Chapter 14
Affections Akimbo

“Six months later.... when all hearts turn blindly to lust...”

Today was Friday, once again, and once again Kururu was presented with a show that was becoming so commonplace and on-schedule that he wasn't surprised in the least when Hanene pounced upon him as he walked into his lab. Here she goes again. I never get any work done on Fridays anymore, he thought sullenly as she writhed above him. I used to think that I wouldn't need goats anymore. Now I wouldn't mind one in the least!

He watched her familiar dance of seduction as his mind wandered. Finally, her sex-capade ended with her straddling his belly, but instead of removing herself and skipping off like a cat who ate the canary, she put her hands on her hips, as if she was about to admonish him. "I've been looking at our Leave and Earnings Statements," she said quite plainly, "and I have leave coming up, and so do you." She pointed an accusing finger at his snout. "You haven't taken leave for fifteen years." She emphasized those last two words by poking him on the nose for each syllable.

"So?" he drawled. "If I take leave, I only end up doing what I normally do anyway."

"So," she she said, as if she didn't hear his previous sentence, "We are going on vacation."

Kururu's eyes widened. He gulped. Finally he absorbed the information. Mental gears spun, ground and shattered - along with the left lens of his glasses. With a tinkle a shard fell to the tile floor. "We... are... going on vacation?" Kururu asked, dumbfounded.

"Exactly", she chirped. "So get your things ready. We leave Monday. Don't worry; I filled out the proper paperwork and filed it last week." She hopped sprightly from atop him, whistling a jaunty tune, and bounded out the double sliding doors. Just as the doors were about to close she poked her head back through and called, "And Hey! No electronics! You need a break from that stuff. We leave first thing Monday morning. See you then!" The door closed again and Kururu could hear Hanene's whistle piping as she rode away on the slidewalk.

Once again, Kururu lay stunned. I don't WANT to go on vacation! He thought petulantly. Even if I DID want to go, I wouldn't want to go with Mrs. Sexy Psycho! If only she liked someone else...

Suddenly, a light came on in the yellow hacker's head, and he sat straight up, as if someone had just poked him somewhere sensitive. "That's it!" He shouted. He jumped up and sat down at his faithful computer. He opened his CAD program in one window, and shifted out iconics for the physics helper. With his hand already typing formula, he opened a presentation application in another window. He developed his virtual prototype with one hand and his presentation with the other

If I can just make it seem as though my invention is another ploy to take over Pokopen, it's as good as paid for. "A good presentation is key!" His shrill giggling at his own genius encompassed the lab. On-screen a design for a double-barreled hip-gun slowly took shape.

----

Keroro lounged at his console. His feet were up. His back was reclined. His head lolled. His eyes were closed. He did not notice Kururu's noisome entrance through the swishing door. He didn't pay any attention as Kururu strode across the spotless, shiny tile. He didn't move as the yellow hacker-frog stood at his elbow. He was asleep. He wanted to stay asleep. His fingers were clenching and unclenching as though grinding imaginary throats. His nostrils exhausted short and rapid gasps.

Kururu was tempted to press the eject button on the armrest of the chair. He was sorely tempted. He could vividly imagine Keroro flying ceiling-wards with his arms and legs flailing and his hands clawing the air for solidity. He would scream and smoosh satisfyingly against the lighting fixtures and then peel cleanly away and fall like a very heavy leaf back to the deck. That would be fun, kukukukuku, but I need his help. Kururu sighed and instead shook his leader's arm.

Keroro stirred sleepily, then snorted. Kururu shook him harder, Keroro started. His eyes opened and widened. He sat bolt upright and his arms flailed. The chair reacted by snapping out of recline mode. The spring in the base recoiled the backrest and flung the green frog forward, off the Naugahyde cushion, face-first into the console. His face flattened into the controls and he stuck for a second before he oiled bonelessly onto the floor.

"Kukukuku," Kururu giggled. That was almost as much fun! Kururu extended his hand. Keroro gripped his forearm and the hunchback hauled his comrade to a wobbly stand.

