Aeon Natum Engel (NGE cross-over)

[Vehrec]

http://kol.coldfront.net/thekolwiki/ind ... sunglasses Like these? They aren't a bad item, even if everyone does look like a radioactive mutant.

Back on topic, I think the TSAB's biggest sin in my book is their general lack of any uplift programs, their willingness to let other cutltures languish under them, and the way they pat themselves on the back for doing so. For a generalized comparision, I think it would be better for a random species to be under the administration of the Covenant from Halo rather than the TSAB. At least the Covenant bootsrtaps you up to the fusion age, even if they are a militant theocracy.

[Xon]

TSAB may not be in the uplift business because of historical reasons. It is one thing to take a few thousand, even hundreds of thousands people and basicly import them into your society, but giving untold billions of people you don't trust access to horifically dangerous technology while the TSAB has massive problems of it's own?

The precursor society of the TSAB fell, and fell hard. And we(the readers) don't know why.

[Vehrec]

I'm not suggesting they hand out world-crackers like party favors, but I do think that allowing a world where millions lack for food and basic sanitation to continue to exist is a major humanitarian oversight.

[Jonen C]

Okay.

Just for that turn of phrase, you're getting a cameo/ minor role of your choice.

*Pumps fist* Yersh!

I should like to request a desk job somewhere. Possibly in the foundation. Normal human, preferably. Possibly a member of a "mostly harmless" cult or group, like, say Spacebattles.

"Jade-coloured glasses". Genius. Just genius.

And, no, I don't care if someone else came up with it first. You're the one who introduced it to me, and it's such a fundamentally useful term that you deserve a prize.

The character will be wearing green tinted shades, though.

The glasses is no issue - I have glasses in real life, and even if I didn't need to, I'd probably wear frames as a fashion statement.

Oh, and I should note the specific phrase in question is also a trope.

[Baughn]

The TSAB has quite a lot of issues with Earth. In no particular order:

- The previous society to fall was.. Midchilda. They didn't quite wipe themselves out, but they most certainly did wipe out their government. Look at the scenery in StrikerS; their capital city isn't of the "abandoned post-nuclear-war" variety for no reason. (There's a lot more information in the sound stages, by the way)

- Before that, Belka. Those people did wipe themselves out entirely; there were scattered survivors, but Belka itself got eaten by grey goo. You meet her in As, of course. Belka's self-destruction is fairly understandable; they were into transhumanism in a big way, but didn't really understand the (al-hazardian) technology they were modifying, and eventually got it horribly wrong.

Midchilda did it the other way around. They seem to have decided they really need to understand their own technology; however, their little war has led to the introduction of less well understood magic apparently because it's less destructive. I'm not so sure about that one, but that's the claim.

More likely, it's because their existing infrastructure got thoroughly shattered, and they had to resort to magic to maintain their civilization.

- The total population of the TSAB administered worlds is.. unknown, but believed to be less than ten billion. It may be less than six.

See the issue here?

- And, oh yeah, magic itself is strongly implied to be an artifact; something al-hazard created. It's worth noting that certain artifacts (namely the Cradle) can interfere with it, and the lines it spoke implied that it wasn't using an anti-magic field or anything, it was just shutting down its local magic supply.. so they were using the cradle's power to bust up the cradle. Heh.

- And just to make things even funnier, there's no mention of evolution in the series, but they do mention that humanity is not native to, well, any of the worlds in there. Except, presumably, earth. How's that work, I wonder?

[JonB]

Perhaps this discussion on Nanoha can be moved to a seperate thread to avoid cluttering up the ANE story? Baughn, I must however, ask for the sources of your information, as I can recall nothing like that in the three series, the Manga (including Vivid, and the prologue for Maglical Lyrical War Chronicles) nor the Sound Stages.

[Baughn]

Most of it's never explicitly stated. It's what makes sense, and most of it is at least only one or two inferential steps away from canon. So I could be "wrong", except there's no way to disprove it, and in the absence of contradicting evidence you're supposed to pick the simplest theory.

Of course, if you find a simpler one..

But you're right, since it's got nothing to do with ANE the discussion shouldn't be here.

[LadyTevar]

Dammit... when's the NEXT CHAPTER?

[EarthScorpion]

No, this isn't Chapter 11. Sorry to disappoint you, LadyTevar. That's still in process, although until I reread it, to get a feel of where the chapter was going, this section was a 3000+ word segment in the middle. Basically, I need this in the public domain, because I need to introduce the Children of Chaos as a faction playing in this grand game, but it would be completely wrong to have them make their first appearance in Chapter 12, 13 or 14 (as they're focussing on CATO and the Dagonites), and having these words in the middle really broke the flow of Chapter 11. So, I decided it was long enough for this section to be worthy of its own little chapter (although, officially, this is an "Interlude").

By the way, chapter 11 is now 9107 words, without this. It's progressing; it's just the main characters and their interactions which are slowing me down.




Interlude 2

Fool's God

~'/|\'~

The air was thick with pungent incense, the tailored hallucinogenic compounds loosening the minds of the robed figures from the constraints of their bodies and what might be laughably called mundane reality. The light was dim, yet all pervasive, a dull yellow that surrounded the figures and enveloped them, the walls themselves glowing. In this, the gold robed figures were almost invisible, only observable by the shimmers and reflections that they gave off as they swayed. The only truly distinguishable feature in the room was the pool of black fluid in the middle, which writhed and bubbled, fine tendrils protruding from the formless surface and tracking the individual figures even in the odd light.

The music came to a stop, and all the figures froze. All bar one, who stepped forwards, pulling off their golden veil and hood, to reveal a crimson shroud underneath, still leaving their figures anonymous.

“Friends!” the figure announced, in an androgynous voice, “It is good to see you all here today. Our numbers remain unchanged. It is a good sign, for it tells us that the Elder Gods protect us from the evil of the agent of the terrors which ruled the world long ago. Blesséd be Their names!”

“Blesséd be!” the figure echoed, the voices resonating strangely in the curved walls of the chamber.

“We must abhor the evil of the group which publicly calls itself the New Earth Government, but we know to be nothing more than the puppet of the Hand of the Crawling Chaos himself. The Elder Gods have revealed this to us, blesséd be Their names.”

“Blesséd be!”

“The Hand of the Crawling Chaos would burn the world to ash, and rend down the bodies of the people of the world to be consumed by their vile master. They may try to hide, but there are signs of their malignancy hidden in every deed. Even their name reveals the vile purpose they intend for the world. They are reviled and forsaken!”

“Reviled and forsaken!” the others echoed.

“Down with the Servants of the Crawling Chaos!” one of the other figures in the crowd shouted, in the same anonymous, androgynous voice.

“Down with the Traitors to Humanity!” yelled another.

“Death to the Blasphemers of the Flesh!” added a third.

“Death to the Ashcroft Foundation!” shouted the group as a whole, each voice perfectly synchronised. “Destroy the technology they use to control the New Earth government! Let Freedom Reign!”

The red veiled figure, the only one distinguishable, raised both hands. “Friends. Our righteous anger at the corruption which permeates the very basis of the world is justified. The Elder Gods know this, blesséd be Their names.”

“Blesséd be!”

“But,” the figure raised a finger, “but, their reach is long and terrible. They control everything. The scanners in every arcology door, the cameras that watch every move. Only in this one sacred place, guarded from their tainted eyes, can we be safe, and plan how we can overthrow their blasphemous tyranny. For a tyranny it is. The Hand of the Crawling Chaos controls everything about this war. They invited the Migou to invade, only to turn on them, so that they could steal their technology. How many of you have lost friends and family from the activity of those loathsome insects, or found that your entire race was created as a lie to be used as a weapon? For that, the Hand of the Crawling Chaos are reviled and forsaken.”

“Reviled and forsaken!” the group repeated.

“The Hand of the Crawling Chaos puppets the monsters of the Rapine Storm, using them as the monster at the gates so that people are confined to the arcologies. Those poor fools who have joined those monsters are used as experimental subjects by the Ashcroft Foundation, testing out new drugs and genetic engineering, to produce supersoldiers. They care nothing for ethics or morality; it is said by some that the Hand of the Crawling Chaos even have produced child soldiers who they use in their cult-army right now! For that, and ten thousand other crimes, they are reviled and forsaken!”

“Reviled and forsaken!” the echo came back.

“And for the greatest of the crimes, the Ashcroft Foundation is the force behind the Esoteric Order of Dagon! It was they who bought back an ancient cult as a tool, for they believe that they follow the Crawling Chaos and so they do not fear the High Priest of the Outer Gods. Fools! For that, they are reviled and forsaken!”

“Reviled and forsaken!” the others answered, thus finishing the recital of the Three Crimes.

“But we,” continued the figure, “we are the loyalists to the cause of humanity. We will save it, because the Elder Gods, blesséd be Their name...”

“Blesséd be!”

“... have told us that we must. We have seen the darkness that will come if we do not follow them, and we shall prevent it, by any means necessary.” The figure paused. “But though the Elder Gods are our best hope, there is but one who is the best hope for us all. Though the corruption of the Hand of the Crawling Chaos holds the world by its throat, even as they use the Dagonites as a tool, we have our own, greatest ally. The elements themselves back us, under the command of their lord. Ia, ia. Ia Kthanid!”

“Ia! Ia! Ia Kthanid!” the cultists shrieked.

“Ia Kthanid! Brother of the High Priest of the Outer Gods, the dread beast known only as Cthulhu, our Lord Kthanid stands against the depredations of his brother!”

“Ia Kthanid!”

"Ia Kthanid! He is as good as his brother is evil. He is our last, best hope. And so we, his favoured ones, must obtain all the information about the evil ones so that we may give it to him, and his other worshippers may save humanity from the evil of his Brother and from the evil of the Crawling Chaos. Ia Kthanid!”

“Ia Kthanid!

“Let the Keeper of Secrets present themselves!” declared the red-veiled figure.

Another figure stepped forth from the crowd, to stand before the writing blackness in the middle of the room. Unlike the rest of the group, it was wearing robes of what would have been white under normal light, making it even harder to see, for it lacked the shine of the gold garments.

“Ia Kthanid!”, it called out.

“Oh Keeper of Secrets, the one who risks the most against the evil of the Hand of the Crawling Chaos, the Ashcroft Foundation, have you taken the words of truth from the other Friends?”

“I have taken the truth, and I have recorded it. Ia Kthanid! It shall go unto him, via his chosen servitor, and from there it shall be used to strike blows at the heart of the corruption of the NEG. To save us all from the evil of the Crawling Chaos and from the Dark Brother of our Lord.”

The red-robed veiled inclined its head. “So be it ordained!”

“So be it ordained!” the Keeper responded. “Master, we could have you call forth the Chosen of our Lord, so that we may speak with it and present it with our unworthy offerings.”

The red-veiled individual raised their hands. “Is it the assent of the Friends that we call down the Chosen of our King and Lord, so that we may offer what little information we have obtained? Is it sufficient to be a worthy offer? Call out His name if you feel that we have fulfilled the task set to us?”

“Ia Kthanid!”, a good majority of the room called out, the sound of their voices echoing and rebounding off the walls.

“So be it ordained!” The figure removed its red veil, revealing that, underneath the concealing garment, was a pleasant looking, slightly balding middle aged man, of Japanese origin. “Ia Kthanid! We are equal before him, and his Chosen. Show his Chosen your face, so that He may know you. Only the Keeper of Secrets must go without this gift, for the Keeper is our scapegoat and so must remain unknown, so that their duties may be carried out.” His voice was no longer that of an anonymous androgyne with the removal of the sound-altering veil, but one which seemed much more right for his face.

The Keeper melted back into the strange yellow light, already almost invisible in the hallucinogenic smoke. Around the centre, the rest of the sect was unmasking, removing their yellow veils, and producing a set of normal looking faces, perhaps a little more human and middle aged than the main population. The Nazzadi among them were especially prominent; patches of darkness floating in the yellow lit fog.

“Now, come! Chosen of Kthanid, we humbly present our gift to you! We, the Friends of the Third Circle, offer our knowledge so that mankind may be saved.”

The group began to chant, slow, sonorous, ritualised words in a language which sounded nothing like the tongues spoken day-to-day in human-controlled territories. Slowly, matching the pulses of their cadences words, the bubbling, boiling black mass began to rise up, and as it did, the darkness fell away, leaving only a reflective golden mass. The lights around the room pulsed brightly, leaving a burning afterglow in the eyes of the spectators.

As their vision had cleared, the servitor of their Lord could clearly be seen. A golden figure, statuesque in proportions stood before them, with no trace of the former dark fluid. It was vaguely female in appearance, but its anatomy was like that of a doll; nothing was evident despite its nakedness. And it was not quite human; it blended certain draconic elements in its curved claws and backwards-facing knees.

The masses fell to their knees.

And the figure opened its eyes.

“Ia Kthanid!” it said softly, in an androgynous contralto.

And there was much rejoicing.

~'/|\'~

It was almost 3am, many hours later, when the last two individuals left the room. They had been dribbled out strategically, to minimise the chance of anything amiss being detected by the New Earth Government. As an area outside of an arcology, the nearest one being Tokyo-3 itself, it was far less scrutinised than the superstructures themselves.

And that suited the pair just fine.

Of course, certain things were lost by keeping away from the arcologies. The lack of the rigid control from policing, for one, meant that the crime rate was considerably higher out under the real sky. There were whispers that the NEG didn't really care, as it provided an incentive for people to move into the monitored cities, where they could be subject to very frequent blood checks and periodic brain scans, all in the name of security.

But under the dark sky, a legacy of the reduced levels of light pollution even this close to Tokyo-3, the man and woman felt safe. He was clad in a smart, comfortable light coloured suit, made of modern artificial fibres interwoven with a heat transfer lattice which which regulated body temperature near perfectly, while she wore dark, formal business wear, of a Nazzadi cut despite her Japanese human ancestry. They obviously had money. They also had a company car less than five minutes away.

And a little butterfly badge, made of nanofactory diamond, on their lapels.

“Well,” the woman said, “that went well.” She flexed her shoulders, and reached around her back, scratching the small of her neck.

The man made a small noise in his throat.

She slowly lowered her arm. “I'm sorry, Huhugr. My mistake. But I was stuck in that imaginary inanity for too many hours.” She smiled, a perfect, symmetric grin on a supermodel-quality face. “How about we get something to eat on the way back.”

A very attentive observer would have noticed that these was something about the hang of the cloth that didn't quite sit right. It seemed tighter than it appeared from the outside, if that sentence made any sense.

The man shrugged, the expensive cloth sliding over his body without creasing or crumpling. “I think not. I'd rather not linger here. We don't need the inconvenience of some overenthusiastic local police deciding that this is not a safe area to be in, and deciding to give us a lift home. It would be nice, though, to blow off some steam. I know we had to be called in to give those idiots a show, and I know you were needed. I just don't know why I had to get stuck under that stupid robe.” He grinned too, a far more malicious reckoning. “I'm sure I will have fun tonight, though, helping ensure the survival of the species.”

The woman shot him a glance. “Your inferior species, you mean. We're the future. You're just tagging along because you are superior to the base.” There was a slight hint in the tone of the conversation that this had been said between them many times, and they'd entirely given up hope of persuading the other.

He flapped his hand. “Yes, yes. So you go on. But, honestly,” he continued, “I do see the purpose of these little sects. They're such a useful information source. It's an exchange, even if they don't see it as such. We get information, and they get bullshit.”

The woman smirked, the malignancy somehow fitting for the face despite its beauty. “It's hilarious when the OIS or the FSB raid them. 'No, we're not an evil cult',” she said, her voice entirely shifting to a deep male bass. “'You're the evil ones, under the control of the cult. And we don't worship Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep Ones! We worship his good brother, Kthanid, who is like him, but shiny!'” She laughed, a silver peal in the quiet night's air, as she returned to her previous voice. “Humans are such idiots. What kind of an idiot would believe that there are nice, friendly 'Elder Gods' who help humanity against the depredations of the Great Old Ones? That there exists Good, and Evil, aligned along some kind of primitive elemental correspondence?”

“Apparently, a surprising number of people,” the man replied, scrolling down the text on the screen of his wrist-mounted PCPU.

“Honestly, it's like some old myth, like what the Vikings, the Christians, the Aztecs... pretty much everyone, come to think of it, believed,” snorted the woman.

“Now, now. I wouldn't insult one of His jaunts in that manner,” the man chided, gently. “One missed call... excuse me for a moment,” he said, flicking on the touchpad to activate the implanted headphones and microphone. “And deal with them,” he added, nodding his head backwards towards a small street gang, of three youths, two Nazzadi and one xenomix, trying to sneak up behind them.

With almost liquid grace, the woman turned to face them, taking a step forwards while smiling in what seemed to be genuine amusement.

They stared at her for a moment.

She stared back.

The leader of the gang, the female xenomix, whose white facial markings were not quite symmetric, waved the katana she was holding her right hand hand , as she pointed a gun at them with the other. The other two had rather large knives, which they were holding in a threatening position.

The woman cocked her head.

The pistol was a cheap, Stallag branded one. Stallag, the bane of NEG law enforcement. At the time of the Migou invasion of Russia, one of their major major arms manufacturers had spent their last time designing a range of weapons which could be made with parts from a civilian issue nanofactory, from parts of legal non-weapons.

It had been a great success. They had designed a range of weaponry that any civilian, with access to some basic parts and the know-how to take the legal items apart, could build. The anti-Migou resistance in Russia had held out for several years, raiding Nazzadi Loyalist and Blank encampments for supplies, while doing what damage they could.

The problem had been that they had designed a range of weapons that any petty street crook could make from their home nanofactory. And they couldn't just make the parts illegal, because they were needed for many legally producible goods. The production of those legal items could be monitored, of course, but it wasn't too hard to conceal the purchase by spreading them out over time or using different machines. And so petty criminals all across the NEG were armed with somewhat reliable, very cheap guns, which lacked the fire sensors, ballistics records, or onboard monitoring systems of legal firearms.

This, understandably, drove the law enforcement mad.

All of this ran, almost instinctively, though the black-suited woman's head, as she stared at the young xenomix; maybe eight years younger than her. This gang was fairly poor quality, as they lacked proper firearms, they were carrying an illegal gun, and they really looked like a wild haired gang of teenagers.

Perfect.

They wouldn't be missed.

“What do you want?” she said, putting a stammer of fear (so alien to her, now) in her voice.

The xenomix grinned, revealing that she had the chisel-like teeth of the Nazzadi side of her family. “Give us all your onimaly money, your onimaly pissy-pews, and maybe we'll let you live.”

“You want us to get to the Okinawa facility?” the man, Huhugr said calmly into his PCPU, ignoring the drama around him. “Certainly, but that will take a few days for the transfer arrangements... I understand.... Yes... Yes,” he paused, listening for a while. “Yes... Oh, we're fine here.”

This utterly infuriated the petty gang leader, whose subordinates were ordered to grab the black-suited woman.

It turned out to be quite a mistake, when they found that what they had taken to be a black, formal suit of a Nazzadi cut was actually part of her body, insofar as terms like “her” and even “body” could be applied to the amorphous black non-Newtonian fluid, which grabbed onto their faces, and didn't let go. The bodies thrashed around, as the woman-thing (now not really anything more than a pillar of black goo, with the face 'she' had chosen to wear flayed across the surface) forced her substance down their throats, into both the respiratory and digestive systems, spreading out and tearing the bodies apart from the inside.

'She' let a certain amount of oxygen pass through her body, though, into their tar-like fluid-filled lungs.

It wouldn't do to let them die too quickly.

Naturally, the gang leader screamed and panicked, pumping the trigger on her semiautomatic wildly. Of course, such mindless, prehuman terror was not conducive to such things as fine motor control, rational though, or aiming (neither the concept nor the ability), and so all she did was make a lot of noise, send one bullet into the shaven Nazzadi's abdomen, and another into the suited man, taking him in the thigh.

