Restrain and Refrain

[Fred]

Kotori watched the scenery fly by as the West Line train cut along the land outside of Ketsurui no Iori.

Most of it was snow-covered plains, with farm houses and buildings of red and brown providing the only break in the white ground and white-grey sky. Occasionally there were tractors left out, the snow turning tall features of the landscape into shorter, hulking masses of mechanisms and metal. Blades from cutters and plows stuck into the air, sometimes blending in, other times half-buried into the ground with dug up dirt crumbled around them. The clouds were light, but on the horizon to the north, toward KnI, they were a deep purple and bloated with a fresh storm.

KnI was nestled into a large valley against the Koriyama Mountains reached by cresting over a small range of sub-300-meter-tall mountains. The city was surrounded by a wall of starship-grade armor, maybe 25 meters tall, with one gate. The other ways into the city either were over the wall -- floating, flying, etc. -- or underneath it, which is what trains did, slipping into underground tunnels at the valley floor and coming out through one of the gardens and into the train station.

The garden mostly was snow, with the evergreen trees adding the only color. The train station's tiled walls and pillars were red or white, with intermittent signs placed on them telling travelers they were at Michiko Station. The train pulled into the stop, which thankfully had an overhang to shield passengers from the falling snow once they stepped off.

Kotori was the only one in her car. Yuumi told her that she would have someone waiting for her — a Yamataian representative of the movement she was to talk to. Kotori had the man's name as "Kerry Murakami." He had no description, but he was of Raltean descent, so he likely would stand out. He was told to be looking for Kotori too.

When the train stopped, the princess unhurriedly stood from her table in the lounge and made to the egress, stepped down the few stairs to the docks, and then left the dock platform to enter the station proper. A leisurely pace lead her through the station, past the ticket booth and convenience stores; and the nekovalkyrja wove her way through the terminal's other commuters as she followed the signs leading to the parking lot at the station's front.

Her progress was slow, and she meant it to be that way. It was for the same reason she had chosen to spend most of the trip in the train car's lounge rather than her cabin: she wanted to admire the scenery. It was not through a tourist-like impressionable curiosity or guarded wariness so much as an eagerness to expand her horizons.

Kotori loved Yamatai, but she knew so little of her homeland past the Ketsurui and the military. Her limited ventures downtown and in the suburbs scratched the bare surface of what was to see on her homeworld. If she was going to help administer it and the Empire beyond, Kotori wanted to see it.

Brass-and-glass doubledoors were shoved open and she emerged back outside on an ample sidewalk bordering an expansive car park. She stepped clear from the flow of people and stepped beyond the station building's overhang, flipping her mantle's hood up over her head and donning gloves as she made to wait for Murakami as she rehearsed in her mind the reason for her coming to Ketsurui no Iori —

"Ketsurui No Iori has a large veteran population," Yuumi said. "Not just of Neko, either. The nonNekos are your concern. Several of them have formed a kind of militia in the southwest of the city, where most of the nonNeko population lives. They say they want more food, but they also want to stop being treated as second-class citizens by the majority Neko population, especially veterans.

"Many of the Neko work for Ketsurui Zaibatsu, which provides for its workers without any help from the government. Those who aren't with KZ are with the Star Army or the KnI police. It means the nonNeko population has to provide a lot of the basic services, as no one else is there to fill those jobs. I'm talking gardeners, store clerks, motel operators, maids, bank loan officers, heating system repairpersons — stuff that isn't glamorous, but is honest work.

"But now they're tired of Neko lording over them, or so they say. The food situation is making it worse, as we don't get much help up to KnI because the zaibatsu is helping so much. As upset and angry as they are, they've taken up arms. They aren't violently resisting yet, however the negotiating teams for the police have had no luck breaking the stalemate.

"I need you to go in there. Listen to them, get their concerns. Address what you can, dodge what you can't. I don't believe they really want to be violent, but be safe.

"The situation's a flashpoint for a commonly held belief among the nonNeko populace. That's why sending you, a Neko, to handle it — I need them to see that Neko really are just like them and that we're not all Kessaku Irim. Their prejudices won't be easy to overcome. Sometimes I think they all would like to be the Saiga clan, but then a lot of Neko probably would be better off being Ketsurui.

"In any case, part of what you'll have to show them is that the civilian government rules for everyone, not just the Neko clans."

Kotori allowed herself a wry smile: nonNeko. Yuumi meant well, but refering to the people in question thus cut a clear divide that gave Kotori some insights on how they could feel the nekovalkyrja would 'lord' over them.

So far, the divide appears to stand between civilians and the military, was what she thought. While nekovalkyrja are dominant within the military, the rest seems more a perception of social class than anything else. Melisson called that "the ruling class and the cattle they rule over". Only the circumstances make that perception more blatant to these people.

A sudden gale lifted powdery snow off the streets, coaxing her eyes to closed and her hands to adjust her furred hood to a snugger fit in a vain attempt to ease the discomfort. The falling snow kept coming, even as the wind blew, then sliced, around Kotori. As she stood on the curb of the street, waiting for anyone to guide her somewhere, a deeply bronzed man in a black, lined trenchcoat and peaked black cap approached her from the side. She saw the black of his tie, then the darkness of his eyes.

He wasn't a native to KnI with that deep a tan. When he spoke to her, he put his hands together in front of him and made a small bow with his head and shoulders. He was large, Kotori saw, with broad shoulders and muscled arms that tugged at the seams of his coat when he bent them at the elbow. He also wore polished shoes that could fit both of her feet. He wasn't an ID-SOL, but maybe he had the blood of one.

"S'cuse me miss," he said in Yamataian, the words rumbling from his throat. Kotori placed the accent as western.

Kotori's fur-framed face — the cold weather lent her porcelain skin a blush — turned to what she hoped was her guide. "Murakami-san?"

"I'm one of his," the man replied. "Wilhelm. I have a car waiting to take you to him."

"Komban wa, Wilhelm-san." Kotori turned entirely to face him and answered his bow with one of her own. "Yoroshiku gozaimasu."

Wilhelm nodded, and guided the Neko across the street in the snow, then past it to the parking lot. After walking by many snow-buried cars, Wilhelm turned to a blue hovervan with tinted windows and opened the left back door, behind the driver.

