First Impressions

Chapter Sixteen

First Impressions

Sandgem Town was smaller than Cynthia remembered.

She had passed through it often enough over the years, but usually for League business, research appointments, or on the way somewhere else. It was one of those places that never seemed interested in becoming more important than it already was. Houses clustered around quiet streets, the sea air reached town when the wind came from the right direction, and the local Pokémon Center sat close enough to the main road that there was almost no chance of missing it.

The League Alakazam deposited her inside the designated teleportation room shortly after noon.

Teleportation always left Cynthia with the faint impression that the world had skipped a fraction of a second. It was never unpleasant exactly, but she preferred flying when there was time. Flying had distance. Movement. A beginning and an end. Teleportation simply informed reality that she had been somewhere else and expected it to cooperate.

The Alakazam waited while she regained her bearings.

“Thank you.”

It inclined its head.

A League handler would return it after the transport, so Cynthia stepped out of the chamber and into the Pokémon Center proper. The familiar smell of disinfectant, coffee, and whatever meal was being prepared somewhere in the back made the abrupt transition from the League headquarters less severe.

Nurse Joy looked up from behind the counter.

Recognition came quickly.

“Champion Cynthia.”

Cynthia smiled. “Just Cynthia today.”

Joy returned the smile. “That usually means you're here for something interesting.”

“Possibly.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably not.”

Joy laughed softly. “That doesn't sound convincing.”

Cynthia rested one hand against the counter. She had no immediate reason to stay, but arriving in town and walking past the Center without at least greeting its staff felt rude. Besides, she was not officially scheduled to be anywhere.

That was an unusual luxury.

“I’m heading to Professor Linden’s lab.”

Joy's expression changed slightly.

Not dramatically.

Interest.

“Oh.”

Cynthia noticed.

“You know him?”

“He comes in sometimes. Usually when somebody from the ranch needs something he doesn't stock, or when he’s sending trainers through.” Joy paused. “He’s... memorable.”

That could mean almost anything.

Cynthia smiled faintly. “I've gathered.”

Joy looked toward the front windows, in roughly the direction of the laboratory. “You might find the staff more organized than the Professor.”

“That also matches what I've gathered.”

“He's nice.”

There was something amusing about the speed with which Joy added that.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

Joy laughed. “He is. Just... very Professor Linden.”

Cynthia understood even less than before.

Good.

She had read his papers.

Watched his old battles.

Read his interviews.

Reviewed his Heatran report.

That was already far more information than she generally possessed about someone before meeting them.

It would be nice if some uncertainty remained.

She thanked Joy, promised to stop in again if she was still in town later, and left the Center.

The walk to the lab was short.

Sandgem had changed gradually around the regional research facility since Rowan’s time, but the building itself was easy to find. Cynthia remembered the older version: functional, somewhat austere, built more for work than comfort. The renovated facility retained the basic structure, but much of it had clearly been rebuilt or expanded.

The property beyond it was harder to appreciate from the road.

Twenty-seven acres, according to the records.

Enough room that the laboratory itself occupied only the beginning of the place.

Cynthia stopped briefly near the entrance.

She could see fencing farther back, broad areas of pasture, specialized enclosures, and the roofline of what was probably Gray’s house in the distance. Several Pokémon moved too far away to identify immediately.

This did not resemble the workplace of someone who treated Pokémon as laboratory assets.

That matched what she knew too.

Cynthia reached the front entrance and knocked.

Nothing happened immediately.

She waited.

Movement came from inside.

Then the door opened.

A woman with dark hair and a tablet in one hand stepped halfway into view without looking up.

“If you're here for a trainer intake, the Professor isn't taking unscheduled placements this afternoon, but I can put you down for Thursday if you already have League registration. If this is about a research appointment, those need to be requested through—”

“I don't have an appointment.”

The woman stopped.

Cynthia watched her eyes lift from the tablet.

There was a brief period in which recognition visibly moved through several stages.

First confusion.

Then certainty.

Then horror.

“Oh.”

Cynthia smiled.

The woman stood straighter so quickly that Cynthia nearly took a step back.