Keroro looked unharmed, but his eyes were bloodshot. He blinked several times. Slowly and then more rapidly. He sneezed a blob of mucus onto the floor. He frowned at Kururu and then gingerly flopped back into his chair, "Kero!" he grunted. "I was in the middle of a great dream. What the frot do you want Kururu?"

Kururu clucked. He paced. He tried to look as though he regretted waking his leader, but utterly failed. "I am very excited!" he enthused. "I have devised a plan to conquer Pokopen. This one will greatly please headquarters. It may even earn you a promotion!"

Keroro perked up. He raised his eye-ridges. He opened his eyes wide. Promotion means more pay. Pay means more credits. Credits means more yen at the Exchequer. More Yen means more Gunpla! "You have my full attention. Out with it Sergeant Major. What is this plan that will bring me riches?"

"Yare-yare. I press." Kururu triggered the pocket remote and the monitor above cleared to display the first card of his carefully prepared media show. As the screen cleared he giggled, The screen showed a montage of random Pokopenian's all culled from the nightly video broadcasts. They were all in groups - playing games, laughing while eating, hugging, kissing, or involved in intimate behaviors. "These primate Pokopenians are primitive communal creatures", Kururu intoned. "They cannot stand to be alone. They seek each others' company and form deep and lasting bonds. Not just with each other, but with organization, products, and studies. They may call the people wife, husband, boyfriend, girlfriend or lover. They may say loyalty or brand-recognition or hobbies. All those different words boil down to one thing... "

The screen crossfaded to display a single character-word: "AFFECTION".

Keroro nodded. He understood the Pokopenian mind at least that well. There are so many things which they affectionate. So many interesting ways they can distract themselves. He's only just scratching the surface, but he's correct. He nodded again, this time in Kururu's direction, "Continue."

"Affection. No matter what form it takes is a conditioned reaction in the Pokopenian brain - a chemical response to the specific stimulation of a neural network with a feedback reward that re-enforces and sustains the affection." The screen displayed a Pokopenian head in simplified cross-section. "This is true of any intelligent being's brain. Now, suppose we could snapshot the neural network, and copy it to other Pokopenian brains?" The cross-section shrunk to the left side of the screen and three new cross-sections faded in on the right. Arrows connecting the first cross-section to the other three indicated the copying of the affection. "Then we could force multiple Pokopenians to all affectionate the same particular thing! And that thing should be..." Kururu clicked the frame advance.

A picture of Keroro appeared, "You! We shall copy the affection of someone who likes you and then..." he clicked over to an animation and described the on-screen action, "... from an orbital platform we shall blanket all of Pokopen with this affection. Every intelligent being on this planet will love you Sergeant-san. You will be uppermost in their mind. They will lay down their arms and surrender if you so demand and they will be glad to do it!"

Kero! Keroro thought, it's soooo simple; it might even work. We can conquer this mud ball without even firing a shot... okay, well two shots to be honest, but Wow! "Wow." he repeated, "But if all the Pokopenians are busy worshiping me, they won't do anything productive? They'll all die of terminal neglect?"

"No." Kururu explained. "The weapon will not erase their earlier affections. It just moves you to the top of the list and pushes all other affections down further. They won't forget to eat, or drink, or..." Kururu covered his nostrils as though encountering a putrid odor, "...shower." Just don't piss them off, there is no fury like six thousand million spurned Pokopenians. "So, do I have your order? I must requisition several expensive supplies from headquarters."

"How much?" Keroro asked with dread. "How poor are you about to make me?"

Kururu told him.

"Kero!" Keroro swooned. That's more than I expected, but we've saved a lot by not invading in the last, almost, year... "Okay. Mois will requisition whatever you need. Can you demonstrate this weapon in three weeks? Will that be enough time?" At Kururu's nod, Keroro yawned. He waved the inventor away "Now, if you don't mind; I want to go back to sleep?"

