Chapter 11: The Water Bearer
Natalie's head pounded like the worst hangover she'd ever had but with none of the fun the night before. Even blinking hurt. The curtains were drawn, but the muted light was enough to make out the dresser she'd covered in stickers, the band posters curling at the edges, and the desk stacked with unfamiliar boxes. Home, almost exactly as she'd left it.
She pulled the blankets over her head, not wanting to be awake. Not wanting to remember flames drifting across the water, the smell of burned fur, or cruel, gray eyes above a red bandana.
But she couldn't ignore her full bladder or empty belly any longer. She checked the time and groaned: it was already past noon. Wincing and hissing, Natalie crawled out of bed. Most of her clothes were still here: like a good trainer, she had taken only the essentials when she left. She pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie, breathing in their familiar homey scent, and then shambled down the hallway to the kitchen.
She found a note stuck to the fridge:
Didn't want to wake you, but I'm excited to see you for dinner! Text me and let me know what you want. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Love you.
So Mom had heard her come in last night after all. Natalie felt a twinge of guilt, but more than that, she was glad to have the house to herself for a few hours. She didn't know what she'd say to her parents, Dad especially. Would it be kinder to tell him about Archie or not to?
She had time to figure it out. It didn't have to be now.
Natalie rooted around the junk drawer until she found a bottle of ibuprofen and then washed the pills down with oran juice straight from the carton. There was a half-filled carton of eggs in the fridge and a tupperware of leftover pasta sauce, but Natalie didn't have it in her to actually cook anything. Maybe later. Instead, she rolled together deli meat slices and Kraft Singles, demolishing the wad in two bites. Then, with a jar of peanut butter and the oran juice carton tucked under one arm, she dragged herself to the couch and curled up under a blanket like she did when she was sick. She nibbled peanut butter from a spoon and clicked through TV channels. When she landed at last on a trainer travel advisory, she stopped out of habit.
"—got quite a shock when the eruption began this morning shortly after five. After several hours, there are still no signs of it letting up."
Dense, curdled clouds bulged over Mount Chimney, stretching out of frame. Natalie stopped with the spoon halfway to her mouth. She'd known Mount Chimney was a volcano, but she'd thought it was long dead.
"Those clouds may look like smoke, but they're actually made of water vapor, carbon dioxide, and particles of rock and glass…"
Planning her route across Hoenn, she'd swiped through dozens of photos, trainers and tourists posing on the crater ledge or hiking into the bowl—unaware that magma burbled far below, out of sight but no less real. There was so much that people didn't pay attention to. The more Natalie learned about the world, the stupider she felt.
"Masks are recommended for travelers on routes 111, 113, and 114, and pokemon should be released with caution. Although there is currently no evacuation order in effect for Lavaridge Town, the mayor has advised the public to remain indoors. Cable car service will be suspended until further notice."
If things had gone differently in Rustboro, if she had never gone to the protest, she might be in Lavaridge right now, hiding out in the pokecenter, watching the ash come down and waiting for the news station's next prophetic announcement. There was no escaping it, was there? Hoenn was exploding from one end to the other, whether by acts of nature or human stupidity.
"Geologists say that sudden eruptions from previously dormant volcanoes are not unheard of. Mount Chimney may not have erupted for more than a hundred years, but to a volcano, that's like no time at all."
The footage cut to Professor Anna Karst, who absently patted her graveler's head as she addressed the camera.
"We study volcanic activity to predict the likelihood of violent, destructive eruptions. Of course, there's no such thing as absolute certainty when it comes to volcanoes, but as of right now, there's no reason to be overly concerned."
"We'll continue with more Mount Chimney updates as the situation develops. Cassandra Burns, Channel 10 News, Lavaridge."
Natalie reached for the remote—but before she could click away, the scene changed to one she recognized all too well.
"Cleanup continues in the wake of the disastrous pipeline accident that destroyed the Route 110 overpass and left miles of marshland burning late into the night."
Accident. The word sizzled in her mind.
By the light of day, the overpass looked worse than it had the night before. The bridge had snapped in two, and the broken ends sagged at forty-five-degree angles, girders jutting out exposed bone. Chunks of concrete dangled from steel cables and swayed in the wind. Rubble lay in a heap underneath, pale against the scorched field.
"The explosion occurred around 2:05 a.m., drenching an area the size of an Ever Grande stadium with oil. Some of the oil burned off in the fires that followed, but by the time the pipeline could be shut down, an estimated two million liters had already spilled. We go now to the terrifying footage from last night."
The broadcast cut to a dark, shaky video, what looked like a cellphone or pokedex recording of the fiery column shooting above the overpass. The fire looked small and distant in the middle of the grainy black, only an echo of the terrible heat she'd experienced firsthand.
"The Devon Corporation gave a statement earlier this morning."
"We care deeply about the health of our customers and the community. No one is more invested than we are in ensuring our pipeline system operates as intended: safely and reliably."
Natalie speared her spoon into the jar and left it standing upright.
"Investigations into the cause of the explosion are still underway in cooperation with local law enforcement. When asked if they suspected foul play, officials said they're currently considering all possibilities."
The word
investigation gave Natalie a zing of hope, and for a moment she allowed herself to imagine Mark in handcuffs, unmasked to the world. She could give the police his name: Mark ... D-something. Okay, maybe not. It didn't matter—the Rustboro gym would have the information. But she had no proof that he'd done anything or even that he'd been there except for her word ... and she would have to explain what had brought
her to Route 110. And what good would it do if they arrested him anyway? The other Magma jerks would pick up where he left off.
She drew the blanket tighter around herself, but she didn't change the channel.
"But local activists remain concerned about the long-term environmental impacts of the spill."
The text blurb announced the next speaker simply as Redbird. Natalie thought immediately of Erica Spitfire, that same weathered face and fierce delivery. He used words like
groundwater contamination and
ecological niche, but they washed against her without sinking in—it was too much, too awful.
