After realizing what was going on, the first thing I did was message Abigail.
Well, that’s not true. The first thing I did was freak out.
The first productive thing I did was to send a message to the former Stow-on-Side gym leader.
I considered calling right away, but I knew from previous conversations that the situation, while urgent, didn’t require that level of escalation. Based on averages, I’d have at least two weeks before my knights were truly at risk of splitting for good.
Of course, averages didn’t account for extreme outliers, and I had full faith that my knights were completely extraordinary.
Hence why, after two days passed without any response from the Galarian woman, I found myself using our house’s landline to dial the number she’d given me months earlier.
I’d never actually reached out by phone before, content to handle our conversations via Galar’s forums. Abigail didn’t tend to answer questions quickly, and two days was still relatively short as far as turn-arounds went, but this situation was far more urgent than any I’d addressed to her before.
This wasn’t about moves or abilities or training strategies, this was about keeping my family together.
The phone rang once, then twice. I was calling late at night in Ferrum, around nine PM, which meant the middle of the day for Galar. I knew Abigail had a young child, so I didn’t want to call in the evening or morning in case she and her partner weren’t sleeping much.
Rings three and four passed without reply, and my nerves steadily grew as I cleared my throat, preparing to leave a voicemail.
Before that dreaded beep, however, the ringback tone stopped, and a voice came from the receiver. “Hello, this is the Saito dojo, Remy speaking, how can I help you today?”
The voice was bubbly and practiced, the textbook tone of a receptionist. “Oh, um, I was calling to try to get a hold of Abigail,” I said into the transmitter. “My name is Fe, and she’s been helping me with training my Falinks. I’ve got an urgent question regarding their care, and was hoping to speak with her about it.”
I heard the person on the other end of the line suck a breath through their teeth. “Saito Sensei,” she clearly stressed the title, “is rather busy, and not able to come to the phone right now.”
I tried to keep my voice level as I replied. “Of course, I get that she’s busy. If you could just relay my message to Saito Sensei, I’d really appreciate it if she reached out to me when she gets a chance.”
There was silence on the line for a few seconds, and I almost started freaking out, worrying that the woman wasn’t going to take my request seriously, but to my immense relief, the receptionist asked, “What do you want me to tell her?”
“Please tell her that Fe from Ferrum would like to talk about Falinks mitosis at her earliest possible chance. My partners are starting to undergo the process, and I would really like her advice on what can be done, before it’s too late.”
A few more seconds passed, and I strained my ear against the receiver to see if I could hear a pen scratching or keys tapping. I was meant by total silence, until the receptionist finally replied, “Got it, I’ll let her know when I can. Thanks for calling. Have a good day.”
“Right. Thanks for answering. Have a good da-” The sound of the receiver clicking off forestalled any further pleasantries. I stared at the handset for a few moments, before depositing it back in its cradle with a *click.*
At least the conversation had been short. No need to worry about racking up too many fees for the international call.
I sent another message to Abigail that night, just in case.
-
Fretting over my mentor’s unresponsiveness wasn’t the only thing I was doing over those two days. There was, of course, my father’s TV appearance and the technology he’d shown off.
I was interested in it in a detached sort of way, but frankly, it felt like a distant concern to me. It wasn’t like I was going to have anything to do with the devices.
Mostly, I was annoyed that their popularity made the streets so crowded, as people scrambled to find and buy them at as close to market price as they could manage.
Alyssa reached out to me, and while I initially thought it was to discuss the BattlefieldGo, it turned out to be about something else entirely.
According to her, Bert wanted to have a conversation, to apologize for his actions at the beginning of the Summer. That sounded like a load of Tauros-shit to me, and when I said as much, she told me that she thought there was at least a decent chance that he was being sincere.
That forced me to think about it, but it didn’t change my answer in the end. Whether or not his apology was sincere didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t ready to accept it, and that I probably wouldn’t ever be.
She agreed to take my refusal back to him, and I washed my hands and mind of the whole thing.
