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almondinflowerPart two of the SF AU that ate my mind. No longer pretends to be cyberpunk. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_kills, theme #28. Originially written August 2005.
NB: For those of you who don't follow the manga, a good character profile of Kotoha can be found here. Spoiler warnings.
Chapter 1 here.
Chapter 2
Keigo could feel Oshitari's eyes on him as he moved about the room, straightening the ornaments on the mantelpiece. Who was responsible for cleaning his study this week? It must be one of the girls - Kabaji would have remembered, when moving the figurines to dust the shelves, that the statuette of Aphrodite went next to Ares and on the opposite end from Hera and Athena.
It was mid-afternoon. Outside the converted office building that acted as Hyoutei headquarters, puddles of water were slowly evaporating under the sunlight. All along the street, trendy young people sat in outdoor cafes, or sauntered down the street, sipping tea and sporting elegant new bioaccessories.
The trick to maintaining a gang territory, Sakaki had told him once, was to make sure it didn't look like one.
“She wasn't dressed like a runner,” Oshitari said, from his position by the door. “Not a jogger, either?”
Keigo curled his lip in distaste at hearing the word, a newly coined (and desperately uncreative, in his opinion) term for the females who accompanied runners and - usually, but not in Hyoutei – ran brothel houses for the syndicates. “If she were, Oshitari, wouldn't you have heard of her?”
Oshitari placed a finger on the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses – a foolish affectation; nobody had needed to wear glasses for at least two hundred years, not on the major planets, at any rate. “There's no need to be so insinuating, Atobe. Why should I pay for what I can easily get for free, in safer environments?”
If Oshitari hadn't been a genius medic (graduated at fourteen; third youngest in the history of Shin Tokyo); and a damnably good fighter, would Keigo have throttled him long ago? No, he decided. He had more self-control than that.
Although some trials were more worth bearing than others. He watched, uneasy, as Oshitari's eyes narrowed in recollection. “I remember now,” he said. “Gakuto had to deliver a letter once, to New Hokkaido. That was the girl, right?”
Atobe-sama: Here is the information you were looking for. I hope it helps. Love, Kotoha-chan.
Atobe-sama. I know you're not the type to celebrate Valentine's but I heard that you like dark chocolate, so I made these for you. From Kotoha-chan.
Atobe-sama. You've never been very impressed with me before. I guess I have too much pride to keep writing. Here is a last present. Kotoha-chan.
He set his mouth in a grim line. “She was the Tsubakikawa manager. Not a bad runner, despite the unfortunate choice of allegiances-” She would have come down to Hyoutei in a heartbeat if I'd asked her to.
“Hmm. She's rather attractive for a runner. But what would she be doing in Hyoutei? And why would Akazawa be looking for her? For that matter, why would Mizuki want to hide her body?”
“Are we certain that's what he was there for?”
Oshitari snorted. “He was either hiding the body or looking for it, and with his data, he had more than enough time to unearth the body if he'd been looking. So,” he asked, toying with the handle of the door, “are we going to find out?”
“It's none of our business.” It wasn't, Keigo insisted to the voice in his head.
Oshitari gave him the sure, whatever you say look, twisted the handle and flung the door of the study open, allowing a skinny, petulant bundle of energy to enter the room. “Yuushi, we're done with the autopsy.”
Oshitari raised an eyebrow. “So soon? You're getting more efficient.”
“I'm always efficient, Yuushi, what the hell are you talking about?” Mukahi Gakuto flounced across the room, sank into the armchair in front of Keigo's desk. “Hey Atobe, you ready to listen?.”
He stretched himself out, half-yawning. His scarlet hair was as neat as Oshitari's was unkempt: Mukahi Gakuto, Hyoutei's resident cat burglar and recreational substances expert. Between him and Oshitari, there wasn't a single chemical in Shin Tokyo they didn't know about.
Keigo turned away from the cabinet, took his seat behind the desk. “Let's hear it.” He placed one hand on the desk, studying his palm; was it paler than usual? Pull yourself together, he told himself. Kotoha's death had not been his fault. None of this charade was Hyoutei's responsibility.
So why was he taking such an interest?
“...death by strangulation, between twenty and twenty-two hundred hours last night. She seems to have been drugged beforehand, nothing major, just a mild soporific.”
“That's logical,” Keigo said. Kotoha was no street fighter, but she was strong enough to have given Mizuki significant trouble.
“The dental ID matched the ones in the records for Kobayashi Kotoha – not that I think it's her real name, but the records are pretty good, standard identifying details aside. The dental records were taken from the last time she went off-planet."
"We're still analysing the genetic material found on her clothing. Hopefully it won't turn out to be stuff she picked up while in the rubbish heap.”
Oshitari interjected: “Did you ask Kabaji to run a background check?”
“Of course, what do you take me for, stupid? I asked him to pull the records on Akazawa as well.
He should be done within an hour.”
