“The following pokémon training conditions are to be met by the first of January 2008, starting at midnight,” stated the voice of a very plain-sounding woman, as words appeared on Hibiki’s television screen in place of Kurisawa at the pedestal. “First condition: no minors may be registered as trainers. Only adults with a completed high school education will be legally recognized as responsible holders of pokémon.”
“What?!” roared Hibiki at the set, causing both of his parents to jump beside him. “That’s not fair! They can’t do that!!”
“Second condition: henceforth, all trainers are limited to two pokémon per trainer, except for special circumstances. Exceptional situations will be provided at a later date.”
“WHAT?!” Hibiki bellowed again, even louder than before, managing to cause his parents to jump a second time. “TWO pokémon?? I can understand their wish to keep trainers from having unlimited pokémon, but they’re going way too far!”
“Third condition: Uber pokémon, or pokémon with exceptionally high power levels, are no longer permitted to any trainers except military officers. These pokémon include . . .”
“Is Kenta a military officer?” asked Hibiki’s mother from behind him, to his father. He shook his head. “I don’t think his rank is high enough. That’s probably why they make him keep an Everstone attached to his Shelgon at all times.”
“-All current trainers, be advised: all boxed and party pokémon are scheduled to be sent to rehabilitation centers, where they will learn how to live in the wild once again. G.R.I.P. recommends that you start thinking now about the two pokémon you wish to keep. Preteen and teenage trainers may register online to keep their pokémon temporarily detained until-”
“I wonder if Kenta knew about this,” Hibiki muttered aloud, thinking so hard that his temples began to throb. “He was never a big pokémon collector. He just sought a pokémon to commemorate every region. His Beedrill represents Kanto, his precious Typhlosion is Johto, Shelgon stands for Hoenn, and he gave me my Munchlax as the Sinnoh pokémon. Okay, think, think . . . he hasn’t been keeping the Beedrill with him lately, which is understandable, I guess . . .” Hibiki’s eyes widened. “Wait, of course! That leaves him with only Typhlosion and Shelgon. Two pokémon. He did know about this!” Hibiki punched the ground furiously, and his mother and father inched silently away from him. “He knew, and he never told me! That jerk! What kind of a brother keeps these things from his only sibling? He’s nothing but a selfish ass!”
“Now Hibiki, calm down,” said his father in a reasoning tone, placing his hands up disarmingly. “We don’t know that Kenta was told anything in advance. He’s still only a foot soldier.”
“That’s right, Hibiki,” added his mother, in the same calming voice. “Why don’t we call him? He’s still in the Hoenn Region, so he wouldn’t have seen- where are you going?”
Hibiki, who’d gotten up to leave as she was speaking, looked down angrily at her. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. Not for another four years, at minimum. There’s no need to keep it hidden, Mom, I know you’re happy that they’ve just blocked me from my life’s biggest ambition. Smile, why don’t you?” With that, he turned away and darted out of the living room and up the stairs. His parents listened to the door slam, and looked miserably at each other.
***
Compared to being hovered around in the tight clutches of his Beedrill, Spear, Kenta found Pidgeot flight to be much less claustrophobic. Having never ridden on top of a giant bird before, he’d initially expected falling off to be a constant problem. Yet the Pidgeot’s training made the flight a pleasant experience rather than a worrisome one. Kenta felt weightless, free, as though he weren’t being supported by anything, and any fear of heights was nullified to the thrill of being alone in the skies with the cold wind blowing through his waist-length hair. As his mount dropped altitude over the many building roofs of Saffron City, Kenta made a mental note to travel by air more often, as long as he was on a strong pokémon’s back.
Kenta’s enormous feathered transport landed gracefully at the end of a one-way street he recognized, blowing dust everywhere as the wings pumped rapidly to secure a smooth landing. He’d barely leaped off when the Pidgeot took flight again, rising about twenty feet up and then bursting off into the clouds like a bullet. He watched the great bird go, never ceasing to be impressed by the awesome might of pokémon, and almost didn’t notice that his phone was vibrating. Shaking himself back to reality, he pulled it out of his pocket and raised it to his ear. At the same time, he began to jog down the familiar road towards the looming Silph building in the distance.
