Out Of Breath: Chapter 3

Eirin and I are sitting on the bed watching a movie on her laptop. It's an action movie; Eirin picked it. I prefer comedies, personally, but she's been asking to see this one for a long time. My attention keeps drifting, even though the explosions and gunfire on the screen are relentless. Eirin is intently focused on the movie. The light of the screen casts shadows across her face, making her features look sharper than they are.

There's a knock at the door.

Eirin hits the mute button. We sit perfectly still. I can feel my chest squeezing. No one knocks on our door, ever. We say nothing. The knock repeats itself. It is gentle but insistent.

Eirin looks at me, putting a finger to her lips. She slides out of bed, and pads slowly towards the door. My hands begin to feel very warm. I am ready to unleash danmaku, even in this tiny apartment, if that's what I need to do.

Eirin leans towards the door, an open eye towards the peep hole. Her mouth drops open slightly, and a gasp escapes her throat. She turns to me, her hand on the knob, looking at me, her eyes opened wider.

"What?" I mouth to her.

She opens the door.

A person wearing a black hoodie, jeans and boots, standing a head shorter than Eirin, walks into the room. Eirin quickly closes and locks the door behind the person, then grabs her by the shoulders from behind, pushing her to the floor. I stand up on the bed. The person turns over, onto her back and elbows, her hood falling away. Her long white hair falls out, two crooked rabbit ears standing up.

I feel my heart hammering against my ribcage. A moon rabbit.

"Who are you?," Eirin says. Her hands are shaking.

"Don't hurt me!," the moon rabbit implores. "I came alone."

Just looking at the moon rabbit's terrified eyes brings it all back to me - the spacious palace I called home centuries ago, the pure sea as flat as a mirror, the smiling eyes of courtesans who would later be my accusers, my judge and jury, casting me away with disgust and shame. An old wound is being slowly torn open.

"Why are you here?" Eirin hisses, her fists clenched. "Hm? How did you find us?"

My palms break out in cold sweat. They know where we are. We stayed here too long. A solid, heavy ball begins rolling in my stomach.

"Look, I just-" the moon rabbit begins. Eirin kicks her in the side, hard. She cries out in pain.

"I have no qualms with ending your life right where you lie," says Eirin. "I have killed before, remember. I would lay down my own life for the Princess. And anyone else's. So I'm going to ask you again: why are you here? Choose your answer carefully."

She holds up a pleading hand. "I came here to warn you. And to help."

I can feel a wheel turning in my mind, accelerating, unsteady.

Eirin laughs humorlessly. "You lying little-"

"Stop!" I shout. "Beating this rabbit isn't going to help me. Shouldn't we at least listen to her?"

Eirin looks at me, breathing deeply through her nose. She turns back to the rabbit. "Who are you?"

"I am Reisen, Mistress," she says with a shaking voice. "I am a friend. You have to believe me. I have important information that may save you from the Lunarian's wrath."

Eirin crosses her arms. "Alright. What is this information?"

"The Lunarians are planning another attack of the Earth."

Eirin snorts derisively. "They tried that before, didn't they? They don't stand a chance."

"Maybe, maybe not." says Reisen, sitting up. "But they will be sending many emissaries to Earth. You can't afford to be careless anymore."

I get down from the bed. "How many are coming?"

Reisen turns to me. "Thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands."

"And just how do you know this?" Eirin asks.

"I still have a few friends on the Moon. Friends who would never betray me."

"How fortunate for you. But we're not too keen on having the company of friends of Lunarians. Why should we trust you?"

"Because I'm running from them, too, alright?" The moon rabbit's eyes flash with the fear of a cornered animal. "I've been running from them for over 40 years."

Eirin laughs. "Is that supposed to impress us? Do you have any idea just how long we've been walking this planet?"

"I do. I didn't want any part of the last Lunarian invasion and fled here. It hasn't been easy. But all this time I so hoped I would find you again. I can't tell you how hard it was. But you're here." She turns to me. Her red eyes are welling with tears. "Princess," she says, and lowers her forehead to the floor before my feet, her hands on either side of her head. "I cannot tell you how happen I am to see you again, and see that you are well. I see the Mistress has taken good care of you. I beg you, as a lowly, undeserving subject-"

"Quiet," I say. "Sit up." I don't want to hear this kind of talk. I don't want to see anyone grovel at my feet. The child I used to be would delight at this behavior. That child has evaporated into the darkness of space centuries ago.

Reisen sits up obediently.

"Look at me," I say. Her eyes meet mine. In their depths, I see the terror of the chased, the panting of the fugitive. I know it well - they're the same eyes that look back at me when I look in the mirror. I turn to Eirin. "This rabbit stays."

"Princess, you can't be serious," Eirin says incredulously.

"I am. She stays." I turn to Reisen. "But in exchange, you have to help us."

The moon rabbits readily nods. "Of course. Anything you want."

Eirin sighs. I know she disagrees with me entirely, but she isn't going to go against me. Reisen's contact with the moon might aid us in staying out of sight when this invasion begins. At the same time, I know Eirin will have one eye on this rabbit at all times, and will react with swift finality should she prove untrustworthy. This delicate balance can only work to our advantage.

"Good. Now then." I lean closer to the rabbit. "You will tell us everything you know."

The Sound of the City: Chapter 3

Aya sat at her desk, scanning the police blotter in one window, and the city homepage on the other. In the past week she'd concentrated solely on adapting to a human routine. This meant a series of tasks in just preparing for the day that were completely alien to her. The clothes did suit her, and Yukari had done well to be generous in supplying them, even if they did look a little plain to her – today she went with a green blouse, navy blue skirt, black tights and pumps. She'd learned to walk to work avoiding eye contact with anybody along the way.