Keigo looked across the room at Oshitari, who was still leaning against the doorframe, head bent in thought. “Something on your mind, Oshitari?”
Oshitari looked up. “I was simply wondering what interest Akazawa Yoshirou takes in the matter. He's not the type to interfere with Mizuki's doings; mostly he just sits back and lets things play out.”
“Well, she's a cute girl, maybe he wanted to keep the body.” Keigo glared at Mukahi. Really, what was with that pair's strange obsession with off-colour jokes? Particularly ones involving necrophilia.
A knock on the door spared him from having to ponder the subject in any depth.
“Yo, fearless leader. What's the story?” Oshitari moved out of the way as Shishido Ryou walked in, twisting his baseball cap in his hand - another outmoded fashion. One day, Keigo thought, he would have to call in all his squad leaders for a wardrobe revamp.
Shishido walked up to the desk. He threw a sharp glance at Keigo: “Atobe. You look like hell.”
Well, it wasn't as if they made it an organisational goal to cultivate good manners and positive thinking at Hyoutei, but Keigo could wish his squad leaders were a more encouraging bunch.
Footsteps sounded on the landing outside, and Ootori Choutarou appeared in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. “Are you all right, Atobe-san?” He was dressed in track pants and a deep blue jumper - probably fresh from the gym. Typical Ootori: wholesome and ridiculously analogue. Unlike Shishido, whose body was a miracle of reconstructive nanosurgery, or Taki Haginosuke, who acquired bioaccessories as frequently as he bought clothes, Oostori had little in his body besides what his genes had placed there.
Then again, when your genome had been tampered with as much as Ootori's had, perhaps you didn't particularly need mechanical upgrades.
Putting the white-platinum hair (a feat of gene splicing in itself) and suprahuman strength aside, Keigo was glad Ootori's parents had had the foresight to buy him a set of psionic genes. The younger boy's powers rated a respectable 7.2 on the Empathic scale, and somewhere around a 5 in telepathy and kinetics. He was nowhere near Keigo's level, of course; but he was more than good enough to handle the mid-level tasks that invariably required doing in a group like Hyoutei.
And Ootori was still a match for the likes of Fudoumine's Ibu Shinji and even for Oshitari, even if he wasn't one of the real psionics, as Keigo regarded them.
Seigaku's Fuji. Yamabuki's Sengoku. Sly-eyed Saeki Kojirou of Chiba. Niou Masaharu and Marui Bunta of Kanagawa. And of course, Yukimura.
Keigo forced his attention back to the present, where Ootori was still looking at him, frowning.
“Ootori, Shishido. How may I help you?” He looked at Shishido, who was scowling, and then Ootori, meeting each boy's gaze squarely. When my performance as president of Hyoutei falls below par, then you'll have the right to know about my state of health. Until then, feel free to wonder.
Not that that pair wouldn't spread the whole story, eventually. Mukahi gossiped as much as any Hyoutei jogger, and Oshitari was worse.
Well, Keigo had more pressing concerns than worrying about gossip.
Or petty murder between minor gangs, the inner voice nagged at him.
“How can you help us? Atobe, the word on the street is that Sakaki and Chief Superintendent Inoue are headed for a showdown. You remember the Runner's Compliance Strategy that Inoue submitted to the High Commissioner? Well, it's been approved.
“That's just so stupid,” Mukahi shook his head. “If we wanted to work with the police, we wouldn't have become runners in the first place.”
“Well, they've done it for centuries with hackers and phreakers,” Oshitari commented. “And Seigaku's example suggests that there are runners who are willing to take up those conditions.”
“Mukahi's right,” Shishido said. “Runners don't mix with police. It goes against what we are. And,” he scowled again, “I don't know what Sakaki is thinking, but the news came at lunchtime. He's had plenty of time to ask us to prepare for a fight.”
“He's probably busy in Kanagawa negotiating with Jyousei Shounan,” Keigo said calmly, although he felt a presage of violence run through him. A vision of the future? He might have to sit down and precog that later.
Outside, the sky was growing cloudy again. Keigo leaned over to flick on the light switch, hidden behind the holoprojector. Golden light flooded the oak-and-mahogany study, softening the crimson of Mukahi's hair, the scars on Shishido's left temple, the hard planes of Oshitari's face.
Oshitari, Keigo was interested to notice, had the unfocused look of a precog with a vision coming on; was he picking up something Keigo hadn't?
“What is the news on Tezuka?” Oshitari asked. He was looking straight at Shishido. Definitely a precognitive vision, Keigo decided; the glazed look in his eyes was unmistakeable.
Shishido folded his arms against his chest. “I don't know,” he admitted, slowly and with obvious reluctance. “It's the best-kept secret in Shin Tokyo. But Oishi's made so many moves in the past three days – alliances with Fudoumine, with Gyokurin, with the police – that I doubt he's acting without Tezuka's go-ahead. Which means that Tezuka's at least well enough to talk, or jack in to the Net.”
