to truly join the organization he nominally headed in helping out the poor and destitute of Tokyo.
"I told him a bit about the Rising Sun," Kallen recounted, "but since he was the first Britannian noble to actually take an interest, I also told him a bit about how the rot went way beyond just the public beatings and the mob violence." The noble half-Britannian shrugged, somewhat bashful under Tanya's approving look, "It wasn't a hard sell – everybody knows how corrupt some of the nobles are, since they don't bother hiding it."
"Anyway," Kallen continued briskly, "while he definitely agreed that noble corruption was a problem, he didn't get how it related to what we'd seen. I explained that one of the Rising Sun's problems was getting enough money to pay the bribes we needed to get food and supplies to the Honorary Britannians. He understood that easily enough - handouts are universal, after all - but it took some effort to explain how the petty street level stuff isn't the real issue. I mean, I hadn't really expected him to know that only Britannians could file permits for public assembly and food distribution with the Tokyo Settlement Administration, like what I did while setting the Rising Sun up, but it was difficult to explain to him why this was a problem."
It had been a long conversation, one that extended beyond the lunch period and into a meeting in a café after school. Rivalz's unflagging interest had been flattering, in an odd way. The usual goofy behavior slipped out now and again, but for the most part he had remained laser focused on Kallen's descriptions of how the Area's system was set up to hamstring any effort to improve the lives of any but the powerful.
Teaching a Britannian noble to critically examine the society he had been raised in had been a novel experience for the half-Japanese girl as well. To her gratified surprise, while Rivalz occasionally displayed the casual racism inherent to Britannian culture, he didn't seem to mean any of it particularly personally. Each time he had said something about "the Elevens", Kallen had pointed out that the Honorary Britannians were of the same stock as the Numbers, but by Rivalz own admission were hard workers and worthy citizens of Britannia. Thankfully, Rivalz hadn't pushed back on these assertions, and had seemed preoccupied and thoughtful by the time Kallen had bid him goodbye.
"It was strange," Kallen admitted, "meeting a Britannian who really seemed to want to help out. I don't know if he really got everything – I caught him staring at my chest a few times, and sometimes I think he was just nodding along, but he really seemed to want to help out."
Naoto looked vaguely murderous, bloodshot eyes narrowing with irritation. "Did he do anything but look? Boy or not, noble or not, if he does, you tell me about it and…"
"And what, deny the Rising Sun the benefits of having another Britannian agent – this one full-blooded – with money and access?" Her professional persona slipped away for a moment as Kallen turned to her brother, unimpressed with his interruption. "Even if he had, you were too busy not answering my texts to do anything! Besides, Mom told me all about what you and Ohgi got up to in high school, so you've got no right to give me or Rivalz any crap!"
Making a vague warding gesture, Naoto leaned back in his chair, away from Kallen. "Alright, alright, geez. You know how to handle yourself, I got it. Just… Let me know if you need help or anything, okay?"
With a huff, Kallen turned back to Tanya and smiled apologetically. "Anyway, I figured that having someone else on board who could help me purchase supplies would be a good thing – besides, the fact that Rivalz already has a driver's license meant that he could rent trucks too, further increasing his value."
"Not to mention his value as a high value courier," Tanya mused, "between that motorcycle of his and his noble status, he would be highly mobile and likely above suspicion. Certainly not likely to be targeted for random harassment or searches, at least."
"That's a good idea," Kallen nodded, pleased that Tanya at least was focusing on important matters, "But my greatest concern was frightening him off by dumping too much responsibility on him at once, so I started slow. I told him about the communal dinner coming up the next Friday and invited him to attend. I told him he could just help serve and maybe talk to the people who came, listen to what they had to say."
That first meeting had set the hook. Rivalz had been somewhat stiff and standoffish at the beginning of the dinner, an attitude somewhat reflected back by the Honorary Britannians who were understandably wary of any strange Britannian appearing amongst them.
Fortunately, as he'd grown more comfortable with dishing out the chicken and vegetable soup, Rivalz had unbent, and by the end of the evening was eagerly helping out with the cleanup and chatting amiably with a number of Honorary Britannians. He'd even gone as far as helping out a small boy with his Britannian homework, correcting grammatical mistakes and complimenting the kid on his handwriting.
"After the third meeting, I approached him for a potential interview for the Ashford Gazette," Despite her certainty that it had been a good idea, Kallen found herself feeling slightly apprehensive; it had been a risky decision for a number of reasons, and it could still blow up in their faces even now, months later. "Considering his noble heritage, friendly personality, and social connections, I figured that Rivalz would be a good tool for recruiting other potentially sympathetic Britannians. Besides, I hoped that having a relatively clean-cut young Britannian noble speaking on the record about the Rising Sun would help bring in donations."
Realizing she'd begun to nervously accelerate, Kallen took a breath and forced herself to slow down. So far, Tanya hadn't shown any reaction to her decision, neither positive or negative. The almost feline inscrutability was getting under Kallen's skin, but she saw no other option but to plow on with her explanation. "He agreed to the interview, and I wrote a nice puff piece around a few quotes. I made sure to emphasize his noble heritage and paternalistic motivations. I couched it all on the idea that since Honorary Britannians are legally Britannian citizens, improving their lives will accelerate their integration into the Area's culture and economy."
Across the table, Tanya was still sphinx-like in her lack of expression. Kallen gulped slightly, and made her final push. "And… I took a picture of him patting one of the Honorary Britannian kids on the head while I had the boy hold up his Britannian workbook up to the camera, complete with the mother thanking Rivalz from the other side of the frame. Trying to emphasize the idea of the 'Noble Civilizing Britannian Gentleman', y'know… Surrounded by the people he's teaching to be good Britannians…"
To Kallen's great relief, Tanya finally nodded. Just once, but enough to lift a weight from Kallen's shoulders.
Yes! She's on-board! Kallen hadn't been afraid of Tanya's wrath; the idea that her friend would actually get angry at her over a reasonable decision she'd made was laughable. The prospect of her best friend and mentor's disappointment had been, on the other hand, a real source of worry for Kallen since the day of the interview.
Before Kallen could fully release the anxiety that had haunted her for the past two months, Tanya spoke up. "You do realize," the leader of the Kozuki Organization pointed out conversationally, "that publicizing Mr. Cardemonde's connection to the Rising Sun Benevolent Association, a charity group catering to Japanese and Honorary Britannians, has likely demolished any future the boy might have had in any position of power, and may also have brought him to the attention of state security organizations?"
"Yes, I do," Kallen replied firmly.
And I've been planning for that question for weeks now! "I also understand the danger that publicly connecting Rivalz to the Rising Sun poses to both the Rising Sun, and to me personally. But I thought the risk was worth it, in part because of some factors that I don't think you've considered, Tanya."
"Well, you are the Britannian specialist here," the other girl mused, "so you're probably correct about that. What factors am I missing, Kallen?"
"First, you don't fully understand Britannia." Kallen hoped that statement hadn't been too confrontational; it hadn't sounded quite that aggressive when she'd recited it in her head.
Too late now. "I'm not trying to be insulting," she hedged, trying to walk back the extra assertiveness a bit, "but your Britannian parent wasn't around when you were little and your only real exposure to Britannian culture before we met was through the School for Elevens. So… You've really only seen Britannian culture from the outside and through propaganda."
Tanya stilled for a moment, before nodding. "I learned many things from the School for Elevens, but few of them have proven to be true." She smiled slightly, and almost looked… nostalgic? "I think it was the only time I've ever been happy to be a blonde."
Was… was that a joke? On the rare occasions Tanya wandered away down tangents, it was difficult to tell how seriously she meant anything that she said. While Kallen could usually pick up on the other half-Britannian's frequently dry humor, the sometimes-whimsical tone of her recollections made it tricky to tell the difference between sincerity and a subtle joke.
Still beats the times she just stares off into space though.
"Anyway," Kallen bulled on through the awkward pause, determined to continue her explanation, "Britannian culture is nowhere near as monolithic and united as the government makes it out to be, and I'm not even just talking about class stuff either. The Empire covers something like a third of the world, and Pendragon can't have eyes everywhere. There's lots of regional differences across the Areas, some dating all the way back to before they were Areas. Especially in the other new Areas, like Area Ten."
"And that's not even factoring in all the noble politics," Naoto butted in, "The way Father talks about it, there's lots of competition in the nobility, some of it tied to stuff like backing different noble or imperial heirs, some of it tied to more philosophical divides. Lots of the families that talk about the "civilizing power of Empire" are just using ideology as a way of joining a court clique - gotta talk the talk in public to really prove your membership. They're doing it for the same cynical reasons they do everything else - access to power, signaling loyalty, all that bullshit."
"But," Naoto leaned forward, resting his arms against the table, "while every noble's a bullshit artist, not all of them are purely liars. At least, not all the time. There are lots of nobles who truly believe in the 'Britannian Burden' to civilize the world, both here in Japan and back in the Homeland, for one reason or another. Most nobles are cynical about that idea, but plenty are sincere enough to pony up cash to support charitable efforts."
