CHILDREN OF SARJALIM
by Angela
Haruhiko was aware of a distinct lack of pain. His chest, his head, his stomach--nothing
hurt. In his experience, that could
mean only two things. Either he was
back in the hospital, pumped full of painkillers, or he was dead.
He tried his eyes.
They seemed to work, but the light was too bright. His mouth felt cottony and thick. He blinked
again; still too bright, but this time with dark shapes.
“Haru?”
The voice was familiar.
“Haru?”
Its tone was frantic.
He suddenly felt pressure on his hand. Someone was squeezing it, hard. Haruhiko tried to shake the fuzziness from
his mind. The hospital option seemed
the way to go. “Tamura?” he asked
slowly, his tongue awkward in his mouth.
“Thank God, Haruhiko,” the voice murmured. A head of floppy fair hair fell against his
arm. Fair hair? Not Tamura, then.
“Shukkaido.”
That cleared the haze from his brain right away. He opened his eyes completely, forcing them
to focus in the brightness. He was in a
hospital, but it wasn’t like any he’d ever seen--in this lifetime. A familiar figure leaned over him, her
smiling face framed in short dark hair.
“Ayame?” he asked in disbelief.
“That’s right,” she said, adjusting the I.V. drip. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
Haru thought hard.
Mikuro. He looked at the fair
head slumped next to him. “Mikuro?” he
asked hesitantly, reaching a hand to touch the hair. “That’s you?”
The older boy lifted his head, seemingly unaware of the
tears that filled his deep purple eyes.
“Yeah, Kid,” he whispered in a ragged voice. “It’s good to see you.”
The memory of the last few days flooded Haruhiko. The premonitions. Tokyo Tower. He struggled
to sit up. “We’re on the moon, right?”
he asked. “Did everyone make it here
okay? Did I pass out? Where is everybody?”
Mikuro looked helplessly at Ayame, surprising Haru with
their familiarity. How long had he been
unconscious? Had something
happened? “What is it?”
Ayame smiled, smoothing Haru’s hair even as she urged him
to lie down. “All of your friends are
fine. You’ve been asleep for a few
days,” she explained carefully. “Your
heart was heavily damaged during your trip from Earth, but I’ve been taking
care of you.” She exchanged a look with
Mikuro. “Do you remember much of the
technology of our home world?”
He shook his head.
Right now he barely remembered anything. His fingers were twined in Mikuro’s and he gave his friend a
squeeze. This was frightening—what did
she mean by “heavily damaged?”
“I made you a new heart, Kasama Haruhiko,” she assured
him. “Even as we speak, it’s beating
strongly and healthily inside of you.
There’s no reason why you can’t recover fully.”
“Really?” Haru
almost didn’t believe it. “You fixed
me?” He looked at Ayame, that beautiful
face that had lingered in Shukkaido’s memories for so long. She had always looked out for him, even in
their training. It seemed almost
surreal that she would be the one to be taking care of him now.
Mikuro let out a ragged breath and dropped his forehead
back against the bed. “You almost
died,” he scolded, his voice colored with exhaustion. “And I couldn’t do anything about it.” He looked up, his eyes darkened with anger and worn
frustration. “You scared the hell out
of me.”
Before Haru could answer, Ayame stepped away. She gathered a jumble of equipment onto a
cart and headed toward the door. “I’ll
leave you two to catch up,” she said cheerfully, but Haru noticed the way her
eyes darted nervously into the other room.
“Mikuro can answer any questions, I think.” Then she was gone.
“What was that about?” Haruhiko asked as soon as the door
swung shut. “Where is everybody?”
His friend pressed his mouth into a thin line and looked
hopelessly up to the ceiling. “There
was a fight,” he began, not meeting Haru’s eyes. “Everyone’s going to be okay,” he assured him quickly, “but right
now he’s having a tough time.”
“Who?” Haruhiko
struggled again to sit up. “Who’s
having a tough time?”