Kotori politely tilted her head in a bow, then gathered her dress just so in order to slide into the back seat of the vehicle.

"Watch your head," Wilhelm said, as he shut the door.

Kotori turned her head to nod to him, keeping her body out of the way from the door.

Click!

Too late. When Kotori looked to the source of the noise, she saw a Type 28C/C NSP's high-gloss silver finish glinting at her with the dome light of the car's cabin. The sound was the safety coming off; whether it was on normal or stun, she could not tell.

"Just a precaution," the Yamataian woman with Neko ears said. "I don't want to shoot."

A gun! Kotori tensed in her seat at the realization, her expression taut. She had expected there could be trouble due to unrest, but this was hardly how she had pictured it going. That made her feel painfully naive. Nyton would've never fallen for that.

The soldier's impulse to pre-emptively lash out was strong, but she stiffled it. Too Ketsurui... it rarely served us well. The princess ruled out Kikyô's involvement. Too many holes in this approach, not ruthless enough. Which left circumstances hinting at desperate people scrabbling for any shred of control they could get their hands on.

So, instead, Kotori regained her composure and reclined against her seat. "Indeed you do not," she replied, striving to remain calm. "Which begs the question: what compels you to be ready to do so?"

"A damaged ransom can be worth more than a healthy one," the Yamataian woman said as Wilhelm slipped into the driver's seat. "But the boss wants you whole at the start. Like I said. A precaution."

The van rumbled to life, and the windshield wipers started to push away the snow and ice that had formed on it.

"Sou ka." Kotori had to struggle very hard to maintain her cool. What she heard sounded too much like calculated ill will on the part of people she had come to mediate with; and likely in favor of. It unpleasantly reminded her of the Lorath.

She then ran over Yuumi's instructions again, balancing the weight of her goals against her personnal safety and her prestige as royalty. She wondered about how Nyton would view the situation, how Yukari would, how Kôsuka would, how Tom would.

Thinking of what changed Tom during the Miharu mission had her thoughts turn dark on the subject of Murakami Kerry. That man chose terrorism, likely thinking that his self-righteousness and conviction justified it. In response, her throat nearly choked with indignation.

There. It was then that she decided. There was no point in just getting carted off to a place where she would be outnumbered and consigned to be a hostage. She still had nightmares of her time on the Black Sakura. She would attack.

But not in blind anger. The memory of the Lorath scientist's head exploding back when she had left her indignation unchecked onboard the Sakura helped keep her in check from acting on rash impulse. Action still needed to match her purpose.

First, she needed to know where Murakami was.

Kotori began filtering telepathic communications on the part of the two users in front of her: if they sent anything, even encrypted, she'd know. In addition — using some insights mined in her Yui metadata — she even accessed PANTHEON to view the recent backlog of point-to-point telepathic communication to determine the locations of sender-receiver.

So far, there was no telepathic communication between the two. Point-to-point telepathic communication logs revealed where she was headed — just as Yuumi told her, most of the activity was in the southwest of the city. Most of the communication involved talk of watches, supplies, orders and the like.

Kerry Murakami wasn't mentioned by name, but several people referenced a "face." Perhaps that was him.

She also checked to see how active the car's onboard computer was: the GPS system might have already been accessed to provide directions to wherever Murakami laired. If the trip back from the train station remained unfamiliar to the driver, it was possible he had logged a request for guiding directions. Kotori could work with that too.

The GPS was clean. Wiped, in fact. Likely on purpose. However Wilhelm got around, he did it on memory.

Secondly, she needed to attend to her own safety.

The princess hemosynthetically adapted her eyes for infrared vision and studied both the driving Wilhelm and his gun-wielding female companion to glimpse the presence of other weaponry on their persons. Wilhelm had a cold, cylindrical object slipped inside of his uncomfortably tight suit jacket. A baton, collapsable, possibly a stun type. The Yamataian woman was using her only weapon.

Another thing to be concerned about was possible accomplices. They weren't followed out of the train station parking lot, and they pulled away without going above a meter or so off the road. KnI was an old city, explaining the presence of streets. Kotori's memories provided her with little additional data. No telepathic communication, no other points highlighted as sources of other telepathic correspondence. No one was around Wilhelm before he approached Kotori. It was just those two.

One additional check: Seat belts. They were wearing them.

Finally, Kotori's mind connected Vermillion's AIES. The machine, still in Kyoto, would only take an instant to get to her once its teleportation module charged up. She might have need of it shortly.

Now that she had taken stock of the situation, Kotori figured this was as good as she would get if she wanted to regain control of the situation. She quietly waited until they were on a relatively quiet street, and then acted: using her anti-gravity control, she overrode the influence of the hovervan's grav-drive and swiftly upended it.

The result? Sending it crashing roof-first unto the snowy pavement. Inertially anchored to her seat, torso hunched forward and arms shielding her head, Kotori was betting on her surviving the crash much better than her captors.

The van went fast. Upended, the vehicle crashed hard on its roof, a massive boom filling the cabin, but its emergency systems kicked in to cut off the power to the drive. The van skid several dozen meters along the snow-covered road, with the roof caved in some. Wilhelm and the Yamataian woman were thrown about in their seats, shaking and then going somewhat slack when the van came to a stop. Kotori looked for the pistol, but didn't see it. It wasn't in the woman's hand.

Within a couple seconds, Wilhelm and the woman were stirring, groaning, little cuts on their face from the safety glass, their heads almost touching the snow that had collected on the cabin's roof — now the floor — as they helplessly hung in their seats.

The tops of the back doors looked crushed. The front doors were in much worse shape.

Kotori then dared breathe, somewhat amazed both at the sheer violence her plan had brought about and at its success.

Still 'sitting' at her seat, she gingerly uncoiled some and looked at the two stunned people in the front seat before deciding on her next move: reaching back into her obi with both hands to bring out her NSPs. Her eyes narrowed in grim intent as she pumped out a stun bolt into each.

The two went slack, arms falling from their struggles with the seat belts and into the snow.

Kotori's service pistols went back into their concealed holsters, and next with flicks of her wrists she brought out her kama: a sharp metallic sound sounding off as the switchblades sprung into position. The neko promptly brought them to bear on the backdoor closest to her, swiftly carving a rectangle that — along with a well-placed kick — created the apperture needed for her to emerge from the doomed vehicle.