The fire stopped when he screeched and part of his leg peeled off, as first one rubbery tentacle and then another, which wrapped themselves around both arms, inhuman strength lifting the grey-skinned girl into the air, and sending her weapons clattering to the ground.

Huhugr smiled, widely (too widely, as his mouth split apart into a beak), watching as the company car pulled up, even as the hole in the greyish flesh that had been his leg closed up.

“Well, looks like I was wrong. You get a meal, and it even came with a toy!” he said in a delighted tone, wrapping the gang leader up in more of the mass of tentacles which had once comprised his legs.

The gang leader could only scream helplessly into the thing that blocked her mouth as the black pillar of goo flowed into the car, taking both her friends into its mass, as the betentacled monstrosity grinned at her, before dragging her in too.

~'/|\'~

The Chrysalis Corporation – Evolving Processes from Within

~'/|\'~

[Battlehymn Republic]

I like the idea that Kthanid is an avatar of the King of Yellow, myself.

[EarthScorpion]

I like the idea that Kthanid is an avatar of the King of Yellow, myself.

To be fair, I did (independently) come up with that as an independent alternative, but that would mean that I would have to accept the Derlethism that Hastur is Cthulhu's brother, and I'd really rather not do that. It was seriously considered though, as the "Golden Maw" does sound a lot like a Hastur avatar. The one active in Cthulhutech, guiding both the Rapine Storm and the Death's Shadows (in their mutually contradictory goals) is the Ruined King, by the way. "... a gaunt nobleman who wears tattered robes and a crown made of a single bone. His face is eternally shadowed, and the cold air of the grave follows him." Of course, the art draws him as bloated and obese.

So, instead Kthanid's a fiction made up by the Children of Chaos to find good intentioned people, subvert them so that they're useful to Nyarlathotep's goals, and if they are caught by the NEG, well, they're worshipping a tentacle-mawed god. It's obviously just another form of Cthulhu, so this is another Dagonite cult, and not at all the tool of the Nyarlathotep-worshipping second largest megacorpration in the world.

The Children of Chaos and the Chrysalis Corporation are fun to write for. In a sort of cathartic "We're total bastards with a very good legal department way."

Chapter 11 currently stands at 11,789 words, by the way. The external parts of the story are finished (ie, the non-Eva parts), and the Eva-storyline parts are being worked on.

[Battlehymn Republic]

I don't really consider his cosmological deity bloodlines. But I can easily accept that Big C and Big H are rivals, though- by default they'd be competing for followers anyways.

[EarthScorpion]

I don't really consider his cosmological deity bloodlines. But I can easily accept that Big C and Big H are rivals, though- by default they'd be competing for followers anyways.

True enough. But I would alter what you're saying slightly - by default, their cults compete for follows. We can't really know what the entities themselves want (beyond broad goals, like the destruction / corruption and degradation (Hastur [1] seems a little unclear to what he actually wants, from the goals given to his followers) of human society). At the moment, all you can really say is that their cults are currently allies of convenience (well, the Dagonites and the Death's Shadows are; the Rapine Storm really can't achieve the level of cognition to be able to understand the concepts of "allies", and quite possibly "convenience") in opposing the New Earth Government, but they have fundamentally opposing goals.

And I really can't go any further, without providing spoilers. Suffice to say, you might just be able to put some things together from the information already provided in the story to the sheer clusterfuck that the endgame will involve, just from the number of factions I've already introduced. There are more.



[1] Fuck. I actually typed "Haruhi" first time I wrote this, and didn't notice until I scanned back through. In all honesty, what KyoAni are doing with Endless Eight goes far beyond the society corrupting effects of Hastur, and are much more Nyarlathoteppy in malevolence.

[kingdragon]

You already said this is also a crossover with FEAR. If that's the case, where are the man-portable directed-energy weapons?

[EarthScorpion]

You already said this is also a crossover with FEAR. If that's the case, where are the man-portable directed-energy weapons?

Well, technically, there are already are man-portable directed-energy weapons. They just rely on the man wearing a suit of powered armour first.

More generally, the smallest directed energy weapons require a car-battery sized battery, and give you twenty shots. They're only really carried by power armour, because it's easier for an infantyman, for your anti-armour purposes, to carry an anti-armour railgun or a missile launcher, because they're lighter in that they can be carried by a single man (usually, the anti-armour railguns are used by sniper-spotter teams). Generally, the technology in Aeon Natum Engel defaults to Cthulhutech technology, and they haven't managed to miniaturise their DE weapons down to the level where a human can wield them, mostly due to energy requirements (and the heavy protective gear you'd need to avoid frying yourself when firing them from heat transfer).

To carry both the weapon and the battery is really beyond most soldiers, when they're also having to wear fairly heavy armour and supplies (both food, ammo and air, in case their opponents are using chemical or biological weapons). You need some kind of... some kind of super soldier to be able to carry that kind of heavy equipment around without powered armour. Where on earth could the NEG get a large number of peak-human plus soldiers, to be able to widely deploy that many man-sized directed energy weapons? And they'd have to be loyal and at least somewhat resilient to AWS, because you don't want someone with a man-portable plasma weapon which vapourises all the flesh on a man's body with a single shot panicing and squeezing the trigger when he's ambushed by a summoned monster. I'm sorry, but the problem seems to be insurmountable, at the moment.



So, yes, in other words, I suspect you'll like the end of the next chapter (currently off with the beta), and certainly you'll like Chapter 12. And probably 13 as well.

[Jonen C]

Quoting myself, but eh...

"Foreshadowing? Isn't that when an author leads the target prior to unleashing a burst of plot?"

I also note you didn't post the video here yet...

[EarthScorpion]

It might be because I take this place a little more seriously than SB. It might also be because there's more traffic on that sight, so I'd be more likely to get a response before the next chapter went up and just made me look silly.

Moreover, I would like to point out that I have admitted before that I am a compulsive foreshadower. Not quite enough to make me a Batman villain, but I find dropping cryptic hints and dramatic irony to be hilarious.

And on that topic, the next chapter!

Seriously, this time.



Chapter 11

To Play Always

~'/|\'~

The Deputy Representative was waiting for Gendo Ikari when he returned to his office.

Ah. The old man is exceptionally annoyed about something. Now to see if this will this escalate to a true confrontation... I do not believe so.

Gendo held a small, faint smile on his face, as much to mask the annoyance that he was experiencing as to annoy his former mentor.

“Where were you?” asked Fuytusuki, his voice perfectly level and impassive, perhaps with a hint of curiosity. That alone showed the man's irritation; he was normally more expressive than that.

Gendo didn't answer at first, instead walking straight to his desk, and ensuring that the wards remained intact. He nodded once, in satisfaction, then spoke;

“Some mutual friends had information about a potentially useful asset. It was necessary to liaise with certain of them, as well as pass on information about activities of AHNUNG.” Gendo pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with an index finger. “Certain individuals compromised will suffer accidents over the next week.”

The white-haired individual merely stared at the younger man. He quite obviously wasn't going to accept it without more information.

Gendo sighed. “The potential asset was a TDE available and detected both by the TPDD flare and the characteristic amnesia in the individual suffering Type-6 Seelenversetzung.”

“A Temporally Displaced Entity?” queried Fuyutsuki. “Intentional or accidental? Human or xeno?”

Gendo gazed out over the top of his glasses. “A Yithian TDE, to be exact. The individual suffering Type-6 Seelenversetzung was, prior to the incident, resident in Toyko-3. The entity had only just entered this timeplane, and since the subject was still at school, the personality change and amnesia set off systematic alarm bells. You can see now why I felt it was so urgent to obtain the asset.”

The older man leant forwards. “Did you get it?” he asked, in an urgent tone of voice. “All prior attempts have either lead to the death of the Seelenversetzung Y-Entity or its escape via TPDD.”

Gendo's mask cracked then, a flare of real anger surging through, muscles tensing in his jawline. “It was captured, but not by us.” The anger was suddenly gone, locked away behind an utterly neutral face. “The Children of Chaos got there first. They had subverted the local OIS; during custody transfer, the subject just disappeared. Not literally, but the data trail goes dead.”

A look of worry filled Fuyutsuki's eyes. “Oh dear,” he said, quite fully aware of the inadequacy of that statement.

“Quite,” stated Gendo, clamping back down in his emotions and hiding them behind the mask again. “We can but hope that the Em model of Temporal Dynamics is the true one. If the Fujiwara Static Hypothesis is true, then the Children of Chaos have just obtained a map for the events that are to come.” The man fell silent. “And we are all doomed.”

“No entity which is in any way comprehensible to our mode of thought will be able to resist a dedicated interrogation by the extranormal assets that Chrysalis have available,” replied Fuyutsuki, his voice morose. “Even assuming He will not involve himself.” The old man shuddered. “And the records we have, of the Peaslee, Bhati and Alvarez Cases, show that the Y-Entities can be understood; they operate fairly close to us on the Mabbott Logarithmic Sapience Scale” He paused. “Our best hope, then, is that the individual was suffering from Type-6 Seelenversetzung for reasons unrelated.”

Gendo got out of his seat, and walked over to the edge of the room, his gait that of a much older man.

“We can but hope,” he said softly, gazing up at the false stars in the night-time ceiling of the Geocity. “ If the Fujiwara Static Hypothesis is true, then everything has failed. I will devote an ORACLE cycle to trying to intuit anything about what they have found.”

He stood there, staring up.

Fuyutusuki cleared his throat.

“Have you read the PsychEvals for your s... for the Third Child?”

Gendo did not turn to face his former mentor.

“Yes. First Stage AWS, of the Navidson sub-type, if I am any judge. Frankly, he was lucky to escape with so little.” The Representative exhaled. “He will be fine. Do not remove him from the active duty rosters. No more Heralds are predicted before CATO, which exists to fulfil the Texts, and so there will be a period of relief.”

The white-haired man made an annoyed noise. “I do know that, Ikari, just as you do. There is no need to explain things to me in that manner.”

“It is necessary to keep such things in mind. We must never forget that we are shaping events to fit the Texts so that we may break from then when we wish, not playing their game to the end. Ultimately, the greater good of our plan means that we must sacrifice some pawns, but it would be foolish to dispose of assets before their full use has been extracted. And so we must conserve resources by whatever means we can extract.”

“It is fortunate that the EFCS exists.” Fuyutsuki paused, a faint aura of nervousness suddenly radiating around him. “That is, the noetic filtering side-effects of the EFCS are fortunate.”

“Indeed.” Gendo continued to stare out the transparent walls.

Behind him, Gendo heard the Deputy Representative turn and leave, his shoes clicking on the clean white surface.

I'm sorry, Yui.

This will not have been for nothing, I promise you. I will make sure of it.

~'/|\'~

Misato leant on the balcony, and gazed down at the lab area, cup of coffee in hand. Ritsuko was explaining the latest research idea to Asuka and Shinji.

“... and so we'd like you both to be wearing the A-10 Clips while we put you through the new intensive training regime.”

Asuka shrugged. “It makes no difference to me. I wear them already. And I don't really see the point of the training. I don't need it.” She paused. “Now, Shinji, on the other hand, needs the practice to get him up to my level...”

“You know, that's exactly why you both need it,” called down Misato.

Asuka glanced up towards the elder woman, eyes momentarily widening as she recognised her presence. “Why?” she asked bluntly, with a hidden undertone of hostility.

“Because, frankly,” the Major replied coldly, “the last operation was a mess. You obstructed his lines of fire, he isn't used to operating with others, and both of you failed to operate as a small unit. Now,” the Major admitted, “it is our fault for not having done this as soon as you were positioned together, but we see now how necessary it is.”

“But...” protested Asuka, before the Major cut her off.

“Protest will not be tolerated.”

The red-headed girl flinched slightly, at the singularly un-Misato-like attitude, before her face settled in a blank mask.

“And will the girl w... that is, the First Child be joining the training?” she asked in an excessively polite tone, hiding her disappointment.

“It was deemed that the First Child was unsuitable for the intensive training programme,” answered Ritsuko, stepping around into the line of sight between Asuka and Misato. “She will practice with you in Immersion Training Simulations in the dummy bodies, but the real issue, at the moment, is the level of animosity between you two. This is, in part, what the regime is designed to remedy.”

“There isn't animosity between us two,” Asuka countered. “There might be a... healthy exchange of ideas, sometimes, but I wouldn't call it animosity.”

Both Ritsuko and Misato stared at her for a while, silently. Her eyes flicked between the two of them. “That's right, isn't it, Shinji?”

The boy slowly turned to look at the other pilot. Slightly bloodshot eyes stared out from over noticeable bags. He stared at her for a moment, as if not quite comprehending.

“I suppose,” he finally said.

Misato winced. The after-effects of the fiasco that had been the fight against the most recent Herald (assigned, almost retroactively from how fast the thing had been slain, the code-name Shalim-Shacar, in recognition of its apparently dual nature) had reminded her of what they had been really doing. Namely, sticking teenagers in arcanocyberxenobiological weapons of war, up against monstrosities even more horrific than the ones she had seen back when she had been in the frontlines in the Aeon War.

All but one, that is, a small voice whispered in her ear.

It was horrifically amoral, only avoided violating several major laws due to the technicalities they had managed to find, and undeniably effective. That was the worst part.

I wish those two had been in Tibet.

For Shinji, it had been the sight of that pseudo-Zone which had briefly formed before its closure which had left in his current state, afraid of the dark and having problems sleeping. When they had finally released him from the Clinic, three days after they had given Asuka a clean bill of mental health, she had seen the diagnosis notes. The Navidson sub-type; a comparatively milder variant, at first, in that the symptoms could be contained and the cause attacked and removed, was still no laughing matter. She had found out what had happened to the first individual to exhibit those symptoms, after reading the Clinic notes, and it had not been pleasant reading. The second individual mentioned had watched an illicit text authored by the first, and the subsequent breakdown of his mental state had been fortunately recorded in personal, analytical notes on the book. Even the censored, OIS provided summary had provided too much information.

And stirred certain memories, best forgotten.

the coal black eyes stared up at her, the man-sized figure somehow dwarfing her Blizzard

Misato shook her head, and focussed back on the figures below. She frowned, as the conversation seemed to have jumped.

“... so we're to do a mixture of martial arts training... small-units...” Asuka was saying, as she ran her eyes down the list on a tablet PCPU, “in-Eva practice...”

Ristuko nodded. “And quite a bit more. But the main thing will be to spend as much time working together as possible. By the end of it, we want you utterly familiar with each other, and, more importantly, fully trusting each other.”

Both Asuka, and Shinji, snapping out of his reverie, recoiled slightly at that.

“You have to be able to co-operate in perfect unison,” continued the scientist, who apparently hadn't noticed the dual flinches. “Ideally, as a squad you could be perfectly synchronised, but... issues arise with that level of precision, so we'll have to see how coordinated we can make you two. You're already living together, which makes things easier.” A slight smile crept onto her face. “But I think you're going to be seeing quite a bit more of each other.”

The two glanced at each other, eyes locked for several long seconds, before they both looked away together. The mimicry of unison was somewhat spoiled by Shinji letting his head slump down, hands covering tired eyes and massaging his forehead.

Asuka made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat.

“I'm already getting a headache,” she muttered.

“You'll live,” was the heartless reply from the blond woman. “Now, you have a training exercise in the gym on level 12 in ten minutes. Don't be late.” When they hadn't moved, she added, “That means, 'Please leave my lab, as we have work to do'. Shoo.”

Misato watched the pair walk out, especially noting the look of disgust on Asuka's face from the Doctor Akagi's patronising tone.

“Was that really necessary?” she called down.

Ritsuko shrugged. “Not necessary, no, but it seemed like the easiest way.” She sighed, an undercurrent of resentment and annoyance evident in her voice. “I wasn't lying, though. You know, the Foundation and the NEG have together ordered me to strip all of the armour from 01 and 02 and submit it for independent analysis.”

Misato paled. “What? Are they mad? That leaves us with only Zero-Zero operational!”

“I know. It's stupid, and both Representative Ikari and the Deputy Representative fought it.” She sighed again. “They were overruled by higher ups in the Foundation.”

“It's funny to think that Gendo Ikari has superiors,” the black haired woman said in a thoughtful tone of voice. “You get so used to his authority that you forget about the Board of Directors and the CEO.” She paused. “I don't think I even know any of their names. It's the continental Representatives you always hear about; Gendo for Ashcroft Europe, that woman... Mariscy? Marescy? You know who I mean, the one with blue hair for Ashcroft South America.”

“Meresky de Terra,” corrected Ritsuko. “She's one of the ones who chose to take one of those Earth-centred “surnames” as a way of distinguishing themselves from the Loyalists back in the Nazzzadi Civil War.” She paused. “But we're going off on a tangent.”

“As usual.”

“Quite. The point is, they've only left us one with operational Eva, and the least advanced one at that.”

“But... I can't see a reason why they'd do that?” Misato protested, in an exasperated tone of voice. “Are they trying to get us killed or something?”

“They claim,” Ritsuko said, rolling her eyes to show what she though about the claim, “that they have to see what the effects of immersion in an aleph-one dimensional space has upon the armour, whether the AT-Field really shields the things within from the Zone effect. I can't see why they can't be content with one set, personally. As it is, it takes us down to the back old days of no replacements whatsoever.”

“Rits, those 'bad old days' were two weeks ago,” Misato replied, with a bitter smile.

“I know.” The blond woman sighed. “As it is, I don't think we can carry out proper in-Unit training. We just don't have the spares. And I think that's why they did it.”

Misato nodded. “The idea that the Evangelion,when they are active are somehow summoning the Heralds. Yes, that would make sense. After the attack of Yam, in C2, and all the attacks which have occurred since 01 was started up, I can certainly see how military counter-intelligence might think that.”

Ritsuko snorted. “I'm not even going to make the obvious joke about the military and 'counter-intelligence'.” She shook her head. “They want to keep us inactive,until,” she looked around, “we're needed for it.”

The black-haired woman scowled. “Typical handwavers and theorists. No idea on how we actually have to run a military operation, and little things like the necessity for live training.”

The scientist massaged her brow, and forced a smile onto her face. “Talking about handwavers, you still haven't finished all of the masses of after-action and phenomenon reports that the last deployment generated.” She saw the woman up on the balcony visibly slump, which made the smile somewhat more real. “Now, you can shoo too. I have a lot of work that needs to be done” The smile vanished. “We lost another Magi Operator, you know,” she added in a soft voice.

Misato winced. “Another one? Who was it?” she asked, more gently.

“Olivia Pierce, one of the newer immersion technicians. You wouldn't know her. Barely six months out of surgery.” She sighed. “The DMIN, specifically the Etemennigur sub-module glitched while they were analysing the data from the pseudo-Zone. Less than a second of full exposure, without protection, but it was enough to induce Terminal AWS. She's alive, but...”

The way Ritsuko's voice trailed off spoke quite clearly about her expectation that any recovery from Terminal-Phase Navidson Syndrome could ever occur.

The black-haired woman inclined her head. “I'm sorry,” she said, as she left, disappearing from the balcony.

Dr Akagi shook her head, as she returned to filling out the Health and Safety report for the accident.

I am far too familiar with Form 1198/CTR, she thought. And someday someone is going to have to fill this out for me.

She shut down the morbid thoughts. She was still sane, and still functional. She had dodged the bullet so far, and Dr Miyakame had dodged it even longer. There was still hope.

Is it really hope to not be permitted to give in to the blessed oblivion of madness and no longer be forced into an endless mantra of 'I did what had to be done'?, a little part of her brain asked. It was, likewise, ignored.