"And that's not even touching on the grimer problem."
Natalie gasped when the video feed jumped to a shot of grayish water oozing down the coast like a second spill, stretching tendrils towards the dark shimmers on the water's surface. Twisted little faces bubbled up in the spume, subsumed one another, and sank back down.
"To hundreds of grimer and muk making their way downstream from Mauville City, an oil spill looks like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Given a large enough food supply, a population of grimers can double in as little as one day."
Natalie's thoughts circled back again and again to one landing spot: it wasn't fair. The places that were already most vulnerable shouldn't have to keep weathering blow after blow. Fair or unfair, the footage rolled on and on, more of the same.
"The Marine Spill Response Corporation has put out a call for trainers in Slateport and Mauville to assist in catching these troublesome pokemon. And that's not the most unusual source of help to arrive in the aftermath of the Ridge Access spill."
The camera panned across the crowd of emergency responders and trainers at the water's edge and—
They're still there! Natalie bolted upright. She tried to pick out familiar faces, but all she saw were blue bandanas streaked with soot.
"Historically, the extremist group ORCA has had a violent, antagonistic relationship with local authorities, claiming credit for a number of destructive acts in and around Slateport. Today, however, they're joining the cleanup efforts."
A Marine Spill Response crewman in neon coveralls appeared onscreen. For a moment, he looked so much like Dad that Natalie did a double take.
"I'll just say they wouldn't be my first choice, but … when you have a situation like this, you take help where you can get it."
The shore was crowded with dozens of trainers and crewmen in day-glo coveralls; ORCA stood apart from the others, but they looked as busy as anyone else: directing pokemon to chase grimer into the paths of pokeballs, raising trenches along the shore, shoveling black goo into buckets. Last night, only a handful of sailors had left the
Ultimatum with Sinbad, and now at least thirty of them were gathered at the spill site. Had they left and come back, or had they been there all through the night?
She should've stayed.
Natalie realized she'd bent forward with her elbows on her thighs and her face raised to the TV like a satellite dish seeking a signal. She forced herself to take a deep breath and sit back, but her eyes didn't leave the screen. The news anchor spoke placatingly over shots of volunteers in rubber gloves sudsing an oiled electrike, but Natalie's heart pounded. She couldn't just sit on her ass and watch.
Ignoring her body's protests, Natalie jumped up for jeans and her belt. When she returned, hopping from one foot to the other to pull on her socks, the screen had gone red. A lone figure sat dead-center—a man, she thought, despite the long hair—but the backlighting made his face an impenetrable mask of shadows. Above him was the Magma insignia.
"What you're seeing is the natural consequence of allowing corporations to self-regulate—they don't."
His voice was digitally altered, but what struck her was its clipped cadence, each word sterile and sharp. Natalie hated him instantly.
"This is not the first time a Devon pipeline has spilled on Hoenn soil, and it certainly won't be the last."
And he would know.
Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them. Rage and disgust throbbed in every aching inch of her.
"Events like this one will continue unless the Hoenn legislature takes immediate action: increase government oversight of corporations, commit to conserving wilderness, and curb greenhouse gas emissions. A government should serve its people, not corporations.
"Magma is watching, and we will not back down."
The transmission cut abruptly.
"Thank you for your patience while we resolved some technical difficulties! This is Channel 10 news, Slateport's premier news source. We're live on the scene at Route 110 …."
"What the fuck was that?" Natalie demanded of the TV, her throat tightening. Had they actually just hijacked Channel 10? Could they do that? Before fear could seep in, she drew her anger around herself like a shield.
The screen showed more aerial shots of the crumbling overpass and the rainbow sheen on the water's surface, but nothing more about Magma or ORCA—not one glimpse of anyone who might be Archie. But he had to be there, somewhere just offscreen.
Funny how, after ten years of thinking of him as a ghost, she knew exactly where to find him now.
He'd said it himself: this was their home. Amelia's home too, she thought, touching her pelipper's pokeball. If Archie was out there right now trying to undo what Magma had done, then he was fighting on the right side. Then he was still her brother.
—
The stench of oil and burnt earth was dizzying. Natalie didn't have anything else to cover her nose and mouth, so she was grateful she'd thought to bring the blue bandana, hastily hand-washed and wrung out in the sink. She'd turned the skull and crossbones to face inward, but as soon as she saw the crowd, she realized it didn't matter: no one but ORCA was wearing blue here.
At the edge of the scorched grass, she paused with her hands on her hips, taking shallow breaths. Out on the water, motorized skimmers drifted like aquatic roombas inside the oil containment booms. Bulldozers assisted by machokes scraped up piles of pulverized concrete and then rumbled away with them. A helicopter chattered noisily overhead. Under a canopy tent, pairs of volunteers gently sponged oil-dark pelippers; many more birds lay heaped along the water, unmoving and difficult to distinguish from the mud except for a jutting wing or beak. Both sorrow and purposefulness hung thick in the air, the crowd quiet but in constant motion. As she'd seen in the news report, ORCA worked several yards from the next closest volunteers.
And Natalie was alone.
She'd made a breathless call to Sonia on her way out the door, pleading, "Come with me."
But Sonia had answered, "Oh gods, I don't think I have it in me. We just had midterms." She gave the groan of someone doing a full-body stretch, and even across the line, Natalie heard her bedsprings creaking. "Gab and I were going to catch a movie later, though. You should come with."
They used to watch a movie together almost every weekend. That might as well have been another planet, another Natalie. "Yeah, sure, probably," she'd said, certain she wouldn't. "I'll text you later."
When she hung up, Natalie let out a slow breath. She couldn't be mad at Sonia. She was an education major, not a trainer. What was she going to do about a grimer? But Natalie could still do something about it, so that's what she'd do.