"Plenty are sincere, but that doesn't mean that they don't have some sort of angle," Kallen muttered, snorting contemptuously. "It's the old carrot and stick thing, and the Purists have the stick all staked out. Plus, since the Purists are all about keeping Honorary Britannians out of the military, all of the other factions at court have a reason to keep up the Honorary program."
"So that's where your donations came from?" Tanya nodded, apparently answering her own question. "That's very interesting indeed… Playing different noble factions off one another and using philanthropy as an instrument of political power…" Tanya's voice tapered off, and for a moment she looked right through Kallen, before blinking and coming back. "Please continue, Kallen."
Emboldened, Kallen did just that. "Second, I think that making Rivalz's involvement public on our terms was beneficial for multiple reasons. If someone found the documents I'd filed with the Administration and started wondering why Rivalz wasn't bragging about sponsoring a charity for the social cachet, that could have been a problem. Also, if people thought he was trying to keep it quiet, they might have started wondering if it would be good blackmail material, which might have led to more people asking questions."
"Best way to deal with a trap is springing it on your own terms," Oghi opined, nodding approvingly at Kallen, "now people will just think he's just a young idiot trying to impress a girl through volunteer work, especially if he keeps being seen in public with our very own 'Lady Stadtfeld'."
"Exactly! Also, having a Britannian face for the Rising Sun will likely lower suspicion about it in general. If everybody's thinking of it as a noble's ego project, they won't notice that the rest of the organization's members are Japanese – Numbers, not even Honoraries!" Kallen beamed at Ohgi, happy enough that he'd seen where she was going to ignore his use of her official title. "Rivalz is also just a goofy enough guy that I think anybody looking into him will think that he's a fool – the fact that he actually is a fool will definitely help sell that impression. And then, they'll dismiss him and the Rising Sun as anything important."
Naoto laughed at the last point. "Harsh, little sister! There's no need to burn our illustrious chairman like that!"
Ignoring her brother, Kallen laid out the final, more personal reason she thought the danger was minimal. "Third… I don't think that anyone's going to investigate me on just suspicion alone. My – our – family," she gestured at Naoto, "are a bit more important than Rivalz's family. Dad's got lots of… friends, both here and back in the Homeland. Nobody's going to mess with me unless they've got something more solid than student journalism. Not on my own account, at least. Dad might have some enemies… I dunno…"
Kallen shivered under Tanya's suddenly cold stare, and practically wilted with relief when that alien glare moved on to her brother, before freezing back up as it swung around to her. "You know," Tanya mused contemplatively, "there are plenty of questions which I'd like to have answers for in regards to your father, but it occurred to me that powerful men rarely enjoy having their secrets spread without their permission."
Tanya's eyes, blue as the Pacific and equally cold, moved back to Kallen's brother. "I have held myself back, partially out of that concern, but also out of the trust I have in both of you. That said, this latest move goes beyond passive intelligence gathering in the Britannian sphere; it touches on politics. Naoto, I trust you and your sister, but I cannot operate blindly here. Is there anything that I should know, or need to know, about your father?"
Naoto shot a quick look at Kallen, though Kallen didn't know what for, before turning back to Tanya and shrugging. "He's ex-military, and apparently had a pretty good record before he retired. He hasn't told me much about his career, and I didn't ask before he left us the first time, or when he came back to bring Kallen into the fold. I know we've got some uncles and aunts back in the Homeland that I've never met. I just know that they were the ones who pressured him to marry the bitch, even though he's the head of House Stadtfeld." He shrugged again. "Apart from that… I dunno, he's pretty busy back in the Homeland. Lots of irons in the fire. Who knows what he's up to?"
Something seemed to click behind Tanya's eyes. The glacial chill disappeared, replaced by a calculating stare that vanished almost instantly, masked by her typical expression of interested neutrality. "I see… Very wise."
What the hell did she just get from that? Kallen could only wonder what connection Tanya had come to from Naoto's comments.
Hopefully she'll share whatever she just learned with me.
"Kallen, you were right." Kallen blinked at the blunt admission, and scrambled for an instant to figure out what Tanya was conceding. "You had good reason to involve Mr. Cardemonde in publicizing our group, and doing so forwarded our aims. I'll admit, you had a better grasp of the situation and its risks than I did. Please," she gestured, "continue your report."
Kallen took a moment, trying to remember where she'd been in her report before the tangent.
Something about the interview… "Ah, that's right. So, there was a dangerous moment at the fourth meeting Rivalz showed up to. I thought he was busy helping out with the dishes, so I'd gone to check in with Inoue about how things were going in Shinjuku, because
someone" Kallen glared at her brother for a moment, "wasn't telling me anything. Unfortunately, Rivalz finished cleaning up faster than I had expected, and he walked right in on our conversation. Our
Japanese conversation."
It had been a heart stopping moment for Kallen, and probably also for Inoue. They had gone a block down from the park where the weekly communal meal was served and around a corner to talk, but some helpful fool had pointed Rivalz their way when he'd asked where Kallen had gone. It had been yet another of the many times Rivalz had unknowingly avoided death at Kallen's hand – when Rivalz had popped his head around the corner and asked what they were talking about, Kallen had frozen, trapped between the need to murder the interloping invader before he could blow her cover and the knowledge of the bloody revenge the murder of a friendly young noble would inspire.
Caught between two deeply unpalatable choices, Kallen had unintentionally given Rivalz the time he needed to unknowingly salvage the whole affair. Instead of accusing Kallen of rebel sympathies and vowing to go straight to Prince Clovis, Rivalz had immediately and enthusiastically expressed his interest and admiration of Kallen's linguistic abilities. As he'd gushed on and pestered Kallen for Japanese vocabulary, Inoue had faded into the background and slipped away back to Shinjuku with the rest of the Rising Sun volunteers.
"Looking back on it, I suspect showing interest in Japanese was part of his rebellion against his parents," Kallen hypothesized, "since he also said something about how they didn't think that a 'young Britannian gentleman' needed to learn any 'Number mumbo-jumbo.'" It wasn't an uncommon point of view, and in all honesty, it wasn't entirely wrong – the number of Japanese speakers back in the Homeland was probably very small. "At the time, though, I thought it was some kind of trick, especially when he said 'You must really love the Numbers, since you took the time to learn their lingo.'"
"It does have the hallmarks of an implicit threat," Tanya agreed, "the accusation of sympathy for the conquered implies divided loyalties or perhaps weakness. Especially if his parents taught him that learning the language of the conquered is unbecoming of the nobility."
"That's what I thought!" Kallen exclaimed, nodding in emphatic agreement. "I mean, he only told me about the language thing later, but yeah, that's why I thought it was a threat! But funnily enough, his resentment for his parents is how I got out of that whole mess - I told him I'd be in big trouble if my mother learned that I knew Japanese and was using it out in public." Kallen grinned, still pleased with her cleverness. "He was falling over himself to assure me that my secret was safe, and then started talking about his own relationship to his mother and all that. Ten minutes later, I think he'd forgotten about Japanese entirely! He hasn't mentioned it since then, and I haven't heard him say anything about it to anybody else."
"More importantly-" Blinking, Kallen twisted in her chair, looking away from Tanya and towards the other side of the table. For a moment, she'd forgotten that Naoto was still in the room, which was really a testament to how enthusiastic she had been about reporting her movements to Tanya. Now, her brother had straightened up from his exhausted slump and was bolt upright.
And oh shit, he looks really pissed. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about any of this? One of your fellow students and our pet dupe knows that you speak Japanese? And nobody thought this was worth reporting to me before Tanya came back?"
"That seems like a conversation you need to have with Inoue, and perhaps with your other lieutenants." Tanya was calmer, but she didn't look happy either. "Our organization is built on cooperation, mutual trust, and discipline. If Inoue is acting insubordinate and keeping information from you, find out why and act accordingly."
"If you don't mind my opinion," Ohgi jumped into the conversation, "and since Inoue isn't here to defend herself, I think she might have had a reason for not passing the information on to you. I'm not trying to disrespect you, Naoto, but you, uh… You look rough. You even admitted to Kallen that you haven't been sleeping very much. So, you were underslept, you had a ton of work already to handle, and what, Inoue tells you that someone might know something about your sister?" Ohgi shook his head, and patted his friend on the shoulder. "C'mon man, we both know you probably would have throttled the boy yourself, and then where would that leave us?"
Naoto sighed, and slumped back into his chair, rubbing his face. "You've got a point. Ugh… Fine, I'll be polite when I talk to Inoue. She probably had her reasons."
"Either way, we can discuss this further at a later date." Concluding the digression, Tanya turned back to Kallen. "Please, continue your report."
"Well…" Kallen hesitated, taking a moment to remember where she'd been before resuming. "Oh, right! The meeting. So…"
Inoue had, via Kallen, set up a more formal meeting with the figurehead leader of the Benevolent Association to, as Inoue had put it: "Now that he is involved, I'd best get a measure of the boy for myself." Since Inoue could only understand Britannian if it was spoken slowly and simply and Rivalz of course couldn't speak any Japanese, Kallen ended up as a third at the small meeting, acting as an interpreter.
