Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Limitless ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Hitsugaya hated delivery days; it meant paperwork piled upon paperwork, Hanatarou always had a minor breakdown, Iba - his head of security and jack-of-all-trades - breathing down the necks of already stressed workers and... Why was he unable to hire people who just did their job without drama? He'd come down to the warehouse for a bit of a spot inspection today; with the threat of both the Core and the Montoyas coming down on him, he needed to see first-hand how his people were making out.

Too bad he was a failure when it came to hiring competent people. There was so much chaos...

He gave himself two minutes before he just took over and either forcibly straightened people out or fired them. The worst part was, none of them, aside from Hanatarou and Iba, knew anything about the complications; the rest of the crew only had heard, second- and third-hand, that there were complications. The biggest rumor flying around was that Hitsugaya was revamping the place entirely and half the workers would be fired. (Half of them seemed to welcome that news; the biggest drawback about this job was manning a warehouse on an atmosphere-less planetoid.) Despite all the sundry rumors flying around - up to and including Hitsugaya was running off with an old girlfriend and therefore this branch of Yamamoto Shipping was shutting down - not one of them had hit upon the real reasons for the tension and the sudden and thorough inventory inspections. No one had even whispered that their boss was on a mob hitlist or the Core's Most Wanted list.

He was rather surprised by that, considering the news of Thorpe's disappearance and the fall of TEI. These guys knew how much business they did with that company.

He sighed and left the workers to their own devices; they knew what they were doing and it wasn't as if they really needed to boss's supervision to unload a docked ship. (They'd have to load a few things for the orbital in his shuttle; he'd take that up himself.) Hanatarou should have his reports ready from the inventory inspection.

After Hanatarou had reported all the crates accounted for, and Hitsugaya's ledger still disagreed, he had asked for a more thorough inspection.

One that included opening the crates and Hanatarou had called - uncharacteristically serious - and asked to see him in person. That was enough of a change from Hanatarou's regular meek demeanor that he'd dropped everything and come down on a delivery day.

Delivery days were too noisy, with too many people running around and way too much happening for him to be comfortable. It was nice, in that it was tangible evidence of his branch of the company still going and still making it. He just wished he didn't have to deal with it. But when Hanatarou's timidity gave way to a serious young man who actually seemed to know what he was doing, it was time to face the music.

Or, in this case, the noise and activity.

He caught Hanatarou as the young man was coming out of the warehouse office, clipboard in hand. Hanatarou, though, was looking at the floor, not paying anyone around him a whit of attention and instead focusing solely on the clipboard in front of him. Hitsugaya hailed him, blinking in surprise as Hanatarou stumbled and looked up, wide-eyed.

What? He'd been the one to call the meeting. Why was he surprised by Hitsugaya actually being there? He rolled his eyes and shuffled Hanatarou - who didn't protest one bit - back into the office.

"H...hitsu..." Hanatarou took a breath, planted himself behind the desk and tried again. And kept stuttering.

Hitsugaya dearly wanted to smack him with that clipboard. "Hitsugaya," he said dryly. "And, yes?"

Hanatarou blinked and held up the clipboard after taking a deep breath. "I, uh... I... It's a... uhm..."

"My report."

"Yes, sir."

Hitsugaya waited for him to keep going. When it became apparent Hanatarou was more than a little lost, he sighed. "And?" He entertained the thought of snatching the clipboard away and reading if for himself, but Hanatarou's little nervous fit would never end that way.

Hanatarou took another breath, stumbled over an apology - not needed, in Hitsugaya's opinion; just getting to it would be enough - and dove into his explanation. "We have stuff."

That was his explanation? Hitsugaya blinked at him. "We're a warehouse." Of course they had "stuff".

Hanatarou winced, then pointed at the clipboard. "We have stuff we shouldn't. A lot of it."

Now, that was a revelation. Hitsugaya wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it couldn't be good. He ran an ordered branch, took pride in the fact that his part of Yamamoto Shipping was spotless, ordered, and rarely disorganized. Even if most of the reason he insisted on such meticulous record-keeping was to keep his own nose clean with Yamamoto - thanks to his extracurricular runs - the result was that his division ran smoothly. There just shouldn't be anything more or less than what was on inventory. He furrowed his brow and held his hand out. Hanatarou handed him the clipboard without a word, but kept talking.

"You were right when you did the monthly report," Hanatarou said, his nervous habits dying as he slipped further into his report. "We're several crates short of what we should have."