“Hello?”
“Kenta? It’s Mom.”
“Oh, hey.” Was it just his phone, or did her voice sound congested? Kenta’s stomach flip-flopped, as he considered what she’d probably just heard on the news. “Is . . . is everything all right?” He paused. “Mom, are you crying?”
“No, no . . .” There was a silence, and then his mother’s voice returned, stronger than before. “We were watching the match you’d attended when the television suddenly changed to a live broadcast from G.R.I.P., and Hibiki . . . Hibiki, he . . .” She stopped again, and Kenta could hear her swallow over the phone. “Hibiki heard some things that caused him to go out of control. He shouted at me. He hasn't done that in years.”
“ . . . Oh.” Kenta subconsciously slowed his pace to a walk as he tried to think of a response. He’d known for weeks that this phone call would be coming, yet now that it was here, he had nothing. No advice, no words of comfort, nada. He didn’t even know whether or not to feign ignorance of the Japanese government’s restrictive policies on pokémon use. His only wish now was to somehow comfort Hibiki. He desperately wanted to be done with the errand he’d been sent on, so he could rush home to New Bark Town and put a consoling arm around his brother’s shoulders. Hibiki would never get the chance to experience the life of a pokémon trainer now. He might get to have a mock shot at the adventure much later in life, but it wouldn’t be the same.
“Kenta,” whispered his mother dolefully from the other end of the line, “What should we do? Your father and I aren’t nearly as close to Hibiki as you are. Only you can talk to him now. Can you be home soon?”
Kenta looked up; he’d reached a crossroad intersection swarming with cars and trucks. Directly on the other side of the road stood the Silph building itself, its front entrance blocked from view by the constant flow of traffic. The traffic light was changing, and he hurried to make his reply. “Mom, I’ve been given a small task by one of my bosses. I’m in Saffron City right now, but this shouldn’t take long. With any luck, I can be home in a few hours. Hibiki should’ve calmed down a little by then.”
“You may be upset by the news also, Kenta. I just thought I’d warn you.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon. Love you, Mom.” As Kenta snapped his phone shut and pocketed it, the cars before him halted and the crosswalk appeared almost magically. Standing on the other side, with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, was an elderly man in police uniform whom Kenta recognized immediately. Sprinting to the other side of the road, he halted and saluted his superior subtly. “Lieutenant Shin. Sergeant Nyna, reporting for duty, sir.”
“At ease, Kenta,” muttered his companion quietly, and the two officers strode smartly towards a nearby park bench surrounded by a group of pecking Pidgey. They’d barely sat down when the latter reached into his side pocket and pulled out a box of chocolate snack sticks. “Here. Have some pocky.”
Kenta reached out and took the box, noticing it was bulging at the sides even before he felt the hefty extra weight tug his arm down. He pulled open the side tab and glanced a peek inside, then stared incredulously at his partner.
“Shin, what is this? Are either of us supposed to have one of these?”
“Yes,” said Shin matter-of-factly, not looking Kenta in the eye. Kenta shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Within the pocky box was a S.W.A.T. lockpick gadget. It was about the size of a large Swiss army knife, and among the devices was a switchblade, a heavy-duty wire cutter, a lockpick, a lighter, and a laser. Kenta shook the military appliance into his pocket and discarded the empty pocky box, knowing full-well that he could be charged for treason if caught in possession with the lockpick by another officer. He looked at Shin, bemused, and raised his eyebrow. “Is that all you have for me, then? No smoke or stinger grenades? I’ve heard those are useful.”