Kururu tossed a lazy salute at the already somnolent Keroro. "This time next month all of Pokopen will worship you." the yellow hacker declared as he retreated from the room. Or at least that psycho sex-tease will be off my back before that "vacation".

----

Kururu adjusted the final screw, which bound the polished, spring-stick stock to the orange chrome frame. He smiled down at his work and giggled at his own ingenuity. He'd set twin mini viewers to either side of the recoil jets and their curved arcs formed the seating for the telescopic sight. He could fire the psi-charge from his hip like an Uzi, or by folding the stock downwards and employing the sights, he could snipe a target from long distances. He lifted the weapon and hefted it.

"Assume it works," he murmured between fits of giggles. "Who do I shoot first?" He placed the gun on the workbench and wiped an errant smear off grease off the otherwise gleaming curves. "Who do I want that sexy blue bitch chasing?" 

He stopped himself. I did not just say that. He snorted to reassure himself that indeed he did not like Hanene, that she definitely couldn't haul him away on vacation, because he didn't want a vacation and even if he did want one, he didn't want one with her! He plugged the gun into the fusion charger and hopped from his lab stool. He clicked his left lens over to video surveillance mode and paced - up one side of the lab table, and then down the other. He clucked to himself. Proving new weapons is problematic, without my favorite test subject... Giroro would have been great! Hanene could chase Natsumi! Or maybe she'd sit around polishing guns and knives obsessively? The first would be amusing, but the Tease is dangerous enough unarmed. And it doesn't matter; no Giroro.

He clicked to the next monitor - Keroro, armed with tweezers and a jewelers' monocle, was carefully applying decals to his latest Gundam creation. Kururu thought of a Hanene obsessed with Gunpla. She'd certainly be harmless that way, but she might get his affection for Mois and I couldn't have that! I need someone with a strong and overwhelming affection - an affection so powerful I could predict the transfer effect with ease.

He shuffled through a series of cameras. Mois? Maybe, but then Hanene might want to destroy Pokopen and we couldn't have that... but HEY after I shoot Hanene I could shoot Mois and then she'd forget Keroro! I could take her on vacation. Kururu salivated at that prospect. Nice idea, that. Save it for later... He flicked through the next series of images: Fuyuki? No,... Dororo... Tamama... No and no. The planet and Keroro, or maybe snack foods? Nothing... Flick. Me?

He looked up at the lab's monitor camera and watched himself shake his head. No, not a good idea. Who do I affectionate more than Mois except maybe myself? He blinked through the next few camera vantages and cycled through the off-base ones... Mama Aki, Paul, no I wouldn't want her obsessed with work. For all I know she considers seducing me part of her job description! Kukukuku! He returned to scanning the Hinata home. Flick. Flick. F-l-l-lick.

Wait! Backflick.

Natsumi had removed her top and brassier and was sliding down her jeans. A tub of steaming water swirled at the end of the bathroom. Natsumi... Saburo? He chuckled. Kukukuku! If Hanene were to chase Saburo; Natsumi would kill her! I'll never have to worry about the blue bitch again! Perfect!

----

Kururu was all smiling. The hunt of Natsumi had been particularly uneventful. He'd waited until she was fully relaxed in her tub with the curtain drawn. He'd slid into the bathroom and pulled the left-hand trigger on the No Love Lost gun, as he now proclaimed it to be. Natsumi had been wrapped in energy and her hands had flown to her temples: a sudden headache. The headache, the glow, and Kururu were gone before she'd had the slightest inclination to look towards the door. He was certain the gun contained a full load of Natsumi-Saburo affection.

That had been yesterday afternoon. This morning the children had left for school. Mama Aki had left for work. Keroro had woken early to build his models because the afternoon was reserved for live-fire exercises with Tamama. Mois was presumably still asleep in her little cubby at the back of the store room - he had no cam there; he was made nervous when he watched her. Instead, Kururu had watched his spy-cam in the Bunks. Hanene had slept through the morning and then stuffed her duffel with vacation necessities. After hours of sorting, folding, and stuffing, she had hoisted her supplies over her shoulders and soldiered from the sight of his cams.