Hitsugaya glanced up from his perusal of the clipboard. "How does several crates short equate to having stuff we shouldn't?"

Hanatarou hesitated. "Because we also don't have stuff we ordered."

"What?" Hitsugaya leveled the clipboard toward him; he was not in a mood to deal with such round-and-round. "Start making sense or start packing."

The warehouse manager gulped and wilted under Hitsugaya's stare. "We get deliveries from Yamamoto..."

"I know that," Hitsugaya snapped. He ran the damn branch; he didn't need a lesson in the basics. Yamamoto sent them regular supplies, some product for regular deliveries, and whatever parts he'd ordered to keep this place running. (That's how it was supposed to work at any rate.)

Hanatarou took a step back. "What the packing sheet says and what's actually in the box are totally different," he blurted, looking for all the world like he was about to take a punch... or worse.

Hitsugaya blinked and lowered the clipboard. How different? He'd seen mistakes before; they always annoyed the hell out of him, when a packing list was wrong, but it was more common than he would have liked. Judging by Hanatarou's reaction, though, this was more than simple clerical error. "Keep going."

"I opened up a shipping crate - one of the big ones - that was supposed to be monthly supplies for the orbital - stuff for maintenance, you know? It was half-rotted fruit. There was another crate marked at those decking plates you ordered for the Lily and it was raw silk. I found more of the silk when I went to the galley; their supplies - their food - was nothing more than that silk."

"Are you sure it’s nothing more than a stupid error?" He didn't believe in coincidence, but every avenue had to be pursued.

"Maybe," Hanatarou said with a small worried shrug. "If it were just these things, but it's happening all over our warehouse. Stuff we haven't touched in months - weren't supposed to or didn't need to - is being opened and it's not what it's supposed to be. And," he said, pointing to the clipboard, "that raw silk? I traced it. It was supposed to be sent to Kuchiki's division; it's a delivery he's supposed to send out in a week's time."

Silence reigned for a few moments as Hitsugaya took that in. He was... Well, he was confused. How did someone mess up on that magnitude? "How far back does this go?"

Hanatarou shrugged, still looking like he was waiting for a smack upside the head. "We've opened crates as old as three months and found something unexpected inside. Remember those anti-grav handtrucks you ordered for the Lily and then Abarai took off without loading the crate?"

He was waiting for confirmation; why, Hitsugaya wasn't sure. Of course he remembered. The crate had been left behind by accident, and then shuffled off into a corner, to wait for the Lily's return. That had been two weeks ago. He nodded slowly, not sure he'd like where Hanatarou was going with this.

"It was filled to the brim with DEWs."

That had Hitsugaya stopping short. He blinked at Hanatarou. "My gravs were DEWs?" All hope that this was a simple clerical error fled in light of that revelation. No one just misplaced weapons. Not when the Core and colonies were at each others throats. Not only was he close to being arrested and already on the bad side of the mob, but he was apparently running weapons. Were he a lesser man, he might have beat himself with the clipboard.

Kuchiki might know something. If he didn't, then he should, considering Hitsugaya had his next shipment sitting in the wrong warehouse. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and left the office, Hanatarou on his heels. "Load up my transport." He'd much rather deal with all this in his office, in the quiet, than be constantly annoyed by the noise down here. "I want every crate checked, coming in and going out. No more surprises."

"Yes, sir," Hanatarou responded and, for once, he actually sounded competent. He was probably just afraid of what Hitsugaya would have Iba do to him if he didn't do exactly what he was told. "What about the stuff we've already got?"

What indeed? Hitsugaya was almost at a loss on this one. He couldn't just send it back to Yamamoto's main branch or start sounding alarms. If all this had some malicious roots - of which he wasn't sure, but he was paranoid - he wasn't about to draw even more attention to himself. It was just a little too coincidental it came now, of all times. "Gather it together, put it in a corner, and keep track of what we've got. Got that?" He needed absolutely meticulous records.

"Yes, sir."

Hitsugaya paused long enough for Hanatarou to brush past him with a nod and a half-bow before issuing stuttered orders to a floor manager. He watched, not really seeing Hanatarou actually keeping things well in hand. DEWs. Kuchiki's silk. Shorted on supplies.

It had to be connected to Montoya and Thorpe. Paranoia aside, nothing was this damned coincidental.