“We can’t be too careful, Kenta,” said Shin in low voice, looking at the main front doors of Silph out of the corner of his eye. “D’you think it’s an accident that our communicators would die in the very building where the Master Ball is being made? I’m not going in there with reliance on any electrical devices, and my partner will do well to follow my example.”
Well, there goes my taser, thought Kenta. Any combat situations will require deadly force, now. We sure have a lot of power.
“Shin,” he said suddenly, as a thought came into his head. “Before we go in, I’ve got a hypothetical question.”
His companion smiled. “I like that sort of thinking. Ask away.”
Kenta clasped his hands together. This thought had been on his mind ever since he’d first been told about G.R.I.P.’s intent to seize thousands of trainers’ pokémon. He had never voiced his opinion, out of fear that he’d sound disloyal to the military. The thought hadn’t gone away since then, but buzzed in the back of his mind like white noise as he’d sought constantly to preoccupy himself. Now, he needed to get it out. And there was nobody, nobody he trusted more in the military than Shin.
“Let’s say that Silph has managed to perfect a new Master Ball,” he started, looking down at his hands intently. “We’d have to take it away from them, because it falls outside the pokémon registration system. Otherwise, they and whoever else has a Master Ball would be able to capture as many pokémon out there as they wish, and we wouldn’t be able to do jack about it.”
“Correct. The Master Ball is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.”
“Yeah, but here’s my question.” Kenta gripped his fingers together harder, bracing himself as he let the words tumble out of his mouth. “Who can we trust to be the ‘right hands’?” He looked up and stared Shin directly in the eyes. “In less than two months, we’ll take possession of almost every trainer’s hard-earned pokémon. Can you imagine how many Tyranitar, Slaking, Milotic, and Dragonite we’re going to have? Those are just examples. And now, on top of that, we’ve got the Master Ball, which is guaranteed to catch even legendary pokémon in one go.”
Shin’s face was impassive. “Keep your voice down,” he mouthed, and leaned closer until he was only two inches away from Kenta’s face. “You can’t let anyone know you’re thinking such things,” he whispered. “Nobody, do you hear me? Now, listen closely.” He swallowed, and Kenta barely heard a man mutter “faggots” as he was passing by. “I share your sentiments. I’m certain many people do. But we can’t just go spitting such words like you’re doing right now, especially at this time. It will have to be done in the politically correct manner, at a later date. That’s how the system works.”
“There’s a total power imbalance between the government and the people,” Kenta whispered back, furiously. “But we can halt it somewhat, possibly this very hour. If the Master Ball does exist right now, its makers are the only humans in the world who know its perfect design. If we get the opportunity, I say we destroy it.”
“It’s no use, Kenta,” replied Shin in a sad tone. “You can’t keep forbidden knowledge locked away forever. Remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We were bound to have atomic weapons someday, and there’s no turning back now. The Master Ball is no different.” He stood up from the bench and looked down at Kenta. “Someone will harness its power. We just have to do what we’re told as soldiers, and hope that our government superiors are indeed ‘the right hands’ for holding such a weapon.”
Kenta smiled bitterly. “That’s ironic, coming from the guy who just gave me the key to the city in a pocky box.”
“It’s a funny old world we live in. Time to move in, Sergeant.” Shin motioned him to rise, and Kenta unhappily did as he was bidden, knowing the conversation was over. The two police officers waded through a sudden crowd of pedestrians, and when the group was past, the glass double-doors of Silph Co. loomed before them. Ignoring a flamboyantly-colorful “closed” sign, they pushed the doors open and were met with a small gust of warm air.
The first floor of Silph’s interior was vastly occupied by a great water fountain in the center of the floor. In the room’s corners, and other various places, potted flowers and trees stood sentinel. A constant breeze swept through the room, and Kenta suspected that it was because of air pressures coming from temperature differences between the cold fountain water and the heating system. It sure has a relaxing effect, he thought, as he and Shin approached the receptionist’s desk. It makes you feel serene, and lowers your guard. Most visitors probably don’t notice, for instance, the glare of camera lenses within the tree leaves. We’d best be on our toes.