“He will be back within ten days, and at full strength.” When Keigo looked at him, Oshitari smiled. “That's my precognition time limit, as you very well know. And don't ask me for details of the vision; I didn't see anything other than Tezuka, caught in some minor fracas.”
Mukahi made a rude gesture. “That's going to be annoying! I knew you should have killed that guy when you had the chance, Atobe.”
“That's why I came, to tell you that Tezuka was returning.” Ootori stepped into the room, shut the door behind him. He smiled rather wanly. “But it looks like Oshitari beat me to it.”
“You knew that Tezuka was coming back?” Shishido turned, and he sounded as startled as Keigo felt.
“Akutagawa-san contacted me on my wristcomm.” He held up the wrist communication bands that were standard issue for every runner in Hyoutei – not that Ootori's wristcomm was anything like standard. “He said he met Yukimura on the Tennis Hub.”
The Tennis Hub was a VR space on the Net; it was a frequent haunt of Kanagawa runners and hackers. Keigo felt a frisson of tension run through him and spread to everyone in the room.
“Yukimura – talked to Jirou on the web?” That was Oshitari, who was rarely flummoxed.
Keigo's patience snapped. “That's it,” he said. He stood up, shoving his desk chair back as he did so. “I've had enough of Jirou's habits. He's been stalking Marui Bunta for years. I put up with it when he started following Fuji Syuusuke around as well, but he's going to get himself killed, or all of Hyoutei compromised, or both, if he doesn't pull himself together.”
“It's not all that dangerous,” Ootori protested. “Fuji Syuusuke isn't interested in fighting Akutagawa-san any more, now that he's avenged his brother. And Rikkai doesn't believe in unnecessary violence.”
“I have trouble with their definition of 'necessary',' Keigo said, face darkening.
Shishido gave him a Look. “You're one to talk.”
“Anyway, we should finish listening to what Ootori has to say,” Oshitari said. If he took any interest in the friction crackling in the atmosphere, he showed no sign of it.
“Uhh...” Ootori scratched his head. “He was in the Tennis Hub, looking for Marui, like Atobe-san said, and then he came across Yukimura, who was hiding behind an avatar. But when he saw Akutagawa-san he decided to show himself.”
“He passed on three messages. Firstly, Tezuka will be coming back soon, and he'll be at full strength for the first time in three years.”
That was one. Keigo sat down again, leaned forward, using his elbows to prop himself up. “Go on.”
“Secondly, he's sorry about Kotoha, but please don't give in to your feelings, as it will cause trouble for both Rikkai and Hyoutei, in the long run. For now, it's important that Fuji Yuuta stays with Mizuki.”
“Yuuta's still at SeiRu?” Mukahi said, incredulous. “Even after that Echizen told him the truth?”
“As far as we know,” Shishido confirmed.
“Damn, I don't know how anyone that smart with weapons systems could seriously think Mizuki was giving him nutritional supplements? I mean, sure he was on a cocktail, half of which were placeboes, but you'd think he had the brains to do a chemical test. I wouldn't go on anything Yuushi offered, without checking first.”
“Fuji Yuuta trusts Mizuki,” Keigo said quietly. Privately, he thought it was at least half the elder brother's fault. Fuji Syuusuke had always protected Yuuta, always fought his battles for him; never given the younger boy a reason to suspect those in authority. “The third message, Ootori?”
“The final message was this: Yukimura says you and Sakaki still hold a chance of winning this game, so try to make it interesting for him. In the meantime, feel free to borrow Jyousei Shounan for the upcoming encounter with the police.”
“The bastard,” Shishido muttered. “He wants us to decimate ourselves going up against Seigaku, and then move in and sweep up all the leftovers.”
No, Keigo thought. That was typical of Sanada, who was notoriously, dangerously efficient; but not of Yukimura. Yukimura's reasoning was never so simple.
It was common knowledge that a naturally kind disposition was a prequisite for high Empathic ability.
Yukimura Seiichi was a level 9 Empath. That was enough to unnerve Keigo. Almost.
He flipped open the control keyboard on his desk, and tapped several buttons. Mukahi looked on, curiously, from his curled-up position in the armchair.
“Who are you calling?”
“Yukimura,” he said. The Rikkai president's number was not publicly known; the one Keigo was using now was the call number for the executive holocomm, which the Rikkai leadership seemed to take turns carrying, going by Keigo's past experiences.
They waited for the call to go through. After about a minute, the holoprojector whirred to life.
And produced a rather solid-looking three-dimensional image of a tall, spectacled young man, wearing a green tie and slacks, about to skewer Mukahi through with a rapier.
“Oi!” Mukahi reacted; somersaulted right over the back of the armchair just as the image-rapier stabbed through the space where he'd been, and then flicked upwards.
The second image appeared in mid-air at the end of the rapier; the body of another young man, blood streaming from wounds in his neck and torso. He crashed into Keigo's cabinet before vanishing, it being beyond the scope of the holoprojector to produce an image in the middle of solid wood.
