Do you play to win
Or are you just a bad loser?
-Pet Shop Boys 'Domino Dancing'
Bubble Gum Crisis
An Alternate Story of the Knight Sabers 2034
Year of the Tiger
Neo No Armour Against Fate (Section 1 of 5)
Domino Effect (Part 1 of 6)
by Shawn Hagen(1997;1999;2005)
Please Note: This story was posted on RAAC in 1999/2000. I have not made any changes to the story, I just wanted to repost it in a slightly more accessible forum, and hopefully give more people a chance to read it.
Based on situations and characters created by Suzuki Toshimichi.
-
MegaTokyo, 4 hours after Largo's death (2033)
D looked around at the lab, pulling plastic dust covers off various pieces of equipment.
"Quite the set up Andrews-sensei," she said.
"It was meant to be," he told her.
"And you are showing it to me because?"
"He was insane."
"Yes, he was," she walked over to a waist high table and pulled the dust cover from the form it covered. "Where did you get this?"
"It was a prototype model. I completed the work. It is unfortunately not a match for the first."
"Not all that surprising is it, Andrews-sensei?"
Yoshiro bristled slightly at the insult but did not make an issue of it.
D looked down at the boomer lying on the table. She ran her fingers through its light, blue grey hair. When her fingers encountered the input cables she pulled them out. As she drew her hands away from the body the fingernails of one hand suddenly extended into five blades, each sharper than razors. With one hand she held the head of the inactive boomer-much like she was caressing it-while she drew her other hand back. She brought her fingers together, the blades forming into a spike. Abruptly she drove the spike into the left eye, though the eyelid, pushing down with all her strength.
It took her several minutes of work to completely destroy the boomer. Yoshiro watched, thinking back on the several months he had taken to complete the work. A work that was ultimately beyond him. He had done his best and now D was ripping it apart.
She finally finished, stepped back, wiping her finger nails clean on an unstained area of sheet the boomer had been lying on. "Let's plant the charges," she told Yoshiro as she put her hair in order.
-
D watched as the fire consumed more of the building. She had used plenty of explosives and incendiary charges and as a final touch had coated anything she really wanted destroyed with thermite paste. She doubted anyone would ever be able to put together what had really happened there.
That was the end of Largo.
"Now what?" Yoshiro asked.
"No we run and hide because Genom will begin to clean this mess up. You are on your own for a time Andrews-hakase. I wish you luck," she told him, then turned and walked away.
Yoshiro watched her go and wondered what he was going to do. He had given his fortunes over to Mason when it became clear that Katsuhito no longer needed him. When Mason had died his loyalties had quickly transferred to Largo. Now Largo was gone and there was no one to protect him.
-
Paris, 1 week later
The Café was one of many that lined the riverbank. Yoshiro sat at an outside table, waiting. As the smog was especially bad that day he wore a breather.
He had almost failed to make it out of MegaTokyo; a Genom clean up team had nearly caught him. Genom had moved fast and he had had few options. One possibility was to turn himself over to the huge corporation, to Quincy. He did not know if Quincy wanted him, however. It seemed too great a chance. He had instead sold himself once again.
"Doctor, I am glad you could make it," a tall man with café-au-lait skin said as he sat across from Yoshiro. It was hard to make out that much about his features due to the breather he wore. His name, Yoshiro knew, was Terrence Lecoix. "It has been a while, has it not?"
"Yes," Yoshiro said.
"A lot of people are looking for you Doctor."
"I know. I need help."
"Of course I'll help you Doctor. And in return you'll help us."
Yoshiro swallowed uncomfortably. "Of course," he said.
"Wonderful." Terrence got to his feet. "Come along Doctor. We have work to do."
Yoshiro got to his feet slowly. He nodded. "Where are we going?"
"Someplace safe Doctor. Someplace safe. For now at least."
-
MegaTokyo 2034, January 8th
Priss sat in front of her dressing table backstage at Hot Legs. She held her guitar across her lap, tuning it.
The lacquered, black wood of the instrument shone in the soft light of the room. She tuned it, gently turning the keys, listening as she picked at the strings.
It was new-she had just picked it up several hours before-a New Years gift to herself. She could have continued to play her old guitar but it would have eventually fallen apart on her and repairing it had been out of the question. She had been told that to truly fix it would have required changing it. Priss could not have done that to an old friend.
As it was, she had retired it while it still had a few shows left in it, and had bought the new one.
Fender Stratocaster, by Genom.
That had surprised her, that the Zaibastu had taken over the venerable guitar company. She hoped her money went to making better instruments rather than boomer research.
Putting the pick in her mouth she played the opening rif to an old Beatles song, Revolution.
Been awhile, Priss thought, rubbing her fingers together, most of her calluses gone. How long had it been since she had done any serious playing. She slid the pick between the strings.
Perhaps she had been doing too much vocal work, letting her band handle the instrumental work. Time to change that.
Priss got too her feet, letting the guitar hang from the strap around her neck. She looked at herself in the mirror, smiling slightly as she straightened the blonde wig that had become a bit of a trademark. Reaching down she picked up a tube of lipstick, uncapped it, and used it to freshen up her makeup.
Turning, she left her dressing room and headed towards the stage.
She stopped when she noticed the rest of her band milling about in the wings, the sound of the clubs piped music came to her. Priss sneered at the piped music. Some clubs actually made it their venue. Not any club that Priss would willingly go to.
Contemplating her instrument Priss was suddenly bothered by its perfection. Her old guitar had been beat up, but it had had character. Could she truly play music with any meaning with such perfection? It would be like computer-generated music, perfect but no soul.
She moved up quickly to Takeshi-her drummer-and pulled the cigarette from his mouth.