There were, of course, my partners. Mana and my knights hadn’t noticed the changes in Tristan yet, the former because she didn’t know what to look for, and the latter because they rarely ever looked backwards, meaning they rarely caught sight of Tristan, and even when they did, they didn’t have much of a point of comparison.
Maushold had picked up on the developing differences, but I’d sworn them to secrecy.
I did my best to make sure that our training sessions at the Ranger station were as normal as possible, to keep from arousing their suspicions. And if I cut down on the number of formations we were training that might have had them noticing Tristan’s expanding carapace and lengthening horn, well, that was my prerogative as their trainer.
I actually got a bit of mentorship this week, instead of just spending half the day reading dry manuals. We might have been ideologically opposed to City-security’s subcontractors, but we also couldn’t deny that ever since they’d been introduced, we’d been called out on fewer missions.
There had also been more examples of inter-departmental strife, and when I passed by Janine’s office one day, I noticed a new map on her wall, one with incident reports and newspaper clippings relating to the new security personnel.
Donna and Mark both picked up on the fact that something was worrying me, and together, they pried my dilemma out of me. They were long on reassurances, but short on meaningfully useful advice. Most of it boiled down to trusting the bond we shared, but I knew that wasn’t going to be enough.
I loved my knights, and I knew they loved me. We were family.
But I also knew that love wasn’t always enough to keep loved ones together. I’d learned that years ago, in a sterile hospital room. One way or the other, no family lasts forever.
So, going into the weekend, two more days gone by still without a reply from Galar, I did my best to come up with a plan.
I had to prove to my knights that Tristan growing from troop to brass wasn’t going to weaken their formation, that they’d be all the stronger for his ascension.
It seemed like it would make sense. If he was bigger, and stronger, and smarter, surely the formation as a whole would benefit, right?
Unfortunately, I knew from the research I’d done that this just wasn’t the case.
The issue lay in the schism that would almost-inevitably form between the two brass. Both would have an instinctive need to control the formation. The discord from two differing styles of leadership and the mixed orders coming down from the top would weaken the group as a whole, not strengthen them.
So, I had to find some way to demonstrate that Tristan and Lance would be stronger together, than they would be split apart.
I wasn’t completely tapped on ideas, after five days spent brainstorming.
The way I saw it, there were a few different methods that might convince them.
The first and simplest would be if Tristan agreed to act as some sort of lieutenant, filling the role of Lance’s right hand, helping dictate and feed his orders to the rest of the troops, and replacing him in situations where he was otherwise indisposed. I thought this route had promise, since Tristan already handled some of these duties, and it sort of mirrored the relationship Lance had with me.
Adding another level to the hierarchy we’d long-since established would be a straightforward solution to the problem, and it had a lot going for it.
The problem, unfortunately, was that it wasn’t a long-term solution to our problem.
Sure, it might temporarily ease the tension between Lance and Tristan, but eventually, the secondary position would almost certainly begin to chafe on the latter. And even if by some miracle it didn’t, what happened when another one of my knights began transitioning from troop to brass? Did we establish another level of hierarchy? Would that really be viable or sustainable?
So the ‘lieutenant’ solution was an option, but it wasn’t one that I preferred.
Next was what I was thinking of as the ‘segmenting’ option. I could split Lance and Tristan’s commands, giving them two troops each to order around.
This idea seemed even more fraught than the first, however. It doubled the amount of commands I needed to give in battle, complicated our current formations and battle strategies, and created a natural dividing line along which the two brass might split.
So that one was probably out, which left the third solution.
This one seemed like the most challenging to me, but had by far the most benefits. If I could convince Lance and Tristan to see each other as equals, to lead and command together, we’d be able to reap all of the benefits of having two brass while avoiding all of the downsides.
So the payoff was exceptional. But so were the obstacles in the way. The idea of two leaders commanding together, neither taking precedence over the other, seemed completely at odds with the natural inclinations of Falinks. Theirs was a hierarchical species by nature. Brass lead, and troops followed, each leader a little tyrant in their own right who dictated exactly what their fellows would do, no room for questions or doubts.
