Chapter 6: The Academy
The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 6: The Academy.
The trail wound its way into the foothills beneath the snow clad peaks, finally emerging past the sparse tree line into boulder strewn grasslands below the spring snow line. In winter, this area would be 20 feet under thick white powder. This late in the season, the grasses had made their comeback with a vengeance, and the entire area was lush with new flowers.
I had to admit, even I found it pleasant.
The temperature remained a balmy 20 degrees Celsius. Hot enough for me to regret wearing my heavy jacket, which I promptly removed and hung over a nearby branch. Taking a seat on a sun warmed boulder, I pulled out my water bottle for a deep drink, crouching to refill it at a small, icy cold rivulet nearby.
Something was bothering me, however. A more thorough examination of the peaks failed to reveal any signs of an avalanche, as the snow field appeared intact as far as I could see. Grabbing my pocket binoculars, I rescanned the slopes, again finding nothing unusual.
Guess we can chalk off "avalanche" from our list of possible candidates.
I'd also noted with some suspicion the absence of anything resembling large pokemon on the entire trek up here. At the very least, I should have spotted some sign of their passing. Scat, a tree with rub marks or fur, tracks of any kind. Something! The place was a haven for the bigger species, but I'd seen hide nor hair (no pun intended) of them anywhere.
Something was very, very wrong here.
Even the bird life was strangely silent. The ongoing cacophony I experienced down at the lake site had mysteriously ceased as I approached the tree line. Apart from the occasional cheep from a pidgey, the place seemed void of wildlife.
Not good, Scotty.
Not good at all.
There were several possible explanations for this sort of thing occurring, some of which were perfectly natural.
A volcanic event would do it. That could have explained both the noise and the lack of wildlife.
However, the equally obvious lack of any seismic activity reported by the geological observatory on Mt Sumei pretty much precluded anything in that regard.
Another possibility was something big. Really big. A legendary, for example.
The fact no one had spotted such a creature in years made it less likely, although not impossible. Legendaries didn't just sit on their tail bones and mope in the peaks somewhere. They caused problems. BIG problems. While the possibility was there that such an event may still surface, it seemed increasingly doubtful.
So, what had caused the silence?
Shit, what the fuck was so overwhelmingly frightening that it caused the mass exodus of all wildlife from such a huge area of wilderness?
I was starting to become nervous about finding that out.
____________________________________________________________
Storm passed Ranger training with honours.
Not that I was all that surprised, but it seems that I was the exception.
Especially when it became newsworthy throughout the province.
He was actually a bit put out by all the media attention he received during his training. Not that he minded acting the exhibitionist which, of course, he was. More that he didn't see anything particularly different in his accomplishing something that no other pokemon had done before.
After all, I had passed too. Why shouldn't he?
When his initial application was forwarded to Ranger HQ admin, the first hurdle was classifying his application.
Height: 178cm
Weight: 85kg
Sex: Male
That was easy enough.
Then there were the harder questions.
Hair colour: Dark blue and cream
Eye colour: Red
That's where things became confusing.
However, as he'd blitzed the entrance exams (turns out that he was actually secretly studying the manual for months while I was still at school, reading all the materials I had collected during my senoir years in preparation for studying at the Academy) and with the backing of Captain Barklay, he was sent through to recruit training with little fuss, and less warning.
The next issue was uniforms.
Unsurprisingly, the standard issue Ranger fatigues didn't fit Storm very well.
So they tried custom made.
This was an adventure in itself.
They didn't fit very well either.
As I said to him after they slipped down and he tripped over them for the n'th time, they just didn't make fatigues for guys whose balls were near their ankles!
Oh yeah. That went down like a sack full of armpits!
So a compromise was reached, with him being issued the standard Ranger scarf, woggle and a modified hat with ear holes. He wore a leather belt across one shoulder, bandito style, with his essential equipment hanging from it, and had a small nap sack for other gear on his back.
Truth be told, he looked like a total bad ass!
Not that I'd ever tell him that, or his swollen head would no longer have fit his new hat.
Me, I was just happy enough to get gear that fit well.
And that kept my balls securely where they were supposed to be.
Off the ground.
A few other modifications challenged the quartermaster, too.