Hopefully, the new training regime should enable the two Children (and children, she reminded herself), to actually co-operate. It had been a rather good idea, after all, for that little modification to Misato's plans. Really, she was quite surprised that no-one else had spotted it, that recurrent little theme in their interactions. A moment of serendipity, induced by the Second Child's pride.

Such fortune.

Of course, smugness over what she had found out (even if the people she could actually tell could be counted on two hands) would probably prove to be necessary for what she was about to do.

She was going to have to take Doctor Miyakame up on his offer.

~'/|\'~

The remotely operated drones swarmed over the entity, diamond-bladed drills digging into the polypous, partially-unreal material in those brief moments when it existed. These holes were filled by the second set of autonomous probes, which flew in and extruded a fine lattice of superconducting fibres, plant-like, into the body of the beast. Around these tendrils, the flesh hardened and solidified, the curvature of space-time around the D-Engines of the probe forcing the creature into solidity.

The trapped fiend screamed, a thin whistling noise which extended far into the ultrasound. Its call heard no answer.

From the other side of a viewscreen, the autocensors sanitising the sight, the spectacle was being watched.

“How is it going?” asked Doctor Anton Miyakame, stepping up to the team supervisor.

The man jumped slightly, the motion slopping black coffee over the floor and Doctor Miyakame's shoes.

“Sorry... sorry... sorry,” the supervisor apologised. “Let me just find something to mop this up with...”

The older man shook his head. “It's okay, Mr Xi. Shoes dry. Now, how is it going?”

“The base organism has been isolated, obviously, and the wards are holding,” Chen said, as they moved away from the spill. “We've got roughly 12% of its body by volume subverted and under control, and a further 31% is contested.” He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, sir, but this is going much slower than usual due to the fact that the extra-normal entity is only 'real',” he made inverted commas with his fingers, “less than 30% of the time. We won't be able to meet the deadline for complete control.” His face took on a placating expression. “I'm sorry this means that that the build team won't be able to start on the Erel prototype as predicted.”

The younger man glanced at the head of Project Engel. The other man didn't even appear to be paying attention, instead gazing at the autocensor screen.

He waited for a moment.

“For that reason, sir, I believe...”

Dr Miyakame made a noise in the back of his throat, a sort of mix between a gurgle and a hum. “I'm sure you do. Nevertheless, your group's tardiness is holding up work on the Erel. We need a counter to the Dragonfly desperately, Chen. I don't think I need to explain the stakes here.”

The supervisor nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

“I assigned you, along with many of the others from Daeva, here because of your previous experience in the militarisation of unconventional ENEs. Was I mistaken?”

“Before, we had more than a few weeks!” Chen snapped back, his frustration overcoming him. He flinched slightly, as he realised what he'd done. He could feel the eyes of the rest of the room upon him.

Evidently, Dr Miyakame could see the others, too. “Get back to work, all of you!” he said, his tone angry despite the fact that he hadn't raised his voice. “Xi, come with me!” he added, as he turned to leave, his visage like thunder.

Chen Xi followed the man who looked so much older than he really was. This was worrying; very much so. Dr Miyakame was rumoured, from the time he had spent with the long-term Engel members, to have a real temper, and very little patience. He was said to barely sleep; a driven man who would not permit himself or anyone else on the team to perform at less than 100% efficiency. And, in darker whispers, he was more than a little crazy, leaving his teams on edge around him. Brilliant, yes, but brilliant like a cracked diamond; fundamentally broken and flawed. And sharp, very sharp, in the mental sense, but also with people around him.

The older man stopped, so suddenly that Chen almost walked into his back.

“Yes?” he said, in a more normal tone of voice.

“Nothing, sir,” Chen stammered.

He received a glare for his troubles. “Not you.” Anton Miyakame paused for a few seconds, turning so that the younger man could see that one finger was pressed up against an ear in the way that showed he was using implanted headphones.

“Sorry.”

The doctor removed the finger. “Just go,” he snapped. “Make suer you have more progress next time I check.”

He let the younger supervisor move out of sight, before he put back the finger, resuming the conversation.

“Sorry, you said there was an incoming call from Project Evangelion?” He paused. “What's the reference number?” There was a lengthy pause, which continued even after his secretary had stopped speaking. “Will, divert all other calls. I'm going to a secure room; shift this up to the highest security protocols,” he told his secretary, eventually, as he began to walk rapidly towards the nearest one, his pace putting a lie to the premature ageing of his face.

It took a few minutes for the high security to synchronise. The quickening of his breath showed the stress that the wait induced. Slowly, the breath slowed down again, as he clamped down on the primitive fight-or-flight reflex.

Finally, there was the short tune, generated procedurally from the machine chatter, which told him that the link was made. Slowly, he pressed a button on his PCPU.

There was silence on the other side of the line, too.

“Doctor Miyakame,” a voice finally said.

“Doctor Ritsuko Akagi,” he replied. It said something that he still unconsciously distinguished between the two women who would have responded to merely the title and the surname.

“I...” there was a catch in the woman's breath, “... I would like to, on behalf of Project Evangelion, in my role as the Director of Research and Development, to take you up on your offer of cooperation between our two Projects.” The reluctance in her voice was evident.

Anton Miyakame struggled to keep his voice calm. “I understand,” he said, trying to conceal his elatement. “I will instruct my subordinates to liaise with your subordinates, both for the access to Project Engel's nanofactories and the offer of more arcanotechnicians and -engineers.” He paused. “I must admit, Ritsuko, I was not entirely honest with you at the first meeting,” he confessed. “It was not just a spontaneous offer. I have lived with the guilt for twelve years now. I have tried to work out what went wrong, and failed. I thought I could keep it under-control, drive it into the work on Engel, but... the sight of Yui's son, and Kyoko's... daughter bought it out.”

There was a frigid silence on the other end of the line.

“We all have our debts to pay.” He laughed bitterly. “That's the real message of Frankenstein, not what pop culture would tell you. It isn't a warning about 'playing god'. It's that you should not mistreat or abandon that which you create.”

He coughed.

“I abandoned Project Evangelion the day after the second accident, driving myself into other work to salvage what I could from what I saw as a failed project, to make some use of it. You've seen the Engels; what they share with the Evas and how they differ. But like it or not, I'm one of the fathers of the Evangelions, and I owe the Project a debt.”

~'/|\'~

The only noise in the room was a periodic thick, viscous splash. The false sunlight from the arcology dome streamed in through the windows, giving light to the small room through the clouds of incapacitating gas which had still not fully dispersed.

What it illuminated was mostly red.

Agent Mary Anderson let her orange eyes skip across the room, not looking too closely at the decorations painted in vital fluids in the walls nor the lifeless ragdolls, that were once people, piled on the floor. The autocensor installed in the helmet was necessarily turned off, in case an Extra-Normal Entity like, for example, talpa bustum, had burrowed into the corpses, waiting to ambush anyone who investigated the bodies. She was simply glad that her armour had an independent air supply; to add smell to the sensory experience would simply be intolerable. She just grasped her LCG tighter, peered through the eyesockets of the helmet, and hoped that if whatever had killed all these people showed up, it was vulnerable to 5mm railgun rounds.

And she was annoyed.

This is the fourth tip-off for a cult headquarters. And, again, they're all dead before we can take any of them in.

Someone is fucking with us.

The floor shook as a three metre figure made its way down the hallway. Although the building met the mandatory construction standards, Special Agent Tennant, in his Centurion Powered Armour, was still leaving dents in the floor. The splintering synthwood just couldn't take the mass of metal and arcanotechnology upon it.

“The rest of the building is clear, too,” he reported, voice metallic and distorted over the external speakers. “Nothing alive. Four more rooms like this on the top floor, two more on this level.”

“Any signs of Extra-Normal Activity?” asked Agent Ilosa, another one of the specialists, like herself, dragged out on these missions.

Normally, the dedicated strike teams which the OIS had would have performed missions like this, but everything was utterly chaotic for the Office of Internal Security throughout London-2. There had been a eruption of Zoners, those maddened parapsychics who gained power in return for sanity; although it was not a conscious trade. One of those, even when newly erupted, called for a Powered Armour team to take down; if they had gravikinetic powers or could tear a man's mind apart with a glare, often that would not be enough.

And they were not the only problems. In most cases, the OIS would have been able to call upon the FSB and the arcology police, despite the traditional dislike between the forces. But, dating back to late August, the arcology had suffered elevated levels of extra-normal activity, And she wasn't thinking about the attacks by the Dagonite prototype walker in mid-August, the arcanobiological missile-like lifeform that hit the arcology in late September, or the destruction of that Migou battlestation. No, there had been spates of summoning, unlicensed sorcerers seemingly going crazy and calling as many xenoentities into the city without care for being caught, monsters breaking though the arcology defences and preying on citizens, and waves of ordinary citizens succumbing to Terminal-Grade Late Onset Aeon War Syndrome (without any prior record of mental illness).

“No ENA,” answered Tennant. “The house was warded, too. Wards are still up.”

“That means that either they were killed by something conventional,” Mary said, the scepticism in her voice evident as she gazed over the mass of bodies, “... or whatever killed them is still in here.” She had been awake for almost thirty hours, and was already approaching the legal limit for operational deployment. Only the drugs in the systems of the OIS team were keeping them operating at full capacity, and and all across London-2 people were being pushed well beyond what the base human could cope with, just to deal with all the incidents flooding in.

“Or someone lowered the wards to let them in, before raising them again,” said Ilosa, his voice nervous.

The consequences of this was that the forces that were trained to deal with the extra-normal were just as occupied as the OIS was with the sorcerers and parapsychics. Fresh agents were on emergency transfers, but you couldn't just get on a plane and go somewhere. You needed a safe flightpath, and preferably one of the comparatively rare stealthed plans.

And in the meantime, people like me get to cover the gaps, Agent Anderson thought. The OIS training covers the basics for extra-normal entity combat, and dealing with rogue parapsychics and sorcerers, but, damn it, I'm a TSEAP operator, not a field agent. I wasn't recruited to do this kind of thing.

And now cases like this.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh ebg gu'vegr'ra vf gu'r pyhr, ebg gu'vegr'ra vf 'gur x'rl. G'uebhtu ebg 'guvegr'ra, guv'f zr'ffnt'r n'aq ny'y gur erf'g bs gur cf'rh'qb Ybirpensgvna oy'ngure v' j'vyy vafreg z'nl or haq'refgb'bq, read the visceral messages on the wall, the words scrawled out individually, sometimes taking small parts of the plaster with them.

The helmet radio crackled into life, the slightly artificial sound of the voices carried on it evidence of the heavy encryption the comms systems was subject to.

“An L2AP team has been freed up to hold this site until the analysts arrive. ETA, 15 minutes. Keep frosty. Goldsmith out.”

Despite the warning, several of the agents could be seen to relax, even under the full body armour. Oh, sure, the standard Extended Operation Enhancements kept you awake and alert, but after around thirty six hours, it started to get uncomfortable, especially if you were stuck in heavy body armour.

And they were pushing forty eight.

~'/|\'~

Code: Select all

SECURITY AUTHORISATION QUERY:

[RFID Check] - Present
Subject [Name]...
...
...
...
Overridden.

Override Authority... <REDACTED>
...
...
[REDACTION CODE]: UmVk-\-YWN0-\-aW9u-\-IEF1-\-dGhv-\-cmlz-\-ZWQg-\-Ynkg-\-UHJv-\-amVj-\-dHMg-\-UGFy-\-YWdv-\-biBh-\-bmQg-\-RXZh-\-bmdl-\-bGlv-\-bg==
...
[Redaction Code] Accepted
AF|SpecResPr|PrPara/PrEva – Dual Redaction
...
[Assigned Subject Identifier]: “Orpheus”
[Sex]: F
[Birth Sex]: F 
[Species]:  Homo Sapiens Amlati
[Clearance]: <REDACTED>.  Clearance is sufficient.
Registered [Sorcerer]: No
Registered [Parapsychic]: No
...
Confirm [ID], Priority 1 
...
Run [Full ID] Match...
[Facial Recognition Matches]:  Subject Matches Records.  
[Fingerprints Match]:  Subject Matches Records.  
[Skin Sample Match]:  Subject Matches Records.  
[Blood Sample Match]:  Subject Matches Records.  
[Outsider Contamination]: Recorded as Negative on Central Database.
<Approved>
...
Guest is provisionally confirmed as [Subject “Orpheus”]
...
Run [Security] Check...
[Chemically Propelled Firearms]... Negative
[Gas Propelled Firearms]... Negative
[Electromagnetic Accelerator-Based Firearms]... Negative
[Biological Contaminants in Bloodstream]... Positive
Running [Analysis]...
...
...
Please wait.
...
...
[Biological Agents] match known infectious diseases in population.
Are the diseases within the parameters to be a threat to security?... Negative
Genetic engineering for increased morbidity or virulence?... Negative
Analysis: No Hazardous [Biological Agents] in Bloodstream.

Proceed with checks.
...
[Micromachine contamination]... Present.  Within expected Levels for Arcology Inhabitant.
...
[Micromachines] match approved list.
[Hazardous Micromachine Contamination]... Negative

[Nanite Contamination]... Present.  Within expected Levels for Arcology Inhabitant.
...
[Nanites] match approved list.
[Hazardous Nanite Contamination]... Negative

[Radioisotope Contamination]... Within Approved Limits
[Sorcerous Wards]... Negative
[Bound Extra Normal Entities]... Negative
[Subject Mass]... Within Approved Limits
[<REDACTED>]... Negative
[<REDACTED>]... Negative
[<REDACTED>]... Negative
[<REDACTED>]... Within Approved Limits
[<REDACTED>]... Negative
[<REDACTED>]... Within Approved Limits
[Miscellaneous Checks]... Within Approved Limits.
...
...
...
Subject Approved for Entry

~'/|\'~

The inside of the lift was a cold, sterile white. Frankly, when the make-up of this apartment complex, buried deep in the guts of London-2 and so filled with Ashcroft workers who wanted to minimise their commute to the Geocity below, was considered, it was hardly surprising. These individuals had both the money and the exclusivity from the somewhat over-the-top security to ensure that something as simple as a lift remained clean.

Ken shivered. “How can Shinji live in a place like this?” he asked. “It's so... cold.”

Toja shrugged. “It's not. I mean, it's a few degrees colder, but I think this area is meant to replicate the climate of an area a bit further north or something.”

The other boy shook his head. “That's not what I mean. It's just so... seventies.”

“Hey, people in the seventies liked white and these rounded corners. There doesn't seem to be a sharp angle in the place. But, yeah, modern stuff is just prettier. More personal.”

“The outside arcology area is nice, though.”

“Yeah. Most places, the rich places are around the edges, close to the real light. That's what I've heard But L2 has the rich places around the edge and in the centre, with everyone else in between. Like Tokyo-3, according to my dad.” The Nazzadi paused. “I guess it's a Geocity underneath that does it.”

Ken cocked his head. “Why don't people live there, come to think of it? You've got all these people living right above it, and all that untouched wilderness underneath.”

Toja shrugged. “Dunno. My dad told me he refused housing there, back when we were moved here.” He snorted. “Plus, it's not like Shinji would get cold if he's forced to live with the Red Devil. Gareny raygi tyunadi lo pura zinabi, after all.”

“Huh?” Ken sighed. “I don't speak any Nazzadi, remember. Well... no, I don't speak any. At all.”

“Sorry. Um. 'She has sufficient anger to melt a blizzard', basically,” the black-skinned boy translated. “One of the Proverbs from the Falsehood,” he said, referring to the name most commonly used by Intergrationists to refer to the fictional culture created by the Migou for the invasion fleet, “...about a female fire demon who stole winter, I think.”

They stood in silence for a few moments.

“This is really a very slow lift,” Ken pointed out. “It really shouldn't take this long to go up this many...”

The doors pinged open.

“... floors.”

Toja sniggered slightly.

“Look, I'm serious. There's no way that we should have taken that long to go up.”

The snigger became a snort.

“Oh, you're useless,” the human sighed. “Forget about it.”

The question, “What are you two idiots doing here?” drifted from the left, in a tone of voice which had both boys unconsciously straightening up.

“Ah, Class Rep,” said Ken. “Why are you here?”

Hjikary rolled her eyes. “I asked first, but all right. I'm here to visit Asuka. She's been absent from school all week.”

“Same here,” blurted out Toja, “... only not for the Red... Asuka. We're seeing if Shinji is all right. He hasn't showed up at all, and hasn't been answering his PCPU.”

“I think it was something Evangelion-related, personally,” added Ken. “Certain rumours I've picked up mentioned some kind of massive ENE incursion which was pushed back. If that's true, it's not surprising they're absent.”

“But if that's true,” Hikary pointed out, “then why wouldn't they deploy Rei? She's been at school all week.”

That was a question which could not be answered.

Ken summed it up with a 'Huh' as the trio approached their destination.

Pressing the buzzer produced no audible noise, but an eye-like camera swivelled on the ceiling to focus on them. Only after a few second could a noise be heard from the other side of the door. The display screen above the button changed to display the message, “Please wait.”

After even more of a wait, the door finally slid open, to reveal Shinji and Asuka, stood side-by-side, A10 clips on head. They were wearing very tightly fitting grey one-piece suits which covered everything but their heads.

There were a few moments of shocked silence.

“Yes?” the two chorused together, in a somewhat weary tone of voice.

“Wha... what are you doing?” asked Hikary, shocked at how form-fitting the suits were and general appearance of impropriety. “What are you wearing!”

Shinji and Asuka sighed, simultaneously. “We didn't chose these things. It was decided that we should train in full suits. But,” they added, eyes narrowing, “they wouldn't release the normal plug suits, and so we got put in these old ones from the original Project.”

“Original Project?” queried Ken, stepping forwards, any shock overcome by the mention of the development of military technology.

The pair of Children gave him a simultaneous glance, which, despite their differing opinions of him (and, incidentally, him of them), had very strong undercurrents of exasperation. “The normal plug suits are actually Project Engel technology, built off these,” they jammed a finger towards their chests, “things.

“Okay...” replied Hikary, somewhat mollified by the reluctance. “Now, next things next. What on earth are you two doing? Why are you talking like that?!”

“Teamwork exercises,” they answered.

“And stop talking like that,” she snapped back.

“Sorry. That's also part of the,” and the synchronisation was broken by Shinji's yawn, while Asuka continued, “teamwork exercises.” She turned to glare at him. “Idiot! That was going really well!”

“Sorry,” Shinji apologised, running his right hand over his face. “You know I haven't been able to sleep enough.”

“But that was working really well, and then you had to go and break it!” she retorted back.

Toja and Ken relaxed, as the Red Devil verbally tore into Shinji.

“And the natural order of the world is restored,” they said, before looking at each other and flinching slightly.

Hikary shivered, and then groaned, one grey palm colliding with her forehead with a loud slap.

“Not you two as well.”

There was a snort from behind them. The trio of visitors turned to find a uniformed Misato leaning against the wall, her hand clamped over her mouth, trying not to make a noise. Beside her, Rei stood, her face as impassive as carved marble, head tilted slightly to one side.

“Don't... don't,” gasped Misato, in between peals of laughter, “don't... let me inter...interrupt your little c...comedy.”

Shinji and Asuka glared at her. “You're not helping,” they said in unison, tones equally annoyed, which just set her off further.

~'/|\'~

Once everyone had been sufficiently calmed down (a process which would have been easier for Misato if she had permitted herself alcohol, in Asuka's suspicions), there could actually be an explanation to the by-now-rather-confused visitors.

Hikary sat with the penguin beside her. As she listened to the rather convoluted (and she felt, contrived) exposition, she began to feel a certain degree of kinship with the uplifted bird. It appeared that it was the only sane individual in this household, even if it was a red-eyed penguin with a mohawk. Well, and the fact that despite it was funny looking, it was also quite cute.

