It wasn’t as if it was the last time they’d see each other, so Michel Lemon just said goodbye, waving lightly, and walked away to disappear through the door that led to the bridge.
Clouseau was heading from the bridge to the deck in the middle of the resupply when he passed by the Frenchman, Michel Lemon. He’d heard the man had to make his last report to Teletha Testarossa, so he was probably going to see her.
“Hello, Monsieur Clouseau,” Lemon said.
“Right,” was Clouseau’s only response as they passed. Though his name was French, he felt awkward being referred to as ‘Monsieur.’ Clouseau’s ancestors had been brought to Quebec as slaves, but he could trace his lineage back to a fierce warrior clan in North Africa. It was his grandfather, obsessed with their roots, who had picked up the odd name ‘Belfangan,’ which was the name of a hero spoken of in that clan’s legends. According to his grandfather, the hero Belfangan died slaying an evil demon that was tormenting humanity, then ascended to heaven on a black hawk.
The modern day Belfangan had become the warrior his grandfather had hoped for; he’d joined the army, undergone numerous trials, and grown into a fine soldier. But because “Belfangan” was hard to say, those close to him mainly just called him Ben.
“Ben,” called a lieutenant working on the deck. They were apparently overseeing the de Danaan’s resupply. “It’s taking a while to send out all the crew belongings. Could we have an extension?”
“No,” he told them. “If you don’t make it in time, just tell them to give up on it.”
Tessa had ordered the crew departing the de Danaan to take all their belongings with them. It was effectively an eviction. They’d been given that order only a few hours before, so there was still quite a lot of confusion among the men.
“Dammit,” the lieutenant grumbled. “After all we’ve been through together... What is the captain thinking?”
“She’s thinking about us,” Clouseau said, and gave the lieutenant a brisk pat on the back. “Now, act like a soldier.” In truth, he wasn’t particularly happy about the situation himself, but he wasn’t about to argue with Tessa’s decisions. Even XO Mardukas had told him to just do as he was told.
“Captain,” Sagara Sousuke called to him from the workspace a little ways away. He seemed to be finishing up the task of sorting out the mail.
“Sagara,” Clouseau said. “Shouldn’t you be working on the Laevatein?”
“Al and Sachs are on it.”
“Aha.”
“There’s a package for you, sir.” Sousuke held out a cardboard box small enough to hold in one hand. It was marked with the distributor’s logo, with stickers from various shipping companies pasted on it here and there.
Clouseau had ordered this DVD five months ago, and it had been bounced around between various fake addresses before finally finding its way here. To be honest, he’d forgotten he’d ordered it.
“Is it a movie, sir?” Sousuke asked.
“Hmm... yes,” Clouseau absently affirmed. It was, in fact, a famous anime from about ten years ago. But it was also certainly a movie.
Sousuke stared at him keenly. He was his usual expressionless self, which made it impossible to read what he was feeling. At the very least, it seemed unlikely that he cared what was on the DVD.
“What is it?” Clouseau asked.
“Well...” Sousuke hesitated, looking down. At last, Clouseau could read something like reticence in his manner. “Have you talked to Mao?”
“We’ve talked about work, at least... but I know what you’re getting at,” Clouseau admitted, knowing that Sousuke was probably worried about her. Mao had been depressed ever since Kurz Weber’s death. She was trying to hide it, of course, and at least she wasn’t drowning her sorrows in booze. Yet if you were on the job with her, it was painfully clear. “There’s nothing you can do,” he finally said. “Nothing you need to do, either. She’s not that fragile, and neither am I. At least, no more than you are.”
Clouseau meant to provoke him, but Sousuke just shrugged in response.
“Have you reverted to where you were before Hong Kong?” Clouseau asked next.
“No, of course not,” Sousuke told him.
“Then you’re tired too, right?”
“Me?”
“Tired, from the bottom of your heart. Of fighting,” Clouseau clarified. “You just won’t let yourself realize it, which is why you’re projecting onto Mao, am I right?”
Sousuke seemed to think that over silently; perhaps he’d struck a nerve. After a while, Sousuke looked up at Clouseau with deeply curious eyes. “How could you tell?”
“Because I’m tired, too,” Clouseau said, then laughed. Yes, he was tired: he’d been serving as Andrey Kalinin’s replacement for close to a year now, so how could he be anything else? And if someone as tough as Belfangan Clouseau could end up this way, then of course everyone else would be the same. “Once this is over, I plan to take a nice vacation,” he said. “I’ll go home and laze around all day. After that, I might do some sightseeing. Japan sounds nice; Akihabara and such.”
“That does sound nice,” Sousuke agreed. “But why Akihabara?”
“I’ve already been to Mecca,” Clouseau said dryly, “so Akihabara is next.”
“Ahh,” said Sousuke, who apparently didn’t get the joke.
“Anyway, worry about yourself first. I’ll handle Mao,” Clouseau advised him. Then he patted Sousuke on the back and left.
Afterwards, Clouseau called to Private Falkowski, who was overseeing the sorting of the disembarking crew’s personal effects. The poor man had been stationed in the logistics department of the Merida Island Base one year ago, shortly before Amalgam had mounted its fierce attack, and been forced to live on the de Danaan since then. He was a timid but well-organized man, and he’d lately been showing more backbone, saying no whenever a department made an impossible request.
“Sorry,” Clouseau told him. “There’s something I’d like to add to the things I’m taking off.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Clouseau began to hand him the cardboard box containing the DVD. With all he had to do, there was no way he’d be able to watch it before the operation... It would be better for him to send it off with his other belongings, to watch at his leisure later.