The meeting had started off rather uncomfortably, Kallen explained to Tanya, partially due to the usual awkwardness of first introductions, partially because Inoue had spent years in a ghetto due to the Britannian Conquest and had lost friends, family, and all legal rights in the process. While Inoue was not as vocal in her enmity as Chihiro, Kallen would never mistake Inoue's calm for resignation. Fortunately, Rivalz had managed to find common ground by praising the Rising Sun's operations and asking for more details, effectively breaking the ice to the relief of everybody involved.
After the rocky start, Inoue and Rivalz had gotten along surprisingly well. Inoue was very interested in Rivalz's motorcycle, his pride and joy, and had asked after its maintenance routine through Kallen. Rivalz, for his part, had plenty of questions about the Rising Sun Association, which Inoue had answered via half-truths and stories riddled with careful omissions.
By the end of the meeting, Inoue had felt comfortable enough to ask Rivalz to bring friends with him next time he came to help with the Rising Sun.
"And at the next Friday night dinner, Rivalz brought a friend with him in the sidecar of his motorcycle," Kallen continued, "a friend who is also a member of the Student Council, so another valuable contact. But, well… he's…" Kallen floundered, trying to find the words to express just how creepy she found Lelouch Lamperouge.
"He's an oddball, that one." Even as she said it, Kallen winced.
Oddball? Oddball?! That was the best you could come up with? Dammit, Kallen! "Very smart, but he just doesn't
act right, you know? Like he's just going through the motions. All the girls at Ashford are head over heels for him, always talking about him, and I just don't get it. He always looks like he's… like he's acting, or something. At least to me."
It was humiliating for Kallen to admit that Lelouch made her skin crawl. Judging by how skinny the boy's wrists were, Kallen had no doubt that she could break him over her knee like a green stick, splintering and all. He hadn't shown any overt hostility to her at school or at the handful of Rising Sun meetings he had attended. He had in fact been scrupulously polite whenever they met, if distant and a bit formal. But still, something about him just made a voice in the back of her head scream
"Predator!" whenever they met.
"Think carefully, Kallen," urged Tanya, leaning over the table like a stooping hawk. "When did you first feel uncomfortable around him? Was it tied to any inciting event? Is there any indication that he's gathering intelligence for a third party?"
"No, dammit, nothing like that. That would be easy to explain!" Kallen all but growled with exasperation, before taking a breath in a bid to calm herself back down. "It's… It's probably nothing, but something about him just gets under my skin."
"You should trust your instincts," Ohgi noted, chiming back into the conversation from where he was leaning against the wall. "Usually, there's a reason for why we feel the way we do, even if we can't quite consciously pin it down. If someone feels dangerous, probably best to treat them like they are until proven otherwise."
"Ohgi's right about following your gut," Naoto agreed, "can't tell you how many times acting instinctively has saved my ass. You think that the Britannian hanging around Rivalz is a potential threat? You treat him like a threat until he proves otherwise."
"I'll… keep that in mind." Kallen sighed, irritated at her own paranoid jumpiness as much as she was relieved that her concerns were being taken seriously. "And I'll keep an eye on the guy. It's probably just me, but if he does show any signs of being some kind of spy…"
"...For his sake and our own, let's hope that he isn't." Tanya leaned back in her chair, her frown shifting into an irritated grimace. "He's enrolled at a school for nobles, so he's presumably from a family with the means to pay Ashford tuition and the pull to get their son into the best school in the Area. So, it seems unlikely that he'd be a spy or a police informant, at least in any sort of official capacity. If he was, I doubt his handlers would risk his noble neck by sending him out all alone. That said, a young and ambitious noble might have his own reasons for gathering sensitive information, agent of the state or not. Keep me informed, and like Ohgi said, trust your instincts." Kallen nodded her agreement and Tanya waved at her to continue.
"That covers the basic details of my last few months at Ashford," Kallen concluded. "Thanks to Rivalz, I've made a few more connections, I've continued to solidify my reputation with the student paper, and Milly's backed off a bit. Which brings me to my work out of school with the local papers."
"So," Kallen began, "I had some success doing freelance work, submitting articles to several papers and magazines across the Area. Mostly, I was just writing down and compiling society gossip I picked up at Ashford, but I also sold some articles about local news from the Tokyo Settlement. And those local news articles actually got me a bit of a break in… late January, I think.
"The editor of a local paper offered me an ongoing contract for an article a week on local news, with the option to publish more if they liked anything I sent in." Kallen grimaced, the small victory somewhat bitter in her mouth. "I want to say that he really liked my work, but I think this was Diethard Reid's influence more than anything else."
"The reporter? Well, at least he pays his debts," Tanya muttered after Kallen nodded in confirmation. "It's still an achievement,
quid pro quo or not. Congratulations on establishing a steady relationship with a publication, Kallen."
"It's not that impressive," Kallen demurred, flushing slightly at the praise, "It's just a piecework deal, honestly. But I did manage to get a few articles that touched on more serious topics published in February, mostly about the new zoning allowing for industrial construction in some of the former Honorary Britannian neighborhoods and the ongoing wage problem. I threw in some hand wringing about the sudden rash of Leveler graffiti all over the Tokyo Settlement too, just to mix things up a bit so I didn't look too anti-Administration."
Tanya raised an eyebrow. "Leveler?"
"A banned Britannian political movement," Naoto explained. "They've been outlawed for centuries, and probably don't exist anymore, but the nobility still hate and fear them. Not a huge surprise, since their whole platform is the redistribution of wealth and the abolition of social rank."
"Basically that," Kallen confirmed. "Probably just some idiots with a can of paint or two." She carefully didn't remark on the way Tanya's face seemed to twist inwards on itself for a moment before the typical expressionless mask slammed back into place.
What was that all about?
"Probably," Tanya agreed, although her calm tone sounded oddly forced in Kallen's ears. "But idiots or not, it's interesting that the nobles would still be afraid of a long-dead band of political dissidents. That might indicate there's still something worth being concerned about, or it might mean that the fear of these 'Levelers' is serving some secondary purpose."
"Either way," Kallen continued with a noncommittal shrug, "the editor liked my articles enough to take a chance, so he published a three-part series I'd written about the after effects of the Christmas Incident. It helped that I didn't mention the Incident directly, since the viceregal decree banning public mention of it is still in effect. I didn't get credited for any of the three, but that might have been a blessing in disguise."
"I certainly think so," Tanya replied snappishly. "That seems a bit overt, Kallen. What did your articles say?"
"Nothing to do with us!" Kallen hastily reassured her leader, "but all the knock-on stuff, the waves that are hitting the Britannian bastards themselves."
Seeing that Tanya wasn't reassured, Kallen took a breath and tried to summarize her mini-series. "The first article was on the impact that so many small businesses going out of business all at once had on municipal taxes and property values.
"The second article was on the sudden unemployment of all the people who used to work at those businesses and the way they're not contributing to the local economy any more since they don't have any money. Also, how they're now competing for jobs that are available, driving wages down.
"The third article was on the public health impacts of all the derelict buildings. Only thirty percent had been rebuilt by late March, and all of the damaged buildings that haven't been demolished yet, are too dangerous to enter. Not to mention that some of them are full of rats and cockroaches, both of which are breeding like crazy. And, while I wasn't able to find any data about an uptick in hospital admissions, all that damaged plumbing has gotta be draining somewhere or it's just like how it was in Shinjuku, and there'll be a bunch of fetid pools as soon as the monsoon comes back."
By the time she was nearly breathless and thankfully done speaking, her audience of three looked gratifyingly impressed. "That sounds like it took a bunch of work to write, Kallen!" Ohgi praised, "Where did you get all of your information from?"
"Yes, I'm curious about how you sourced the data too," Tanya cut in. "Also, what was the readership's reaction to your series? It sounds significantly different from the typical contents of a local newspaper, especially in an Area governed by a dandy who can't stand criticism."
"Long story short, I had some help," Kallen admitted. "One of the girls from the student paper apparently helps her father with his business taxes, and knew where I should look for current tax assessment data, which led me to the plot purchase information. The unemployment figures are publicly available, if probably somewhat inaccurate. The actual analysis, though? Well, I met this girl named Nina who is apparently some kind of super genius when it comes to mathematics. I asked her for help, and she just took my data and came back a day later with everything done and neatly typed up."
The contrast between the very organized and detailed report and Nina's trembling hands as she held it up like an offering to Kallen had been very amusing. It had taken serious self-control on Kallen's part not to laugh at the shy girl when she'd handed over the thick folder holding her findings. Nina hadn't even made eye contact during the exchange - every time she had tried, she just flushed and looked away, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. "She was very helpful, and did it all for free. I even asked if she wanted a favor or something after she came back, but…" Kallen shrugged, baffled. "She just squeaked and ran away when I offered. No clue what her deal is."
"Unfortunately," Kallen continued, ignoring the juvenile chuckling coming from Naoto and Ohgi, "while the initial publication was approved, whatever part of the Administration manages the Area's media later changed its mind. That day's edition got retracted from the official archives and the paper was issued an official warning. We either got lucky or someone bribed one of the officials, so that's all that happened and I'm still welcome to submit articles to the paper. Just on different topics, since the editor made it clear that I'm on thin ice."