At was when she stood outside the hovercar's wreck that a wave of whooziness hit her, coaxing her to hang unto the upended vehicle for balance a moment. She shook her head, regained her bearings, and flipped down her furred hood as she summoned for Vermillion.

With a CRACK-KA-BOOSH the red machine appeared floating overhead, the shockwave of its appearance briefly whipping Kotori's hair around like a dark flag. She waved Vermillion down and once the robot's claws touched upon the snowy street its chestplate swivelled open to allow its owner entry.

The nekovalkyrja sprung up and got herself seated into the mecha's control cavity, though she then hunched forward, setting her elbows on her still-dangling legs.

She breathed in, closed her eyes, and slowly exhaled. She was still seeing stars, but she felt better. She wasn't going to be held hostage. She could think without seeing before the threatening maw of a service pistol, so much like she had ended up facing when she had failed to escape the Black Sakura with Hanako.

It was then that she second-doubted herself. Her purpose, meeting Murakami, was still met whether or not she was held at gunpoint. However, from there, had she had any trust she could somehow talk herself out of that predicament and reach the resolution Yuumi had wanted her to reach?

No. That's not what I believed, she realized, pursing her lips at the unpleasant thought. Kotori had no cause to believe she was especially convincing — officer meetings onboard the Miharu had always been controversial affairs with her officers butting head with her is some way or another. She was new at this: there was no reason she should have expected miracles.

Getting ransomed would've hardly helped matters either. It would have made the Ketsurui look weak, and would have had brimmed her prestige as a Ketsurui princess. Right now, she was showing that she was not to be thriffled with. It was very Ketsurui. It was much closer to gunboat diplomacy than Kotori would have liked.

But that's how it was. They started it first, she thought as she gave a baleful glare toward the two comatose people in the ruined hovercar. Pointing a weapon that could kill me, mentioning my having more value as ransom if I was damaged. Was it that hard to just escort me to where I was meant to go, and let me discuss matters without that axe over my head? After all I've done in the past to try and save you?

Again, she breathed out, and slowly took in the briskly cold air in. Stick to the things that matter, Kotori.

The two in the car were still part of the people her clan ruled over. She needed to make sure they would be looked after. She opened a PANTHEON line to the local law-enforcement station and sent out a text message:

I have two insurgents, involved in the local protests, at the attached coordinates. I have also attached their likeness for you to identify. They have just have been involved in a hovercar crash, and then stunned point-blank using a military-grade Nekovalkyrja Service Pistol.

They have attempted to take me hostage at gunpoint to ransom me off. They have been stopped, though now they may require medical assistance. Please handle it. (if they recover from being stunned before a dispatch arrives, they may be armed with a stun baton and a civilian NSP).

Signed,
Ketsurui Kotori

That done, Kotori gathered her legs into Vermillion's cockpit and the chestplate closed. Left in the dark, she used her SPINE connection to interface with the machine and sent it jumping up into the air to fly further toward the south-west of the city. The gargoyle-like robot's red-gold armored hide shimmered briefly before its thermoptic steath engaged and left it as a near-indistinguishable translucent outline.

She took mental inventory of the organized encrypted lines the protesters had established in a surprisingly military fashion — amongst the discontents were surely retired military personnel — and accessed several of them. Not all. I do want them to believe they have a few that have not been compromised so I can still overhear their chatter.

Then, she transmitted: "I am Ketsurui Kotori. I have had the displeasure of being held at gunpoint by the agents you sent to fetch me, in a blatant attempt to seize me hostage and ransom me.

"To say I took a dim view of such an attempt would be an understatement. I came in good faith to help mediate a resolution beneficial to you... and this is what I get? Understand that I did not pour four years of my life to save this planet from Eve's and Melisson's machinations only to be treated so disgracefully.

"So, now that I've had your two agents sent to the hospital, your current predicament begs the question: what now? I was lead to believe that you were going hungry and that you wanted to have your wishes better represented. Do you still wish to parlay and reach a peaceful resolution?"

Kotori's message was not immediately returned. The silence meant she could hear the sirens of law enforcement rushing toward the van and its occupants, as snow began to pile upon Vermillion.

Three minutes passed before a reply tickled at the Neko's mind.

"No," the voice — a female's — said. "I think we're done here. Tell your government we're through."

Kotori closed her eyes. "It is your government too. What did you expect? That it would support you when you stooped to criminal and treasonous actions?" The eyes opened, angrier. "Maybe it's fine for you to feel like you want to rebel, but what about the people that depend on you?

"Tell me, where do you want this to go? Rebellion? Bullets flying around? Do you actually think you can win? Will it truly put food in your belly?

"I can work with you if you wish to improve your situation," Kotori finished with. "But I won't work with criminals and traitors. Choose which you wish to be."

Another long pause.

"You've proven yourself to be like your kin, not the reasoned person we were led to believe you would be," the voice replied. "We will find another way."

"Tch," Kotori's head sank to rest between her knees. The taste of bile reached her tongue — in this case that felt pretty much like the taste of failure. 'Sometime, you lose' she had been taught. Sometimes knowing when to lose meant being able to win later on. Forcing her hand further here and now didn't seem to hold much in the way of payoff.

"It is easier to lord over the reason of others when you refrain from taking hostages at gunpoint. I will claim guilt for assuring my survival and my freedom. Condemn it all you want, but it is hardly a trait unique to nekovalkyrja," Kotori pointed out before giving a succinct: "Sayonara."

Not expecting any last minute change of mind, Kotori had Vermillion turn around, climb in altitude, and then speed back toward Kyoto.

 

[Fred]

"The Premier is expecting you, Hime-sama."

... and that from Miki-san just as soon as Kotori arrived to the Imperial Premier's sixth-floor office, the next morning after Yuumi had returned from the International Relations Conference at Pisces station.

"Hai," the Princess returned for acknowledgment, beating down a spontaneous rise in trepidation. Her mother had shared the evening before how the conference had seemed a grueling, trying affair for the Premier. By now Yuumi had likely found out how Kotori had handled the KnI situation. Saying that this would be disappointing to Yuumi would likely be an understatement.