"What?" He turned, surprised. "Thought you quit a while back?" he said to Priss who had taken a long drag on the cigarette.
"I did." Priss coughed a cloud of bluish smoke into his face. She placed the red-hot ember against the head of her guitar, burning away a little of the lacquer.
"What the hell?"
"Shut up." Priss took another drag then increased the length of the burn mark. Her old guitar had had plenty of them from her smoking days. Stick a cigarette into the strings at the head and forget about it. Next thing she knew it had burnt into the instrument. Character, Priss thought, looking down at the faint burn mark.
"What's that about?" Norio, guitar and backups, asked her.
"Just giving it a little character." Priss told him, handing Takeshi back his cigarette.
"Weird." Takeshi took a long drag, finishing it off. He dropped it to the ground, crushed it out under his boot.
"Hell of a way to treat an axe." Norio pulled his guitar a little closer to himself; as if he feared Priss might suddenly attack it.
"Just shut up and get ready," Priss told them, feeling a little angry. She felt as if they had somehow intruded on a personal moment.
At least Yuuko is not over here being a pain, but that might be stage fright, she thought. Yuuko Nishizaki, her new bassist, Priss had just hired her. Satoo, her old bassist, had let his new wife take over his life for him. Not enough money in it, he had told her-parroting the words of his wife-he could make the same teaching and work normal hours. Priss shook her head. It was so middle class.
The piped music suddenly ended; there was an expectant feeling from the audience. Priss smiled, feeling the tingle of excitement, so akin to sex, move though her. This was the first show of the year for her. It was something special.
The band moved out onto the darkened stage, to the audience they would appear as little more than shadow. Priss took her place at the centre of the stage and reached behind herself to activate the wireless links for her guitar and microphone. Expensive tech, an indulgence she had allowed herself after a job.
Then the stage lights came on, blinding her to her audience, giving her a sense of being alone, as if there was no one else but the other members of the band with her.
A smile spread across Priss' face. New axe, new bassist, what better way to baptise them both but with a bit of fire, a little challenge. It would keep the other members of the band on their toes.
She launched into a rif, playing it longer than she normally would. She had just toasted the play list. Let's see if they can keep up, Priss thought.
Surprising her a little, Yuuko was the first to come in, letting her base fill in the spaces left by Priss' guitar. Then Takeshi started pounding out the beat, Norio a note behind.
Perfect Priss thought, launching into song.
"Bright lights hurt my eyes in the dark night.
I try to run in the dark night.
I feel you there in the dark night.
There's a cold fear in the dark night."
It was loud and fast and angry, just the way she had known it would be. It tore from her, slamming out into the audience, resonating within them.
Priss played for a few moments, letting the words, the emotions, sink in.
"You kicked out the supports, you tore them apart,
You broke all the rules when you broke my heart.
Now revenge is mine and I'll drag you to hell,
Listen closely, hear the tolling of your doom bell."
She gave Norio his solo, taking a quick break, catching her breath. Who is it I hate? Priss wondered. Who had she written the song for? She could never be sure. So many people who had hurt her in one way or another.
"I'm running in the dark night.
I'm searching in the dark night.
I'm living in the dark night.
I'm killing in the dark night."
"I twist the accelerator and I feel I could fly,
A powerful motor throbs between my thighs.
The flame of my hatred burns with a light white hot,
Run all you want, the hunts all I got."
Priss wiped the sweat from her forehead with the bandanna wrapped around her wrist.
"There's no pity in the dark night.
There's no caring in the dark night.
There's no redemption in the dark night
There's no love in the dark night."
"A thorn of steel hone as sharp as light,
You've avoided me but you can't avoid this fight.
I'll see your blood and I'll feel you die,
I'll understand you in death as I scream at the sky."
Norio went through several of his effect pedals as Priss got ready to end it.
"I can't see in the dark night.
I've lost my way in the dark night
I've lost my heart to the dark night.
I fear for my soul in the dark night."
The music stopped suddenly, Priss stared out over her silent audience, barely able to see them with the lights in her eyes. Not quite sure about that one are you? Priss thought, smiling.
She did not give them time to make a decision but launched into 'Rock Me'.
-
Linna sat at her desk, staring at the computer screen that lit the dark room. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her eyes. Reaching across her desk she clicked her desk lamp on and closed her eyes against the momentarily painful light.
After a moment she opened her eyes and reached down to the laser printer, removing several of the freshly printed pages. She read through them slowly and began to shake her head. Finally she tossed them to the floor and pushed a hand through her short, black hair, pulling her headband free and flinging it across the room. She combed her fingers though her hair, throwing it into disarray then threw herself back in the chair.
She just could not get the right feeling. It was her life and she could not even write a simple letter about it. All she had wanted to do was dance-it had been her life's dream-and she couldn't even write a simple letter.
She did not have much time left to her. She would have to drop it off at Kikuchi-sensei's office tomorrow or she would miss the deadline.
Was that all it came down to? she wondered, staring at the computer screen. Just a few simple facts? There was no passion to any of it.
Maybe she should talk to Priss. She understood how to write with passion.
Dance.
It had been so important to her at one point.
She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a photo album. She flipped it open, looking at the pictures there.
The four-year-old girl who had danced so clumsily in that recital but had never really known or cared.
The same girl, two years later, long hair in braids, moving gracefully through the traditional dances. Two years had made such a difference.
There were her parents, looking so proud, she had been eight at that time, it had been a more modern piece, a lot more active.
At ten she had been in a semi-professional musical, nothing special but it had received a few nice reviews. One of them was in the album, beside a picture of her with her parents.