She was pretty sure that its toothed maw was smiling at her, despite the fact that it was manifestly impossible for a beak to do that. She patted it on the head, which produced a “Wark”.

She tuned back into the conversation.

“You should have told us earlier,” said Toja to Misato, an amused smile on his face.

“So, how is the training going?” Hikary asked, glancing over at the network of... contraptions set up on the other side of the room, the morass of cables protruding from everywhere and the fact that they had torn out part of the wall to get access to more power cables, speaking of the fact that the gadgetry was new.

“Idiot!” yelled Asuka, sitting bolt upright in the long chair to glare at Shinji beside her, the AR goggles pushed up onto her forehead lit up in bright red. “You just hit me in the plug with the charge beam!”

“You didn't get out the way!” Shinji snapped back, in a manner quite a bit more adversarial than normal. He yanked his goggles up, and turned to face her, eyes flashing with the same rage. “I told you I was on A.”

“B was further away! You're the one with the long-range weapon!”

Misato winced. “See for yourself.”

Ken stared at the long seats, correct in his guess that they were pretty much replicas of the ones in the entry plugs, with eyes filled with technophiliac hunger. “So, what's exactly going on in these sims?” he asked.

“At the moment?” said Misato, before she was interrupted by the two Children.

“He's being useless!” stated Asuka, angrily.

“She's being useless!” was Shinji's simultaneous comment, with an identical emotional content.

“... yes,” sighed the black-haired woman. “Well, they're getting rather good at mimicking each other, but it's not really producing an improvement in their effectiveness. They were meant to be,” directing a glare at the pair, “doing teamwork combat exercises. We've analysed their independent combat styles, and they're up against a pair of Virtual Intelligence opponents that mimic their styles exactly without working together. The VIs have been set at a theoretical 100 synch rating, while they have been given a fixed rating of 50. It's meant to force them to work together to overcome their own equals.” She paused. “I'm not sure that I'm explaining it that well.”

“Oh, no, it makes perfect sense,” said Ken, nodding eagerly, his eyes slightly vacant.

Hikary shot a glance of disdain at him. She wasn't sure if it was the technophilia or the Misatophilia (she was sure that the boy was enjoying the sight of the uniformed Major a little too much for it to be proper) which was annoying her more at the moment, because, really, that wasn't a very good explanation at all.

“How am I meant to be able to deal with such an idiot!” the redheaded girl declared, face turned up to the ceiling. “It's not fair that I have to deal with someone who can't even manage to not shoot his own team-mate!”

“Say, Misato,” observed Toja, smirking, “I really don't think this is fair on Asuka.” That comment induced suspicious gazes from both the red-headed girl and Hikary; with the former focussed more on his jugular than his face. He spread his hands wide. “What? It's obvious that das Ubermench is obviously far too good to lower herself to team training,” he said, layering on the sarcasm as he glared back at Asuka. “Perhaps Shinji should be practising with Rei, given that the NEG really does need its pilots to work well together.” The smirk was wider now. “I'm not sure that someone who can't play with others even has a place on a basketball team, let alone a military force,” he added, watching the flashes of emotion that his words induced on the redhead's face. It felt good to annoy that dislikeable bitch.

Asuka's fists contorted into balls.

It would feel so good to just punch him in the face. Once, twice, three times, again and again. What does he know? About the Evangelions? About the military? About me? He's just some ignorant, stupid, ugly baby who knows nothing and does nothing ever! He'll never risk life or limb against anything like a Herald, so he can't comment!

She could feel the ice-cold presence of the other pushing against those thoughts. She forced it back down.

“Toja!” snapped Hikary. “Apologise!” The Nazzadi actually appeared to be under some physical pain, as the force of the Class Representative's inexorable, unstoppable will bore down on him. “That kind of behaviour is completely out of order!”

Misato raised a hand. “No... that's a good point, actually. Military doctrine shows that cooperation and teamwork defeats individual brilliance on the strategic level.” She looked up at the ceiling. “And, certainly, Rei is a lot better at following orders,” she added, idly.

“But the Evangelions are, despite their strategic importances, still fundamentally operating at tactical levels due to their limited numbers,” retorted Asuka, suppressing her burning rage so that she could talk to someone who really mattered, unlike the Nazzadi idiot. She tried to hide the hint of desperation in her voice, but it still crept out. “Small unit tactics still rely upon individual brilliance.”

Piloting is all I have! I am the designated pilot of Unit 02. And I am the best!

“One-on-one, the Evas are inferior to the Heralds,” pointed out the Major. “Ever single Herald since the first one we encountered has been a joint operation, whether with conventional military forces or other Evangelions... or, indeed, both. And, fundamentally, the pilots need to be able to work together.” The Major narrowed her eyes, drawing to mind the Second Child's psychological profile. “I'm not sure we have a place for a soldier who cannot subjugate her ego to the greater good.”

That remark cut right to the core of the redhead's sense of self. As Asuka saw it, she had two options. She could storm out of here. That would be cathartic. She could release the anger and frustration (and fear, she admitted to herself) in one way or another. And they'd have to apologise to her, or at least reassure her, or... something.

A sudden, ice-cold lucidity washed over her mind.

No. They won't.

Misato, when she's like this, in her officer mode, only really cares about the mission. She puts the human feelings aside, along with the drunkenness and slobbery, and becomes some kind of perfect commander. I've seen her do this only a few times, but it's there. She wouldn't hesitate to remove me from Unit 02 if she thought she could get someone better

I'll show them that I'm the best. I'm the best that there can be.

And so, the only way to beat them is do play their game. I'll co-operate with the incompetent Third Child. I'll show that, together, we can beat anything they can throw at us. I'll force up his standards, and make it so that they can see that I'm the one responsible for the increase in his skills. Whatever game they want to play, I'll beat them at it. No matter how much it takes.

She yanked the AR goggles back over her eyes.

Inside, tears welled up, hidden behind the projected display. It was okay. It was safe here. They couldn't see how much it meant.

She threw a glance at Shinji. “Get back in the seat, Third Child. We are going to do this until we can beat these mockeries,” she said, the sudden lucidity levelling out her voice and leaving it suddenly monotonous. “I will not accept failure. From either of us.” She cocked her head at Toja. “And next half-term's sport is Martial Arts, or so I've heard. Be afraid.”

Shinji slid his goggles down, too. This whole interruption had been incredibly annoying when he had been trying to concentrate on the training routine, making him almost irrationally angry when Toja had gone and provoked Asuka like that. Luckily, he was feeling calmer now, the anger gone, allowing him to focus with fresh clarity on this really difficult programme. He wrapped his hands around the joysticks, and triggered the “Ready” signal.

Misato relaxed, inside, even as a new AR simulation began, and as Hikary dragged Toja out to the kitchen and began shouting at him. She had quite a bit to say on his lack of manners and his spite. Even from the other room, Ken was still flinching as the words echoed through.

It worked. Thank goodness. The psychologists told me that that was the emergency button for forcing her to do things, but I didn't expect Shinji's friend to just stumble on it like that. It worked, though.

I hope she never finds out that it was a paper threat. Ritsuko was very absolute that Rei could not do this special training, and did not need to.

And Rei's eyes widened slightly at what she had just seen.

This will need to be evaluated. All of this. Pilot Ikari, Pilot Soryu. Everything.

And I can feel her. The entity grows stronger.

Representative Ikari will want to know of this.

~'/|\'~

The thundering of the train beat out a staccato rhythm in the dark tunnel.

And that in itself was unusual, as Shinji had only ever seen old-fashioned trains in films. The noise he associate with a train was the quiet hum of an A-Pod propelling it over the magnetic rails, and that only if you were near the engine.

The inside of the train, despite the anachronistic method of movement, was perfectly modern, a duplicate of an ArcTransit carriage, the mainstay of the mass transit systems of the arcologies. Well, lit, with comfortable seats. This one was clean too, the pale blue floor and white walls spotless.

He looked through the window. Outside, it was pitch black. No, he thought. Pitch wasn't like this. This was too dark, a Stygian night which filled all around the train like an oil made of the concentrate essence of the night sky, that utter darkness that was only given by gazing into eternity.

The wall of the tunnel was less than a metre away. Who could have known that eternity could be encompassed in such a small length?

Instinctively, Shinji knew that the darkness... the dark walls were malevolent. No, that was not the right word. Malevolence implied intent, a care for what might be done. Malevolence required sapience.

Call it anathema, then, if you were to apply the futility of human labels to such a thing. But no label, no tag could truly describe that which ran less than a metre from the glass against which Shinji Ikari had pressed his face, the beat of the tracks a pounding rhythm that filled his head and matched his heart.

He pulled his face away from the glass. No breath marks were left on the glass, despite the temperature on the train, akin to that of a cool autumnal day. Curiously, he reached out one blue-grey hand and and poked a finger through the glass, which proved to be nothing of the kind, a fractured network of arachnid threads that shone like illuminated diamond. With one clean movement he tore through the shining lattice, and tensed his legs, ready to throw himself out into the darkness.

He blinked twice. His hand rested flat against the glass, pale skin the only point of contrast against a dark background.

What is going on? he thought, with a strange lucidity that overlay the rising panic. What is going on? What is going on? With the hand... and the window... and everything. Why I am I here?

He had to keep away from the dark. The dark was evil... strange... wrong, in every possible way.

He looked up and down the carriage. At one end, to his left, the number '25' was illuminated in scarlet. At the other end, its twin read '26'.

The staccato beat of the train grew louder and louder, faster and faster, synchronised with his heartbeat so that he could not tell where one began and the other ended. As the train sped up, his heart thumped louder and louder, for such speed merely took him faster and faster into the unknown (and, indeed,unknowable), rushing through an eternity of void-wrapped tunnels with no way of seeing what lay ahead.

Or was the train speeding up as he grew more afraid, the terror that now gripped his body and mind empowering this strange place?

Or was there no difference? Was he the train, running into darkness, no clue of what lay ahead?

Breathing quickly, he headed towards the '26' and the door that adjoined to the next carriage. If he got to the end of the train, it might be possible to get off.

Shinji broke into a jog, eyes darting to either side. The door slide aside, parting down the middle to admit him to the next carriage. Breathing quickly, he gazed around the next carriage, slowing down but not stopping in his rush.

It was darker in this one. The lights overhead were dimmed, almost imperceptibly. Indeed, all the senses were muted, for the beat of the carriages was quieter too. Even the chill was dimmed.

Something inside Shinji snapped then, and the terror overcame his mind.

I have to get out of here! I need to run away! I have to get out!

An almost feral cry of fear escaped his mouth.

The jog became a dash, and then a sprint. The train beat faster and faster, as if trying to overcome his attempts to reach the end, and his heart pounded in his chest, and the two were one. Through seemingly endless carriages, he ran, doors opening at his passage only to seal themselves behind him.

If he had been thinking clearly, he might have noticed how, in each of the new cars, the lights were dimmer again, the train sounds weaker. But the observation that the terrible walls of the tunnel were getting closer, each new carriage bringing them centimetres closer would have been impossible, because the lack of a comparison against that loathsome planar void meant that such precision was not something that a human could have done on their own. But although each movement of the walls inwards could not be discerned, the way they closed in (or was it expansion of the train?) was inexorable.

Shinji Ikari fell to his knees, exhausted by the mad, mindless rush. Slowly, he looked up.

Before him, in the near total darkness, shone the number '26' in a now-dimmed red.

He whimpered slightly, and spun nervously, his breath coming quickly. Behind him, its baleful twin, '25' glimmered.

He could not escape this endless repeating cycle of '25' and '26'.

Slowly, he picked himself off the ground, pulling himself up using a seat. It no longer felt like something that someone would willingly sit in; the surface was rigid and cold, sleek like polished stone. Something crumbled under his hand as he stood, panting from the exertion.

Slowly, he turned his palm face up, dreading at what he might see.

There was a layer of what looked like paint, old and flaking, covering his hand. Looking down, the seat had a hand-print of solid darkness on it. The paint which had concealed the fact that it was made of the same materials as the tunnel walls had come away in his hands.

Shinji screamed, and backed away from the chair, looking above it through to the window. He bumped, moving backwards, into the other side of the carriage, falling down into the stone-hard seat. There was the crack of aged paint when he recoiled back up.

The train had stopped moving. The beat that had thrummed through his head and linked to his heart was gone. And that terrible solidified void, the figment of his nightmares, was right up against the glass. And it was inside the glass, too, because there was only a thin layer of paint between him and that utter darkness. He froze, the only noise the thud of his heat; the only light the crimson glow of the numbers at each end of the carriage.

I have to get out of here! he screamed within the confines of his own mind. Or did he say it out loud? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if there was a difference.

The red light seemed to be fading, leaving him alone in the terrible darkness. Operating on instinct, he darted the other way, towards the '25'. The light had faded as he ran towards the '26', he realised belatedly; perhaps the light in the world would return if he went backwards.

The door opened and he fell through it.

There was no carriage in front of him. Shinji let out a half-moan, half-sob, and rolled over onto his back.

There was no train door behind him. There was no train behind him.

Perhaps there had never been. Perhaps the train had never been anything more than a shadow, cast by these insane night-black hallways. A thin veneer of paint, a lie, that sealed him off from the horrific nature of reality and kept him safe.

In front of him, an endless corridor. He did not know how he knew that in the dark, the last vestiges of light gone with the vanished vehicle, but the way the air moved conveyed the immensity of aeons, where time and distance became one. Where time and distance became meaningless.

Behind him, the same.

Shinji screamed them, though no sound escaped, a voiceless call up to the dark ceiling above him. He scrabbled desperately for the light.

The side-light cast its glow around the room, revealing nothing odder than his bedroom.

Hyperventilating, breath coming out in sob-like gasps, Shinji ran his hands over his nightmare-sweat slick face, the cooled arcology-night air chill against the moisture.

Not again.

The PsychEvals and the counselling weren't making this go away any faster. Too many times, he had run down that carriage, only ever able to escape from the dream when he was stuck in those black hallways. And in the dreams, he was never able to remember that he'd been here before. Though at the time the terror was fresh, when he awoke, he could see that he had made the same decisions, run the same way. A program, fed the same cues, reacting in the same way.

The world seemed so thin, after what he'd seen. That terrible rip in space after... whatever had happened with the last Herald. The hallways were so much like the swirling chaos he had seen, codified and reborn as architecture.

Slowly, he got out of bed, legs shaky, and went for the main light switch. He wouldn't be able to sleep again after that, and he was not inclined to. More light was better. It kept the darkness away.

Outside his room, the hallway was dark, shadows filling every corner and crawling up the walls.

He swallowed hard, and closed the door, returning to bed.

And so it was that Shinji Ikari was sitting upright in his bed, the light beside and above him keeping the paint-thin layer of mundane reality safe from the darkness which lurked beyond the door, which cast the world as its shadow, when he heard sobbing. A woman was crying elsewhere in the house, the burble muted by distance but still audible in the pre-'dawn' silence.

He could have gone to see what was making the noise. But that would have involved facing the shadows that lurked outside his room, and he would not... could not do that. In such a place, the paper-thin walls would have torn entirely.

All the boy could do was hug his knees, and stare, his bloodshot eyes unfocussed, as fatigue coursed through his brain.

I want to sleep. I don't want to sleep.

I want the nightmares to stop.

~'/|\'~

[EarthScorpion]

~'/|\'~

Days passed. The nightmares came again and again.

And during the hours of light, it had been an intensely exhausting few days, which was something Shinji had been grateful for. When he was tired, the dreams of the dark hallways came less frequently, allowing him several hours before he woke, screaming silently.

The most recent series of checks under the watchful eyes of Doctor Akagi had included full synchronisation tests in those dummy bodies, floating down in the tank. It seemed that something was happening to the real Evangelions; the entire area was sealed off and when he had asked Misato what was going on, he had only received the somewhat cryptic reply “Refits and repairs.”

Asuka had been a lot more irritable about the refusal to explain what they were doing to her Unit 02, and especially the fact that they had to use the dummy bodies for the tests, but the new cold determination had reasserted itself, and she had forced herself (and him with her) further into the training. And although this had provided a noticeable improvement to their cooperation scores, which Doctor Akagi had noted and praised them both on, this had only left him more tired. After all, what people had not taken into account (certainly not Asuka) was that she had been training, put through a militaristic fitness regime, since she was very young, and thus could compete with almost any athlete her age. Generally, her physique was nearly the peak of what the body of a teenaged female could support while remaining healthy.

By contrast, Shinji was a normal arcology dweller, with no special interest in sports. This disparity in things like stamina, muscle tone and endurance was taking its toll.

Doctor Akagi had noted this, and told them that they could lower the intensity of the training, allowing them back to school, where, incidentally, a large amount of school work had accumulated, awaiting their return.

On the plus side, nothing important ever happened in Assembly, so he could just catch a few minutes rest. And this room was properly lit, so he didn't have to worry.

Shinji Ikari closed his eyes and went to sleep, head tilting forwards.

He was woken up by a dig in the gut.

“Whaa...” he mumbled, in Japanese. “Ow! Stop it, 'suka!”

Toja's face filled his field of vision, quickly followed by a brief moment of embarrassment.

The Nazzadi boy squinted at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Shinji replied, trying to control the redness in his face.

“It didn't look like nothing. Why are you blushing like that?” He leant over towards Ken. “Look at Shinji. Isn't he blushing?”

The other boy nodded his assent. It appeared, that, yes, from empirical evidence, Shinji was experienced enhanced vascular flow to his face.

“What did he say?”

The bespectacled boy shrugged. “Dunno. I didn't hear him properly. It certainly wasn't post-Reformation English, though. Sounded like Japanese, but I didn't hear enough to get it.”

Shinji glanced at the other human. “You know Japanese?” he asked, genuinely interested. “People mostly gave up on learning other languages when the Reformation happened. Well, that and the NEG using English.”

Ken shrugged. “I know some. Enough to watch the old shows.” He paused. “Some of their predictions were actually pretty accurate, you know.” He noticed the way that Toja was directing a funny look at him. “Okay, and maybe I don't like the voices that they use for the dubs. Especially since they're often going off the pre-Reformation dubs for the translations, rather than the originals, and that means that errors creep in all the time, and of course you can't forget...”

People were generally sidling away from the rant, including both Shinji and Toja, although the discussion did attract a few people, including two of the languages teachers.

“So, what did I miss?” he asked, once they had left Ken behind.

The red-eyed boy shrugged. “Not much. The proper announcement of the games options for next term and the groups...” and then he groaned, as recollection struck him. “I'm dead. I'm dead. There's no way I'm going to live to see Christmas.”

“Any reason for your death?” asked Shinji, “And can I have your stuff if you do die?”

“Martial Arts is unisex, unlike most of the other sports. The charming,” he replied, voice heavy with pessimism, “Red Devil is going to slaughter me. She's an evil-minded bitch, but she's very, very fit... and in both senses of the word. I'm a basketball player,” he added, spreading his hands wide. “I'm built for throwing a ball into a net high above me. Not for getting all my blood punched out.”

“I'm not sure that's physically possible,” said Shinji, squinting even as he smiled faintly. “I mean, wouldn't it start clotting after you died from the impacts.”

“Who said she'd stop punching after I died?” said Toja, morbidly.

The human shook his head. “Oh well. I think I should just take out an insurance policy on your life. Easy money.” He paused, considering what he'd said. “She's not actually as bad as you seem to make her. She's not nice, but she's not pure evil.” Shinji reconsidered. “Well, maybe for you. But it was your fault, aggravating her so much.”

Toja's red eyes narrowed. “Easy for you to say. You're just suffering Stockholm Syndrome from living with her. She scares me.”

Shinji raised an eyebrow at the feeling in the other boy's voice. “Really.” There wasn't much that you could say to such a thing, but he still made the attempt. “Um... are you sure that it isn't just girls that scare you. I mean, Hikary scares you...”