Kotori reached the back-office and quietly eased the door open. Yuumi was inside sitting behind her oak desk, already chipping away at the gathering of volumetric projections vying for her attention after her absence.

Kotori quietly eased the door back to a close. "Ohayo gozaimasu, Yuumi-san," she greeted, joining her hands in front of her as she bowed lightly.

Yuumi looked up from the various panels in her way and brushed them aside, standing up and tipping her head in a similar fashion. "Ohayo, Kotori-san," she said. "Please, sit. Might as well knock this out, as a Nepleslian colleague told me once."

The Premier sat down and hid the panels inside her desk.

Kotori straightened from her bow, repressed a sigh, and walked forth to claim one of the two cushioned chairs in front of the Imperial Premier's desk.

Once seated, she fussed at the folds in her dress a moment - stalling, really, as she collected her thoughts. Finally she fixated Yuumi with her amber eyes and said: "I did not succeed in resolving the situation with the insurgents at Ketsurui no Iori.

"Before I could make contact with their leader, Murakami's agents attempted to claim me as an hostage at gunpoint just as soon as I boarded the vehicle they provided for me. I avoided capture, but was unable to initiate a cordial dialogue with them afterwards."

"I heard," Yuumi dismissively said, leaning forward in her chair to stretch, then back, her arms covering those of the chair she was in.

"I don't like second-guessing people," she offered. "Yui does nothing but that, when she isn't blindly trusting people she's got no rhyme or reason to trust. You acted how you felt you had to."

Yuumi let that sink in. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"

The question surprised Kotori, and she did not hide it. She covered that surprise by closing her eyes. When they next opened, the princess had her answer. "Nothing," she said. "Part of why I pulled out then was because I did not believe I could make a positive difference anymore and then decided to cut my losses. Oh, I had solutions... but I heartily doubted they'd be dazzling diplomatic achievements."

"What about you, Yuumi-san?" Kotori then asked. "Do you see solutions in dealing with criminals willing to capture the messenger and then offer her up in ransom for concessions? Do you think we should reward that while other people in equally dire straits in the Empire behave themselves?

"I don't. That's why I waited for you to come back."

Yuumi tapped one of the chair's arms with a finger, but she nodded. "A black-and-white way of viewing the situation, but not a bad one. Keeps things simple, on-the-level. Allows you to stick to your ethics and play by a book.

"That's not going to get the job done though."

A panel went poit! between them, and showed the area of the city where Kotori had been destined to go. On either side were blank spots, which filled up with list items as Yuumi talked.

"Move in with military force, and you not only scare the shit out of people who want food too, you threaten starting an uprising in less loyal cities, especially on the western coast and toward the south. Concede and allow them to stay, and you get a similar end result amid different circumstances — other little enclaves will crop up and expect more food because they've got guns and the will to use them. Lots of options are in-between, but they are shades of either of those two."

Yuumi's red eyes gazed at Kotori from just under the panel. "Consider those two options, and their shades, out-of-bounds. What other options exist?"

Kotori hesitated a moment. "The way I see it, if we could feed them better, we would. Despite their envy toward governmental associations in KnI, the unglamorous livelihoods the civilians feel they are stuck with are just as essential for them as they are those working for the government. Remove the governmental associations, and the need for those civilian jobs does not go away.

"We need them to understand the limitations involved. We need them to compromise, to be willing to sacrifice enough to tighten their belt — figuratively speaking — but we also need to be able to intervene enough so to avoid anyone from actually dying from hunger. If we can somehow transfer all that energy they are putting up in their protests into something constructive that would help improve their situation, that would be even better: I would be willing to bet one incentive for this uprising is the need to not feel helpless.

"We also need them to believe, somehow, in our sincerity. Talk is cheap to hungry people. They have no doubt been told before that they should be more patient. If they are not, they likely feel they have good cause for it. We need to restore their belief in us."

Kotori gave a slight wince. "Maybe we need to be willing to sacrifice as well."

The points and questions Kotori expressed replaced the things Yuumi said on the sides of the double-sided panel, allowing them both to follow along.

"I like where you're going. Let's pick them out one by one. First, we need to get the civilians to understand that the work they do is valued. Next, we need them to sacrifice just like everyone else. Third, we need to get them to believe in us, which leads into us sacrificing too.

"I think you're onto something with the 'transfering of energy.' Getting them to work on a project that would be helpful. A lot of the people there are more manufacturing than clerical or service-oriented. Perhaps we need to hand them a project of sorts. Guide a private contractor there."

Yuumi paused to absorb Kotori's reaction. Kotori had been quiet, though just as soon as the Premier stopped she asked: "How did the conference go, for that matter. Did we not wish to set up a few trade agreements regarding our supply shortages? I do not think we can credibily ask them to be more understanding if we cannot show them light at the end of the tunnel."

"Those supplies won't show up tomorrow, but they will in the long run."

Yuumi fell into silence again, waiting for Kotori to fill the void.

"Then, the way I see it..." Kotori frowned in concentration as she attempted to frame her errant ideas into a workable plan. "If we can convince those people to not only lay aside their grievances, but have a direct hand in contributing to bringing food back on their tables... then everyone wins in the long run."

"Something like, say, a food processing plant that can handle the Iroma foodstuffs we're going to see delivered to us," Yuumi said. "They build it, run it as a cooperative and feed themselves as well as the Empire."

Kotori nodded, her enthusiasm surfacing in her eyes, though she quickly sobered up. "But to push this matter ahead... I would still need to charm them into that way of thinking. The last I spoke to them, they wanted nothing with me because I was not the reasonable person they expected."

She resisted the urge to snort in derision. "I do not feel the willingness to kidnap a mediator speaks very well of how reasonable they were willing to be themselves... but that is the crux of my problem with them. If they lack the goodwill to actually negotiate then there is not a whole lot I could actually do from the beginning. I also do not really see how my capture would have changed much, aside from my becoming a liability to you.

"I am not sure of how I can push things forward without forcing them to hear my terms and accept them. That felt too inflamatory to attempt then. It still seems so now."

"I think you're right from most perspectives, but not theirs."

