I own nothing that has anything to do with BGC and write in the BGC world purely for pleasure, not for profit of any kind. That being the case, I certainly hope that no one decides to sue me for this!

The Assassin's Heart

By SSG Michael B. Jackson

FOREWARD: I've been working on this story for a long time now. Since at least 1998, and maybe longer. I'm not sure why it's taken so long, but I guess part of that has just been inspiration and experience. When I started this story, I don't think I really knew everything I needed to know in order to finish it. Since then, I've gotten married, had two children, nearly lost one of those children right after she was born, and held the hand of the woman who raised me, my grandmother, as she passed away in the hospital. I think I needed a lot of this emotional experience in order to be able to convey the depth of feeling I wanted to convey to the reader. And, of course, I never seem to get any writing done except on deployments. Sitting here in a tent in Kandahar, Afghanistan with my bunk, my foot locker and my lap top really eliminates the distractions! At any rate, as with any story, I guess this one reflects a great deal of me. The Cannon characters are filtered through my perceptions of them, so if they seem a little skewed, they probably are. I freely admit that Nene and Leon are my favorites, but I've been a cop and a soldier for almost fifteen years now, so I can't help but empathize with them the most. If you're wondering, I realize that both Linna and Nene may seem quite a bit different from their portrayal in the OAV's, but I'm really trying to emphasize facets of their character that I think are there, even if we don't see them much. Finally, Jillian is, I suppose, my idealized boomer. To me, she represents what boomers were intended to be, and what they might become under the right circumstances, while her adversaries in this story represent the polar opposite. I hope the results have been worth the wait, and I certainly hope the readers enjoy!

Mike Jackson

12 June, 2004

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan

Darkness. Detachment. No one floating through nothingness. Those were her earliest memories, a sort of being while non-being as her neural-net was first brought on-line. Ghost-like wisps of formless pseudo-thought chased themselves across her still forming mind as she watched in innocent, childlike wonder, as yet unable to form even that simple concept. And then bright, painful knowledge began to force its way into her new awareness. Foreign data by the gigabyte began to pour into her formerly empty artificial intelligence, images, sounds, and other unfamiliar sensations cascading across her newly discovered mind's eye. She would've cried out in pain and dismay if she'd known how, but she could only watch and absorb like the empty sponge she was.

Jillian woke from the old dream as she always did, calmly, resignedly, and with total clarity. She remembered every facet of the dream in precise detail, just as she did everything else, even to the fact that this was the one hundred and seventy-third time her AI's house-cleaning sub-routines had tried to deal with this particular random shard of memory. It was, she thought, perhaps a matter of some concern that she had a 'recurring dream'. She was fairly certain that cyberdroids, even models like the BU-33C with AIs advanced enough to require the dreaming method of data archiving, weren't supposed to have dreams like hers. But she thought of this as just a minor quirk in her neural net, not a deviation from normal operating parameters. Or so she told herself.

As usual, she awoke precisely when she wanted to, 0600, exactly one hour before Master Asakawa's alarm clock was set to wake him. This gave her the time she needed to make her daily preparations: remote interface with the house security systems to flash-review the night's closed-circuit footage and sensor logs, check the status of the home's domestic boomers, ensure that breakfast was being properly prepared for her master and the little mistress, check and screen any incoming mail, scan the news-nets for the master's preferred subjects, and ensure that appropriate attire was set out for both of them.

Fortunately, she did most of this by ether-link while engaged in her own toiletry and dressing rituals. If she had to do it all in person, she'd have to be up at least two hours before the master, and though that wasn't really a problem for her, she knew that he slept lightly, and tended to wake whenever anyone else moved about the house.

In fact, on weekends and holidays, she was expected not to rise until the master did, and she'd restructured her sleep cycle accordingly. Though she really didn't need more than an hour or two of dreamtime a night, she'd programmed herself to sleep until she heard Master Asakawa stirring in his bedroom, directly adjacent to hers.

She supposed that this time could have been used more productively, but it kept her master happy, and in a way she enjoyed the extra dreaming. Her housekeeping routines tended to put together particularly interesting images during those times, and of late she'd found herself transposing some of them onto paper when she had downtime. She didn't have any real reason to, of course. With her eidetic memory, an image was as good as drawn as soon as it was conceived. But for some reason, it just seemed right to put what was in her mind onto paper. Another little oddity, she thought, but of course a system as complex as hers was bound to have some eccentricities. Why shouldn't it? And besides, the little mistress loved her drawings.

