Fighting Boy Meets Girl

by Shouji Gatou

  But that just made things more confusing: what reason could he possibly have for following her like this?

  “Hey, Sagara-kun,” she said after a while.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you please just tell me what’s going on? I promise I won’t get mad.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You just happen to be where I am.” It was his standard response, spoken matter-of-factly.

  Kaname decided that questioning him was pointless. “Yeah, fine, we’ll leave it at that. Then could your classmate who just happens to be where you are ask a question?”

  “Certainly,” he told her.

  “You lived overseas for a long time, right? Were things like this at your old school, too?”

  Sousuke held a moment of silence, then said, “Yes, I had a very uneventful life.”

  She pressed on. “But aren’t you lonely? You left all your friends behind.”

  “No. We keep in touch via phone calls and letters, so I didn’t strictly leave them behind.”

  “That’s a weird way to respond...”

  “I found it appropriate,” he protested.

  “Okay, well, were you dating anyone?”

  “Dating?”

  “Yeah, a girlfriend,” Kaname clarified. “A sweetheart. That kind of thing.”

  “I don’t know anyone who could classify,” Sousuke confessed. “My comrade... my friend likes to say, ‘You couldn’t find someone to date you, even in a remote Chinese village.’”

  Kaname cracked up. “That’s pretty hilarious.”

  “You understand what he meant?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I mean, you’re a total weirdo, Sagara-kun.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah. Major weird.” Kaname giggled to herself a little more, then said, “But that uniqueness could be a good thing. Maybe there’s a nice girl out there who’ll really get what you’re all about.” She wasn’t even thinking about whether she, herself, would be categorized as being a ‘nice girl’ or not.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he told her. “You’re very nice.”

  “H-Hey, don’t take it too seriously. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “I see. I’ll forget it, then.”

  “Yeah, you’re a total weirdo.” Kaname laughed once again. At some point in the conversation, she’d noticed a warmth spreading through her body. It was like when a stray dog on the street started following you—a pleasant feeling, with a tiny hint of loneliness at its core. She found herself thinking, Maybe I’ll let this go a little longer.

  A voice over the speakers announced the arrival of the next train.

  25 April, 1905 Hours (Greenwich Mean Time)

  Tuatha de Danaan, Periscope Depth, Sea of Japan

  Diffused moonlight danced just beneath the ocean’s surface. Silently rising through it came a hull as black as pitch.

  The Tuatha de Danaan—an amphibious assault submarine—resembled a shark with a stubby dorsal fin, increased in size by a few orders of magnitude. It looked like one of Shinjuku’s towering skyscrapers, set on its side in the water. The massive thing slid through the sea on its own power—quietly, ever-so-quietly.

  Movement could be seen in the vessel’s aft: the opening of a cruise missile launch tube hatch, the firing of a silver cylinder. Raising a trail of sea-spray as it burst forth, the Tomahawk missile dropped its rear booster and spread its guidance wings. It rose higher and higher into the night sky, then came parallel to the water, and flew off over the north horizon.

  “Launch sequence complete. Now closing MVLS hatch,” the fire support officer said, down in the central control room.

  “Well done,” Tessa responded with a nod. “We’ll now dive to 100 meters and shift to a southward course.” Green letters on the main screen’s status board announced that all hatches were now closed. She confirmed the status of each, then turned to her executive officer.

  “We’re all clear, Captain,” the XO, Commander Mardukas, replied. He was tall, lanky, and pale, with black-rimmed glasses on his nose. He looked less like a military man and more like a technician.

  “Then proceed to submerge. Flood main ballast tank,” Tessa ordered with perfect confidence. “Angle of descent, ten degrees. Speed, 10 knots.”

  When given their first command, even ten-year veterans of submarine life would frequently find their voices trembling when it came time to give orders. It should be even more daunting on the Tuatha de Danaan, the world’s most advanced submarine. And yet, this young girl showed no hesitance.

  “Aye-aye, ma’am. Flooding main ballast tank. Angle of descent, ten degrees. Speed, 10 knots,” the navigator echoed.