“Hikary is scary, but not in the same way...” objected Toja.

“Shush. You'll ruin my point.” He cleared his throat. “Hikary scares you, Rei scares you...”

“Rei is also scary, in yet another way,” the Nazzadi interjected again.

“... Asuka scares you; are you sure that your problem isn't with women?” finished Shinji, desperate to get the joke out. He steepled his fingers, and gazed at Toja over the top of them.

“Don't be an idiot,” the other boy sighed. “Stop that.”

“Perhaps I should subject you to ze psychoanalysis, yes?” he continued, in an abysmal German accent. Shinji snorted. “Of course, that's not how psychiatry works at all. I should know,” he added, a hint of bitterness sinking in. “Oh, well.”

There was a pause.

“What were we talking about before?”

“I dunno,” said Toja.

Shinji shrugged. “Come on, we'd better hurry, or we'll be late for Modern Society. I'm sure it wasn't that important.”

~'/|\'~

“I can't believe the Academy organises half-term trips for everyone!” gushed Asuka, sitting at the lunch table.

The morning had passed in a few moments, seemingly. It wasn't as if the work she had missed in the time off for the special training was especially hard, given that it was designed for teenagers

“You've got to tell me everything,” she continued. “It's vitally important!”

“Well, you know. We have yearly trips where we go meet people from other Academies on trips and mix with people from other States and Regions. The real purpose of the Academies is to build the next generation of leaders and scientists; that's one of the PR claims.” Hikary looked down at her hands, resting on her lap. “Those complaints about the Academies producing elitist circles of friends who stay connected after they leave are founded in reality, after all.”

Asuka smirked. “Good. That's the way it should be, after all.” She paused. “You seem less certain about it, though,” she said to the other girl.

“I don't necessarily approve of all the results,” the Class Representative said, picking her words carefully. “After all, all of us in this class have been together since when we started here... well, apart from you and Shinji. They don't seem to mix up the groups much.” She paused. “Actually, no, that's wrong. Ruala and Takumi transferred from other Academies.” She drummed her fingers. “Berlin-2 and Tokyo-3, if I recall correctly.” She shook her head. “The point is, the Academies are pretty good with the bursaries and scholarships, but they're still weighted towards... well, especially towards the children of Foundation employees.”

“That's not necessarily a coincidence,” Asuka argued. “The Foundation is pretty heavily meritocratic.”

Hikary nodded. “It's true. Nevertheless, it does select for certain types of people, from certain backgrounds, from the population as a whole. My father made me read some studies on it; She laughed. “I don't think that he wants me growing up like some of the other people here,” she added in a darker tone. The xenomix laughed again. “Of course, the influence might already be too great. We're two teenage girls, discussing the social effects of the Ashcroft Academies rather than doing what films and TV wants us to do.”

Asuka laughed, too. “Right. So, quickly, tell me more about these trips.”

“You don't know? I thought it was standard in all the Academies.”

“I... I didn't actually go to an Academy before now,” Asuka confessed. “The private tutors were Ashcroft-trained, of course, and after that so were most of the lecturers, but I haven't actually been in mainstream... well, sort of mainstream... well, highly-selective-group education before.”

Hikary's eyes widened in shock. “Really? That's... unusual.”

Asuka nodded. “Yep.”

“It's just that... well, it's normally illegal to homeschool people. The only people who'd want to teach people and avoid the state curriculum are members of dangerous cults.” Hikary paused, a faint reddish blush appearing on her grey cheeks. “No offence meant, of course.”

The red-headed girl shrugged. “None taken. Well, it was unusual. They felt that normal school would interfere with my training too much.” She paused. “But you aren't telling me about the trips!” she added, a faint whine entering her voice.

“Oh, right, sorry,” she replied, taking a mouthful of food. It all made sense, of course, but there were little holes that drew her attention. Hikary knew that Rei had been at the Academy as long as she had, in mainstream education, at least physically. Much as it pained her, Rei was someone whose mental processes she had not been able to understand at all, and that was unusual. Likewise, from conversations she had had with Shinji, he had also been in Toyko-3 Academy, although not in the exchange group, so she hadn't met him before.

Why did they decide to tutor Asuka?

She swallowed. “Right. Each class is grouped with a number of other ones with other Academies. Our class specifically is grouped with four other ones. One in Berlin-2, in Paris-2, in Chicago-2, and Toyko-3.” She smiled. “We were really lucky with that. Most classes are only paired with ones in the same Region. That means that we get the best trips.”

Asuka grinned widely. “Awesome. Have you been to this place before? What's it like?”

“The Splugen Falls?”

“Splügen,” interjected Asuka, correcting her pronunciation. “It has the umlaut over the 'u'.”

“Okay. The Splügen Falls.” She looked to Asuka, who nodded. “Right. Well, it's in Southern Europe, in the Swiss State. They've basically gone and built an entire artificial reef in an artificial lake, complete with natural wildlife. It's really impressive. There's diving at the reef, boating, swimming, and because it's in the Alps, there's also skiing nearby. And it's one of the few places in the world where you can see an entire reef in safety.”

“Oh. That is nice,” said Asuka slowly. Perhaps the fact that they were making her attend school, even though she already had her degree, wasn't that bad. Or, at the very least, it came with some impressive fringe benefits.

Another girl, a Nazzadi with prominent facial markings and dyed white hair, passing by carrying a tray of food paused. “You're talking about the exchange-thing, aren't you,” she said, leaning over.

Asuka watched Hikary straighten up slightly, her face becoming slightly mask-like and authoritarian. “Oh, hello. Taly. Yes, we were.”

“Yeah, Asuka. Don't think it's some freebie they let us do,” said Taly, a cynical tone in her voice. “Sure, they pay for the trip, but for the rest of the year, they have us giving our Thursday afternoons and Saturday mornings in volunteer work.” She paused. “Can you believe that! Saturday mornings! I could understand Thursday, but that's just unfair!”

“It is not unfair,” retorted Hikary. “It's an important, assessed part of the ACIETs. It counts towards both the Social Awareness and Socialisation modules.”

“Sure,” counted Taly. “As you say, Class Rep.” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Well, I wouldn't want to interrupt your meal, so I'll be off.” She turned to leave.

Only Asuka heard her parting comment over the noise of the dining hall. “Just as expected from the daughter of the man on the Education Board.”

She shook her head.

“That was... hostile.”

Hikary sighed. “Oh, I know why that Nazzadist,” the term was said with a surprising amount of venom, “is like she is. Her father remarried a dirty unclean human house ape, if you would believe it,” the xenomix said, with mock horror, “and she's being raised by Traditionalist grandparents. Doesn't mean that she's any less aggravating.”

Asuka leaned back. This was a side to the authoritarian amlati she hadn't seen before. “You don't like Traditionalists?” she asked, slightly tentatively.

“My dad's parents disowned him when he married my mother,” Hikary said, coldly. “The first time I saw them, they were trying to persuade him to raise us in the 'Traditional ways',” the venom returning, “as proper Nazzadi.” She took a vicious mouth full of drink. “Right after the accident.”

“Accident,” the redhead echoed, curious. “What happened?”

Hikary shook her head. “Oh, yes. You wouldn't know. I keep on forgetting that you haven't been here all along.” Her features twisted into a smile. “See what I mentioned earlier about elitist circles of friends? Anyway,” she said, her voice growing softer, “back when I was eight... let me start again.” She looked down, folding both hands on her lap, then looked up again. “My mother was a Foundation scientist. It's how she met my father; he's in the social sciences side of things and she was a parapsychologist. There was some kind of accident with hazardous materials; it took out an entire facility.” The xenomix gazed straight into Asuka's eyes. “Quite a lot of us here lost family in that accident; it was a major research facility. That's the real meaning of the phrase “Ashcroft Children”, at least in practice.” She paused. “Anyway what I can really remember about it was my grandparents showing up for the first time, at the memorial service. They made Dad cry in front of us. I think you can understand if I don't like the Traditionalists.”

There was a prolonged moment of silence, as a sudden wave of empathy flooded through Asuka. “I understand, and... well, I'm sorry,” she said gently.

The xenomix shook her head. “I'm sorry for pouring it all like that. It's just that Taly really irritates me, but as Class Representative I can't let it show. With that lot, I've been Representative so long that sometimes I think they view me as some kind of pseudo-teacher commander person, a figure of authority, not a classmate.” She smiled weakly. “It's nice to have someone to let it all out on... not that I intend to just complain about other people to you,” she added quickly, putting on a mask of happiness. “Let's talk about something less depressing, shall we?”

~'/|\'~

Mary Anderson was barely functional by the time that she stumbled from the ArcTransit stop to her apartment. What she needed right now was sleep. She flexed her back muscles. Of course, she couldn't have that right now, as her system still hadn't broken down the most recent dose of Extended Operation Enhancement, but that would be coming at some point in the not too distant future. So, maybe a bath first. And food. Then sleep.

The point was, what she did not, in any way, need was another phone call cancelling the leave they had given her unit. With luck, there wouldn't be one, since they had managed to cycle in enough agents from the Office of Internal Security from other locations, allowing them to give the chronically overworked local staff a relief. She had four days of paid leave, and then she would be back to her normal job, not handed armour and a rifle and dragged out on overtime to cover the shortage of field agents.

Not that she even got paid for overtime. As a member of the OIS, you worked to the job, not the clock. There were probably other cop film clichés she could throw in, she thought as she stood in the apartment scanning, waiting for the damn ageing machine to confirm with the central server that, yes, she did have a permit to carry that weapon and thus was permitted to enter the building. All in all honesty, though, she was far too tired to think up any.

Maybe when she was back as a functional human being. Well, technically, a functional amlati; her mother wouldn't have approved of her thinking of herself like that, but she'd always taken after her father more. It was why she had ended up in this job.

He chain of thought was interrupted by a tall figure bursting out of a door and wrapping its arms around her.

“You're okay? You're okay!” it babbled into her ear, grabbing her in a somewhat-too-tight hug.

“John... John... yes, I'm fine. Now, you can let go of me,” she told her boyfriend.

Actually, what he did was shift the hug into a lift, picking her up in his arms. Of course, the fact that she was still wearing her ballistic protection under her jacket, and he was built like a beanpole meant that he staggered, and put her back down rather than drop her. He made it up to her by mashing his lips into hers in a prolonged kiss

“I've missed you so much,” he whispered into her ear, after getting his breath back.

She tensed up slightly. This was slightly out of character for him, which put her nerves on edge and triggered certain alarm bells in her Office of Internal Security training. She was almost certainly just paranoid, a side effect (and, indeed, a somewhat desired one) from operating on EOE for too long, but she had to be careful. “You seem pleased,” she said, concealing the suspicion.

He rolled his eyes, as he guided her back through the door to their apartment. “Of course I'm happy. You're alive, well and uninjured. And I haven't seen you in six days, since you were rushed out in the middle of the night. The last I heard from you was three days ago, in a rushed phonecall.” He paused. “I was worried about you,” he admitted, which was a rare enough thing for him to say out loud. He preferred not to worry about things that he couldn't change; it was a way of coping.

Agent Anderson... no, she reminded herself, Mary; she was off duty now, relaxed. It made sense, and he hadn't been replaced by something while she was gone; a certain fear that haunted her nightmares. She'd forgotten exactly how long she'd been away; the days of consciousness had blurred into one long mix of scenes of blood mixed with long waits.

The inhibition of the formation of long term memories was also a design feature of Extended Operations Enhancement. It was possible to counteract it, but most of the time it was better for the agents to forget the specifics, instead letting it fade into depersonalised, dream-like memories.

“Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot. I thought I'd sent you a message more recently...did I? I can't remember?” She shook her head, then smiled weakly. “So... how have you been?”

John's eyes widened. “How have I been? How have I been? When you're the one who...” He paused, took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. I forgot.”

This was the immovable obstruction in their relationship; she could not tell him anything about what she did. As an agent of the OIS, even where she was when she was on duty was classified. In fact, legally (a legacy of the rather harsh restrictions they were subject to) Agent Anderson and Mary were different people, the former not possessing the full array of human rights nor fully subject to certain laws. It was how the TSEAP was permitted; neither the victims nor the operators were quite human (or NEG-recognised human subspecies). Against the insanity of the foes of the NEG, the OIS had introduced its own subtle madnesses to keep people sane.

She reached up, patting his head. “It's okay. You can make it up by making me some proper food and then running a bath. Seriously. I haven't properly slept in,” she mentally totted it up, and realised that it came to almost seventy hours, “far too long, nor eaten proper solid food. Protein slash fibre bars and nutrient fluid just aren't the same.” She paused. “And why are you wearing those silly green AR glasses?” she asked.

John flushed slightly. “I was... playing a game when I got the alert from the apartment security that you'd got back.”

The apparent reason for the embarrassment was revealed when one look in the apartment showed that he had let it return to the state his room had been during university.

He raised one finger. “Just wait there,” he said quickly, as he darted around the room, picking up piles of old-fashioned paper books and datapads from the seating and moving them to an already perilously overloaded table.

“You made all that mess in less than a week?” Mary asked, one eyebrow raised as she sunk into a chair.

Assent was nodded.

“Well, at least there isn't food all over the place,” she remarked, stretching out. It felt good to sit down properly.

“I'd have you know, oh fair lady,” he replied, stepping through to the kitchen for some hurried cleaning, “that most of these books are work-related.”

That statement was a blatant lie. At best, 20% of them were. Books on early twenty-first century history and the formation of the New United Nations lay mixed with science fiction, image documents of saurian anatomy, lists of early memetic developments, and one book on mid-medieval farming techniques.

“You wouldn't believe the amount of spam litigation and requests we've been having to field. Idiots who don't realise that the Freedom of Information Acts doesn't apply to the Foundation as a private company, requests that we reveal all research carried out which requires a RTE Exemption...” he made a disgusted noise, “...really, I wish that people would actually find out what rights they have under the law before trying to use ones they don't have. Or, fair enough, not using the ones they have.”

The Office of Internal Security agent said nothing.

“But look at me rambling on.” He paused, shaking his head at the petty complaints he had, compared to whatever (though popular culture gave him certain suspicions) she had just been through. “What would you like to eat?” he asked, in a gentler voice. “I'll make you anything you want.”

~'/|\'~

The air of the swimming pool was devoid of the scent of chlorine. The micromachine scrubbers in the filtration unit saw to it that such a crude chemical method was entirely superfluous.

And if something went wrong, and the water ended up filled with germs, Shinji thought, as he sat at a table by the side of the pool, Asuka could always produced enough vitriol to sterilise the entire area.

He smiled faintly.

Of course, the water wouldn't be fit to swim in after that much sulphuric acid was added to it, but still...

The reason for this mild annoyance was not, of course, caused by the fact that he had really hideous amounts of work to catch up with, what with the mandatory training taking them away from school as well as the necessary observation period after the last mission. Asuka had, naturally, breezed through hers, and so he was stuck trying to focus by the side of a pool in the Geocity, while she got to play around.

Honestly. He wasn't annoyed about that at all.

Of course, his rationality did raise the point that he should be glad that they had cancelled the planned in-Unit training session, thus actually giving him an opportunity to do this catching up, but, somehow, it was worse to be stuck working when someone else was getting to play within visual range, than be both forced to work. The rationality was promptly ignored. After all, the rest of the class was having to do their Social Responsibility stuff, at the hospital or at one of the feeder schools, Wade Primary, and he was doing catch-up work. Why should she get to play around?

“What're you doing?”

Shinji sighed, and looked up Asuka... and then up a bit further, actually focussing on her face. “Work.”

Asuka looked down at the bot, with a sudden wave of exasperation. “Yes,” she said. She took a deep breath, noting the way his eyes flicked down to her chest with a mixture of irritation and pleasure. “I know that. Just like you're doing last time I asked. I more asking when you were going to be finished. I'm bored with just doing lengths on my own.”

Shinji felt a slight wave of happiness, mingling with the annoyance that she was interrupting him. At least she showed signs of finding his presence tolerable. The training did seem to have improved things.

Outwardly, he shrugged. “No clue. I'm stuck on this really difficult bit of calculus, so it looks like it'll be while, and I've got the Modern History bit to do, too.”

“Let's see, then,” replied Asuka, leaning across him without waiting for a reply to grab the touchscreen.

I might have protested, but she compensated twice over, he thought, smirking.

There was a small snort of laughter. “This is difficult?” Asuka said, trying (not very hard) to restrain her giggles. “Awww,” she added, ruffling his hair in an insulting manner.

“Hey, it is hard!” he said, indignantly.

“Listen to the person with the degree when they tell you that, yes, it is easy. In fact, it's trivial,” was the response that he got.

“Well, it's not when you missed most of the lessons when they explained it, you haven't been able to sleep properly, and someone keeps on jumping in the pool and generally distracting you,” he snapped back.

All that outburst achieved was another “Awwwww,” as Asuka gave up any pretence of concealing her laughter, and threw back her head.

Shinji stared up at her with irritation which was, under the heat from her patronisation, being transmuted into anger, before he caught a glance of himself staring at her in the mirrors on the other side of the room.

For no reason, it seemed hilarious. Suddenly, it was very hard to keep a straight face. And keeping a straight face was necessary to maintain his moral high ground.

A snort of laughter escaped, which was shortly followed by another.

“Oh dear,” Asuka said, as they calmed down from the sudden hysteria. “By the way, I did this page for you,” she added, as she handed him back the touchpad.

Shinji squinted at her. “How... how did you do that in that time, when you spent most of it laughing? Just... just how?”

Asuka rolled her eyes; shaking her head even as she still smiled. “Which part of 'trivial' don't you understand?”

“Well... um. Thanks. I think,” replied Shinji. He noticed a movement behind the red-haired girl. “Uh... I think, yes, Rei's finally got back from whatever she was doing. If you want to race someone, you can race her.” He paused. “From what I've heard from others, she's meant to be really good.”

Asuka turned to look over where Shinji was staring, and her eyes widened in shock.

“She's wearing... is she? Yes, I think she is. She's wearing a white swimming costume.” She paused. “That looks really bad on her. Like some anatomyless doll.” Asuka turned back to stare at Shinji, “Seriously. It's like I chose to wander around in a flesh coloured swimsuit. What would you think of that?” She paused. “Don't answer that,” she added. “Pervert.”

Shinji shrugged. “Maybe she just likes white.”

Asuka made a disgusted noise. “Oh, you're clueless. And male, but I repeat myself. Look, you don't do that kind of thing. She'd look good in black, or maybe blue.” She waved a hand. “Oh, never mind. There's no use in explaining this to you. I only wonder if she's doing this because she's strange, or because of the Nazzadi side of her family?”

“You're still ignoring that she might just like white,” Shinji remarked.

“Translation: 'You Just Don't Get It'.”

The boy frowned. “Wait, why?”

“What are you, stupid? You're just digging yourself into a deeper hole.” Asuka flicked her hair. “It doesn't matter if that's what she likes, it just looks wrong. Really indecent.”

Shinji explicitly did not comment on her seeming preference for clothes of a Nazzadi cut.

“Whatever. It's just not the same.” And with that said, Asuka went off to challenge Rei to a swimming race. Shinji sighed, and put the touchpad back on the table, wiping off the wet fingerprints that the red-haired girl had left on it.

All in all, I probably did benefit from her coming over. I don't think that I could have got all the work she did done like that. At least that puts me ahea...

“Shinji!” called Asuka, from the other side of the hall, her voice loud over the quite sound of running water and near negligible hum of ambient machinery. “You're going to judge the race. Four lengths, diving start. You owe me for the help.”

He glanced over. Asuka was waving at him, to get his attention, while Rei just gazed, her face perfectly blank, at the water.