Hitsugaya had a small crew of workers - mostly administrative types - who staffed the orbital and he set them to work unloading and putting away the supplies he'd brought up on the transport. Usually, he'd pitch in and help himself. It not only gave him something to do, but it got the idiot work of putting things away done faster. (Something about the boss doing manual labor just motivated the workers, he'd discovered.) This time, though, he fled the transport as quickly as he could. He needed to call Kuchiki and look up a few other things.

His ledger was going to be getting a lot of use. He'd really like to rub it in Shunsui's face right about now. (Except... not really. There came a point where gloating just wasn't worth the trouble. Inadvertent weapons running was definitely not worth the trouble.)

He'd just gotten into his office, not bothering with closing the door. Who cared anymore if someone overheard him trying to figure all this out? Maybe they'd have ideas he hadn't thought of yet. The ledger was still on his desk, a victim of his earlier absentmindedness; he'd forgotten to place it in its drawer. He shook his head; that was unlike him. At any rate, he'd need it later.

First, Kuchiki. He flipped the screen up, brow furrowing at the blinking red light. Of course he'd missed a call; he always did when he went down to the warehouse. There was supposed to be an automatic forwarding system in place but it either hadn't worked or no one in Hanatarou's offices had bothered to pick up the boss's personal line. He checked the ID, out of habit, and frowned. Urahara. And Urahara calling meant business. Probably meant trouble, especially on Urahara's secure line. (That man was more paranoid that Hitsugaya. Quite a feat.) He pushed the message button, frown only deepening as the recorded message filled the screen.

Urahara looked serious, hands folded on the desk in front of him, and that was enough to send Hitsugaya's concern straight into panic. He never looked that serious.

Short and simple, Urahara said. Not so sweet. Your relief ship's off the grid. The message blinked off, leaving Hitsugaya gaping at the screen and hoping to hell he had not heard that right.

His relief ship was gone? He didn't have to go looking to see which one Urahara was talking about; he only had one out at the moment. He'd sent them out as soon as Matsumoto had called for a repair crew. He hadn't heard from any of them since, and the Lily hadn't answered a single one of his calls. That was worrisome in itself, but not uncommon. If the ship was in as bad a shape as Matsumoto had said, it wouldn't be surprising if the comm system went down. Hell, they could have been all out getting drunk; he would have believed that in a second.

But with the relief ship "off the grid" - which meant things Hitsugaya didn't want to think about - that added a whole new dimension to the Lily's silence.

He sat heavily. He'd have to arrange a rescue ship, find out just how "off the grid" the ship was - Urahara didn't mess around, in spite of his playful façade - and... Hell, and contact families. That ship was gone. Gone.. A victim of either Core or mob or anything in between.

He suddenly sat up straight. Oh, shit. That was not good. He couldn't approach this in any way similar to how he'd approach a regular industrial accident. Not when the removal of one his ships meant that this nebulous threat on the horizon was suddenly here, tangible and all too real. He still didn't know who, but he knew enough to know he had to move and do it now. He had the headset in his hand and clicked on, barking orders to Hanatarou (who, again, seemed to take it in stride). His people were being targeted; all he could do now for them was remove them from the playing field.

A few quick words and Hanatarou and Iba were shutting down operation planetside.

Step one was done. He didn't waste any time erasing Urahara's message - he was not leaving any sort of evidence readily accessible. He knew he'd have to do a complete wipe of his hard drive to completely get rid of the thing, but for now, simply erasing it from the message folder would work. He opened up a comm link, hesitating for just a moment as he recalled Kuchiki's frequency. He opened the line, ready to record a message when Byakuya didn't immediately answer, but the (too familiar) sound of crashing crates and a scream from down the hall threw him off.

His hand slapped the desk and he was on his feet in seconds, not bothering to close the open link. He paused just outside the doorway and sighed, relief and frustration escaping in equal parts. It really was beyond him to hire competent people. Now he had klutzes working for him, if the broken crate and worker picking himself up off the floor a few meters down the hall was anything to go by. Apparently, even unloading a few crates was beyond them. "All right?" he called.

There was an answering "yes, sir" which was enough to pacify Hitsugaya; he'd let them clean up their own mess and he'd go back to getting a message to Kuchiki. (As it stood, that open comm link would certainly send Kuchiki an interesting blank message.) He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to duck back into his office.

Maybe this time he'd close the door.

A low whine - barely audible - reached him and he half-turned back toward the hallway, hand dropping from his face.

What the hell was that sound?

