Nagato—.
What I remembered was Haruhi disappearing from classroom 1-5, and Koizumi along with the rest of Class 9 being gone as well. Tsuruya twisting my arm around, and the pain on my face when Asahina slapped me. And alone in the clubroom, a pale-faced, bespectacled Yuki Nagato, tugging on my sleeve with her fingertips.
It was just about jingle bell season last year when I’d run into a serious problem. I’d discovered some things I never wanted to lose again, as well as others I hoped never to lose in the first place.
These bastards—.
I glared at Fujiwara and Kuyoh by turns.
They were right. Nagato had done it. A mundane human like me could hardly say what these information life-forms were and were not capable of. Both the Data Overmind and the Heavenly Canopy Dominion were far more advanced than mere humans, with abilities to match. My intuition told me that while it might be for a different reason, Kuyoh was no better at lying than Nagato.
“So you’re going to hold Nagato hostage, then?” I demanded, my voice resonating with 120 percent pure rage. “If I want to save Nagato, I have to hand over Haruhi’s power?”
Did they actually think that such blatant coercion was going to work? Never mind that it was a total cheap shot. They actually thought that if they used Nagato as a shield we’d just obediently follow along with whatever they told us. Naturally I wanted Nagato’s mind and body immediately restored to all-green status, but that was a separate matter.
And anyway, Sasaki was my good friend.
“I dunno,” said Sasaki, shaking her head twice. “I don’t really want that power. I wish you guys would consider my opinion, given that I’m the interested party here.”
I should’ve welcomed this cover-up, but I was so furious that it only served to kindle a bit of doubt in the corner of my mind. Well, no—“doubt” is going too far. It was just a simple question.
I turned to look at her profile—she was no more than moderately troubled. “This is a world-changing superpower we’re talking about. Doesn’t that move you at all, even for just a moment?”
Sasaki faced me with glittering eyes. A faint smile played about her lips as she spoke. “Kyon, I don’t particularly want to change the world. If I do it wrong, I could easily wind up changing myself in the process of changing the world. And I myself wouldn’t even realize I’d been changed. Don’t you see? I’m of this world; I’m one of the components that makes it up. If I change the world, then whether I like it or not I’m changing myself. In such a case, even though I was the one whose will changed the world, I would never realize that the world I lived in was the result of changes I’d personally made. I’d lose those memories, because I’d change myself along with the world. Which brings me to a dilemma—I would have amazing powers, but I would never be conscious of the effects of those powers.”
It was a little hard to understand, I said.
“People have two reactions when they encounter something they don’t understand. They deny it, or they try to understand it. Neither is particularly correct. Everyone has their own individual system of values, and they have no obligation to twist them around in the name of understanding—and yet it’s impossible for that system to remain unchanged their whole life. People need to ask themselves why it is they can’t understand something, and come up with a satisfying answer to that question. If you could simply control the whole world, you’d never encounter anything odd, or have to interpret anything.”
Sasaki faced the three people sitting across from us.
“I do not understand you. I don’t particularly want to explain why. The answer is within me, and I have no intention of releasing it. If I did, it would be improper, because it’s rather embarrassing, you see.”
“I don’t give a damn what you’re thinking,” said Fujiwara bitterly. “All you need to do is shut up and nod your head.”
“Ah, in the end,” said Sasaki, not shutting up, “people can’t create anything that lets them exceed their abilities, not even if they’re pretending they can. It’s just so much smoke and mirrors.”
It was like the second stage of a three-stage rocket had been ignited. I felt the load on my back lessen by an order of magnitude.
“Even Sasaki is saying so. And I’m sure as hell not going to accept such an unfair proposal.”
I nearly added you should’ve come two days ago, but then I remembered he’d done just that. It wasn’t a line you could really use on a time traveler.