"Later retractions or not, it's interesting that the local media were willing to take the chance of official censure at all," Tanya mused, gazing off into the middle distance and rubbing her chin as she thought aloud. "From what I've seen of most Britannian media, they seem very solicitous for official approval. On the other hand, considering Mister Reid's eagerness to purchase your interview and photographs, there's clearly a demand for less sanitized content…"
Tanya's eyes snapped back to Kallen. "Regardless, congratulations. It sounds like you wrote a very substantive series, and I am impressed that it saw the light of day for even a brief moment. I would love to read your articles myself when I get the opportunity."
Before Kallen could stop blushing and stutter out her thanks, the tidal wave of praise rolled on. "Overall, it sounds like you have been very hard at work, Kallen. You have continued to perform exceedingly well as our eyes and ears in the Britannian world, both as a student and as a journalist. That you've managed to find the time to continue making purchases for Rising Sun, to say nothing of actually helping out at the communal dinners outside of Shinjuku, is truly impressive." Tanya paused, and to Kallen's delight, smiled with pride at her! "Well done, Kallen. Very well done."
"I-i… It's…" Kallen swallowed, eyes glued on Tanya's as she tried to suppress her fervent desire to leap from her chair and dance around in celebration at the praise.
Professional! You are a professional! If you don't act professional, Tanya won't approve! "It was nothing. I am proud to have contributed to the Organization, and to the Cause."
A snort of laughter broke her concentration, and Kallen blushed anew as she realized that she had momentarily forgotten the two men in the room, both of whom were doing a poor job hiding laughter in sudden coughing fits.
"Well, you will have plenty of opportunities to contribute even more to the Cause in the near future," Tanya replied, pausing to shoot a disdainful look at Ohgi and Naoto, sobering the pair back up. "We all will."
"Why do you say that, Tanya?" Naoto asked, exhausted jocularity receding as his eyes suddenly came alert again. "Is something about to happen?"
"I believe so," Tanya replied, before grimacing again, "but I don't know anything for certain. It's just a feeling that things are likely to get worse in Area 11 before they get better. Especially if the unemployment situation is as bad as Kallen is making it sound – lots of idle men standing around, full to the brim with ethnic tensions? That's a recipe for civil unrest if I've ever heard one. Couple that with our friends in the JLF stirring the pot out in Niigata and Toyama?"
Kallen joined Naoto and Ohgi in nodding along as Tanya continued to pontificate. "If Clovis doesn't make a big move soon, he'll start to look ineffectual and powerless. He'll look
weak, and no Britannian or politician can stand to look weak. If he doesn't look like he's able to hold the Area together, the Viceroy will have to start worrying about palace coups, or potentially being replaced by a sibling from the Homeland. After all, nothing can be allowed to endanger the flow of Sakuradite. Which means that Clovis has to make a move, and soon."
Tanya's words hung heavily in the silence of the studio apartment. Kallen swallowed hard, trying not to let the sudden anxiety spiking in her gut slip into her voice. "Sounds like we'll have a busy summer ahead of us, huh?"
Tanya smirked at that. "Oh yes, very busy indeed. Luckily for you, Kallen, I've already got plans for you. Tell me, does Ashford have a summer break? If so, when does it start?"
"Uhh…" Said Kallen eloquently, trying to remember the school calendar. "I think the end of May? Maybe the first week of June? And then it goes through the end of August."
"Good!" Tanya replied with a degree of enthusiasm Kallen found disquieting. "I would have hated for you to miss any school! Education is very important, which is why I will be sending you to The School."
Before Kallen could fully absorb that surprise, Tanya continued. "I would have liked to send you as part of one of the training cohorts, but you have amassed enough unique skills in the human intelligence field that I can't afford to give you the luxury of a standard training pace. You have three months of summer, and I want you to spend at least two of them teaching our comrades everything you can about the art of collecting gossip, sorting out useful intelligence, social interrogation, and other topics. Even information about Britannian fashion or noble culture could be useful, and should be added to the institutional knowledge of the Organization."
"But Tanya," Ohgi interrupted, "training at The School is supposed to last for three months, right? Kallen's not going to be able to get up to scratch in only a month, and you know Onoda's going to jump all over her and me if it looks like I'm showing a half-Britannian, and worse a half-Brit girl, any favoritism!"
"Lucky for her, she'll have an instructor ready to give her personal attention for the next month before she has to leave," Tanya reposited, smirking at Ohgi from her chair before turning back to Kallen. "I know that, despite your skills as an intelligence gatherer and now as a journalist, you feel you are a warrior at heart, Kallen. Well, far be it from me to push you down a career track you don't want to follow."
Tanya looked over at Naoto, before turning back to Kallen and continuing. "You have proven yourself to me in the past – I remember your sterling performance in Shinjuku-gyoemmae. That said, standards have evolved, and if you want to fight, you require further training. I know it's a significant ask, but-"
"I'm in." Kallen interrupted Tanya mid-sentence for the first time since they had sat on a dusty Shinjuku curb.
Fuck no, you're not talking yourself or me out of the fight! "I'm part of this, and…" Kallen chuckled. "Well, I saw the two gorillas you've got downstairs guarding this place, and I bet I could take either of them! No way your fancy School is that tough – I remember our training, and I've had tougher P.E. coaches!"
The goading worked. Tanya's eyes narrowed, even as Oghi began to laugh and Naoto snorted something that sounded suspiciously like "Cherry! Hah!"
"Well then," Tanya began, voice silky with menace, "let me tell you a bit more about The School, and what we'll have to do to get you ready to graduate with flying colors in a month so you'll be ready to start your teaching career…"
---------
An hour later, Kallen waved goodbye to the gorillas on guard as she made her way through the lobby of the apartment building. One of the pair, the one known to her as Trainspotter, had started to grin and wave back before freezing in place as Tanya trotted down the stairs behind her.
It was almost irritating, the way Trainspotter's attention immediately shifted to the other girl, but Kallen was more interested in how different both men's bearings became the moment their commander walked into sight. Before Tanya had taken two steps into the lobby, both men had assumed some sort of military pose, heels together and rifles held across their chests. No hint of the casual sass Trainspotter had sent Kallen's way earlier was present; both men's faces were stern and expressionless, their eyes glued to Tanya as she veered away from Kallen and towards the pair's position against a wall still pockmarked with vandalized postal boxes.
More than the tans, the muscles, and the guns, the discipline on display was proof of everything Tanya had told Kallen about The School over the last hour. Kallen hadn't doubted anything her friend had told her, but when she had said that she was "building an army in embryo," Kallen had put the emphasis on "building".
Judging by these two goons, I probably should've focused on the "army" part! She truly is making soldiers! Not that Kallen personally knew much of anything related to the army, but those stiff postures and attentive gazes looked plenty militaristic to her.
After a few exchanges of muttered dialogue Kallen couldn't quite hear, both men nodded and in unison lifted the first two fingertips of their right hands to the outside of their eyebrows, holding the strange gesture until Tanya returned it a moment later. The exchange must have been some form of salute, Kallen realized - another example of the military culture Tanya had worked to instill into her trainees.
The same example she'll be instilling into me, in a month's time… Well, it can't be any worse than learning noble etiquette after Father came back.
Turning on her heel, Tanya left the pair and returned to Kallen, the military stiffness bleeding away slightly but not leaving entirely. Kallen wondered if that stiffness, that slightly mechanical edge to her motions, had been a product of The School as well, or if it had always been there and Kallen was only noticing it after the months of separation.
"What did you say to them?" Kallen asked as Tanya approached, curious what orders her friend the pint-sized general had issued.
"I told them that their replacements would be coming in half an hour," Tanya replied, "and that as soon as Yoshi and his partner showed up, they could head over to the Meeting House for a hot meal and a cot. Tsubaki reported in earlier and said she'd gotten temporary accommodations set up for the night."
Kallen nodded. "Makes sense, I guess." She turned and started walking towards the lobby entrance as she continued talking. "I don't know if Big Bro's got any other buildings that big available, but you might want to ask. Just to keep your guys out of the way of the food handouts and all."
"Ohgi should already be discussing that with Naoto," Tanya replied, easily catching up to Kallen and falling into step with her. "After all, it would be best if our exact numbers were kept under wraps for now."
As they exited the apartment building and made their way down the street, continuing to chat about less "work related" topics, Kallen noticed Tanya starting to redden under her new tan. Which in and of itself was a bit strange, since it wasn't really
that hot now that afternoon had practically given way to evening.
Perhaps she's just used to cool mountain air and all that? But… I thought Gunma was pretty hot in the summer too?
Kallen suddenly realized that if Tanya had intended to head towards the Association's Meeting House to rendezvous with the rest of her unit, she had missed her turn. The road they had turned onto at the last intersection terminated at the nearest gate into Shinjuku, the one Kallen most often used when visiting the ghetto.