  Soon, the boat tilted and entered its dive. The cruise missile’s launch wouldn’t go unnoticed; they had to leave the area as quickly as possible. They could determine whether the missile had accomplished its task through the use of Mithril’s surveillance satellite, Sting.

  “So... we’ll know in three hours, correct?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Why don’t you rest until then?”

  Tessa shrugged off XO Mardukas’s suggestion. “I’d like to, but I think I’d just have bad dreams...”

  The cruise missile was still in flight, after all. If it successfully hit the facility, it would take more than five years for the enemy to rebuild it. The intelligence department’s final report was that Khabarovsk was their only Whispered research facility; they’d checked around the country repeatedly, and found no other location with comparable equipment.

  “Now, Major... Once the laboratory is destroyed, can we recall the bodyguards?” Tessa asked, as she sat back in her chair.

  Kalinin, who had been watching over the operation by her side, responded, “Yes. However...”

  “Is there an issue?”

  “Ah... no, I’m sure it’s a groundless fear...” But his expression remained grim.

  26 April, 1038 Hours (West Pacific Standard Time)

  KGB Branch Office, Khabarovsk, Soviet Union

  “The laboratory’s been destroyed!” the colonel screamed into the receiver. “A missile attack, of all things! Absurd! We’ve lost all of our experimental data on the Whispered, as well as all information about them...”

  “My condolences,” Gauron said with biting indifference on the other end of the line.

  “Well, we won’t be needing the girl anymore,” the colonel fumed. “We couldn’t do any research even if we had her!”

  “I see. That’s too bad.”

  “That means the kidnapping is off. Which means we can’t pay you.”

  “Completely understandable.”

  Gauron’s unflappable behavior had the colonel suspicious. “What’s going on here?” he asked at length.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem quite composed for a man who’s lost his source of income.”

  “There will be other jobs,” Gauron remarked casually. “I’ll just go back to my former employer... with my little souvenir.”

  “Souvenir?”

  There came a tap-tap-tap on the other end of the phone. “My dear Colonel. Do you know what this is?”

  “What? No...”

  “It’s a DVD. Makes a nice sound, doesn’t it? And it’s packed with delicious data.” Gauron let out a muffled laugh.

  “Is that our research data?” the colonel asked incredulously. “When the hell did you...?!”

  “That’s a trade secret. Of course, I knew you’d be angry, so I took a few other measures... Goodbye, Colonel. Do watch your health in the internment camp.” Gauron hung up.

  Someone knocked on his office door. Before the colonel could answer, three armed soldiers burst in.

  “Colonel Smirnov?” a young lieutenant asked. “Party headquarters has grown concerned about your side dealings. They believe you’ve been siphoning state resources in a way that has proven detrimental.”

  “Wait a minute, I—”

  “You can explain everything at Lubyanka. Come wit
h us.”

  For a Russian, those words meant death. He’d be sent to an internment camp, undergo merciless interrogations... There was nothing left in his future but suffering. Slumping, the colonel let the soldiers take him away.

  26 April, 2001 Hours (Japan Standard Time)

  Room 505, Tigers Mansion, Chofu City, Tokyo

  Being cooped up in a room all day is a refreshing change of pace, Sousuke thought.

  Today was Sunday, so Kaname had stayed in her apartment until noon. She’d eventually gone out, nominally to buy things for the field trip, so Kurz had gone to tail her with Mao’s arm slave backup. That left Sousuke to monitor Kaname’s apartment.

  There was no sign of suspicious activity. At one point, a middle-aged woman with a child came by and rang her doorbell, but that didn’t seem cogent to their mission.

  Kaname returned at last a little after eight o’clock. “2006 hours. Angel returns home. Nothing to report,” he whispered into the nearby microphone.

  Not long after, Kurz made it back, seeming to be in a lively mood. “I’m baaaack! Oh-ho, I see you’re hard at work, Sergeant Downer-Man.”