“Anyway, even if I did have the power to change the world or whatever, I doubt I’d have many opportunities to use it,” said Sasaki, patting my shoulder. “And if I did, it would probably be for stuff like finding change left behind in vending machines. Stuff like that, more or less. I just don’t have many complaints with this world. To be frank, I’ve given up on it. The world with all its contradictions is the result of events that have been accumulating ever since the emergence of humanity. No insignificant amount of individualism can change that. And even if I did have that power, I couldn’t begin to guarantee that I’d be able to change the world for the better—I don’t have even two bytes’ worth of that kind of confidence. I’m not being humble. I don’t think anyone else could do it either. Humanity hasn’t advanced far enough for that. We’re just passengers on spaceship Earth on its voyage through space. But if this spaceship somehow became aware of itself, it might conclude that things would go better if it just ejected this mysterious species of primate into space. So long as humans live as humans, we can’t become gods—because gods are an idea created by humans. And in all of recorded history, no gods have ever appeared. They were never there to begin with. I have not the slightest desire to become the manifestation of an abstract concept. Before God died, He was never born. Maybe ‘zero’ is the very essence of God.”
Just as Sasaki finished her speech, Kuyoh started suddenly laughing, as though she’d been scheduled somehow. Her voice was both high and low, and the sound made me think there was something wrong with my ears.
“—Ha—ha ha—ha ha ha—hah… how absurd—hah…”
What the hell was her problem? She could laugh at me, but laughing at Sasaki made my blood boil.
“I’ll explain it for you,” said Fujiwara in place of the still-laughing Kuyoh. “What is it that makes you so certain you even have the right to choose? We’re not listening to your opinion because we think it’s useful. Don’t get the wrong idea.”
The tiny amount of hope that had bloomed within me disappeared.
“I’m not Kuyoh, but it still makes me want to laugh. You think a bit too highly of yourself, I’d say. Do you believe you have the right to decide all this? That you have the right to choose the world’s fate? Hah—who do you think you are? Do you fancy yourself a player in some foolish game? Heh. That’s not even good comedy. I feel so sorry for you I can’t laugh. Listen to me: No choice has been given to you. You’re merely a puppet. I’ll admit you move well, but that just makes you a very well-made, easy-to-control puppet. Your actions have nothing to do with your own volition.”
Struck by comprehension of the meaning of his words, I felt a chill run up my spine.
Kuyoh was still laughing.
The thought occurred to me once again. Just as I’d realized when Haruhi had disappeared—Nagato was full of humanity.
But these things—.
They didn’t care about us—about humans.
Kuyoh didn’t, and I was sure Asakura and Kimidori didn’t either.
That was why they all wanted to hear my opinions. No matter what I said, they could smash it with ease. That’s all I was to them. Kuyoh’s smile made her look like a girl who’d been given a new toy. But they all shared the resplendent innocence of a child who crushes an ant with her foot just because it’s there.
And as for my good and faithful friend Sasaki—her brow darkened.
“Hearing that, do you really expect me to cooperate? Such things will only have the opposite effect. I’ve been friends with Ky
on far longer than I’ve known any of you.”
“Your preference is unimportant to me. How many times are you going to make me say it?” Fujiwara snickered again.
“Ah.” Kyoko Tachibana shrank even more. “Everything is spoiled now. This is terrible.” She sighed, and I suppose the fact that she avoided appearing obviously depressed was commendable. Unsurprisingly, she looked at me like a missionary about to deliver her message.
“Please, just think about it. I know you care about Suzumiya and the SOS Brigade a lot, but try to think about it this way—so long as Suzumiya has her powers, Nagato’s condition will continue to be poor, and you’ll still be getting constantly sucked into strange events.”
What was she trying to say?
“Even if Suzumiya loses her power, it’s not as though she’ll become an ordinary person and break up the SOS Brigade, right? Nothing will change. Koizumi will still be a representative of the Agency, Nagato will still be an alien, and Asahina will still be from the future. But you won’t have to worry about Suzumiya’s actions. Everyone will still get along as they always have, and you’ll be able to have fun with your brigade chief just like usual.”
We’d barely qualify as even an interest group anymore, I said.