It made sense. For almost all intents and purposes, Falinks were one organism. Their bonds were so strong, their very syn was entangled with one another. They had to act and move in perfect synchronicity to defeat their enemies, and the best way to do that was to follow the commands of the brass unflinchingly.
Those orders might be wrong, but they had better odds of success being wrong together than they did being right separately. So one brass led, and five troops followed. That truth essentially defined their entire existence.
And I had to get them to go against that formative truth if I wanted them to align with the solution I desired. And if I couldn’t, I’d lose half of my knights forever.
No pressure.
-
Saturday came around, six days since I’d started noticing changes in Tristan. His horn was two full inches longer, and a small yellow crest was beginning to erupt from the front of it. He was also up a kilo since his last weigh-in, and his carapace was continuing to expand forward from his legs.
We were running out of time, and with no reply from Abigail (even after a second call where no one had picked up), I set out for the L12 underpass to implement the first stage of my plan.
Step one was scoping out the perfect accomplice. I surveyed the field, my eyes straining against the sheer black fabric covering over my face as I tried to find an ally to assist me in my endeavor.
Eventually, I settled on a familiar mane of purple hair.
“Wicke, right?” I approached the woman, “it’s good to see you again.”
“Artie,” the white-clad researcher replied with a gentle smile. “A pleasure. I hope your week was good?”
“It’s had its ups and downs,” I admitted. “More downs, really. That’s actually why I came over. I could use a bit of help, and I was hoping you’d be willing to lend me a hand.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Well, I can’t make any promises,” she hedged, “but I can certai-”
Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by a piercingly-loud siren, a high-pitched whooping noise that demanded focus and attention. My helmet deadened the sound a little bit, but it was still louder than even the trains that passed by overhead, and the enclosed nature of the underpass meant that it echoed out underneath the expansive concrete structure.
Wicke and many of the other battlers put their hands over their ears, and several Pokémon with sensitive ears let out cries of pain.
Over the ensuing cacophony, a deep voice droned out, enhanced into audibility by some sort of device, as the whining siren cut out, “This is City-Security. Nobody move. I repeat, this is City-Security. Please remain calm and do not move.”
I wasn’t tall enough to get a view of what was happening, but the crowd under the underpass didn’t seem inclined to listen to the instructions, people and Pokémon edging towards the other side of the enclosure, opposite of where the voice was coming from.
“I repeat, do not move. We are conducting an inspection in search of illegal activity, and anyone seen fleeing will be considered in violation of the law.”
Before anything developed further, a figure rose up out of the crowd, literally hoisted up on the crown of a snarling Gyarados.
The azure serpent unfurled himself, propelling his trainer out of the press and presumably in front of whoever was speaking into the megaphone. “Now officer, I don’t think there’s any need for that sort of talk. There’s nothing untowards going on here,” a voice flowed through the underpass, almost as loud as the megaphone-assisted officer’s. It was coming from the woman atop the Gyarados, and she cut an impressive figure, one hand resting against her partner’s bony crest.
She was wearing some sort of yellow helmet, and what looked like maybe a gas mask, along with a neon jacket. Taken altogether, her outfit clearly took close inspiration from a firefighter’s work uniform. This then, was almost certainly the water-specialized Underleader.
“I’m sure there’s some sort of misunderstanding officer. Why don’t we recall our partners, and have a nice civil conversation about it.”
The statement was an offer as much as it was a threat. Recall your Pokémon, or see what mine is capable of.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, the officer in question wasn’t about to be dissuaded so easily. “There will be no negotiations. Recall your Pokémon and stand down, or we will respond with force.”
Something was wrong. This wasn’t the sort of tactics city-security should be employing. Deescalation and general safety were always their priority, if the ranger handbook’s section on inter-departmental action was to be believed.
I began making my way towards the confrontation, intent on getting a better view of what was going on.
I noticed peripherally that I wasn’t the only one. Many of the underpass’s masked battlers were filtering forwards, giving the uncovered foreign competitors some measure of cover.
Suddenly, the helmet I was wearing felt far less like a silly affection, and more like a guarantee of anonymity. A reassurance that as long as it was on my head, my identity was at the very least in question.
