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Tatsuya by Erin Tyler ... ...Um... ... ...Uh, okay, I'm... not sure how to start this. ... Sorry, I, uh... ...Ah, jeez. Listen to me, acting like I'm talking to someone. ... ...Well, I mean... I kind of am. ... ...Maybe I should, uh... maybe I should start with something I should have said earlier: I wrote this with assistance. In my hand, right now, is a small, orange, plastic digital recording device that... well, I made it. I'm proud of it, too; it's pretty ingenious. You see, it doesn't just record audio. I included a little artificially intelligent computer in it that can assess both the words and intent of the speaker. It's why you see so many ellipses all over the place -- they're places where I paused, or... thought about stuff, or where other people were speaking and they paused to think about stuff, or where they sort of trailed off or... whatever. Also, the device outputs everything to a text file so I can edit it on the fly, but it's so good at recognizing my speech patterns, I don't have to change much. It's made putting my thoughts on paper much easier... ... ...Um... I just thought of something else. Y'see, some guys I know wrote about President Bellows' attack on Parkside. They found out I was literate, and they... weren't so much, so they asked for my help getting some of their experiences on paper. I filled in some of the gaps in their knowledge, gave them some pointers, and before I knew it, I was their teacher. It happened almost overnight. It's kinda crazy. ... ...There's this one guy I know named Dale Gorenstein. If you've read anything about the Battle of Parkside before this, then chances are it came from Dale. He wrote "They Birned my House down." Yeah, he's that guy. Dale's "book" is only about 50 pages long and chock-full of spelling and grammatical errors, but it's the most honest thing I've ever read. Seriously: if you haven't picked up a copy, then go find one. He puts my attempt to describe the battle to shame. I brought Dale in to my "class" to talk about his writing process. Afterwards, I took him to dinner. I asked him why he wrote it, and he said he was having these horrible nightmares each night. They were gone from his memory within minutes of waking, so he started writing them down to try and remember, so he could tackle them head-on. Not only did his nightmares end, but he discovered he was a good storyteller. ... ...With, uh... my class, and Dale, I thought I should try and write out my own experiences... and here we are. I am. Oh, hell, I don't know. This thing might not ever be read by anyone except me. Maybe it's for the best. ... ...I... I wasn't expecting to really make anything of this. I didn't think this could help me make sense of things like it did with Dale, but... well, it did, surprisingly. It helped me get a grip on some of the old trauma I have left over -- that's certainly not rare. It helped me get my account of the whole thing straight. ...I-it's helped me to remember. I remember. I remember a couple faces, and a name: "Brianna." ...And I remember more. I remember the smell of alcohol hanging in the air. It's a dimly-lit room, some colorful lights hanging from the ceiling providing scant illumination. It's Christmas, maybe? Or after Christmas? Maybe the owner just likes colorful lights. I can't remember when it is. The atmosphere is warm and convivial, though. I'm somewhere near water. A river, maybe. There are windows, but they're cloudy, and I'm not near them anyway. I'm sitting at a bar nursing a drink... but I can't remember my hands. It's strange: I try to remember my face, or even my skin color, and I get nothing. The same goes for my name. I'm just an empty, black blob, an impression of a man upon a bar stool. I should be upset about it, but I'm not. ...I'll, uh... I'll tell you why later. I'm by myself, alone with my aching joints. I was a bicycle messenger, I know that. I put a glass full of ice to my forehead and relax against the cold surface. I look down the bar, and that's when I see the woman. Aww, damn, I think to myself, she's pretty. I'm smiling. She's also by herself, and she's looking around with a relaxed curiosity. She sees me and smiles back. I drag myself up and shuffle across the floor. "Let me guess," she says. Her voice is kind of squeaky, but there's a worldliness in it. "The bike outside is yours." "Yuh," I reply wearily. It's the only word I remember hearing myself say, the only memory I have of my own voice. She moves her hips back and forth a little, making her bar stool twist. She has some curves; there's no skinny little waif there. Plus, she's flirting with me. "You wanna seat?" I nod. After that, the memory gets fuzzy. I learn her name is Brianna. I'm able to tell where she's from immediately, and I'm smart enough to avoid making a dumb "Would you like me to pahk youah cah for yah?" joke. We laugh. We share drinks. We make eye contact, and she has the most strikingly green eyes. ...And the next thing I remember, I'm somewhere else... ...With her. I'm looking down at her. She's sweating, and I'm hot... ...And the room is dark, and we're all alone. There's a light from a building outside, I think. I don't know. I'm not paying attention to it. My eyes are on Brianna. I feel her hot breath on my face. I hear her moan. We kiss, and I push against her- -Uhhhhh I don't need to go into detail. ... The next thing I remember, it's... some time later. Days, maybe, or weeks. A month? I'm standing in a hall somewhere, facing a door. There's a tightly woven deep red rug on top of a dark hardwood floor beneath my feet, a credenza made of driftwood to my right. I pick a small set of keys out of a bowl on top of the credenza, and I slip them into a bag at my waist... and... I see there's a phone next to the bowl, and there's a number blinking on its screen. I push a button on the phone, and a message plays. "...Uh, hi," a squeaky voice says. "It's, uh... it's Brianna..." I think, Brianna? ...Oh, yeah. Brianna. I grin. "Hey, uh... listen, I just... ummm..." Her tone shifts from low to slightly more animated. "Sorry I didn't call you after that night. Things got busy at work. I had to take a trip to San Fran for business. I got sick while I was out there. I thought it was a stomach bug..." She goes silent for a few seconds. "Listen, just... please call me back. Again, it's Brianna Carson. My number's 617-," and I forget the rest. Some time after that, I'm riding my bike through the streets of the city, and I think of Brianna, and I wonder what she meant. I'm thinking to myself, She got sick in San Francisco. Does she think I had something to do with that? I don't know why... ...And my mind just sort of... locks up for a moment... ...And I think, Wait- And then I hear the horn blaring, loud enough to deafen my right ear, and I think Shit, was I red and I turn and there's the grill of the truck big and chrome and- That's it. The next thing I knew, I woke up in Sky Tower, facing a messed-up robot girl named Natsuko... ...And without any idea of what came before. ... ...I... ... ...I don't... know... ... ...I don't know... what to do... about this. With this information. I haven't told anyone. What do I do? ...That's not a rhetorical question. ... ...It, uh... it certainly explains a lot, doesn't it? I mean, I could understand why there could be doubt. After 435 years, of course there could be doubt. It's just... I don't have any. You don't know what Brianna looked like. You may never have met Alan or his son. The girls... oh, my God... ... ... ...Um... I don't... think... there's anything. That I can do, I mean. This doesn't really... ...Um... ...Well, it... doesn't really... change anything. I know you're probably thinking it does, but... it doesn't. I think. I don't know. But I'm