“Shion.”
*****
Rin’s body was bandaged from head to toe. Daisuke studied him from his place on the
cot, sitting up slowly to keep the dizziness down. Ayame said he had a concussion.
He reached up and touched the bandage wrapped around his crown. He didn’t remember falling.
Rin was badly burned and scratched. His singed eyelashes rested on cheeks
scraped raw and his lips were cracked and stained with dried blood. Other than his face, there seemed to be
little enough of him that wasn’t covered in bandages; his left arm had been
stitched up and slid into a sling to keep it still. Worst of all was his head--it had been shaved to keep it cool,
but Ayame had no way of knowing how much damage Hinagiku had inflicted. Rin hadn’t regained consciousness yet, and
though the doctor hadn’t said either way, Daisuke knew that no one was certain
he ever would.
He looked tiny.
Daisuke realized how much he’d relied on him--this little, nine-year-old
kid who should’ve never left the protection of his parents--and he felt more
than a little ashamed. “To think, the
kid wanted to come up here on his own,” he said to no one in particular.
Jinpachi looked up, frowning sadly. His own arm was in a sling as well--broken
in two places. “I can’t believe that we
almost let him,” he said thickly. He
sat next to Sakura on the cot that would belong to Issei, once the doctor was
finished with him.
“We didn’t,” Issei reminded them with a grimace. Ayame was stitching the last major
wound. His back had bled profusely, a
dozen cuts stained more than one towel dark red as they waited for the more
serious injuries to be tended. “We came
with him--all of us.”
They fell silent again.
Even after all the excitement, there didn’t seem to be much else to
say. The earth was safe. They were all alive and well--well
enough--but at the expense of the one they should’ve protected.
Alice sat in a chair close to Rin’s bed, her dark head
bent close to his ear. It looked like
she was singing softly, never mind that the boy’s eardrums were probably
ruptured. No one stopped her. She hadn’t said a word for hours, other than
the quiet murmurings that Daisuke couldn’t hear.
He’d failed. Both
as a captain and as a human being, he’d failed. If he’d only gotten to the atrium sooner, or if he’d conserved
bullets so that he could’ve been of help longer. Hiiragi would’ve never let a child come on such a dangerous
mission. The whole venture was flawed
from the start.
And now what? Did
they just bring Ayame and Nadeshiko down to Earth with them? Nadeshiko was currently convalescing in another
room--recovering from a broken leg and a seriously broken psyche. Would she even be able to cope with life on
Earth? Daisuke had spoken with her only
briefly after the battle, but she seemed swallowed by guilt and lost love.
To be perfectly honest, Daisuke wasn’t even sure any of
them would be able to get home. Without
Rin, they’d stand no chance at teleportation, even if Haruhiko recovered fully
and was able to carry others. They were
all drained and exhausted--and starting tomorrow, their parents would notice
them missing. That was the least of
their worries, but it was still a big one.
“Daisuke.” He
hadn’t even noticed that Ayame had finished with Issei. She sat on his cot, close enough that her
hip pressed against his arm. She leaned
near, keeping her voice low. “I need
your advice as captain,” she began. “I
can’t help Rin. I have the medical
know-how, but not the ability. He needs
a Sarches, preferably a Sarches doctor.”
His eyes widened.
“Shukkaido?” he asked incredulously.
His eyes darted over her shoulder to see if the others overheard. No.
Good. “But there’s no way he’s
well enough . . . .”
“I know.”
A silence fell between them and Daisuke understood her
difficulty. If Haru was the only one
who could save Rin, but doing so might kill Haru, what could they do?
“I do have an idea, but I don’t know if it will
work.” She went on in a hurried
whisper, describing the chemical properties of the regeneration hormone used in
RGCs and organ tanks. “It speeds up the
life cycle on a cellular level,” she explained, “forcing cells to mature and
split--therefore to heal--at an astronomical rate. It’s never been used for this kind of
medicine before; a few drops too much and the bone or skin surpasses healing
and begins aging.”
