"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."
-Anne Frank


The next morning, Fordo awoke to a sun-filled room and a weight resting on his chest. Leaning towards him, her nose only twenty centimetres from his, was Mika. As his eyes blinked away their sleepiness, her young face came into focus and he saw, in the background, her wings fluttering happily.

,,Guten Morgen!" He let out a little cry of surprise (for he was not yet registering the waking world) and fell off his bed. Mika's wings lifted her up just in time and she hung in midair, beating her wings and holding her nose. ,,Du stinkst, Tiger."

He crawled back up, using the bed as a support system. "G'morning, Mika."

,,Schliefst du gut?" She flew down to the bed and crouched, watching him look for clothes.

He bent down, gathering a cry-T. "No idea." He sniffed the shirt to check its cleanliness, then scrunched his nose at the result. The girl giggled. "D'you need something?"

,,Papa sagt, er müss dich sehen. Er ist in'r Küche."

"What?" Fordo turned and faced her directly. Her eyes rolled.

,,Papa sagt," She pointed to her mouth, ,,dass er," She pointed to the left, ,,müss," She poked the mattress forcibly, ,,dich" -pointed to Fordo- ,,sehen." She pointed to her eyes. ,,Er ist in'r Küche." She motioned her arm towards her mouth, as though devouring something quickly.

Fordo's eyebrows furrowed with concentration. "Someone wants to see me?"

,,Ja!"

"And they're...they're in the..." Mika redid her final pantomime for clarification. "The kitchen?"

She sighed. ,,Ja. Gut." Her hand came to his arm and she pulled him towards the door.

"Where are you taking me?" He let go of the shirt and let it fall to the ground.

,,Die Küche! Papa woll dich sehen!"

"Can't I get dressed first?" They were in the corridor now, Mika still dragging him feverishly, her little wings beating hard.

,,Keine Zeit! Papa woll dich jetzt sehen!"

He didn't understand a word of what she said and gave in to her demands rather than attempt to understand them. They dashed to the stair at the end of their corridor and down into the entrance-way. One more little passageway and through the swinging door. Sitting at the kitchen table was Dr. Baker, content with his cup of tea and morning paper. He smiled as they entered. "Good morning, Fordo. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." He made for a chair and sat down, still drowsy and confused.

,,Ich hab' er wachen, Papa," chirped Mika excitedly. ,,Er war schlafen und dann komm ich und wir sind hier!"

,,Ich sehe. Toll! Ich muss mit Fordo jetzt sprechen."

,,Okay! Soll ich geh'n?"

,,Bitte, Mika."

,,Okay." She sounded disappointed. ,,Tschau." She waved to Fordo and scampered out of the door.

Basil now turned his attentions to Fordo. "Would you care for some breakfast? We have croisants, cereal someplace, eggs probably, of course tea. I'm afraid you'll not find any bacon on this house..."

"You can understand her?"

"I can understand whom?"

"The little one. Mika?"

"Oh, yes." He stood up and headed towards the stove. "I took German in College. Surprisingly, I still recollect some. Speaking with Mika has brought a lot of it back to my memory. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you." He watched Basil prepare the kettle. "Did you wish to speak with me, sir?"

"Indeed. We need to discuss your training." A tea bag was selected from the cupboard.

"Training, eh? Hiroko said somethin' about that yesterday."

"A lot of your purpose here, Mr. Summers, will require you to be able to defend yourself and others." The stove had grown hot enough for the kettle to protest.

"And what, precisely, is my purpose here?"

Basil returned to the table, placing a cup of steeping tea before Fordo. "Well, defeating the Uracilians." Fordo's face grew alight. "We attempt to solve conflicts with as little violence as possible, but sometimes need requires defense."

"Brilliant-"

"Don't get too excited, Fordo. We always begin diplomatically. In fact, that's where I'm off to this morning."

Fordo set down his tea. "You're leaving? What about training?"

Basil chuckled. "I won't be doing your physical training, Fordo. You needn't worry about that."

"Then 'o is?"

"Ohayo!" Hiroko entered the kitchen cheerfully. Glancing at her wrists, he noticed that she wore wrist guards. He pondered this before studying the rest of her. Over her left shoulder set a bokken of wood and she was humming a tune unknown to Fordo, yet somehow familiar.