She has been gone for three months – she might have forgotten. I'd better remind her. "Weren't you going to meet up with Inoue to get some dinner? You probably should've taken the last left to get there."
There was no mistaking the way Tanya's earlier pinkness darkened to a ruddy flush. "I thought I'd accompany you to the checkpoint, just to be safe." Impressively, Tanya managed to deliver the line without a hint of whatever emotion she was clearly suppressing entering her voice.
Smiling, Kallen decided to let Tanya off the hook and accepted the younger girl's excuse. "Well, thanks. I'm pretty sure I'd be okay, and it looks like Naoto's got this area of Shinjuku on lockdown, but… Well, you can never be too safe out here. Never know what could happen when you're alone." The last sentence had been a bit too sincere, and touched a bit too closely on an afternoon Kallen would rather forget, so she forced a laugh to lighten the mood back up as she cast around for an alternative topic. "Oh, that reminds me! Have you seen the new Rising Sun symbol?"
"A new symbol?" Tanya enthusiastically leapt on the new topic, to Kallen's relief. "Did they move away from the 'light'
kanji? I thought it was perfectly serviceable."
"Well… No," Kallen admitted. "But Inoue tells me that Aina got all pissed that people weren't drawing it right, so she started making stencils and handing them out to people to mark territory. Then, someone expanded on it, and now… Umm… Ah! There's one!" Kallen pointed at a nearby wall. "Two concentric circles and the light in the center!"
"It's certainly eye-catching…" Tanya mused, walking over and peering at the red and yellow sigil with a critical eye. "The concentric circles are a nice touch. They draw the viewer's gaze into the character."
Kallen shrugged. "If you say so. I was never much for art anyway, but yeah, that's probably the point." A few seconds later, Tanya seemed to lose interest in the symbol and rejoined Kallen as she continued on her way. "My step-mother was always very annoyed that I couldn't do anything ladylike, embroidery and the like…"
For some reason Kallen couldn't fathom, a look of pure sympathy shot across Tanya's face. Almost more startlingly, the usually subdued Tanya made no attempt to disguise her emotions, and instead further broke character by reaching out and patting Kallen on the arm.
Kallen nearly tripped over her own feet in surprise.
Holy shit! I… I don't think I've ever seen Tanya initiate physical contact before! Someone's always gotta reach out to her, and she usually pretends to hate it! Kallen replayed the last few sentences in her mind, trying to figure out what her friend had so obviously resonated with. "I, uhh… Guess you're not very artistic either, eh?"
Tanya hummed noncommittally. "I wouldn't know – I haven't attempted anything I'd call 'art' in years. But… but, I have experience with people trying to force me into roles that didn't fit me." A slight, nostalgic, smile worked its way across Tanya's face. "Would you believe it, it wasn't too different from your own experience, in a peculiar way."
The reference, if that's what the cryptic comment had been, was lost on Kallen. Based on Tanya's own words and the information Ohgi and Naoto had shared with her, Tanya's mother had been a low-ranking prostitute catering to Britannian soldiers and sailors as well as Japanese laborers, before she'd been beaten to death. Tanya's education hadn't extended past elementary school, barring the month she'd spent enrolled in the Shinjuku School for Elevens. Try as she might, Kallen couldn't figure out when some fool would have attempted to force etiquette lessons onto Hajime Tanya.
I'm thinking too narrowly. "Forced into a role I didn't fit" doesn't just mean nobility. Maybe she means the School for Elevens? Or maybe… Kallen forced the disgusting thought from her mind with a shudder.
No, Ohgi said she obviously mourned her mother. That's impossible. It's gotta be the half-assed indoctrination. "Guess we really don't play by the rules, do we, Tanya?" Kallen half-joked, giving Tanya an out from the potentially fraught conversation requests for further details might provoke.
The smile slipped away from Tanya's face, and a pensive frown took its place. For a long moment, the blonde didn't answer, only trudging along in silence. Kallen walked on by her side, hoping she hadn't said something wrong, though she couldn't see how her statement would offend her friend.
We're both part of an insurgency – Tanya's the leader, for God's sake! We're well beyond playing by the rules!
"I suppose not…" Tanya's tone of voice sounded more like she was admitting to some deep transgression than agreeing with a simple statement of fact. It was clear to Kallen that they'd somehow moved away from the banal conversation she'd thought they were having. "It's strange, Kallen… I value order, I value rules, and I value organization, but…"
And suddenly, Tanya was facing Kallen, looking straight into her eyes. The nearly empty street, its small shops all closed for the day, vanished into irrelevance compared to the blonde's sudden fervor. "But this
order," The word was spat out as if it were rotten, "isn't rule-abiding! If there is a social contract, it's that the strong devour the weak and are applauded for doing so! The law is simply the gilding on the blunt instrument of military power used to force submission! This… This is a
perversion of order! It's order without rules, order as a tool for exploitation, all for the benefit of those at the top of the heap!"
Then, mercurial as she sometimes was during intense moments, Tanya's fiery passion suddenly banked. Even as it cooled, the intense heat seemed to somehow solidify in the spring air. Somehow, Kallen was sure that her fellow
hafu, her best friend and the secret master of the Rising Sun, had reaffirmed her commitment to the Cause all over again. An impression that was strengthened by the muttered coda to the rant, spoken just loud enough for Kallen to hear, less than half a meter away. "It's
wrong, Kallen. The inefficiency, the corruption, the sheer waste… It's wrong. It's all wrong."
Spellbound by that arresting gaze, full of passion and girded in a certainty of conviction, Kallen unconsciously slipped into reporter mode. "And what would you do to fix all this, Tanya? What's your first step?"
"Look around you!" Tanya gestured at the placid apartment buildings around them, all adorned with signs advertising the unofficial businesses operating on the ground floors. "We've already taken our first steps here in Shinjuku! Order where the stakeholders have direct access to the leadership and input on the decisions that affect us all! Tangible benefits for everybody who cooperates towards our goals! A place where the hungry can trade a day's labor for a full belly. Where orphans won't have to break their backs for starvation rations, sacrificing their futures a day at a time for an eternal present!" Tanya bared her teeth in a grin lacking in amusement. "Not a bad start, eh? But just a start."
Before Kallen could ask her next question, the crackle of a radio transmission burst from Tanya's backpack, surprising both Kallen and Tanya, judging by the latter's comedically wide eyes. In a motion lacking the blonde's usual finesse, Tanya swung the old backpack around and hastily riffled through the contents before retrieving a handheld radio that matched the one Kallen had seen in Trainspotter's hands earlier that afternoon.
"Backpack here. Say again. Over." The radio chirped as Tanya released the 'transmit' button, the sound oddly cheerful against the backdrop of the lengthening evening shadows. Despite her curiosity, Kallen kept quiet – Tanya probably had no idea what her people wanted either, and distracting her wouldn't make the reply come any sooner.
Fortunately, neither rebel had to wait long for a reply. "Boar to Backpack. There's a man heading straight towards you and Cherry. Mallet and I have eyes on him, but haven't approached him yet. Do you know about him? Over."
A pistol appeared in Tanya's free hand halfway through the transmission, and the knife sprang out from Kallen's compact only a second later. "Backpack to Boar, that's not one of ours. Switch to general chat. Do you copy?" As Tanya spoke, she gestured towards an alley, and with a nod Kallen darted inside and quickly checked for lurkers even as the crackling continued behind her.
Finding the alley empty except for the acrid tang of urine, Kallen waved to Tanya, who walked backwards into the alley and twisted a dial on her handset before continuing to speak. "Backpack to Ferret. Boar found a potential hostile inbound on Cherry and I. Have Boar and Mallet check to make sure he doesn't have any backup. If he does, get a count. Pass word to Trainspotter and Boxcar. Have them and their squads hustle over. If he's alone, have Boar and Mallet bag him and bring him to me. Do you copy?"
---------
Most of the lazy fools who called themselves journalists ambled through life, hoping to trip over a story worthy of publication. Diethard Reid scorned such journalists as the bottomfeeders they were. A truly great reporter, like a certain humble producer for Hi-TV, went out into the world to find the story, following leads wherever they may go, no matter the danger to life or limb.
The story was the only thing that really mattered, at least in the long view. Long after everybody had forgotten the bard's name, the song he had sung would live on.
To be the one to tell such a tale, one that will live forever, especially from first person experience… anything is worth that. Anything.
Years of stifling mediocrity had almost crushed that dream. Endless weeks and days producing tired old features with slight variations, all with the same characters and in the service of the same banal message, had almost stripped Diethard of his hopes for transitory immortality. His existence was comfortable – in Area 11, a Britannian pound went pretty far, and he had no shortage of money – but overwhelmingly and depressingly bland. An endless expanse of gray days, without a single story truly worthy of his talents as a storyteller and as a producer, had stretched out before him.
And then, Christmas had come, both for Diethard and for the Tokyo Settlement. Overnight, tensions that had been bubbling for years had mixed with alcohol and exploded into an orgy of violence. The night of arson and murder reignited a spark of interest in his empty existence. As fires raged out of control and iron rods and leather boots descended on pleading faces and pulped ribs, Diethard had scrambled for a camera crew and a van.