  As he approached, Sousuke picked up the distinct smell of beer. Eyes still focused on the camera view monitor, he asked Kurz, “You were drinking on a mission?”

  “C’mon, I didn’t have a choice. I was only gonna have one, but Kyoko-chan kept insisting...” he said, leering.

  “What did you say?” Sousuke said, shocked. “Kaname’s friend Kyoko?”

  “Yep! Kaname, Kyoko, Yuka, and Shiori... I went right at ’em with my ‘lost foreigner’ routine. ‘Oh, thank you so much. Japanese girls are so nice!’” Kurz laughed wickedly. His personality wasn’t cut out for tailing people in secret, so he’d apparently just walked up and made friends.

  “You idiot. What the hell were you thinking?” Mao radioed from her AS, as she got back to the trailer.

  “Aw, but they’re such cutie pies!” Kurz whined. “After days of one stupid bitch for company, I needed an oasis...”

  “Kurz, this is a top secret bodyguard mission,” Sousuke said critically. “Why were you socializing with them?”

  “Huh? Are you stupid? Becoming friends means you can be up close, which makes the bodyguarding and surveillance tons easier.”

  “Emotional involvement can cloud your judgment. To maintain level-headedness and objectivity—”

  “Who fights their battles totally on logic?” Kurz demanded to know. “When shit’s about to get real, it’s your gut that tells you, not your head.”

  “But...”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Sousuke fell silent; there was nothing he could say. He felt like the point at argument had shifted, somehow, at some point. “I’m afraid I can’t accept your point of view,” he said at last.

  Noting Sousuke’s thoughtful expression, Kurz grinned and said, “They talked about you, too. Boy, did they ever... ‘Oh yeah, we had that weirdo transfer student! Right, Kana-chan?’ and such.”

  Sousuke’s ear twitched. “What did they say?”

  Kurz smiled triumphantly. “You wanna know?”

  “No... Well, actually, for the sake of the mission, I think I should hear it.”

  “Wrong answer. You gotta say ‘Please tell me, sir.’”

  Sousuke said nothing, but his gaze suddenly intensified.

  “Hey, just kidding. Don’t go nuts on me... Oh, whoa.” Kurz also turned serious as he flew to one of the monitors. Sousuke hadn’t gone quiet because he was angry; he had noticed something on the screen.

  “2121 hours. Suspicious figure on the balcony. I’m going to investigate,” Sousuke said into the recorder, then stood up.

  The monitor’s display was of the balcony side of Kaname’s apartment building. They’d installed a hidden camera on the roof of the building opposite it. On the screen’s left side, they could see a man clambering up the drainpipe. He was dressed all in black, his face obscured by a cloth mask.

  “You don’t think... a solo operation?” Sousuke asked, as he screwed a silencer onto his 9mm handgun.

  “Can’t say. He could have buddies nearby... We’d better check out the nearby cars,” Kurz responded, pulling out a sniper rifle with a night vision scope.

  Through the radio, Mao’s voice chimed in. “Uruz-2 to team. We need to neutralize that man. Uruz-6, head for the building across from the apartment. Get to where the camera’s planted.”

  “Uruz-6 here. Roger that.” Kurz would be backing up Sousuke from a sniper position.

  “Uruz-7, you go take him down directly. I’ll stand watch in the parking lot.”

  “Understood. Give me 120 seconds.” Picking up a rappelling rope and equipment set, Sousuke flew out of the room.

  Two minutes later, he had arrived on the roof of Kaname’s apartment. He affixed the rope to the rail, and swiftly wrapped the other end around his body. He looked down and saw the figure climbing from the third floor to the fourth.

  Kurz’s voice spoke over his FM radio receiver. “Uruz-6 to team. I’m in position. I don’t see anyone suspicious around... I think it really might be a solo job.”

  “Keep an eye out around you,” Sousuke ordered, “especially your six.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to, dumbass?”

  Just then, they heard from Mao in the M9 again. “Uruz-7. She’s taking a shower in the bathroom right now. We couldn’t ask for better timing; take him down before she gets out.”

  “Uruz-7. Roger that.”