“Exactly. That’s what I wanted to say. Don’t you think that would be nice? And if you still wanted to experience the kinds of mysterious events you’ve endured thus far, you have usefulness. Kuyoh is an alien, and Fujiwara is a time traveler. And although I don’t really want to admit to being an esper, I suppose it’s true. All you have to do is think of them as extracurricular activities with Sasaki. I’m sure all sorts of things could happen.”
I was dumbstruck. She was inviting us to organize a second SOS Brigade—to remove Haruhi from her place as the spirit of the SOS Brigade, and install Sasaki as the leader of the newly reborn brigade…
“Also,” said Kyoko Tachibana, “I’d like to lighten the heavy burden poor Koizumi’s had to shoulder for so long.”
“Huh?” What did she care about Koizumi’s burden?
“I’m sure he’d be quite grateful. I mean,” said Kyoko Tachibana as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “didn’t you know? Koizumi created the Agency from the ground up. He’s been the leader from the very beginning. He’s the number-one guy. He may not see eye-to-eye with me, but I can’t help but respect him.”
“—”
Her words placed a considerable load on my mental faculties, but I remained mutely expressionless. For that reason, I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t know how much of what she was saying was true, and she might have simply believed it to be true. I didn’t know how much truth might have been hiding in the many long-winded explanations I’d heard from Koizumi so far, and the same was now true for Kyoko Tachibana. Trying to decide which I trusted was just laughable. Still, there was no reason for her to just make something like this up—but wait, maybe there was. If she was just trying to get me confused, this was certainly an obvious way to do it. And yet her face was tinged with what looked like simple, honest respect.
…
I give up. It was time to hit the emergency shutdown on this line of thinking. At the moment, it didn’t matter what the organizational structure of Koizumi’s Agency was.
Fujiwara snickered his nasty snicker again. “Let me tell you something else you may find interesting. Special treatment, let’s say. This is information you could only get here and now, in this precise location. Whatever could that be, you ask? I’ll tell you. An explanation of something you’ve been totally ignorant of until now—the TPDD.”
Anyone who launches into bizarre backstory explanations without having been asked can’t be a very worthwhile person. Fujiwara was a perfect example, I was sure.
“There’s a bit of a problem with the way Asahina and I travel through time. Because of the method we use, it’s impossible to avoid penetrating the time plane. In other words, we travel by poking holes in time. Don’t worry; a single one is too small to cause any real changes. It’s easy to fix. Of course, the lengthier the time jump becomes, the more numerous the damages to the time plane are. Also, the more a particular point in time is used as a destination, the more holes there are. Do you understand so far?”
I wanted to plug my ears. I didn’t care if he wanted to tell me, but he didn’t have to tell Sasaki all these secrets. If someone was going to find themselves drawn and quartered by this stuff, I wanted it to be me.
“The point is that use of the TPDD is accompanied by the risk of destroying existing time. The holes must be filled. It’s like how a neglected leak in a roof can lead to the house’s frame rotting. The consequences can echo into the future. The main duty of temporal field agents is to repair those distortions. Mikuru Asahina is an exception. She doesn’t know it herself, but she’s been given a special mission. Heh, poor girl. It’s such a carefully guarded secret that even she wasn’t told of it.”
Fujiwara’s words came to a stop. But just as I was sure he was done with his speech—
“For example, what if all of what I just told you was actually information that you were never supposed to have? It would mean I’d just changed your personal history. Shall we make this even more interesting?”
If it got any more interesting, there was a real chance I would die laughing.
“Now that you’ve heard me, you can’t help being influenced by what I’ve said. That is my advantage over you poor people in the past.” Fujiwara’s tone finally improved. “You just think about that. I’ll decide what to do once I see whether your primitive brain comes up with any answers. If you manage to change what’s already been established, I might actually have some fun.”
Just when I thought he was finally done, he kept going.