There were more, her dance career laid out in the photographs. At one point she had also had a record on discs, but they had been destroyed in the Second Kanto quake.
She flipped through the pages, looking at the pictures.
There was a newspaper article, large print, meant to attract attention. One of the first times the AD Police had been sent out to deal with problem boomers.
Give a bunch of people, who at best had SWAT training, most who didn't have even that, automatic and heavy weapons and then let them loose.
Civilian casualties had been almost guaranteed. Linna shook her head. Next to the article were two obituaries, her parents. As much as she would have liked to hate the AD Police she could not. Most of the officers from that long off night had died, torn apart by the boomers they had tried to combat.
Too many people had died. She was not the only one who had suffered that night, and other nights like it.
After that she had found her dancing a safe retreat for a time, letting herself forget the sorrow. It had stopped being so after a while, she no longer needed a place to forget. The pain had faded, time had worked its healing.
She continued to flip through the album, thinking that she should scan all the photos onto disc, like she always did.
More pictures, high school productions, a few more of the semi-professional works she had been in. Then the pictures ended, like her career.
She still remembered that day clearly. The hurt that her failure had caused. The rejection, the feeling of uselessness.
It was not the first audition in which she had failed to be picked but it was the first in a while and it was one that she had pinned a lot of her hopes on.
That was the day she had met Sylia. Tall, glamorous, beautiful, back lit by the lights, for a moment appearing greater than anyone could be.
"There is more to life than stages you know," she had said. "There is so much more you can do. People you can help. Are you interested?"
Linna stared at the last picture she had put in the album. Her and the other girls from that audition, all of them looking hopeful.
She almost wished she could blame Sylia for the fact her hopes had ended that day. Blame her for taking it away from her, but she couldn't, not really.
The Knight Sabers had not taken over her life; she had had plenty of time to pursue her dreams. She had chosen not to, hiding behind the lie that what she was doing was more important, that she should devote her full attention to it.
Linna picked up a sheet of paper from the desk, reading it over once again. The letter had been sent to her by Tomomi Yokoma, a friend from that very audition.
Tomomi had succeeded, had gone on to have a relatively successful career. She had sent a few other letters to Linna, ones which Linna had politely responded to but had not thought much about.
Now she was providing Linna with a possibility to get back on track.
Andrea Kikuchi, a rather famous woman in dance circles, was looking for new dancers for her troupe. All Linna had to do was write a letter, telling Kikuchi-sensei why she should be given a chance to audition, as well as a list of her previous work.
Linna flipped through the album again, remembering all that she had felt, remembering how she had told her parents she would be a world famous dancer one day, remembering what it was like, out on the stage.
She turned her attention to the keyboard and began to type, all of the passion she felt flowing out of her, through the keys, onto the screen.
-
Nene stopped at the red lights, putting her foot down to hold the scooter upright. The roads were damp and the temperature hovering near zero. She had good tires and the ride was not so bad. Still, it was one of those times where she would have preferred a car.
She brought her hand up in an attempt to cover her mouth as she yawned, but it was stopped by the clear, impact-resistant plastic of her helmet. Shaking her head slightly she returned her hand to the handlebars of her scooter and waited for the light to change.
It had been a long night; she had ended up pulling a double shift.
Damn 'Prometheus Bound' she thought. The city did not need someone new making trouble. The situation had been contained by the time she had been allowed to go. At least the AD Police had been able to handle it.
She had called Sylia as soon as it started but Sylia had seen no need to intervene, agreeing with Nene that the AD Police were up to handling the conflict. It was not even boomer related. Not really.
Nene picked her foot up as the light changed, twisting the accelerator, shooting through the intersection. There was a whine as the engine brought the scooter up to speed.
Priss had told her once that the scooter had an engine only a sewing machine could envy. Priss had also suggested she get a real bike, telling Nene that the scooter was just too embarrassing. Nene had responded with the standard polite, yet noncommittal comments.
The fact was she didn't want a motorcycle; the scooter suited her just fine. It was one thing to ride a motorcycle while you were wearing a hardsuit, but with just a leather jacket and some plastic between you and the road at those speeds? She didn't even like to think about it.
There was also the fact that she considered the scooter more civilised. One straddled a motorcycle, you sat on a scooter. Of course there were times when she admitted to herself that motorcycles were really cool.
She continued on, soon reaching one of the city's more affluent suburbs. Shortly after entering the area she brought the scooter to a halt near a pleasant-looking, two-level house.
Strange, Nene thought, to be living with her parents again.
She remembered when she had first contacted her parents, nearly a year after she had run away. Double blind e-mail, using a few tricks she had learned to ensure her father didn't trace it back to her.
It had been just to get over the guilt at first, just to let them know she was all right.
They had often asked where she was, Nene had never answered, simply telling them she was all right and not to worry.
Then one night, after the wine had flowed a bit too freely, and their spirits a bit too high after a battle, Nene had been complaining to Sylia about it. She had not really expected an answer, it was just rhetorical bitching.
She still remembered Sylia sipping at her wine, the voices of Priss and Linna drifting from the other room as they teased Mackie for some reason, a cool breeze coming through the open windows, carrying the faint sounds and scent of the city.
"Often I wish I could still talk to my parents," Sylia had said quietly, perhaps she had not even expected Nene to hear it. Then she had put her empty wineglass down and headed up to her computer room.
It was soon after Nene had given her parents her phone number and address.
It had not been as nearly as bad as she had expected, in fact it had been nice, knowing they were there, checking up on her, even if it was only by phone.
Then they had moved to MegaTokyo.
Nene had been ready to run, sure she could stay with Sylia while she looked for a new place to live. Then she had calmed down and done some checking. Her father had tentatively accepted the new job in Tokyo before she had told them where she was, though it might have been a lucky guess on their part.