Keigo made a note to himself: switch to flat-screen mode before future attempts to vidcomm with Rikkai.
“The ninth, Niou-kun. Will that be all?”
Keigo turned in time to see Shishido scrambling out of the way, as a third hologram appeared.
Wild, white hair; eyes like winter frost. Rikkai's precognition psionic, Niou Masaharu.
“More than enough for now. We've got a call. As I'm sure you've noticed.”
Yagyuu Hiroshi bent down, and wiped his sword on the clothes of one of the casualties around him – by now, Atobe's office was filled with the images of dead people, as the holoprojection gained detail. He stood up and bowed to Keigo. “Atobe-san. My apologies. Your call came at an awkward time for us.”
“Yeah, finishing off Tsubakikawa took a lot longer than we expected,” Niou said. Shishido took another step away from the hologram.
Out of the corner of his eye, Keigo saw Oshitari start. For all his cleverness, Oshitari wasn't quite ruthless enough to handle Rikkai. “Tsubakikawa....”
Yagyuu turned. Even with blood spattered on his hands, he was still impeccably polite. “Oshitari-kun. It's been a long time since we met, hasn't it?”
Yagyuu Hiroshi. The only medic in Shin Tokyo ever to graduate at thirteen.
Oshitari flushed, but managed to stay calm. Keigo wouldn't have expected less of him. “A long time indeed. I was aware of your taste for violence, but I wouldn't have expected it to develop to this extent.”
“If old acquaintance permits, I might suggest that you have more than a slight taste for conflict yourself, given your current choice of colleagues.” He sheathed his rapier in one smooth motion. “Nevertheless, I do regret the degree of brutality that was called for today. The Tsubakikawa syndicate were under the misconception that we were responsible for the death of their manager.”
Keigo rapped his fingers on the desk. “Thank you for being candid, Yagyuu-san; we are aware that St. Rudolph is very likely the guilty party.”
“They are in fact the guilty party,” Yagyuu confirmed. “Yukimura-san and Niou-kun both precognised the event, more than a week ago.”
“Must have been some serious event, for two Kanagawa psionics to pick it up.”
“We take our strategic planning seriously, Shishido-kun.” Implying, of course, that other syndicates didn't.
Keigo raised a hand. “Enough, Shishido,” he ordered. “We would expect nothing less from Rikkai,” he said, nodding to Yagyuu.
Although Shishido was right. Kotoha's murder had evidently set in motion some major train of events, events affecting Rikkai it self- and if it affected Rikkai, it probably affected every syndicate in the Kanto reigion. At any rate, it more than justifed Keigo's interest in the matter.
He brushed that thought aside; since when did he have to justify his decisions to anyone other than Sakaki? And Sakaki wouldn't be concerned with this; it was too minor for him.
“We called you because of a message that Yukimura-san relayed to us. What are your intentions regarding Jyousei Shounan?”
It was hard to tell with those glasses, but Keigo instinctively felt Yagyuu was gazing straight at him. “Regarding that, Yukimura-san has not made his plans known to us. I suspect he may not be certain, himself.”
Haginosuke had once commented, irritably, that it was remarkable how many of these life-and-death leadership decisions were made on instinct.
“Our vice-presidents have gone down to Yokohama to meet with Sakaki-san and Hanamura-sensei. I am sure an agreement will be worked out. Jyousei Shounan has always been a strong ally, but if they show an inclination to expand their field of associates... for the present, Rikkai is more than willing to overlook past differences, in the interests of defeating a common enemy.”
Sakaki was not someone who usually relied on instinct. Keigo wondered how the negotiations in Kanagawa were panning out.
“I have one last question for Niou-kun. Why did Mizuki kill Kotoha?” He didn't ask if Niou knew the reason; the bastard most likely did.
Niou looked at him. Aggressive and inscrutable. It was a common rumour that precognitives, especially the very powerful ones, were strange, unearthly people; difficult to understand, difficult to form relationships with.
That rumour was false. But people like Niou Masaharu no doubt perpetuated that myth.
In the end, it was Yagyuu who spoke. “Sometimes, Atobe-san, there are reasons. But then there's also human emotion. Thank you for your call. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”
The holograms faded as Niou cut the commlink.
Keigo didn't waste time wondering about the Rikkai duo's mind games. “Ootori,” he said, standing up. “Get Jirou off the net and put him in a normal bed; we may be due for trouble soon, and he needs to be in fighting condition. Oshitari, you finish handling the Kotoha case. The rest of you, back to your normal duties. Keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
He would miss hearing Kabaji's report, but Kabaji was more than patient when it came to such delays. He grabbed his jacket off the nearby coathanger, and his squad leaders parted to make way for him as he headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Shishido asked.
“To visit Mizuki Hajime.”
He left the door open, leaving them to stare after him as he headed up to the roof garage, where the flyers were kept.