"She's on her way," he'd chuckled and taken the gun from the edge of his programmer's desk. That was five minutes ago...

There was a beep at the door and Kururu hunkered down behind the gurney. He peeked over the crisp white sheets and took careful aim at the door. I should have practiced more at the range, he lamented, I didn't have time to add targeting correction. Hmmm... targeting correction? I should have... he was half-way tempted to order Hanene to go away so that he could modify the weapon but even as he thought to do so, his lips parted and he hissed, "Come in."

The door oiled open and Hanene glided through. She was humming to herself - some Pokopenian melody about vacations and all she ever wanted - as she scanned the room. Kururu's knuckles whitened on the trigger guard. He exhaled deeply, with deft determination, and aim that would have impressed even the infamous sniper Garuru, he depressed the trigger.

The crazy tangle of Natsumi's energetically encoded affection snarled out of the gun as if he had dumped a bag full of mating neon serpents on the air. They oriented, flew forth and impacted Hanene's face just as her gaze turned towards him.

Her half-lidded eyes opened wide for a shocked second and she whirled within the tangle. "What the Pox!" she bellowed. Then she calmed. Instantly, serenely, she closed her eyes and smiled.

And the beams coalesced, wrapped themselves into a yarn-ball of frantically tangled energy and flashed away. Too quickly for Kururu's eye to follow; they whisked away through the ceiling...

----

Fuyuki's eyes were closed. His finished test lay neatly composed on the desk in front of him. His apron was safely stowed away in his bookbag. Home Economics was a stupid thing to take, he regretted, if the whole point was to get away from Momoka? Last term he'd been shocked when she'd sat next to him in maths, bemused when she was behind him in social studies, perplexed when she'd angled for a seat in front of him in geology, and utterly annoyed when she'd plunked herself down in the library during his study time. Did she buy her way into all my classes? he wondered. Or maybe she just likes what I like? He chanced a glance at her.

She was busily bent over the pretend ledger for an "average home" and was chewing on her pencil eraser as she struggled through the sums. She caught him looking at her and he quickly glanced away. He conjured up thoughts of the various folklore demons that could potentially be summoned to deal with her.

Without warning his temples were throbbing. His vision was dazzled. He gripped the edge of the table for support.

Momoka looked worried.

Then his vision cleared, and he smiled...

----

High in the tower overlooking residential Osaka, Tamama was gorging himself on freshwater sushi and Dorito crisps. Crumbs and rice were scattered everywhere and the kitchen staffman, ever watchful, would refill the bowl just as he finished the last crumb. I can't help it, he thought, I need to be in proper shape for Gunso-san. I need a lot of energy if we're going to do live fire exercises.

Suddenly his temples pounded and his head felt like it might explode. His brain felt turned inside out. He pushed himself back from the table, toppling his high chair and screamed. Quite without meaning to, his implants connected and a whipsaw of energy shot over his parted lips, scorched the tabletop and Impacted on the chandelier. The glass fixture held to the ceiling for a moment before falling with a crash. The table broke cleanly in half. Snacks and remnants splashed in random directions.

The headache had vanished.

The server looked at the frog, studiously blank, and curiously silent.

"I think I've had enough", burped Tamama from his prone position on the floor.

----

Momoka bent over the budget she was creating. So little money, she thought, and so much a proper home needs. How do these people survive without a maid service? She chanced a glance upwards to where Fuyuki's papers were neatly corralled at the corner of his desk.. Fuyuki's already done. He's so smart...

He was also so staring at her.

She smiled her best and uncertain smile and he immediately looked away and then bent forward holding his temples. What's wrong with him? she wondered.