“Champion Cynthia.”

“Cynthia is fine.”

“I—yes. Of course.”

The woman almost bowed.

Cynthia saw it begin.

A slight forward motion, instantly reconsidered.

That made it worse.

Or better.

Cynthia had never decided how to feel when people suddenly remembered she was Champion halfway through a normal interaction.

The woman recovered admirably.

“Sorry. I should have looked up before I started talking.”

“No harm done.”

“I’m Lyra. Lyra Hale. Professor Linden’s assistant.”

Cynthia had seen the name repeatedly in the expedition records.

“Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands.

Lyra still looked mildly mortified.

Cynthia decided to rescue her.

“I really don't have an appointment.”

Lyra blinked. “You don't?”

“No. I decided to come this morning.”

That seemed to make the situation more complicated.

Lyra glanced at the tablet.

Then at Cynthia.

Then toward the interior of the lab.

“I can probably move—”

“No need.”

Lyra hesitated.

“The Professor is busy at the moment.”

Cynthia smiled. “I wasn't expecting him to be sitting by the door.”

“He usually isn't.”

Something in the tone suggested there was more to that statement.

Cynthia waited.

Lyra did not elaborate.

Instead she stepped aside.

“You’re welcome to come in. I can show you around while you wait. The assistants are all here, or mostly here, and we have some of the new fossil systems running.”

That interested Cynthia immediately.

“Fossil systems?”

Lyra noticed.

The remaining nervousness disappeared slightly.

“The Professor had most of the restoration wing rebuilt when he took over.”

“Then yes. I'd like the tour.”

Lyra smiled with obvious relief.

“Good.”

Cynthia stepped inside.

The laboratory was warmer than the old Rowan facility.

Not temperature.

Atmosphere.

Some of that came from the renovations. The interior was brighter, with larger work spaces and less of the old institutional gray. But most of it came from occupation.

People were working.

Not performing work because the Champion had arrived.

Actually working.

A man Cynthia later learned was Marcus Bell passed through carrying environmental sensors and almost walked straight past before doing a double take. Elias Verner emerged from sample storage, recognized her, adjusted his glasses, and became suddenly careful about where he put his hands. Mira Sato was wearing headphones and did not notice Cynthia for nearly a minute.

Lyra introduced everyone.

The awkwardness lasted less time than Cynthia expected.

Mira removed one headphone.

“Oh. Hi.”

Lyra looked at her.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Mira looked back.

“What?”

“That’s the Champion.”

“I know.”

Cynthia smiled.

Mira nodded once. “Cool.”

Then she seemed to realize perhaps that was insufficient.

“Sorry. Hello.”

“Hello.”

Cynthia liked her immediately.

The first portion of the tour was conventional enough.

Main research space.

Sample processing.

Environmental monitoring.

Records.

Starter intake preparation.

The lab contained more ranch management equipment than Cynthia expected from a regional Professor’s facility, though that made sense once Lyra explained how many permanent and temporary Pokémon lived on the property.

Then they reached the fossil wing.

Cynthia stopped in the doorway.

“Oh.”

Lyra smiled.

Apparently that reaction was common.

The renovation here had been extensive.

Older restoration systems had been removed almost completely. The new room held two primary restoration units, each surrounded by monitoring equipment, containment systems, and enough redundancy to make it obvious Gray had expected things to go wrong occasionally.

That was good.

Restoration technology had advanced substantially since the earliest systems, but bringing an extinct Pokémon back from fossil material remained one of the stranger things modern science did routinely enough to acquire safety manuals.

Cynthia approached the observation glass.

Neither chamber was active.

One had been opened for maintenance.

The internal structure was visible.

She leaned closer.

“That’s newer than anything Oreburgh has.”

Lyra nodded. “Gray complains about that regularly.”

“He wanted forty million dollars, didn't he?”

Lyra looked surprised.

Cynthia smiled. “I read the interview.”

“He still complains about that too.”

“What did this cost?”

“Enough that the League started asking questions.”

“Understandable.”

“Gray disagrees.”