She knit her brows together. “I don’t know how to fix the dosage, though, even if we were to
try it. Those kind of simulations were
Nadeshiko’s area of expertise, and she’s in no shape to help us.”
Now Daisuke smiled.
For the first time that day, he had a helpful solution. “Shusuran,” he called, summoning her from
her spot next to Issei. “Ayame has a
task for you.”
The doctor explained the situation and gave Sakura a
couple of samples of the fluid. “Run
the sims on both bone and tissue data.
The sooner we get everyone mended, the sooner you get to go home. You can use Nadeshiko’s lab.”
Sakura grinned. “I
have my own lab; I work better in familiar places.” She gave Daisuke a mock-salute and left, pausing only to say
goodbye to Jinpachi and Issei.
“You never cease to amaze me,” Ayame said in a low voice,
leaning close to kiss Daisuke below his ear.
“Me?” The young
man almost laughed. “You’re the most
amazing woman I’ve ever met.” He
squeezed her hand in both of his.
“You’re coming back to Japan with us, of course. Nadeshiko, too.”
Ayame smiled softly.
“I hope the others agree with you.”
She touched his face, her fingers resting just beside his mouth. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when it’s
time to say goodbye to you.”
“Then don’t.” He
moved her hand to his lips. “I’ll
introduce you to my parents. You could
stay with me.”
“Uh-oh, this feels serious,” she murmured playfully, only
her eyes giving away her very real anxiety.
Daisuke wanted to kiss her, but settled for touching her
hair. “It is,” he promised in a low
voice. “It’s definitely serious.”
*****
As he watched Sakura leave the room, a realization hit
Jinpachi. Outwardly, nothing had
changed; she’d wished them both speedy recoveries and promised to be in later
to check on them. She hadn’t laid a
hand on Issei--not even a finger--but Jinpachi could tell.
“You and Sakura, huh?” he asked after the door closed
behind her. His chest was tight.
Issei looked up at him, surprise evident on his face. “How did you know?”
He rubbed an itch on his nose. “It’s kinda obvious, the way you look at her,” he answered. He didn’t want to explain the unspoken vibe,
the definite game of not-touching that they’d played in that last moment. “Besides, isn’t that what you were getting
at the other day?”
For a while Issei didn’t answer. Quite a few times since that day, Jinpachi had mulled over their
conversation. After a year of being
confused about Issei’s emotions, it was strange to find himself in the opposite
position. It wasn’t pleasant, being
rejected--even when he wasn’t sure why he confessed in the first place.
“This place messes with your head,” Issei said softly,
following the flow of his thoughts. “I
figured things out only when I realized how strong Enju is while I’m here. It became very clear to me, which things she
wanted; that helped me sort out what I wanted.”
What he wanted . . . .
Jinpachi’s gaze drifted across the room, where Alice sat huddled next to
Rin’s unmoving form. Once he’d yelled
at her about that kid, railing on her about what constituted real love. He realized now that he’d known
nothing. The bond between Alice and Rin
went deeper than just reincarnation--it sure as hell beat out the longing of an
unrequited love from a lifetime ago.
Just the same, when he looked at Issei, he didn’t see the face of a
woman his alter ego may or may not have cared for; he saw the guy who had been
his best friend since the eighth grade.
It was as though Gyokuran’s hold on his heart had slipped,
just because he’d taken a direct look at the emotions for the first time.
“I think it’ll work, you know,” Jinpachi said suddenly,
“between you and Sakura.”
Issei smiled.
“Thanks.”
“And hey,” there was one other thing that needed
mentioning. “We’re gonna forget all
about that discussion in the capsule room, right? That was all Gyokuran, not me.”
Issei’s gaze softened.
“Sure,” he conceded gently. “You
can’t be blamed for what Gyokuran made you feel, right?”
And Jinpachi knew it was an apology for the previous year,
for the muddled friendship they’d waded through these past months. “Right.”
