I wonder how the shinigami work during some of the fleet battles?
Poor Esther, dealt a bad hand.
Chris Nasipak wrote:
>This one just sort of popped into my head and demanded to be written down.
>
>---
>Oscar Saint-Just's office was two-thirds of the way across the city
>from the Octagon, and the office itself lay at the very heart of its
>own tower. Not even the eye-tearing brilliance of a nuclear
>detonation could penetrate that much alloy and ceramacrete, but the
>entire stupendous edifice trembled as if in terror as the shockwave
>rolled over it. The deeply buried landlines of the government's
>secure communications system were fully hardened against the EMP of
>the explosion, and Rachel Speer's image on his com display didn't even flicker.
>
>Nor did her gaze, as she looked out of the display into his eyes.
>
>"Detonation confirmed . . . Citizen Chairman," she said softly.
>
>(From "Nightfall", by David Weber, published in the anthology Changer
>of Worlds by Baen Books.)
>
>* * * * * * *
>
>Esther McQueen, once Admiral of the People's Navy and Secretary of
>War for the Committee of Public Safety, sat casually on a pile of
>rubble. She would have picked up rocks and tossed them at one of the
>other piles of rubble, but she couldn't: her fingers passed right
>through them, unless she concentrated on what she was doing. Which
>made it a poor choice of cure for boredom. What she really wanted to
>do was to go and throttle Oscar Saint-Just, but for some reason, she
>couldn't seem to get beyond the edge of the crater that used to be
>the Octagon. She thought it might have something to do with the piece
>of chain hanging from her chest, but she couldn't prove anything yet.
>
>"Wow, they really did a number on this place." She didn't turn
>around, just yet. The voice was young, male, probably a teenager to
>judge by the sound, but that didn't mean much in a society with
>access to prolong therapies. Rocks ground against each other
>underfoot as he walked up to the hill, and then asked her, "Excuse
>me, miss... er," he paused, for some reason, then continued "Er, Admiral?"
>
>Esther looked up and over at him at last. He looked just as young as
>his voice sounded, with slightly shaggy brown hair and dark eyes. The
>black robe was a particularly nice touch, she thought, and fit with
>the sword belted to his waist. "Can I help you, young man?"
>
>"Ah, well, er," he said, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of
>his neck, laughing nervously. "Actually, I'm supposed to be here to
>help you, ma'am. Sorry, let me introduce myself. Keigo Asano,
>shinigami, eighth seat, fifth division." He bowed, one of the formal,
>archaic Oriental bows like she'd seen martial artists use.
>
>"Admiral Esther McQueen, People's Navy," she offered in return.
>"Although I get the feeling that the rank is kind of meaningless now."
>
>"Well," the 'shinigami' (whatever that was) mused, "It's not like we
>have a lot of space fleets... and I think your old boss kind of fired you."
>
>"That's one way to put it," she agreed. "So what happens now?"
>
>"Mmn. You can't stay here forever... you'd turn into a Hollow, or get
>eaten by one. That's what we shinigami do, primarily... escort souls
>like you to the Soul Society."
>
>A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I'm not exactly expecting to go on
>to Heaven, kid..."
>
>He shook his head quickly. "No, no, it isn't really like that... at
>least, not right away. Not even we know if there's really a Heaven
>like you mean... Soul Society is mostly a place for people to live
>while they wait to be reborn. Of course, it might take a century or
>two... or longer... hehhe..."
>
>That same nervous laugh again, McQueen wondered, What is he hiding?
>
>"Are you, ah, ready to go on, then, ma'am?" he asked, slipping his
>sword easily from its sheathe. She eyed it for a moment, warily, then
>shrugged.
>
>"I'd like to give Saint-Just his due," she muttered, "But I don't
>think that's going to be very easy in this state." She stood up,
>dusted off her uniform trousers - another meaningless gesture - and
>climbed carefully down from her perch.
>
>"Don't worry, ma'am. Everything's going to be alright." And with
>that, the boy took his sword, and - did not, as McQueen had feared,
>slice the blade down through her ghostly body. Instead he simply
>touched the hilt, ever so gently, to her forehead, and whispered a
>single word, "Konso."
>
>And then the world went dark, and she saw no more.
>
>
>
>
>
>
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