The office dynamic was easy to figure out, since Ryu and Hideaki were the only full timers in the editorial department. Nearly everything else was freelance. The graphic designers were technically independent contractors, and the sales people were on commission. Aya thought it was impressive that such a loose band could run a newspaper, while Ryu found it a source of endless stress. He seemed to be continuously agitated, which worried Aya a bit at first, but Hideaki downplayed it. “He's fine. He actually does his best work under pressure, and he knows it.”

Using the computer had also been easy to pick up. Reading the city home page and writing up the shorter local pieces on cafés, clubs, bars, any exhibition openings, any live music, it came with doing, as Hideaki had said. In between pieces, she'd do her own personal research. But of course, there was only so much you could learn at a desk.

Aya closed her police blotter text, took a breath, and rose from her desk. She walked to Ryu, who was at his desk, typing. “Excuse me, Mr. Ogawa, but I was wondering if you wanted me to get a story.”

Ryu stopped typing and turned from the monitor. He shook his head. “I don't understand.”

“I mean, is there a chance I could get into the city and find some news, too?”

Ryu rested his elbows on the desk, and nodded. “You want to go into the field, as it were?”

“Yes? Yes. I'd like to do some reporting.”

The editor had to take into account a few things: on the one hand, this was an intern who literally walked in off the street last week with no real resume, claiming to be Korean when she clearly wasn't, and who'd never even attended university. On the other hand, she was a hard worker, turned in more than enough material, and she could write. Plus, something about the look on her face told him that he'd likely have to argue with her if he refused, which was a prospect that tired him.

“Alright,” he said. “But I'm giving you an assignment first. I have to see how you cover events as they transpire, so I know that you can be trusted with the task.” He turned back to his monitor, glancing over his e-mails. That's right – one of their freelancers dropped an assignment that day, saying she was swamped. A band in some club. 500 words max. He turned back to Aya.

“Your assignment is: you're to go to the Indiscreet Cat tonight at six. It's their live music night. I want you to review the café, throw in the band as well. Have you ever done music reviews?”

“I-”

“Doesn't matter. The focus is the place itself. The atmosphere, how the service was, what you had to drink, that sort of thing. Sound alright to you?”

It was perfect for Aya, being asked to closely scrutinize humans in their natural environment. She readily agreed. “Yes, thank you very much.”

“Alright then.” Ryu smiled a little, and turned back to his monitor. “Have a good time.”

Aya still felt as though Ryu was holding her back a bit, but she knew she had to be grateful and get along if she hoped to cover her real assignment. Returning to her desk, she leaned down, and turned off the computer. Looking up, she saw Hideaki gesturing her over to his desk. She approached.

“Leaving early?” he asked.

“No, actually, Mr. Ogawa asked me to cover a story.”

Hideaki smiled, proudly it seemed. “You see? That's what you can accomplish when you show some initiative and push the guy a little. Good for you.”

“Thank you.” Aya blushed.

“So, let me guess – is it an exhibition, a concert, or a dog show?”

Aya frowned. “A concert. Was it that easy to guess?”

“Those are just the assignments most freelancers wouldn't touch with a barge pole. No one wants to do them, so Ryu has to make someone do them. Don't take it bad. He'd likely never pick you yet if you hadn't stood up to him.”

Hideaki paused a moment, tapping his pen on the edge of his desk. “This is how you prove yourself, Aya. It's like … well, alright, in a restaurant, there's a chef, and the chef has his assistants. When assistants start, they might be just chopping vegetables for months. Eventually, they're allowed to make broths. But no one ever gets anywhere standing around waiting to be told what to do. Cooks become chefs because they step forward, volunteering for extra work, practicing dishes on their own time. They become masters of the craft because they were the ones who wouldn't take 'No, you're not ready yet' for an answer. So it is with journalists. I can see the fire in your eyes. You want to be the ace reporter, breaking huge stories, your by-line in the feature pieces?”

“Yes,” Aya affirmed.

Hideaki stood. “You want to be the next newshound to earn the coveted NSK Award?”

Aya had no idea what this meant, but it sounded important. “Yes!” she said. “I do!”

“That's the spirit! Then you go down to whatever forgettable hole-in-the-wall the old man's sent you to and you cover that equally forgettable concert!”

“Yes!” Aya said, and turned.

Hideaki smiled with admiration. She could really go places if she didn't get burned out first. Then something occurred to him. “Wait.” he said. “Do you have a dictaphone?”

Aya stopped, turning back around. She'd played with the office's dictaphone – the one with the name of the paper scratched into the back of it, the one everybody uses – but never had any reason to use it professionally. “Well, no, I was just going to take notes.”

“That's no good. If you quote someone on the record, and we print it, and they have a problem, it'll be your word against theirs. Hey, don't give me that look. I trust you. It's just a legal thing, OK? Here.” Hideaki opened his top desk drawer, and put his dictaphone on the desk. “Take mine. Some photos would probably be nice, too. Are you pretty good at taking photos?”

“I've had some experience with it, yes.”

“That's good. Take some shots of the club from the outside, the interior - if they'll let you - the manager, that kinda thing.”

“I'll do my best.”

Hideaki regarded Aya for a moment. When she smiled, her whole face lit up. Her eyes flashed with an intensity that was a little unsettling to him. There was a tremendous power in them, like she was more a force of nature than anything else. That would have to be the case, he imagined, when it came to any person capable of moving to a new country and settling in within just a few years, even if it was fairly obvious that she was a foreigner. He pitied the poor soul who got in this girl's way.

“Alright, Aya. Have fun."