On to Chapter 3.
30_kills, theme #28. Originially written August 2005.NB: For those of you who don't follow the manga, a good character profile of Kotoha can be found here. Spoiler warnings.
Chapter 1 here.
Chapter 2
Keigo could feel Oshitari's eyes on him as he moved about the room, straightening the ornaments on the mantelpiece. Who was responsible for cleaning his study this week? It must be one of the girls - Kabaji would have remembered, when moving the figurines to dust the shelves, that the statuette of Aphrodite went next to Ares and on the opposite end from Hera and Athena.
It was mid-afternoon. Outside the converted office building that acted as Hyoutei headquarters, puddles of water were slowly evaporating under the sunlight. All along the street, trendy young people sat in outdoor cafes, or sauntered down the street, sipping tea and sporting elegant new bioaccessories.
The trick to maintaining a gang territory, Sakaki had told him once, was to make sure it didn't look like one.
“She wasn't dressed like a runner,” Oshitari said, from his position by the door. “Not a jogger, either?”
Keigo curled his lip in distaste at hearing the word, a newly coined (and desperately uncreative, in his opinion) term for the females who accompanied runners and - usually, but not in Hyoutei – ran brothel houses for the syndicates. “If she were, Oshitari, wouldn't you have heard of her?”
Oshitari placed a finger on the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses – a foolish affectation; nobody had needed to wear glasses for at least two hundred years, not on the major planets, at any rate. “There's no need to be so insinuating, Atobe. Why should I pay for what I can easily get for free, in safer environments?”
If Oshitari hadn't been a genius medic (graduated at fourteen; third youngest in the history of Shin Tokyo); and a damnably good fighter, would Keigo have throttled him long ago? No, he decided. He had more self-control than that.
Although some trials were more worth bearing than others. He watched, uneasy, as Oshitari's eyes narrowed in recollection. “I remember now,” he said. “Gakuto had to deliver a letter once, to New Hokkaido. That was the girl, right?”
Atobe-sama: Here is the information you were looking for. I hope it helps. Love, Kotoha-chan.
Atobe-sama. I know you're not the type to celebrate Valentine's but I heard that you like dark chocolate, so I made these for you. From Kotoha-chan.
Atobe-sama. You've never been very impressed with me before. I guess I have too much pride to keep writing. Here is a last present. Kotoha-chan.
He set his mouth in a grim line. “She was the Tsubakikawa manager. Not a bad runner, despite the unfortunate choice of allegiances-” She would have come down to Hyoutei in a heartbeat if I'd asked her to.
“Hmm. She's rather attractive for a runner. But what would she be doing in Hyoutei? And why would Akazawa be looking for her? For that matter, why would Mizuki want to hide her body?”
“Are we certain that's what he was there for?”
Oshitari snorted. “He was either hiding the body or looking for it, and with his data, he had more than enough time to unearth the body if he'd been looking. So,” he asked, toying with the handle of the door, “are we going to find out?”
“It's none of our business.” It wasn't, Keigo insisted to the voice in his head.
Oshitari gave him the sure, whatever you say look, twisted the handle and flung the door of the study open, allowing a skinny, petulant bundle of energy to enter the room. “Yuushi, we're done with the autopsy.”
Oshitari raised an eyebrow. “So soon? You're getting more efficient.”
“I'm always efficient, Yuushi, what the hell are you talking about?” Mukahi Gakuto flounced across the room, sank into the armchair in front of Keigo's desk. “Hey Atobe, you ready to listen?.”
He stretched himself out, half-yawning. His scarlet hair was as neat as Oshitari's was unkempt: Mukahi Gakuto, Hyoutei's resident cat burglar and recreational substances expert. Between him and Oshitari, there wasn't a single chemical in Shin Tokyo they didn't know about.
Keigo turned away from the cabinet, took his seat behind the desk. “Let's hear it.” He placed one hand on the desk, studying his palm; was it paler than usual? Pull yourself together, he told himself. Kotoha's death had not been his fault. None of this charade was Hyoutei's responsibility.
So why was he taking such an interest?
“...death by strangulation, between twenty and twenty-two hundred hours last night. She seems to have been drugged beforehand, nothing major, just a mild soporific.”
“That's logical,” Keigo said. Kotoha was no street fighter, but she was strong enough to have given Mizuki significant trouble.
“The dental ID matched the ones in the records for Kobayashi Kotoha – not that I think it's her real name, but the records are pretty good, standard identifying details aside. The dental records were taken from the last time she went off-planet."
"We're still analysing the genetic material found on her clothing. Hopefully it won't turn out to be stuff she picked up while in the rubbish heap.”
Oshitari interjected: “Did you ask Kabaji to run a background check?”
“Of course, what do you take me for, stupid? I asked him to pull the records on Akazawa as well.
He should be done within an hour.”
Keigo looked across the room at Oshitari, who was still leaning against the doorframe, head bent in thought. “Something on your mind, Oshitari?”