The receptionist received Kenta and Shin with an artificial-looking smile, sitting rigidly in her chair and observing them with a bowed head and upturned eyes. “Can I help you, officers?” she asked in a brisk tone. Shin took the lead, reaching his left hand into his uniform and pulling out his badge. “Lieutenant Shin Shen,” he spoke in an equally business-like tone. “We received a notice that two other officers are already here, with malfunctioning equipment. Could you please call them down to the lobby for some quick repairs?”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” said the receptionist airily, ducking down and reaching under her desk. “Thankfully, your friends won’t need to be bothered to come down. I’ve got your stuff right here.” Kenta’s heart skipped a beat as she held up two military ear-microphones, wired to their battery cases. There was no reason, none in the world, why she should have them under normal circumstances. Even as he and Shin exchanged a horrified glance over the reality of the situation, the secretary held out her hand.
“I’ll have yours, now. It’s off for the moment, but it’ll work again as soon as I’ve given my superiors notice. Please don’t waste time, now. The military will get suspicious if they decide your radio has gone dead, too. At any time, we can blow this building sky-high with the number of Electrode we’re holding in here. Think of the hostages. Do the right thing.”
Kenta knew better than to assume this woman was bluffing. Heart pounding, sweating from every part of his body, he handed his communicator to Shin, who in turn handed both to the receptionist. “Good,” she muttered, placing them onto the counter, still within reach of the officers. “Now disarm. I’ll take those utility belts you’ve got.” Again, after waiting for Shin’s confirming nod, Kenta did as he was told, and handed over his pepper spray, handcuffs, his tazer, and worst of all, his gun. The receptionist took the weapons more hurriedly than before, and tossed them on the floor behind her, out of everyone’s reach. She turned her eyes on Shin.
“If you want to keep a hundred lives safe, you will do exactly as I say. Your communicator will be back on in a moment. Tell whoever’s on the other end whatever it takes to keep them believing that everything’s going smoothly. Don’t try anything stupid. Our technology is better than yours. We just might be able to read minds.”
Kenta stiffened as the receptionist turned to him. “As for you . . . go to the third floor. Take the elevator. Someone will there to escort you to your destination. I expect your cooperation, too. No releasing your pokémon at any time, is that crystal-clear? The consequences will be the same. Go.”
There was nothing to be done. Kenta felt his legs move automatically, as if he weren’t controlling them, and he headed for the elevator numbly. Desperate to keep a level head, he forced himself to analyze his foe in his mind. One thing was for sure: Shin’s suspicions about Silph were dead-on. Not only had these people anticipated their coming, but they’d defeated Shin and himself as soon as they’d come in through the door. Now they were on their own, without anyone from the force to back them up. They couldn’t even use their pokémon. Kenta knew better than anyone that pokémon training was different as a police officer. If anyone’s fingers but the original trainer’s touched the pokeball, the pokémon inside would know automatically to go berserk on the stranger. He’d taught this “first priority” training to Spear the Beedrill, his Shelgon, Bolt, and Bakuphoon, his ever-reliable Typhlosion. What impressed and depressed Kenta was the fact that the Silph receptionist had known not to ask for his pokémon. In a way, pokeballs were like grenades. If they weren’t thrown after activation (his own touch), they would explode open by themselves. His pokémon knew to assume the worst. His enemy knew how to avoid the worst.
As the elevator doors opened to receive him, Kenta looked back for a moment at Shin. The receptionist was holding the communicator speaker to his mouth, and both were standing stock-still. However, as the elevator doors closed, Kenta heard Shin begin to speak in the distance. “Sir,” he said in a casual reporting tone, “This is Lieutenant Sha-” Before Kenta could hear any more, the doors shut firmly in his face. He reached out and pressed the “3” on the button pad, and it lit up in recognition. The elevator began to vibrate, and Kenta felt his weight shift as it rose steadily to higher floors. Once the elevator had confirmed he was on floor three, Kenta braced himself as the double-doors slowly parted before him.