Shinji sighed. It would probably be advisable to find a quiet place to actually work, given that he had a sudden prescience that this was going to happen increasingly frequently if he stayed.

“Okay,” he called out, deliberately inserting weariness into his voice to make it clear that he was trying to work (and, incidentally, still wasn't getting enough sleep). “Take your positions...”

He had to admit, though, that the actual race was quite interesting. And not merely because it featured two rather attractive girls; one in a tight swimming costume, and the other in a bikini. Honestly.

Asuka was a rather good swimmer, quite apart from the fact that she was near the peak of fitness that the body of a sixteen-year old girl could support. She had obviously practised properly, although there were some anomalies in her style from the fact that the training had often been in full clothing, and sometimes in armour. Nevertheless, she was good

She lost by almost three-quarters of a length to Rei. The other girl was just at home in the water in a way that Asuka was not; her technique mechanically perfect as she cut through the water like a near invisible knife. The pattern of stroke after stroke remained unbroken for each length, head only emerging from the water when she turned at each end.

It was amazing. It was also, all in all, somewhat scary in its efficiency. And somewhat scary, full stop.

A perfect reflection of Rei, then.

Asuka was somewhat less calm about the result when she reached the end.

“How... wh...how did you do... that?” she asked, panting from the exertion, with undercurrents of both annoyance and amazement in her tone.

Rei gazed at her, not even out of breath, for a few seconds too long.

“I like swimming,” she finally said.

This was deemed to be singularly unhelpful by the red-headed girl, who promptly challenged her to a rematch. Shinji slipped away, to continue striving against the Leviathan-Who-Is-Called-Homework in a futile attempt to slay it, in a quieter room.

~'/|\'~

Representative Ikari was in a fairly bad mood, Ritsuko could tell, when she entered his vast office, called from her lab by his sudden summons. His motions had the slight rigidity and efficiency of motion that she knew displayed the annoyance which was not shown on his face. He had been standing in the middle of the room when she arrived, a vast array of holographic markings projected on the floor which she, no trivial sorceress herself, could barely guess at the functions of. The circles, the flowing runes thrown up by the underfloor holoemittors; they spoke of complexities of applied arcane theory (called colloquially “sorcery”) which she did not grasp.

Fortunately, as the warning light outside his door had been off, Gendo had merely been studying the pattern, not using it. Even small children were taught from a very young age of the dangers of disturbing a sorcerer.

With a wave of his gloved hand, he deactivated the pinkish-red marks which had scarred the floor, returning it to its normal white, and turned to face her fully.

When did he start wearing gloves? she thought to herself. The skin transplant after the accident with Unit 00 looked like it had taken properly. Has his body started rejecting the graft?

“Doctor Akagi,” he said, his voice not displaying any of the emotion that she was sure lay below, “you are to cease the synchronisation trials immediately. The initial success has been noted; however, you are not to experiment any further in that direction.”

She recoiled slightly. “But... G.... Representative. We've been getting noted successes with the trial. Coordinated reaction time is down 41%, after only such a short period. Against the Heralds, and with what we are about to do, such an advantage might be vital.”

Gendo pushed his Augmented Reality glasses back up his nose, preventing their slide. “The ORACLE has produced multiple results that predict that major mental contamination will occur if the synchronisation is permitted to continue. Such a result would not only produce a catastrophic breakdown in the interactions with both the EFCS Type 1 and Type 2 as the noetic waveforms became superposed, but in addition the risk of a further contamination from the Lilitu source conveyed by either the Project-P subjects or the Third Infant is too great.” He paused. “Or, indeed, the First Infant could also be a Lilitu vector.”

Ritsuko flushed red, then nodded. “I was aware of the potential risks at the start of the cycle. However, I judged, and the Deputy Representative agreed, that the paired combat efficiency...”

“We do not have the candidates to spare,” interrupted Gendo, his eyes narrowing by an almost immeasurable fraction. “We already are forced to share future candidates with Project-P, and these two are the only two available pilots not currently at risk from the Lilitu entity.” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “I would prefer to keep it that way.”

But is it that, thought Ritsuko, or might some parental, human feeling be leaking in? Would you really care if you did not have links to both the subjects?

And, sadly, the evidence showed that human feelings were detrimental to the cause of Humanity. At what point does the sacrifice of many lesser ideals cripple the good of the greater concept. That was always the question.

Ritsuko clamped down on her emotions and nodded her head. “Yes, Representative,” she said somewhat stiffly. “The synchronisation experiments will cease immediately.”

“See that they do,” was the answer. “You are excused, Doctor Akagi.”

The woman turned around and marched out, not looking back.

The idiot, Gendo thought. Except it isn't even that. The scientific and technical staff were selected for both their brilliance and myopia. I can hardly complain that I am surrounded by short-sighted fools, even when they do things like that.

Well, that and the fact that such a complaint would be cliché. And I will not fall into the old patterns, because there are others who can observe patterns and predict where they lead.

But that is irrelevant. Such complete blindness for the effects such research on minds that are, at most, afflicted with 1st stage Aeon War Syndrome, shows that she is solidly 3rd stage or later.

He blinked twice.

I will see to it that her dosage is upped, without her knowledge. I need her functional for what is about to come.

At least the social triggers still work. By persuading the Board to order the removal of the Evangelion armour “For Study”, I forced her to go to the Engel Project.

Their assets will be needed later, so I need a tolerable relationship between the teams.

With a wave of his hand, there was a click and a soft humming in the air, as the holoprojectors recreated the runes and circles. He would derive the meaning of these arcane secrets far beyond the feeble knowledge of humanity, force them into understanding so that everything would go as planned, if it killed him. It had a fair chance of doing so.

And some things that will be needed... I can only trust myself to do. Despite the pain. For you, Yui.

~'/|\'~

“Wait, what! What do you mean I can't go on the trip?!”

The shout would have echoed around Misato's apartment had it not been for the specially designed acoustics. As it was, there was a muffled squawk from the bathroom, as Pen-Pen momentarily panicked, atavistic instincts overriding the fledgling consciousness before he could reassert himself.

Misato took another sip of beer, before nodding. “Yep.”

Asuka pursed her lips and lowered her voice, realising that shouting at both her superior officer and the Director of Operations for Project Evangelion was perhaps not the wisest of moves. “Why not?” she asked, forced politeness in her voice.

“Because as a commissioned officer of the New Earth Government, you haven't submitted a form to apply for leave,” replied the Major, heartlessly. “If I were to let you go, I'd be guilty of aiding you in deserting your station.”

The girl's eyes narrowed. “All right. I'll go through the procedures, then.”

Shinji poked his head in through the door to the kitchen, the smell of cooking wafting through with him. Asuka sniffed at the air. Whatever he was cooking, it smelt good.

Misato, of course, smelt nothing.

“Does that mean that I can still go on the trip?” he asked, hope in his voice.

Misato shook her head. “I'm afraid not,” her smile fading for a second, before returning, full force, as she turned her gaze back to Asuka. “And I probably wouldn't waste time filling out the forms,” the Major added. “I have this feeling that the officer who forbade any leave for Project Evangelion staff for non-critical causes won't be sympathetic, and will probably reject it out of hand.”

The redhead frowned. This wasn't right. She was actually trying to associate with people her own age since Kaji had told her to, even though most of them were idiots. And now they were going to stop her from going on a trip, after they'd put her through some very basic remedial training for days on end, with the wimp doing the cooking.

Also, she'd miss the reef. That was important.

“Well, who is the officer, then?” she asked. “Maybe I can...” and then her brain managed to overcome her outrage. Asuka sighed. “It's you, isn't it, Misato,” she said in a defeated tone, glancing the black-haired woman and her cat-like grin.

Misato grinned, and nodded. “Yes.”

The younger woman groaned. “You're taking far too much pleasure from this for a professional military officer,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at the black-haired woman.

“Asuka, I've stared down the gullet of a Bhole,” Misato replied, her expression shifting to a slightly patronising smile. “I doubt there is a girl on the planet who could terrify me just with a glance. And...” she added, taking another swig from the can in front of her, “...though my sense of smell may be gone, I still have very good hearing.”

Asuka paused. Well, if that was the way they were going to play it...

“Well, what about Shinji?” she retorted, surprising both the titular individual in the kitchen and Misato. “I don't think it's fair that he doesn't get to go. I mean, I chose to become the youngest commissioned officer in the NEGA,” a faint smiled appeared on her face, as the pride battled with her pre-existing irritation, “while he's just basically a conscript.”

It made sense to attack at that point. That was the charge that they were very vulnerable towards; the New Earth Government was proud that its armed forces remained all-volunteer, and conscription of the underage was a real threat towards its view of itself.

Of course, the fact was that the only reason that they didn't use conscription was that the limited production of D-Engines put a hard cap on the number of vehicles and suits of powered armour they could deploy in the field. In this age of high-energy weapons and walking battle armour, the humble infantryman was of very limited use. Doctrinally, powered armour was used in roles where infantrymen would have been used in the past; the actual groundpounders were mostly relegated to static positions where they could be issued with heavy weapons, in engineering units, and inside arcologies, where the tight confines put a limit on the deployment of heavy vehicles. But that was not a fact made commonly known to the public.

Misato frowned. “What are you doing, Asuka?” she asked suspiciously. “And he isn't a conscript,as he isn't a member of the military.”

Asuka nodded her head cynically. “Sure. That would explain why a mere Test Pilot,” adding a vicious twist to the words, “is the one who has been deployed the most of all the Evangelion pilots, while there is also one who actually has military training who has been deployed less,” she said, throwing Misato's previous comments back in her face.

The older woman reddened slightly. “This isn't about you, Asuka...”

“Oh, I'm not doing this for myself,” she replied, smiling sweetly. “Look at it another way. He's been deployed against every single Herald that we've encountered. He deserves a rest. Frankly,” she added, “he deserves a break, where he doesn't have to worry about things.”

Asuka could see the guilt in the other woman's face. Good. She had deliberately focussed on that, so that she could... why was she doing this? It was complicated, she admitted to herself. Part of the reason, she had to admit to herself, was that the training had given her a bit more empathy for Shinji. Not sympathy, she hastened to add mentally, because she could still see that he was a passive-aggressive annoyance who seemed to enjoy getting into arguments with her, but she could at least see why he was like that.

Although she didn't have to like it.

There was also pity mixed in with it, too. She'd seen him try to wear himself out so that he could sleep with the lights on; sitting there, staring at the darkness. There was that distant look that he sometimes got since the... since whatever had happened with the most recent Herald, where he had looked into the Zone. Had something looked back, or was it something less personal; something that left him with the feeling he had mentioned twice that the world, the whole universe was just the shadow of some higher dimensional object? Either way, he didn't deserve it. He was just some random kid, who somehow seemed a lot younger than she was, stuck in a role that he didn't want and wasn't properly prepared for. He had done very well, and (though she was loathe to admit it), was improving, but, really, they should be getting properly prepared people, like her, to be doing this, not some scared teenager.

And, well, if a Herald does happen to attack while he's away, well, that would just mean that I would get to show them all what I can do on my own. And since I'm a lot better as a pilot than Rei, I will be the one who gets the next kill. Not Shinji. Not Rei. Not the military. Me.

Really, I'm doing him a favour. I'm not doing it just to get rid of him for a while.

Not entirely, at least.

Shinji, his head poking through the door, flushed slightly, smiling in an embarrassed way.

I didn't think she was that nice. Maybe that training worked better than it seemed at the time.

Misato was slightly suspicious about the sudden attitude change, but that didn't change what she was about to say.

“Well, I can understand where you're coming from, and even agree with you,” she began, “but it's not that easy. If it makes it any easier, we're not just doing this out of some twisted desire to make your lives miserable.” The laugh that followed was bitter. “The universe seems to do enough of that, for us as a species.” She shook her head, the vitriol in her eyes fading. “Shinji, how are you doing with dinner? Are you in the middle of anything?”

The boy shook his head. “I've just put it in the oven.”

Misato nodded. “Come in, then. Sit down. At the table,” she added. She waited until he was fully seated, then tucked her hands onto her lap, clearing her throat. “What I am about to tell you is classified as Code SANDALPHON... that's one of the highest security codes,” she added as an aside to Shinji, who was staring blankly at the mention; Asuka was familiar with the security code system. “I could describe all the punishments you'd be letting yourself in for if you broke the security and revealed this information, but we wouldn't want the food to get burnt,” she said, wryly.

There wasn't any laughter at the weak joke. Misato shook her head, and took a swig of drink.

“Let me explain to you about Operation CATO...”

~'/|\'~

This room could have been a twin all so many rooms, buried deep in the London Geocity; cold, sterile and white, with all the sharp edges rounded off, leaving not one right angle, and lit to prevent any shadows from forming.

Not that this was surprising, of course. In the Aeon War, it was necessary to prevent certain threats from gaining intrusion to sensitive areas. This style was the product of scouring countless arcane grimoires and massive consultations between arcanoengineers, sorcerers, architects, and scholars of the occult, with the occasional conventional engineer thrown in to ensure that the room could actually be built under the limiting constraints of reality.

What it resembled, more than anything, was a hospital morgue. Dark greenish-black boxes hung from the walls, their shapes disturbingly reminiscent, to a morbid mind, of coffins. On each one was tagged a complex serial number; an entirely superfluous feature when the multiple levels of tagged ID were taken into account. But it would not do to lose one of these containers.

On each, emblazoned across the top in white, was a single Roman numeral.

VII

A blond woman gazed out over the room, from a viewing window.

“Ah, what was the saying?” she said softly, to herself. “That is not dead which can forever lie. And with many strange aeons even death can die? Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But are they alive, or are they dead? They are not sapient. They are not even sentient. They fulfil all the criteria of the dead, except, for, perhaps, the most important one. But they will live properly soon.”

She became aware that she was talking to herself. The woman closed her mouth. One of her assistants was looking at her with mild concern in his brown eyes.

Look around the room, she thought, gazing blankly back at the man. No Nazzadi, and all the xenomixes take after their terrestrial side, culturally. Why do they protest (or would they protest, if we let them know) so much to what we do?

Well, obviously, I know why they protest, but I don't see why they can't see how it is necessary.

“Director?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud. We will be having the first combat trials soon. It's just that... well,” she shrugged, “the Project's finally looking to pay off. It's something that I've sometimes thought wouldn't happen.”

The aide nodded his head. “I know, Director.” He stood by her side, looking out at the row upon row of stasis pods, their contents within kept fed and watered through intravenous drip until they were activated. “I joined just after the death of your father in that accident...”

No accident! No accident!

“... that was a depressing time, let me tell you that.” He glanced at the woman. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “I'm fine. It was eight years ago. I've come to terms with it.” She laughed, bitterly. “It's not as if it's uncommon if you have relatives with Ashcroft,” she added, cocking her head curiously. “Do you have any other family with the Foundation, if you don't mind me asking?”

It was her! It was her!

The man shook his head. “None, but my sister's with the Army, stationed up in Canada.”

“Ah. The Migou have been threats up there ever since the Fall of Alaska.” There was a pause. “Has Colonel Rury from the Army SWD got back to when she wants to do the final inspection?” she said, changing the topic.

The aide straightened up. “No, Director, she has not.”

The blonde woman sighed. “When she does, tell her that we will be shipping the units over to the staging ground in three days. Let her decide where she wants to watch the tests.”

“Yes, Director.” The man made a note on his wrist-mounted PCPU.

“And the Perseus Commander remains stable?”

“Again, yes. Although his LAAM score remains at 100, as it has for the entirety of his adult life,” the man continued, an aggrieved tone in his voice, “despite all attempts to lower it, we have no potential harbin... that is, potential warnings of a synchronisation incident.” The man paused. “The reports on Sub-Commanders Heracles, Orpheus, and Achilles all indicate that they will be capable of handling the coordination of the Subjects in their groups, as will the back-up candidates, Odysseus and Jason, and their Subjects, using the older Type VIs.” He coughed. “As I mentioned in my last report, all three primary candidates have had a noted rise in LAAM scores over the last two years which matches or exceeds the increase in the EMSS scores. Without exception, those candidates have the highest LAAM in their groups, and together, if we exclude the Second Infant, have the three highest LAAMs in the entire candidate pool, including the successful Batch-Type candidates.”

“I have read your report, you know,” the blond woman said acidly.

“I merely state that the hierarchical model of the command structure means that if a synchronicity incident occurs with any of the Sub-Commanders, the vector could spr...”

“And, again, I am aware of this.” She sighed. “I will be in Lab 1-Beth. I am not to be disturbed for the next two hours. Is that clear, Barriso?”

The man nodded. “Perfectly, Director Wade.”

The route to Lab 1-Beth was long, deep into the heart of the facility, past many security checkpoints of a level that mere blood checks and skin samples were not enough to gain access. The threat of Blanks, that terrible Migou technique which rewrote a personality in a way which left it exactly the same, bar an irrevocable dedication to the Yuggothian fungoids, was enough that they could not risk letting even a single one through. Especially into the Herkunft facility, the Ashcroft Foundation group dedicated to research into all parapsychic phenomena and thus at the forefront for research into either subverting or replicating the Migou technosorcery.

But no such research went on in Lab 1-Beth. She was the only one who went into this research facility. Micromachines might have scrubbed the area of dirt or dust, but that only left the smell, a burning, metallic scent which spoke of such utter sterility that the place might have been an area of the moon, settled only for this purpose.

It was amusing, barely, she thought idly, that the reason her father was famous in the public eye was because of his work into genetic modification, which had produced the hybrid machine-biological air recycling units used in the offworld colonies.

Of course, the colonies had all been destroyed by the original Nazzadi invasion fleet. They had slagged the lunar facilities from orbit, along with the others. Nazzadi shock troopers, in powered armour, had swarmed from Titan to Ganymede to Mars, taking out the air supplies and leaving the colonies to asphyxiate. The mining facilities in the Asteroid Belt had such atrocities inflicted upon them that every officer involved in the operation who had defected from the original purpose of the Migou-created fleet had been 'disappeared'.

It was only because of the Second Arcanotech War, which later became the Aeon War, that the Nazzadi were as accepted as they were. Billions of lives cannot be forgiven so easily. It might not matter to the younger generations, on either side, but many older people on the human side, who remembered the war, did not forget the black-skinned, red eyed forces slaughtering their way through cities, taking out food, power and water, and leaving the civilians to starve (when they didn't “put them out of their misery” with nerve gas).

The airlock to Lab Beth-1 cycled, and Director Alice Wade of Project Herkunft stepped forwards, towards the object which was the reason that Beth-1 existed.

A pale face stared mindlessly back from the tank of orange liquid.

The Fourth Infant had floated here for eight years, all higher brain functions dead from the synchronicity incident with Subject Lilitu. It only lived because of the orange-red liquid; if the flesh were taken out, the mockery of life it portrayed would finally cease. And it was not merely brain-dead; it was also soul-blasted, a hollow vessel devoid of role of function.

By legal standards, it was dead. Perhaps death would have been a mercy, had the mass of flesh been capable of even the rudiments of thought. It just lay there, the body ageing and maturing despite the fact that its mind was gone; no, destroyed. Burned out and dead.

But that is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.

~'/|\'~

[EarthScorpion]

Item 2: My Dreem [sic], by Ghuhalia Goldstein'ubabhe, aged 8. Annotated by her teacher, June Cleather






the distraction process continues (in part because I've been having to actually work out the forces involved in CATO for the next chapter, and realising that, from previous statements, well, Project Herkunft has been busy.

Oh well. That's going to have some backlash, when the rest of the NEGA finds out that the SWD has permitted an Ashcroft Foundation to build up that level of military forces, quite apart from Project Evangelion (Project Engel doesn't count, as it's fully integrated with the NEGA).

I wonder who could have arranged that?

Anyway, may I present yet another in-universe document source. One in which I prove that I do, in fact, have the drawing skills of an eight year old.