A millisecond later she felt it too; a pain stabbing deep into the back of her skull. She dropped her pencil and it rolled away. The pain lasted only for a second and then was gone. Fuyuki was looking at her all eyes and ears, but Momoka found she wasn't concerned. Let him look...

She was suddenly very hungry.

----

"The subject appears to have developed a headache, Sir!" The guard was uniformed in the navy blue fatigues of a Nishizawa protection unit and his beret was canted carelessly off one ear. His eyes were glued to the lens of the monocular telescope, which pointed out the window of the apartment building and downwards. A bowl of fried noodles sat on the counter to his left. It was untouched.

Instantly, blue suited security units and white jacketed doctors sprang into action. Screens of medical statistics bloomed to life. Vital statistics were displayed: heartbeat, respiration, pulse, skin resistance - anything that would detect the incursion of disease or pain into little Momoka's life. Paul rose stiffly from his seat. If little Momoka knew about the sensors Daddy wove into her clothes and planted in her jewelry; she'd shit bricks. Paul appraised, And five seconds later I'd know about it. He coughed. It's necessary though. She's the heir after all - healthy and protected. The corporation must be protected.

The corporate doctor frowned and tapped his pencil on the desk... "No, she's just hungry," he said with disappointment. "Maybe you should dispatch a sandwich to her Paul? Or a picnic lunch from the looks of her blood sugar."

Do you want me to wait around to wipe her mouth too, Paul brooded, if my loyalty for Nishizawa-san were not total, if I did not love the corporation; I'd not be... he suddenly felt a wave of stabbing pain between his temples that dug into his hindbrain and squelched the remainder of his thought.

"Paul." said the Chief Doctor urgently, "Paul."

Paul shook his head to clear it. "Yes?"

"You looked pained there for a second?" The Doctor looked only moderately concerned. Paul was on the corporate health plan after all.

"Not especially," Paul replied stiffly. "And now if you excuse me; I have a lunch to pack." He walked away and wobbled only slightly as he opened the door to the rented flat across the street from Kisshou Middle School.

----

Koyuki looked at Natsumi through the tangle of chemist's glassware. The flasks stretched her image lengthwise. The beakers stretched her vertically. No matter how they stretched her appearance she was still lovely, and she was still chatting with Saburo. The two of them were sitting nearly hip to hip on closely adjoining lab stools and he was explaining chemical titration and reaction charts to her and Natsumi was smiling. In her hand was a pencil and her other hand played with her fiery red hair.

Koyuki drew in a deep breath, half closed her eyes and picked out Natsumi's delicious fragrance from underneath the chemical smells and those of the other students. She repeated Dororo's words over and over, chanting them between her ears, "I can love Natsumi without being in love. I can love Natsumi without being in love. I can love...."

The headache was completely unexpected and Koyuki bleated a single note of agony as the others looked at her curiously. When the pain cleared she looked once again at Natsumi, but somehow, something in her head was different.

Could it be that this really works, she thought.

----

Giroro thrust the man-equin's fists in the air and pumped them. The crowd cheered and he resonated a deep basso voice over them "Giro-giro-giro!" And they responded in kind, "Giro-giro-giro!" They were all his "family", his clan, these American fans of a sport that didn't exist except in their minds. He went to his corner, doing his best to look fierce, and waited for the cage to rise above his head level. He hopped the rope enclosure.

For maybe the twentieth time that year he thought, a strattaker blast would make a better show than these artful contests of falsified fighting. He strutted to the exhibition stadium tunnel and pumped his fists and roared one final time before exiting. Even his amplified voice was lost in the crowd. He offed his body microphone.

He walked down the tunnel where the camera crew was setting up for the nightly stand-up for the XWF champion-belt holder. Giroro was familiar with his act: swearing at his enemies and promising to be king of the mountain, at the apex, forever. Messages for the children to stay in school and off drugs. Sometimes he varied his posturing, but always with the messages for the younger fans. I wonder who his writer is? Giroro pushed passed them without a word exchanged. He was more invisible to them without the NMP field.