I finally made it far enough forwards to see what was going on, and I had to resist the urge to suck in a breath through my teeth. The men, women, and Pokémon confronting the underleader, and by extension all of us, weren’t city-security at all. No, city-security didn’t wear black body armor and cavort around in armored vehicles.
The exact make and model of the equipment on display differed from what Velvet-Touch Security wielded, but the impression it left was unmistakable.
“Officer, I’m going to need you to tell me what this is about. We don’t want things to come to violence, but you’re not giving us anything to work with here,” the underleader tried to reason.
“Recall your Pokémon, before we need to use force!” the megaphone-wielding man continued to threaten. The black-clad soldiers and their partners began to bristle, clearly gearing up for some sort of action.
The underleader didn’t seem to understand that these weren’t normal officers. That, in all likelihood, the goons in front of us were looking for a reason to start trouble, not a motivation to avoid it. And judging by the confused stances and uneasy murmuring, none of the other battlers staring at the confrontation at the mouth of the underpass understood either.
Which just left… me. I knew. I understood what was going on here. For the sub-contractor, this wasn’t just an attempt to break up the goings ons for today. They weren’t taking action with public safety or the general good in mind. No, for them, this was a fight for survival. A desperate struggle to justify their own existence, before their time came up. They were here to arrest people, and the justifications for their own actions would surely come after.
“You’re not city-security!” I shouted before I could find it in me to hesitate. My voice silenced the murmurings, and made both underleader and soldiers turn towards the crowd. I almost quailed under the attention, but for once, my relatively small stature was a benefit. I was quite literally beneath most of the crowd's notice, and judging by the flicking eyes and uncertain glares, I hadn’t been pegged as the source of the shout. Several Pokémon were looking in my direction, their better hearing allowing them to hone in on me, but I could solve that.
“You’re one of those sub-contractors! Which company do you work for!” I shouted again, before slipping away between the milling battlers, repositioning in the scrum, and hopefully shaking the eyes and ears searching for me.
My words galvanized the underleader, who turned back towards the black-clad soldiers. “Wait a second, she’s right. What proof do you have that you’re city-security? I haven’t seen a uniform or a badge.”
The crowd was close enough that I could see the megaphone-wielding soldier’s jaw clenching.
“We’re Sharpedo’s Jaw, a sub-contractor employed by city-security to handle incidents that they don’t have the manpower to address. I can assure you, we’re invested with the full power and authority necessary to make arrests and restrain criminals.”
“And I’ve already told you that there’s no criminals here, so there’s no need for you to be here either. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you let the good folks behind me head home for the night, and I’ll head back with you to the station or wherever so we can resolve this terrible misunderstanding?”
The underleader did her best, but the black-clad soldier hadn’t been lying. He and his cohort weren’t here to negotiate. “No. No one here is going home tonight without going through us. And in fact, you are under arrest for the obstruction of duty and resisting arrest.”
The underleader and her partner both growled, and the noise seemed like it might cause the entire underpass the shake. “Well you’re not city-security, so I don’t recognize your authority. What now?”
The soldier didn’t respond to her. Instead, he shouted an order, directed at the cohort under his command. “Men, attack! Make sure one leaves.”
His directive was met with a chorus of affirmatives and directions. A barrage of Pokémon attacks erupted from the line, all aimed at the dread serpent coiled up in front of the crowd of underpass battlers.
I caught it just before the splash of a dozen moves crashing against a shimmering green barrier obscured her from view. The underleader, shaking her head in disappointment.
In contrast to the sight of her, the woman’s voice remained as clear over the din as ever, her command shouted as much for the effect of the words, as for what she actually said. “Dagon, Hyper Beam. Maximum Output.”
The world seemed to stand still for one eternal moment, as an orange light collected in front of the Gyarados’ rictus maw, the all-encompassing glow overwhelming even the medley of moves just halted by the Water-types Protect.
And in the brief second of silence before that awesome power was unleashed, I heard it. A quiet voice, that was undoubtedly projected to each and every person and Pokémon behind the underleader. “Go. Run.”