Yuumi leaned forward, elbows propping up her head. "I don't think they are foolish enough to believe that actually capturing you and holding you hostage will get them what they want. Of the people who I have heard are inside and running the show, they know what cards they hold.

"Again, I don't second guess. But if I were in their sandals, I would want to make sure I am at my most comfortable before I start listening to you. I have to know at the start that I'm safe in my own house, and that you respect the precautions I take. You're not really a hostage, even if it looks like you are and feels like you are. I want those psychological edges, of course. But I need, most of all, to know I can hear you out."

"A precaution like having a weapon in case things turn ugly is laudable enough. But once you start pointing that weapon, the precaution becomes a threat," Kotori countered, not being able but to sound a bit testy about the issue. "I was willing to put my life on the line plenty of times during the Miharu mission, but half my crew ended up dying so I would not have to. I cannot put light on that sacrifice; I have to be responsible with the life they saved."

"What they did... that was almost a slap in the face of those sacrifices we have gone through as well," Kotori grumbled. "I walked through hell and back with my crew... and that is how they repay it?"

Kotori breathed out, reminding herself to stick to the things that mattered rather than keep on with the rant, and then asked: "Besides that, the woman I spoke to very clearly would have nothing to do with me anymore. I do not know how to get around that unless these people are given someone else to speak to."

"They don't give a damn about your sacrifice, Kotori. They don't know you from another snitty Ketsurui bitch." Yuumi actually smiled.

"I think that if you play by their rules, you'll find yourself still welcome. The woman you were talking to, I'm pretty sure was a former 5th XF starfighter squadron leader who went to a Yamataian body for retirement. She's not in charge."

Kotori returned a weighty silence, her eyes wandering from Yuumi and their little project's volumetric windows to stare out at the white-blanketed cityscape beyond the windows. When she finally looked back to the Premier, it was to ask: "How to we arrange for that to happen, then?"

"For starters, we call them. Only this time I do it personally. The man in charge knows my voice. Then, we send you in with an escort. They won't take the Samurai's weapon, and they might not even take yours. But they'll have guns on you same as before, and they won't miss this time. Keep your wits about you and tell them what you told me. Bring up the proposed factory. And then we let them think on it."

"What would be the point of bringing samurai along then?" Kotori frowned. "If I am to tolerate being threatened and that you expect any fight to go downhill for me and my escort, would it not be better and less intimidating to go there alone once more?"

"Not this time," Yuumi said. "A Samurai has great respect in KnI, even among the locals. They're known for being fairhanded, more than the government usually is. If you have one with you, it tells them you trust the Samurai to handle threats against your life."

The Premier grinned. "It also suggests you have a minder with you, to make sure you don't go killing anyone else."

Kotori flattened her ears back, resenting Yuumi's humor and the implication that she had been out of control. Like Yuumi, Kotori had enjoyed Eve's hospitality. Ever since, Kotori had viewed death as a fate preferable to imprisonment. She had destroyed Eve's rebel organization for it.

She wanted to argue back that she had used restraint, and not killed Murakami's agents. But Kotori did not.

The Premier's office was not a place she visited to be part of some pity party where she expected Yuumi to bother herself with her inner demons. In fact, Yuumi likely had far more of those — Yuumi had been a guest of Eve's for far longer — and she bore with it seemingly without complaint.

The Premier's office was were she came to be taught the tools she had lacked to save the Yamataian people. Even the people at Ketsurui no Iori. Kotori's girlish ethics balked at it, and there it obviously failed her. But with Yuumi's mature insights, she could still manufacture success from failure and have the means to save the people of KnI from their situation.

"When do I start?"

"Tomorrow," Yuumi said. "This time you'll arrive in a fashion more befitting your station. Keep your power armor following you, of course, but this time you'll go in your own car, with the Samurai driving."

"Wait." Kotori knew Yuumi had her own ways of finding out about things, but this she needed to ask: "Just how widespread is the knowledge that I have a big nasty teleporting fire-breathing robot at my beck and call? I thought I used it sparingly enough to be discreet."

Yuumi blinked. "A what? You mean it's not a Mindy?"

Kotori gave a groan and facepalmed.

 

[Fred]

The scenery flew by behind tinted windows.

Kotori was in the back of the blood-red hoversedan, settled into the leather seats as her Samurai driver took her to the gates of the enclave cut out of Ketsurui no Iori.

Kei drove. Yuumi insisted she do it, not just because she trusted Kei with her own life, but because Kei was very level-headed, having been taught well by Kotori's mother. The tall Neko also liked to drive, which she found out while driving Yuumi everywhere. The Premier had a bigger car, so she was happy to drive the smaller, speedier Cub.

Michiko Station came and went to Kotori's left. They were on the same street Wilhelm and his cohort took Kotori on before. As they went along the snowy road, white-draped buildings on either side, the princess saw where the snow was uneven on the pavement — places where the hovercar had torn out road during its crash.

The result of the negotiation between Yuumi and Murakami gave Kotori all of her weapons, not just her pistols, and armed Kei too. This time, many armed guards would escort Kotori and her cohort around the enclave, weapons always trained on her. The chances of Kotori getting the first shot were slightly lower.

As they approached, the environment became bleak. The shadows of the buildings along the road got longer, with some of the smaller shops almost looking back at her with black eyes and open mouths. They couldn't believe she was coming back. Maybe, Kotori thought, she couldn't either.

Yuumi assured her that all was above board again. There were no surprises this time. They would talk and she would leave. That was the arrangement.

Why Yuumi couldn't just tell the man what she was proposing was something political that Kotori didn't fully understand.

Another 10 minutes of slow driving put them at the gate. It was more substantial than Kotori imagined — artfully welded blast doors stacked like bricks into 4-meter-high grey metal double-doors, crossing the length of the street and wide sidewalks. Kotori could see that the bases were set on antigrav pallet jacks, probably strung together to move at once.

A catwalk was welded to the back of the doors. Six armed individuals leveled old GP-12 rifles toward the sedan. Kei stopped about a dozen meters from the gate and waited.

"Back again?" The female voice from before called out to Kotori.

"I am expected," was Kotori's simple mental reply. Her business was with Murakami and she did not want to be bogged down into any trouble his former-5XF fighterjock assistant could send her way.