And her mother had been offered a rather nice position in one of the more prestigious private clinics in the city.
Her presence might have been an extra reason for them moving to the city but it was not the only one.
Soon after they had begun to suggest she move in with them. After all, why pay rent money when she could live at home for free? Telling them money was no problem would have been one possibility but that would have led to some rather complex explanations.
That she found the idea somewhat appealing had been another factor.
Starting the scooter again she pulled into the driveway of the house, noting her father's car was not in the driveway. He had a lot of work to do with the new company and it would be a while before he could stop working the long hours.
She put the scooter beside the house, making sure there was enough room for the cars to get in or out. After shutting the engine off she toed the kick stand down and got off the vehicle. After pulling her helmet off, Nene locked it to the scooter.
Reaching down she opened a small compartment under the handlebars and removed her purse. She pushed the hatch closed and straightened up.
She walked around to the front of the house, separating out her house key from all the others on the key ring. Sliding the key into the lock she turned it, pulling the door open.
"Tadaima(I'm home)," she called, pulling the door closed. Reaching behind herself she locked it again.
Nene slipped out of her shoes then stepped up into the house. Bending down she neatly arranged her shoes then opened the cabinet by the door, removing her slippers. From the living room she heard the sound of the television, listening a bit more closely she realised it was news report, covering the terrorist situation that had been winding down when she had left. Obviously things had not been wound up.
Putting on the slippers she headed into the living room.
Her mother was sitting on the couch, a lap top computer on the coffee table in front of her, beside it a plate with a few cookies on it.
She was an attractive woman, an appearance similar to Nene's but more mature. While she wore her red hair shorter than her daughter's, her eyes were the exact same shade of green as Nene's.
"Tough day at work I guess," her mother said, looking at the television to emphasise her point.
"Just tiring." Nene took a seat beside her mother. "The newscasters always tend to exaggerate things. How about you?"
"Oh, this and that. Chief of neurosurgery sounded rather nice but I seem to spend a lot more time explaining cybernetic, neural interfaces to people than actual surgery."
"I would think that would be preferable." Nene made of slightly distasteful face at the thought of cutting into peoples' heads.
"You're too much like your father." Her mother shook her head. "At least you don't faint at the sight of blood."
"He does not."
"Maybe not small amounts. I'm surprised you can give blood and remain conscious. Maybe because I carried you while I was still in medical school?"
"I guess." Nene reached down, taking a cookie from the plate on the table.
"These came for you." Ali took several envelopes from beside her and handed them to Nene.
"So what are these?" Nene asked, feeling suspicious. Any other time mail for her would have been left on the table out in the hallway. She put the cookie back on the plate.
"Just some brochures for various colleges."
"And why would I be getting brochures from various colleges?" Nene arched an eyebrow and tore open one of the envelopes.
"Because I sent for them for you," her mother said.
"Kaa-san(mother)," Nene said, a little upset.
"Nene-chan, it is about time you started thinking about the future," her mother said, giving her that look that always made her feel five years old.
"I am thinking of my future," Nene said.
"Hontou(really)?" her mother intensified her look. "And what are your plans komusume(little girl)?"
"Well, I have nothing concrete. I guess I was thinking of going to university, eventually."
"Well, soon you will be able to write the entrance exams. These brochures have all the dates and places. I think this April is 'eventually' enough."
"Kaa-san, this is why I ran away in the first place."
"I think you are mature enough to not do that again," Ali said. "Just think about it Nene-chan," her mother reached over and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "That is not too much to as is it?"
"I'm going up to my room to read these." Nene got to her feet.
"That's all we ask," her mother said. "And remember, the Central Exam in on the 15th and 16th. You can write it at the Toudai-Tokyo Daigaku(university)-campus."
"Right." Nene smiled, shaking her head as she left the living room.
Nene walked up the stairs to the second floor. The door to her room was slightly ajar, as Nene had left it.
There was a dead bolt on the door, her parents' way of telling her that they respected her privacy. One of the points of contentions between her and her parents that had made her run away had been privacy.
Nene never locked the door, her way of telling her parents she trusted them. The first few days she had even left a few things in plain view in her room that she knew would elicit some reaction if her parents saw them. As far as she knew they had never entered the room uninvited.
She moved into her room, then closed the door behind her, but didn't bother locking it. Tossing her purse on the bed as she walked past, Nene continued to her desk.
She took a seat and began to turn her computer system on. Pushing the chair back slightly she looked at the envelope she had already torn open, then dumped its contents onto her desk.
There were several sheets of paper inside of it, a few brochures and a computer disk. She looked them over then put them aside. The contents of the rest of the envelopes were similar. She took note of the information about the entrance exams, noting the dates.
What was she going to do?
She had been thinking about going to university, but she had wanted to do it on her own terms. Having her parents forcing her into it made her feel, well, like she was back in high school.
Her parents must have sent for the brochures soon after Nene had turned down the job offer from her father.
It might have been interesting and it would have made use of her natural affinity with computers but working with her father would have been tough. The two of them together would have driven each other insane in time.
So, Nene thought, you couldn't get me what you thought would be a respectable job so you decided I should go to university. The really annoying thing was that she could not even be mad at them, she liked the idea.
Well, there was nothing for it. Her parents were going to get their own way, like they always did. Nene shook her head and looked at her computer.
First thing was to make a list of what she had to study if she hoped to pass the Central Exam. Then she was going to have to decide which universities she wanted to write at. Tokyo Daigaku, Toudai, was of course one. As the top University in the country it had to be on the list. There were others that she would consider.