I closed my eyes, and even through the helmet, through the fabric, through my eyelids, I saw white.
With the distinctive shriek/roar of the Hyper Beam as a signal, the crowd of battlers followed the underleader’s directive, scattering in all directions.
-
The underpass quickly devolved into an ever-changing battlefield, as people sought to flee the chaos.
On one side was the underleader and a small but determined cohort of masked battlers. They unleashed their full teams, three and in one case even six Pokémon surrounding them and barreling forwards to confront the black-clad sub-contractors.
Said soldiers made up the battle’s other side. They had far more humans, over two dozen judging by what I’d seen before chaos had erupted, but the number of Pokémon was roughly equal, most deploying only one or at most two partners.
Caught in the middle between the warring sides were those attempting to flee. All of the unmasked foreigners were running, none of them eager to get apprehended and likely deported, or worse, incarcerated in a foreign region. A good majority of the masked battlers were doing the same, equally unwilling to be arrested by the black-clad soldiers.
I was one of them, making my way towards the other end of the underpass to escape the chaos. I’d considered joining the group making a stand, but something held me back. It wasn’t a fear of being arrested, nor concern for my own well-being. No, what stopped me was the worry I held for my family.
If I was apprehended, even if I was subsequently released, that was time I couldn’t spend trying to keep my knights from splitting. Say resolving everything took a week, or even just a few days, that might already make me too late.
And that wasn’t to mention that the attacks directed at the underleader’s Gyarados had been powerful. While I knew my partners were strong, our opponents this time weren’t just people battling for a hobby or wild Pokémon. No, these were soldiers. Trained killers, who’d presumably been on real battlefields.
I trusted my partners to keep me safe, but I didn’t trust myself to be capable of the same for them.
So I ran.
My knight surrounded me in our practiced defensive formation, horns and shields bristling at anything that got too close. Mana floated above us, her eyes aglow with unshed tears. She hovered over the heads of the crowd with directions to use her spotlights to illuminate anything coming towards us that she deemed a threat.
Maushold were in reserve, scattered around us and ready to be deployed if the situation demanded it. Together, the eleven of us pushed towards the exit at the other side of the underpass, fighting to navigate through the scrum.
The shouts of fear and confusion quickly gave way to dismay and anger as I approached the other exit, and it wasn’t long before I could see why.
Another two armored trucks were blocking the way, along with a second cordon of black-clad soldiers.
Much as the underleader had confronted the first group, this second was being held back by a man wearing a domino mask and a sharp suit. I recognized Grim from last week, as well as the three Pokémon in front of him. Alister, who I’d since discovered was a Bisharp, the Liepard from the video Grim had shown me, and the orange-skinned lizard that my research had identified as a Scrafty.
The three Dark-types bristled, each humming with barely-restrained power as Grim tried to negotiate with the soldiers like the underleader had. His voice wasn’t audible at this distance, but I could feel the palpable aura of menace coming off of him. The thick miasma of unease he was projecting had stalled out everyone on this side of the underpass, and the unnatural stillness reminded me of the effect Janine had when she unleashed her syn, but somehow even worse.
Unfortunately, in the end, his stick was no more effective than the underleader’s carrot, and another barrage of attacks came from the sub-contractors. He and his partners dodged adroitly out of the way, leaving the crowd to suffer the assault. A furious roar went out, as Pokémon were deployed, and a second front in the battle opened up, the crowd trying to force their way past the cordon of soldiers.
I was pushed forwards, my knights and I surging with the crowd until we were confronted by a black-clad soldier. His partner, an azure-shelled Heracross, squared up against my knights, even as Mana shined her eyes in alarm at the pair.
“Knights, Rock Slide!” I shouted so my command was heard over the general din.
My Falinks glowed with energy, and a cascade of stone appeared above the Bug-type, who extended his wings and flew to the side to avoid the onslaught.
I didn’t hear the soldier’s shouted order, but I did see the Heracross flicker for a moment, before vanishing, only to appear right behind Tristan. The Aerial Ace slammed into my partners, sending the back half of the formation sprawling. Lance, Percy, and Kay were able to get out of the way, and retaliated with a series of Headbutts.