To his disgust, by the time he'd finally gotten the lazy bastards roused and the van on the road, all the major roads had been blocked off by soldiers. Worse yet, the Viceroy's office had been unexpectedly on top of events, banning all coverage of the events of the previous night except when permitted by viceregal decree. It had almost been enough to quash that small spark entirely.
But then by some stroke of fortune, just as he was contemplating throwing in the towel entirely, "Kallen Cardemonde" had walked right up to him in the parking lot of Nunnally Memorial and brazenly thrown tinder onto that guttering flame.
Truthfully, Diethard hadn't expected much when he began looking in on the young Lady Stadtfeld. His curiosity had been piqued by the student reporter who had seemingly effortlessly stolen an interview out from under the noses of a hospital full of soldiers, particularly since she had tried - badly - to hide her name. That said, he expected to find little of note -- just a student rebelling against her parents, a so-called "tea-house revolutionary".
In a strange way, his initial expectations had been right on the money. The girl was indeed rebelling against her father and his new wife, but that was ancillary to the real meat of the story.
Lady Kallen Stadtfeld, as the heiress of House Stadtfeld and all of its titles, properties, and holdings, was one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the Area. Despite this lofty status, little was known about the girl. She hadn't been seen at any prominent social events, and as far as Diethard could tell, had no suitors. Considering the presumed wealth of a family like the Stadtfelds, that was strange to say the least.
And so, Diethard had dug deeper into the mystery of Kallen Stadtfeld, and soon found the missing pieces of the puzzle. Kallen Stadtfeld might be the Stadtfeld heiress now, recognized by her father, but that hadn't always been the case. Bastardry wasn't unheard of, especially not when the father in question was getting on in years like the current Lord Stadtfeld, but miscegenating with a Number was another thing entirely. Admittedly, many noblemen -- and even some noble ladies – had illegitimate offspring with Numbers, but recognizing a half-Number as a legitimate heir was… intriguing.
Almost as intriguing as the other missing piece.
Nathaniel Stadtfeld, also known as Kozuki Naoto, had been born on the wrong side of the sheets, just like his sister. Unlike his sister, the man was obviously of mixed heritage, judging by the mugshot Diethard had found. The sealed police record - somehow misfiled as a juvenile file despite Kozuki's age, no doubt thanks to his sire's money - had been interesting reading. The assault charges, a few with a deadly weapon and two elevated to Grievous Bodily Harm, had been the highlights. It was obvious to Diethard why Nathaniel hadn't been legitimized, passed over in favor of his sister.
A sordid tale, but nothing spectacular; he'd seen similar stories time and again, and while it would no doubt be prime content for gossip-mongering rags, Diethard wasn't interested in such petty publications.
At least, not while I'm off the clock. The interesting part was that the younger sister, chosen over her elder brother and elevated into pure Britannian respectability, was obviously obsessed with her secret Number heritage.
It was unthinkable, and thus absolutely titillating. Diethard absolutely had to know more, had to know everything. Every hard-won newsroom instinct was screaming at him to continue his private investigation, and so he did. Her articles, even published without a credit and with his behind the scenes assistance, had so much written between the lines that the actual content was almost obscured. Her slip-up at that peculiar charity's meeting, caught on the microphone of a hidden camera - one of many scattered about the city by the more clandestine yet still incompetent parts of the viceregal administration - had been telling. Which brought him to the charity itself…
The Rising Sun Benevolent Association had mysteriously appeared several months earlier, seemingly springing up from nowhere with plentiful funding and noble backing with the mission to "provide opportunities to the people of Area 11." It hadn't escaped Diethard's notice that the sponsoring noble was a Mister Rivalz Cardemonde, nor had it been difficult to identify the young lady who had submitted the forms with the young Cardemonde's signature affixed at the Division of Public Records and Licenses.
It was clear to Diethard that the Rising Sun was Kallen's tool. What she intended to do with said tool, though, was a bit of a puzzle. Attempting to uplift Elevens wasn't going to improve her situation, and might actually reduce her standing in noble society, potentially weakening House Stadtfeld. But, if the Association wasn't a charity, what were the industrious Elevens up to? The sheer number of Rising Sun trucks passing in and out of the Shinjuku Ghetto made Diethard think of smuggling, but he couldn't find any connections to any exterior networks, making it unlikely that the Rising Sun was trafficking drugs or weapons.
Understanding had come, as it so often did to the most skilled journalist in Area 11, like a bolt from the blue. Kallen Stadtfeld's actions made no sense when considered from the point of view of a Britannian lady trying to improve her position. On the other hand, those actions made plenty of sense when Kallen Stadtfeld was ignored in favor of "Kozuki Kallen". Clearly, Lord Statdfeld had underestimated the love a little sister could have for her big brother, a love so intense - and possibly perverse, depending on how Diethard chose to spin the story - that she chose to form a criminal organization with the sole intent of installing her brother in the position of power he had been denied by their father.
Diethard could see it all so clearly, but he knew that "reporter's intuition" wouldn't be quite enough to bring the majority of the audience along with him to the seemingly obvious conclusion. He needed something to seal the deal, some piece of evidence so flagrant that nobody could doubt his undeniable narrative. He had waited patiently for his moment. He knew it would come - it would have been unfair for the world to have given him all but the last piece of the story, after all - and it eventually had when Kallen Stadtfeld had suddenly run off into Shinjuku Ghetto herself.
As soon as Diethard could, he left work and made his way to the checkpoint outside of Shinjuku Ghetto. He strode through the gates alone, a small portable video camera and a microphone tucked away in his jacket, along with his
personal portable drive, the one containing all of the unredacted copies of his articles as well as his private projects. Everything in life was, after all, up for sale, provided you had the right coin to pay the asking price - and while Diethard lacked weapons or cash, any rebel worthy of the name would understand the value of information.
Even if the rebel in question was an overly emotional schoolgirl.
Immediately after passing through the checkpoint, three roads branched out before Diethard - one heading left, another right, and the other straight into the heart of the ghetto. Without missing a beat, Diethard marched straight down the central boulevard, if such a term could be applied to any Shinjuku thoroughfare, humming a jaunty tune as he went. The throng of Elevens parted before him with barely a murmur; despite the crowd, Diethard walked in a tiny bubble of isolation. Even though he knew it was only the beaten Numbers' fear of their Britannian masters, Diethard found the experience pleasant.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a royal?
Discarding the distracting thought, Diethard noticed a figure detach itself from one of the knots of young toughs loitering on a nearby corner before pelting off down the same way he was going. Notably, the headbands that the lean band of teens wore bore a striking resemblance to the symbol painted on the signs announcing the Rising Sun charity dinners in the Honorary Britannian refugee centers. Diethard smiled - he had barely taken a dozen steps into the Ghetto, and another lead had all but fallen into his hands.
No doubt that fool's off to tell his boss all about me. I'll have to thank him for providing directions straight to the Kozukis.
Unhurriedly strolling after the runner, Diethard took the time to look around as he gave his prospective subject time to prepare for their upcoming appointment. This was far from the first time that Diethard had sought out dangerous and desperate people for interviews, and he'd learned that springing a surprise interview wasn't always the best idea.
While surprised subjects sometimes blurted out answers with less consideration than they'd typically have, it was far more likely that they would simply ignore any questions in favor of fleeing or fighting. Giving the subject enough warning to compose themselves but not enough to escape him entirely was the better tactic, in Diethard's experience.
As a result, he was entirely unsurprised when two burly Elevens stepped out of a side street and into the middle of the road a block ahead. Clearly, neither had any intention of giving way to his advance like the rest of the crowd; indeed, the pair were approaching him at a brisk pace.
Fortunately, being the best newsman in Area 11, Diethard had prepared for just such an eventuality. "Wah-tah-shee ooh ah-nah-tah noh wah-kah-ee rye-dah nee tsu-rhe-teh-it-tee koo-dah-sai" It had taken some work with an Eleven-to-Britannian dictionary a decade old, but hopefully he'd just told the welcoming party to take him to their young mistress. It was difficult, using a language he was manifestly unfamiliar with, but he hoped he'd managed to convey the proper mixture of stern demand and dutiful respect.
The thin man whose large nose bore the signs of multiple past breaks blinked and turned towards his companion, but the more portly of the two just continued forwards. Broken Nose shrugged, pulled a handset off his belt and muttered something before following his partner.
That damned dictionary was worthless!
By this point in his career, Diethard was unfortunately quite familiar with how this particular interaction would play out. He didn't mind the handful of bruises and cuts he'd likely be sporting soon – suffering was the fuel for grand art, after all — but his suit was another matter entirely. The two-piece was cashmere, the cravat was silk, and his dress shirt was 160 thread count cotton. Sadly, the two Eleven thugs looked entirely ignorant of the finer things in life, especially
haute couture. Judging by their grimey and worn rags and tags, the pair would likely rip the jacket off his back to get better access to his ribs.
Caught between a Scylla and a Charybdis, Diethard could only see one path forwards towards his goal.