He wasn't sure what was first: the bright flash of light or the sound, but he did remember the absolute terror that was all too evident on the faces of the three men in the hallway in the moment before the blast. Then, they were lost to his sight; in fact, he barely had time to register he was actually seeing them before he was knocked off his feet by a wave of sound and heat. His back connected with the desk and he slid to the floor, arms already up to protect his head. From what, he wasn't entirely sure; the blast was overwhelming, sounds and sights inundating his senses.

The sound of metal groaning briefly overrode the crackling of flames, the alarm klaxons. Hitsugaya shook his head, gritting his teeth against the twinges of pain in his back and shoulders. He got his hands under his shoulders and pushed up, gaining his feet in an unsteady lurch and waving smoke away from his face. A futile gesture, that. There was so much smoke in the air that there was no waving it away. He chanced a look into the hallway and tore his gaze away almost as soon as he saw what was there. His people may have been incompetent but... to be burned...

He shook his head harshly. Best not to dwell on it now. Now, he was going to get this under control and then find out who the hell had caused this. That it could be accidental never crossed his mind. Not after everything else.

Metal creaked loudly, and several crashes echoed through the hallway as debris shifted and fell. Hitsugaya was just getting his feet under him, amazed but not really dwelling on the fact that he had managed that with only a few bruises, as far as he could tell, when another explosion - further off this time - sounded and the floor shifted underneath his feet. He stumbled and fell sideways, landing awkwardly and eyes widening at the sudden sounds of cracking above him.

He tried to scramble out of the way, all too aware that if he was caught in the debris, he'd go down with this ship. He moved too late, though, and a large piece of the ceiling - burning and jagged - came down on his back. He hissed, screwing his eyes shut as the heavy piece of debris forced him back to the floor in an ungainly heap. White-hot pain flared across his back, his shoulders, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

Had to get out. Had to get his people out. Hell, had to hope they actually stuck to their emergency plans when the klaxons sounded.

He got one hand under him and he pushed up, catching his breath as his knee folded under him. Cursing the debris under his breath, he twisted as best he could. He'd shove the thing off him, jagged edges and flames be damned.

He never got that far; another piece broke free and he didn't even have time to throw an arm up to protect himself. A ragged edge tore into his temple, driving the side of his head into the floor with enough force that he never felt the pain.

Hitsugaya didn't remember what had happened when he woke up, blinking slowly against the smoke in his eyes. His head was heavy - too heavy - and he wasn't sure what was worse: the throbbing in his head or the sticky warm blood clinging to the side of his face. He groaned, closing his eyes and deciding not to try to figure out the flickering shadows and the smoke heavy in the air.

Or the deck shaking beneath him.

That wasn't good. Even with his head throbbing, he could figure out that wasn't good. He opened his eyes again, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened. He got a hand under him, pushing up and hissing as something pulled across his shoulders. Whatever the hell had happened, it had hurt. A lot.

And it was still draped across his back.

He took a deep breath and promptly choked on the smoke. He grit his teeth, stalwartly ignoring both the throbbing in his head and the stinging on his back, and pushed to his hands and knees. A thin slab of debris - a piece of the ceiling? - clattered to the floor, but the sound was lost amidst the shuddering of straining metal.

He blinked at the floor, tying to decide if the motion he was seeing was his vision reeling or the floor actually moving. Either way, it was not good. Even worse would be staying on the floor, waiting for the orbital to fall apart. He may live in space, but he certainly wasn't keen on dying in space.

Just had to move.

Hitsugaya sighed and blinked a few more times. He managed to kneel, one hand cradling his head and the other braced against the wall. His hand slipped on the wall; had he hurt his hand or was that blood or grease or something from somewhere else? Ultimately, it didn't matter, he decided. He'd deal with it all later, after he was safe. Safer. (Maybe this was the safest he was going to get.) To his feet; that was the plan. Get to his feet and then he could figure out his next step. He pressed his hand against the open wound - still bleeding - on his temple.

Still bleeding. It hadn't been that long, then, since... whatever... had happened. Something big, something not good, and something... really not good. He screwed his eyes shut; his vision was swimming. He remembered the crates and Hanatarou giving him the lowdown on the messed up product. Then, he came back to the orbital. And... well, he was on the orbital and it was burning, groaning, shuddering, and probably damned close to falling out of orbit.

Which, of course, meant he needed to get off the thing. That meant getting to his feet. Good first step, that. He stumbled to his feet, hand still pressed against his head. The floor was still shaking and he stumbled sideways.