“Surround!” I shouted, directing my knights to encircle the Pokémon so they could threaten him from all sides. Any time the Heracross made a break for one side of the circle, a quick Protect rebuffed him, and the Falinks on the other side of the cordon would hit him in the back. If he tried to fly up and out, a Rock Slide would send him tumbling back to the concrete.
The black-clad soldier was shouting commands, but at this point, the general volume of our surroundings was so loud that neither of us could effectively give orders to our partners.
Unfortunately, that also meant I couldn’t hear Mana’s warning cries until it was too late. I felt something sticky wrap around my arms and chest, binding them to one another. A quick yank took my feet out from under me, and I hit the concrete hard, my fall cushioned only by my syn and the layer of Sticky Webs entangling me.
I felt my fear and uncertainty at the enfolding situation sublimate into rage. Not only had the soldiers ganged up on me, they’d directed an attack at me, the trainer, instead of my Pokémon. That sort of thing was taboo, and for good reason! People could take some number of hits from a Pokémon, but there was no way to guarantee that your target had a full tank of syn. Unlike Pokémon, people didn’t usually faint when they ran out of protective energy. That meant, to all appearances, a Flamethrower had just as good odds of immolating someone as it did draining their syn.
But then, to these men and women, that was probably a feature, not a bug. The surprise attack was a sobering reminder that we weren’t battling just anyone. No, we were fighting trained killers.
And that meant all bets were off.
A soldier and his Galvantula came into view, standing over me. “I’ve got this one,” I heard the man shouting over at his comrade, just as I screamed out, “Hyper Voice!”
The soldier and his partner weren’t ready from the auditory assault, both keeling over, revealing Maushold standing behind them, heaving for breath. The two made to stand, only to collapse again as another howling cry erupted from two of my partners, leaving the littlest one free to run over to me and chew away at the sticky webs restraining me.
Their oversized incisors made short work of the entangling threads, and I stood up just in time to see my knights get sent sprawling by a doozy of a Thrash from the Heracross.
The other soldier had made use of my knights’ concern for me, attacking in the opening presented and knocking out the majority of them. We weren’t out of it yet, though. Lance and Percy were left standing, and so were Mana and Maushold. The number advantage was still very much ours, especially while the Galvantula and their trainer recovered themselves.
“Everyone, blitz! We’re getting out of here!” I shouted at my partners.
My remaining knights charged the Heracross, eating an Aerial Ace for their trouble. That maneuver put the Bug-type in range of a Super Fang from Maushold, however, and the follow-up Brine from Mana sent the azure beetle sprawling.
I ran forwards while recalling my knights, no longer concerned with trying to just battle my way past these soldiers. The black-armored man made to stop me, but Mana interposed herself between us, eyes narrowed and dangerous. Water bubbled beneath him, and the man wisely took a step back. He eyed his partner, but the Heracross had eaten another Hyper Voice from Maushold in the intervening time, and was laid out on the concrete.
With a growl of his own, the soldier stepped clear, recalling his partner and falling back to the armored vehicles, probably to treat his partner so the Heracross could rejoin the battle.
I took advantage of the hole in the line, as did a number of other fleeing people, and several of us made it out of the cordon before the black-armored ranks closed once more.
And then we were through. The soldiers didn’t have the resources to pursue the people who made it out of the scrum.
We could have gone back, tried to attack the sub-contractors from behind, but that same concern for my partners that bid me to flee held me back here again. These men and women were dangerous, clearly, and I couldn’t risk my family in good conscience.
That’s how I swallowed my guilt as I quit the battlefield, my Pokémon recalled and my helmet stowed in my bag.
A few blocks of running, and I couldn’t even hear the ongoing confrontation behind me. It was over. For us anyway. We’d made it out.
But how many people and Pokémon hadn’t? What was going to happen back there? What in the Serpent’s taint was going on in Ferrum? Were the underpasses ever going to be the same?
When had my home become a battlefield?
And most importantly, if I couldn’t return to the underpasses and their battles, how was I going to keep my knights from splitting apart?