She hadn't planned on that, of course. It had happened not long after she'd started translating her dream images from thought to paper. She'd been sitting in the master's den, sketching intently with the master's old-fashioned pencil set, her attention so focused on the task that she'd failed to notice the little girl's approach. Startled, she'd tried to hide her work, for though she had the run of the house, and no one had ever told her not to use anything in it, she'd felt unaccountably guilty somehow, as though she were doing something wrong. Naturally, Aiko had insisted on seeing.

Of course she couldn't refuse. Not only was she required to obey any reasonable request from the eight-year-old, but also she had a certain pliability where the little mistress was concerned. Little Aiko often managed to talk Jillian into things that, after the fact, Jillian had no idea how she'd been talked into. So, a little reluctantly, she'd handed the sheet of paper over.

It'd been a particularly odd image; a small naked infant, floating through a murky, endless star-shot night, simultaneously reaching for and turning away from a bright ray of light emanating from a tiny, brilliant spiral shape in the far distance. Aiko loved it as soon as she saw it, partly, Jillian had realized, probably simply because Jillian had drawn it

Aiko had grown quite attached to her over the years, and Jillian suspected that in a way she helped fill the void left by her mother's death during the Kanto Quake. Aiko had been only an infant at the time, and luckily had been in a well-constructed day-care center when the quake struck. Her mother, not so lucky, had been traveling Tokyo's highways, and neither she nor her chauffer had survived the horrendous multi-hundred car pile-ups that had followed the quake. Jillian had come along a little more than three years later, one of the first of her model to roll off the lines during the golden age of androids, and had found herself an immediate focus of attention for a precocious toddler.

While childcare wasn't one of her primary functions, some of the basics had been included in her programming (she was a top of the line model, after all), and she was, if nothing else, designed for adaptability. Thus, after some initial awkwardness, she'd managed to integrate the little girl's antics into her daily routine and, in time, had grown to enjoy interacting with her. Part of the reason for that, she was sure, was the level of trust implied on the part of the master. Most humans, she'd known even then, were at least a little bit afraid of boomers. For the master to entrust his only child to her care, knowing her potential capabilities as he did, bespoke a level of faith in her that played exactly upon her most deeply encoded imperatives. If she'd been human, she would have fairly glowed with pride.

Also, she had found the little girl's growth and development fascinating. It was a continual wonder to her how much and how quickly humans, especially children, could change and grow. Thus, she had to admit, Aiko's attachment to her wasn't a one-sided affair. She enjoyed the little girl's attentions and company, and it didn't hurt that Aiko never treated her as anything other than a person and an equal. While Aiko, an extremely intelligent little girl, far ahead of most of her peers, was entirely aware of Jillian's true nature, it made as little difference to her as it did to her father. Both were the kind of people who interacted with others based on who they were, not what they were, and Jillian had enough experience with the real world to appreciate that greatly.

As for her drawings, the little mistress found them so captivating that she just couldn't keep them to herself. Over Jillian's objections, she'd taken that first sketch straight to the master, slapping it down in front of him with a wide smile. "Look what Jillian can do, Daddy!" she'd said.

Jillian had stood, quiet and subdued, while Master Asakawa had looked the sketch over at length. Finally, he'd put it down and, looking thoughtfully at Jillian had said, "That's a very interesting piece of work. You didn't copy that from anywhere either, did you?"

"No, sir," Jillian had replied quietly, "The image just- came to me, I suppose. And then it wouldn't leave until I put it on paper. I'm sorry if this upsets you, sir, but I'm sure that this is just a minor eccentricity in my AI and nothing to worry about. If you'd like, of course, I could schedule a maintenance visit to be sure and-"

Smiling now, the master had raised a hand to stop her, and said, "No, Jillian, I don't think that will be necessary. I'm sure that everything's just fine with you. And by all means, feel free to express yourself in any way you like. Just be sure to share your work with Aiko and myself. I think we both would enjoy that."

"Of course, sir," Jillian had said, a little bewildered. "If that's what you'd like."

The master had frowned slightly at that and said, "No, Jillian, that's not the point. It's not what I'd like; it's what you'd like. Do you understand?"

Thoughtfully, Jillian had replied, "I believe so, sir. You're saying that this is something I should continue to do because I enjoy it, not because it pleases you or Aiko. That it's something I should do for myself."

Master Asakawa had brightened, and said, "Exactly." And then, seemingly changing subject in midstream, he'd said, "Jillian, I know that you do a great deal of reading and web surfing, but tell me this. Have you ever delved into any of the work done by a man named Isaac Asimov?"