Everyone thought his real face was a mask and the wrestling magazines wondered why he didn't take it off, ever, even for public appearances or reportedly, even in the shower. Besides, Giroro snorted, if I turned on the field on this primitive television; the home audience would see something different than the live audience. I discovered that very quickly. He needed a shower, for even though the suit did not sweat, the blazing Klieg lights dried his exposed natural skin to practically parchment.

The shower was most refreshing. He spoke to no-one, merely grunting when other wrestler-actors pounded him on the back or commented about his new moves. Keronian fighting technique works well here. The audience has not seen the like. On his exit from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist to hide the suits ejection lever, Sir Jeff caught him by the shoulder.

"Giroro, my man! How they hanging?" he exclaimed.

"Mine are internal", Giroro grunted. "What do you want?"

"I have great news", the jolly promoter enthused, "You're going to do the stand-up tonight. Think you can manage it?" Without pause he shoved a page into Giroro's bio-mechanical surrogate hand. "Here's the script."

Giroro scanned the page. "I have but one question. What are stee-roids?"

Sir Jeff looked like he had been shot, stricken. He whispered conspiratorially, "Steroids are what the Amazing Bulk takes to be bulky! He's been on them for years." He appraised Giroro's man-equin's expansive and muscular chest with the perfect six-pack of belly muscles and rock hard bulges at every point. "Don't you...?"

Giroro shrugged. I have no idea what he's talking about. "I have no idea of these steroids."

"Giroro", sighed Sir Jeff. He led him off to one side and lowered his voice as though he were talking to a tadpole, "They are drugs and they are illegal. The Bulk's numbers aren't what they used to be and so we have to take him out. Tonight you'll accuse him. He'll come out and make trouble. Next month we'll have a pay-per-view grudge match and if the Bulk's Nielson Recognition numbers don't improve before then; he'll lose. We'll pack him off to a nice rehab center and he can slip into retirement. You'll need a new name though... how about Mr. Clean?"

Giroro was still boggling. Sir Jeff had explained to him that ratings and recognition numbers - how many people could recognize a wrestler from a photograph - were all important tools. Recognizable wrestlers were stars. Stars made more money. If he replaced the Bulk; he might even have enough money to repair his skimmer. He snarled arrogantly at Jeff, "I am Giroro. I need no other name to be recognized as the most dangerous man in the Universe."

"So you'll do it!" Sir Jeff brightened. "Ah Giroro, my Man, we are just going to be rolling in it with your numbers! Now, give me a second to give the Bulk his script, and you look over yours. And then you'll out the door and say your lines for the camera."

Giroro nodded. He quickly committed the lines to memory. The usual Pokopenian-American drivel - truth, justice, and the American Way when the truth is money and power is nothing more or less. Long after he had memorized the words, dressed in his street finery - an expensive Armani suit that the XWF proctors had said would "Be marvy" on him and "make him look killer", he met Jeff at the locker room door. Jeff looked slight next to the enormity of the Amazing Bulk.

"Hey mate", greeted the Bulk in his native accent. "This gonna be some show, huh? No worries. Stuff's been shriveling my stoneys for years. Been looking to get home with the missus while I can still make the babies." He thumped Giroro on one silkened shoulder. "you ready for your first live one, mate? Let's do it!"

Giroro had not been expecting that reaction, nor did he expect the reaction on his exit. Flashbulbs were whining and popping in his face. A microphone was shoved practically under his nostrils. A little mousy "correspondent" - another hired actor - breathlessly intoned, "We're here with Giroro, whose unexpected victory tonight has made him the talk of Extreme Wrestling 2005! What's up for you next Giroro?

Giroro opened his mouth to reply when a wave of nausea hit him within the shell of the man-equin. He grimaced and growled into the microphone and shoved it down as extreme pain scudded across his temporal lobes, wrenched at his stomach, and then vanished. A sudden tornado of agony just as suddenly gone.