Suddenly she wondered what Sylia would think of it? That could be another problem Nene thought. She would have to deal with it soon enough. Too many things for her to worry about.
She left the computer running and got up. She wanted to take a long bath before going to sleep.
-
Sliding in and out of traffic the red BMW replica easily outpaced the other traffic on the overpass. Soon the other vehicles dwindled and vanished all together as the sports car entered an area that had yet to be rebuilt.
The car bounced through potholes and cracks, over chunks of asphalt. It swerved back and forth, barely under control. The wet, almost icy condition of the road was not helping. More than once the car almost slid out of control.
Sylia sat behind the wheel, fighting for control of her car, wincing in sympathetic pain each time car bounced through a damaged section of the road. She was looking at a realignment job at least and the rims might need to be replaced as well. Lousy way to treat an old friend, she thought, doing her best to avoid the bigger holes in the road.
She finally hit the brakes, feeling the pedal push back against her foot at the ABS did its job.
It slid to a stop, nearly a hundred meters from where the over pass ended. More than close enough for Sylia's taste.
Pushing the gull wing door open Sylia shifted in the seat, getting gracefully out of the car.
She walked along the pitted and damaged road; her high heels made navigating the damage difficult, but not impossible. She finally reached the end where the concrete, asphalt and steel reinforcing rods of the over pass ended and open air began.
It was one of the higher over passes, built before the Second Kanto quake, when Tokyo's traffic problems had been much worse. After the quake repairing the over passes had been considered of little importance. Even with the constantly growing population they still left many in their damaged state. Too expensive to tear down and during the rebuilding a much more efficient road system had been laid out.
The skeleton of the over pass system remained, some of it rebuilt, some of it not, and all of it casting perpetual shadows over certain parts of the city.
Sylia shivered slightly in the early January wind as it ruffled her shoulder length black hair, blew fine particles of stinging grit into her brown eyes. Sylia put up a hand to shield her face as she blinked her eyes, letting tears flush the particles away.
The wind slowed then died altogether a few moments later. Sylia wiped at the edges of her eyes then let her hand drop to her side.
She looked out over the city, seeing the lights of far off buildings, the stream of traffic, marked by white and red points of illumination, speeding along the roads.
I've fought for you, Sylia thought, looking at the city. I've protected you, been hurt for you, given up so much for you. Does that make you mine?
The line of thought surprised Sylia, it had not been what had driven her to a late night run through the city and up onto the over pass. She was not sure what it was that had made her take a page out of Priss' book of dealing with stress and sent her speeding along the roads.
A sense of unease, but it had come from within, not from any external source. Restlessness. Things had been very quiet. Genom had been lying low since the affair with their super boomer and Dr. McLaren.
The affair with the rogue Genom scientist at the AD Police building almost a month before had proven not to be a Genom plot after all. In a way she was disappointed. She needed to remember all her old hate-the drive for revenge, the desire to destroy that had driven her-but it was fading.
What had she told Lisa? Sylia wondered. Genom was needed for the good they did, the Knight Sabers were needed to off set the bad.
Is that all I've become, a counterweight to Genom? The thought was not one she liked. Her life's work had to mean more than that.
She had helped a lot of people, saved lives, done what was 'good'. At the same time though, she had done other things, things that had never set easy with her.
Sylia turned around, walking back towards her car. She had not found any answers in her hectic drive. The city had been silent, refusing to enlighten her.
-
Leon took several deep breaths as he took the magazine out of his M-42 and gauged its weight. About half full, he thought, sliding it back into his weapon. His breath was misting in the air, clouds of vapour rising up above his head.
Around him was the sound of gunfire and sometimes the booming of heavier weapons. His squad was pinned down on the other side of the burning warehouse, unable to advance, unable to get close enough to support him. That left Leon in the unenviable position of sitting within unfriendly territory with no back up close at hand. A mixture of bad luck and bad planning on his part. He had not expected the heavier weapons.
"Daily," he said into his boom mike. "Where are your people?"
"Stuck in traffic actually."
"ETA?"
"Ten minutes."
"Great," Leon leaned back and stared up at the night sky. With the tracer passing over it was rather pretty. He switched frequencies on his radio. "I need air support and I need it now."
"Fire Bees on the way," Sergeant Harrison told him.
"I need something bigger."
"No one up top is going to okay that Leon," she told him.
"Do we have any Algonquins in the air?"
"One."
"Who's flying it?"
"Kimble-keibuho(lieutenant)."
"Subarashii(great). Give me a direct link, and private."
"Just a sec," she said. Leon could make out the muffled sounds of Harrison giving some orders.
"Kimble desu," he heard a moment later.
"Emiko-chan, want to do me a highly illegal favour?"
"What is it this time Kichou(captain)?" she asked.
"I got some unfriendlies up on high ground with some serious nasty firepower. I need to shake them up so my team can get into position."
"Okay, be there in about a minute. Kimble out."
Leon relaxed slightly. Staying alive for one of Emiko's minutes would be a lot easier than staying alive for Daily's ten.
Thirty seconds later the high-speed attack helicopter flew by, the nose mounted, 20mm, chain-guns digging a long trench into the ground up to and over the terrorists' position.
"How's that Leon?" Emiko asked over the radio.
"I love you," he said.
"I'll believe it when you give me the ring Leon-chan."
-
D moved among crates and packages, through the burning warehouse, looking for a clear way out. Staying behind had been necessary, but ultimately dangerous. Still, it was vital that all the evidence be destroyed. It meant death if Genom found out what really happened.
She need not have bothered; Prometheus Bound had done a more than adequate job of ensuring everything in the warehouse would be destroyed. Unfortunately she was currently in the warehouse.