She had come to Route 110 prepared with pokeballs for grimer, but she wasn't sure where to jump in. The ORCA work crew tempted her. She'd spent enough time on their ship to learn some of their names and to know that none of them shied from physical labor—they would put her to work if she asked. Her brother was almost certainly somewhere among them, and part of her was eager to talk to him about what had happened. He knew it wasn't an
accident.
But she hesitated. None of them had come to her aid last night, not even Archie. Sinbad. More importantly—
They're still criminals. Don't be an idiot.
She didn't have to work with ORCA to help.
Her gaze slid to the other volunteers. They moved haltingly from one task to another, pausing in between to shrug and look around hopefully for someone to give further instruction. Natalie thought she understood the feeling: they were afraid to do the wrong thing and make things worse. ORCA, to their credit, was decisive. Their crew never seemed to stop moving.
Before she could decide where to go, someone chirped behind her, "Hi! Did you—?"
She turned to face a girl with a tie-dyed face mask and clipboard. At the sight of Natalie's bandana, the girl jerked her head back and then narrowed her eyes. Her words came out stiffer this time. "Are you a registered volunteer?"
"I heard you guys needed trainers to catch grimer. I've got a bunch of pokeballs."
"So is your name on the list?" Without looking at it, the girl trailed a finger down the front of her clipboard.
Natalie lifted her chin higher. "I just want to help."
The girl primly folded her clipboard against her neon vest. "At this time, we are only taking in volunteers who've filled out the online form."
"But what about …."
Natalie followed the girl's gaze to the ORCA group across the field. What was the problem if they were allowed to—of course. They weren't
allowed to be here, but who was going to pick a fight with a big group like that? But Natalie, all on her own, was an easier target.
"If you won't leave peacefully, we're prepared to escort you out." The girl put her hand to a belt full of pokeballs.
Shaking her head, Natalie took a step back. Heat rushed to her face. "I haven't even done anything—"
"Are you serious right now?"
Natalie felt a hand on her arm and jumped, anticipating a verbal lashing from yet another stranger. But the woman who had stepped up next to her, drawing her against her side, wore a skull and crossbones bandana. Her hair was tucked under a baseball cap, and Natalie almost didn't recognize her as Shelly.
"Do
not fuck with blue today. This is our coast."
Clipboard girl shrank back but unhooked a pokeball.
Several volunteers had turned to watch, but Shelly seemed not to care. "Uh huh. How do you think that's gonna end?" She gazed imperiously at the girl, one hand on her belt and her other on Natalie's arm. After a long, tense moment, she said, "That's what I thought. Come on." Natalie didn't resist when Shelly tugged her forward.
Feeling eyes on her back, Natalie glanced over her shoulder. The nearby volunteers shot them ugly looks before begrudgingly turning away. At last, clipboard girl did as well, and Natalie breathed out in relief.
As they walked, Shelly reached to yank Natalie's hood up over her head. "Girl, you don't want that hair on TV. Where the hell did you go? Sinbad's been freaking out."
Natalie stumbled. "He was? I didn't think he wanted me here."
"He was definitely pissed when he found out Scarlet brought you, and then more pissed when no one could find you."
They crunched over the brittle grass, towards ORCA's segment of the coast. One moment, there was only a shifting mass of humans interspersed with pokemon. The next, like a magic trick revealed, Archie was right in front of them, recognizable by his frame even from behind.
An armaldo at his side raked piles of dirt with its claws, shoring up an embankment separating clean and contaminated soil. Archie wielded a shovel, filling in gaps. Natalie's heart surged with pride at the sight of him laboring under the sun. In the open. There could've been cops here—probably had been already—and she was sure they'd love to get their hands on the leader of ORCA. He could've sent others in his stead. Except, no, he couldn't. He couldn't sit back and watch any more than she could. In that, at least, they were the same.
When he stopped to wipe his face, stabbing the shovel into the mound of earth, he caught sight of Shelly and Natalie. Several expressions cycled across his face: exhaustion, confusion, then recognition. "Goddamn." Bringing a hand over his face, he let out a whoosh of breath that could've been either relief or irritation. At last he said, "You went home."
"Yeah." That feeling of smallness was creeping up on her again. She snuck a glance at Shelly but couldn't read her expression.
Archie looked Natalie over with bitter-edged amusement. He raised an eyebrow at Shelly, who responded with an exaggerated shrug. "So, what, you're joining the ranks now?"
Natalie couldn't help it—she recoiled.
"That's what I thought. Go back home, Small Fry." He said it gently, which somehow stung more.
"I can't just sit and do nothing!" All around, the nearby ORCA sailors paused their work to watch, and it only deepened her desperation. "I can help catch grimer or dig ditches—whatever. I'll do any of it." She hated the pleading in her own voice but couldn't stop herself.
Archie shrugged, taking up his shovel again. "Then do it." Without waiting to see her reaction, he turned back to shoveling earth.
Shelly nudged her. Pointing with her chin, she told Natalie, "I'm going to help those guys round up grimer."
The sailors parted to make room for them.
Closer to the water, the oil fumes intensified, mixed with the grimer brew of twice-baked garbage and sewage. Every time Natalie thought she'd acclimated, a wave of new odors hit her, a richer putrefaction. The grimer rolled across the water, endlessly pinching apart like taffy and melding with other grimer globs.
They couldn't attack them, one of Natalie's neighbors quickly pointed out: disturbing the water would only spread more oil around or send the grimer to the seafloor where they'd poison kelp and coral and everything else they touched. With so many trainers on the shore, there was also a risk of hitting a teammate by mistake. Instead, they threw one pokeball after another, missing almost as often as not; the grimer were slippery. Natalie had bought a bulk bag of one hundred pokeballs and still worried they wouldn't be enough. When the grimer managed to lay claim to a floating patch of oil, the water seethed with their rapid dividing, two new ones forming for each one they caught.