Also understandable.

Elias had followed them into the wing by then, perhaps because someone needed to explain the machines more technically than Lyra wanted to.

Cynthia asked questions.

He answered carefully at first.

Then forgot to be nervous.

That happened often around expertise.

She had found that if she asked someone about the thing they genuinely cared about, titles stopped mattering quickly.

Elias explained that the newer systems allowed tighter control over restoration staging and significantly better biological monitoring during the process. One unit could handle small and medium fossil species. The second had been built with larger specimens in mind.

“Professor Linden insisted on that one,” Elias said.

Lyra folded her arms. “Professor Linden insists on many things.”

“He was right about the size requirement.”

“I know.”

Cynthia looked between them.

There was familiarity here.

Not deference.

Good.

“What has he restored since taking over?”

“Nothing yet,” Elias said. “Not here. He wants the full systems validated first.”

Cynthia nodded.

That answer pleased her.

Restoration should be exciting.

It should also terrify anyone responsible for doing it.

“You have fossil Pokémon on the ranch, though.”

Lyra smiled.

“Several.”

Cynthia looked toward the windows.

Interesting.

They continued.

The tour lasted nearly an hour.

Cynthia saw Gray’s office.

He was not there.

She noticed how organized it was.

That surprised her.

The desk was not empty, but everything had a place. Research files were stacked by subject. Fossil records sat separately from current expedition documents. Shelves had been labeled. Even the writing implements had their own container.

Then she saw the framed photograph.

Gray on an Aerodactyl.

Not sitting elegantly.

Holding on with one hand while the Aerodactyl appeared to be banking hard enough to make the horizon tilt.

Cynthia stared.

Lyra noticed.

“He likes that picture.”

“I can see why.”

“He claims Aerodactyl was behaving.”

Cynthia studied the image.

“I doubt that.”

“So do I.”

They moved on.

Eventually the lab ran out of rooms worth showing.

That happened naturally.

There was only so much sample storage anyone could reasonably tour.

Cynthia appreciated that Lyra did not drag the process out simply because she was the Champion.

They ended back near the main research area.

Cynthia looked toward the office once more.

“Where is Professor Linden?”

Lyra sighed.

Cynthia noticed immediately.

Not annoyed exactly.

Resigned.

“Outside.”

“The ranch?”

“Yes.”

Cynthia had expected that.

She imagined habitat inspections.

Feeding.

Pokémon health checks.

Possibly some environmental work connected with the underground expedition.

“Working?”

Lyra sighed again.

Longer.

Cynthia's expectations changed.

“What is he doing?”

Lyra looked toward the rear windows.

“I’ll take you.”

That was not an answer.

Cynthia became much more interested.

The ranch was considerably larger from inside it.

The laboratory had hidden much of the property from the road. Once Lyra led Cynthia through the rear doors, the landscape opened into broad paddocks, wooded sections, specialized habitat areas, water, low hills, storage buildings, and paths connecting everything without making it feel overly designed.

It was not a zoo.

That distinction was immediate.

The Pokémon were not displayed.

They lived here.

A Donphan rested near one of the equipment sheds.

Several younger Pokémon moved through a separate enclosure under Tessa Vale’s supervision.

Farther away, an elderly Kangaskhan crossed the path carrying something that looked suspiciously like a kitchen towel.

Cynthia watched her go.

Lyra noticed.

“Don't ask.”

Cynthia smiled. “Wasn’t planning to.”

They continued.

An Aggron emerged from behind one of the buildings.

Cynthia stopped.

The Pokémon was huge.

Not simply large for the species.

Heavy.

Broad.

Armor polished through a combination of health and what Cynthia suspected was regular attention.

Aggron saw Lyra.

Then Cynthia.

His head lifted.

Lyra immediately said, “He’s friendly.”

“That sounded like a warning.”

“It is.”

Aggron approached.

Cynthia remained where she was.

She had spent too much of her life around large Pokémon to mistake affection for harmlessness. An affectionate Aggron could still put someone through a wall accidentally.

The Pokémon stopped in front of her.