“What?!” roared Hibiki at the set, causing both of his parents to jump beside him. “That’s not fair! They can’t do that!!”
“Second condition: henceforth, all trainers are limited to two pokémon per trainer, except for special circumstances. Exceptional situations will be provided at a later date.”
“WHAT?!” Hibiki bellowed again, even louder than before, managing to cause his parents to jump a second time. “TWO pokémon?? I can understand their wish to keep trainers from having unlimited pokémon, but they’re going way too far!”
“Third condition: Uber pokémon, or pokémon with exceptionally high power levels, are no longer permitted to any trainers except military officers. These pokémon include . . .”
“Is Kenta a military officer?” asked Hibiki’s mother from behind him, to his father. He shook his head. “I don’t think his rank is high enough. That’s probably why they make him keep an Everstone attached to his Shelgon at all times.”
“-All current trainers, be advised: all boxed and party pokémon are scheduled to be sent to rehabilitation centers, where they will learn how to live in the wild once again. G.R.I.P. recommends that you start thinking now about the two pokémon you wish to keep. Preteen and teenage trainers may register online to keep their pokémon temporarily detained until-”
“I wonder if Kenta knew about this,” Hibiki muttered aloud, thinking so hard that his temples began to throb. “He was never a big pokémon collector. He just sought a pokémon to commemorate every region. His Beedrill represents Kanto, his precious Typhlosion is Johto, Shelgon stands for Hoenn, and he gave me my Munchlax as the Sinnoh pokémon. Okay, think, think . . . he hasn’t been keeping the Beedrill with him lately, which is understandable, I guess . . .” Hibiki’s eyes widened. “Wait, of course! That leaves him with only Typhlosion and Shelgon. Two pokémon. He did know about this!” Hibiki punched the ground furiously, and his mother and father inched silently away from him. “He knew, and he never told me! That jerk! What kind of a brother keeps these things from his only sibling? He’s nothing but a selfish ass!”
“Now Hibiki, calm down,” said his father in a reasoning tone, placing his hands up disarmingly. “We don’t know that Kenta was told anything in advance. He’s still only a foot soldier.”
“That’s right, Hibiki,” added his mother, in the same calming voice. “Why don’t we call him? He’s still in the Hoenn Region, so he wouldn’t have seen- where are you going?”
Hibiki, who’d gotten up to leave as she was speaking, looked down angrily at her. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. Not for another four years, at minimum. There’s no need to keep it hidden, Mom, I know you’re happy that they’ve just blocked me from my life’s biggest ambition. Smile, why don’t you?” With that, he turned away and darted out of the living room and up the stairs. His parents listened to the door slam, and looked miserably at each other.
***
Compared to being hovered around in the tight clutches of his Beedrill, Spear, Kenta found Pidgeot flight to be much less claustrophobic. Having never ridden on top of a giant bird before, he’d initially expected falling off to be a constant problem. Yet the Pidgeot’s training made the flight a pleasant experience rather than a worrisome one. Kenta felt weightless, free, as though he weren’t being supported by anything, and any fear of heights was nullified to the thrill of being alone in the skies with the cold wind blowing through his waist-length hair. As his mount dropped altitude over the many building roofs of Saffron City, Kenta made a mental note to travel by air more often, as long as he was on a strong pokémon’s back.
Kenta’s enormous feathered transport landed gracefully at the end of a one-way street he recognized, blowing dust everywhere as the wings pumped rapidly to secure a smooth landing. He’d barely leaped off when the Pidgeot took flight again, rising about twenty feet up and then bursting off into the clouds like a bullet. He watched the great bird go, never ceasing to be impressed by the awesome might of pokémon, and almost didn’t notice that his phone was vibrating. Shaking himself back to reality, he pulled it out of his pocket and raised it to his ear. At the same time, he began to jog down the familiar road towards the looming Silph building in the distance.