Pokemon that could fly or float herded grimer, a delicate dance of forcing them away from the oil while keeping them concentrated together. Natalie hated to send Amelia back into this after last night's close calls, but none of her other pokemon could get close enough. She had to trust Amelia would be okay.
At first, she couldn't understand why they couldn't simply drive the grimer further out to sea—until a golbat came too close and the grimer scattered, riding the current as far south as they could. Towards Slateport.
"Everyone downstream is getting fucked by this no matter what we do," grumbled one of the nearby girls.
Natalie cringed at the mental image of grimer washing up on the piers where outdoor markets were held, at the shipyard. She couldn't imagine the damage they could do to the fisheries. "Clean up the oil and they starve, right?"
She made her throw, but the grimer squelched out of the way, sloshing ashore. It wrapped around Natalie's leg and managed to pull her partway into the stinking mud before the other girl caught it.
"Yeah, too bad even the dead ones are toxic as fuck," she panted. Together, they turned their gazes to Natalie's pants leg, which was caked with purple sludge. "Let's, uh, hose that off."
It was wretched work, but the ORCA sailors cracked dirty jokes and kept each other laughing through it. Despite herself, Natalie joined in; any excuse to laugh was a relief. Every so often, someone split off, returning with armfuls of fresh water bottles and potions before she had even noticed they'd left.
"You should take a break." Shelly had reappeared suddenly at Natalie's side.
"I'm okay," Natalie said, forcing a grin, though it was hidden behind her bandana. She refused to be outdone by ORCA.
Shelly shrugged. "Suit yourself, I guess."
By the time Archie slipped in next to Natalie either minutes or hours later, she was lightheaded, her hair was plastered to her neck with sweat, and she was almost out of pokeballs.
"Come on, kid," he said. "Break time."
This time she didn't argue. She whistled for Amelia. Then, pulling down her sweaty bandana, she followed her brother and his mightyena away from the noxious water, towards an area where the grass was still green.
ORCA had rigged up their own tarp, where sailors and their pokemon took shelter from the sun. Most lounged in the grass, their bandanas down around their necks, but a few people sat in fold-up chairs and someone straddled the ice cooler. At Sinbad and Natalie's approach, the sailors scrambled from their chairs. A startled poochyena gave out a shrill bark.
"You guys doing alright?" Sinbad called.
A chorus of affirmations rang out. The sailors who stood up didn't sit back down, though.
Sinbad pointed to an empty chair and told Natalie, "Sit. I don't want anyone getting heatstroke."
She did, gratefully. Across from Natalie, a girl sat cross-legged in the grass, a corphish in her lap; she smiled, and Natalie returned it unthinkingly. It was so easy to forget who these people were. She turned away, but Archie had vanished.
He returned moments later with a water bottle for each of them and dragged one of the unoccupied chairs next to hers. "You did good work out there."
She eyed him warily, forcing herself to search his face for the evidence of a hardened criminal. His forehead was shades darker than the parts of his face the bandana had covered, and something black spattered his clothes—difficult to tell if it was oil or grimer slime. Mostly, he looked like a hardworking volunteer.
"Thanks," Natalie said, After a moment, she added, "Channel 10 is calling it an accident, you know. Someone should tell them it was Magma."
"Sure." Archie shrugged. He was twelve years her senior, but at that moment, he looked even older than that. "Won't stop DevCo, though."
The thought of DevCo quieted Natalie. Magma was one thing. They were awful, but at least she knew they were people. But how could you fight a corporation?
She squirted water into Amelia's waiting mouth, then took a sip for herself—back and forth until, all too soon, the bottle was empty. All the while, she felt the gazes of both Sinbad and Justice on her; the mightyena lay at her brother's side with his tongue lolling but his mismatched ears perked up.
At last, Archie spoke up. "I won't be able to protect you if you keep coming around, Natalie." She squinted at him, and so, misunderstanding, he added, "I already told you: we can't babysit anyone."
"I noticed. I fought one of those Magma guys alone last night."
If he noticed the accusation in her voice, his only reaction was to raise his eyebrows. "Huh. Seems like you can handle yourself alright, then. I'm impressed."
"Not really." She tried to channel her anger into it, but it came out sounding petulant. Rubbing a bruise on her shoulder, she looked away. "I wish I was strong enough to make him pay for this—for everything. But I'm not."
"So you want to punish Magma?"
Absolutely, she wanted to say, but she also knew that wasn't all he was asking. She felt the undertow's pull beneath his words. It was an invitation, one that set her heart beating in a sickening rhythm. Instead, she stared into the distance and said, "Someone has to. And it probably won't be the cops."
Sinbad bared a grin, but his eyes were storm cloud-dark. "No. It'll be us."
Natalie nodded, the words sinking in her mind like a stone. Solid. Weighty. They felt true.
She gave herself permission to look around at the surrounding sailors, the ragtag crew who stood between Magma and acts of destruction. The ones who had shown up to help without being asked, without thanks. The ones who'd shown her around their ship and made sure she never ate alone. They chattered amongst themselves, stretched, drank water, or tended to their pokemon. Even at rest, each of them looked ready to leap up and throw a punch at a moment's notice.
And they stared back at her, not bothering to hide it. Clearly, Sinbad didn't care what they heard—he trusted them. He believed in them.
She hoped he was right to put his trust in them.
From here, Natalie couldn't see the water, but the stench of oil and grimer still wafted on the breeze. Had the work they'd done today even made a difference? She stared across the expanse of blackened grass, and her heart broke all over again. There was so much work to be done and so much that might never fully heal. The volunteers at the water's edge had already begun to thin and scatter. The sun crept towards the horizon at their backs, casting the lingering work crews in the syrupy light of a retro postcard.