"Kei, we are disembarking here," she told her bodyguard. "Please open the door for me."

"Yes Hime-sama," the tall Neko replied, opening her car door and slipping out to open Kotori's. A light dusting of snow threatened on the horizon, something Kotori could see more outside than behind the tinted windows of the sedan.

"Says who?" came the tart reply, and Kotori heard static. She needed time to decrypt the channel, but she saw the guards stiffen up and tighten their weapons on their shoulders.

"Enough," came a softer, male voice. "Let her pass."

The guards snapped to it, slinging their weapons across their backs and moving to get the gate out of the way. It took a minute or so to move the pallet jacks.

On the other side of the door was a man, small of stature and slight of build, with a mop of black hair under a yellow full-brim hardhat. His features were chiseled into the oil-encrusted stone of his yellow-tan skin, with dark lines showing where the chisel went too deep, leaving canyons for the grime to fill.

That grime filled every crease on his clothes, too, leaving brown and black stripes, spots and stains on his light grey denim jacket and darker grey jeans. The clothes were organic to him, a second skin like a Samurai's uniform. He had a leather belt around his waist that held up several tool loops, but only one was filled — a variable spanner — with his other hip carrying a small leather bag, possibly with other tools in it.

It confirmed what Yuumi told her about the man, that he had worked in the Ketsurui Zaibatsu factories for a long, long time.

Kotori could only describe his eyes as intensely hot pink. He also had a cigarette in his mouth, lit. He drew on it, took the cigarette into his fingers, and blew out the smoke.

"Ketsurui Kotori-san," he said. "Kerry Murakami." As she approached, he held out the hand without a cigarette.

If Kotori had a problem with his smoking, she decided that now wasn't the time to raise the issue. She respected the grime and the tale of hard work it told, though didn't quite understand why Murakami was presently dirty, or why he'd be dirtying himself with work during the uprising he'd formented. Was the implication that he was still doing honest work, despite the rebellion?

"Komban wa, Murakami-san." She returned his handshake. "Shall we discuss our current concerns out here, in the cold? Or is there someplace else you would feel more comfortable?"

Murakami's handshake was firm, but not overly so. Kotori felt the strength in his grip, and he used less than he had. A show of respect, perhaps?

"I have lived in the cold for so long, I think I no longer feel it," the man said in Yamataian, politely laughing. "But it is not a place for talk. My house is close, and I believe my wife already has made us tea."

The walk was uneventful, with Murakami hardly a step in front of Kotori. Knowing he had to lead the way put him before her, but Kotori saw how he seemed uncomfortable. As old as he was, he was respectful of the Ketsurui clan.

Murakami stopped a few hundred meters down the road and turned into a rowhouse just like any other, though his had a gold star painted to the right of the door. He opened the door and called out to his wife, who replied in kind, and he turned to look at Kotori and Kei. "Please come in; make yourselves at home."

Inside, the home was like a farmhouse, with pretty wallpaper, hardwood floors, simple furniture, generous use of the dim natural light. Candles brightened up nooks and dark spots, along with oil lamps leading to the kitchen. Murakami didn't take them there, instead going for the small living room.

He took a worn, comfortable looking chair, facing away from the window looking out onto the street. Kotori now had her back to a wall, but she also could see the door and outside if she wanted. No one took away any of her weapons, or Kei's. They got to sit on a well used red couch with white trim and flowers on it. Kotori could see built-up dirt in the white of the flowers.

"Thank you for coming again," he said, sticking to Yamataian. He bowed his head from the chair, placing his hands on the wide coffee table between them. "The previous time was my fault."

"There is no need to dwell on the past. The reason I have come is to help us all walk toward a better future," Kotori graciously returned, letting him off the hook but also pushing the conversation further toward her intended subject matter. "You lead a movement whom has grieviances against the Imperial government. I am here to hear you out and offer solutions to your predicament."

She didn't touch the tea, for now. There was an unspoken agreement that despite the nekovalkyrja resistance to toxins and chemicals that Kei would taste first and give her the all clear.

Kei leaned in when tea finally was served. She sipped it. Her eyes went blank for a moment as her body analyzed what was inside. The all clear was her setting the tea back down. Samurai, after all, weren't supposed to eat or drink in front of others.

Kotori saw Kei looking at it, though. When she picked up her own cup, she smelled a healthy amount of honey in it.

"It is gracious of the Premier to take notice of our troubles," Murakami said. "You can see that we are only so blessed in this part of the Ketsurui's home. Heat is hardest to come by, as the young and old still need it. Food is becoming increasingly scarce, much of it going to our most needy."

Heat? Kotori hadn't expected there to be energy problems. Not in a nation that relied on aetheric power so much.

She raised her own tea cup as she spoke: "I knew of your food provisioning troubles and believe there are workable solutions we can reach. The heating problems, though, are new to me. Could you explain?"

"The Ketsurui clan cut off power to this section, hoping to convince us of the error of our ways," Murakami said. "We learn to find our own heat, and we have almost finished a small powerplant that can power the section's basic needs. We hope to have it operational within the month. Our food supply will benefit from that as well, we believe."

Kotori's left ear drooped in annoyance. It made sense, put like that, but she had expected freedom of speech to be tolerated enough to not have this measure used; especially during winter.

She moistened her lips on her tea as she ordered her thoughts. Then spoke. "If I had my way, Murakami-san, I would much rather not have your people — our people — go through this."

"You may see your occupations as unglamorous and feel you are looked down upon... but your roles help support the pillars of our society here," she continued, her voice earnest. "The only reason the governmental organizations may seem more favored is because we can better keep track of them and thier needs; and that helps us ration accordingly. Even if those organizations would move away, there would still be a need for the work the people you represent do."

"Please understand that had we at all the choice, no one would go hungry at all." She set the tea cup back down. "I admire the resourcefulness and effort you've demonstrated in trying to take control of the situation, but KnI is not the only region affected by the food shortages. But it is the only region demonstrating such unrest, while others also suffering are being far more cooperative."

"We can understand that you would be willing to go at great lengths to silence the growling bellies of your loved ones," the Ketsurui princess admitted before sitting straight, her hawk-like stare signifying she was now all business. "So, I am here to convey to you a proposal that will restore heat to your homes, and repurpose the energies you've devoted to your protests into something which will directly help your brethren obtain the food they need to sustain their families, for you and all the people of Yamatai."