“Hello?”
“Kenta? It’s Mom.”
“Oh, hey.” Was it just his phone, or did her voice sound congested? Kenta’s stomach flip-flopped, as he considered what she’d probably just heard on the news. “Is . . . is everything all right?” He paused. “Mom, are you crying?”
“No, no . . .” There was a silence, and then his mother’s voice returned, stronger than before. “We were watching the match you’d attended when the television suddenly changed to a live broadcast from G.R.I.P., and Hibiki . . . Hibiki, he . . .” She stopped again, and Kenta could hear her swallow over the phone. “Hibiki heard some things that caused him to go out of control. He shouted at me. He hasn't done that in years.”
“ . . . Oh.” Kenta subconsciously slowed his pace to a walk as he tried to think of a response. He’d known for weeks that this phone call would be coming, yet now that it was here, he had nothing. No advice, no words of comfort, nada. He didn’t even know whether or not to feign ignorance of the Japanese government’s restrictive policies on pokémon use. His only wish now was to somehow comfort Hibiki. He desperately wanted to be done with the errand he’d been sent on, so he could rush home to New Bark Town and put a consoling arm around his brother’s shoulders. Hibiki would never get the chance to experience the life of a pokémon trainer now. He might get to have a mock shot at the adventure much later in life, but it wouldn’t be the same.
“Kenta,” whispered his mother dolefully from the other end of the line, “What should we do? Your father and I aren’t nearly as close to Hibiki as you are. Only you can talk to him now. Can you be home soon?”
Kenta looked up; he’d reached a crossroad intersection swarming with cars and trucks. Directly on the other side of the road stood the Silph building itself, its front entrance blocked from view by the constant flow of traffic. The traffic light was changing, and he hurried to make his reply. “Mom, I’ve been given a small task by one of my bosses. I’m in Saffron City right now, but this shouldn’t take long. With any luck, I can be home in a few hours. Hibiki should’ve calmed down a little by then.”
“You may be upset by the news also, Kenta. I just thought I’d warn you.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon. Love you, Mom.” As Kenta snapped his phone shut and pocketed it, the cars before him halted and the crosswalk appeared almost magically. Standing on the other side, with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, was an elderly man in police uniform whom Kenta recognized immediately. Sprinting to the other side of the road, he halted and saluted his superior subtly. “Lieutenant Shin. Sergeant Nyna, reporting for duty, sir.”
“At ease, Kenta,” muttered his companion quietly, and the two officers strode smartly towards a nearby park bench surrounded by a group of pecking Pidgey. They’d barely sat down when the latter reached into his side pocket and pulled out a box of chocolate snack sticks. “Here. Have some pocky.”
Kenta reached out and took the box, noticing it was bulging at the sides even before he felt the hefty extra weight tug his arm down. He pulled open the side tab and glanced a peek inside, then stared incredulously at his partner.
“Shin, what is this? Are either of us supposed to have one of these?”
“Yes,” said Shin matter-of-factly, not looking Kenta in the eye. Kenta shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Within the pocky box was a S.W.A.T. lockpick gadget. It was about the size of a large Swiss army knife, and among the devices was a switchblade, a heavy-duty wire cutter, a lockpick, a lighter, and a laser. Kenta shook the military appliance into his pocket and discarded the empty pocky box, knowing full-well that he could be charged for treason if caught in possession with the lockpick by another officer. He looked at Shin, bemused, and raised his eyebrow. “Is that all you have for me, then? No smoke or stinger grenades? I’ve heard those are useful.”
“We can’t be too careful, Kenta,” said Shin in low voice, looking at the main front doors of Silph out of the corner of his eye. “D’you think it’s an accident that our communicators would die in the very building where the Master Ball is being made? I’m not going in there with reliance on any electrical devices, and my partner will do well to follow my example.”