"She's training me?"

"Don't sound so excited," threatened his instructor sarcastically.

"Hiroko here has ten years of martial arts training. Not to mention the kendo and iaido classes she's taken."

"What's that?" demanded Fordo, gesturing to the wooden stick across her shoulder.

"It's a bokken," she replied. "Used in Japanese sword training."

"Why en't we using real swords?"

"Because Basil here doesn't want you losin' your head before we go to the Centre." There was a sharp tone to her voice that Fordo found himself enjoying. This girl could fend for herself, no trouble. He glared back at her so she wouldn't suspect anything. "And if you intend to do anythin' with it, I suggest you go and find some clothes." He remembered suddenly how he wasn't wearing a shirt or socks, only the beat up jeans he'd had on since yesterday. "And don't bother showering, you'll need one afterword."


Fordo came downstairs, fully clothed and mildly prepared for what was soon to occur. Hiroko was in the cellar waiting for him. The room was lined with padding from ceiling to floor and had a soft, blue sparring mat under their feet. She had set aside the bokken and was sitting in the middle of the room, legs folded and eyes closed, "Konichiwa, Fordo-san."

"Hi."

"Are you ready?"

"Need I be?"

"That's for you to decide."

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Good." She got up from the ground, rolling out her wrists with loud cracking sounds. "Now, attack me."

"Excuse me?" Now, Fordo had no doubt that Hiroko could easily defend herself, but he had considered the size ratios of their bodies and a full-frontal assault on her did not seem to be a gentlemanly thing to do.

"Attack me. However you like."

"Erm...okay..." He cracked his neck, then ran straight towards her, thinking to grab her round the middle and throw her to the ground. Faster than his eyes could focus, she stepped out of the way and jabbed at a spot on his back. Fordo dropped to the ground instantly, deeply inhaling the scent of the training mat. "Oof."

"The first thing you must understand, Fordo-san: strength isn't everything." He let out a pitiful, pained noise. "Are you all-right?"

"Yeah," answered a muffled voice.

"Good. Up!"

Several more times they had this routine. After a while, she would stop to teach him things: positions, techniques, anything to aid his combat failure. They trained all day, stopping only when supper was announced by Guiness. Even though he was getting the beating of his life, Fordo appreciated the grace that his opponent possesed and the subtle art she released upon him. He began to notice things about her as well: the way stray locks of hair would fall across her forehead softly; how her hand would come up quickly to push them behind her ear in a single, teasing movement; how her white, sleeveless cry-T became more and more a part of her body as the day progressed. He suddenly appreciated how...beautiful she was.

After supper they both showered and met again in Hiroko's room. She had expressed a wish to give some sort of pep talk following their day of training and found her sitting on her bed cross-legged and looking through a small volume. Glancing up as he entered, she noticed the mop of damp, brown curls that settled on his head, how adorable they- Her eyes lowered suddenly, cheeks pinking slightly, and she scolded herself for noticing such things about a student.

"What're you readin'?" He leaned onto her bed frame, attempting to read the spine.

"Your assignment." She closed the book suddenly to his confused expression.

"Assignment?"

"Indeed. Apart from not forgetting what we worked on today-"

"I won't," replied Fordo shortly, recalling the mat slapping on his abdomen.

"You will need to study this." She handed him the book. "Now you may go." He left before she could throw him on the ground again.

It was entitled Go Rin No Sho and written by an old man with a name he couldn't even attempt pronouncing (thankfully, the text was in English). It was very old and well-worn and inside it, hasty characters were scribbled in the margins as though taking notes. Some lines were underlined or highlighted for emphasis. He fell asleep reading and feeling that even he, who couldn't truly be harmed physically, would be sore come morning.


Several miles away, Basil sat in his hotel room, watching the evening news. As the newscaster read his final report, the telephone rang. "Basil Baker. I beg you-What? How do you- No, I under- Yes?" He sighed. "Very well. Yes. I'll...I'll be right there." Then he hung up the receiver, took his keys, coat and hat and left the room, the television still on.
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Yay!!! New chapter!!! With a surprise, twist ending. Ain't it crazy? Yeah. You know it is.

Doves!
Kirily Wood