Sniffed.

Cynthia offered one hand.

Aggron sniffed that too.

Then his head moved forward.

Lyra said, “He's going to lick you.”

Cynthia barely had time to process the sentence.

Aggron's tongue dragged across her hand and halfway up her sleeve.

She stared.

Aggron rumbled happily.

Lyra was trying not to laugh.

Cynthia looked down at her arm.

“Does he do that often?”

“To everyone.”

“That seems impractical.”

“Very.”

Cynthia scratched along the side of Aggron’s jaw.

His eyes closed.

There was no missing the bond implied by his condition.

This was not a Pokémon stored until needed.

Cynthia remembered the BattleNet article.

Hatched from an inherited Egg.

One of Gray’s oldest relationships after Bastiodon.

Aggron eventually lost interest and wandered away.

Cynthia wiped her hand on a cloth Lyra had apparently begun carrying for exactly this reason.

They passed Cradily near one of the water sections.

That stopped Cynthia again.

Now this was dangerous.

Not physically.

Academically.

The Cradily stood half-submerged near a rocky bank, tentacles drifting slowly through the water while sunlight caught along its body.

Cynthia moved closer to the fence.

“His?”

Lyra nodded. “Gray restored her himself years ago.”

Cynthia looked carefully.

Cradily were rare even among fossil Pokémon.

Living specimens existed, obviously, but not enough that seeing one became ordinary.

The Pokémon noticed her eventually.

One tentacle lifted.

Cynthia smiled.

“Hello.”

The Cradily watched her.

Then went back to the water.

Lyra waited patiently.

Cynthia appreciated that.

They found Bastiodon farther along.

Or rather, Bastiodon found them.

The old Pokémon was moving slowly across the grass toward the western side of the property.

Cynthia recognized him immediately.

Battle footage did that.

Seeing him now was different.

Older.

Considerably.

Scars marked parts of the shield that old recordings had shown smooth. His pace was steady but unhurried.

Still powerful.

Cynthia stopped walking.

“That’s him.”

Lyra smiled.

“Yep.”

Bastiodon looked toward Cynthia.

Then Lyra.

He approached.

Cynthia had watched this Pokémon withstand attacks from Elite Four teams sixteen years earlier.

Now he pushed his head into Lyra's hand until she scratched the edge of his shield.

The transition from battle archive to elderly ranch resident was strangely moving.

Cynthia stepped closer.

Bastiodon examined her.

She offered her hand.

He allowed the touch.

His armor was warm from the sun.

“You caused a lot of trouble,” she murmured.

Bastiodon rumbled.

Lyra looked at her. “You've watched the old footage?”

“A lot of it.”

“Gray hates that article.”

“So I heard.”

Bastiodon continued walking after a few moments.

Cynthia watched him leave.

She understood Gray a little better now.

Not completely.

Enough.

A man's oldest Pokémon said things interviews did not.

They passed the Magikarp pond.

Cynthia counted automatically.

She reached twenty-six visible before several disappeared beneath the surface.

Six Gyarados made counting difficult.

Lyra did not stop.

Cynthia looked at her.

“No pond tour?”

“Not today.”

“Why?”

“Seventeen.”

Cynthia remembered.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

They kept walking.

The route gradually moved away from the main ranch facilities.

The terrain became rougher.

Low dirt hills rose around them where Ground- and Rock-types had apparently reshaped the landscape over time. Several broad grooves cut through the earth, too smooth and regular to be accidental.

Cynthia looked around.

“Is this a training area?”

Lyra made a sound that suggested she was reconsidering her career.

“Sometimes.”

That was when Cynthia heard the yelling.

At first she could not make out the words.

A man's voice carried over the nearest hill.

Then another.

Louder.

Something enormous moved on the other side with enough force that Cynthia felt the vibration faintly through the ground.

She looked at Lyra.

Lyra closed her eyes.

Cynthia waited.

Another voice shouted.

“STOP ENCOURAGING HIM!”

Cynthia recognized Roark from League meetings.

Barely.

Lyra exhaled through her nose.

“What is happening?”