*****
Bee-bip, bee-bip, bee-bip . . . .
Haruhiko opened his eyes and pressed the button that
quieted the alarm on his wristwatch. It
wasn’t very late, only half-past eleven, but he’d had a hunch that everyone
would be asleep. They all seemed a few
steps beyond exhausted that afternoon.
So far, it looked as though he were correct. Mikuro was fast asleep, still in his chair
beside the bed. He rested his head his
arms, his arms on the mattress beside Haru.
Across the room, Ayame was curled up on her cot. She wasn’t a sound sleeper, he remembered,
so he took extra pains to stay silent.
Closing his eyes, he thought about Rin and
concentrated. His sense of self seemed
to dissolve, and the world went shimmery-white around him, but an instant later
he was back. Only this time, he was in
another room.
He stood perfectly still in the dark room, surveying his
surroundings. It was another hospital
room, this one looking like it was once an office. Cots lined the walls, and in the middle of the space was a bed
just like the one he’d just left. Rin
lay motionless, looking too small on the adult bed.
Haru crept closer, ignoring the pain that seared the
stitched-up incision down his chest. He’d
had surgeries before; he could handle pain.
Just then he noticed Alice. She was asleep on the cot nearest Rin, her arm stretched out so
that her fingers could curl around his sheets.
Mokuren’s Kitche gleamed on her forehead, looking as natural as if she’d
been born with it. He couldn’t imagine
the raw power that must have surged through her the day before, but he was in
awe of it. Few people ever saw a
Kichess in her terrible glory; their work tended to be peaceful and gentle.
He looked at Rin’s still body. He looked small and broken, his shaved head pale even against the
white bandages. Haru checked the
monitors and machinery hooked up to the boy.
His pulse was weak, his breath shallow.
It was a miracle that Ayame had managed to stabilize him; any
other doctor would’ve certainly failed.
Sakura had given him a rundown of the fight, down to the last moments
when Rin clutched at his head and screamed.
Issei had added the astounding bit about Alice’s rage destroying the
garden and killing Hinagiku. Mikuro had
told him about Rin’s stopped heart, and the CPR that hadn’t worked.
The brain wave monitor sketched faint patterns--proof
enough that Rin was still alive somewhere deep within his brain, beneath the
tangle of receptors and nerves. Haru
hoped it was someplace painless.
It was time for atonement. After all those years, Haru was finally able to give Shion
something that might begin to make up for the misery he’d forced upon him. It would be tricky--almost twenty-five years
had passed since Shukkaido had first read of the technique in school. Doctors on the mother planet rarely resorted
to it, claiming that the success rate was too low to warrant the risk to the
doctor.
Haruhiko couldn’t think like that. He closed his eyes, resting his fingertips
on Rin’s stubbly scalp. There were
hundreds, possibly thousands, of damaged connections just beneath the surface,
a multitude of sparks that weren’t linking.
All he had to do was find them and, one-by-one, mend each break.
The power and control this required was phenomenal. Haru’s hands shook; he pushed down the fear
and focused. He called on his power,
stretching it into fine threads and channeling it through his fingers. His jaw clenched. His chest throbbed. Beads
of sweat broke out over his forehead.
Sparks seemed to flicker behind his eyelids and he felt as though he
were underwater--pressure on all sides squeezing against him.
It hurt. He
ignored the pain, focusing all of his attention on Shion. Rin.
Haruhiko was afraid to move a muscle.
It hurt like hell. He gasped;
his whole body was burning. Dizzy.
He didn’t know how long he’d been working--minutes or
hours, it made no difference to him.
His energy faltered, flickering and fading. He opened his eyes to see the room swim before him, then fade
into peaceful darkness.
*****
Alice woke with a start, opening her eyes just in time to
see Haruhiko crumple to the floor on the other side of Rin’s bed. “Doctor!” she called, jumping from her
cot. “Yakushimaru!”