And that Aeon War Syndrome can have many causes...


~'/|\'~



Item 3: "A Pikture [sic] of my Dreem [sic]", by Ghuhalia Goldstein'ubabhe, aged 8. Done in felt-tip pen, chalk and acrylic paint.

[Vehrec]

Got a confession to make, I've never played FEAR and all the references are making me sigh a little to myself. I did like that apparently the same terminology used in MoHS for time machines is used here. That little nod made me blink and chuckle. Overall however, I'm not the type to make a big deal out of fore shadowing. Things happen in their own time, and I will await their development. I have other things to read you know, makes it all a bit easier just to nod and go with the flow than to freak out over everything I don't get.

One thing I'm sorta wondering about is what would happen if a Dhaonoid had the good or bad fortune to encounter the (Second infant? "Orpheus?" Keeping track of these designations is hard.) First child while she was out and about with a minimal security guard, and a fight ensued. Would Rei's precognition be good enough to forewarn her and allow her to secure a weapon that could be concealed but still deal with the target?

And DAW, widdle hybrid. Now kill it with fire.

[Baughn]

If their use of the same terminology suggests that the mechanics are the same, then Gendo has relatively little to fear.

The Time-Plane Displacement Device doesn't let you alter your own past, after all, and there's no reason the usual butterfly effects shouldn't be in place either.

[EarthScorpion]

Got a confession to make, I've never played FEAR and all the references are making me sigh a little to myself. I did like that apparently the same terminology used in MoHS for time machines is used here. That little nod made me blink and chuckle. Overall however, I'm not the type to make a big deal out of fore shadowing. Things happen in their own time, and I will await their development. I have other things to read you know, makes it all a bit easier just to nod and go with the flow than to freak out over everything I don't get.

Ah, fair enough. Just think of it as genre emulation; Eva did it a lot. I wonder if it annoyed people back in 1995? I can promise you at the least, anyway, that the next chapter will be completely devoid of veiled references to FEAR and the way that I've interwoven it with the NGE plot.

I can make no such promises about the one after that, though.

One thing I'm sorta wondering about is what would happen if a Dhaonoid had the good or bad fortune to encounter the (Second infant? "Orpheus?" Keeping track of these designations is hard.) First child while she was out and about with a minimal security guard, and a fight ensued. Would Rei's precognition be good enough to forewarn her and allow her to secure a weapon that could be concealed but still deal with the target?

Obviously, it depends on quite a few things; what type of Dhohanoid it is, how much it knows. If we ignore the fact that the situation is very

As a joke, I did stat out all the Children in Cthulhutech. Let's just say that Shinji has a lot of grounds for complaint about unfair starting character points.

Not quite as bad as the character builds in a hypothetical Haruhi game, where Kyon's player should by all rights be pretty pissed at how other players were able to afford leet reality hacking, psychic powers (albeit with a "Only in Closed Space" Flaw attached to them), and "Virtual Omnipotence" (with the "Unconscious", "Unknowing", and "Emotionally-Linked" Flaws) while he could only get "Snarky" with the points that the GM gave him, but it's still pretty bad.

And DAW, widdle hybrid. Now kill it with fire.

Aww. She's actually a pretty sweet little girl. Only very mildly precognitive, and, perhaps uniquely for the set of "Little Girls With Parapsychic Powers", she's not also in the set of "Creepy". Well, if you're not creeped out by slightly too large eyes, set slightly too far apart.

Anyway, NEG policy does not condone the use of fire to eliminate the Outsider-Tainted when they pose no immediate threat. It's too traumatic for the individual doing it. Tainted individuals should instead be reported to your local police department who will pass the case up to the OIS, or, if they are encounted in a combat situation, they should be taken prisoner, to be subjected to proper genetic analysis and purification of the local populace.

If their use of the same terminology suggests that the mechanics are the same, then Gendo has relatively little to fear.

The Time-Plane Displacement Device doesn't let you alter your own past, after all, and there's no reason the usual butterfly effects shouldn't be in place either.

Well, that's assuming that you trust Mikuru's faction of time travellers. I don't, not one bit, and from Mikuru (elder)'s reaction when she found out that Kyon hadn't found out about the mole yet, it does seem possible to compromise the timeline.

But, really, that reference is actually just a continuation of the running series of jokes that I've been dropping occasionally that the whole of Haruhi makes more sense if you assume it's a Mythos show, with Haruhi as Azathoth and Kyon as Nyarlathotep. In that case, it just makes sense to put Mikuru as a Yithian possessing the body of a Japanese schoolgirl, and really, it puts her unfamiliarity with basic parts of human technology in a rather different light.

[Baughn]

You're right, viewing Haruhi that way does make an awful lot of sense. Well, I have been reading the Open Door.

My sentence got a bit scrambled, though. What I meant to say was: The TPDD doesn't allow you to alter your own past, because using it doesn't take you to your own past; it takes you to another time-plane, which thereafter evolves independently. Thus the mole thing is explainable.. and Mikuru and Kyon's stunt with Yuki means they permanently switched time-plane, while explaining how Yuki could talk to her own "future" self.

Imagining that near-infinite series of time-travels makes me dizzy, though, so I'll stop now.

[Battlehymn Republic]

Will aspects of Rebuild such as Mari Makinami be in this fanfic?

Also all of this TSAB magical princess anime crossover balderdash is obviously just a cover for Yithian activity. All hail the Great Race!

[EarthScorpion]

No elements of Rebuild are planned to be included; the fact that I haven't seen it sort of handicaps any attempt at inclusion.

And with that said, Chapter 12. It'll be interesting to see how this one goes down.

Yes, interesting indeed.



Chapter 12

Blood-Dimmed Tides

~'/|\'~

3rd of November, 2091

13:22


Raguelle Goldstein sat outside in the chill breeze, on the roof of the building, gazing out to sea. Her scarf was pulled aside from her face, but the rest of her body was swathed in a thick overcoat and gloves, proof against the inclement climate. She chewed idly on a nutrient bar, the reprocessed kelp and fish fairly flavourless, but nevertheless a clear sign of the benevolence of the Holy Ones.

Her left hand sunk down to her stomach, the swelling barely showing. He was out there, she knew, the Holy One who had favoured her not once, not twice, but thrice. For that, she had been truly blessed, for few among such pitiful kind as hers could say that one of the Chosen of Great Dagon had chosen to come back. It was good, after all, as it would ensure that her children by him would have both a strong father and each other, long after they had left their flawed mother behind.

And, truly, what more could a caring parent desire?

Down, from the streets below, she could hear the market, the voices crying out. To an observer, both from the godless New Earth Government as well as an earlier time, it would have sounded strange. The language, or more accurately languages, spoken came from all around the globe, as the faithful had flocked to this place to avoid the persecution of the NEG and the genocide of the Migou. The dominant tongue, at least in this region, was a pidgin, linguistically approaching a creole, of post-Reformation English, a northern Brazilian dialect of Portugese, but underlying everything, and the source of what the unholy would have been perplexed by, was the sacred tongue of R'lyehan.

True, the mortals, even though they were of the Elect, were ill-equipped to speak the blessed tongue, their ape-like throats but poorly forcing out the inhuman syllables, warping and twisting them, but those born with the Blood could do better, a faculty which only improved with age. Nevertheless, the hollow, liquid sounds resonated off the walls, in both the shrill chatterings of uplifted apes as well as the guttural barkings of those who had almost become the Chosen, their parentage released to the world.

Her eyes skipped over to the nearest Eye, one of the heavily armoured domes which were speckled along the coastline. As a static defence, they were innately able to pump more power into their colossal lasers than a comparably-sized ship It was impossible to assault this area with ships, because they would be targeted and destroyed, but the Eyes were impregnable to anything lesser. That reminded her. They had another militia training session the day after tomorrow. No-one over the age of 15 was exempt from the militia; even the injured or crippled would be trained for supporting roles. And it may have been a holy duty, but it was also bitterly cold in the Icelandic autumn. Really, she did not need this now. Sighing, Raguelle went back inside.

~'/|\'~

The sea crashed against the coastal wall, long breakers rolling in from the Arctic. The late autumn wind blew too, up the Eyjafjörður Fjord, whistling through the packed tenements of the city of Dagon'uvtu Oraribyrapr, literally, The Blessing of Highest Dagon. No building here dated back to before the glorious forces of truth had seized this land from the malevolent aliens who would work against the cause of faith and deny the Great of this planet his domain. No, the fungoid Yuggothians had erased the human habitation which had existed here before, replacing it with the high spires and deep bunkers so beloved of their kind. But the Chosen of Great Cthulhu, servants of Lord Dagon, and those humans who had seen their light had cleansed this island of their alien taint, restoring it to the species which owned this planet, despite the feeble claims of the upstart, unfaithful humans who would deny the elder species their rightful claim. Even the human-scaled buildings which the Loyalist Nazzadi, who had chosen to stay subservient to their creators, and the Blanks, who had been given no such choice through the technosorcery of the Migou, had been torn down. The profane marks of those aliens could not be permitted to stand.

And so now the Chosen had claimed this land for themselves, and permitted those loyal to them, the Elect, to dwell upon it. Iceland had never previously been so densely populated; even at the height of its settlement, before the First Arcanotech War, the population had never exceeded one million human beings. Now, however, sprawling tenements and apartments clustered around the coastal region, and temples reached up to the skies, gazing out to sea. The youthful population, their numbers swelling from a birth rate incomprehensible to those living in the moribund, sterile New Earth Government, clamoured and grew in these environs. Not for them the cold clinical arcologies, under the ever-watching eyes of a godless state that put more faith in machine than flesh and reduced people to decadent cogs in their attempts to keep their childlike populace under their control; no, this was life as humanity was meant to be exist.

Vibrant.

Youthful.

Under the leadership of the Chosen.

Interspaced with the thronging masses of the Elect, and closer to the interior of the mountainous island, the unfaithful were held, their bodies serving the faith. Factories, the menial operations carried out by drugged prisoners, churned out the gifts of industry. The pernicious effects of the nanofactory, corroding the value of work and leaving people weak were minimised. Good solid labour taught these unbelievers true faith, and with time, if they repented their ways, they too could join the coastal cities. It was even easier for the females among the blasphemers, for all that they had to do was bear the children of the Chosen and their sins would be forgiven. And these gifts from Lord Dagon and Lady Hydra only added to the masses which teemed on the island.

Iceland was the possession of the Esoteric Order of Dagon, and they would keep it.

~'/|\'~

Raguelle was greeted with Yhan's smirking face when she stepped back inside.

“Back from your smoke break already? You sure you wouldn't rather spend a little more time?”

She replied, “Oh, funny man. Did it take you all the time I was away to think that up? And I'm sure you know that I was just eating; it's bad for women to smoke.”

He stroked his scraggy beard (those with the Blood had problems with facial hair), tilting his head to the side slightly. “I'm going to have to give you a seven for that. Good comic timing, but you ruined it with the health message at the end.”

Raguelle nodded. “Thanks. Now, just step aside and I can get back to work before Khonatqa decides to check.”

“And we wouldn't want that, would we?” Yhan replied in a deadpan tone. “Why, she'd just love to eat your unBlooded flesh raw.” His face broke out into a grin. “Om nom nom!” he added, gesturing as if he were cramming food into his mouth with both hands.

She walked past him without a reply, flicking her head in irritation. Fortunately, she managed to make it back to her desk without any other delays, or being caught by Khonatqa. That woman was a terror; blessed heavily (she would probably be taking to the waters soon, despite only being in her thirties), but not a people-person. There was already a fair amount of office politicking going on to see who would take her position when she did ascend to the ranks of the Chosen.

As Raguelle sat down again, putting back on her reading glasses and staring at the cathode ray of the computer screen, Katrin leaned over from the other side of the desk, a slight twist to her features. She was one of the Nazzadi Elect; comparatively much rarer than those who were members of Homo sapiens sapiens. The population of the dark-skinned siblings of humanity were more arcologised than the natives, and the area around Nazza-Duhni (what had been Cuba before the Unification) was one of the few oceanic areas where the faithful of the Esoteric Order of Dagon could not swim. Those of them who had made it to be among the faithful had rejected their false, Yuggothian heritage in its entirety.

“Khonatqa hasn't poked her head around yet,” Katrin whispered.

Raguelle nodded. “I'd guessed. There wasn't a near-Chosen waiting by my desk to condemn me for my sloth.”

“Too true.” The other woman paused, twirling a strand of dyed aquamarine hair around one finger. “Why were you so hungry so soon after lunch?”

The brown-haired woman shrugged. “I always get hungry at odd times when pregnant. Doesn't matter if I've just eaten; you sometime just really need a protein bar.”

“Really? I never did?”

“Yes, but you've only had two so far.” The human paused. “And... um... I think you mentioned that the father hasn't been ever one of the Chosen. Just... um... one of the Blooded.”

The other woman's red eyes narrowed. “You mean...”

“Yep, this'll be another First Blood.” The Nazzadi made a squeak of joy; Raguelle put a finger to her lips, shushing her.

“Sorry. But another First Blood! That's really well done,” whispered the Nazzadi intensely. “I haven't even been blessed in that way once. My gulii'ywene's only a Third Blood, so my two are only Fourth Bloods. They probably won't even change fully,” she added, with a hint of sadness. “Why didn't you mention it before?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Partly because it's bad luck to say so early. When you've been blessed by Mother Hyrda so much, you don't want her to think that you're taking the credit for her bounty.”

“Too true, too true. Hubris is always a sin. But I still don't see why you didn't...”

A message popped up on the screen of Raguelle's computer, with a faint 'bangley-boop' chime.

Code: Select all

R. Goldstein.

See me in 14 minutes.

K. Smeef'ubabhe 

“... what was that? Is is me?”

Raguelle shook her head. “It's from her. Honestly, she's like some school teacher or something. Really brief.”

Katrin ducked her head. “I heard typing is getting hard for her. Fingers are webbing up,” she whispered, letting the bulky monitors get in the way. “Really not long, if that's true.”

The human made a brief cutting motion across her throat, to silence her friend. It wasn't done to discuss this kind of thing in public.

Raguelle tried working on the latest production reports, but the nervousness as the clock ticked closer was making it hard to concentrate. She had a bad feeling about this.

There was the noise of another message.

Code: Select all

Title: October Figures?

Hi Raguelle!

It's just Fjalar here.  Have you got teh October nums for 210x210x5 plating yet?  My supervisors' getting on my back about it!  Dman lazy unfaithful fell behind on their quotas in Sept; hope they cut their rations or something!

Fjalar

P.S.  See u at the militia training after work day after tomorrow.  Let's see if we can beat those gits at accunting (!) :D at it this time.  If we can get best fireteam, think of the bonus!

She smiled. Fjalar was a nice enough man, even if she did understand the gazes he'd give her sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking. They were paired as a team in the militia; she was the loader for the 120mm missile launchers stationed around the fjord. If anything tried an amphibious assault up there, they'd be getting hit with a bunch of anti-mech warheads. Well, anti-tank warheads technically; the design the Esoteric Order of Dagon gave to militia troops actually dated all the way to back before the Second Cold War, like the rest of the militia gear, but they could send one of the unfaithful back into the cycle of reincarnation.

She replied.

Code: Select all

Title: Re: October figures

Heya Fjalar

No, I don't have the figures yet.  They haven't been sent up from the work camps yet.  Dunno what the delay is.  I know they've been having problems with stupid NEG antinanofac nanites up in Industrial/  Maybe they're trying to control that/  I know the unfaithful have been making trouble.  I hope someday they can see the lovelyness of the osceans and understand the faith.

And now  Khonatqa wants to see me, and I dont think I've fallen behind.

Raguelle

PS  If I live through this (joke), I'll see you there.  It'd be nice to get the fireteam trophey back!

___________

Hi Raguelle!

It's just Fjalar here.  Have you got teh October nums for 210x210x5 plating yet?  My supervisors' getting on my back about it!  Dman lazy unfaithful fell behind on their quotas in Sept; hope they cut their rations or something!

Fjalar

P.S.  See u at the militia training after work day after tomorrow.  Let's see if we can beat those gits at accunting (!) :D at it this time.  If we can get best fireteam, think of the bonus!

She tried to continue working, but the digital timer kept on ticking, and far too soon it was time to see the boss. Her legs felt heavy and leaden as she stood up. She could hear, faintly, as if from a long way away, Wrupta say something. Well, she thought it was Wrupta. It might have been Qezpavawm. They sounded almost identical, despite the fact that they looked nothing alike.

Her chain of thought was interrupted by a sudden jolt of pain in her thigh. The woman stepped back, clutching at her leg, as she muffled a curse.

Stupid table corners! By Dagon, why don't they round these things off or something?!

There were sniggers from several parts of the office. She ignored them. Everyone did it occasionally.

Raguelle nervously stepped, limping slightly, through the door to the manager's office. The smell and humidity hit her like a hammer. Like it always did. It was indescribable, if you had not smelt it before, yet instantly recognisable if you had. There was dead fish in the scent, yes, and rotting seaweed, but there was also an undertone to it which sent your mind buzzing with invisible flies.

And it was not only impolite, but approaching sacrilege to show any sign that it affected you.

Naturally, as one of the Blooded, and a direct representative of the Branch of Fabrication, Khonatqa did not deign to note her presence, at least yet. All that could be done was to stand, gaze lowered and hands behind back, until the superior one graced her with her attention.

Finally the Blooded woman, in whose skin melanin was already being supplanted as the dominant pigment, removed her AR goggles, and stared unblinking at Raguelle, as if she didn't quite remember why this member of the Elect was standing in front of her. That was one of the things you noticed with the Blooded in their transformation into the Chosen; the eyes, even as they became wide and glassy, the skull itself shifting to contain the enlarged orbs, never lost the intelligence and sense that there was a someone, as opposed to a something, staring out from them. It merely shifted in nature.

She cleared her throat, with a wet gurgle. “Ah, yes. R. Goldstein.” The words were still understandable, despite the inhuman undertones that instinctively sent shivers down the human spine. “I wished to talk to you about the production results from last month. Or, rather, the fact that they have not all made their way to my office. And yours are some of the ones which I lack. Why would that be, r'yrpg-uhzna?”

Raguelle swallowed hard. “I haven't yet received the figures from the work camps, honoured qr'rcbar'uloevq-uhzna,” she managed to get the complex mass of constants and guttural sounds out correctly. It was a lot easier to understand Ry'lehan than it was to speak it, at least with human vocal cords.

“But, r'yrpg-uhzna, that was the same excuse you used last month,” her superior retorted. “Why did you not pass the news of their failure to the camps?”

Raguelle bowed again. “With respects, honoured one, I did. They have sent me no warning or message informing me that the production statistics would be late this month, even after I specifically requested that they do, after our last meeting.”

The Blooded woman made a neutral noise. “Perhaps.” She yawned widely, sharp teeth (pointed and serrated, not like the chisel-like Nazzadi dentures) flashing in the light. “I do not need to remind you of the need for correct organisation of the ha'snvgu'shy-uhzna labourers, do I? Not only do we risk their souls through an inability to use their bodies to our maximum advantage, but we also harm the cause of righteousness.”

“Of course,” Raguelle replied, with a bow.

“We are forced to maintain production lines from one factory to another, when the monsters that haunt our cause, both ha'snvgu'shy-uhzna and sha'tbvq-nyvra, can use nanofactories because they can neutralise the nanological agents which fill the air. We are reliant on the use of the ha'snvgu'shy-uhzna, much as we are loathe to admit it. That's why,” she snapped, “when I ask for figures at the start of every month, I receive them.”

There was a pause, as Raguelle tried to think of something, anything, to placate the hybrid which sat in front of her.

“So go get them,” Khonatqa ordered, bulbous eyes narrowed.