pretty sure it doesn't. It doesn't really change how I feel about... well, about them. Alan's a good man. The ABCs are as cute as teddy bears, and smarter than most adults. Gary's Gary, and that's perfectly fine. So there's this thing now. ... ... ...I'm okay with it. It-it's the weirdest thing. It's beyond my imagination! I couldn't... make... this up. I couldn't. But through it all, through all of the craziness that I've been through, and the people wanting to kill me, and the bitterness and laughs and tears and the whole roller coaster of... physical and emotional stress... ...Ah... if... this is what... I come to, on the other end... ...Then, yeah, I'm okay with it. ... I have gotten... way, way... waaaaaaay ahead of myself, haven't I? Heh. You don't want to know all of this bullshit. You just want to know how my story ends. Okay. Let me tell you how my story ends. The end began with darkness... ...And lots of it. I remembered faces, although without context, I had no idea who they were... including Brianna. I remembered that I was born in Philadelphia, but then I moved somewhere when I was very young, and I can't remember where... although it could have been Boston. I remember riding a bicycle, and thinking I rode it a lot, and the feel of a hard plastic tube slung across my back and a tight shirt around my torso, which offered absolutely no protection when I got rammed by a truck. I remembered the accident. Actually, I only remembered a bit after the accident, and feeling pavement below my back and two police officers above me telling people, "Stand back! Give him air!" I remembered a nametag on one officer's uniform: "Carson." He was a big fellow, built like a lumberjack. The skinny woman in the other uniform, "Johnston," was directing people away from me. There was the truck driver with Bellows Moving Company, face as pale as death at what he had done to me and I thought Nope. Not true. Nope. Nope, nope. Not real. I didn't just dream it all. I call bullshit. Try again, brain. But what was real? I wasn't sure. I didn't see anything, I couldn't hear or smell or taste or feel anything. I couldn't tell whether it was day or night. I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep, or if there was even a difference between the two. I didn't even know whether I was alive or dead. That last part bugged me. Am I dead, I wondered. Alan crushed me. My power supply was right there on the road. He could've damaged it by accident. Quick, fleeting memories passed across my consciousness (or sub-consciousness; what's the difference?), but were gone before I could tell what they were or what they meant. Shit, I thought, I might really be dead. I started catching glimpses of stuff I recognized: Gary and Alan coming out of the stairs of Sky Tower; the ABCs in Mariel's; the High Mistress; myself, booted out; men banging on my door; fires burning, and The Mistress drinking, and dark basements and dancing and singing and the sky burning, burning with the rage of the Sea Witch, and gliders and robots and walls and blood, blood, blood, raging waters and blood, so much damn blood, and bullets and darkness again. Blue sky. The wind. The clouds. For a moment, I felt free. And then the vastness of infinity stretched before me, and I beheld... something. ... ...It was... beautiful. There was light. There was love. But... the details, petty though they may seem, elude me when I try to remember them. Did I hear something, or someone? I think I did, but I can't remember what they said. All I know is, everything was good. I felt this wonderful sense of acceptance- -And I heard, "Hello?" "Hello?" I replied. Somehow, I spoke without speaking. Somehow, infinity grew smaller. I felt space around me curve and curl inward toward me as the light dimmed. "Hello!" "Wh-whuh-hello!!" I yelled, alarmed as I felt something pull me backwards. "Push th-" I was engulfed in darkness. "No, it's-" "Not yet," I heard clearly. I have no idea who said that, to this day. -Blink. And the world was lit again. And there was Annabelle. "You did it!" she chirped. "-Annab-" I started to say, right before my voice cut out and came back in. She was sporting a big, black eye. "Annab-!! Annabelle!! What're-" My voice cut out again. Oh boy, I thought, this'll be fun. And then there was Bee, butting into my field of vision. "I found your legs!!" she cried triumphantly, with a bruise on her cheek. I fizzed a few times in staticky desperation. "How do I put them back on?!" My voice cut back in, and "Bee, those aren't my legs!!" Bee did a double-take and realized I didn't wear size fourteen men's black patent leather shoes. Judging by the bloody stumps poking out, they came complete with a pair of feet. "Ew!!" she screamed and threw them away. "Girls, what're you-?!" I sputtered. I managed to turn left a little and saw Charlotte there, with a black eye to match her sister's. "What-?!" "What happened to you, Natsuko?!" Annabelle cried. "You're all... er, everywhere!!" "...Yeah, I've... been here before, but what about you?! Jesus, who- wh-whab-" "Bad guys," Bee said. "They got in," Annabelle said. "They're dead now," Charlotte said quietly. ...Okay, I'm filled in there, I thought. "What... where, what day is it?!" "You've..." Annabelle looked behind herself at something, then turned back to me. "Everyone stopped fighting an hour ago." "It was crazy!!" Bee cried. "You should've seen it!!" "Ah, I did-where's Gary?!" "He fell asleep," Annabelle replied. "Dad's in the middle of town co- od... co-ed..." Whisper-whisper. "Coordinating the cleanup." Whisper-whisper. Annabelle paused. She gave me a glancing wince, then looked back at Charlotte. "I'm gonna need help with this," she told Charlotte, who looked a little discouraged. Charlotte leaned in and was about to whisper something to Annabelle. "Girls, you gotta get back inside," I said. I noticed the push, and the little urging look, Annabelle gave Charlotte, but I didn't care. Charlotte looked abashed. "It's too dangerous out here. Go back to your house and wait for your father." "...Charlotte wants to know what the thing in your head is." I paused. "Bwah?" I asked. "We tried to wake you, and... the top of your head came off," Annabelle said, looking a little sick. "I don't know what it is, but I want one," Bee stated. Charlotte, always the subtle one, wore an expression of calm curiosity, but her eyes sparkled. "Ohh-hhh, shh-," I warbled, "is it leaking?!" "...Uhhh..." Annabelle looked around me. The poor kid: she was barely holding it together. "I don't... think so?" I wasn't feeling too good, either -- my left eye was cutting in and out, and my power supply, though functioning, was making an audible, unhealthy humming noise. Lest we forget, I was also limbless. With Sky Tower gone, Mariel's exploded, and Hayley wherever she was, I had no idea how I was going to fix myself. Add the care of three girls in the middle of a battlefield, and I was about to lose it, too. "...O- okay," I stammered. "Girls... I want you to... um, okay. Okay." I paused. "Do you... see... the top of my head?" Bee held up my wig -- it looked like someone had taken a weed whacker to it before peeing on it. "Okay, uh... not quite, it's a-a-... a kinda-metal piece... thing, sort of a thing, a thing that fits onto my head like a head thing only..." I glanced to my left and saw the dead body of a soldier. "Uhh-hh-hh-hh okay maybe just the wig then-" Charlotte placed the top of my head back on. I hadn't noticed, but she had glanced around for a couple seconds before standing up, rushing over somewhere behind me, then picking my skull plate off the ground and fixing it back on (more or less). "...Do we have a..." She actually had to think for a second. "Phillips-head?" "...I-I see Mrs. Phillips' head," Bee warbled. Annabelle reached into her pockets