And nearly blacked out again when pain flared in his knee. He fell, curling in on himself in a last ditch attempt to protect his head - nearly incapacitated by pain or not, he was aware enough to know he did not want to hit his head again. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes tightly; the sudden movement did wonders for his head. He swallowed back bile.

What the hell? When had he hurt his knee?

He took a few deeps breaths, coughing on smoke, and hand patting the floor almost absentmindedly. There should be something he could use to brace himself; he had to move. (As much as he doubted his ability to move, he had to try; he had to move.) The back of his hand hit a hard edge and he blinked, craning his neck to look behind him. His desk. All right; he could use his desk. It was closer than the wall. He rolled toward it, carefully not moving his knee or jarring his head, and wincing in spite of himself when his back came in contact with the floor.

Ignore that; he had to ignore that. It took some doing - and movement in which Hitsugaya was quite sure he was just going to black out again - but he managed to climb to his knees. (Or, well, knee, in point of fact. He kept a good deal of weight off his right.) Hands came down on top of the desk and he pushed. He ended up leaning almost completely over the desk.

But he was standing.

Hitsugaya breathed as deeply as he dared, hoping to stave off the bile rising in his throat without breathing in too much smoke. He closed his eyes, as much to try to center himself as to keep from seeing the surface of the desk undulate in his reeling vision. The sounds around him inundated him, threatening, and spurring him into something akin to panic.

Creaking, groaning, flames crackling, debris crashing, static... a small voice... He blinked. Static?

Hitsugaya? The voice was tinny, broken by static, but it was there. He wasn't hearing things. He dared take weight off his left hand to snag the headset.

He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. "Hanatarou?" He knew he sounded bad even before Hanatarou's indrawn breath, clear enough even in the static, told him so. He wanted to tell him to simply get down to business and leave the concern behind, but he refrained. (Whether out of an exhaustion and weariness suddenly bone deep or not, he couldn't be sure.)

You all right, sir?

Good question. Hitsugaya avoided it entirely. "The warehouse."

There was a pause in which Hitsugaya was certain Hanatarou would call him on avoiding the question. We're fine. Another pause, then Hanatarou spoke again. We found the bomb; Iba disarmed it before it went off.

A bomb. Hitsugaya blinked and cursed under his breath. That certainly explained a few things.

Hanatarou cleared his throat. There's a ship approaching; they transmitted a demand to see you.

Of course they did. Hitsugaya was silent.

But of course they can't, Hanatarou continued and Hitsugaya furrowed his brows. Can't quite see a dead man, burned beyond recognition in an explosion.

"Hanatarou..."

If you leave in the next ten minutes, you should be able to slip out before they can pick up a transport on their sensors.

He shook his head slowly. "Get out of there."

Already working on that. That was Iba, coming through loud and clear through the static. We got it. And you're a dead man. No Core or Montoya ship's gonna interview a dead man.

He nodded slowly, not quite realizing the futility of the gesture. "I'll contact you. Site B." He thumbed the switch, cutting communication. Site B was nothing more than a rendezvous site, in the Gamma system, in an out of the way town. It had been set up when he'd taken over this branch, just in case they ever needed a quick and easy way to meet. It worked for emergencies just as well.

He put down the headset, fingers brushing against the ledger. He glanced at it, then at the small fires spread across the far side of his office. He grabbed it, tossed it into the flames.

Dead men didn't need to keep any records either.

Ten minutes. He could leave the system in ten minutes.

Maybe. If he could get to the escape pod. He groped for the wall, hobbling - almost hopping, just to keep some weight off his knee - toward the office door. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed; this would only work if the transport was flyable.

He was as quick as he able to be, leaning against the wall and hobbling, his balance precarious. Bile rose in his throat again as he picked his way through the hallway near the transport. Bodies burned, twisted horribly, lay there. His people. His responsibility. There had to be more alive up here; he couldn't just leave.

He couldn't... but... he had to, if he was to have a chance to clearing this mess up. The living had be Iba's responsibility; Iba's and Hanatarou's.

The dead were his.

He staggered into the transport and cycled the airlock doors closed with a weary sigh.

He was mildly surprised - mildly, because that's all he had the energy for - when he was able to drop into the chair without falling over and even more surprised when he managed to set his hands to the controls. His vision was swimming so badly he'd long since given up on trying to figure out how much was him and how much was the orbital or the transport shaking. He swallowed thickly and powered up.

First out of the asteroid field.

Then... somewhere. Belio, maybe.

Belio. Yes, Belio. Bail out his idiot crew.

Good plan.

He should stay awake long enough to put it into motion.