“The Professor and his friends.”

The answer contained years of exhaustion despite Gray having employed her only a couple of months.

Cynthia smiled.

“Friends?”

“Roark and Byron are here.”

That explained one voice.

Not the ground shaking.

Another impact rolled through the hill.

Lyra started walking again.

Cynthia followed.

As they climbed, the shouting became clearer.

Roark sounded genuinely distressed.

“You're going to break something!”

A second voice, older and rougher, shouted back, “Then move!”

“That isn't the problem!”

Gray's voice came next.

Cynthia had heard it in interviews and old battle footage.

“Inside line! Cut him off!”

Lyra stopped at the top of the hill.

Cynthia came beside her.

Then stared.

Below them was a racetrack.

There was no other reasonable word.

A broad loop had been carved through the dirt between several hills, banked along the turns and reinforced with packed earth. Based on the enormous tracks stamped throughout it, the course had not been made for people.

Two Steelix occupied it.

Cynthia recognized Byron's immediately.

She had seen the Pokémon enough times over the years.

The second Steelix was unfamiliar.

That lasted until she looked at the man standing on its head.

Gray Linden wore jeans, work boots, a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and absolutely no safety equipment beyond the confidence of someone who had made a terrible idea work at least once already.

He stood with his knees bent slightly to compensate for Steelix's movement, one hand braced against the upper ridge of its head.

Byron stood atop his own Steelix on the opposite side of the course.

Both men looked delighted.

Roark stood near what appeared to be the starting line.

He did not.

“This is the dumbest fucking thing either of you has ever done!”

Gray looked down at him.

“That is demonstrably false.”

“You almost hit the fence!”

“I did not.”

“Steelix almost hit the fence!”

Gray patted the massive Pokémon beneath him. “He knew where it was.”

Roark pointed toward Byron. “And you! You're my father!”

Byron looked genuinely confused by the relevance of this.

“So?”

“You're supposed to be responsible!”

Byron laughed.

Cynthia covered her mouth.

Lyra did not.

She looked like someone watching a prophecy fulfill itself.

“This is what he was busy doing.”

Cynthia glanced sideways.

“Yes.”

“You knew?”

“I knew Byron and Roark were here. I did not know about this.”

One of the Steelix moved.

Gray adjusted effortlessly.

Cynthia noticed that.

He was not merely clinging on.

He had done this before.

Possibly often.

That created several additional questions.

Below them, Byron pointed toward the far end of the track.

“Best of three.”

Gray shook his head. “That was practice.”

“You said race.”

“I said test run.”

“You lost.”

“Because I was testing traction.”

Byron laughed loudly enough that Cynthia heard it clearly.

Roark grabbed his own helmet with both hands.

“Please stop making it worse.”

Gray looked at his Steelix.

The enormous Pokémon gave a rumbling sound.

Gray smiled.

Cynthia could not hear whatever he said next.

Steelix lowered its head slightly.

Gray adjusted his footing.

Byron did the same.

Roark stepped backward.

Apparently there was going to be another race.

Lyra moved.

Cynthia expected her to shout.

She did not.

She walked directly down the hill.

Then onto the track.

Cynthia's eyebrows rose.

Both Steelix stopped.

Immediately.

That was impressive.

Gray stared down.

“Lyra.”

“No.”

“We haven't started.”

“I know.”

“Then technically—”

“No.”

Byron was laughing.

Gray looked toward him.

“This is your fault.”

“Not even slightly.”

Roark saw Lyra.

Relief crossed his face.

Then he saw Cynthia.

The relief disappeared so quickly it was almost beautiful.

Roark stopped moving.

His eyes widened.

Cynthia smiled.

He looked toward Gray.

Then back at Cynthia.

Then Gray.

This happened several times.

Gray noticed.

“What?”

Roark pointed.

No words came out.

Gray followed the direction of his finger.

Cynthia watched recognition arrive.

It was surprisingly subtle.

Gray did not gape.

He did not bow.

He did not even look particularly intimidated.

He simply went still for a moment.

Then he looked down at himself.

Sweater.