Oshitari looked up. “I was simply wondering what interest Akazawa Yoshirou takes in the matter. He's not the type to interfere with Mizuki's doings; mostly he just sits back and lets things play out.”
“Well, she's a cute girl, maybe he wanted to keep the body.” Keigo glared at Mukahi. Really, what was with that pair's strange obsession with off-colour jokes? Particularly ones involving necrophilia.
A knock on the door spared him from having to ponder the subject in any depth.
“Yo, fearless leader. What's the story?” Oshitari moved out of the way as Shishido Ryou walked in, twisting his baseball cap in his hand - another outmoded fashion. One day, Keigo thought, he would have to call in all his squad leaders for a wardrobe revamp.
Shishido walked up to the desk. He threw a sharp glance at Keigo: “Atobe. You look like hell.”
Well, it wasn't as if they made it an organisational goal to cultivate good manners and positive thinking at Hyoutei, but Keigo could wish his squad leaders were a more encouraging bunch.
Footsteps sounded on the landing outside, and Ootori Choutarou appeared in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. “Are you all right, Atobe-san?” He was dressed in track pants and a deep blue jumper - probably fresh from the gym. Typical Ootori: wholesome and ridiculously analogue. Unlike Shishido, whose body was a miracle of reconstructive nanosurgery, or Taki Haginosuke, who acquired bioaccessories as frequently as he bought clothes, Oostori had little in his body besides what his genes had placed there.
Then again, when your genome had been tampered with as much as Ootori's had, perhaps you didn't particularly need mechanical upgrades.
Putting the white-platinum hair (a feat of gene splicing in itself) and suprahuman strength aside, Keigo was glad Ootori's parents had had the foresight to buy him a set of psionic genes. The younger boy's powers rated a respectable 7.2 on the Empathic scale, and somewhere around a 5 in telepathy and kinetics. He was nowhere near Keigo's level, of course; but he was more than good enough to handle the mid-level tasks that invariably required doing in a group like Hyoutei.
And Ootori was still a match for the likes of Fudoumine's Ibu Shinji and even for Oshitari, even if he wasn't one of the real psionics, as Keigo regarded them.
Seigaku's Fuji. Yamabuki's Sengoku. Sly-eyed Saeki Kojirou of Chiba. Niou Masaharu and Marui Bunta of Kanagawa. And of course, Yukimura.
Keigo forced his attention back to the present, where Ootori was still looking at him, frowning.
“Ootori, Shishido. How may I help you?” He looked at Shishido, who was scowling, and then Ootori, meeting each boy's gaze squarely. When my performance as president of Hyoutei falls below par, then you'll have the right to know about my state of health. Until then, feel free to wonder.
Not that that pair wouldn't spread the whole story, eventually. Mukahi gossiped as much as any Hyoutei jogger, and Oshitari was worse.
Well, Keigo had more pressing concerns than worrying about gossip.
Or petty murder between minor gangs, the inner voice nagged at him.
“How can you help us? Atobe, the word on the street is that Sakaki and Chief Superintendent Inoue are headed for a showdown. You remember the Runner's Compliance Strategy that Inoue submitted to the High Commissioner? Well, it's been approved.
“That's just so stupid,” Mukahi shook his head. “If we wanted to work with the police, we wouldn't have become runners in the first place.”
“Well, they've done it for centuries with hackers and phreakers,” Oshitari commented. “And Seigaku's example suggests that there are runners who are willing to take up those conditions.”
“Mukahi's right,” Shishido said. “Runners don't mix with police. It goes against what we are. And,” he scowled again, “I don't know what Sakaki is thinking, but the news came at lunchtime. He's had plenty of time to ask us to prepare for a fight.”
“He's probably busy in Kanagawa negotiating with Jyousei Shounan,” Keigo said calmly, although he felt a presage of violence run through him. A vision of the future? He might have to sit down and precog that later.
Outside, the sky was growing cloudy again. Keigo leaned over to flick on the light switch, hidden behind the holoprojector. Golden light flooded the oak-and-mahogany study, softening the crimson of Mukahi's hair, the scars on Shishido's left temple, the hard planes of Oshitari's face.
Oshitari, Keigo was interested to notice, had the unfocused look of a precog with a vision coming on; was he picking up something Keigo hadn't?
“What is the news on Tezuka?” Oshitari asked. He was looking straight at Shishido. Definitely a precognitive vision, Keigo decided; the glazed look in his eyes was unmistakeable.
Shishido folded his arms against his chest. “I don't know,” he admitted, slowly and with obvious reluctance. “It's the best-kept secret in Shin Tokyo. But Oishi's made so many moves in the past three days – alliances with Fudoumine, with Gyokurin, with the police – that I doubt he's acting without Tezuka's go-ahead. Which means that Tezuka's at least well enough to talk, or jack in to the Net.”