It would not be too long until her hair started to burn, then her clothing. Her skin would take much longer, but if she stayed even it would start.
She should have left with the terrorists, but had been worried about being seen. Now she was worried about dying, if she could die. The terrorists outside would have told her that she couldn't, but she was of a different opinion on that.
A sound reached her in time to give her a chance to dodge out of the way. The wall she was close to exploded as a large number of 20mm rounds tore through it. D was not hit directly by any of the rounds, but she took a spray of shrapnel from the wall.
It looked as if the ADP had finally decided to get serious, she thought as she pushed herself off the floor and brushed burning debris from her clothing. Time for her to get out.
D pulled her coat over her face-her optics were one of the more fragile parts of her body-and then ran across the room. Leaping high, D hit an area of wall she hoped had been weakened by the fire.
The wall gave way under the impact and a moment later D was rolling across the broken ground, putting out the fires that had started on her clothing.
Once the fires were smothered, she looked around, keeping low to the ground. There was a lot of gunfire but none of it too close and she could see no one near to her. Once she was sure it was safe, or as safe as it could be, D pulled herself along the ground until she found a sewer cover. After pulling it open she slid down into the tunnels, dragging the heavy metal plate over top of the sewer, cutting off the light and some of the noise.
She dropped down into the waist high water, which splashed around her.
That was one problem taken care of, she thought. Now all she had to do was get home.
-
The tunnel had been closed off after the quake, another piece of the city that remained in a state of disrepair, forgotten. Water had leaked in from the storm sewers, nastier things from the waste sewers. The liquid level in the tunnel was nearly 2 meters.
D slogged through, unmindful of the filthy water. She was having a little problem with her arms. The muscles on her back were a mess thanks to the shrapnel she had taken.
The kilometres she had travelled in the tunnel, and before that through the sewers, were beginning to drag on her. She could not really feel pain, a slight sense of what some might call discomfort was all that told her of the damage. Her diagnostic computer was telling her exactly what was wrong.
It was some time later that she finally reached her egress point. There were a few shallow indentations in the wall, and a hole in the tunnel ceiling. She reached up, slipping her fingers into the shallow, slippery, handholds. Pulling herself up she crammed a foot into another of the indentations under the fluid level. She had long since lost her shoes.
With the nearly steady perch she freed one hand and reached up, putting her hand on a metal rung in the shaft above her. With one hand she pulled herself up, then reached up to grasp another rung with her free hand.
A little more effort and her whole body was in the shaft. She began to climb.
Several meters higher she reached a small chamber where the ladder ended. Once she was in the chamber she closed the floor hatch. Nozzles along the wall began to spray her with a powerful disinfectant and water, cleaning the filth from her.
While the cleaning room was primarily for the humans that used the shafts, D used it as well. At first it was only for practicalities sake, she could not deal with humans well when she was covered with filth. Over time though she had reached a point where being filthy was, in some way she had trouble describing, uncomfortable.
Stripping off her burnt and soiled clothing she dropped them into a pile. There was nothing she wanted to keep. Bending down she pulled the hatch open, straining against the weight of the water. The damage she had taken earlier made it harder than it should have been.
Finally she opened it and the liquid began to flow out and the spray stopped. With her feet she pushed her clothes into the shaft opening, letting them fall into the tunnel below.
That done D reached above her and opened another hatch. She pulled herself up into the shower room. When she closed the hatch it was impossible to see it as it blended in perfectly with tiled floor.
Grasping the taps she turned the hot water right up. Within moments the scalding hot water was running over her synthetic skin. She was not bothered by it, she didn't even feel anything akin to pain and her diagnostic computer was not even registering the heat as damaging. She liked it though.
D had originally been designed for covert body guarding operations-something the standard C class had a bit of trouble with. They just lacked social graces necessary to blend in, not to mention a build that put most steroid abusing, North American Football players to shame.
An improved learning program, more background information and standard endoskeleton design modifications made for less obtrusive protection. It also made true sentience a possibility, as D had found out.
So she found herself enjoying hot showers and a number of other things that few boomers, aside from 33Ss, would understand. Sometimes she was bothered by that. It was not easy being a boomer that thought like a human. She often wondered whether her sisters might have come to a similar state had they not been destroyed. Those thoughts went in circles and were not at all productive.
After several minutes she put her hand on the tap, shutting the shower off. As she walked out of the room a cloud of steam flowed out from behind her.
From one of the lockers in the change room she removed a long, terry cloth robe, letting it absorb the water still coating her skin.
Grabbing a towel from a pile near the door she started to dry her hair as she left the change room, exiting into the main corridors.
Rubbing at her hair she traversed the darkened corridors easily, her eyes amplifying the small amounts of ambient light.
Reaching a door marked "SURGERY" she pushed it open and entered.
An older gentleman was sitting on a stool in front of the operating table on which the disassembled head of a C class boomer rested.
He had thinning blonde hair, the few touches of grey in it were hard to see. He was average height and weight and D knew that his average looks were totally forgettable. A rather unfortunate aspect for a man who was one of the worlds leading, living experts in cyberdroids and artificial intelligence.
She had found Yoshiro Andrews again, once things had calmed down after the Largo incident. She was glad he had survived the purge that had dealt with most of Mason's operatives.
"Andrews Sensei," D said, pulling the towel around her shoulders.
"Eh?" He spun on his chair. "Oh, D, good to see you back." He relaxed. "I take it everything went well?"
"Well enough. The unit in question was extracted, and the destruction should cover the theft. Unless a thorough and very detailed investigation is performed. Basically it means as long as Quincy does not see reason to get involved we're safe," D said, circling around the opposite side of the table.
"Let's hope he does not become involved then." Doctor Andrews turned to face her.
