章節 60: Rest And Restriction
The life of the Prime Beacon would've been forfeited many times if not for timely help from Tool. Living as dangerous a life as he did, only intervention from an outside force like Tool would stay death from taking him before his time.
But each time Tool moved and acted, it was always in an indirect, passive manner. It would warn him of an undetected horde, or wake him at unlikely hours in time to discover some important tidbit of information that saved dozens or hundreds of lives.
But protecting him? Never. Killing Aud for him? Never, though he knew Tool could do it. For Tool, the lower tiers of Aud were easier to carve and hack into pieces than scutumsteel. Running his messages along impossible distances? He never worked up the courage to ask, though he imagined the answer would have still been no.
The general rule was that if Tool had to engage hard and direct to achieve results, it would never bother in the first place.
That was why he couldn't convince himself to believe Tool was there to protect Pa-5. Tool placed its life on the line against a foe great enough to make him pressured, from how Pa-5 attempted to describe the encounter to him.
It fought the purple-fur to a standstill, then pushed it into retreat. After, it chased after the Aud; was this to ensure it couldn't follow Pa-5 a second time? He couldn't state the motives behind Tool's prerogatives.
Though if he were to take a guess, the fickleness and unreliability of individuals were to blame. Tool, like him, had always seemed preoccupied with a full schedule to hammer out every time they met. If he were in the strange character's place, he would prefer to only act once and as little as possible, meaning that the people he chose to interact with would be capable of carrying out the individual parts of whatever agenda Tool operated on with little intervention.
He could count as an example of this. Though his military career was far from perfect, at the end of it all, he was alive; to be alive was the greatest achievement of any serviceman.
He scratched his head. It didn't have any particular significance greater than the others in regards to what angle he approached the quandary from. The circumstances refused to order themselves in a fashion respectable in making sense. Not that he needed a reason on why Pa-5 was alive and we--surviving, that was, in front of him. He had no obligations driving him to examine the gift he received; beggars couldn't be choosers.
Pa-5 looked ready to open her mouth a second time, and for a second time, he hushed her. "Let's not discuss this any further. I'll attribute it to strange happenstance, and nothing else." The same restrictions applied to him, so he couldn't tell her what she saw even if he wanted to.
"If you say so. How much spare time do you have?"
His HUD occupied the forefront of his vision. "I'm to examine one of our so-called elite divisions of heavy WAV pilots in a training scenario. After that, I may have to sit down with the militarists over a meal."
"Do you have to go soon?" With how little she had seen him, he knew she was aware of the squashed nature of his schedule.
"I can spare ten minutes." That would stretch it, but he could afford it. Ten minutes was something so small. He could afford it.
He held her replacement arm, feeling the coolness of the metal as their fingers interlocked. There weren't many interesting things to stare at in the training hall, so they settled for the far wall, hidden behind a rotund line of treadmills. Or she did.
His eyes glanced over from time to time to study her face. The sharpness of her jaw had become more pronounced than when she had left to begin her compulsory service; less baby fat stripped away by intense exercise regimens and endurance training. Her eyes held an ethereal quality to them, reminding him of the sensation of floating atop a dense surface.
They slipped in and out of focus even now. He would have frowned if not for reluctance to see the motion attract her attention. Though she had experienced the symptoms long enough to construct a passable mask, he could see she suffered.
Her stumps would ache, and her healing organs would protest at the smallest shifting. Her mind was still piecing itself back together under the careful guidance of her medical staff, but they couldn't guard her against the threat of unraveling around the clock. For the parts of the day she spent away from them, she needed to shoulder that burden herself.
He sighed, and she looked over, eyes sharpening. "What?"
"...I want your service to conclude so that you can grow some hair."
"Hair? What's so important about it?"
"Nothing. You would look nice with hair."
"It hasn't been a short time since you last saw me with hair. I don't know if that would still be true."
He patted the back of her head. "I know it is. You remind me of her."
"Her?"
The hand froze, and he forced himself to swallow. "Forget it."
"Who is her? What do you mean?" Pa-5 didn't sound like she'd let this one go with as little resistance. "Wait, is your WAV na--"
"I said leave it be." Silence returned, but the familiar comfort he used to draw from it turned sour in his mouth, then bitter. It withered away, leaving behind a mess he had not the resolve to put down at the current time.
The minutes continued crawling by. When they struck eight, Pa-5 stirred at his side. "Was she important?"
"'She.'" He chuckled and rubbed at his nose with an unrivaled frenzy. "Yes, 'she' was."
"I'm sorry."
"Do you know what to be sorry for?"
"I can guess." The fingertips of her free hand drummed along the edge of the bench. "And even if I'm wrong, I'm still sorry."
"Don't be. I should be."
"It doesn't have to be an exclusive thing."
"No, I suppose that holds." He raised his thumb. "Being sorry together then?"
"Being sorry together," she agreed, her thumb pressured into similar poise. They stood as the ten minutes ran dry.
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