Well, there goes my taser, thought Kenta. Any combat situations will require deadly force, now. We sure have a lot of power.
“Shin,” he said suddenly, as a thought came into his head. “Before we go in, I’ve got a hypothetical question.”
His companion smiled. “I like that sort of thinking. Ask away.”
Kenta clasped his hands together. This thought had been on his mind ever since he’d first been told about G.R.I.P.’s intent to seize thousands of trainers’ pokémon. He had never voiced his opinion, out of fear that he’d sound disloyal to the military. The thought hadn’t gone away since then, but buzzed in the back of his mind like white noise as he’d sought constantly to preoccupy himself. Now, he needed to get it out. And there was nobody, nobody he trusted more in the military than Shin.
“Let’s say that Silph has managed to perfect a new Master Ball,” he started, looking down at his hands intently. “We’d have to take it away from them, because it falls outside the pokémon registration system. Otherwise, they and whoever else has a Master Ball would be able to capture as many pokémon out there as they wish, and we wouldn’t be able to do jack about it.”
“Correct. The Master Ball is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.”
“Yeah, but here’s my question.” Kenta gripped his fingers together harder, bracing himself as he let the words tumble out of his mouth. “Who can we trust to be the ‘right hands’?” He looked up and stared Shin directly in the eyes. “In less than two months, we’ll take possession of almost every trainer’s hard-earned pokémon. Can you imagine how many Tyranitar, Slaking, Milotic, and Dragonite we’re going to have? Those are just examples. And now, on top of that, we’ve got the Master Ball, which is guaranteed to catch even legendary pokémon in one go.”
Shin’s face was impassive. “Keep your voice down,” he mouthed, and leaned closer until he was only two inches away from Kenta’s face. “You can’t let anyone know you’re thinking such things,” he whispered. “Nobody, do you hear me? Now, listen closely.” He swallowed, and Kenta barely heard a man mutter “faggots” as he was passing by. “I share your sentiments. I’m certain many people do. But we can’t just go spitting such words like you’re doing right now, especially at this time. It will have to be done in the politically correct manner, at a later date. That’s how the system works.”
“There’s a total power imbalance between the government and the people,” Kenta whispered back, furiously. “But we can halt it somewhat, possibly this very hour. If the Master Ball does exist right now, its makers are the only humans in the world who know its perfect design. If we get the opportunity, I say we destroy it.”
“It’s no use, Kenta,” replied Shin in a sad tone. “You can’t keep forbidden knowledge locked away forever. Remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We were bound to have atomic weapons someday, and there’s no turning back now. The Master Ball is no different.” He stood up from the bench and looked down at Kenta. “Someone will harness its power. We just have to do what we’re told as soldiers, and hope that our government superiors are indeed ‘the right hands’ for holding such a weapon.”
Kenta smiled bitterly. “That’s ironic, coming from the guy who just gave me the key to the city in a pocky box.”
“It’s a funny old world we live in. Time to move in, Sergeant.” Shin motioned him to rise, and Kenta unhappily did as he was bidden, knowing the conversation was over. The two police officers waded through a sudden crowd of pedestrians, and when the group was past, the glass double-doors of Silph Co. loomed before them. Ignoring a flamboyantly-colorful “closed” sign, they pushed the doors open and were met with a small gust of warm air.
The first floor of Silph’s interior was vastly occupied by a great water fountain in the center of the floor. In the room’s corners, and other various places, potted flowers and trees stood sentinel. A constant breeze swept through the room, and Kenta suspected that it was because of air pressures coming from temperature differences between the cold fountain water and the heating system. It sure has a relaxing effect, he thought, as he and Shin approached the receptionist’s desk. It makes you feel serene, and lowers your guard. Most visitors probably don’t notice, for instance, the glare of camera lenses within the tree leaves. We’d best be on our toes.
