Changes in Latitude

It happened again, and Schu thought it was the same spot. It was a little hard to tell in the middle of the damned ocean, though. At least this time he was using the cooler as a float, so he could spare a little more attention.

Nothing. He dropped all vestige of shields, and couldn’t even feel Kudou, hanging on the other end of the cooler.

“How come…” the blonde gasped out, he was already winded, “…when I want you…to hear me…you won’t?”

“Subtle mind-torture,” Schu shot back. It wasn’t his imagination, and it was no goddamned natural occurrence. There was a psi-shield on this bit of damned empty ocean. Why?

Because it wasn’t empty, of course. Gotcha, Bickley-bastard. Did you think the Gong Show was all Mastermind had up his sleeve?

Or rather, between his ears?

Schuldig thought back to Herr Stein, treading water while every swear word he’d ever known ran through his head. There, the lessons–psi-shield. He had listened. Sometimes. Right before he dozed off. Or Stein caught on to whatever he was doing this time.

Psi-shield. Some psis could extend their personal shields. Schu could do it; he could shield anybody, inside his or on their own. Brad could do it, could shield like no one else, and project a little besides, enough to keep Schu from imploding when he’d stretched himself too far. Some psis, though, had only that for a power, and the stronger ones could cover kilometers. But it was perimeter, not radius, just like personal shields. Otherwise you’d just smother your own power, and short-circuit your brain.

Like that ditz Karina. Told her Stein was a bastard–

Old news and long dead, Schu-Schu. Focus. Either the psi was a mermaid, or there was another sort of cover at work too. And right in the dead zone of a psi-shield was the perfect place to figure it out. Schu ran a quick inventory of his head, and found the thoughts that weren’t his. Working through the psi-shield? That made two psis working in tandem, or one really good one, and Bickley wasn’t.

Mess with Mastermind, huh? Schu uprooted the suggestions, and another island appeared before him. A bigger island, with a building sticking above the palm trees in the middle. And a much-more-civilized-than-the-tiki-hut white-painted cabana, right there in front of them.

Damn, he hoped there were cigarettes in it.

Che, Kudou was whiny. Schu shielded himself.

“How far…” the blonde gasped, “…to Tokyo?”

************

Well, Crawford thought as he figured out how to program the microwave, time to see just how unpredictable Fujimiya could be.

He was rather looking forward to it.

Odd it might be, but Crawford had enjoyed this day more than he’d enjoyed anything but Schu in a very long time. Yes, he still meant to take his pixie back, and kill Bickley in the process, or maybe just incapacitate him and take him back to Tokyo, where Schu would fix whatever Bickley had done to the rest of Schwarz, and they could spend a month killing the man together. And yes, Weiss was still the enemy, and if Fujimiya got in his way, he would shoot the redhead without hesitation. But he would certainly regret the necessity. Teasing Abyssinian was more entertaining than toppling new governments.

Crawford looked around at the small but expensive galley, peered out the porthole and shook his head. Who would have dreamed Fujimiya had a touch of pirate in him?

More than a touch. He’d boarded the small yacht, a raiding party of one swinging on a rope, brandishing his sword and cursing in three languages. Crawford hadn’t even drawn his gun; the native crew jumped overboard at sight of the redheaded demon.

Demon. If only he could talk the bastard into changing teams. Schuldig would try to kill him–or seduce him, or both–but if he survived both events, Fujimiya would make a fine addition to Schwarz.

Another fantasy, unfortunately. Of all of Weiss, Fujimiya was the least vulnerable to becoming what he did. His moral compass was in a safer place than the others’. Though the girl herself was fascinating–

Catch-22. Fujimiya would never swerve, as long as his sister held the reins. And messing with his sister would only make him more resolute.

Where there’s a will, his father used to say, there is a way. As Essett had learned.

But in the meantime–the timer dinged on the second meal, Crawford maneuvered it onto some unhappy bastard’s truly fine china, and pulled two bottles of wine from the cooler. So prepared, he went to see what Fujimiya would do about the liberties he’d taken, now he could finally spare the time.

Surprise, surprise, the bastard met him with his sword.

“You,” he hissed. Nothing more, but he didn’t need it, his rage crackled in his eyes. Crawford managed not to smile. He didn’t need his Talent to know that would get the blade shoved through his throat.

Summer lightning, he thought, waiting for the man to realize he was making an empty threat. Fujimiya–Aya–Ran!–Ran’s eyes glowed like summer lightning over the lake on a hot July night when the storm finally broke. And he was barefoot, and he’d unbuttoned the top and bottom of his shirt, finally acceding to the fact he was in the tropics–

The bastard was not going to get tired, Crawford realized. And he wasn’t going to back off.

