It was a quiet early afternoon. All of a sudden No. 21 was standing beside Anemone.
“You don’t have to rest?”
“Yes, I’m okay.”
The newer models probably recovered faster too.
“What about the others?”
“They’re in a meeting with rose. About tomorrow morning’s mission.”
“Ah, I see.”
The mission for infiltrating the server room via the elevator at the top of the mountain was set for tomorrow morning. Given their capabilities, the YoRHa would be vital to mission success.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
From No. 21’s profile, Anemone thought she could see that something other than fatigue was bothering her.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“No, that’s not it …”
No. 21 faltered. Anemone urged her on with a look. She was being uncharacteristically nosy.
“I was thinking, in terms of close combat, there’s not much a scanner can do. Is there even value in someone that can’t contribute?”
Ah, so that’s what it was. If a battle broke out tomorrow, it would most likely be close combat. The road to the mountaintop was narrow, and the elevator was also cramped. No. 21 was worried that she would be useless in that situation.
“And you’re asking me, of all people?”
Anemone returned even more cynicism to No. 21, who had been unknowingly cynical.
“For two hundred years, I haven’t been able to finish off the Machines.”
It sounded self-deprecating. Both Anemone and No. 21—no, perhaps Anemone even more so than No. 21—were useless puppets.
“I’ve unable to die for two hundred years. And yet I wanted to live. Even though I wasn’t valuable in the least.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know.”
No. 21 had no ill will. Words with no ill will became cynicism when they were true.
“From the time we entered the stratosphere and landed on the ground, I’ve lost many comrades. But I’m alive, somehow. Does luck determine the value of a person?”
“Do you feel guilty? If you feel bad about living, there’s a simple solution. Kill yourself, right this instant.”
Anemone held out her gun for No. 21. This was ill-willed cynicism.
“I can’t do that. I have to make sure the mission succeeds, for my fallen comrades as well.”
“Then don’t ask.”
Whether or not their individual existences had value, or whatever reason they had to live, there was no choice. It was a foolish question, to ask something she already knew the answer to.
“You’ll know when the time comes. Even if you don’t want to know.”
“You’re probably right. No, you are right.”
No. 21 shook her head and corrected herself. Anemone kept quiet. She didn’t know what else to talk about.
It’s not that she was being wary. All her suspicions evaporated when they saved Lily. In fact, Anemone was glad she didn’t have to take the initiative and talk. Put simply, she was bad at conversation. Whether that be small talk or in-depth discussions of research.
Thus, No. 21 was the one to break the silence.
“There’s really nothing to see on Mount Ka’ala, is there?”
“It’s been that way. There’s nothing there.”
She lied, just a little. Back when there used to be night and day everywhere on Earth, this very spot looked out at a crimson sky and sea, or so she had heard. But that was before the Earth’s axis had tilted, so it was a description from ancient times. Even before Anemone and her squadron had landed on Earth.
“Have you always been like that?”
No. 4 appeared from behind No. 21. When did she get here? She had approached them without making a sound.
“What do you mean?”
“You seem so bored. Just like the view from here, nothing there. Have you always been like that?”
“Who knows?”
No. 4 asked some stupid questions.
“I don’t remember what I was like before.”
“Androids should have customized simulated memories though?”
Perhaps she was influenced by No. 4, but No. 21 was seemingly interested in this irrelevant topic. “I forgot,” said Anemone, deciding it was better to let it go.
“Huh? Doesn’t that mean there’s something wrong with your brain?”
Anemone felt her shoulders drop. She just didn’t like No. 4.
“Why are you all so prying?”
“Because we’re interested.”
“Leave me alone,” Anemone replied, as she turned away. Yet No. 4 continued the conversation without regard.
“If we lost our memories, would we be different people? If we lost our memories and we became different people, would that still count as living on?”
“I didn’t lose my memories.”
“Oh, so you do remember.”
“This is stupid.”
“Are they stupid? Fake memories?”
What value did fake memories have? They never happened in real life, so they weren’t practical, like real experiences.
“Memories are just baggage in our artificial brains.”