She knelt beside the fallen boy, wiping his clammy face
with her hands. “Hurry!” she yelled,
glancing at the open door. His skin was
cold and drained of color. His hands,
though, felt hot to the touch. Alice
leaned close to his mouth, listening.
“He’s breathing, but I don’t know what happened!”
Mikuro arrived first, sliding to the ground next to
Alice. In a moment, just as the doctor
was turning on the lights, he had the boy in his arms and was moving him to a
cot. “What in hell have you been doing,
Kid?” Alice heard him mumble beneath
his breath.
Ayame listened to his heart and checked his other
vitals. “He fainted,” she told them
quietly. She shook her head. “Otherwise, he seems exhausted, but
okay. Do either of you know what he was
doing here?”
They both shook their heads. “He right next to Rin when he fell,” Alice offered, trying to be
helpful, “but I don’t know what he was doing.
I was sleeping.”
Ayame’s brow knit for a moment, then she grasped
Haruhiko’s hands. “Normal,” she
verified, sighing. “Well, at least we
know it’s not--”
“They were burning up when I first touched him,” Alice
interjected. Her voice shook and she
took a deep breath to steady it. She
tried to get a grasp on her nerves, reminding herself that Ayame said Haru was
all right. It wouldn’t do any good if she
fainted, too.
The doctor reacted quickly, jumping to her feet and
crossing the small room to Rin’s bedside.
“I don’t believe it,” she murmured, looking at the monitors. She picked up the boy’s tiny wrist and
checked his pulse. “Incredible.”
What could it be?
Alice’s heart was racing. “Is he
okay?” she asked worriedly. She peered
over Ayame’s shoulder. Her stomach
lurched. Rin’s face, which had been
pale and lifeless all day, had somehow taken on a faint blush, a tinge of pink
that made him look normal. His mouth
was open slightly as he breathed, and for the first time in hours, his lips
looked moist and healthy.
“He has his color back, and his breathing and pulse are
strong.” Ayame glanced at the screen
that monitored brain activity. “REM
sleep. His brain seems to be
functioning normally again.”
Alice’s knees wobbled, almost giving out completely. “Thank God,” she whispered, falling into the
chair next to the bed. A few times
during the course of that dark day, she had almost given up hope. She had begged and prayed until she couldn’t
think of another thing to barter. She
sang until her throat hurt, whispered until her jaw ached, held on to his
fingers until her own were numb. “How?”
she asked Ayame softly, almost afraid of the answer.
“Shukkaido.” Her
voice was quiet, filled with respect and awe.
“It was a very risky procedure, and he wasn’t in any shape to try
it. He could’ve died.”
A lump formed in Alice’s throat. It made sense; Haruhiko had always been preoccupied with his
guilt over Shion. He was trying to make
amends. “Thank you,” Alice whispered,
gazing at Haru’s peaceful face.
She was just about to ask Ayame for more information about
how Haru had been able to help Rin, when suddenly the boy stirred. Alice jumped, grasping his small hand. Not so small, she realized with a
start--just about the same size as hers.
His eyelashes fluttered and a small moan escaped his lips.
“Rin?” She pressed
her palm against his. “Rin, can you
hear me?”
He blinked. His
eyes were drowsy. “Al-lice,” he
whispered, his gaze finding her face.
“I was scared.”
A sob broke in her throat. “Oh, Rin, you don’t have to be scared anymore.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I thought I died. I couldn’t
protect you.” Alice tried to hush him,
but he continued anyway. “I heard you
singing and thought you’d died, too.
But I couldn’t find you.”
Tears were streaming down Alice’s face now. “We’re both okay, Rin. You don’t have to talk anymore.” She put her arms around him and leaned her
head next to his. “No one died,” she
promised him.
“I know.” Rin
looked at her, his eyes wide. “I was
lost. I couldn’t find you, but
Shukkaido found me.” A trembling smile
came across his lips. “Shukkaido saved
me.”