“You could at least let me set dinner down. The plates are starting to burn my hands.”

One fine red eyebrow rose. “And I should care…why?”

If Crawford were sixteen, he might have fallen in love.

“You kissed me,” Ran snarled.

“If you call that a kiss, Kudou really is all talk.” Playing with death, that was what he was doing, and Crawford was beginning to understand fools who skydived not knowing if they would make it down alive. Though even if this weren’t fun, the kiss would have been worth it. It had been pretty damn good, actually, until he realized Ran wasn’t groping him back, he was trying to get his hand on Crawford’s gun.

The metal one.

As planned, though, Crawford had been able to distract him from immediate reprisal with the perfect boat for their continued journey, right there and needing stealing now, as it was already moving away from the dock.

No wonder that crew jumped overboard.

“I will kill you,” Ran said. That might be a problem, if he set himself on the goal enough that his power came into play–so convince him otherwise. Crawford smiled.

“But not yet, so why not eat dinner? You have a choice, veal piccata or beef bourguignon. And the former owner of this boat had fine taste in wines.”

Without taking his eyes from his target, Abyssinian somehow looked from one bottle of wine to the other. “Do you think you will get me drunk?” With a glint in his eye? The last time Crawford saw Ran drinking, he hadn’t been holding it well.

Or maybe he’d just really wanted to hang on Kudou.

“Chardonnay to go with the veal, or zinfandel to go with the beef. You do know it matters, don’t you?” Ran did, Crawford was sure. Kudou would probably pass up the food and grab both bottles of wine, but Fujimiya Ran had to know how to drink wine.

“The second Balinese is safe,” Ran growled, and flipped the sword back into its sheath, “you are dead.”

Crawford set the plates on the small table on the stern deck, and opened the wines to breathe. Ran switched the plates and sat before the veal, facing the boat so he could, presumably, keep an eye on their progress. Crawford knew a little of sailing; he’d immediately seen that Ran knew a lot more. That was why he’d been in the galley.

That, and he was pretty sure given half a chance, the redhead would have managed to brain him with the boom. With his sense of humor, he might even make it look accidental. Crawford filled both glasses and lifted his.

“Cheers.”

Ran simply lifted one red eyebrow.

******

“Schu,” Yohji said again, “you made an island.” Again he lifted a handful of sand and let it trail between his fingers. How the hell–

The telepath snarled and continued tearing the cabana apart in search of nicotine. The last cigarettes had gotten wet in the cooler, and wouldn’t burn. Yohji had told him even with the sun setting, they would dry quickly on the hot sand, but the German had growled back that he did not wait, and attacked the pretty little beach-shelter.

Yohji left him to it. Schu had made clean towels and a fresh-water shower and a bag of pretzels, too. It wasn’t a French omelette served by the most beautiful man in the world, but it was a lot better than nothing.

Pretzels and beer went together, right?

********

Aya was not drunk. Mind over matter, he’d told Yohji, and it was true. He was just…pleasant. And getting more so. Crawford filled his glass again, the bastard was trying to get him drunk. Well, two could play that game; he refilled the American’s. See who got stupid first, huh? Not that the Oracle had been showing his intelligence starting it. All drinking did to Aya was remove his inhibitions–and the only inhibition he had about Crawford was the one keeping him from sticking his sword through the bastard before he had Yohji back.

Now if he had Yohji on this pretty little yacht, with the wind rippling the sail and the water slapping the hull and the moon rising over the waves…mmmm. Dinner would have been much more enjoyable, dessert would have been whipped cream and Yohji…

Or maybe he’d have danced with the blonde. Yohji always wanted to go dancing, but this boat was more appropriate for the kind of dancing Aya knew, and as long as they were touching, Yohji would be happy.

Dancing would be nice, but knowing Yohji they’d never get that far. He’d flirt and tease until Aya forgot why he was resisting, and then he’d chase the blonde from fore to aft, port to starboard, below deck and above and up into the rigging, and catch him–hmm, where?

At the table. He sat now with his back to the mast, so he could see the table was a good place. The moon was rising over the stern, he’d capture Yohji and lay him on the table and have his dessert until they were both crazy, then fuck his beautiful lover in the moonpath and Yohji would moan and tremble and shout his name as he came. And then they would just sink down exhausted right there, he’d go and get blankets for padding–Yohji’s lithe beautiful body felt the hardness more–and they’d sleep in the lap of the water and when the moon was right above and so bright it woke them, he would make love to Yohji again…

Che. If Crawford didn’t stop staring at him, he was stabbing the bastard. He had the heading now, he could–

No. It would be just like Crawford to have doglegged the course. If Aya didn’t turn at the right time, kept sailing on this tack, he could end up in South America without even seeing the island they must be aiming for. And it had to be close, or the Oracle would not have chosen this boat to steal.

