The Rotations of the OniMakians

Back within the angular embrace of my office, Yoko had arranged herself beside one of the floating screens. "I completed a four-dimensional quantum scan of the evidence," she announced, her voice carrying the satisfaction of work well done.

"Four-dimensional?" I found myself repeating the phrase like a student encountering calculus for the first time. "Quantum?"

Yoko's expression shifted to one of polite bewilderment. "How does a detective not understand basic forensic methodology?"

Ashley descended the musical staircase with languid propriety, having shed her leather coat for more comfortable attire—a simple black blouse paired with a matching skirt. Her feet—bare save for an incongruously cheerful pair of fluffy, baggy white socks—made no sound against the cool floor as she padded toward our impromptu scientific conference.

"Our detective," Ashley said with dry amusement, "is not originally from the Makai at all."

The revelation arrived in Yoko’s mind as if a familiar object in the room of her mind had been turned just enough to catch the sun in a new and startling way. "What?" Her gaze darted between us with growing incredulity. "But that's impossible! She would have to be from the stars themselves—or perhaps some manner of spiritual entity!"

Xiao Ru, who had been listening with her usual lambent attention, suddenly reached out and poked my cheek with one finger. "You do not feel incorporeal," she mused. "And the Makai is infinite—even if you traveled from the most distant cities, you would still be of this realm!"

I cleared my throat, the small sound a conductor's quiet but absolute rap of a baton, calling the scattered notes of the moment back to a single, focused point. "My origins can be discussed at a more appropriate time. The evidence, if you would."

Yoko nodded nervously, her professional composure reasserting itself. "The mainframe accepts four-dimensional models constructed at the quantum scale. We trace the unitary evolution of field vibrations backward through their world lines."

The words hung in the air like exotic perfume—familiar enough to trigger memories of university physics courses, yet rendered strange by their practical application to criminal investigation.

"If such methods are possible," I said, "why not simply scan the entire crime scene to identify our perpetrator?"

"Decoherence," Yoko replied with the patience of someone explaining why water flows downhill. "The connections become too tenuous across larger scales. An open system experiences thermodynamic dissipation—the information becomes scrambled beyond useful reconstruction. Even if it were theoretically possible, the computational requirements would overwhelm our resources."

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of ignorance settle upon my shoulders like a familiar coat.

Ashley had positioned herself beside the holographic display, her chin resting thoughtfully in her cupped palm as she studied the swirling patterns of data that danced across its translucent surface. She hummed, tracing patterns across the holographic display. "Strange," she murmured, her fingers hovering over the swirling data streams. "This residue—wherever you found it—contains a lubricating oil that exists only in black market channels."

Yoko's scales rippled with renewed interest as she manipulated the display, zooming in on molecular structures that moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a clockwork orrery, each atom a tiny, golden gear in an impossibly small machine. "The tissue sample bears blood stains, but the cellular composition belongs to no species in our databases."

"What of the material itself?" I asked, leaning forward to study the translucent threads.

"Medical gauze of some variety," Yoko replied… "Not plant-based. The fabrication techniques suggest origins from a region so distant our computational archives contain only fragmentary references."

"How distant?" I asked.

Ashley straightened from her examination of the screen, her feet shifting silently against the floor. "The point of origin lies approximately ten billion militrons from this location."

"Militron?" I repeated the unfamiliar unit like a prayer in an unknown tongue.

"The distance light travels in roughly five microseconds," she explained with the casual precision of someone sucking blood. "The measurement derives from historical precedent—something to do with the Onimakian, I believe."

"Onimakian?"

Ashley's expression shifted. "A hybrid species—part vampire, part oni. Our Empress belongs to their lineage. They established the capital's original foundations, though that was long before my time or yours."

"How long ago?" I asked, though part of me already dreaded the mathematics of Ashley's answer.

"Many billions of years," she replied with the same casual indifference one might use to discuss Xiao Ru’s fluffy ears.

My eyes widened for the briefest instant before a more unsettling question wormed its way into my thoughts like a parasite seeking warmth. "What constitutes a year in this realm?"

Ashley's head tilted, considering the question as if I had asked her to explain the color red to someone born blind. "It varies depending on which authority you consult, but generally we measure by stellar rotations. A year contains roughly one million of them."

"And a rotation?"

"The time it takes for one of the wandering stars to pass overhead—approximately forty-five to fifty hours." She motioned vaguely toward the ceiling, as if the celestial mechanics were written there in script I had simply failed to notice.

The word stirred something in my memory like sediment disturbed at a pond's bottom. Rotations. I had heard it spoken before, with the same unremarkable tone one might use to note the familiar, gentle settling of an old house in the quiet of the evening. Time here moved according to rules that made my former world's calendar seem quaint as a child's counting song.

A thought crept through my mind with the cold persistence of winter fog seeping through cracks in a wall. This endless twilight, this realm where impossible creatures debated quantum forensics while starlight crystallized into evidence—it possessed the texture of something I had imagined during fevered childhood nights spent contemplating eternity. Was this what the afterlife resembled? And if so, had I awakened in paradise or perdition?

The mention of black markets pulled me from my cosmic reverie with the efficiency of cold water. "Why would someone coat fabric with this oil?"

Ashley's expression darkened. "Because acquiring it requires theft of the most permanent kind."

"Theft of what?"

"A feyborne's life." Her words dropped between us. "Murder oil, essentially. The fey are butchered and their corpses rendered down for magical essence—processed into an ethereal compound that enhances weapon potency. It's a particularly revolting trade."

The casual brutality of her explanation settled in my stomach like spoiled meat. "If the Empress wields such power, why does this continue?"

Ashley's scoff carried years… perhaps not truly years then, so much as many rotations of weary cynicism. "The black market maintains no foothold in the Demon City—our streets are remarkably safe. But neighboring settlements—she does not care about so. And the Empress considers forced relocation a violation of free will. Those who choose to remain in dangerous territories do so knowing the consequences."

"Which city houses this trade?"

"Charnal-Hage. Perhaps five hundred militrons distant."

I sighed, calculating travel times according to the limited geography I understood. "How long would such a journey require?"

"About an hour," Ashley replied through a yawn.

My head snapped toward her. "How?"

"Quantum entanglement," Yoko interjected with the matter-of-fact tone. "The mainframe can establish what may well be considered instantaneous transport across registered coordinates… for the sake of the simple."

Ashley stretched, her joints producing small pops of satisfaction. "I'll accompany you."

Yoko coiled herself more tightly, already reaching toward her holographic workspace. "I shall remain to organize our records and input the evidence into the system database."

A yawn escaped Xiao Ru, soft and musical as birdsong. "I would join you, but exhaustion has made its claim upon me."

Something warm and impulsive moved through me. I reached out and touched the tip of her nose with my finger—a gentle boop that sent red flooding across her cheeks like the bruised, decadent red of a peony petal just before it falls.

"We shouldn't be gone long," I said, offering her a smile without thinking.

Xiao Ru stood frozen in place, her eyes wide with something that might have been wonder, as the familiar geometry of the office began to dissolve around us.