  “Don’t kill him.”

  “I won’t.” Sousuke threw himself from the roof. He made no sound, except for the slight friction from the climbing rope. He kicked twice off the wall and was bearing down on the “enemy” in an instant.

  The intruder, who was just climbing over the balcony railing, didn’t even notice him. Sousuke slowed his descent speed and kicked hard off the wall. Then, with a lithe twist of his body, he pounced on the man from behind. “Don’t move.”

  The man gasped in shock.

  Sousuke got him in a lock and pressed his gun to the back of his head. “It’s all over. Don’t say a word.”

  The man nodded, trembling.

  “Good. It’s good that you value your life.” Sousuke directed the man to lie face-down on the balcony. There, he straddled him, and gave him a thorough pat-down. He wasn’t carrying any weapons, but Sousuke did find a wallet in his back pocket. He took it out and looked through it.

  He furrowed his brow. Inside the wallet was a student ID: Kazama Shinji, Number 10, Class 2-4, Jindai High School. That was the same school that Sousuke attended. The same class, at that...

  “Uruz-6 to Uruz-7.”

  “What?”

  “Sousuke... Look at what’s in his hands.”

  The man was holding bundles of cloth in both hands.

  “Hmm. What are...”

  “They’re panties,” Kurz told him. “Ohh, the alluring white of purity! Uruz-6 out.”

  Sousuke glanced at the building across the way and made out Kurz’s silhouette in the dark. The man waved as if to say, “Yeah, we’re done here,” then started packing up his sniper rifle.

  “Give me a damn break,” Mao groaned. Sousuke saw a small rippling in the air in the parking lot, moving away from him. It was the ECS-camouflaged M9, withdrawing to its trailer.

  “What’s going on here?” The baffled Sousuke removed the man’s mask.

  It turned out it wasn’t a man, but a boy—a boy with a slender, childlike, unassuming face. He was pale with fright, and all he did in response was shake his head.

  “You can talk,” Sousuke told him.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the boy cried.

  “Keep your voice down!” Sousuke pressed the gun against him again in panic.

  The boy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry. Please don’t arrest me.”

  “I’m not with the police,” Sousuke admitted, “but please tell me what’s going on.”

  “You
won’t arrest me?”

  “No. It’s all right.” Sousuke pulled away to let the boy sit up.

  “Th-Thanks... Hey, aren’t you Sagara-kun from our class?”

  “No.”

  “Huh? But...”

  “No.” Sousuke cocked his gun.

  “R-Right...” the boy agreed shakily. “But what are you doing here?”

  “Never mind about me. You... Kazama, was it? What are you doing here?”

  Kazama Shinji showed him the half-dried underwear in his hands. “I’m stealing her underwear, see? Is that why you’re here, too?”

  “No,” Sousuke said flatly. “I just happened to be passing by.”

  “Oh, I... see.” Shinji tilted his head, but didn’t argue the point.

  “Why were you stealing her garments?”

  “Well... They’re not for me or anything. Murano’s gang—”

  “Murano?”

  Kazama Shinji explained the situation. They were apparently one of those delinquent groups—the kind every school had at least one of—and they’d ordered Shinji to steal Kaname’s underwear. Shinji was a member of the photography club, and they’d stolen the negatives for a set of photos he’d spent a whole year taking.

  “They threatened you?” Sousuke asked.

  “Not quite that bad. It was more of a ‘show us what you’re made of’ kind of thing,” Shinji explained. “And Chidori Kaname is Jindai High’s ‘prettiest girl you don’t want to date.’”

  The delinquents likely had some sort of warped affection for Kaname—That’s why they’d come up with this childish prank. It was utterly foolish.

  “I think I understand,” Sousuke said at last. “But you’re going to make trouble for her.” He was forgetting all the trouble he himself had made for her.

  “I know, but... I really want to get my negatives back.”

  “What are the pictures of?”

  “Arm slaves. From the USFJ and the JSDF.”

  “Oh?” Sousuke found himself leaning forward with interest.