Heh. He’d always wanted to be a pirate.

“We’re rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves,
“Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho.
“We’re devils and black sheep and really bad eggs…”

Crawford snatched up his napkin and coughed. Didn’t think Abyssinian could sing, huh?

Snicker. The Oracle’s face was flushed. He’d removed his jacket a long time ago, and his tie. And his socks and shoes. Unbuttoned his vest. If he took off one more thing, Aya was stabbing him. He’d just–follow the scent of Yohji’s cologne or something, to get his Kudou back.

His Kudou. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty–though Yohji called him kitten. He ought to give the man a nickname, it seemed to matter to him. Hmmm…

“With cat-like tread,” Crawford sang softly. Aya grinned.

“Upon our prey we steal,” he joined in. Loud, as it was supposed to be sung.

“In silence dread,” Crawford turned his volume up, that was more like it.

“Our cautious way we feel.”

“No sound at all,” now they were belting it out–

“We never speak a word,

“A fly’s foot-fall,

“Would be distinctly heard!”

“You–“ Aya pointed with the bottle, when had he stopped using the glass? Anyway– “You know every word, don’t you?”

“Of what?” Oh, that was funny, the Oracle trying to look innocent! Then he grinned. And sang.

“I am the very model of a modern major-general.

“I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral.

“I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical

“From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical…”

***********

When Kudou came out, Schu was sitting in a beach chair smoking and watching the very last of the sunset. The telepath smirked when the blonde spotted the crumpled pack, and realized Schu was smoking the very last cigarette.

::Hello!:: Schu said in his head. ::Villain!::

“You don’t have to be proud of it.”

::Heads up, Kudou, company’s coming.::

Yohji let go of his towel to wrap his watch around his wrist.

::Nice view,:: Schu chuckled in his mind.

“Damn it, I can’t get my clothes on again! Two wettings and then drying on the damned beach–“ Kudou grabbed the towel and tied it around his waist, reinforcing the knot with a twist of wire, and finally looked for the ‘company.’

Six assorted people, coming along the beach from the village Schu hadn’t noticed until he’d got the first cigarette to light. A couple were the small, dark, active people you’d expect of an island in the middle of nowhere, but one was a lot darker, and the other two were white. All were carrying baskets and smiling. And muffled, if Schu had any power left at all.

And he did, he could hear Kudou whining about not having his gloves loud and clear.

Muffled. Damn, Stein–brief pause for swearing–really had taught him something. He’d have guessed he didn’t remember a damn thing from those classes, but here was another fact. Muffling was how a telepath shielded someone without using as much power as if he made the shields solid. Like putting a big fluffy scarf over the brain, rather than the solid shields most people preferred. The solid, bell-shaped shields, they made it so easy…

Well, there were ways around muffling, too. And if Bickley had taken the time to camouflage them, there must be something worth finding.

It was ten minutes of trying to get through, while they smiled and bowed and handed over food and drinks and cartons of cigarettes and set the place he’d torn apart to rights, before Schu realized they weren’t muffled.

There was just nothing inside their heads.

*******

“Laertes,” Ran said. Crawford peered at him.

“You were in Hamlet?” That was a little more ambitious than he’d have expected from a Japanese high school.

“I already had a sword,” Ran said with a giggle. And bounced to his feet.

“To hell, allegiance!” he declaimed, fists clenched. “vows, to the blackest devil!

Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation. To this point I stand,

That both the worlds I give to negligence

Let come what comes; only I’ll be revenged

Most thoroughly for my father.”

“How strangely…appropriate.” How utterly beautiful. And oh shit, how fucking drunk he was. Stupid, Crawford, damned stupid to get pulled into a drinking contest–four bottles, and the bastard hadn’t passed out or gotten horny.

“Is not,” Ran snarled, stumbling back and sliding down the mast to sit. “Sister’s alive. Won’t let her go. Aya lives.”

“Of course.” Careful. Enunciate. Don’t show it.

“Meant to ask you,” Ran demanded, “How the hell do you put up with Schuldig?”

“I’ve been wondering that for years.”

“Then why?”

“You’ve seen his power.” Crawford poked Ran in the approximate area of Sakura’s gunshot; he moved too slow to knock the hand away. “How can you ask?”

“So? You’re all powerful, even that lunatic of yours. If you’re so into power, how come you’re not running the world yet?

“We don’t want to rule the world.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“We will destroy it.”

“Then what?”

“Then…nothing.” Crawford blinked. Right, that was it. “We will watch it burn, and then nothing.”