D nodded as she picked up the stripped boomer skull, holding it up at eye level.
"Alas, poor F2, I knew him Andrews-sensei. A cyberdroid of infinite dullness, of most excellent destruction. Here hung that ion cannon, which often blinded me with its brightness. Where is your hatred now? Your destruction? Your flashes of true sentience that showed when you ended life? Get thee to my masters chamber and tell him, let him plan and plot but to this favour he must come. Make him smile his twisted smile at that." She dropped the skull to the table then swept it and the component parts to the floor.
"You always surprise me." Yoshiro said, looking at her with those soft brown eyes of his.
"The quotations, as misquoted as they were, or the flash of anger."
"Either. Both."
"Well there was more to that than a tantrum." She undid the robe and let it fall. "I need a little work," she told him as she turned around so he could survey the damage
"I see." He ran his fingers over the torn skin on her back, probing at the wounds.
Even though she could not truly feel pain, or more accurately be affected by it, he was gentle. It was one of the reasons she liked him. He treated all his patients, be they biological or otherwise, with respect.
"Rather messy. I suppose you came through the tunnel?"
"Yes."
"There must be a rather high acid content to the water, there has been some damage to the synthetic tissues. Given enough time it might have affected your other systems. Lie down please," he patted the table.
"Fortunately I didn't spend that much time there."
"I'm going to run you through the NMR scanner, might as well do a CAT scan at the same time, just get a look at where everything is before I start removing things."
"I hate the NMR, it gives me a head ache." D told him.
"It's just an effect of the magnetic field on your systems. It's nothing to worry about."
"So you say."
"Hold tight." He typed a few commands into the keyboard by the table. An iris opened near D's head and the table slid into the large tube.
The CAT scan ran first, beams of X-rays scanning through out the entire three hundred and sixty degrees of her body. D could actually see the light, feel it pass through her, she had a number of sensors that detected all spectrums of light.
After that was the nuclear magnetic resonance imaging. The large circular magnet caused the hydrogen atoms in her body to shift. When it was turned off the atoms returned to their original position, producing an electromagnetic signal that the sensors in the cylinder read.
D felt the pain, it was the best way she could describe it-she knew she didn't like it-as well as momentarily dizziness and nausea. Well she was fairly sure that was what she was feeling.
Yoshiro also decided to run an ultrasound, just to check for microfractures in her skeleton.
He was glad that D was so well shielded against possible damage from the scanning techniques he was using. Most C class boomers did not stand up well to NMR, which meant he had a lot of trouble discovering problems. That led to a lot of breakdowns, like the F2 unit. D was not likely to go that way.
"That should do it." He brought her out of the cylinder, letting the iris close up behind her.
"Let's not do that again anytime soon," D said, feeling like she had one of the hangovers she had heard the humans talk about.
"Try not to get shot up," He told her coolly, the way he treated all his patients who complained.
"Easy for you to say," D whispered.
Yoshiro looked at the screens as they displayed the information he had just gathered. After comparing it to a base reading from her original production he felt there was no serious damage.
"Well, this shouldn't take long." Picking up a scalpel he sliced the skin along her backbone then peeled it back.
With a pair of forceps he pulled out the chunks of wood and metal that had imbedded themselves in the dense, C class boomer muscle. What turned out to be a screw had been stopped by her scapula and after removing it he buffed away a few of the rough spots the impact had caused. In some cases he just cut out chunks of the muscle, tossing it to the floor. Easier to replace than to try removing all the fragments.
"This could have caused a problem." He told her as he picked up a longer set of forceps and went fishing for a piece of jagged shrapnel.
"How so?"
"Came close to severing an information relay. I always suspected some redundancy for that system would be useful."
"Half my body paralysed had it been damaged right?"
"Uh huh." He was a bit distracted as he pulled the last round out.
"Which would have increased my time in the tunnel which would have probably led in other systems shutting down and I would have been trapped down there."
"Not a pleasant way to die." He tossed the last shrapnel into a kidney basin. Metal rang out on metal. After that he began to work on her legs and arms. "Well," he said after a time, "now I just have to replace all the muscle tissue and you'll be fine."
He walked over to the refrigerated storage cabinet and began to remove the stored muscle.
D lay there, chin resting on her hands, staring at the opposite wall as Yoshiro began to replace the tissue. It took him almost an hour and D was beginning to feel a little bored.
Once he was done he pulled the skin back in place, cut away the damaged sections in squares and put new ones in their place.
"There, now we'll just let the glue set and you should be at one hundred percent." He wheeled the stool around so he was in front of her.
"You've checked the unit by now I take it? It is exactly what we wanted?"
"Never activated. Virginal, as it were."
"Good."
"Its also third generation, we got very lucky."
"Third gen?" D blew a lock of her now dry hair out of her eyes. "I didn't think they actually got any off the drawing boards."
"A few. But with the decision being made on those units they never bothered activating or programming any of them."
"Any idea about the organic components? They haven't absorbed any information, have they?"
"No more than a new born if any. The storage process is very good. I don't foresee there being any problems. Should I do a quick start up?"
"Not this time."
"It was your idea last time, I think that may have been a problem."
"I'm aware of that Sensei." She pushed herself up, feeling confident that the surgical adhesive had dried. "Which is why we will take our time. Four days, correct?" She pulled her robe back on, happy her body was responding perfectly.
"Yes."
"Get in touch with me before consciousness is achieved. I'll be busy over the next few days."
"Of course D-san." He said.
She left the room.
Shaking his head he looked down at the boomer head in the corner. There was not much he could really do about it, and F2 had not been all that stable when it finally broke down.