Natalie glanced at her watch. "I should go soon. I feel bad leaving, but … Mom is expecting me for dinner." She glanced at Archie. "You could ..." But she stopped herself.
Archie met her eyes, saying nothing.
No. No, he couldn't.
He spoke slowly, "If you want to help, there is something you could do."
She turned away, watching Amelia preen her feathers. But she was listening, every nerve ending alive with it. "What is it?"
"Sin. We don't know her." Natalie jumped; she hadn't noticed Scarlet's approach. Scarlet held herself at a distance, like a wild zigzagoon eyeing a camper's plate and waiting for the opportunity to pounce.
Natalie brought her gaze back to her brother. "You don't know me?" she repeated incredulously.
He shot Scarlet a cold look. "Who else would you send? She's perfect for it."
Scarlet folded her arms, "She could bail. Or go to the cops."
Natalie silently begged Archie to stand up for her, but he only gave her a long, searching look. "You gonna talk to the cops, Natalie?"
"No."
Scarlet started to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her. "It's your call. Are you helping or going home?"
Under Scarlet's haughty gaze, Natalie sat up straighter, rolling her shoulders back. "I can help."
—
When she got home, Natalie washed her hair twice and changed into fresh clothes—her third outfit in a single day—but she still felt dirty. Her smartwatch lay atop the dresser, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching her. Or that the porygon inside it was. Sinbad had laughingly reassured her, "Z's the opposite of an NSA spook." All the same, Natalie tossed her towel over the watch when she finished drying her hair.
"Come on, Luna. Dinner."
Natalie had picked her mightyena up from the pokecenter on the way home, and Luna had spent the last hour curled on the bed, paws tucked under her chin. At the mention of dinner, she leapt into motion, barking and prancing circles around Natalie.
She laughed, relieved. "You're feeling better, huh?"
And then Luna launched herself through a shadow on the wall, trailing black vapor.
"Luna, no! Sit!"
From the kitchen came a scream. But by the time Natalie skidded into the room, Mom was laughing, mussing Luna's fur with both hands. When she caught sight of Natalie, she cried out, "There you are! Welcome home!" She threw her arms around Natalie, but the hug was cut short by Luna jumping up at them, whining.
"Yes, of course we missed you too, Luna," Mom cooed. Luna's tail beat a happy rhythm against the cabinets. "You're so big now!"
"Hadn't she already evolved the last time I was here?" Natalie had been fresh off her first badge then, bursting with confidence and the thrill of adventure. Returning home the first time had felt like wearing too-tight clothes. This time, home felt like an airbag cushioning her fall.
"Could be," Mom agreed. "I guess I haven't stopped thinking of her as a poochyena."
"She's a lot stronger now." Natalie leaned her hip against the counter, frowning. "I dunno if you want to rile her up like that before dinner. Is her bowl still—
aaah!"
Two big hands caught her by the shoulders and shook her.
"Daaaaad! Don't do that!" She whirled on him, grinning even as she swatted his hands away, but he pulled her off balance and into a hug.
"Haha, gotcha!" He turned her loose again. "Good to see you, Butter!"
Her childhood nickname, shortened from Butterball. She usually hated it, but now it made her smile.
"You scared the sh—" She caught herself. "You scared me!"
"Now you know how I feel when you don't call or answer my emails."
He was smiling, leaning to let Luna sniff his hand, but Natalie blanched. "Oh gods, I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't have service for a couple days."
"I
told him not to worry." Mom rolled her eyes but smiled affectionately. "You're young—and a trainer! It's natural to want your independence."
"Sure. And maybe she can independently let us know every so often that she hasn't been trafficked out to Orre."
"Bruce."
"What? I'm just saying I like knowing you're safe."
Bruce Armstrong's booming voice and sweeping hand gestures created the impression of a larger man. His fingers were blunt, his face square. Sturdy. But now, after time away, Natalie noticed his soft paunch, the raw-looking freckles down his arms.
Behind him, the table was set for three, an empty space in front of the fourth chair.
Dad had been worrying about the wrong things all along. He had no idea that Archie was right here in Slateport tonight, as close as a shadow. It felt unkind, but if Natalie wanted to help her brother—help them both, arguably—she couldn't tell him yet.
"I'm safe," Natalie said. "Promise. You don't don't have to worry about me."
"Worrying is what we do, honey," said Mom, squeezing her shoulders. "Now I don't know about you two, but I'm starved."
Once they'd sat, served themselves, and given thanks to the life-giver, the conversation turned to badges. Natalie had expected it, and she was ready. She talked about Dewford beaches, her match with Brawly, and the ferry until she ran out of things to say. Then, with a deep breath, she lied: Rustboro was pretty and quiet. Getting her badge had been a cinch. And that was that.
"Good thing you left when you did," Dad said, stabbing at his plate. "The news out there has been a real mess."
Natalie couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't worry him more, so she took a large bite instead. "Mm," she said, nodding.
"Not that things are much better here lately. They're calling Route 110 an accident, but we all know it was ORCA."
She stopped chewing. "But they helped with the cleanup." Hastily, she added, "I saw it on Channel 10."
"Natty, if someone murdered me in the street, it wouldn't be any less terrible just because they paid for the funeral. It's a publicity stunt. A get out of jail free card." He shook his head. "And, apparently, it's working. Those Rustboro cops dropped the ball."
"Rustboro?"
Mom caught her eye and shook her head.
Natalie knew there was no arguing with him—when he was on a roll, he didn't back down—but she couldn't stop herself this time. "Dad, that was a totally different thing."
"You think it's a coincidence that a pipeline blows up a week after a riot? No, sir. You can bet all those thugs are in cahoots with each other."
Pressure mounted behind her eyes. How was she supposed to explain that she'd seen first-hand the difference between people like Mark and people like her brother?
"I don't think—"
"When these people are left to run wild, people are going to get hurt. It's only a matter of time," he continued. "The cops have got to start taking these things more seriously, throw every last one of them in jail where they belong."