By the time the two goons had closed the distance, his jacket and cravat were draped across his arm and the first two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. The jacket hung heavily, the camera and microphone still tucked away in the inner pockets; Diethard hadn't thought he could smuggle them past the guards, and any attempt to do so would be harshly punished. His personal drive, on the other hand, was squirreled away in the pocket of his trousers.
Hopefully handing over the recording equipment will convince Fatso and Broken Nose that I'm playing along.
As Broken Nose, the slightly quicker of the two goons, reached for his arm, Diethard casually handed over his jacket. The man's hand instinctually closed on the bundle of fabric and his eyes widened slightly, presumably at the slight though unexpected weight. Diethard nodded affably at the man, as if he'd simply handed over his coat to a butler at some noble mansion, before spreading his arms wide with his palms open.
If they see I'm not resisting, hopefully the beating will be over sooner.
To Diethard's surprise, the beating never came. The two Numbers were just as unwashed as he'd first thought, but they clearly were professionals of some stripe or another. Amusingly enough for Diethard, this latest detainment by 'savage' Elevens was actually one of the more civilized arrests he had endured, as well as one of the more professional. True, they were halfway carrying him down the street, but neither had administered a pre-emptive love-tap to the kidneys, like most of the bullyboys the various nobles kept on retainer.
And that's not even getting into the thugs that bastard Kenway sent after I started asking about his wife's mistress!
A minute later, Diethard found himself kneeling on asphalt beside a remarkably clean gutter, staring up into the barrel of a gun. Although the trip downward had been surprisingly gentle – neither of the two men had "helped" him fall face-first into the pavement, after all – Diethard still winced at the thought of the tar and street grit marring his expensive suit trousers.
These pants are ruined for sure… The things I do for an interview!
Anybody else, Diethard was sure, would be concerned about the gun a foot from his nose, but Diethard was more interested in the child wielding that gun. Not as much as he was about the delicate cashmere fibers of his suit pants, but it wasn't every day that he was menaced by a girl who couldn't even truly be called a teenager.
Bet she'll be a real beauty once she grows up, assuming she doesn't scowl like that all the time.
Besides his confidence in his own destiny, Diethard had no difficulty keeping his cool for another reason, threatening little poppet or not. He had graduated from the Imperial University of Colchester, and knew every journalistic trick backwards and forwards. He'd used those skills to extract stories from the shifty, the recalcitrant, and the willfully-obstructive numerous times before; this would hardly be his first hostile interview. Journalism was no trade for the easily riled, and Diethard had long since mastered the art of dramatic nonchalance. Admittedly, this was the first time he had ever interviewed a subject at gunpoint, but that was easy to dismiss. While he had no doubt that the tween menacing his perfect face would pull the trigger if he so much as twitched, it didn't really matter.
He would get Kallen Stadtfeld's story and tell it one day. He couldn't die until he'd told that grand tale. It simply wasn't an option.
Though the longer Diethard looked into the young blonde's eyes, the more difficult it was to remain confident in his control of the situation. Even though he knew in his bones that it wasn't his time to die, not when he had yet to see his name added to the pantheon of great storytellers, those cold eyes promised nothing but a short trip to the grave.
Diethard had been the indifferent recipient of many hostile looks, and plenty of people had tried to intimidate him for one reason or another. Irate nobles had glared with imperious disdain down their noses at his questioning, armored in privilege. Angry producers had fumed across boardrooms and offices, spewing forth threats to have him fired in their frustration. Any number of thugs and criminals had tried to scare him with mean looks, enough that Diethard had grown bored.
But now, I feel sweat rolling down my back… What the hell is up with this kid?
That was actually a good question. With some effort, Diethard forced himself to break eye contact with the pint-sized menace in front of him, and took a look at his would-be executioner. No hint of baby fat or roundness was present in her face, which seemed built out of sharp edges with only a handful of curves to soften the angles.
Great cheekbones, though. She might've had potential as a model. The battered old child's backpack dangling off one of her shoulders underlined her youth, as did the messy flyaway hair.
Still, she looks like she knows what she's doing with that gun…
Drawing on every day of his near decade of Fourth Estate experience, Diethard summoned up his second-best "Producer's Smile" and attempted to break the ice. "I was right, wasn't I? There's definitely a story here."
To Diethard's irritation, the young pistolero ignored him entirely, and instead turned her head slightly back and said something in Japanese. A moment later, a lighter voice replied in the same language, and Kallen Stadtfeld, heiress to the House of Stadtfeld, the Barony of New Leicester and much more excitingly, the founder of the Rising Sun Association, stepped out into the day's waning light.
Gun at his head or not, about to conduct undoubtedly the most crucial interview of his life, Diethard still couldn't help himself from needling his subject. "Doing some investigative reporting live from Shinjuku, Kallen Cardemonde? Or, should I say,
Lady Kallen Stadtfeld? Oh, but you're playing the role of an Eleven freedom fighter, so it must be
Kozuki Kallen at the moment, yes?"
To her credit, the redhead tried to conceal her shock, but Diethard was an old hand when it came to picking up tells. Her eyes had flared open with surprise for just over a second, and her stoic mask cracked for about the same length of time, but that momentary lapse spoke delicious volumes. Disappointingly, the errant noble reacted just as Diethard had expected she would when he finally showed his cards; anger flashed across her face, and the knife that Diethard hadn't even noticed in her hand was almost instantly an inch in front of his left eye.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." The anger was still there, a powerful undercurrent in her voice, but her tone was calm and collected.
So she can still control her anger, just like in December, eh? Good to see I haven't wasted my time.
"Besides the fact that you don't know how I found out about your alternate persona? You're surprisingly easy to track down,
Lady Stadtfeld," Diethard replied airily. "You should probably work on that. After all, I doubt the DSS would be as interested as I am in seeing your story arc through to the end. Luckily for you, I have the skills to help you reach that happy conclusion and am willing to help."
"Thank you for your kind offer, Mister Reid." The undercurrent throbbed, but the calm exterior shell was still holding, if barely. "Glad to see you're still just as willing as always to help a young reporter out. You held up your end of our deal the last time, which was a huge surprise, but I don't think I want anything else to do with you. But, since you helped me out before, I'll make it quick. And probably painless. Probably."
As the young Stadtfeld continued to speak, the angry pulse faded before disappearing entirely, leaving only calm certainty behind. That worried Diethard a great deal – in his experience, if someone needed to talk themselves up to an angry froth, it was equally easy to talk them back down to a more reasonable frame of mind. Kallen's dispassion, on the other hand, had an immovable quality.
A large drop of sweat rolled down his spine, all the way from his shoulders to his waist. From less than an inch away, that knife looked quite sturdy and extremely sharp. Considering the slim but visible muscles on Kozuki Kallen's arm, Diethard had no doubt that the instrument would easily smash through his sphenoid and into his brain.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go!
Before his lunatic main character could give him an amateur lobotomy, that steely eyed angel of a blonde interrupted. "Kallen, hold."
Diethard resisted the urge to blink in surprise at the accented Britannian; he'd probably have a nasty cut on his eyelid if he did.
Can't jolly well be TV ready with half an eyelid… Not unless I grew out my bangs, perhaps… Oh, she's still talking. "Diethard Reid," his enigmatic savior was saying, "of Hi-TV, if I remember correctly. What are you doing in Shinjuku Ghetto? Why are you following us? And how did you know about my associate's names?"
Her accent's strange… Now that his life wasn't immediately in danger, Diethard took a second, longer look at the nameless blonde. On second look, the girl looked older than the twelve Diethard had initially pegged her as. Although he doubted she'd lived much longer than a decade, the hand not busy shoving a pistol in his face was thick with callouses, the fingernails gray with ingrained dirt, and her arms…
Geez, I don't remember being that muscular as a kid.
From his knee-bound position, it was clear that her hair was blonde to the roots, and her eyes were wide, expressive, and only slightly almond in shape.
Definitely not Japanese, despite her fluency, but that accent's not Britannian… Is Stadtfeld consorting with foreigners too? "Ah, a European? Or, a European-Eleven halfbreed? Either way, you're pretty far from home, aren't you? You seem to know me, but I don't believe we've met." With a slight flourish, Diethard donned his "charming but non-seductive" smile, a classic when impressing children and married women alike.
"I'm aware." The tone was just as stern and unimpressed as before. Knowing a losing proposition when he saw one, Diethard let the smile slip from his face in favor of a more businesslike mask. "I was enjoying a pleasant walk with my companion, and I have a busy itinerary this evening. Do not keep me waiting any longer."
All business, eh? Well, I can play that role too. "Well, I'm glad someone's actually asking the important questions. I was intrigued by the young miss's ability to get such an emotional and explosive interview on the events of the Christmas Riots from a protected source, as well as by her canny decision to secretly record the interview, making it difficult to dismiss as false. After she took my offer and started doing stringer work, writing on subjects uncomfortable for the Area's Administration no less, I decided to find out who she really was in my free time, as a personal project."