It's hard to shoot a rifle without thumbs, for example.
So, they managed to modify the firing system of one weapon with a slip through handle, to allow him to grip it one handed, and changed the trigger guard to suit claws.
Knives, he also had some issue with. So, again showing their initiative, they came up with a full guard for him to slip his paw through to keep a grip on it.
In fact, for all the Captains comments about not doing anything different for him, they spent an extraordinary amount of effort doing so.
I think the quartermaster looked on it as a logistics challenge for her team and, being typical Ranger stock, would not let anything like an odd shaped trigger grip tarnish their supply record.
The teaching staff, too, seemed to take his presence in their stride.
Ranger training is a complete bitch, both physically and mentally.
They ran you till you were exhausted, chewed you out for being a sissy weaklings, then ran you some more.
There were days when I reached my bunk, almost comatose, only to find Storm ready to head to the Rangers bar for a drink.
He seemed inexhaustible.
Whoever said pokemon couldn't hold their piss had never lost a drinking game to a typhlosion. He considered it a skill. I reckon the cheating bastard burned the alcohol off internally. He told me I was a sore loser, and then proceeded to beat me at pools. I had to be carried to my bunk by him unconscious.
Life was good...
Ranger training followed the standard guidelines of any such military discipline.
General drill, strategy, marksmanship, and combat training.
Repeat "ad nauseum" until you can do it in your sleep.
Then do it some more.
While many found it odd such training was needed, Rangers were considered "jack of all trades". They were expected to be ready to handle anything thrown at them.
Yes, we were taught standard bushman's skills; hunting, tracking and the like. However, the different disciplines taught during training were designed to complement each other, so that we could respond instantly, and appropriately, to any unusual situation we encountered.
It was exhilarating, actually.
We both thrived on it.
Occasionally, one news reporter or another would try and sneak an interview with Storm.
After all, he was a novelty, and most in the general public who had heard of him still considered it a recruitment gimmick.
However, his grades were exemplary, and his skills developed beyond expectation.
He was becoming the epitome of the perfect Ranger, and his instructors had no delusions as to his value.
As such, they were extraordinarily protective of his privacy during his training, which the more persistent and aggressive media folk discovered to their chagrin.
As far as his fellow cadets were concerned, after the initial novelty value wore off, they considered him one of them.
He had many normal friends, both amongst the cadets and staff, and was just "one of the crew".
Sure, a big, hairy, and often smouldering one of the crew, but this made no difference to them.
I'd never seen him happier.
However, he was still, at heart, the same Storm he'd always been.
He was my best buddy, and I was his.
Life was awesome.
3 years we had in peace at the academy.
And our graduation day was one of the best in our lives.
The media were everywhere.
The unthinkable had happened, and a pokemon had become a Ranger.
Both of us received honours, and commendations, with a recommendation we be placed together for our 12 month journeyman stint.
After the ceremony, we were all dragged down to the Rangers bar, to escape the media circus. The place was packed, both with graduates, their family, and the trainers and staff. Even Captain Barklay was there, drowning pint after pint, and clapping us all on the back, his florid face beaming with pride.
Then everything went to shit.
Really fast.
A group of strangers entered the bar, clearly out of place in their white lab coats and sporting their business-like demeanour. They began pressing their way through the crowd towards where we were standing and, as they passed, the revellers began to quieten. By the time they reached us, the bar was almost silent.
I turned to Storm, a question on my lips, only to have it die in surprise.
I'd never seen him look like that. His ears were flat, his pupils were dilated, and his entire demeanour reeked of fear.
He was terrified of these people.
What the hell?
The group stopped in front of us, and one individual took a long, and clearly dismissing look at Storm, before clearing his throat and loudly proclaiming to his group that "Yes, this is the one. We will need to take him now"
Now, subtlety has never been one of my strong points. I'm the first to admit this.
In fact, my whole life has been spent trying to suppress my need to speak my mind, often physically.
Ranger training had done a good job keeping my baser instincts in check, but when push came to shove, I shoved.
What Storm meant to me went beyond mere words.
He was more than my best friend.
He was more than a fellow Ranger.
He was family.
And no one...I mean NO ONE, fucks with my family!
