“Nothing at all?” Tessa asked, breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Sailor sighed. “Fighting it’s no good.”
For some reason, a song began playing in Tessa’s mind. It was a sad blues melody she’d heard a long time ago—Sho Nuf I Do, by Elmore James.
I love her even if she doesn’t love me. Even if it’s hopeless, I still love her. That was what the lyrics meant. Remembering that tune, so out-of-place on Christmas, she turned her eyes downward.
“I’m in a similar situation,” she found herself saying again. I’m just like Commander Sailor. We’re both haunted by the same demons...
Sailor cast a glance at Tessa. “Got a guy you like, huh?”
“Yes. But he...” It had fallen out of her mind in all the chaos, but now Tessa remembered. After they’d parted ways at the vault, she’d followed after Kaname, hoping to chat with her. As a result, she’d overheard their conversation in front of the elevator.
That awkward conversation between Sousuke and Kaname... Even the world’s most oblivious person would have been able to pick up the special vibe between them, and it had driven home to Tessa that she had no place there.
He really doesn’t see me at all, she’d realized. He only sees her... That was right. “I think I’ve lost him entirely,” she lamented.
“Ah. Well... if it’s your gut telling you that, it means you probably have,” Sailor agreed sadly.
“Yes...”
Sailor thumbed subtly at the tears forming in his eyes, then hesitated a moment, and said, “I’m not exactly Mr. Romantic Experience here, but... you’re young, and you’re really nice. You’ll find a better guy in no time.” It was the most heartfelt thing he’d said yet.
“Do you really think so?” Tessa asked quietly.
“Yeah. Just make sure he’s a proper sea dog,” Sailor advised. “Landlubbers can’t be trusted.”
Tessa giggled, and smiled teasingly, at last. “Perhaps I’ll consider you, then, Sailor-san.”
But Sailor just waved dismissively. “Not gonna happen. One, I don’t go for kids. Two, I like brunettes with big tits.” He cackled.
Tessa scowled at him. “Are you completely unaware of social graces?” she grumbled, but Sailor just kept laughing.
One of the cooks in the back of the kitchen called out, “Hey, you, guitar-playing terrorist guy. Yeah, you. I need some cans of whole tomatoes. Can you bring me as many as you can find in the back?”
“Sure. Whole tomatoes, huh?” Kurz, still wearing his mask and his rifle on a strap over his shoulder while he packed in some leftover canapes, clapped his hands together, then went searching around the kitchen shelves. “Huh... I only see two left.”
The cook, standing in front of the bubbling, steaming pot, let out a moan. “Are you kidding me? Ugh, dammit. That’s right. It’s not our usual crowd. Can’t believe how fast those high school kids can pack it in, though...”
“That’s puberty for you,” Kurz said sympathetically.
“Sorry, but could you fetch some from the hold below?” the cook begged. “I need about two boxes’ worth. This stew’s no good without tomatoes.”
“You got it,” Kurz promised. “Whereabouts would I find them?”
“It should be obvious enough once you’re down there,” the cook told him. “They’ve got signs posted around with dates and contents.”
“Roger that.” Kurz asked the PRT soldier in the kitchen with him to hold down the fort, then headed for the cargo hold alone. He passed through a dim passage, then down some stairs. He’d heard about the attack on Yang and Wu, so he had to stay vigilant.
The ship was full of storage rooms. The one right below the kitchen was filled with shelf-safe ingredients for the grand ballroom, furniture of various sizes, and stage equipment. He expected Yang and Wu would be on patrol in the area right about now.
Kurz turned his radio on. “Uruz-6 to Uruz-9. I’m heading your way. Don’t shoot me by accident.” There was no response.
“Yang-kun,” he tried again. “Where’s that reply? Teacher’s gonna mark you absent...” No response. It was strange. Normally, Yang’d have responded ‘Uruz-9, roger’ immediately.
“Uruz-9, respond. Uruz-9.” Kurz decided to stop playing around and call him one more time, but there was still no response. He had no more luck with attempts to contact Wu, who should have been with him.
He then called in to operations HQ on the bridge. “Uruz-6 to HQ. Code 11. Area C3. Tighten the ring.”
“HQ, roger. Be careful,” Clouseau responded.
Did that amateur get you again? C’mon, guys... Tightening his hold on his rifle’s grip, Kurz approached the hold. The gun’s long barrel made the corridor feel especially narrow.
Tonight, Kurz’s weapon of choice was an assault rifle with an automatic function; a German-made one with a 7.62mm barrel. It had been modified to increase its accuracy, but it wasn’t a sniper rifle—long-range guns were useless in an enclosed space like this.
He approached the door to the cargo hold and listened. He could hear a low whirring sound—almost, but not quite, like the buzz of fluorescent lights—and the faint splash of footsteps in water.
No... whatever that was, it was more viscous than water. There was something almost sticky about it. He couldn’t explain why, but the presence didn’t feel human. Strange. Well, wondering about it won’t do any good, he told himself. Kurz took in a deep breath, opened the door wide, and stepped into the hold.
The cargo hold, illuminated dimly, was larger than he’d expected. It was a high-ceilinged room, full of neat lines of small cargo containers, palettes stacked high with cardboard boxes, and furniture, some with glass and mirrors.
Too many blind spots... Kurz moved further into the hold, readying his rifle carefully.
One of the containers on his left side was open. He looked over, curiously. No, it wasn’t simply open—the door was bent and twisted, as if it had been torn off of its hinges. Something inside the container had forced its way out. Something terribly strong.
He had a bad feeling about this. It was a sensation one couldn’t acquire through training alone. It wasn’t a sense