"I am here to take the championship. Nothing less. The Amazing Bulk is a fraud! He has used stee-roids for his entire career, while he tells children to 'stay off drugs'! He smells of hypocrisy and all that is evil in American Sports and I will take him down." Giroro declared. Now for that final line about the children and fans whom I most love and the Bulk has betrayed. The Bulk comes out and...

The Bulk slammed through the door and shoved Giroro roughly. Giroro pratfell and bounced back immediately, pushing the Bulk as much as he dared without cracking ribs. The Bulk beamed as he grabbed the microphone from the correspondent and jabbed an accusing finger at Giroro. He slipped easily into the carefully learned Southwestern American accent. "You lie like the dog you are! Daring not to come out in the light of day or show your true face, the one you always wear behind that sissy red mask! I am the only one here who fights for what is truly important! You are here only for your own glory!"

Giroro grabbed the microphone back and put his face directly nose to nose with the Bulk. He snarled: "I do this not for myself, but for that which is clean and pure and that which I most love: my Natsumi!"

The Bulk looked confused. The correspondent looked confused. In the background, Sir Jeff looked confused.

Giroro gulped. That was NOT my line.

----

In a copse of trees beyond the city, a small cottage resided, with its large waterwheel continually moving with the current of the stream by which it was situated. Within the simple dwelling, Dororo was seated crosslegged in front of a flickering candle. His eyes were lazily shut, his katana balanced upon his head. He was calm. He repeatedly hummed the same words, tuneless as the wind, over and over again. Deep in his meditative state he did not expect the searing pain that intruded in the space behind his eyes. His sinuses thumped a counterpoint. His jaw dropped and he screamed soundlessly.

The pain was gone as quickly as it came, and he resumed his meditation as if nothing had bothered him.

Soon, a mosquito's droning soon cut into his comfortable silence as it entered through a crack in the door. It spied the warm body, circling until it found a place to land, upon a blue shoulder. Dororo did nothing as it greedily fed upon his lifeblood. Sated, the parasite lifted from its food source and lumbered skyward again, to find a suitable place with standing water in which to lay her eggs.

The insect had not flown five inches when there was a quick movement and displacement.

The insect continued on its course until blood began to seep from its abdomen. Then, it split neatly in two. Each half fell to the ground, wings sputtering. The katana upon the blue frog's head swayed minutely.

Dororo snorted. "Impudent bloodsucker."

----

Natsumi perched a little bit to the left on her lab stool, next to her Saburo was sitting dead center on his. She was only vaguely aware that as she leaned toward him he neither leaned away nor towards her. In fact, she thought, he seems more interested in explaining solution titration to me than in holding my hand. Last Christmas he was saying he loved me, but now? Does he even care? I still love him!

She reached across to bravely take his hand, and he let her, but brought up his other hand to trace down the column of numbers in her textbook. His voice barely wavered as he continued his description of what each number meant. He glanced up and Natsumi tried to follow his gaze. He seemed to be looking across from them, through the tangle of glassware. His face formed a grim little smile and he squeezed her hand.

She peered through the tangle of glassware. He had been looking straight at Koyuki who was actively watching them. Koyuki, who had that strange little smile on her face whenever she looked at Saburo; Koyuki, who took every opportunity to hug her so that afterwards she could hang out with them and be near Saburo; Koyuki, who had disappeared for the first semester only to reappear for this semester; Koyuki, who was now staring right at Saburo.

I'm nervous enough without Koyuki doing that. She needs to take the hint. Natsumi leaned even closer to Saburo and breathlessly whispered in his ear, "I love you. I couldn't learn all this without you." She tickled the soft tendons of his inner wrist with her thumb.

He didn't return the flirting gesture, but he nodded, smiled, and said, "Thank you. I love you also." He resumed his explanation.

Through the chemistry equipment, she could see Koyuki wince and somehow, that made Natsumi feel more comfortable. Maybe now Koyuki realizes that Saburo and I are together? She cannot have him. He does still love me. He just said so, and I love him and he knows it, because I just said so. Koyuki was now staring into space up into the lights, purposely avoiding their direction. Perfect, she does get it. I love Saburo and she should...