Murakami thought hard over the princess's words. There was a lot there to consider — to most people. But for Murakami, there was only one thing that needed to be considered.

"Our fellow imperial citizens accept what is given to them, Princess," he said. "That is not our way. We forge our lives with our own hands. Ketsurui Zaibatsu is quasi-government. They know all we have done, and all that we need. They simply choose not to fulfill those needs. Thus, we are left with the regrettable choice of forging our own needs, too. Order, prosperity, happiness — government cannot provide these things if government controls us, instead of us controlling them."

Murakami smiled. "Your proposal no doubt is noble, Princess. But our true demand is not one of food or labor — it is freedom.

"We want self-governance."

Kotori blinked, slowly. She felt thwarted. In what Yuumi and she had discussed, they had not quite prepared for this blunt a demand. Her loss for words felt like a vicegrip on her throat. How was she supposed to fight that? What was she supposed to counter that with?

You're thinking about it wrong, she realized. This isn't a fight. This is you, in a position to achieve the dream you wanted. To help make a better, wiser, nobler Yamatai.

Be his princess. Serve your people by caring for them. By relating to them. By helping them solve their problems. Inspire them with hope.

Wasn't that what she told Tom being a princess was about?

Then...

"Do you think a rebellious movement, raised for such selfish reasons, is one that can be truly fulfilled?"

The princess shook her head no. She hands joined over her lap, fingers interlacing with each other. "I am sorry, Murakami-san, but this princess has no magic wand to make your wishes all conveniently come true. Many provinces on Yamatai are lean with food shortages, fat with displaced refugees, or otherwise scarred by the Battle of Yamatai. Appealing so conveniently to your desires as a result of your protests would spread chaos and anarchy across the planet."

"Nor will building an independent entity gather much approval or support by the Imperial government," Kotori continued, building some momentum and confidence. "The United Outer Colonies started with significantly more auspicious circumstances and peacefully at that. But unfortunately the noble dream that was the UOC did not stand up to reality when the Mishhuvurthyar crossed their borders. That fledgling nation collapsed, and there was only suffering for those displaced."

"That wound is too fresh. The Imperial government is not ready to risk a repeat of that," she reasonably added. "Your demand will come forward ringing as a rebellious teenager not knowing what is good for him... and the Imperial government, akin to any parent whom believes they know best for their children, will keep deciding for you. They will be made to feel right, even after an unfortunate show of force, because you will not have shown them otherwise."

"But there is hope," she then assured him. "At the International Relations Conference, the Premier has worked hard to obtain agreements from other species... agreements to send supplies that would help alleviate our food shortages."

"But these alien foodstuffs are not suitable for immediate consumption." She leaned forward slightly, as if in complicity. "But this is where you could come in. I am ready to give you and your supporters the means to build a food processing plant. It would be yours to run, as a cooperative. You would process the incoming foodstuffs, feed yourselves, and then provide for the rest of the Empire. In time, becoming your own private sector should be within reach."

"For this to happen, we must mend our bonds," Kotori earnestly told him, sitting straighter to empower herself with all the dignity she could muster. "You must be able to trust me to empower you with what you need to move forward; and I must trust that you will use that power responsibly to help me save our people."

"Please help me make our people happier, Murakami-san," the Princess quietly plead. "Not just here. Everywhere."

" ... " The man looked stunned. He said nothing at first, before abruptly standing.

"I ... I do not think you heard me," Murakami slowly said, verbally swiping to regain control of the conversation from the young princess.

"She did," said a woman's voice from the right of Kotori. She and Kei — and Murakami — saw an elderly woman, streaks of grey in her long black hair, slightly frizzy from cold damage and tied into a braid over her shoulder. She wore a worn apron of tan workman's canvas over a heavy blue wool dress and boots, with her hands at her sides.

Her face was what struck Kotori. If Murakami's face was formed into a craggy surface, his wife's was a single, sharp edge, from her temples to her nose, the only sign of aging being crows feet from her eyes. Her black eyes were gun barrels leveled at her husband, and they were loaded to kill.

"Foolish manly pride," she fired in Yamataian, an older style that used a tone and conjugation that blended masculine and feminine. "We are starving, freezing, wasting away. Yet you pin our lives upon a dream! We are survivors. You forget that!"

"What is to say they will not take it from us!" Murakami growled back. "I will not give up at the first sign of achieving our goal. We must press until our destiny is ours again!"

"At the cost of youth's blood," she fired again, spitting it out. "We will have no destiny if we all die. You ignore not just a handout of bread, but the keys to a bakery."

"That they could steal from us!" Murakami fumed. "They will not give us what we want without feeling enough pain, Michiko!"

"Do not speak of pain like you know it," Michiko said. "I care for the women and children while you and the men eat to guard a gate they could smash at any time. The Lady Princess offers us a destiny that we can control, if we earn it."

"The way to earn a destiny is to fight for it!"

"And die?"

"If it must be so, it must be so."

"I will not die for that," Michiko said, "and the others won't either. Your pride will kill us, Kerry. Kill our children, and their children!"

"You would have me give up! All would be for nothing!"

They were interrupted by a sharp sound, much like a knife cutting through melon. And then a thump.

Kotori had silently stood up during the argument. She had pulled at her left sleeve, retracting it until her shoulder was exposed. Then one of Eve's sickles fell into her right hand and in a swift rising cut, the crescent-shaped blade was plunged through the left armpit and beyond.

A pale arm had fallen limply to the floor, with surprisingly little blood shed. Both arm and stump only oozed viscous crimson fluid, rather than the typical fountaining of blood a severed artery — let alone limb — would usually cause.

The princess sagged, her amber-eyes wide with shock; with no battle vying for her attention, all she had to focus on was the hurt of her self-inflicted mutilation. An explosive sigh hissed out of her teeth, and a steadying breath was taken in. Breathe! This was harder than she had thought it would be.

Then Kotori lifted her eyes up, spitting Kerry's with their amber glare. Is this enough pain for you, Murakami? Enough pain for your sake? Do I look sincere enough to you now?

Michiko and Kerry gawked.