and pulled out a bunch of random things: a paperclip, a stick of gum of indeterminate age, a dime, a playing card. Charlotte took the dime and very slowly, very carefully, screwed the top of my head back on. "...Okay," I repeated. I really could hear that hum coming from my power supply. It really did not sound good. Naturally, the girls picked up on my concern; they knew it wasn't a sound I normally made. "Listen: you need to go inside right now and stay there. Don't come back out until your father gets you, or..." To hell with it, I thought. "Or Junior... or somebody you know." "But then how would we fix you?" Annabelle asked. "Don't!!" Annabelle looked bewildered. "Go inside, Annabelle!! Take your sisters and-" "-No!!" she suddenly snapped. "No, no, no!!" "Anna-" I started, but- "-No!!" she screamed, stamping her foot. "I'm not gonna take this anymore!!" She got right up in my face and holy hell, there was her daddy. "Why's everyone always think I'm stupid?! Do you think I don't know it's dangerous out here?!" "Er-," I attempted- "-I had bad guys in my room," she screamed, "and all of our money is on the floor, and there's a dead guy in it, and my brother got stabbed, and Daddy's somewhere else, and you're hurt and the only person who can help you is the Metal Mistress," she inhaled, "and you're being too stupid to admit you need help when you always need help!!" She was grinding her teeth so hard I thought they would crack. "So we're gonna help you whether you like it or not!! Understand?!" ... ...I'll be honest: I was a little afraid of Annabelle. Also, I could tell she needed that. "...Okay," I mumbled. Annabelle stood up straight. "Charlotte? Get the wagon," she ordered. "Bee? The... thing. That thing." She pointed at my power supply. She stared at it. Bee stared at it. "...Do you need that thing?" Annabelle asked me. "I definitely need that thing," I dutifully replied, adding in, "Be careful, it's probably really hot," before Bee could put her hands on it. Bee wrapped her hands in the sleeves of her own sweater and carefully picked it up. Charlotte wheeled over their wagon, and Bee, making "Hah!" and "Hoo!" noises like someone handling a dish fresh from the microwave, slipped it in. Charlotte grunted and pulled it in front of me. "Bee, get her left shoulder," Annabelle said. "I'll get her right. Charlotte, hold the wagon." With a twin heave, Annabelle and Bee lifted the broken remains of my upper torso and head off the asphalt. From the sheer number of things that fell out of my chest cavity and clattered against the pavement, it sounded like I was being held together by force of will alone. The ABCs made a frightened noise- "-It's okay!!" I cooed. "The power-I mean, the black thing is the most important thing. That, and the thing in my head. I'll be fine, really. You were right before: if you bring me to the Metal Mistress, she'll be able to help me." They silently looked at me, and at each other, and nodded. "Just... watch out for yourselves first, okay? Really, don't worry about me. I'll be fine." That's what I told them: "I'll be fine." As the girls started walking across the field toward the center of town, I ran diagnostics on myself. I can't summarize the list of things that were wrong with me without plugging the Garamond chip into you. ...Or... maybe I can. Spot and President Bellows had knocked everything in me around, but Alan had slammed into me like a fist against a tube of toothpaste. Basically, I was a robot without much robot left. The most important thing, however, came when I stopped messing around with minor systems and ran a diagnostic on the power supply. I was right: it was messed up really badly. It had a half-hour before it quit, tops. After that, so would I, permanently. I told the girls, "I'll be fine." Now if only I could believe that, I thought. At first, it was just the dust. It was as if a bomb had gone off -- many had, in fact -- and then came the fallout, settling on every surface that was left. It left the early morning light a pale haze, and it cast so much as indistinct figures and shadows, moving to and fro in the unknown distance. Some figures in it ran. Others walked, and many hobbled. Not long into the haze, the girls stopped and made a nervous uttering sound. I looked down and saw a body. I started to say, "You don't have to go-" "-No," Annabelle replied quickly. "It'll be okay. C'mon." She took point, holding Charlotte by the hand as the shy girl pulled the wagon. Bee hovered around us, watching carefully, staying uncharacteristically quiet. I wished we didn't need her to do that for us. We made slow progress in. The particles in the air were settling, but the girls coughed a little, so I told them to cover their mouths and noses with their sweaters. We could hear voices. "Smells like cigars," Bee complained softly, rubbing her nose with her sleeve but not making a scene (which was, again, not a typical thing for her). "Anna...!!" I heard somewhere out there. The voice sounded weak, like the person was struggling to get the air out. "Bee...!! Char...!" "Wait," Annabelle stopped, and so did Charlotte and Bee. "...Gary?" If it was her brother, then he was out of breath, raspy from the dust in his throat, and oh yeah missing a lot of blood. She turned around, toward the direction we came from, and called out, "Gary?!" Gary stumbled through the haze and into view. His face was filthy, his hair matted with sweat. He was wearing an ugly pine-green sweater with a tacky zig-zag pattern that bore several bullet holes (which was better than the alternative of leaving his messed-up chest open to the myriad of lovely little infections the post-battle scene offered). "...Anna!" he blurted, falling to one knee and embracing Charlotte (which was close enough). "What're you doin'?! I woke up... an' you weren't there..." That's about when he saw me. It took Gary more than a few seconds to register that the pile of parts in the wagon was the robot he once knew as Natsuko. I cannot stress the "missing blood" aspect of his health enough; his shakiness made his deteriorated mental state readily apparent. Aw Christ, I thought, I hope the poor kid hasn't suffered brain damage. "Natsuko?!" he warbled when it finally clicked. "Ah! Wha?! Happen?!" "I'm okay, Gary," I lied. "I just need to get to The Mistress." I had a sinking feeling: I'm gonna have to watch him, aren't I, I thought. C'mon Gary, don't stick around here. Go home. Get some rest. I didn't bother saying it out loud because I already knew he wouldn't listen. Sure enough, he rocked back and forth and fell back onto his feet. He swung his head around, trying to see through the fog. "...Uhhhh!!" he blurted, his oxygen-starved brain trying to come up with some kind of plausible layout of his hometown. "He'd...!" He pointed in a direction near where we had been generally drifting and tilted that way, grabbing Annabelle's hand as he went. Annabelle grabbed Charlotte's hand, Charlotte grabbed the wagon, and Bee maintained her orbit about our group. Bee also maintained her uncharacteristic reticence. I noticed it quickly -- her typically rambling patter had gone so quiet, I wondered if she had switched sweaters with Charlotte. As my wagon drifted into her path, I tried turning my head toward her. "Bee?" I asked. "Are you okay?" Bee was not okay -- that was clear without her needing to say a word. She was a pale, shaken thing. I tried my hardest to think of a joke, but she didn't look like she would remember how to laugh if I did. "...Kiddo, it-" the wagon bumped against a dead body clothed in black. Bee shut her eyes and turned her head. "It's okay, Bee. It'll all be okay." "...I...," she said softly, then hesitated, then leaned into me. "...I... I-I killed somebody." "It's not your fault," I said. "...He threw a grenade," she appeared