If there had been more arrests in Rustboro, maybe she wouldn't have encountered Mark out on the marsh—or maybe she would've been arrested instead. She winced, remembering the manectric teeth snapping together inches away from her face, and she set down her fork.
Mom cut in, "Do we have to talk about this at the table?"
"Alright, alright." Dad mimed zipping his lips, locking the end, and tossing the key out of the room.
Natalie imagined a big, sturdy lock over her own heart. She would never be able to tell him about the protest or the Route 110 cleanup. Or Archie.
"I want to hear more about Natalie's journey," Mom said, doggedly cheerful. "You must have added some new pokemon to your team by now, right?"
Natalie breathed out slowly. "Well, Amelia evolved." Urged on by appreciative sounds from Mom, she continued. "I also caught a whismur, Gus. He's the baby. Oh, and I don't think I told you about Sam yet."
She stole an uneasy glance at Dad, but it was too late now. She'd already brought it up. "I traded my machop for a timburr—well, gurdurr now. I like him a lot."
The problem, of course, was that he was a foreign invader. How many times had she heard Dad rail against Kantoan ships for tracking invasive shellder into the harbor?
They have no idea what that does to the local economy! Shellder stayed small in the warm waters, undesirable to most trainers but the perfect size to infiltrate drainage pipes and choke them shut.
"Gurdurr, huh?" Dad chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. To her surprise, he cracked a grin. "We could use one of those at the shipyard. You should let me borrow him sometime."
"Funny you should say that ..." Here it was. Natalie's heart began to race, but she pushed herself through it. "I was wondering if maybe sometime this week I could shadow you at work?"
Her parents exchanged looks of surprise. Dad settled into amusement. "Thinking about taking up welding, Butter?"
"Maybe, actually."
Mom furrowed her brow. "Honey, what about the rest of your badges?"
"Yeah, no, of course," she said in a rush. "It's just ... I dunno, I thought it would be good to start working on a backup plan, for after. You know, feeling things out."
Mom made a worried face at Dad, but he wasn't looking. "It's hard work but ... I don't see a reason you couldn't learn if you really wanted to. Seeing what it's like would be a good first step."
"That's what I was thinking, yeah. I want to learn more about it."
It wasn't completely untrue. The shipyard was familiar, a sprawling fortress that held childhood memories. She might enjoy that kind of work: she liked being outside and using her hands, and she'd even taken metalworking as an elective her last year of high school. Besides, it couldn't be worse than rounding up grimer.
And she didn't
have to do anything for Archie—she could change her mind. She could just ... investigate. Decide from there.
"I'll have to check with the project manager, but ... if he okays it, I don't see why not. You gonna be able to get out of bed at five?"
Oh gods, he was excited about this idea, grinning from ear to ear. Could she really go through with this? But he gave her an expectant look, and then backing out didn't feel like an option anymore.
"I'll be up."
"Bring your gurdurr and we'll put at least one of you to work." He laughed at his own joke, and Natalie made herself smile along, avoiding Mom's gaze.
"I'll bring him," she said.
And a porygon.
—
Mom packed breakfast burritos and lunches for both of them like Natalie and her dad were a pair of kids off to their first day of school. In the truck, Dad sang loudly to the radio, making exaggerated faces to try to get a laugh out of her. Finally he elbowed her. "What's up? Tired?"
"Nervous," she answered honestly.
"Nervous? You kidding? The girl who fights with monsters for fun is nervous about hanging out with a bunch of old farts?"
She allowed herself a smile.
"This isn't a performance review. You're not going to be doing any welding today. You just get to kick back and watch."
Right. Watch.
She'd never noticed the weight of her Gear watch until the past twelve hours, how the wristband chafed against her skin—though it looked the same inside and out as it had before. After dinner, she'd scrolled through her apps for signs of change, but nothing had stood out. A thought had occurred to her: "You still in there?" she'd said, at once feeling ridiculous—but then the watch had chimed with a text alert, a smiling emoticon from Zinfandel.
If Sinbad hadn't told her, she would have had no way of knowing the porygon was inside. He hadn't had to ask either—he could've bugged her watch without her knowing. He
had asked, but the idea bothered her all the same. She'd thrown the towel over the watch again before she went to bed.
On the harbor, sunlight spilled red and gold across the water. The shipyard was all purple silhouettes: warehouses crisscrossed by the shadows of bridge cranes, half-built freighters latticed with scaffolding, smaller vessels gleaming along the piers.
The Secure-Tek barrier was nothing but a shimmer in the air, several hundred feet before the buildings. It would allow pokeballs through but not a loose pokemon, keeping away wild wingull … and other unauthorized pokemon. As the truck nosed through the gate, Natalie held her breath. But there was no alarm, not even as much as a tingle from her watch, and then it was behind them.
In the parking lot, Dad gestured towards the water and said, "We'll probably spend the morning at the assembly hall …."
The second Natalie opened the passenger side door and stepped onto the asphalt, an arc of pink and blue light leapt from her watch. In her surprise, she stumbled backward into the truck. The light skimmed silently along the ground, quick as a blink, and darted around a corner to the right. She swiveled to see if anyone had noticed.
"We'll grab protective gear for you and your pokemon first, though," Dad continued. "This way."
Natalie craned her neck, trying to spot the porygon around the corner, but Zinfandel was gone. What was Natalie supposed to do? She couldn't just leave her, but ….
Heart pounding, she tried to take up a casual tone. "What's that building over there?" She pointed in the direction she'd seen Zinfandel go.
"That would be Design. That's where our engineers draft the plans we build from. I'll show you what some of those look like later."
Clever porygon.