“I’ll be waiting. I’ll say that you should remember well what you’ve heard at this meeting today. Although it doesn’t much matter if you forget. I’ll fulfill my mission either way. Whether Haruhi Suzumiya continues along the path to her destruction, or is rendered harmless—that much you’re free to choose.”
I wanted to ask him whether he knew the day and time when I’d give him my answer. He should, since he was a time traveler. This guy wasn’t like Asahina. I wondered how long Fujiwara would stick to the script. Was there any room to escape it? I saw Asahina’s face in my mind. The maid version and the young teacher version flashed in my head like a pedestrian crossing signal.
“Why are you giving me that time?” It was a pretty reasonable question, coming from me.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was a fixed event? You don’t have to. Anyway, happy hour’s over. No more freebies.” Fujiwara adroitly uncrossed his legs and stood. “It’s the height of idiocy to be constrained by time, but if the flow has already been set, there is nothing to be done about it. But swimming against the flow is possible—just ask any ancient deep-sea fish left behind by the march of evolution.”
After leaving us with that final afterthought, he turned around and left the table.
I watched his tall form head for the door; he hadn’t left behind any money at all. As his miasma lingered in my nostrils, Kyoko Tachibana casually picked up the receipt.
“And if you’ll excuse me, I must get going too. You need time to think, don’t you? Though I don’t recommend you think too much…”
Kyoko Tachibana’s slim frame seemed tired, perhaps thanks to the toxic miasma Fujiwara had given off. I couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for her plight—having to deal with him would take a toll on anyone.
“I’ll want to confer with Sasaki. Sasaki, I’ll call you. Regardless of how this turns out, I’d like us to remain friends.”
“That would be nice,” said Sasaki. The corner of her mouth quirked up. “I’d very much like for us to simply be friends.”
Kyoko Tachibana did not answer, only sighing as her gaze went worriedly to Kuyoh (who sat there like a very polite doll) before heading for the register. Once she settled up the bill, she gave u
s a wave and left the café, while Kuyoh remained motionless.
It was only after I finished drinking my entire glass of water that I realized the two hot coffees that Sasaki had ordered for us had never arrived.
Despite all this, progress did not seem very likely.
Once the waitress (who, thankfully, was not Kimidori) brought our coffee, I added quite a bit of cream and sugar to it, which didn’t seem to lessen the bitterness at all. Right about when I finished my cup, something occurred to me as I stared at the creepily motionless Kuyoh, who was eerier than an abandoned doll found in some countryside attic.
Why wasn’t she moving? Fujiwara had disappeared, Kyoko Tachibana had left; so was the fact that she was still sitting there staring at us some kind of alien signal that she had something yet to say?
Trying to interpret alien nonverbal communication was totally beyond me.
As I watched Kuyoh, Sasaki set down her empty cup, a smile appearing on her face. “Kyon, we should get going. I’m not Fujiwara, but what we need now is time to deliberate. It was rushed and unpleasant as meetings go, but I’m not ready to call it pointless. Going by how he was talking, there’s still a bit of room left.”
I hoped so, I said, but my problem was that I didn’t know what to deliberate.
“Good point. It seems we don’t have the ability to choose, so I have no idea how to make them give up. But there should be something we can do.”
This was not a fun situation. Give Haruhi’s god powers to Sasaki? It was a question of choosing between a difficult, stubborn god with no self-awareness, or a reasonable god with full knowledge of her own powers. If someone asked me which I thought was better, I’d have to admit it seemed as if Sasaki would be.
And yet.
It just didn’t sit right with me.
How can I explain it? I didn’t want Sasaki to have these bizarre godlike powers. I wanted my normal friend to stay normal. Haruhi was already Haruhi, so what did it matter? The gods of mythology were always being selfish and unreasonable. Compared with them, ours wasn’t so bad—at least we could talk to her. You didn’t see shrines changing which deity they were dedicated to—but wait, what was I thinking? Haruhi already had one defense attorney, Koizumi, so she didn’t need me. I must’ve been more disturbed by all of this than I’d realized.
The Surprise of Haruhi Suzumiya Page 10