And Natsumi felt as though a dagger had stabbed her in the back of the neck. The sudden headache was familiar, the same migraine she'd had the afternoon before when she'd bathed. She had been settled in the tub. Her eyes closed, when suddenly the pain had come and then as quickly left. She squinched her eyes just as she had. This headache pulsed for a half-second longer than before, but then ended just as quickly.

What caused that pain? she wondered.

She listened. She heard Saburo still talking, but now his silky voice was uninteresting. She looked down at his hand, which she was still holding. Her fingers were still wrapped around his palm. Her thumb was still stroking his wrist. She suddenly felt upset about what her thumb was doing. She stopped stroking and the discomfiture lessened.

She let go of his hand and put her hands contritely in her lap and felt even better.

She shifted back to the center of her seat and felt better yet.

Saburo was still droning on, but she was aware, dimly, that she was no longer listening. Across from her was a poster of the planet Earth and she couldn't look away.

----

Mois laid on her bed, a flat pallet, on the floor at the back of the filing room. Keroro had offered her a bed in the barracks, years ago, but she hadn't taken it then and in the years since... what she really wanted was a cot in the corner of his master room, outside the base, beyond the teleporter. She clutched at the Lucifer Spear. It was a mobile phone: small, green and of which even Koyuki, who was terribly retro-, commented, "Very antique."

Her skirt was hiked up to her waistline beneath her wrist, and her hand was under the elastic guard of her panties. She'd long stopped thinking how ridiculous such a childish binding was. Angolans did not wear such frivolous garb, underwear, what's the point in wearing underwear under a self-cleaning microfiber, leotard. Mois lamented as she stroked, "I only have to wash real clothes once a month."

It was very easy to be distracted. She tried to fill her mind with Uncle's face, her ears with his voice, her nose with his scent as she humped at her fingertips, groping deeper and deeper, closer and closer to one crystaline moment in the clear air high above the atmosphere of this world or any other. And then...

Uncle's face shattered in a sudden headache that rent her skull from temple to temple and vanished like last century's discarded toys.

"What, as you say, the FUCK!" Mois gasped, and clapped her hand over her mouth. If Saburo heard me say that,.. huh? wait? huh? Where did that come from?

----

Keroro was spit-polishing the chrome plated base of his latest model. He'd spent hours this morning sanding sharp edges off the die cast metal stand. It was perfect now - an absolutely reflectively smooth mirror, but he wanted that stand bright and smudgeless before the Gundam joined his collection. He had whisked the polishing cloth over a particular nasty grease smear, when the headache struck. He closed his eyes and breathlessly yelped. The pain fled. Keroro opened his eyes. He looked back to the polished metal base.

There was a frog mirrored in it: a very beautiful frog... and Keroro couldn't look away.

----

The energy swooped through the rock at the ceiling, wrapped around Hanene again and then breezed through her. The muzzle sucked in the brightly colored energetic confetti and the gun's meter spun like a gambling device. The internals registered reception and the gun emitted a cheery ping as though it had just roasted a toaster pastry. The whole shot had taken only a tenth of a second.

Kururu looked at Hanene expectantly. She should be confused. She should rush off to find Saburo. She should... he stopped.

Hanene was tapping one foot on the floor. Her head was craned forward. Her eyes were wide. Her arms were akimbo. Her knuckles were pressed to the waistband of her pleated skirt. She rasped, "And what was that all about?"

"I... I was just testing my new gun... and you stepped in front of the target," Kururu pointed beyond her, where he hoped there was something she would swallow as being a target.

"Well, put down your toy and let's go." She leaped across the room and grasped his wrist. She twisted and the gun dropped from his suddenly numb fingers and bounced on the floor.

Why didn't it work? Yareyare, why didn't it WORK? he panicked as she dragged him out the laboratory door.