Chapter 8: The Shortest Distance is a Line

After a quick and quiet goodbye to the group, I began my journey out of Santalune City to Cyllage City. Of course, because the City Planners hate each other, I have to go back to Lumiose City, then travel to Camphrier Town.

 

It’s a miracle that nobody’s assassinated them…yet.

 

Of course, if I were to more adventurous type, then I could just cut through the wilderness for a while and simply cut out my return to Lumiose City.

 

…

 

…wait.

 

Making up my mind, I turn immediately approximately 35 degrees to the left and aim for Camphrier Town.

 

Clawing through the canopy line, Robin releases herself from her pokéball, scarfing herself around my neck. “Drrri!” She trills.

 

“Taking a shortcut,” I curtly reply. “Plus, I’ll have second thoughts about my choices if I go back to Lumiose right now.”

 

“Tini!”

 

“Well, I guess we could work on moves in the meantime. I’d like to develop a code between us in case somebody analyzes the gym videos of me fighting and gets a handle on my battle style. It needs to be simple enough for you guys to understand but encrypted enough for it to take a while before anyone can get it.” Robin doesn’t really get it, but she nuzzles against me anyway.

 

Preferably, I’d like a Psychic-type pokémon, or some variety thereof, to interpret thoughts for me. Might be a tough battle. One, there’s few psychic pokémon with powers potent enough to understand human thought—the best they can do is emotion.

 

Perhaps I can just develop my own psychic transponder of some sort. I mean, what are psychic abilities but the translation of thought patterns into an action on the physical world? Not too complicated.

 

I jest. I’d need extensive research to even begin such a monumental task.

 

“Rati?”

 

“I could catch another pokémon. Nothing’s really stopping me…except my naming ability. Sorry to say, but if I catch too many of you guys, I might have to start using a name generator.” Plus, what pokémon are even available here?

 

Slowing down only a slight bit, I shift around to pull out my phone. Going to the Pokémon Rangers’ website, I look up the pokémon sightings in this forest. Hmm, let’s see…

 

Flabébé, Ralts, Natu, Skitty, Flabébé, Buneary, Flabébé, Happiny, Budew… Why did they list each color of Flabébé as a separate entry? That’s extremely redundant. I’d send a formal complaint to their webpage designer, but I’m not that petty.

 

…

 

And send…

 

A few of those options seem tempting…though at the same time would get me questioned. Probably named a bandwagoner since our regional champion uses a Gardevoir. Maybe I should just get a Flabébé…

 

Ehh, get what you get and don’t throw a fit. It there’s anything out here, then by destiny, it’ll come to me!

 

Y’know. Cause there are gods here. Legends can say that there were mythical pokémon that did this and that, but I have a feeling that most of them are real. Plus, myth is rooted in truth and all that.

 

“Robin?” I ask, picking up my speed only slightly.

 

“Ri?”

 

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“How’s your memorization ability?”

 

“Dra. Ri?” Okay. Right. She doesn’t know that. To be expected. I guess I could just test her. Wouldn’t be that difficult. Just use some cards.

 

A basic idea I have for commands is hexadecimal commands. Have different combinations mean different objectives. I can remember it easily but making sure my pokémon know it is the difficult part.

 

Letting that tangential thought drift, I relax and set the arms to keep moving automatically. I could keep articulating and coordinating each arms’ movements to create a smooth, comfortable ride, but it also works if I just set them to latch onto the most structurally-sound points and have them move according to the compasses, gyroscopes, and accelerometers.

 

That is, until a projectile is fired towards me, auto-activating the self-defense protocols in the arms. I stop, eight arms fanned out with the claws grasping, threating tactics.

 

Also, it looked cool.

 

Looking at the attacked arm, I find little damage to the limb except for…snow? Powdered snow, to be exact… This is a pokémon move, obviously, but made by whom? It’s the middle of a, frankly, hotter-than-average forest. Any Ice-type pokémon that settled here would surely be not of sound mind.

 

Pulling out the rest of my pokémon, I edge forward. Ice types are effective against dragon and flying types, of which I have Dratini and Combee. Luckily, Hazel the Ferroseed resists quite a few types, and, despite my best efforts, still has a sizable amount of salt in her system.

 

Another puff of powdered snow fires at me, but one of the claws spins on its servo motor, almost tripping a fuse, and blowing away the attack. Ha! Strong against flying types, but weak to Gust!

 

Anyways, I could clearly see where this attack came from: within a rotting log. The claws dig into the soft, moldy wood and pry it apart.

 

“What…” I utter, beyond even my control. It’s a Vulpix. Okay, that’s only slightly monumental. This is an Alolan Vulpix. Alolan. I live in fucking Kalos, which is approximately on the other side of the world from Alola!

 

Okay, deep breaths… This Vulpix is small, clearly afraid of your towering figure, and…hungry. I think I heard its stomach growl.

 

Rational mind, go!

 

Okay, so in cases of a pokémon in a region or area that is not its own or of a suitable environment, it can likely be attributed to a few actions.

 

One, a trainer was dissatisfied with a pokémon’s performance and decided to leave them behind. After a period, the pokéball that was responsible for keeping track of the pokémon reset, and they were officially let go.

 

Two, illegal pokémon traffickers. Teams and gangs of several regions have made a mark on the underbelly of our idyllic society by kidnapping pokémon—whether from the wild or other trainers—and forcing them into other regions.

 

Three, and unfortunately the saddest, either a trainer or a…mother deemed themselves unable to care for their child—or deemed unable to by fate—and left an egg behind, leaving Vulpix to fend for themselves in the wild.

 

Unfortunately, baby pokémon are not the greatest at this. Also, another note of interest. This Vulpix has only a single tail, meaning recently born.

 

“Vul!” It tries firing another Powered Snow at me, but its stamina denies it that option as the attack collapses, along with the pokémon.

 

With it slightly disoriented, I look around, trying to find any…Oh! Found it. Not too far away, under a bush with brush surrounding it, is two halves of an eggshell, plus fragments.

 

Deemed unable to, huh…by what? No matter. This child is hungry, and visibly on the last verges of their life.

 

I pick up the Vulpix in my arms, shivering slightly at the touch. The pokémon gives no resistance, in fact, almost cuddling into me.

 

“Alright…You’re with me now. And soon, you’ll be safe.” With those slightly weird words of encouragement—probably because I’m just naturally tired and have little filter on my more esoteric thoughts with energy diverted towards emotional repression—I focus towards Camphrier Town for the nearest Pokémon Center.

 

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