The Beautifly Effect

Chapter Twenty-Seven -- Mission Commenced

Slateport City, early that afternoon...

Richie had to force himself to eat the Pokémon Centre food and drink the water, since he knew it would make him sick along with everybody else. Trouble was, if he acted out of the ordinary in what he ate and drank, it could attract unwanted attention. He had to act like all the other trainers in spite of the cost.

He heard a group talk about the suprise attack on Olivine City. He had to keep calm, no matter how angry or upset it made him feel. Probably the best thing was to finish his food and go outside for a walk.

He had already found out the news as he passed a newsstand on the way to the Pokémon Centre. So much for Kanto's pre-emptive strike. What worried him most, though, was Abigail. Hoenn forces were heading north towards the farms. If they managed to take them over, what would happen to her and Zach? What made the worry worse was that he couldn't contact her, not while he was under cover in enemy territory.

He finished his meal, dealt with the dirty dishes and, keeping to himself, walked to the front entrance.

"Richie!?"

"Huh?" So much for keeping a low profile.

"Hey, are you Richie?"

Richie turned to see a boy of around eleven, maybe twelve, staring at him in amazement. He was shortish, with brown hair and not an unpleasant face.

"Yeah," replied Richie. "Uh... I'm on my way outside."

The boy followed Richie outdoors, then offered him his hand.

"Hi Richie, my name's Paul. You know what? I've been a fan of yours for three years."

Richie shook his hand. "Please to meet you, Paul. You know I haven't beent training for a while."

"I know all about it. My big sister likes you a real lot, and you know what, she said you stopped training when Ash died coz you were friends."

"There's a bit more to it, Paul, but it's kinda private."

"Oh. My big sister always says I say too much."

Richie smiled. "Anyway," he said, "It's all over now. Who knows when we'll be able to battle again... Maybe not in our lifetime. Uh... I was planning to go for a walk."

"Can I join you? I've nothing else to do except wait."

Richie shrugged. "If you want." He figured it would attract least attention to act like he normally would, so long as the conversation avoided sensitive topics.

As they walked around the grounds, Richie asked. "Were you training long?"

"About a year. You know what? You were my inspiration?"

"Well..." replied Richie, "I'm glad I did something right."

"Man... you, Richie, you do everything right."

Richie paused and looked at Paul for a moment, blushing.

"I've said too much again?"

Richie shrugged. "Oh well... Thanks for the compliment."

"You know what?" said Paul. "The nurse says my Lotad's gonna pull through. Just a couple more days, then I can go back home."

"The 'rus?"

Paul nodded sadly. "My Zigzagoon died a couple of weeks ago, but Torchic's doing real well--she never got sick. When Lotad got sick, I thought I'd be back to one Pokémon, like when I started, but it's gonna be OK."

"That's good news, Paul. Did you know my Zippo died?"

Paul stared back in disbelief. "Man, you know what? That was one awesome Pokémon. I'm real sorry Richie."

"Thanks for caring."

They walked around silently for a while. The market nearby was bustling with activity, but Richie took them back towards the Centre.

"Richie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Whatcha gonna do now that we can't battle any more?"

"Not sure... probably something to do with Pokémon still."

Paul mulled over that for a moment.

"You know what? I'd like to become a Pokémon doctor. That'd be real cool."

"Paul, I think we better head back now."

"How come?"

"I'm feeling sick."

"Richie, how do you feel?"

"Rotten. You?"

Paul doubled over, clutching a half-open mouth with both hands. "Real sick. I... I'm gonna throw up."

Bracing himself not to vomit himself, Riche stood up, helped the boy to his feet and navigated him through the crowded waiting room to the toilet. A guy came out of the men's looking green and feverish.

What had the world come to? At least Kanto had enough decency not to resort to germ warfare. The results would have been far more deadly. Then again, with the world at peace for well more than his lifetime, perhaps more lethal means weren't employed simply because they weren't available.

"Can you wait for me?" asked Paul as they went in.

"Uh... OK" said Richie. Strange how a complete stranger took to him so quickly. Then again, he found Paul to be a bright spot in a darkening world. He couldn't help but like him.

Paul entered a cubicle and started throwing up. Richie entered another. He checked his watch. Time was close enough. He went to the bottom hem of his left trouser leg and carefully extricated a tablet that was hidden inside. It was a Salvao tablet, which would counteract the effects of the stun spore contamination. Hopefully, it would work soon enough for him to get enough rest before he woke up to complete his mission.

Richie popped the tablet in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Everything he did had to appear as normal as possible, so he urinated, flushed, exited the cubicle and washed his hands.

Paul came up next to him. He was very pale.

"It'll help if you wash up," said Richie. "Then you better get some sleep. Have you got a bunk?"

Paul nodded. "My... bag..." he said and stumbled towards the door.

"It's OK, wash up, I'll get it for you."

Richie made is way back to the waiting room and went to where Paul had been sitting. He found a backsack under the seat. He picked it up as well as his own.

He quickly looked around and was amazed at the misery. With the 'rus killing off half their Pokémon, their country just having started a war, and now everyone poisoned, they all looked a mess. Bewteen the moans of the suffering and sobs of the grieving, he could make out the murmur of people sharing their dismay, discontent and dissillusionment.

Richie got back to the boy and helped him down the corridor. He had to pause for a moment.

"Richie?"

"I'll be OK," Richie replied, clutching his stomach. He mustn't vomit, or he'd throw up the medication.

The sensation passed, and he continued to help Paul to his bunk. Paul looked up at him appreciatively.

"Good night," said Richie.

"Richie?"

"What is it?"

"When Lotad's better... I've gotta go home to Maulville. Can you... help me get there...?"

Richie thought that it was quite an imposition for Paul to ask him something like that. Then again, maybe it was an expression of the trust and respect the boy had towards him. After the harm he was to perpertrate against the people of Hoenn, at least helping Paul would be one small thing he could do to make some sort of amends.

"Sure," Richie replied. "Now go to sleep."

He placed Paul's bag next to the bunk, then made his way to the room next door. Two guys had crashed early on the lower banks. One of them was snoring; the other was tossing fitfully, obviously delirious. With some effort, Richie clambered onto the top bunk and soon fell asleep.