rattled by the memory, "and I hit it back and when I went out later and saw him-" "-S-stop," I stammered. "Bee, you're not to blame for-ah-for his actions, and, uh..." Aw hell, how'd Blood do this, I thought. "...Am I a bad person?" Bee asked. Like she needed an answer. That's what most people would think, right? I'll tell you right now, though: as a matter of fact, she did need an answer. "No," I stated. "Not at all. Bee, you are the best." She was looking down at the ground. Her pace slowed to a plod. "You saved your sisters," I continued, guessing that she had done so, and feeling pretty confident it was the truth, "and your brother. You don't feel bad about that, okay? This..." I tried to make some kind of generic sweeping gesture and succeeded at wiggling. "This is bad. But what you did, saving your family-" I saw a smile. Glimpsed, really. I could only see her out of my peripheral vision, but there was clearly a little something of the manic pixie that girl was born to be. "-It's pretty awesome." Awesome. I don't think it's the right word to use to describe the scene because connotatively, it means something good. Denotatively, it means inspiring an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, or fear. Fear. I wouldn't say I was truly afraid. I was apprehensive as all get out, and so were the girls. "Overwhelmed" is... sort of a good word. Stunned. Speechless. As the sun climbed and light filtered through the dust, we got a better view of what was going on around us. Bodies. Corpses. Mountains of them. There is absolutely no good way to describe this: the field was covered in layers of dead flesh. Bits and remains of scattered robot parts. Bits and remains of scattered human parts. Pools of congealed, muddy blood mixed with oil that was soaking into the dirt. It was ice-cold comfort that most of the bodies were covered in black cloth; there were hundreds of dead farmers, but nigh-uncountable dead soldiers. There were... twenty to thirty... no, maybe forty dead Secret Servicemen for every robot or farmer, I'd say. Christ Almighty. The LPers pummeled them to a pulp. In some cases, literally. And there were more. The passing shadows we had seen in the dust gained shape, and we saw Secret Servicemen still standing, but just barely. They were stumbling, shambling, being dragged. shoved, and frog-marched out of Parkside by farmers and LPers. The vast majority of them were just... done. Drained. Devoid of sound, energy, and emotion, they were pushed toward and out the collapsed western entrance. Others sobbed as they marched. A part of me feels for them. A part of me pities them. It is a very, very small part of me. I just didn't want to see them; I didn't want to look at them anymore. I wanted them gone. Not dead, just... gone. Away. I didn't want to yell at them. I didn't want to talk to them. I didn't want to engage them in any way. When Gary hesitated to watch them, and his breath picked up and his muscles tensed, I said, "No, Gary." He wavered a little as he glared at the procession of bleeding soldiers. I was worried he'd use the gun in his hand (even though -- and I didn't know it at the time -- it was out of bullets... but I bet he could've clubbed someone with the butt pretty hard). "Gary, please... let's just go," I moaned. He stood there... "Gary," Annabelle said. That did it: with a grunt, Gary swerved about and pulled us along on his own tottering march. I'm proud of the kid. Just north of the center of the field, the shadow of Mother became solid, and the churlishly pain-struck voice of Alan cut through the lifting haze. "-That shit! I said this is a freeman's town, and I god-damn meant it!" I saw him in the near distance, with his back to Mother and his arm slung around Junior's shoulder. Although he was badly beaten himself (and I don't even want to imagine what the black stuff stuck to his boots was), the sheriff was helping to keep Alan off of his smashed knee. "Where's that-" A deputy approached with a smallish pair of bolt-cutters. "-There!" Alan momentarily leaned forward, growling in pain as he put a little weight on the knee Bellows had busted, and he took the bolt-cutters. "C'mere!" I hadn't quite noticed the slaves there until that moment. There was a tall black man in the front of their line, dressed in a stained off- white shirt and pants. His shoeless feet were heavily callused and had long since lost a few noticeable toes. Behind him was Walter, who had wheeled the recycler and Miki-chan into town. Walter blanched a little when he saw me. I was glad he had brought them into town. The black man looked utterly confused as Alan opened the bolt-cutters all the way. "I said c'mere!!" Alan growled, jerking his head sideways in a "c'mere" sort of direction. The man took a step forward. "Your hands!!" Alan growled. He was in a great deal of pain, and clearly in a bad mood because of the whole death-of-a-lot-of-his-friends thing. The man hesitantly held up his hands, his fingers loosely clenched, probably in fear that the local boss would do something really nasty to them with those cutters. Which, of course, Alan didn't do. People who were there remember it with a hushed reverence; it holds a kind of historic significance that belongs in a painting. In fact, I think I've seen that painting. It's not really a painting -- it's more of an extremely well-done crayon drawing. Alan leaned forward, placed the blade of the cutters against the link in the dead-center of the chain that held the man's manacles together, and with a hearty push, cut through it. Likewise, Alan made short work of the other side of the link. Click! "There're no slaves in Parkside!!" Alan snarled. "And there never will be!!" The black man was dumbstruck. The other (ex-) slaves behind him tersely and quietly whispered between themselves. Another deputy with another pair of bolt-cutters approached, took another chain binding another pair of manacles, and snipped through it. "Now either go home, stay here and help clean up, or stay outta the way," Alan growled. "And someone get something to take these damn... wrist-things off!!" His pain was excruciating, but Alan forgot all about it the instant he caught sight of his kids. "Oh my God," he croaked. Bee beelined at him and leapt into his arms. "Oh my God, oh my God!!" Bee buried her face in his shoulder. Alan held her with one hand and kissed her scalp. His tears washed the dust from his eyes and down his swollen cheeks. "J-Jesus Christ!!" Annabelle and Charlotte grabbed onto his waist and Alan just didn't have enough arms. He was rendered totally breathless by Gary. He shrugged off Junior, who was only too relieved to back out of this quickly developing family moment. Alan disregarded his pain completely and gripped his son's shoulder. "...Hey, Dad," Gary uttered. "...I got stabbed." A pause. "Sorry." Alan laughed out of sheer relief. "I think I'ma throw up." Alan didn't care. He could've kept embracing his kids until the next apocalypse, but then he saw me. "Oh Jesus Natsuko," he breathed. "I'm fine," I said. My shoulder fell off. "I'm still fine." "Jesus, Natsuko, I'm so sorry." "I'm fine. Just get me to Hayley-" I stopped. Shit. "...Who?" he asked. "I meant... The Mistress. Get me to her. Um." Mother loomed large overhead. The cockpit was smashed open, but it was completely dark inside. I could hear a clattering sound, but with the activity of men and robots all around me, and the near and far cries of the injured and dying, I wasn't sure if it was the burning buildings or the giant robot or both or neither. "Sheila hasn't come out," Alan said, motioning toward Mother. "...What did you-I mean, who's-" -POP went Mother, loud and above us. "Fuck!!" screamed the woman within as thick black smoke began pouring out of the mech's broken eye. There was a hiss of something big and hydraulic, and the head listed and sunk several feet. Alan and company hopped backward out of the way. "Fuck!! Fuck!!" She rolled out of the eye, coughing heavily as her overcoat caught on the jagged glass. "Graaah, fuckthis!!" She reached in back of her, pulled on something, and the collar of her overcoat ripped off. Hayley landed on the ground butt-first. "Daa'owww!!" she cried. "Aaaahhh, shit!!" A whole lot of eyes went wide. "Uhh!" Alan stated. "God-damn, fucking chair," she hissed, rubbing her tailbone, "they couldn't put in any padding...?!" "Hi?!" Alan called out. With a grunt, Hayley stood up. She was looking a little green. "Ugh! Shook me like a fucking margarita, agh!!" "Hi!!" Hayley sighed, then looked up at Alan. "Yeah, okay Alan, yeah hi. Here I am, in your town-" "Who are you?!" ...Hayley hesitated. Hayley blinked. Hayley touched her bare face. "...Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she said, her shoulders slouching, "yeah." The crowd around Mother slowed down and took notice. Hayley sighed, then briefly looked down in her pockets for something. "...I don't suppose you have any alcohol on you." Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. "Yeah," she muttered. "...You're... not... Shei... la..." Alan glanced back toward me. "She made me promise not to tell," I confessed. There was a brief flash of understanding on his face; suddenly, many things made sense. Mistress Hayley perused the immediate vicinity, looking for a way out, but found nothing. She screwed up her courage and tried to put on a half-hearted smile. "...So... hi, I guess," she said. "My name is... Hayley Johnston..." She winced as she heard her name whispered on dozens of lips. "And... I'm the Metal Mistress." "Where's Sheila?" asked a deputy, sounding somewhat disappointed. People looked at him like he was nuts, and he might have been. "Uh-dead," Hayley said, abandoning the smile because it was too difficult to maintain. A gasp from the crowd! "She, uh... died, a while ago." "When?" Alan asked politely. "Uh..." Hayley had to think for a couple seconds. "About... eight years ago? Nine, in June." "Eight years?!" Alan cried. "It's been you, this whole time, for eight years?!" Hayley was frozen. "...Yyyyyyeh." Now Alan was dumbstruck. Now the whole crowd was dumbstruck. "Wh-!" he struggled for words. "I-but... why?!" Hayley shrugged. "'Cause that's how it works. I was her apprentice. She croaked. I took over." "No, I-" Alan processed this. "I mean..." I could see the leftover surliness drain from him. Sure, he was in physical pain, but there was something else. "...Why didn't you say anything?" he asked. Some of that surliness, looking for a home, found fertile ground in Hayley. "Gee whiz, Alan, why the fuck do you think?" She looked around, slightly disgusted, at the crowd of gawkers. She didn't raise her voice higher than what she needed to be heard, though. "Did you think we were gonna hold hands 'n sing Kumbaya? You tried to kill me." "What?!" Alan was shocked. "N-no!!" "Someone tried to kill her, Alan," I said. Something occurred to me. "She was fifteen. A year older than Gary." Alan's face fell. "Brand- new to the job, and completely on her own. Someone broke in during one of your damn bonfires and tried to strangle her." Something happened. Someone... shifted a little. "I'm not saying you did it," I continued, "but Hayley was afraid for her safety. She used the fear Sheila generated to protect herself." Alan looked a little guilty... ...But he wasn't the only one. Oh no. "And you guys didn't do her any favors by never investigating why Brooke died!" I called out. Alan looked a little put-off (or maybe it was his broken knee); I knew I was probably pushing it, but I didn't care. I wanted someone other than him to hear this. "Did it ever occur to anyone that letting a murderer run around unidentified is a bad idea?! That maybe he could murder someone else?!" Junior made a noise. I hesitated. "...I mean, um..." I had heard Junior make a noise. It looked to me like he had something to say. It looked to Alan like Junior had something to say, too. "...Junior? What-" "-It was my dad," Junior said. ... ...Nobody said anything. For a moment, Junior said nothing. He rubbed his nose with one finger. He took a sharp breath in. "Uh," he said, then paused again. "Yeah. It was my dad," he uttered. "He killed Miss Lane. I know it." "...Dad thought so," Alan said. "My dad, I mean." "Yeah, well... he was right." Junior's voice was low and gravelly. Although he was wearing sunglasses, I could tell his eyes were locked on the ground. Alan leaned to his side to try and look him in the eye. "Dad and Jim couldn't prove it, though." "Yeah, I know." Junior didn't look up. "Dad kept these lockers fulla weapons Grant didn't like." He sniffled. There was no pride or joy in the way he said it. "Told me to keep the fuck out of 'em. Said he'd kill me if I took anything." He sniffled again. He wasn't crying -- he'd probably rather die. "One time, I got to the one under his bed. The one with... the grenades." Hayley was like ice. "I counted six of 'em, a few days before Miss Lane died. After dad disappeared, I counted again, and got four. They were part of his personal stash. He never sold any of them." He nodded slightly. "Always knew where those grenades went." "...He... disappeared?" Hayley asked. Junior looked up, then over at her. "Yeah. Last time I saw him, he was skulking around the ruins on Summer Bonfire Night. Nine years ago in July." ... ...Nobody said a god-damn thing. Junior looked right at Hayley. No pride. No shame. "Is he dead?" he asked frankly. There was something hard in Hayley... yet... tempered. "Yes." Junior looked away, into the distance, at something only he could see. He took a deep breath in through his nose and nodded. That's when I saw it: a little grin. I don't know if he can pull off something bigger than that, some greater smile, but I did see him do that. "You know," he said after a few seconds, "the craziest thing is..." He looked up. "I was actually afraid he was gonna come back someday." He stood there for a couple seconds in silence. His grin suddenly disappeared. "Ah, shit," he said. "You gonna be okay?" Alan asked. "Ehh, I'm about to pass out." "What?" "Yeah, I'm blacking out," Junior said, embarrassed. "W-wait," Alan sputtered. Junior wavered. "Wait!!" It was too late, though -- Junior suddenly pitched forward and slammed face-first against the ground. Three or four deputies materialized out of the gathered crowd, along with a throng of other concerned Parkside citizens, and rushed to the fallen sheriff. There was a panic that quickly abated when one of the deputies yelled out that he was still breathing and needed air, dammit. I won't even guess how many hours Junior had been awake, but I heard he slept for 20 hours straight. I saw the unconscious sheriff lifted off the ground by two of his guys and toward what I hope was a bed somewhere. "Ahh, shit!" Hayley was suddenly standing over me. She ducked into a crouch, held me by the collar, and tilted me back as she looked me over. "Are you even alive in there?" "...Uh... y-yeah," I replied. "Ugh!" Her face was contorted in a pained, annoyed grimace. "Jesus, you're a fucking mess! What the hell were you thinking, fighting that guy?!" I wouldn't really call it "thinking," I thought to myself. "I-I'm glad you're okay," I said. Her annoyance drained. "Are you okay?" "...Yeah, I'm... good...," she quipped. "Really, I mean it. Are you okay?" She thought about it for a couple seconds. She had a nasty shoulder injury and held her arm at a strange angle because of it. Her thick locks of brown hair were choked with dust and her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. She was badly shaken, shot at, lightly scorched, and looking