Chapter 7
“Oe, oe!!!” Zuqimori is busting a vein. “What is wrong with you Baruto!” He pulls in close, grabs my head, and starts sniffing my hair.
“It is not possible… I thought maybe Dirirubura was foolish headed, but I see now that it is not so. There is some curse on you.”
I was on my ass, catching my breath after escaping a small horde of angry Patrat. It was a species I actually recognized from scrolling through 4chan for memes a long time ago. It was the Unovan Rattata if memory served, though their eyes were downright vicious looking.
We had caught a Foongus, a Deerling, and Sewaddle since Drilbur, and not a single one of them had taken to me, so I started suspecting that maybe it had to do with fact that I was technically an alien, and they could tell something was off about me. But then I had Zuqimori as a living example that the theory was bullshit, because each and every one of them did the exact same thing Drilbur did – pick Zuqimori over me (or at least that’s what was translated).
“Are you sure Missy doesn’t have something to do with it?”
“Hwe… Missy like bad jokes, but she cannot control mind for pokémon.”
It was all turning out to be quite long winded, and at this point, I would have been satisfied with any pokémon for a partner. Zuqimori was hell-bent on getting me my own, explaining that in this world, a boy should have at least earned one gym badge by their 16th birthday.
“If you won’t let me have Garuvan, then how about its egg or something?”
“Garuvan is man, baka.”
I sigh. “Is he the only Galvantula around? You know – I think I want an Electric-type…”
Zuqimori slowly raises his face, the cracked glasses on his eyes glinting.
“Oh? …”
His mouth hangs open now, upper lip curling, looking like he’s had a terrible epiphany.
“What…”
He is moving his mouth quietly, whispering to himself as one does when trying to solve a complex maths problem. It must be what I’ve said.
Moments later, he’s got a skeptical frown on his face, but when I say frown, I really mean more like a bitter scowl or a grimace. I can only wonder the sort of thoughts that go through this man’s brain.
“Is the light in your room still acting strange?” he says in Pokénglish.
I close my eyes and answer, “Sometimes, yeah, but not as much as before.”
The lamp on the wall above my bed had behaved erratically from the first day Zuqimori had put me in the room. In fact, any bulb which was switched off (and there weren’t many in the cave) would flicker or flash when I got close enough. Zuqimori told me that on the 5th day – the day I woke up – when he saw the lamp dimly lit after Missy had alerted him about my being awake, he was surprised that the side-effects of my “Transmigration” (as he put it) were so drawn out.
He had theorized that the mythical star-piece that he had used to power the entire Brightstar operation had acted as a “gate” for my arrival.
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The original intention was for him to beam his consciousness into my body back in Thunder Bay, displacing my own, and effectively killing me.
He had followed this revelation with uncharacteristic apologies, bowing several times, holding and shaking my hand, and at the end, slapping me round the head, telling me I was lucky to be alive. I think that was his way of being endearing and it was hard to be mad at him. Spending a lifetime trying to escape a universe would take a toll on anyone, I imagined.
So, as things stood, Zuqimori was sure that the only reason the star-piece had disappeared after my arrival was because it had used itself up transporting me here. “Metaphorically, you hatched from it like an egg,” he had said.
…
We catch our breath for the next few minutes, and Zuqimori’s expression is changed. He no longer seems bothered by my repeated failures to bond with the pokémon we caught, no longer seems confused.
“Have you figured it out?”
He is reaching into his breast pocket for the tin of those minty leaves he loves chewing so much.
“Speak Standard, Bartholomew.”
I give a little groan and work my mental gears, locking into the tiny knot in my brain. He’s been asking me to practice my Pokénglish speaking as much as I do my listening, and I’ll admit that it’s done wonders for my resistance to the language.
“Have you figured it out?” It sounds almost identical to my ears, but the sensation on the brain is unmistakable, like foam over your skin – a dead giveaway that I’m speaking alien. It doesn’t feel too bad once you experience it a few times though.
“Do you remember what you read in the Brightstar game description? … Before you arrived here.”
Memories of my room back home trickle through. They seem so long ago, but they’re still perfectly memorable. It takes me several seconds, retracing steps, our heated Command Prompt interaction, my answering of the questions, then…
“It was about Pokémon types, I think… ‘Brightstar assigns your star-type’ …” I paraphrased.
Zuqimori nodded. “That was mostly bullshit. I barely wrote any code for it.”
I’m swinging my feet sideways back and forth on the ground like a toddler. “So what?”
“So, it is unthinkable that it should be true.”
“What’s true?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you acting foolish? You do this a lot. I understand you are Ame-”
“I’m not! Your explanations are so vague! I’m not as smart as you.”
He sighs. “You are right…”
About which of those things exactly…
“I wrote those descriptions as bait. There was never a game. The only functional code besides the one required to link into your computer and start the transfer was a line or two of trivial ‘if-statement’ junk. The star-type randomizer; ‘if PLAY is pressed, assign random star-type’…”
Believe it or not, I actually understand that.
“I thought that’s why you put all those questions in the set up for!”
He shakes his head. “All for show. The only important step in the set up was the last one. I didn’t want to risk transferring myself into someone’s dumb pet.”
…
“It didn’t occur to me until just now, when you mentioned wanting an Electric-type. It should have been obvious too, considering how Garuvan is the only Pokémon that likes you!”
“Then you’ll give him to me?”
“Cannot happen, boy! Do you know how long he’s been at my side?”
Almost as much as I was old.
“… and he’s too useful to waste on a hobbyist like you.”
Ouch? Coincidentally, there is the dull pressure building around my temples and it’s my cue that I’m reaching my Pokénglish limit.
“Are there any other Electric-types around here then?” I say, toughing it out.
Zuqimori sits down beside me, looks into my eyes briefly as he chews, then totally ignores the question.
“Why are you still wearing those, anyway?”
“Huh? These?” He grabs at the frame of his glasses.
“They make you look kinda funny…”
“The day I saw you inside star-piece glass,” he says, “I decide: These glasses saw the first fruits of my years of labor. These glasses will also see the end…”
Hmm… he wasn’t actually wearing the glasses when he saw me for the first time – he had dropped them and cried like a baby. But I won’t ruin his moment.
“Ah.”
He coughs. “Yes, Baruto-kun, I will not stop using these glasses until my work is complete! These glasses will see faces of Ken and Satoshi when we sex their mothers!”
Dis-GUSTING! I can’t help but grimace at the thought.
“Don’t make that face Baruto-kun, Japanese woman is growing old very nicely and clean. We shall enjoy.”
*cough!* *cough!* “Okay! Ehm… where are the Electric-types again?”
A serious look comes over his face, and he spits on the ground to the side.
“Emonga…” He stands and pulls up the belt of his trousers. “Come.”
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