He packed a few things away, then left operating room, walking towards the room he had. The next day was going to be busy. He would be bringing a new life into the world.
-
Doctor Sharon Knight looked down at the results in front of her, feeling incredible elation but hiding the feeling, hiding behind a scowl of disappointment.
She was a petite woman, slim, waifish in fact. She wore her auburn hair short. Dark brown eyes, always more than a little intense, skin the colour of light coffee gave her an exotic look. She was a handsome woman, self-confident.
"I can't believe this," Victor North-one of her assistants-said softly. He took short breaths, as if he was trying to not vomit. He was tall, lanky really, with an unfocused look in his blue eyes. His blonde hair was too long and tangled. He looked a little like a homeless person.
"Yes, it was rather unfortunate." Sharon leaned back in her chair. "But we can deal with the problems. The next tests should prove more informative."
"What do you mean next tests?" Victor was on his feet. "Two people are dead, they tore each other apart."
"As I said, unfortunate. We learn from our failures as well as our successes."
"Doctor! I can't believe you are saying this!" Victor yelled. "Two of our subjects are dead. It's our fault!"
"Two subjects who would have died in a year regardless. Two subjects who might have had a chance at a better quality of life had we succeeded. Two subjects, who knew the risks," she lied.
"That doesn't make it right. We can't continue, not with human subjects, not for a long time now." He collapsed into his seat. "Years of work, gone. We'll probably lose funding. MRAStech was right to stop this project."
"Which is why we went to Aphros Industries," she told him.
"They won't let this continue. Dr. Knight, face it, this is over."
"Victor, we don't need to tell them," Sharon said, getting to her feet.
"You can't be serious. People are dead!"
"Victor, we are close, perhaps hours close, think about it. How many people might we save?"
"Doctor, I've ignored a lot of things, looked the other way over the inconsistencies in your progress reports to Aphros, and before that MRAStech, but I can't look the other way this time. There will be inquiries, questions, they'll find out. Right now we haven't done anything really wrong, but if we cover up these deaths..."
"I'm not saying we cover them up. We'll file full reports in a few hours and like you said we'll be closed down. In those few hours we can complete our work. Think about it."
"What do you mean in a few hours?"
"The last test, it provided all the information we need to complete our work."
"I can't believe that."
"Give me a few minutes, that's all I ask," she said to him, smiling at him, placing her hand on his arm.
"I guess a few minutes really won't matter." He said, his desire to make a name for himself in the annals of science overcoming his better sense. And Sharon was an attractive woman.
"Come up to my personal labs. If you still want to report this right away we will." Sharon turned and started walking towards the elevators.
Victor looked at her retreating back, then down at the phone. He got up slowly and followed after her.
Sharon took a key from her lab coat pocket and pushed it into a lock between the elevator call buttons. She pressed the up button. The doors opened, she stepped in, Victor right behind her.
"You've never been into my private labs have you?" Sharon tapped the button for the sixth floor.
"No, I've always been curious though."
"Mostly I have a lot of empty space right now. I hoped that I would need it soon but after today's test..."
"Well, at least we can finish off the main work," Victor said, a touch of excitement in his voice.
The elevator reached the sixth floor and the doors slid open with a chime. Sharon walked out into an empty room.
"This place is empty," Victor remarked as he stepped out of the elevator. "So where's your lab?"
"Right down the hall." She indicated the way. "Shall we?"
They walked down the hall, beside each other. Sharon moved a little closer to him, letting her shoulder brush against his arm.
"I don't see how you could be that close to completing the project," Victor said to hide the nervousness he suddenly felt. He wondered if Sharon knew the effect she had on him? Probably not. He had her pegged as one of those beautiful women who did not know she was beautiful. "Even with the data from today's experiment we can't be that close."
"You'd be surprised," she told him. "Right through here." She pointed to an open door and walked through it ahead of him.
Victor followed her in. He found himself in a room just as empty as the rest of the sixth floor had been. He heard some crackling and looked down, seeing the floor was covered in a plastic sheet.
"What is this?" he asked, looking up from the floor towards Sharon.
"It's all very unfortunate," Sharon told him.
"Pardon?"
"I'm sorry Victor," she said sadly.
Victor looked at her for a moment, not sure what she meant.
There was a click behind him, a sound of metal on metal. He began to turn, a look of curiosity on his face. A moment later pain flashed across his face as a long blade slid into the back of his neck. A hand reached over to clamp over his mouth before he could make any noise.
Victor's eyes widened as he stared in shock at Sharon. She smiled sadly as she locked gazes with him. "I am sorry."
The blade twisted, cutting through Victor's spine, finishing him off. The attacker released him, letting his body drop to the plastic sheet.
"That was unfortunate Doctor Knight," Terrence Lecoix said, looking down at the body. His light brown hair was cut shorter than it had been when he had met Yoshiro in Paris, and without the breather it was possible to see his rugged features and brown eyes.
"He was not supposed to be there for the final test," Sharon said, shaking her head. "He demanded it though. Poor idiot." She used the toe of her shoe to push at him. A pool of blood was beginning to spread out under him.
"So, the tests are complete?"
Sharon looked up from the body. "I have a little fine tuning to complete, but for the most part the product is complete."
"Have you considered the modifications I asked about?"
"I have, but it would be difficult. You'd need a specialist to do it right."
"But it could be done?" Terrence asked, something hungry in his tone.
"I suppose. With some work. It's not really necessary though."
"Of course," Terrence said, nodding, "but it always is useful to know where a technology could go."
"What will you do with the body?" she asked, again looking down at Victor's still form.
"I'll get rid of it. How long until someone misses him?"
"A week, perhaps two. One of the benefits of moving operations to MegaTokyo."
He nodded.