“He will be back within ten days, and at full strength.” When Keigo looked at him, Oshitari smiled. “That's my precognition time limit, as you very well know. And don't ask me for details of the vision; I didn't see anything other than Tezuka, caught in some minor fracas.”
Mukahi made a rude gesture. “That's going to be annoying! I knew you should have killed that guy when you had the chance, Atobe.”
“That's why I came, to tell you that Tezuka was returning.” Ootori stepped into the room, shut the door behind him. He smiled rather wanly. “But it looks like Oshitari beat me to it.”
“You knew that Tezuka was coming back?” Shishido turned, and he sounded as startled as Keigo felt.
“Akutagawa-san contacted me on my wristcomm.” He held up the wrist communication bands that were standard issue for every runner in Hyoutei – not that Ootori's wristcomm was anything like standard. “He said he met Yukimura on the Tennis Hub.”
The Tennis Hub was a VR space on the Net; it was a frequent haunt of Kanagawa runners and hackers. Keigo felt a frisson of tension run through him and spread to everyone in the room.
“Yukimura – talked to Jirou on the web?” That was Oshitari, who was rarely flummoxed.
Keigo's patience snapped. “That's it,” he said. He stood up, shoving his desk chair back as he did so. “I've had enough of Jirou's habits. He's been stalking Marui Bunta for years. I put up with it when he started following Fuji Syuusuke around as well, but he's going to get himself killed, or all of Hyoutei compromised, or both, if he doesn't pull himself together.”
“It's not all that dangerous,” Ootori protested. “Fuji Syuusuke isn't interested in fighting Akutagawa-san any more, now that he's avenged his brother. And Rikkai doesn't believe in unnecessary violence.”
“I have trouble with their definition of 'necessary',' Keigo said, face darkening.
Shishido gave him a Look. “You're one to talk.”
“Anyway, we should finish listening to what Ootori has to say,” Oshitari said. If he took any interest in the friction crackling in the atmosphere, he showed no sign of it.
“Uhh...” Ootori scratched his head. “He was in the Tennis Hub, looking for Marui, like Atobe-san said, and then he came across Yukimura, who was hiding behind an avatar. But when he saw Akutagawa-san he decided to show himself.”
“He passed on three messages. Firstly, Tezuka will be coming back soon, and he'll be at full strength for the first time in three years.”
That was one. Keigo sat down again, leaned forward, using his elbows to prop himself up. “Go on.”
“Secondly, he's sorry about Kotoha, but please don't give in to your feelings, as it will cause trouble for both Rikkai and Hyoutei, in the long run. For now, it's important that Fuji Yuuta stays with Mizuki.”
“Yuuta's still at SeiRu?” Mukahi said, incredulous. “Even after that Echizen told him the truth?”
“As far as we know,” Shishido confirmed.
“Damn, I don't know how anyone that smart with weapons systems could seriously think Mizuki was giving him nutritional supplements? I mean, sure he was on a cocktail, half of which were placeboes, but you'd think he had the brains to do a chemical test. I wouldn't go on anything Yuushi offered, without checking first.”
“Fuji Yuuta trusts Mizuki,” Keigo said quietly. Privately, he thought it was at least half the elder brother's fault. Fuji Syuusuke had always protected Yuuta, always fought his battles for him; never given the younger boy a reason to suspect those in authority. “The third message, Ootori?”
“The final message was this: Yukimura says you and Sakaki still hold a chance of winning this game, so try to make it interesting for him. In the meantime, feel free to borrow Jyousei Shounan for the upcoming encounter with the police.”
“The bastard,” Shishido muttered. “He wants us to decimate ourselves going up against Seigaku, and then move in and sweep up all the leftovers.”
No, Keigo thought. That was typical of Sanada, who was notoriously, dangerously efficient; but not of Yukimura. Yukimura's reasoning was never so simple.
It was common knowledge that a naturally kind disposition was a prequisite for high Empathic ability.
Yukimura Seiichi was a level 9 Empath. That was enough to unnerve Keigo. Almost.
He flipped open the control keyboard on his desk, and tapped several buttons. Mukahi looked on, curiously, from his curled-up position in the armchair.
“Who are you calling?”
“Yukimura,” he said. The Rikkai president's number was not publicly known; the one Keigo was using now was the call number for the executive holocomm, which the Rikkai leadership seemed to take turns carrying, going by Keigo's past experiences.
They waited for the call to go through. After about a minute, the holoprojector whirred to life.
And produced a rather solid-looking three-dimensional image of a tall, spectacled young man, wearing a green tie and slacks, about to skewer Mukahi through with a rapier.
“Oi!” Mukahi reacted; somersaulted right over the back of the armchair just as the image-rapier stabbed through the space where he'd been, and then flicked upwards.
The second image appeared in mid-air at the end of the rapier; the body of another young man, blood streaming from wounds in his neck and torso. He crashed into Keigo's cabinet before vanishing, it being beyond the scope of the holoprojector to produce an image in the middle of solid wood.