The entire bar had fallen to a deathly silence. Every eye was fixed on these intruders, (and that's what they were...intruders) who had the gall to enter our domain and threaten one of our own.
We were Rangers.
If you fuck with one of us.
You fuck with ALL of us!
I stepped in from of the cowering typhlosion, bringing my face within inches of the individual who had spoken.
"I don't know who you are. I don't care who you are. But what makes you think you're leaving this room with this Ranger?"
Perhaps ignorance comes with arrogance, but the individual involved clearly failed to take the hint. Others in his party were not so stupid, and began casting nervous glances at the Rangers pressing around them.
Drawing himself up, the leader of the group said "I am Professor Jameson, head of CERT. We've been tracking our property down for nearly a decade, until now without success. Imagine our surprise when one of our researchers saw him simply appear on the news, just as we'd thought he was gone for good! We have to say, we were all very happy at this excellent news! I see you're all celebrating here, so if it's alright with you, we'll just take the typhlosion and leave you to it!"
He smiled at me coldly, turned to one of his colleagues while motioning several of his subordinates forward. One of them produced a collar and chain, and began to approach the pokemon.
The collective temperature in the room dropped below freezing, as angry murmuring began amongst those present who had heard the fool's preposterous statement.
I again blocked the group, who had attempted to push past me, and grasped the front of Jameson's collar, dragging him forward and repeated in a quiet voice "I'll ask you again, what makes you think we'll let you walk out of here in one piece if you touch him?"
A loud murmur of agreement from the crowd followed my comment. Jameson looked down at his shirt clenched tightly in my fist, realising things were not going as smoothly as he had planned. Stuttering his disbelief, and gesturing at the crowd pressing around them, he shouted his objections!
"You cannot deny us our legal rights! The pokemon is ours, by law, and we demand to take him with us!"
My free hand balled into a fist, ready to punch the arrogant prick's face down his neck, when I felt a large hand clamp firmly on my shoulder. Turning in anger, I stopped and relaxed somewhat when I realised it belonged to Captain Barklay.
"I think I'll take over from this point, Ranger Rivers. Thank you for your assistance, but I believe it is my place to explain to the good Professor exactly who owns whom here"
Staring into his face, I was ready to object, when he gave me a slow, deliberate wink, before turning back to the spluttering Professor.
I turned my back on the scene, and went to comfort the still fearful Storm, while Barklay addressed Jameson.
"I do believe there is some confusion here, sir. You see, when a person enters the Rangers, they effectively become the property of the Rangers. It is a life commitment. So, whether the "property" in question once belonged to you or not, as a Ranger, he now belongs to us. I suggest you check with the Johto governing council as to the extent of our constitution, if you wish to clarify this further. I believe they can inform you of your rights, or lack of, in this situation. Perhaps if you had presented your case earlier, prior to the graduation concluding, you may have had a claim against him. However, as he, and the rest of his class, graduated half an hour ago, I believe you will find you are mistaken"
He then leaned forward menacingly.
"I also fear you remain in ignorance of the consequences of threatening a Johto Ranger in this manner. Again, I believe our jurisdiction extends to taking immediate, and appropriate, action against any individual doing so. While I may regret having to discipline those individuals involved, I believe I may have difficulty expressing sympathy over the fate of anyone foolish enough to threaten a Ranger, especially when the Ranger in question is surrounded by his friends and colleagues. Indeed, such a fate could be extremely unpleasant, if you get my meaning. Am I making myself clear, Professor?"
Jameson took a step back towards his group, his face turning white during the speech, "You cannot do this! We have rights!"
The Captain replied quietly. "I just did. No, you don't. I suggest it is time for you to leave now!"
The crowd parted for thme, clearing a path to the door in what obviously, for the group, not optional. Dragged out by his fellows, Jameson continuing to shout his objections, even as the bar's doors closed behind them.
The room was silent a moment longer, when suddenly someone let out a whoop of victory, and everyone erupted in cheers!
Storm, realising he was finally free from the horrors in his part, rose to his feet shakily, helped by the hands of his friends who pummelled his shoulders and fluffed his head fur in support.
It only took him a moment to reach the same conclusion the scientists had.
He was a Ranger.
Now and forever.
That's all that mattered.
Continued in Chapter 7: Nightmares.