BATTER 29

Bijou seemed to like the new hairstyle, as he reached up to touch the braid several times. Carefully using only his fingertips so as not to ruin the work, Bijou asked:

“Are you very worried about what will happen to me?”

“Yeah, well, believe it or not, I’m the kind of guy who cares a lot about the law.”

“You are a truly good man.”

The marks left by Baron’s front teeth remained clearly on his curving lips. They were wounds left by that very “good man.” Baron let out a short laugh.

“Is there anyone you actually see as a bad person?”

Bijou gave a vague, thin smile that was hard to read. It was beautiful to look at, like a stanza of poetry clipped from a book with all the context missing, but its meaning was impossible to discern. He just kept fidgeting with his hair and smiling.

“It is a lovely style. You seem very skilled. Do you have children, sir?”

“If I did, it’d be a disaster.”

He crossed his arms and cackled. A little brat who genetically resembled him—the mere thought made his skin crawl. Whether the machine sensed his feelings or not, he continued in a supple tone.

“I was curious because you’ve seemed so adept at handling the children since yesterday. I thought perhaps you had many siblings.”

“Well, I was an only child.”

For some reason, all of the fellow’s predictions were missing the mark. Bijou didn’t even look embarrassed; he just nodded and said, “I see.” It’s no fun teasing someone like this. No one was better to mess with than Detective Sanchez, and Baron wondered if he’d ever get to play a prank like that again. Then, Bijou spoke up.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know your name.”

“Well, I haven’t told you.”

“Could you tell me?”

The way his eyelashes lowered made it seem like he was making a bashful request. Baron thought for a moment about what name to give. Even after the fellow left, Baron had to scour the Undercity to find the attackers. He’d probably have to keep the teacher pinned down after the client took Bijou to get the details on the smugglers. And get paid for the car repairs, if possible.

There was plenty to do once the fellow was gone. Even if he gave a name now, it wasn’t like Bijou would go around blabbing it to everyone, but there was no harm in being a little cautious. He pulled a usable name from a distant memory.

“Bill. Like Bill from Pilate.”

“That is a fine name.”

The response was a polite formality. Still, the machine knew exactly how to smile to make something sound like it came from naive sincerity. Baron stared at the way his cheeks puffed out slightly, the taut curve of his lips, and the precise angle of his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I think so too.”

It was the first time he’d ever agreed with the fellow’s value judgment. The fact felt awkward, so he held his tongue. Once silence settled, the weight of the dawn became even more apparent. The air before sunrise felt denser than at any other time, making every sound ring out sharply. A foreign sound of rushing wind echoed from the distant sky. Baron stood up and approached the window. He could see a black dot approaching from the west.

“There they are…”

Just as he muttered to himself, the teacher appeared from the other room. He must have received word that they were arriving in the vicinity. The teacher patted his own cheeks lightly and hid his broken arm under his coat. Baron just rolled his eyes and watched the teacher trying to smooth out his wrinkled clothes with one hand. No matter how much effort he put in now, there was no sign those battered rags were going to recover.

“Say, man, do you like looking pathetic?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Those clothes are a lost cause. Just try not to think depressing thoughts. It’s written all over your face.”

Baron leaned against the windowsill, picking only the most obnoxious words to say. The object that had looked like a tiny speck was growing closer and clearer. Baron counted how many rounds he had left in the magazine. He’d used two fighting off the humanoid’s attack, so there were twelve left.

He tucked the bone-hard pistol into his back pocket, hoping the people he was about to meet were conscientious enough. At that moment, the speck grew so close it could no longer be called a speck.

“Let’s go, Bijou.”

The teacher called Bijou in a very gentle tone. Bijou’s footsteps as he followed behind were as light and brisk as the children in the container school. It was a cheerful gait for someone being pushed toward an uncertain future. Baron stood there loosely, looking up at the sky. A heavy, windowless transport vehicle was slowly decelerating for landing.

Baron’s eyes narrowed, turning sharp. Its design was rugged enough to recall a black water buffalo, but the doors and floor were worn and scratched in places, suggesting it had been in use for quite a while. It was a capable, good vehicle, but not the kind of sleek brand favored by the ultra-wealthy. As expected, a representative had likely come in person. Baron continued to stare outside with those keenly curved eyes.

“Should I go say hello…?”

He followed Bijou and the teacher out before it was too late. He timed it perfectly; the vehicle was preparing to land on a flat patch of ground a short distance from the containers. Shortly after, a black, blunt aerial van—looking much like a military craft—landed, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The reddish sand and soil rushed into his nose and mouth, forcing him to quickly cover his airway. Only Bijou, who didn’t breathe, stood there blankly. Once the swirling fine dust began to settle, the transport door started to open. The teacher, visibly nervous, pushed Bijou behind his back. It was probably a “teacherly” professional habit.

Meanwhile, Baron’s professional habit was never taking his eyes off the opposition. He focused his gaze forward, putting strength into his stinging eyelids. Five silhouettes appeared between the open doors. First, two figures equipped with assault rifles—likely bodyguards—leapt down to the ground.

Then, a middle-aged man in a clean suit, neither too old nor too young and with a healthy complexion, stepped down to the surface. Two more men followed, guarding him with rifles in hand. Out of the four guards, two were androids and the other two were cyborgs with parts of their bodies replaced by machinery; they wore no clothes over those parts, so their mechanical joints were fully visible as they moved.

As the dust settled further, he was able to scrutinize the guarded man’s attire more closely. While the man listened to the teacher’s explanation of how he acquired the android to determine its authenticity, Baron noticed the suit he wore was a well-known luxury brand but had been purchased long ago.

Given that the soles of his shoes were worn from the inside, his gait was unstable; though not overly prominent, he had “tech neck” and shoulders that rolled inward. Gray hairs had sprouted, but since they hadn’t been dyed in time, his hair color looked mottled. Judging by the color of his hands and neck…

The eyes that were rapidly scanning the man’s neck froze. This was because he had made direct eye contact with one of the cyborgs guarding the rear. What is the correct emotion to feel toward a stranger who is picking apart your employer bit by bit? The answer varies, of course, but Baron saw the stranger’s shoulders and jaw quickly stiffen. Simultaneously, he noticed the muzzle of the stranger’s gun twitch, as if it were about to be aimed at him.

The man had seen Baron and was both tense and deeply flustered. But why? Clutching a strange sense of déjà vu, Baron slowly shifted his gaze. The face, wearing a black elastic mask up to the nose, touched the roots of his displeasure like a person he might have encountered in a dream.

He slowly traced up from the roots and lowered his head. The gaze that had been sliding down the cyborg’s shoulder and abdomen stopped dead. On the dark blue metallic thigh, there was a bullet mark. It was nothing more than a dent where a round had bounced off the surface without causing serious damage. Baron’s lips parted slightly.

It’s him.

It’s that bastard!