Diethard spoke quickly, doing his best to be as detailed as possible, conscious that he remained very literally under the gun. Despite, or perhaps because of the added pressure, he felt remarkably alive, and allowed himself a proud smile as he described his efforts. Even though it had been a simple investigation by his standards, he had apparently beaten Clovis's security services to the punch while working in his spare time. "It wasn't hard – there aren't that many schools in Area 11, and enrollment records are easily accessed for a small expense. Only two schools had a Cardemonde on the rolls, and neither had a Kallen Cardemonde. However, one of those schools did have
a Kallen enrolled."
"So then what," Kallen interrupted, clearly offended. "did you just sit in a van outside Ashford all day, waiting to see if I'd show up?" Thankfully, she'd moved the knife away from his eye while Diethard had been speaking with the possible European, so he could allow himself a single smug chuckle.
"Absolutely not, Lady Stadtfeld! That's what the interns are for!" Diethard laughed, keeping an eye on the volatile noble as he continued. "No, I just accessed a little backdoor in the Tokyo Settlement's surveillance systems I happen to know about. Clovis really should vet his staff far more carefully." Diethard shrugged, an artfully careless gesture carefully refined to be both classy and aggravating. "I only had to watch an hour of sped-up recordings to find you, Lady Stadtfeld. Your hair makes you incredibly distinctive." Diethard felt his lips curving up into a smirk, but couldn't stop the impulse. It just felt so
good to really show off without having to hold back in the slightest. "You might want to work on that as well."
"Save the commentary for later and answer my questions." The blonde gestured with the pistol, as if to remind Diethard that he was still a finger's pull away from death. Diethard nodded, duly chastised.
Tell the story first, interpret it later. I'm doing educational programming right now.
"I kept an eye on her activities after that. On the surface, nothing looked too interesting – silly schoolgirl politics and charity work. The articles she was writing were much more though; subtly keeping the Imitation Britannians in the news, bringing up the meat and potato issues, including the lack of literal meat and potatoes…"
Slowly moving only his head, Diethard turned slightly away from the still-nameless girl and smiled up at Kallen, deliberately injecting just a hint of paternal pride into the expression. "And yes, I did read your series on the economic impacts of that little bit of unpleasantness – lots of 'just asking the questions' and dropping uncomfortable facts into the eyes of the readers, all without mentioning Clovis or the Incident by name. Very well done!"
"Thanks," the ungrateful brat replied with every drop of youthful sarcasm she could muster. "Your approval means the world to me. Are you going to get to the point any time soon?"
"You should be taking notes on this, Kallen." Diethard replied, unperturbed by the teenaged petulance. It was, after all, a welcome change from the deadly cool killer who had almost carved out his eye. "Give your audience a hook, give them a nice dramatic background, make them hungry for the big reveal and keep them dancing on the line until it's time to reel them in." He smirked again.
I really need to work on improving control over my expressions. I've gotten complacent. "Don't worry, you're still a student, so some impatience is understandable."
A muscle twitched on Kallen's forehead, but to Diethard's fascination she just took a deep breath, held it for a second, and released it. "He's playing for time now, I think," she said to her friend, the cool certainty bleeding back into her voice as she spoke. "Let me just kill him now, and we can put the leftovers in the alley."
"Not yet," came the reply in accented Britannian.
Central European, maybe? The accent's definitely not Mediterranean or French… "Mister Reid, you have one minute."
"Fine." Diethard very carefully didn't pout, though he dearly wanted to. Here he was trying to tell a story, and his audience kept rushing the narrative. "I've got enough evidence to say that Kallen Stadtfeld is definitely an Eleven sympathizer, but that's not very interesting. There's lots of dumb bleeding-heart noble kids around, but they mostly grow out of it. Do a little graffiti, one or two fundraisers, and then they move on. You, though, Kallen… I knew you were different."
Kallen was his main character, and also, Diethard felt, the audience he needed to win over here and now to see tomorrow. Taking a chance, Diethard focused solely on the noble teenager, ignoring the younger girl with the gun just as thoroughly as he was ignoring the two thugs behind him. "The fact that we're here in the Eleven Ghetto – "
"Japanese." The tone brooked no defiance. Diethard choked down his irritation at being interrupted and continued.
"-Japanese Ghetto and not the Concession proves just how different you are. What other noble Numbers-fan would come to the Ghetto? None of them. Admittedly, a few of them are probably on good terms with their bastard siblings too, but… Even still, I knew you were different. I knew you were special. And…" Diethard shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the dangerous level of sincerity in his words, "I was bored. I mean, I still needed evidence that you were
truly up to something beyond the normal bullshit, but to be brutally honest, Kallen, I'm bored. I'm tired of producing endless propaganda puff pieces, tired of telling the same old stories of progress and profit, tired of the whole sham."
Diethard suddenly realized that he had lost control over his mouth.
This must be inspiration! I've finally got a true story to tell, and this is the first crux! "I became a reporter to find stories, drag them out into the light, and tell them! That's my
raison d'être, my entire purpose! I want to see history play out before my very eyes, and be the one to tell the world what happened! And you – you are making history! You have all the makings of a great character! A heiress with a secret heritage, torn between two peoples and siding with the weaker against the greater in a noble fight? All to restore the birthright of your beloved sibling? That's the kind of story that will capture hearts! Mothers will one day tell it to their children! Your name will be a byword for loyalty, and you'll be immortal in the pages of history!"
Panting, Diethard came to a shuddering halt. Kallen was looking down on him with an expression halfway between confusion and disbelief, while the blonde – "Twenty seconds left, Mister Reid" – was somehow looming over him despite being only slightly taller standing up than he was kneeling.
At least she's smiling… She looks amused. Is that a good sign? It must be!
"I want to tell a grand story. Your story." Diethard realized that he was looking at the blonde, and shook himself.
Not your main character, Reid, nor your audience! Turning back to Kallen, Diethard continued with his pitch. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already handed over my data to DSS. I didn't, nor did I tell anybody where I was going tonight. Someone will probably find my van parked outside the Ghetto sooner or later, but that's it."
Hopefully that reassures her that I'm not trying to extort her. And now, to buy my way in… "And I brought a gift – I've got a portable drive in my pocket filled with the unredacted, uncensored versions of every article I've written and story I've produced. It's also got all of the gossip I have on the local notables… Including Prince Clovis. Plus, all the information I've gathered on you, your organization, and your brother. Just…" Diethard hated the weak, wheedling note that had entered his voice, but this was it, the doorway into his lifelong dream, or at least a situation where that dream might come to pass. "Just, please… Let me be there. Let me see what happens. Put me to work!
Use me! Just let me be the one to tell the story when everything's said and done!"
Suddenly, Diethard sagged, spent after his revelatory climax. After a moment, he looked up, hoping to gauge his audience's response; to his mild dismay, it was a decidedly mixed bag. Kallen looked slightly stunned, blinking as she tried to make sense with his passion.
I can't blame her – most teenagers can't fathom acting with the eyes of history upon them! Less gratifyingly, the European girl was… frowning down at him with disdain?
"So that's it." Diethard's doubts evaporated like snow under the summer sun.
Can't win them all, Reid. "A loudmouth so desperate for recognition and immortality that he seeks it out vicariously, and a fool willing to throw aside a respectable and well-compensated position on a whim after following a girl around for months without speaking to her once. It's always difficult to trust traitors, even if they do have a good reason for their betrayal – false once will be false again, after all – and you lack even a fig leaf of justification. I have no doubt you'd betray anybody to further your ambition."
It was a struggle, but Diethard kept a smile on his face as the still-unnamed blonde harangued him, waiting for a moment to get a word in edgewise. It turned out that he didn't need to. "That said, someone with access to the higher strata of Britannian society and to the resources an established member of a major TV station has at their fingertips would be a useful tool indeed…"
"Wait, Tanya, no way!" Suddenly, Diethard was struggling not to laugh as the half-breed noble blurted out her almost certainly European friend's name.
So much for that air of professionalism. "You're really thinking of letting him live? You said it yourself, there's no way we can trust him!"
"On the contrary, I think we can trust him to act according to his nature. As I said, he'd betray anybody if it served his ambition. So long as his goals are at least parallel to ours, he's only a potential liability." The blonde – Tanya – riposted, before unbelievably
holstering her gun! Diethard felt his pulse race at the prospect that he might escape this situation alive.
I knew it! I knew it couldn't end here! "Everything's up for sale, Kallen. Not just with money – that's the most common currency, not the only one – but with all kinds of things. Friendship, a favor, a cause… Or the fulfillment of a personal ambition or a dream. Everybody has a price – you just need to figure out what currency must be tendered, and if you can afford to pay."
The cold, cold eyes were upon him once more, and Diethard felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a cobra.
Did… Did I fall for a decoy protagonist? "Mister Reid, I think that you and I can help each other out. I think you know what coin I expect from you, and I know exactly what you're looking for from me. What say we enter into a mutually beneficial contract, like civilized people do?" Suddenly, the gun was back in her hand. "If you'd prefer not to engage in trade and barter, well, there's always room in the alley."
Diethard only caught the wicked smile that briefly flashed across the girl's face because he was staring straight at her. It was gone in a second, like a bolt from the blue. "Call this an offer you can't refuse."