The human woman bowed, trying to slow her hyperventilating breath. “Right away, honoured qr'rcbar'uloevq-uhzna,” she said, backing away to leave as fast as possible.

She was stopped with a single word, right at the door.

“And, r'yrpg-Goldstein.”

She paused in her retreat. “Yes, honoured one?”

“Congratulations.”

“About what, honoured one.”

Khonatqa sighed, one human noise she seemed to be able to do very well. “About the most recent pregnancy. As one of the r'yrpg-uhzna, this is your ultimate and supreme purpose in life. Do you know the identity of the father?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do. Y'hu-thiyu'pth. I am afraid I do not know any other identifiers, although he has also sired two others upon me.”

She waited for the elder woman to dismiss her. It did not come immediately. A strange noise entered her ears.

Khonatqa was laughing, her too-wide mouth open. With a smile, she shook her head. “How amusing. What would he want with you, I wonder?”

“Honoured qr'rcbar'uloevq-uhzna? What do you mean by that?”

“Never mind,” was the response that came, as the superior one returned to her normal expression. “Go! Get me those figures by tomorrow!”

Raguelle made her way back to her desk. Her thigh was still hurting.

“Well, at least you're still alive, and haven't been moved to the camps yet,” Katrin whispered to her.

She shuddered. Gods, that's still a possibility. May Hydra keep me safe from that.

Out loud, she said, “Don't talk about that to me. About anything, actually. I'm going to have to make a lot of phone calls to the fynir'ynobhe-jbex'pnzcf, to find out what those idiots who only have to look after a bunch of unfaithful workers and stop them getting uppity... well, and keep them working, obvious, and find out why the fuck they haven't sent the figures yet.”

~'/|\'~

16:49


On her way home (she'd eventually got the numbers, although it took far too long), finally escaping the office, Raguelle remembered that they were running low on food... well, not quite yet, but it was amazing how fast two adults and five children got through it. It was cold, wet, and the sun was just setting, as winter rolled in and so did the extended darkness this far north.

Why couldn't Lord Dagon have conquered somewhere warmer? she thought wryly to herself, before mentally flinching for the blasphemy, and asking for forgiveness.

The streets were packed. The big festival celebration had only been three days ago, after all, and the parties were still continuing. Beneath her boots, discarded rubbish crunched, crushed up against the floor into a dense compact mess. People were dancing in the streets, waving gas-fired torches around, and considerable numbers were running around shirtless, despite the chill and the rain.

Raguelle smiled. It's so nice to see the young Blooded enjoying themselves. They're so lucky to not feel the rain or cold.

Nevertheless, the backpack she carried when she needed to shop was really heavy, and with bags in both hands, she made her way home, rather than watch the dancers. It was a shame, really; there was a live re-enactment of The Conjunctions of Dagon and Hydra going on, small children packed into the front rows of the crowd as they saw exactly where First Blooded came from. She smiled, in reminiscence; she had acted in such a role in public, almost nine years ago. That was, after all, where Ghuhalia had come from.

But the food was heavy, and she was cold. And she wasn't fourteen any more, after all.

The older children were packed in front of the television when their mother arrived home. She could hear the somewhat inane theme music from outside the front door to their second-floor flat.

Ohh...
Who lives in a city under the sea?
Great Cthulhu!
Squamous and greenish and holy is he
Great Cthulhu!
If to live when he wakes be something you wish
Great Cthulhu!
Then fall on your face and *crsh*

There was a wave of complaint when the cathode ray television was turned off, with a wave of static.

It kind of dilutes the majesty of the Great One, to make a show about him. Even if it is blessed by the priesthood.

Raguelle pulled off her damp outer layers, leaving it over the radiator in the main room, while simultaneously launching into a harassed rant.

“What are you all doing! None of you are dressed properly, and...”

Her eldest, Ghuhulia, raised her hand. “I am dressed too!”

Her mother ignored her. “...we have to be at the temple in fifteen minutes. Ghu, get dressed, then unpack the shopping.”

“I am dressed!”

“Fraenkis, where's your daddy? He should be taking care of this. What does he think he's doing?!”

The six year old stared up at his mother. “He's in the bath. He said his gels are hurting him.”

“They're called 'gills', Fraenkis.” The woman sighed, her palm colliding with her forehead with a notable clap. “We do not need this right now. Even though it is a sign he is being Chosen,” she added, as an afterthought. She scooped the five-year old Yhughui'ne up in her arms, giving her daughter a cuddle to ward off the tears which seemed to be coming from the TV being turned off. “It's all right, Yhughui, it's all right. Come on, let's get you changed into your temple clothes.” She looked down at her elder son. “Fraenkis. You can put your underrobes on yourself, right? Because you're a big boy.”

The six-year old smiled, a wide grin covering his face. “Uh huh. Because I'm bigger that Yhughui! You've got to have mummy do it!” he added, to his younger half-sister.

“Do not!”

“Do totally do!”

“Off you go, Fraenkis,” their mother interjected. “Now, Yhuguhi, do you want the green robe today? Or the blue one?”

The five-year old, a full sister of Ghuhulia, burrowed her head in her mother's shoulder.

“Do you want mummy to pick?” she asked, gently. “Ghu, have you changed yet?” was added, in a harsher tone of voice.

“I did it already,” the little girl called back, from the kitchen. “I already told you that. Because I knew that gulifr'kre wasn't going to be ready. Because I'm prepared!” she added, in a smug tone of voice.

“Don't you talk about daddy that way,” retorted Fraenkis, on his way up the stairs.

“He's not my daddy, uloevq'cn,” his older half-sister snapped back.

“Mummy, Ghu called me a uloeb'crn!” said the boy, his eyes welling up with tears. “And at least I don't have big ears!” he retorted, spitefully.

“No, I called you a uloevq'cn. Are you so stupid you can't even pronounce it right? I bet you are! I told you to get changed, so we could watch more TV when mummy got home, but no-one ever listens to me,” Ghuhulia called back, as she pushed a chair into position so she could stack the fish protein packets in the high up shelves. She added, blushing, “And I don't have big ears, small eyes!”

Yhuguhi'ne began to sob into her mother's shoulder, already damp from where her raincoat had leaked, as the older children began to insult each other.

“Ghu, Fraenkis! Stop it! Fraenkis, go and get changed! Ghu, don't call your brother a uloevq'cn!

“But he started...” started her daughter.

“But she started...” the little boy said simultaneously.

“Enough! Just... go. Please.” Raguelle paused. “Wguh'yului!” she called out, as she tried to get up the stairs while carrying Yhughui'ne. They grew up, and more importantly in these particular circumstances, got heavy, so quickly. “Wguh'yului! Are you out of the bath yet?” She staggered through the door, and put the five year old down on the bed.

“Yuh... almost,” he called back. His voice was not-quite-human any more, the barking liquid cadences of how the Chosen sounded when they had to communicate with lesser beings (like herself) already insinuating themselves into his speech. “Great Cthulhu, it hurts! It's like I pulled a muscle in my neck!”

“What do you want, Yhughui? Blue, or green?” Raguelle asked her daughter, holding both of the robes up. The little girl just made a sulky noise, and hid her large, liquid eyes (a sign of her parentage) in her hands. “Maybe you just pulled a muscle, and it isn't the gills,” she called to her gulii'ywene.

“Don't be an idiot, woman,” he responded angrily, a gurgle entering his voice. “I think I know what my body is doing! Pulled muscles feel different. Just what I'd expect from a fool like you. ”

She was silent for a moment, as she decided the blue looked better, and then tried to get the underrobe over the uncooperative girl's head. “Sorry.” She swallowed hard. “Va zl bja vasre'vbev'gl, z'lfrys znl unir b'ssraqrq lbh, fhcrev'be bar,” she added, the ritualistic words of apology not coming easily through a voicebox that they were not designed for.

“Well, don't say damn foolish things like that then, idiot!” was the response she got.

Yhughui'ne stared up at her mother, eyes wide open and still filled with tears. “Are mummy and gulifr'kre fighting?” she asked.

Her mother grimaced. “Only a little bit,” she said, measuring out a little distance with her fingers. “Now, raise your arms, so I can get the midrobe on, and then we just have the overrobe and cowel to...”

“Because I don't like it when mummy and gulifr'kre fight,” she whispered, as if confiding a deep secret.

“It's only because we're in a rush, Yhughui,” she explained to the five-year old “I got out of work late, and your gulifr'kre is in pain, and that puts both of us in a bad mood.” She paused “We'll try not to shout. Is that better?”

The little girl nodded.

“How was school?”

“'kay.”

“You aren't going to say any more?”

Yhughui'ne shook her head, pouting slightly.

“Spread your arms, Yhughui, please. That's good, yes,” she said, as she adjusted the underlayers so that they did not protrude from the sleeves. “Adorable.” She sighed. “It's only a small mercy that the little two are still with the care. I don't know how I'd manage, otherwise.”

“What do you mean, mummy?”

“Nothing. Go downstairs and wait with your brother and sister.”

The dirty-blond little girl stared up at her mother, not blinking for a little too long. “He's not really my brother,” she said. “He's only a half-brother.”

Raguelle sighed. “Well, you're all my children. And tell Ghuhalia not to talk to you like that.”

The little girl left. Her mother flopped down onto her bed, in the room that Yhughui'ne shared with Ghuhalia.

Children may be the best legacy I can hope for, and a gift from Hydra. But they're also really hard work!

~'/|\'~

21:00



“Good evening, and welcome to the Word of the Elect Evening News Update. I'm your host, Opuhgui Jeemes'ubabhe. Tonight's top stories.

Further atrocities committed by the New Earth Government against the faithful in Ireland. An undercover reporter shows the mass abductions and brainwashing carried out upon the Elect, and the ethnic cleansing against the Chosen. And will we ever have answers to what happened around Balleydehop? And in related news, New Earth Government forces have retreated from around Iceland, pulling their forces back, thus proving the efficiency of the Order's policy of 'Oceanic Restriction'.

Further attacks by Faithful forces against the intruding extraterrestrial Migou forces have met with success, with raids eliminating several forwards bases and intelligence outposts. It cannot be long before the Icelandic branches of the Esoteric Order of Dagon can liberate the Migou-held Scandinavia.

Production quotas from the unfaithful are up, year on year, by 3%. Economic specialists from the Branch of Fabrication put the success down to our increasing reliance on flesh-sourced labour, against the economic dampener of widespread use of nanological and micrological warfare against Order nanofactories.

A woman from the Elect has had quintuplets, all of them First Blooded. But our reporter asks, does the growing practice of fertility treatments to increase the chances of multiple births waste valuable medical resources and potentially harm the children?

And more, coming up. This is the news, at nine o'clock. Our main story tonight; the systematic genocidal policies of the NEG continue to grow in magnitude, despite the valiant efforts of Order forces to hold back the atrocities. The latest report comes from Ireland, where after the widespread successful attacks by our forces in April, the NEG propaganda machine has been zealous in wiping out any traces of our success. Luckily, a few brave citizen reporters have managed to smuggle this news footage out. Warning; this footage contains scenes of a graphic nature, including murder, mass disposal of bodies, and torture. Young viewers, or those of a sensitive nature, are advised to look away and turn off the volume.”

“I think you should take the girl to bed, Rag,” said Wguh'yului, somewhat roughly. “What are you doing, letting her stay up this late, anyway?”

“But I want to get to stay up and watch the news, like an adult,” Ghuhalia complained, staring at the pictures of bodies piled up on the screen with a morbid fascination. “You let Fraenkis stay up until half eight, and I'm over two years older than him.”

“Raguelle, do it now. I'm not looking for backchat from either of you.”

“But...” began the little girl, before her mother scooped her up, staggering a little.

“Sorry for my failure, Wguh,” her mother interjected. “Va zl bja vasre'vbev'gl, z'lfrys znl unir b'ssraqrq lbh, fhcrev'be bar,” she added.

The Blooded man only grunted, and settled down to take up more of the sofa.

~'/|\'~

22:07

Raguelle ran her fingers over her closed eyelids, pinching the flesh of the bridge of her nose. She was tired, she knew, but she had to read more of the Commentaries on the Apocryphia to the Book of Hydra. The words of the Great Old Ones had been lain down in the text, and the faithful could find the secret messages they sent as a test of their faith.

Through faith, all things were possible.

She looked down at Ulf, beside her. The one-year old was sleeping, thank Dagon, his tiny face screwed up. Carefully, she reached down, and brushed a lock of dirty brown hair away. It was so sweet when they were like this.

The child made a little noise in his sleep, and her heart melted a little.

Wguh'yului poked his head through the door, hair still dripping from his bath. That was a sign that the Blessing was coming in stronger, that he was getting closer to becoming one of the Chosen rather than a mere Child. He now had problems sleeping unless his skin was wet at the time. The ridges on his neck, sealed and useless because they were still covered over by flesh, lay as a testament to that fact.

“Rag?” he said, voice questioning. “Ghuhalia is upset, and she's refusing to talk to me. She's asking for you. She says it's something she wants to talk to you about.”

She shared a look with her uloevq'ybire. “Do you think...” she said, letting her voice trail off.

He nodded, the bulges under his neck flexing. “I think it might be.”

Raguelle sighed, and put down the book. “Ulf is asleep,” she said, her tone mock-threatening. “He'd better be like that when I get back.”

Wguh looked shocked. “I'm not stupid enough to wake him up. Honestly...”

“You've done it before. Need I remind you about the Incident when Yhu was little and you...”

He frowned. “Go see to Ghuhalia. Don't bring up things like that ever.”

She flinched slightly, instinctively. She knew it was a legacy of her childhood with the decadent godless scum of the NEG, but any anger from her husband (a man with the blood of the Chosen flowing through her veins, she reminded herself) still frightened her. But she was his inferior-by-blood, and so would obey.

It was dark in Ghuhalia's bedroom, a place barely large enough for the two beds and the cupboard. Her mother carefully negotiated her way over the toys and clothing on the floor. Raguelle made a note to get them to clean up this mess in the morning, before she had to go off to work. Dagon abhorred sloth, after all. The room should be like the ocean; clean and pure. Yhughui'ne, her younger sister and fellow child of the Chosen, was already asleep, curled up on a ball under her covers.

The eight-year old was sitting upright in the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, staring through her mother, out into the lit hallway. Her dirty blond hair fell like a veil in front of her eyes.

Raguelle sat down on the bed, beside her eldest daughter, wrapping her arms around her.

“It's all right, Ghu,” she said, ignorant of the hackneyed dialogue. “Mummy's here. You can talk to me.” She reached out and scooped the hair away from her daughter's face, so that she could see her wide staring eyes.”

There was silence.

“Ghu,” she began again. “I can't make things better if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

More silence. Then the girl spoke.

“You're going to die, mummy,” she said, softly.

Raguelle groaned inside. It was time for The Talk. This was the problem with a child who would become one of the Chosen, when you yourself would never become anything more than one of the Elect. It was necessary to face the facts that you were doomed to grow old and die, your body committed to the oceans to resume the circle of life and your soul freed to, perhaps, become one of the Chosen in your next life. Little Ghuhalia, by contrast, would at some point enter the seas, if the Gods smiled upon them and no malevolent forces prevented the course of nature, and swim eternally; a higher, better order of life.

But Raguelle was one of the Elect, and so she knew that the best thing she could hope for in this life was that a little bit of her would live on forever in her children. She was far more blessed than she could once have been, for potentially all her children, including the one which currently lay quiescent, growing in her womb, might be able to become Chosen; three of them certainly would.

She pulled Ghuhalia closer to herself, against her chest, and hugged the girl tight.

“I'm afraid so, Ghuh,” she said gently. She swallowed hard. “I'm not one of the Children of the Chosen, like you or Yhughui'ne or your little brother.” She rested the little girl's hand on her navel. It was too early to feel kicking, or even a prominent bulge, but she could remember doing this with her younger siblings and half-siblings. “I don't even have the Blood of the Chosen. I wasn't blessed by Dagon to be born in a Demesne of the Faithful.”

The little girl sighed. “I know that,” she said. “But why does that mean that you have to die?”

The mother hugged her daughter closer. “Because I don't have the Blood. Because where I was born, people with the Blood were taken away by the government and tortured and killed, just because they were one of the Chosen.”

Ghuhalia frowned, looking up at her mother with a confused face. “But...” she paused. “That doesn't make sense. Why would the government take away people with the Blood? The Chosen are the ones in charge of everything. The Gods put them in charge.”

Raguelle swallowed again, feeling her throat rub against her daughter.

How to explain...

“See, long ago,” she began.

Ghuhalia interrupted, “Great Cthulhu created life on the Earth and then he Chose his favourites and then Lord Dagon became a God, too, and then Lady Hydra did, too. I know that, mummy,” she said, repeating her teachings by rote.

Her mother paused. “Perhaps not so long ago. This is like human history long ago, not religion long ago. Well, it sort of relates. But,” she paused again, trying to remember her dates, “... some time ago, like sixty years ago...”

“That is long ago,” the eight-year old said solemnly.

“...well, people with the Blood were rare. And when they were found, they tended to get locked up for being mad, or imprisoned by the government.” She noted the confusion on her daughter's face. “See, back then, because there wasn't the Chosen, there were only humans, and not even the Elect, like me. No, these were nasty humans. They were split between the ones who didn't believe in any gods and the ones who believed in gods that weren't real.”

Ghuhalia got even more confused. “But... why can't you see that the Gods are real?” she asked. “They really exist. I've seen one of the Cthulhu'puvyqera, and they're his children.”

Raguelle winced. How to explain this?

“The people who don't live in the Demesnes don't believe in the Gods at all. In fact, they hate the Gods, because they're evil people. And because they're bad people, they're going to punished, and they'll learn to be better people from it. The evil space bugs are also bad things, but they came to Earth as a punishment for the bad people who don't believe in Great Cthulhu. That's why we were able to take this island from them and sanctify it as a Demesne.” A tone of wonder filled her voice. “They say that Lord Dagon himself came in person and killed the nasty space bugs. We have the Gods on our side. That's why we're going to win.”

She ruffled her daughter's hair, and relaxed a little. They sat in silence for a while, the mother looking at the rise and fall of her other daughter's chest, the five-year old still fast asleep.

Ghuhalia spoke. “Mummy?”

Raguelle made a noise of assent.

“You can let go of me, mummy.”

“I just want to make sure that my big girl is all right.”

Ghuhalia squirmed. “I'm fine. I am a big girl. And you're making me hot,” she said.

“Are you sure?” her mother asked gently.

“Yes! I'm sure I'm hot!”

Raguelle smiled, and tucked back the girl's hair, running her fingers through it. “No, I mean, are you sure that you're all right.”

The little girl nodded, her hair falling back in front of her face.

“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, mummy. I'm fine.” She turned to fix her wide eyes on her mother. “And I now know what I'm going to do as a job.”

“Don't you mean, what you're going to do when you're older?” her mother asked, an amused tone in her voice.

“No!” the little girl exclaimed. Raguelle put a finger to her lips, and pointed at Yhughui'ne, who was fortunately still asleep. “Sorry, sorry. But still, no. I'm not a baby. I'm going to become an adult earlier than other people.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I'm going to go and get rid of all the bad people and save them all.”

“Are you sure they'll let a little girl do that?” her mother asked, as she stood up.

“Yes! I know other little girls can do it. I've seen it. I'll make the bad people go away and then we can find a way so you won't stop being my mummy!”

Her mother smiled, benevolently. “Well, then I think you need lots of sleep, so you can become big and strong and clever. And you won't have any more bad dreams.” She stood in the doorway, and looked back. “'Night, Ghuhalia.”

“'Night.”

And as Raguelle Goldstein climbed back into bed with her gulii'ywene, she smiled at him. “I think everything's going to be all right with Ghuh,” she said, locking her warm lips onto his slightly bulbous and clammy ones.