like a woman stranded on a desert island surrounded by hungry sharks. "Yeah," she said placidly. "I think I'll be okay." That was good enough for me. "But you're fucked up, and your battery," she shook her head. "Damn." Alan was watching us, although he was slowly being beset by dozens of Parksiders who needed help, guidance, everything, and anything. Gary was hanging out, still conscious and, along with his sisters, waiting for any way he could help. Annabelle nudged Charlotte, who looked a little confused. Annabelle jerked her head toward Hayley. I wasn't sure why. Hayley looked to her side, back at the collapsed ruin of Sky Tower. There was a lack of pain or pleasure in the way she took in her fallen home; it was what it was, and it was gone for good. She tapped her temple with one finger and considered that nothing out of that pile would work. "Mariel's," she blurted. "The robot you built. If we can get you there, you can bum the battery off it, at least until I can get you a better one." ... ...I wasn't sure what to think. "Well?!" Hayley said. "Well, what?" I asked. "Can you do it?!" I had no idea what she meant. She pointed back at Mother. "I tried powering it down, but this piece'a shit's still running! If I leave, it could overheat and blow up! And the LP's are running around-" She quietly fished a nickel out of her pocket and offered it to Bee, who took it. I looked up at Gary. He said nothing. He didn't even appear concerned. "Can't you build something?" I offered. Hayley looked a little disbelieving. "Wh...? Don't worry about your robot! Removing the battery isn't gonna hurt it! I can cook up something within... I dunno, a week? Two weeks? Shit, I..." She fished around her pockets again. "Save your money," Annabelle said. "I got a lot to take care of here! If you can get, eh..." She considered Gary; he wasn't her first choice for, well, anything. "Gary, here..." She turned to the girls. They nodded. "Yeah, Gary. If you can tell him how to hook you up, then... you're set." She looked back up at Gary. He gave her a broad smile. She sighed. I looked back at Gary, and he clearly liked the idea. I sighed, too. The crowds were thickening as people came out of their homes. Alan was fielding so many people's questions, and giving so many orders, that he wasn't, and couldn't, pay any more attention to us. Hayley looked up at Mother. "Shit, okay, I gotta fix this. Get going, I'll be by Mariel's soon." She stood up. "Tell her," Annabelle urged Charlotte. She gave her a light push in the back, and Charlotte stepped forward, a little uncertain. Hayley looked down at her, a lot uncertain. Charlotte reached under her sweater and pulled out a sheet of construction paper, then offered it to Hayley. "...Wh...?" Hayley looked at the paper, then gingerly picked it from the girl's hands. "What's..." She looked down at the picture, then turned it over. She stared at it. Her jaw fell a few inches. Hayley looked down at Charlotte, amazed. "I saw it," Charlotte explained. "In the sky. With this." She pulled out the monocular I had given her. "I only let them borrow it," I explained. It didn't seem to matter to Hayley, though. "...You drew this?" Hayley asked. Charlotte nodded. "After you saw it..." Hayley pointed up. Charlotte nodded. "And... there was something like it before the Sea Witch appeared," Charlotte added. Hayley's shoulders fell. "Is that the thing that makes the Sea Witch appear?" ...Hayley rubbed her eyes. "There's no getting anything past them," I told her. "Okay, yeah," Hayley agreed. "This is ridiculous. All of you, c'mon." She trudged up toward Alan, pushing her way through the throngs of people. "Alan? Alan! Hey, Alan!" Hayley shouted out to Alan, but her voice was drowned by everyone around her. For his part, Alan's attention was divided dozens of different ways, and it was clear he was struggling to give any one single thing the care it needed: this house was on fire, that person needed a doctor, these horses were loose, those Secret Servicemen had avoided the LPers and were two blocks west of the town entrance, and so on, and so on. Hayley grated her teeth. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and blew, but got nothing. She through briefly about how to get his attention. She pulled out a smart phone, pressed a few buttons, and put it up to her mouth. "ALAN!!" her voice boomed through Mother's onboard speakers. Everyone who could jump, did. Alan, shaken, noticed Hayley. "What?!" "I'll keep this short," Hayley said, and jerked her thumb at the ABCs. "Your kids are geniuses." "...Uh-well, yeah, I know," Alan replied. Someone was speaking into his ear. "Yeah, Bill's house," Alan whispered back. "Okay, well," Hayley tucked her phone away. "The thing is, there are people like me, who, um..." She considered... stuff. "Look, this probably isn't a good idea. Kids, I mean-we're not-we don't take them this young. We're not supposed to, but hell when did we ever follow that rule, but if you say no then that's it, that's the final word-" "-S-stop!!" Alan blurted. People were peppering him with questions, not loudly, and wary of the giant robot hanging overhead and the young woman on the ground that seemed to control it. The same person as before asked Alan something, and Alan answered with a quick, "I'm telling you, it's at Bill's-no, the other Bill," then back to Hayley with, "What're you saying?!" "I'm asking you... if... I can," and Hayley could scarcely believe she was saying this to anyone at all, least of all Alan, "could maybe... take your daughters on. As my apprentices." The noise around them died. Alan was leaning forward, looking right at Hayley. She hung there, uneasy, curious, trying to put on a kind of noble air but not really succeeding, and awaiting a response- "N-no," Alan said like it was obvious, because it kind of was. ...Hayley nodded. "Yyyyeah, I... thought so. Okay." She sighed. "It was a bad idea anyway, so it's fine..." The person in back of Alan asked him something else more urgently, to which he replied, "Not Bill's! Bill's! The other-there's two-! Three? There's three?! Where'd we get another-" then, "Uh-wh-" Hayley looked regretfully at Charlotte and Annabelle. "Don't worry about it. It was just a thought-" She paused. She looked around. She sighed. "God... dammit. Where's the third one? There's a third one, I know it." "Bee?!" Alan called out. "That's it," Hayley acknowledged. "Bee! Where are you? Bee-" She looked up. There was Bee, hanging from Mother's side, about five feet above Hayley's head. "You're not thinking of getting in the robot," Hayley called up, "are you?" "No!" Bee called down as she searched for a foothold. Hayley crossed her arms. "Maybe!" Hayley gave her the stink-eye. "...Yes." "It is filled with carbon monoxide!" Hayley reached up, but Bee was beyond her reach. The crowd was getting noisy again, and everyone else was too busy peppering Alan and each other with questions and panic situations to care what one little girl did, but I could see Alan and he kept one eye on Bee. "You will suffocate, and you will die! C'mon, get off! Get!" Bee quietly groaned, then let go and dropped into Hayley's waiting arms. Hayley made a "Whoof!" sound, but held the girl. "Jeez! You... little troublemaker!" And she smiled. It happened so quick, even she didn't realize it was happening. Hayley couldn't help but smile with the kid in her arms. "But seriously, I'm putting a bell on you." "I'll take it off!" Bee replied. "I will lock it to you!" "I'll slip it off!" Bee laughed. As it turned out, Hayley had a crooked smile. She got a sharp look in her eye. A challenge? "I'll put an alarm on it so I'll know it's off!" Bee pondered this. "...I'll run away." "I will track you from orbit!!" Bee wasn't sure what to make of that. "...Um...," Charlotte said. Hayley looked at