Dad started off in the opposite direction, but Natalie lagged behind. Archie had said that Zinfandel could mostly handle herself—"All she needs from you is a boost," he'd said—but how would Natalie get her back? She'd have to find an excuse to come back this way later, she decided, and jogged to catch up with Dad.
He greeted other shipbuilders as they walked, either calling out a nickname or waving rather than shouting to be heard over machinery. The way he navigated between slipways and forklifts, head high, reminded her of the way Archie moved aboard the
Ultimatum. Whenever anyone passed close enough for conversation, Dad put an arm around Natalie and announced, "This is my daughter, home from training. She's already got three badges."
Her face colored each time. She waited for one of the men to demand to know why she was there, but none of them did. They turned their focus on Sam instead. "That's a solid-looking pokemon you've got! Is that your replacement, Armstrong?"
Natalie guided Samson with a hand on his shoulder; every time they passed a worker with a machoke, he flexed and pounded his chest until the other pokemon scowled at them. "Yeah, yeah, we know. You're very strong," she said, patting his arm. "But we're not here to fight anyone." That was the entire point: if she carried Zinfandel past the energy barrier, ORCA didn't have to. They'd leave the shipyard alone.
Dad pointed out a steel beam, and at Natalie's order, Samson gleefully hefted it onto one shoulder. Then she had to coax him into pausing his one-handed military presses to fit the beam into the rig. Natalie pulled Sam's goggles into place. Then they lowered their welding hoods, and Dad set to work. At his elbow, Natalie alternated between watching the spray of sparks and scheming up excuses to split off for the design building. If she said she'd gotten her period, maybe Dad would let her walk back to the truck by herself to get—
But she needn't have worried.
Between welds, hand raised to pull her welding hood back down, Natalie looked up in time to catch a distant flash of blue and pink zigzagging along the support struts of a ship-in-progress. Her heart stuttered along to the porygon's movement. At a shipbuilder's approach, Zinfandel ducked behind a cargo crate. She flickered solid, head bobbing in the air.
Someone is going to see you! But Natalie couldn't think of a way to warn Zinfandel off without calling more attention to her, so she clenched her jaw and watched.
Samson, turning to see where she was looking, gave out a grunt. Natalie clamped onto his arm, praying for him not to make a scene.
"Pay attention, Natty. Hood down."
"Sorry, I got distracted—" As soon as the visor was down, she broke into a grin: she couldn't see the porygon at all. Of course. None of the nearby welders could while their hoods were down. A few moments later, only the buzz of her Gear told her that Zinfandel had safely returned.
When she pulled back the visor, a text alert was waiting for her:
; )
"See that?" Dad said, and Natalie nearly jumped out of her skin—until she realized he was showing her the finished weld. "Slow and steady."
Sam snorted and frowned, making a grab for Natalie's watch hand; she jerked it away. "Right, gotcha," she said, holding him off with her other hand.
"Looks like he's ready to keep going," Dad said with a chuckle. "Why don't you have him bring over another beam."
They worked through the morning. At lunchtime, they drove to Sedge Park and ate their sandwiches together on the tailgate. Under Amelia's watchful eye, Sam, Gus, and Luna play-wrestled in the grass nearby.
Natalie was reminded of summer afternoons metal detecting with Dad, digging up pocket change, vintage badges, and sometimes clamperl. Bubba had joined them sometimes, too. When they tired of walking, they would sit on a dune and watch the wingulls fight over hotdog buns and other trash as the sun slowly sank. They hadn't done that since Natalie was a child. And, of course, most of the local clamperl had died off after
Devon Horizon.
Neither of them spoke now. She was grateful not to have to explain herself or weave around difficult conversations. But at the same time, she couldn't help thinking of the quiet moments with Archie and Dad. Had Archie been holding secrets even then? And now she had secrets of her own.
Dad spoke up, jarring Natalie from her thoughts. "What do you think so far?"
She couldn't meet his gaze. "It's not so bad. Cool seeing the ships come together ..."
He was quiet for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "You know ... I know I give you a hard time about training ..."
Oh, Dad. "It's okay. I know you just want me to be safe."
"I do, but I also want you to be happy, Natalie." When she raised her head at last, there was such tenderness in his face that it hurt. "I'd love to see you become a welder or an engineer or even the captain of your own ship if that's what you want. But you don't have to do that for me to be proud of you. Gods only know how much I would've loved to go out adventuring when I was your age if I'd had the chance."
Natalie clutched his arm. She dug for a scrap of the truth he deserved to hear, an apology, a promise—but all she managed was, "Thanks, Dad."
—
New message from PRIVATE NUMBER, Zinfandel announced on the screen. With a sigh, Natalie rolled onto her back and held her arm over her face to read. What followed was an address and a time,
tonight.
She closed her eyes and let her arm fall. This was her last chance to change her mind. She could throw her watch into a signal-blocking pouch and ... then what? If a single porygon were enough legal evidence to bring down ORCA, someone else would've done it by now. And neither Archie nor Dad would ever forgive her.
"
We're not taking anything away from them. We're not trying to fucking outcompete them in the shipbuilding market. All we want is to borrow some of their knowledge and do our own thing."
By daylight, under the tarp on Route 110, it had sounded reasonable. But the only word she had for it now was theft.
The bed frame creaked as Luna hopped up beside her.
"Hi, Luna." Natalie sat up, grabbing for her. "What do you think, smart girl? Do you think I should go through with it?"
Luna thumped her tail on the mattress.
"We should've gone to Petalburg instead, huh." But if another badge was the answer, it wouldn't make her feel so sick to think about it. She dragged her fingers through her mightyena's mane until Luna shoved her way onto her lap, ignoring Natalie's laughing protests. "You're not being very helpful, you know."
"Knock-knock." Mom leaned against the doorframe, half-smiling. "Mind if I come in?"
"Sure."