“But memories meant a lot to humans. They treasured them. They weren’t baggage in human brains. Maybe, unbeknownst to us, there’s a significance to them.”
No. 21 even says sentimental things sometimes, thought Anemone, taken by surprise.
“But once you die they disappear. That’s the kind of thing memories are.”
Anemone hissed those words, wanting to put an end to the useless talk. No. 4 and No. 21 didn’t say anything else.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Is there anything else we need?”
“Mines. They’re completely out.”
“Ah, that explosion. What a reckless bunch. Don’t you think so, Clematis?”
Upon hearing those words, No. 2 deduced that Kalmia and Clematis were doing an inventory check of the weaponry and gunpowder. Apparently she had accidentally come across the pit the resistance used as an armory.
No. 2 softened her footsteps as she stepped back. It would be embarrassing if they found out she had gotten lost in the camp when it wasn’t even that big to begin with. But Clematis’s words stopped her in her tracks.
“Something is wrong with Rose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Please look at this.”
“Hm? Isn’t that number wrong? There’s an extra digit.”
What was off by a digit? Even though she knew it was bad to eavesdrop, No. 2 strained her ears.
“No. There’s no mistake that this is the amount of weapons she ordered. That’s why I thought it was strange.”
No. 2 knew that Rose had ordered weapons from Kalmia. No. 2 was there when she’d done it. But she didn’t know the specific number. Rose had just said, “I’ll send you the list, could you gather them for me?”
“It isn’t new for Rose to be reckless, but this number is just absurd. It’s almost like …”
Clematis hesitated to go on.
“It’s almost like?”
“It’s almost like she’s planning for an all-out war. Their final battle.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I understand, but …”
“An all-out war? Against the Machines?”
“Looking at the order, that’s the only thing I can think of.”
“Are you crazy? Or maybe you’re being deceived by the messengers from the moon.”
From the moon? Are they talking about us? No. 2 instinctively clutched her chest. Her breathing was tense. She couldn’t. They would hear her. At this rate …
No. 2 backed away, careful to not make a sound. After she was far enough, she ran. She was still struggling. There was a dull pain in her stomach.
Rose is going into her last battle? Because of us? No, Rose isn’t such a rash person. Clematis is probably misjudging. Or maybe she’s being overanxious.
But, actually—am I sure about that? Aren’t I trying to reject Clematis’s words because I don’t want to bear the responsibility of them? No, that can’t be. Rose would never choose to put her comrades in danger. The weapon order is large because us four came. That’s got to be it …
She had no clue where she had run off to. Suddenly, she almost butted heads with No. 21. No. 2 could barely keep a scream in.
“No. 2?”
No. 21 said with a puzzled look. Next to her was Lily.
“Uh … so, you were here.”
“Did something happen?”
No. 21 was sharp. No. 21 ignored that, and turned to Lily.
“Lily, are you feeling better now? Is it okay for you to be walking?”
No. 2 had tried to smile, but perhaps her goggles hid her eyes, and it didn’t come across how she wanted. Lily hid behind No. 21.
I didn’t mean to scare you, was what she wanted to say, but Lily’s glare made her shrink away.
“You may be No. 21’s captain, but Rose is my only captain!”
Lily announced that and turned around.
“No. 2, I’ll report you later!”
No. 21 followed Lily. Unable to fathom the situation, No. 2 was left standing on the spot. What Lily had said, that “Rose is my only captain,” was stuck in her head.
“I know that.”
She didn’t need to be reminded that she wasn’t captain material. She just didn’t expect to hear it from a member of the resistance. That meant it was obvious to people outside of her squadron as well …
“Just as I thought, captain is too much responsibility for me.”
She suddenly felt tired, so sat down right where she was standing.
“You’re being all weak again.”
She heard a familiar voice. She wanted to cry.
“I can’t do it. Seed, I can’t.”
She had never wanted to be with Seed as badly as now. She wanted to see her one more time. She wanted to cry and tell her about her fears—and she wanted to be scolded by her.
By the person that had taught her many things.