Ran burst out laughing. “You–“ he pointed with the bottle, but he couldn’t get any farther. “You–!”

“Why is that so amusing?” Damn, he was even more beautiful when he laughed.

“You–did you even think that through?” Ran demanded as his giggles ran down. “You want to be one of three people left for Schuldig to harass? What will you wear after Farfarello slices up your last Armani? When there are no more BMWs or Ferraris or Chardonnay or electricity? Yohji says Schuldig drinks more than he does–do you want to be around when he runs out of alcoholic beverages? Cigarettes? Nightclubs? You could do anything, and you’d set yourself up for that?”

He had to have thought about that. What had he thought? Damn it, he was the Oracle, he had to have a plan for that! What had it been? “Maybe,” Crawford allowed when he still couldn’t remember, “we’ll keep a few, carefully-chosen people.”

Ran snorted. “You’re an idiot,” he reiterated, just in case Crawford hadn’t realized he’d basically said that already. “Personally, I’d rather be shot–again!–than spend five minutes alone on the planet with that bastard.”

“That could be arranged,” Crawford growled. Ran waved his hand, and watched as it went on waving on its own.

“Nuts. Get in line. What the hell do you see in Schuldig, anyway?”

“Tiger! Tiger! burning bright,” Crawford quoted.

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

“The Tiger, William Blake,” Aya said. “It works, I guess. But he’s more like,

By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.”

“He’d love that!” Crawford laughed, “but too easy.

“And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.”

“Ooh, nice,” Ran admitted. “Coleridge, Kubla Khan. Try this one.

False of heart, light of ear,

bloody of hand, hog in sloth,

fox in stealth, wolf in greediness,

dog in madness, lion in prey…”

“You do like your Shakespeare, don’t you?”

“All the world’s a stage,” Ran murmured.

“So what does the Bard have to say about Kudou?”

Goddamn if Abyssinian’s eyes didn’t go soft and dreamy.

“Lord of my love,” he breathed, “to whom in vassalage…”

He knew the whole sonnet, ending with,

“…To show me worthy of thy sweet respect.

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;

Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.”

Damn. Crawford didn’t need his power to know what would happen if he mocked Kudou now.

Heehee. Fujimiya was a romantic.

“But soft,” Ran murmured, finally his head was nodding, “what light through yonder window breaks? It is–“

”The East,” Crawford put in automatically. Boring, Romeo and Juliet, he would have thought–

Ran leaped to his feet and spun, looking over the bow of the boat, swaying as he stared into the gathering light. Damn, dawn already? Up all night drinking, that was far from the brightest thing he’d ever–

The redhead snarled and ran to the bridge, Crawford felt the throb of the engines die. What was he doing?

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you hear it?”

If there was one thing Crawford hated, it was when people answered a question with a question. That was probably why Schuldig did it so often.

Ran was staring off the front of the boat, his hands on the wheel. Crawford saw his eyes widen to reflect the dawn, then he spun the wheel and the yacht wallowed. Now he heard it, the roar of breakers–the engines coughed back to life, drowning out the waves.

“Down!”

Crawford ducked the boom. Breakers, but there was nothing–

“Jump!” Ran shouted, giving up the wheel. Crawford sprinted for his gun instead. Gun, life vest–he caught up his holster, then collided with Ran, chasing his sword as it slid across the deck.

“Leave it!”

An instant’s wild-eyed stare, then Ran shoved him off and dove after the weapon. Crawford snatched at his arm and missed.

Schuldig was his. Ran never would be. Crawford dove over the side.

*********

Ooh, lots of things to credit there. Umm… I’m pretty sure I borrowed “Changes in Latitude” from a Jimmy Buffett song. But as I think he took it from a Corona commercial and they probably got it from someone else, it should be okay.

“Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life For Me) ” Lyrics by Xavier Atencio and music by George Bruns. You may recognize it from Pirates of the Caribbean. If you’ve ever heard of that. 😉

“With cat-like tread,” and “Modern Major-General” are from The Pirates of Penzance, by Gilbert and Sullivan. If you haven’t seen that, you need to rent it.

The Tiger (or Tyger, not sure which is correct for the poem) is by William Blake. Kubla Khan is by Samuel Coleridge.

From here on out, it’s all Shakespeare.

“To hell, allegiance!…” Hamlet

“By the pricking of my thumbs…” MacBeth

“False of heart…” King Lear

“But soft,” is from Romeo and Juliet, like you didn’t know that.

“Lord of my love…” is Sonnet 26. Yeah, yeah, so I cut a chunk out of Shakespeare. Shoot me. I added punctuation, too, so my italics wouldn’t mess things up.

**************

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