She dropped down next to Natalie, scratching Luna behind the ears. For a long moment, she said nothing; Natalie could practically hear her testing words in her mind. Did she somehow
know? The thought turned Natalie's guts to ice, and she watched Mom's face with bated breath.
Finally, Mom said, "Did something happen, Natalie?"
Natalie's fingers tightened in Luna's fur. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know." She sighed. "All this talk about jobs, coming home out of the blue ... Don't get me wrong—I'm always happy to see you, and this is your home any time you want. But it made me wonder if something had happened to make you want to quit training."
"Um." Her throat tightened.
"I thought this was what you'd always wanted."
Without planning it, she blurted, "Do you ever worry you're not doing enough? If you're doing the right things?"
"Oh, honey." Mom tucked Natalie's hair behind her ear, and she dissolved into Mom's embrace. For a while, Mom simply held her. "Sometimes getting a little lost is part of the journey."
Natalie nodded, letting a tear dribble onto Mom's shoulder. "I feel a little lost."
"Nobody has it all figured out at eighteen. You'll figure out what you need at your own pace."
"Yeah, but ..." For a moment, she wanted to tell Mom everything, but she stopped short of finding the words. "The world is so messed up. I don't want to be part of the problem, but I don't know what to actually do."
Mom considered that for a moment. "I think the most important thing is to try to be as kind as possible as often as possible and leave the world a little brighter than you found it."
Natalie shook her head, burrowing her face deeper into Mom's neck. "Is that enough?"
"I don't know about
enough. Each of us can only do the best we can." She began to stroke Natalie's hair. "But don't underestimate the power of kindness, Natalie. Sometimes the little things are the most important."
In Mom's embrace, Natalie believed it. But she had to let go eventually.
"Are you meeting up with Sonia this week? I bet that would cheer you up."
"Oh. Yeah. I'll text her."
Mom kissed her forehead and stood. "Dinner in fifteen?"
"Sounds great."
Alone in her darkening room, she pulled up Sonia's number, but her finger froze above the screen. What was there to say? Sonia was the one she'd called the time she'd needed a ride home from a party she wasn't supposed to be at, the first time she'd had sex, and every time Dad had said something that pissed her off. But this felt different. Bigger. Natalie couldn't imagine how Sonia would react to hearing about the protest, her fight against Mark, her brother. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Was she really going to lounge on Sonia's couch watching movies while a porygon loaded with stolen data sat on her Gear?
A happy ending on-screen wouldn't help clean a single drop of oil.
With a sigh, Natalie flicked away her contacts list. In the corner of her watch screen, there was still a message notification from the unknown number, pulsing like a beacon.
—
The address Archie gave her was a northside bar,
The Emblem. She spotted Shelly first, swigging bottled beer in a tattered booth towards the back. As Natalie drew closer, she realized most of the seats were filled with ORCA sailors, lounging in their seats but watching her. Shelly nodded to Archie, who sat opposite her with his arms stretched across the back of the booth. Scarlet had tucked herself against his side, scowling as she stirred her swizzle stick around and around. Natalie's stomach soured at the sight of her, but she walked forward anyway.
When she arrived at the table, Shelly stood. "Arms up," she said with a half-smile. Natalie was so baffled by the request that she didn't argue. In a few quick motions, Shelly swiped her hands down Natalie's sides and back. "You're good." With that, she sat back down and took up her beer as if nothing had happened.
"Satisfied?" Archie said to Scarlet, amusement in his voice.
She pursed her lips but said nothing.
Shelly slid over to make room beside her, and, holding back a sigh, Natalie sat.
"Let's see what you got." Archie pulled his phone from his pocket. Without warning, Natalie's Gear lit up; Zinfandel streaked across the table and into his phone. He grinned, first at the screen, then at Natalie. "Good work. You passed."
"Passed?" All the blood rushed to Natalie's face. "This was just some bullshit test?
He shrugged. "I needed to know, and now I do. It's a good thing—now there won't be any questions." The last point he directed at Scarlet.
Natalie scrambled out of the booth, breathing hard.
Sinbad raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to leave. You came here for a reason, right? So, what do you want, Natalie?"
The three of them turned their gazes onto her, and her mouth went dry.
"I want ..."
I want you and Dad to make up. To go back to when things were simpler. But had things ever really been simple, or was it only that she hadn't known enough to spot the cracks in the photo frame?
And after everything she'd seen since Rustboro, weren't those small, selfish things to begin with? She spat out, "I want a better world."
"A-fucking-men."
Shelly's eyes flicked to Scarlet and then to Archie. She nodded as if coming to a decision. "You could ride with me. You'd do well with Rosie. If you can follow orders and keep your head under pressure, you could learn a lot with my crew."
They could teach her how to fight—not the battles she'd practiced in parks and gyms but real fights. The kind that mattered.
Her parents would never understand. She could call and write home, just like she had for the past few months, but she would have to lie to them again and again and again.
But was she really going to stay in Slateport for the rest of her life? Take up a job at the shipyard? Go to the movies with Sonia? Change the channel when Magma appeared on the news? How was that leaving the world brighter than she'd found it?
Slowly, Natalie nodded. "I think I could do that."
Sinbad raised his glass. Shelly and then, reluctantly, Scarlet lifted theirs. "Here's to a better world!"
A few sailors at nearby tables raised their own glasses and whooped.
Sinbad drained his glass and then flashed Natalie a fierce grin. "What are you drinking? Beer? Rum and coke?"
Screw it. "Sure. Rum and coke."
"You got it." He swept out of the booth, towards the bar, patting her back as he passed.
Shelly smiled and pulled her back down into the booth. "Welcome to the family, Natalie."
Great to hear! Yeah, I think most of my readers would say that romance is not their cup of tea! Bless you all for muddling through. May it comfort you to know that for most of what's here, they're either distrustful of each other or outright fighting. This is where most of the flirting is concentrated. It is still a love story, but there's not much to show for it, lol.