her. "...Is orbits..." Charlotte paused. "Does that mean something goes... around the planet?" "...Um," Hayley replied. "Hey!!" Alan barked. "Hayl-c'mon guys-Hayley!! Miss-Miss Johnston!! Just a sec, guys." Hayley approached him, and Alan leaned forward. "Can we talk later?" "Later?" "Yeah, later," he said curtly. "I don't understand what you're asking for." The crowds weren't giving him any space. "Later?!" "Y-yeah, sure, we can talk later." "Later!!" As Alan was swallowed up in the throng again, he added, "Come find me!!" And while that was happening, Walter Matheson tried to quietly slip Miki-chan and the neuronal gel recycler out of his possession and back into mine. He rolled and rattled it up to my side- "Walter," I said, startling him. He had been unaware that I could see him. "Can I call you Walter?" He struggled for words; I'm not entirely sure why, but I scared the crap out of him. Maybe it was because I was alive, even though I distinctively looked like something that shouldn't be. "Do you prefer Mr. Matheson?" He pointed meagerly at Miki-chan and the recycler. "Um-I-I-I kept them safe, I think, I," he sputtered, thinking that would appease me and my completely immobile fury (that wasn't actually fury, or anywhere close to fury, but whatever). "Thank you," I said. "For everything. Really, I mean it." I tried to look around, but nobody was paying any attention to us. "You saved this town, man." Walter Matheson -- secretary, traitor, survivor, and hero -- looked restless. And skeptical. And even more restless. I quietly wondered when the last time this guy slept was. "Than-um-" he looked around. "Can I go now?!" he finally blurted. "...You can do whatever you want," I replied. The man let out a long, exhausted groan and walked off immediately. He plodded through the crowds and over the bodies and along the roads. He didn't talk to anyone else. He didn't look at anyone else. He didn't do anything else. Nobody saw him for a week after that. The way I imagine it, he just kept walking until he found a corner somewhere out there, and he curled up and passed out in it for the next couple days. Before he lost consciousness, he reflected on the violence and bloodshed and ugly misery of it all. But when he woke up, all alone in a foreign land and with absolutely nothing to his name, he realized he was living his wildest dream. As for me, I found myself beginning my journey once again when my wagon got pulled by Bee. "One second, Bee," I said to her. "I gotta..." Alan was surrounded by people on all sides, and he was giving orders like a general on the battlefield, because that's exactly what it was, and that's exactly where he needed to be. I could never, ever imagine myself in his shoes. I don't know how some people just... put themselves front and center like that. Whenever it's happened to me, I've felt a strong urge to step out of that spot as soon as possible. But guys like Alan live there. They thrive there. Soon, he wasn't struggling to keep up. He was barking orders. He was giving condolences. He was the one in the lead. He was in charge again. Boss Alan Carson. Mayor Alan Carson. Hell, why not: King Carson, because fuck Bellows if he thinks that's necessarily a bad thing. I watched him work for a time, and I enjoyed doing it; it's nice seeing people who find that where they want to be is where they ought to be. He caught sight of me a few times, but he was too in the zone to give me his full attention. But when he did look at me, there was a dread in his eyes. I didn't need to say anything or explain anything to him. He could feel what I knew: My battery had about fifteen minutes of life left. And we shared a moment, and after that, another moment. "...Let's go," I said. ...So, Leviathan was dead. Soon after the ABCs and Gary started walking, and pulling me behind, our little party came across a bullet-riddled hulk of cooling steel near the east row. At the start of it all, the robot had taken up one of the front rows of the LP army, but he hadn't traveled far beyond that. In fact, I think he had fallen back. We found waves of soldiers gutted by tiny bullets, their guns scattered around them, and then... ... I wish I felt more about this. Gary and the ABCs said nothing -- I don't think they even cared. I can't say I'd blame them, because Leviathan was hardly the warm, cuddly type of kill-bot. ...Or maybe they did care. There was a moment of silence shared by all of us. Gary seemed unfocused, but again, blood loss, and he was conscientious enough to recognize this as something that was at least sort of bad. "...Eh," he muttered after a minute. "C'mon." And away we went. Steps to the north, we found the road to Sky Tower caved in. Mother had tunneled through the earth there, and the ground behind it had collapsed, forming an asphalt gully. At the eastern end of it was the mountain of slag that had been the home of all four Metal Mistresses. What a wretched sight it was: a pile of concrete and glass, with girders poking out of the top. The solar array on top of the building had folded up like a flower's petals at night as it was being shredded. The top of the pile -- where The Mistress' home had been -- was popping and sparking as the mass of broken electronics ensconced within fizzled to their deaths. We took a few seconds to stare at the sheer waste of it all before attempting to move on. Bee, however, pattered forward toward the ruin. We called to her, trying to bring her back, but she was focused on something. She looked over a smallish-medium sized hunk of concrete before putting her hands on it and pulling. Before we understood her purpose, she uncovered a little space under the much larger chunk of concrete above her piece. ...Tiny was dead. I almost didn't recognize him. The whole goddamn tower had fallen on his head, crushing him like an underfoot aluminum can. I know what happened to him, too: Tiny had opted to stay close to Sky Tower, and The Mistress, during the fight, forming her last line of defense while his 803 robo-bros formed the first. His programmed courage was his downfall, though. I hope it took him by surprise -- I'd hate to imagine he felt anything. ...Aaagh, I'm humanizing him again. I'm always humanizing these guys. It's hard to not do. They're not human, though. Really. ...I mean... ... ...I'm putting too much thought into this. I think. I don't know. Did Tiny feel anything? Did Tiny ever feel anything at all, about anything? Was he ever anything more than just a well-armed machine? Don't ask me, I don't know. All I know is, he's gone now, and he isn't coming back. We walked around the wreck of Sky Tower toward Mariel's. "Hey, uh," I started, "maybe we could just... go a little further, then stop." "Why do you want to stop?" Annabelle asked. I pretended to not hear her. "Just a little further..." Gary, who was in the lead, froze in his tracks. He was looking down at the ground. Bee was near him, and when she saw the ground, she stepped back. "...Not here," I said. Annabelle and Charlotte saw it, too: a great big blot of blood stained the old roadway, just off the edge of Sky Tower's plaza and leading up to what used to be the building itself. I knew why it was there. I understood why Gary didn't. In the moment that came after, though, I saw a change in his posture. Even without seeing his face, I saw him straighten up. From the outside, I could see connections being re-made, clouds start lifting, fuzziness sharpening into a clear image. His breath quickened. His eyes opened. A tremor came from within as adrenaline, or one of its biochemical cousins, kicked in. The girls didn't know what to do; the crowds were behind us, making this blood random and out-of-place. Gary, in a split-second decision, took off without us in a clumsy jog, then a clumsy run, toward Mariel's. I already knew what he would find. After some hesitation, the girls went after him, pulling me along. He was already in the building that had once been a clothing store, then my lab. He was already looking into the smoking hole Spot had left as the final missing puzzle pieces in his oxygen-depleted mind fell into place: how the dozen or so knife wounds in his chest came about, and what had come immediately before. The girls ran into Mariel's Clothier after him and found out for themselves, as they always do. I stayed outside in my wagon, in the middle of the destroyed road. Before me... my God. The sun, lantern of all Creation, sat on the horizon, illuminating the rusty city and muddy waters. Above me was clear blue sky, empty of clouds and filled with possibilities. It was more bright and beautiful than that first night I stood atop Sky Tower and wondered if there was anything left out there, beyond my little world of robots and farmers and so much waste. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Simply watching was more serene anyway. I heard a beep to my right, then a chime. I couldn't see the recycler, but I knew it was there, as I knew Miki-chan was on top of it. I heard a yawn, then, after a couple seconds, a familiar young female voice: "Natsuko?" "Miki-chan! How are you feeling?" I heard some whirring sounds, which indicated that Miki-chan had her own mechanical problems. She could be fixed, though. "Natsuko-sama!! What happened to you?!" "...Um... a lot." "You're all smashed!! Why are you all smashed?!" A little more whirring. "Where are we?!" "Outside Sky Tower. Isn't that nice? By the way, don't look behind you." "Behind me? What's-" ...There were a few seconds of silence... ...Broken by a sudden electronic shrieking. I was wrong: the ruins of Sky Tower were within her line of sight, not behind her. "Yeah," I sighed. "Everything has asploded!!" "I'm afraid so." Gary and the ABCs came running out. "Who's screaming?!" Annabelle cried. "It's all burnt up!!" Bee exclaimed. "Um... um," Charlotte trembled, "there's no, uh, there's no...," she pointed at my battery, "there's no battery, like that, in there..." Gary was completely wordless, but I could tell he was racking his brain trying to think of something. He was spinning his wheels, though. Unless this kid from the sticks could somehow invent and implement a major breakthrough in battery technology within the next five minutes, he wasn't going to save me. In that moment, when the ABCs were yelling about there being nothing left in Mariel's, and Miki-chan was screaming about Sky Tower being gone, and the ABCs were screaming about Miki-chan because she looked like Satan's frisbee... ...I felt at peace. "Girls," I said. They didn't stop yelling. "Girls!" I tried a second time, and it kind of worked. "First of all, this is Miki-chan. Bee, you already met her." "Uh," Bee agreed (sort of). "I know she looks like a zombie got taken out with a manhole cover, but I promise she won't hurt you. She's a good guy." Everyone seemed apprehensive, Miki-chan included. "Say hi, Miki-chan." "Hi, Miki-chan," she repeated. "...Oh, did you want... uh...?" "And... the second thing, I'm sure you noticed..." I peered toward Mariel's. "You knew?!" Annabelle huffed. "Your brother and I were in there." Gary was completely distraught; he was clearly feeling very foolish. "It's okay, Gary. You got hurt very badly." "I should'a known!!" he cried, his voice breaking. He held his hands to his eyes to try to hide himself. "Oh, shit!!" He opened his hands. "The guy!!" "He is extremely dead," I assured him. That helped a little, but only a little. "Mistress Johnston," Charlotte said, "can't build one, can she?" "Not easily, no. She doesn't have anything, Charlotte. None of the little robots have the battery I need, and everything in the big robot is broken. Everything else she owned was either up there," I tried to motion toward Sky Tower, "or in there." "Then-then maybe, maybe," Bee stammered, "maybe there's something out there, in the ruins!!" "Bee," I said. "Maybe the Old Republic guys had one!! They had a lotta stuff!! Tell me where it is, and I'll go get it!!" "Bee." "I'll get it!! I can get it!!" "Bee, it's okay." "It's not okay!!" Annabelle screamed, stamping her foot. "Stop saying it's okay!!" "It's okay." Pause. "I'm not afraid." "...Wh-what's happening?" Miki-chan asked softly, a tremble in her voice. "I have less than five minutes of power left in my battery, Miki-chan," I explained, my voice steady. "There's no replacement." ...She was speechless. Not even a "Nani?" "It's okay. Really." I tried sounding okay with it, but I suppose I came off as dissociated. Bee threw her arms around me. I noticed The Mistress' journal fell out of her sweater. I supposed she pulled that from the wreckage of the glider. Bee could pull so much from the glider. She could go on to explore the ruins her ancestors left her and pull much more than just beat-up airplane parts from them. Annabelle and Charlotte could, and would, find their own futures, I was certain of it. Gary, disconsolate and high above me, and Miki-chan too -- I was certain there were places in the world for them as well. ...But me... ...Well, not so much. That was it. It was over, at long last. The day was going to be unseasonably warm again, without a cloud in the sky -- kind weather for the people of old Boston. I watched the sun climb the sky by degrees. The mud and rust seemed to shine a little, because the damage wasn't so bad that it could never be fixed. "It really is beautiful," I said... ... ... ... ... ...I bet you're pretty pissed off right now. You're probably steaming. Your lips are curled. Your nostrils are flared. "Natsuko," you want to say to me, "you prick." Why is that? Because I lied to you. I recounted this whole adventure while giving you the impression that I was still alive. Some of you aren't mad so much as confused. Much of my story doesn't make sense if I'm dead. How come I say I've only had a chance to speak to people who knew Grant Carson, Jim Waltrip, Sheila Tucker, etc.? They're dead too, so how come I don't just speak to them directly? Aren't dead people able to speak to each other? For that matter, why am I always talking about how I did research, and how I don't remember everything? Hasn't death granted me knowledge and clarity that far surpasses that of the living? Or how about how this story has been deeply personal and helped me sort things out? Haven't I "gotten over it" post-mortem? You'll have to answer these questions on your own; I'm no expert when it comes to the afterlife. But I'm sure the most observant among you are asking the most immediate question: if you're dead, then what's the deal with that spiel you gave at the beginning of this chapter, where you said you basically became a literacy teacher? Well, the answer to that question is simple. I'm not dead. So there I was watching the sun rise, with the Carson children next to me as the seconds of my life ticked away. I really, truly believed I was about to die, but I really, truly was okay with it. Some would tell me not to go gentle into that good night, to rage, rage at the dying of the light, but this... this was pretty nice. It was a good way to go. And then Miki-chan went nuts again, and everything turned upside-down. I already mentioned The Mistress' journal, the one with the pictures of Hayley's three predecessors. I had pulled it out of Sky Tower before its collapse, and Bee had pulled it out of the wreck of the glider because it was a neat thing on a day she desperately needed a neat thing. Along with the photorealistic drawings, it had anatomical drawings of human bodies, some traced, some drawn freehand... ...And a picture of a handsome Japanese man I had never seen or met in real life, with the name "Tatsuya" written