The receptionist received Kenta and Shin with an artificial-looking smile, sitting rigidly in her chair and observing them with a bowed head and upturned eyes. “Can I help you, officers?” she asked in a brisk tone. Shin took the lead, reaching his left hand into his uniform and pulling out his badge. “Lieutenant Shin Shen,” he spoke in an equally business-like tone. “We received a notice that two other officers are already here, with malfunctioning equipment. Could you please call them down to the lobby for some quick repairs?”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” said the receptionist airily, ducking down and reaching under her desk. “Thankfully, your friends won’t need to be bothered to come down. I’ve got your stuff right here.” Kenta’s heart skipped a beat as she held up two military ear-microphones, wired to their battery cases. There was no reason, none in the world, why she should have them under normal circumstances. Even as he and Shin exchanged a horrified glance over the reality of the situation, the secretary held out her hand.
“I’ll have yours, now. It’s off for the moment, but it’ll work again as soon as I’ve given my superiors notice. Please don’t waste time, now. The military will get suspicious if they decide your radio has gone dead, too. At any time, we can blow this building sky-high with the number of Electrode we’re holding in here. Think of the hostages. Do the right thing.”
Kenta knew better than to assume this woman was bluffing. Heart pounding, sweating from every part of his body, he handed his communicator to Shin, who in turn handed both to the receptionist. “Good,” she muttered, placing them onto the counter, still within reach of the officers. “Now disarm. I’ll take those utility belts you’ve got.” Again, after waiting for Shin’s confirming nod, Kenta did as he was told, and handed over his pepper spray, handcuffs, his tazer, and worst of all, his gun. The receptionist took the weapons more hurriedly than before, and tossed them on the floor behind her, out of everyone’s reach. She turned her eyes on Shin.
“If you want to keep a hundred lives safe, you will do exactly as I say. Your communicator will be back on in a moment. Tell whoever’s on the other end whatever it takes to keep them believing that everything’s going smoothly. Don’t try anything stupid. Our technology is better than yours. We just might be able to read minds.”
Kenta stiffened as the receptionist turned to him. “As for you . . . go to the third floor. Take the elevator. Someone will there to escort you to your destination. I expect your cooperation, too. No releasing your pokémon at any time, is that crystal-clear? The consequences will be the same. Go.”
There was nothing to be done. Kenta felt his legs move automatically, as if he weren’t controlling them, and he headed for the elevator numbly. Desperate to keep a level head, he forced himself to analyze his foe in his mind. One thing was for sure: Shin’s suspicions about Silph were dead-on. Not only had these people anticipated their coming, but they’d defeated Shin and himself as soon as they’d come in through the door. Now they were on their own, without anyone from the force to back them up. They couldn’t even use their pokémon. Kenta knew better than anyone that pokémon training was different as a police officer. If anyone’s fingers but the original trainer’s touched the pokeball, the pokémon inside would know automatically to go berserk on the stranger. He’d taught this “first priority” training to Spear the Beedrill, his Shelgon, Bolt, and Bakuphoon, his ever-reliable Typhlosion. What impressed and depressed Kenta was the fact that the Silph receptionist had known not to ask for his pokémon. In a way, pokeballs were like grenades. If they weren’t thrown after activation (his own touch), they would explode open by themselves. His pokémon knew to assume the worst. His enemy knew how to avoid the worst.
As the elevator doors opened to receive him, Kenta looked back for a moment at Shin. The receptionist was holding the communicator speaker to his mouth, and both were standing stock-still. However, as the elevator doors closed, Kenta heard Shin begin to speak in the distance. “Sir,” he said in a casual reporting tone, “This is Lieutenant Sha-” Before Kenta could hear any more, the doors shut firmly in his face. He reached out and pressed the “3” on the button pad, and it lit up in recognition. The elevator began to vibrate, and Kenta felt his weight shift as it rose steadily to higher floors. Once the elevator had confirmed he was on floor three, Kenta braced himself as the double-doors slowly parted before him.