Keigo made a note to himself: switch to flat-screen mode before future attempts to vidcomm with Rikkai.
“The ninth, Niou-kun. Will that be all?”
Keigo turned in time to see Shishido scrambling out of the way, as a third hologram appeared.
Wild, white hair; eyes like winter frost. Rikkai's precognition psionic, Niou Masaharu.
“More than enough for now. We've got a call. As I'm sure you've noticed.”
Yagyuu Hiroshi bent down, and wiped his sword on the clothes of one of the casualties around him – by now, Atobe's office was filled with the images of dead people, as the holoprojection gained detail. He stood up and bowed to Keigo. “Atobe-san. My apologies. Your call came at an awkward time for us.”
“Yeah, finishing off Tsubakikawa took a lot longer than we expected,” Niou said. Shishido took another step away from the hologram.
Out of the corner of his eye, Keigo saw Oshitari start. For all his cleverness, Oshitari wasn't quite ruthless enough to handle Rikkai. “Tsubakikawa....”
Yagyuu turned. Even with blood spattered on his hands, he was still impeccably polite. “Oshitari-kun. It's been a long time since we met, hasn't it?”
Yagyuu Hiroshi. The only medic in Shin Tokyo ever to graduate at thirteen.
Oshitari flushed, but managed to stay calm. Keigo wouldn't have expected less of him. “A long time indeed. I was aware of your taste for violence, but I wouldn't have expected it to develop to this extent.”
“If old acquaintance permits, I might suggest that you have more than a slight taste for conflict yourself, given your current choice of colleagues.” He sheathed his rapier in one smooth motion. “Nevertheless, I do regret the degree of brutality that was called for today. The Tsubakikawa syndicate were under the misconception that we were responsible for the death of their manager.”
Keigo rapped his fingers on the desk. “Thank you for being candid, Yagyuu-san; we are aware that St. Rudolph is very likely the guilty party.”
“They are in fact the guilty party,” Yagyuu confirmed. “Yukimura-san and Niou-kun both precognised the event, more than a week ago.”
“Must have been some serious event, for two Kanagawa psionics to pick it up.”
“We take our strategic planning seriously, Shishido-kun.” Implying, of course, that other syndicates didn't.
Keigo raised a hand. “Enough, Shishido,” he ordered. “We would expect nothing less from Rikkai,” he said, nodding to Yagyuu.
Although Shishido was right. Kotoha's murder had evidently set in motion some major train of events, events affecting Rikkai it self- and if it affected Rikkai, it probably affected every syndicate in the Kanto reigion. At any rate, it more than justifed Keigo's interest in the matter.
He brushed that thought aside; since when did he have to justify his decisions to anyone other than Sakaki? And Sakaki wouldn't be concerned with this; it was too minor for him.
“We called you because of a message that Yukimura-san relayed to us. What are your intentions regarding Jyousei Shounan?”
It was hard to tell with those glasses, but Keigo instinctively felt Yagyuu was gazing straight at him. “Regarding that, Yukimura-san has not made his plans known to us. I suspect he may not be certain, himself.”
Haginosuke had once commented, irritably, that it was remarkable how many of these life-and-death leadership decisions were made on instinct.
“Our vice-presidents have gone down to Yokohama to meet with Sakaki-san and Hanamura-sensei. I am sure an agreement will be worked out. Jyousei Shounan has always been a strong ally, but if they show an inclination to expand their field of associates... for the present, Rikkai is more than willing to overlook past differences, in the interests of defeating a common enemy.”
Sakaki was not someone who usually relied on instinct. Keigo wondered how the negotiations in Kanagawa were panning out.
“I have one last question for Niou-kun. Why did Mizuki kill Kotoha?” He didn't ask if Niou knew the reason; the bastard most likely did.
Niou looked at him. Aggressive and inscrutable. It was a common rumour that precognitives, especially the very powerful ones, were strange, unearthly people; difficult to understand, difficult to form relationships with.
That rumour was false. But people like Niou Masaharu no doubt perpetuated that myth.
In the end, it was Yagyuu who spoke. “Sometimes, Atobe-san, there are reasons. But then there's also human emotion. Thank you for your call. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”
The holograms faded as Niou cut the commlink.
Keigo didn't waste time wondering about the Rikkai duo's mind games. “Ootori,” he said, standing up. “Get Jirou off the net and put him in a normal bed; we may be due for trouble soon, and he needs to be in fighting condition. Oshitari, you finish handling the Kotoha case. The rest of you, back to your normal duties. Keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
He would miss hearing Kabaji's report, but Kabaji was more than patient when it came to such delays. He grabbed his jacket off the nearby coathanger, and his squad leaders parted to make way for him as he headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Shishido asked.
“To visit Mizuki Hajime.”
He left the door open, leaving them to stare after him as he headed up to the roof garage, where the flyers were kept.
On to Chapter 3.