Michiko was frozen with the sight of the blood, the stump, the blade that had come from nowhere and lopped off the arm. That the Neko's Samurai guard only looked at her charge with wide eyes, and didn't jump into battle, suggested it wasn't so bad. Michiko shivered anyway, the sight of such violence stirring fear and panic in her. She looked to Kerry to do something!

Kerry didn't. He looked on at the arm, then at Kotori, clearly in pain, fighting the shock and somehow winning. He knew Neko — NH-17 or 27 would not feel such pain. Kotori was NH-29; there was no other explanation.

That a Ketsurui princess would cut off her own arm to make a point to someone so low in the unofficial hierarchy was unprecedented. Kerry saw more, though — desperation, passion, urgency. The civilian government and the Ketsurui clan wanted this handled, handled now and with the least amount of bloodshed possible.

Of his men, some were ready to fight; others wanted to go back to work. No one, however, wanted to die. Not even him. Freedom cost blood, but if he lost his own, the conflict could dissolve with his men's morale.

Kotori looked on the pale side of consciousness, in the home of a likely enemy. She stood, giving no attention to the stump staining her majestic garment with blood. Kerry believed she would stand even if she did lose consciousness.

No Ketsurui he knew of would do such a thing. Who was this princess?

Michiko finally stumbled away to get something for Kotori's arm. Kerry leaned forward from his chair, scrutinizing Kotori with narrowed eyes.

"You ... are not like the others," he admitted. "The premier picked a strange negotiator ... but noble."

As Michiko came in with wet and dry rags, Kei stood up and took them from the panicked woman. She kneeled down to the stump and held up the dry rag, silently questioning Kotori about whether she wanted to apply it herself or have Kei do it.

"You are serious," Kerry continued, firmly. "I did not believe the Ketsurui would deal in good faith. I will discuss your proposal with my men, to see if they are willing."

Kotori mouthed a 'not yet' to Kei. In her remaining hand, the princess dexterously flipped back the kama blade back into its handle before shoving the folded weapon into her obi. She slowly bent down, and picked up her own arm by the crook of the elbow.

"This is red-meat," she spoke hoarsely. "It is worth a meal, perhaps two. Here, now, giving it away is what I can do to help save our people from hunger. I would give away my legs too if it meant saving more lives. But if your people accept my proposal, we all — together — would be able to save so many more."

Kerry saw past the logical issue with the idea of eating Neko meat.

For a Ketsurui to offer her very flesh? To feed peasants?

He could not believe it. Such a thing ... it was not done! Yet he saw it with his own eyes. That kind of dedication to an ideal, whatever it might be, was greater than Kerry's. He knew that, seeing the pale, weakened princess hold out her severed arm to feed them. Strangers she didn't know, who were hostile to her.

Kerry bowed his head. Shame weighed on his neck. He could not say no to the princess. Not in the face of such dedication.

"I will ... press them to accept," he said. "They will listen. When it is done, I will see the barricades are removed, and that we put our weapons away.

"Hime-sama. This ... thank you."

Kotori's expression combined a happy smile with the grimace of a woman on the verge of weeping. Weeping in relief. She let out a tremulous breath and asked: "Can you accept my offering?"

"No," Kerry said, tears hanging in his eyes too. "It is too much."

"Then go. I will stay here until I am on the mend enough to travel. Perhaps long enough to have your final answer," the princess told him.

 

[Fred]

" ... The factory will be at full production in about three months," the representative, a young Yamataian man in a flat cap, said as Yuumi nodded from her office's desk. "We will be at 1/3 production within two weeks, and our distribution systems will be at optimum efficiency by then. We should be able to start shipment within by then, with off-world shipments ready the week after."

A volumetric panel blinked on at the corner of Yuumi's vision, over the door. It was a picture showing who was on the other side — Kei, the Samurai. The report I really need.

"Thank you Jensen," Yuumi said, leaning in toward the desk-"mounted" panel. "If there's anything more you need, let me know personally."

Jensen dipped his head. "Thank you, Premier." The screen restored to her usual assortment of monitors. "Let her in," she said toward one, giving her assistent permission to let the Samurai in.

Kei strode in with the contained gusto of a soldier reporting good news to a respected superior. She bowed to the Premier, then took a seat on the other side of the desk.

"Well?"

"She was ... really cool!" Kei gushed, eyes flying wide and her body leaning forward to tell a great tale. "She was calm and then she was really edgy and hard and then she sliced off her own arm and offered it up as nutrition because they were all starving just to convince them she was sincere and she let the housewife sew it back on and she did it! She got them to agree and they were respectful even after she dodged them with words; nothing but words — "

Yuumi held up a hand. Kei stopped and blushed.

"Slower."

Kei took a deep breath. Yuumi smiled and bid her to continue.

"She showed great passion," Kei said, adopting her best Samurai pose and tone. "She wasted no time or words. The representative, Murakami, talked a lot, and she let him. When it was her turn, though, she was firm, but tried to concede what she could. She wasn't as capable as you are, Premier, but she succeded."

"She did do that," Yuumi exhaled, leaning back. "Slicing her own arm was extreme. She can't do that every time, but she's got guts. She might even become a diplomat someday."

"A princess as a diplomat?" Kei asked.

"I'm a former Empress," Yuumi said, "and look at me. Royalty make the best ambassadors because they carry gravitas and presence wherever they go. It sometimes backfires, but it works a lot more often. It's a narrow line to walk though. Probably why my sister became a warrior full-time — she is poorly suited for politics."

"Oh," Kei said, nervous.

"Relax," Yuumi said with a smile. "Yui's not going to burst through the wall and cut you down for hearing my thoughts on her. She knows anyway." The former Empress looked around the room, implication clear to the young Samurai.

"Where is she now?" Yuumi asked.

"With her mo — with Ketsurui-sensei," Kei corrected.

"Recuperating then. Good. I have to prepare her next assignment. Thank you, Kei. You did well."

Kei went stiff in her seat and bowed — nearly into the desk. "T-thank you, Premier!"

Yuumi laughed behind closed lips. "Dismissed, Samurai."

"Yes! Thank you, Premier!" Kei stood, bowed again, spun on a heel and slipped out, confidence somewhere in the stratosphere of Yamatai.