Jeans.

Dirt.

Steelix.

Racetrack.

Byron followed Gray's gaze toward the hill.

He saw Cynthia.

Unlike Roark, he recovered almost immediately.

“Cynthia!”

He waved.

Cynthia waved back.

Gray slowly looked at Byron.

“You know her.”

Byron stared at him.

“Obviously.”

Gray glanced at Cynthia again.

Then toward Lyra.

Lyra folded her arms.

Gray's expression suggested he understood he had somehow been betrayed by circumstances.

Cynthia enjoyed this.

Gray patted Steelix once.

The enormous Pokémon lowered its head toward the ground.

Gray stepped carefully down along the ridges of its body until he could jump the last few feet.

Byron dismounted with considerably more familiarity and less concern for appearance.

Roark approached them immediately.

“You're done.”

Gray brushed dirt from his jeans.

“We were already stopping.”

“You were about to race again.”

“Unproven.”

“I was standing there!”

“You can't prove intent.”

Roark looked toward Cynthia as though expecting institutional support.

Then apparently remembered she was the Champion.

He straightened.

“Champion Cynthia.”

“Roark.”

They had met once before, when he first formally assumed responsibility for the Oreburgh Gym. He had been younger then, intensely serious, and considerably better dressed.

Cynthia smiled faintly.

“You seem well.”

Roark glanced at the Steelix racetrack behind him.

“Usually.”

Byron reached them next.

Cynthia greeted him with a brief hug.

He laughed.

“What brings you all the way out here?”

“Heatran.”

That changed the mood.

Not entirely.

Enough.

Byron nodded slowly.

“Right.”

Gray had approached more quietly.

Cynthia looked at him properly for the first time.

The photographs had been accurate.

Mostly.

He was broader than she had expected, perhaps because lab coats hid that in the few recent images she had seen. Dark brown hair, short beard, greenish eyes, dirt across one forearm, and the expression of someone attempting to decide whether he needed to apologize for being found racing Steelix.

He looked at Cynthia.

Then Lyra.

Lyra stared.

“You told me you were busy.”

“I was.”

Cynthia looked toward the track.

Gray followed her gaze.

“This is enrichment.”

Byron started laughing.

Lyra closed her eyes.

Cynthia felt a smile pull at her mouth.

“Whose?”

Gray considered.

“The Steelix.”

His Steelix rumbled behind him.

Gray nodded.

“See?”

Cynthia looked at the Pokémon.

Then the course.

Then Gray.

She had expected many possible first meetings with Professor Linden.

A laboratory.

An office.

Perhaps the fossil restoration wing.

Possibly a discussion around expedition maps.

She had not imagined him standing in a dirt track trying to justify racing Steelix with a Gym Leader's father while the Gym Leader had an anxiety attack nearby.

That was probably better.

Gray brushed his hand against his jeans and then seemed to realize his palm was covered in dirt.

He wiped it more thoroughly.

Cynthia waited.

For the first time, he looked slightly awkward.

Not intimidated.

Just aware that introductions normally had a sequence and his afternoon had not prepared him for one.

“Gray Linden.”

Cynthia smiled.

“Cynthia.”

They shook hands.

Gray's grip was warm and calloused.

For a moment neither said anything.

Cynthia found herself thinking about the things she already knew about him: the papers she had argued with in margins, the old battles, the profanity-laden blog posts, the hidden chambers beneath Oreburgh, and a photograph of Heatran standing in lava.

Gray looked at her with equal curiosity.

Then his eyes dropped briefly toward the folder still tucked beneath her arm.

He recognized the League seal.

Of course he did.

His expression sharpened.

“You read it.”

Cynthia glanced at the folder.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

Gray nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

There were probably a thousand more appropriate things either of them could have said.

Cynthia chose none of them.

Instead she looked past him toward the two enormous Steelix waiting beside the track.

“Who won?”

Gray turned toward Byron.

Byron smiled.

Roark made a strangled noise.

Lyra sighed.

And Gray Linden looked back at Cynthia with the first hint of a grin.

“Depends who you ask.”