Nagato extended an arm in his direction. The white-haired, white-bearded, elderly god was wreathed in a soft glow. That light scattered like tiny particles, the outline of the man collapsing into a shifting mist of light—which then began taking on a new shape in Nagato’s palm.
It flapped its wings a few times, testing them, then landed on her shoulder.
“Ho,” the owl said, retaining the same glow it had as Zeus.
Gods were prone to taking animal forms, but seeing it with my own eyes sure hit different. Koizumi sounded downright amused.
“Minerva’s owl’s spreading its wings at dusk… So this owl is your messenger?”
“Yes.”
Nagato tore a strip off the sleeve of her gown, dipped a silver skewer in the squid ink soup, and wrote something on the cloth.
“Convey this to the individual at these coordinates.”
She held the cloth before the owl’s beak, and it swallowed it up. Then it hooted twice to prove it understood.
Meanwhile, the loss of his friend had driven Achilles mad with grief, and to the Trojans, he was a one-man disaster. The way he made a beeline for Hector, hell-bent on revenge—you could put that in the dictionary under slaughter. Trojan soldiers unlucky enough to get in his way were torn apart by a single sweep of his spear, geysers of blood rising as the demigod warrior demolished another enemy formation. The man was so terrifyingly OP, the Trojans stampeded back behind their walls—but Hector alone stood at the gates, waiting for Achilles.
Achilles swung with fury, but Hector parried the blow. Their exchange was fast and furious, but in time—Achilles’ spear ran his foe’s neck through.
With Troy’s greatest hero dispatched to the underworld, the fortress filled with cries and lamentations. The skies above swirled with dark clouds, as if foretelling the future of Troy itself.
“There was an anticipated two-microsecond delay between escape to reality and the dissolution of the quantized state. In that moment, it is possible to affect the real world.”
Nagato’s customary dispassionate tone had given way to a hint of resolution—was this simply the goddess effect in action?
“I’ll make things consistent.”
I’ll let Koizumi handle that one.
“Consistent? Beyond sending a message to the observer?”
“It’s possible our (r) selves have detected the anomaly.”
Ah, so maybe weird stuff is happening over there, too.
“Changes to the real world should be minimal. All those nines.”
“But I am also in the real world.”
She sounded sure of that.
“My (r) self will be aware of what’s occurring. I anticipate she is merely observing.”
The owl on her shoulder crooked its head.
“If she hasn’t noticed, I’ll explain. And request assistance.”
In two microseconds. So short it was downright rude to call it an instant—could she explain things in time?
“If nothing blocks communication. Obstruction unlikely. Time enough for minor world alterations.”
Almost missed that one, but I leaned in.
“Alterations? You?”
“Utilizing Haruhi Suzumiya’s powers. Currently I can make some use of them.”
Her eyes were like a pitch-black sea reflecting the moon.
A shade that was very Nagato—quiet, certain.
“Alterations will be minimal. No more is possible. Two microseconds.”
It would certainly be bad if this matter confused our real-world selves, so some alterations might be necessary to prevent that, but are we sure? I mean, I’m not doubting Nagato.
She didn’t take offense.
“Alterations will be limited to the message transmission and the process of making (r) and (f) = 1. No changes to the core data of the real world. No need for them.”
Cool, I’m putting my faith in you. Less likely to go wrong than me trying anything, that’s for sure.
The owl looked at me and hooted twice.
The play was reaching its climax. There’d been a lot of wrangling over Hector’s funeral, but it finally happened, and the war resumed. Troy had lost their general but still had strong soldiers—and had received timely reinforcements that left them evenly matched once more. With the death of the Greek leader Antilochus, they even had the upper hand in places. In which case, the situation called for Achilles’ might and brawn.
A totally broken unit who could turn the tables on any front, he brutalized enemy formations, sending scores of Trojans to the afterlife, his slaughter so drenched in blood it appalled even the gods above.
Deeming it impossible for any human to stop his advance, Apollo stepped in. The sun god had been on Troy’s side all along, and now he possessed Paris, firing an arrow that pierced Achilles’ one weakness—his heel. This proved a fatal wound, and the heroic demigod fell in a foreign land. But his fame would go down in legend and endure throughout history.
I felt like the play version of the Trojan war was speeding things up a bit. Like the world was urging them on. Curious to see what we were up to? Or just wanting to be rid of us?
Koizumi softly clapped.
“One final query…or perhaps a suggestion.”
Nagato and the owl both looked at him, in perfect sync.
“You said Zeus in his new owl form will be converted to data to be sent to the real world. In which case, can we not do the same thing with our current memories?”
If we can have a character from this world send a message, then presumably they could take more.
“The elimination of our memories is preferable. Especially anything in Suzumiya’s head. But it is also true that our memories here are valuable.”
No one wanted to lose experience they’d gained. But if that wasn’t an option, I’d sure go with the real-world versions of us.
“What if only Nagato and you remembered?”
“The five of us consist of a single quantum construct. Correcting one could well influence us all.”
Yet Nagato—for once—dithered for a moment.