Jillian had nodded, and said, "Isaac Asimov. An extremely prolific writer of science fiction and fact from the mid 1930's until his death near the end of the 20th century. He wrote an incredible number of volumes popularizing nearly every aspect of science known at the time. His most remembered fictional works are arguably his connected 'Robot' and 'Foundation' series."

The master had laughed and said, "Alright, I suppose that's a fair encapsulated biography of the man, but have you actually read his work?"

Puzzled, Jillian had said, "No, sir. Should I have?"

The master had shaken his head, and said, "I think that's a question that provides it's own answer. But to clarify, yes, Jillian, I think you should. To start with, I'd suggest a couple of works. 'I, Robot' for sure, and then maybe 'The Bicentennial Man', though there are several versions of that one, and at least one motion picture based on it, which is also, I'd say, worth watching. And, while you're at that, you might as well look up a work by an author named Phillip K. Dick called, 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep'. The title's a bit awkward, but I think you'll find the story interesting. And there's a movie version of that one as well, though the title was changed to 'Blade Runner'. But be sure to look up the director's cut. The theatrical version isn't worth bothering with."

Jillian had nodded again, still puzzled by the odd tack the master was taking, and had said, "Of course, sir. I'll start right now."

The master had raised a finger in a gesture of negation, and said, "Hold on, now, that's not exactly what I meant. This isn't something you should just download and digest, Jillian. What I would suggest is getting a hold of the actual books and videos. And then, sit down and read and watch them. In fact, watch the videos with Aiko, or with both of us. From what I remember, 'Blade Runner' might be a little intense for her, but we'll see."

Truly bewildered by that point, Jillian had simply said, "Of course, sir, if you think that's best."

The master had dismissed her then, and, true to her nature, she'd done as he'd said. Over the next couple of weeks, as time permitted, she'd explored the works he'd suggested and watched the movies with both the master and the little mistress. And as she'd done so, she'd begun to understand.

Men and women of vision had considered the philosophical implications of Jillian and her kind long before the technology to create them had been real. Just the possibility of creating machines with minds and souls cast in the image of their creators' had been enough to fire their imaginations, and the work they had created held new relevance now that progress had caught up to their dreams. And as the master had hoped, Jillian hadn't failed to see the relevance those works held for her.

Throughout this period, Jillian's artistic abilities had grown and matured, and at least two or three times a week the little mistress would wake to a neatly folded sheet of paper tucked under her pillow. Jillian usually peeked through the closed circuit system when this happened, and Aiko's expression of delight at finding her surprises always caused a sensation in Jillian that she couldn't easily describe. While reigned in by her systems like a wild stallion, it was still a warm, giddy sensation that made her want to repeat the experience over and over. It just seemed right somehow to make the little girl happy. And, oddly, it seemed righter as time went on. In fact, the icy, 'boxed in' sensation that bound the feeling, as all her emotions were ultimately bound, seemed to be lessening over time as well. Once again, Jillian sometimes wondered if this should be, but she always dismissed any misgivings quickly. After all, none of her internal diagnostics indicated anything out of tolerance, so everything had to be fine. Or so she told herself.

This morning, however, wasn't one of those special mornings. Jillian had an idea for her next drawing, an image of a raven-haired woman of burnished silver, perhaps morphing across the page into a woman of flesh and blood. The image was unfinished in its details, but she thought that it would probably solidify over the next couple of days, and that would be soon enough.

In the mean time, she went about her morning rituals, exercising meticulous care in readying herself for the day. It simply wouldn't do to look less than perfect while accompanying the master. Once she'd finished, she examined the results critically in the bathroom mirror. Shoulder length blonde hair braided neatly, coiled into a bun and pinned at the back of her head, mascara and eye shadow of the proper shades to compliment her sparkling violet eyes, appropriately fashionable but sensible blue pinstriped power-suit with matching accessories, tailored to make the most of her tall, athletic figure, and of course the ubiquitous mirrored Gargoyles. Yes, everything seemed to be up to her exacting standards.

Soon after Jillian had completed her early morning chores, first the master and then the little mistress awoke, and the morning proceeded quickly along its normal path. Both were leisurely in their pace, taking over an hour to shower, dress, and eat.

As usual, Jillian had to hurry the little girl along, reminding her gently of the dire consequences her teacher had outlined for another episode of tardiness. This got the intended result, and Jillian managed to get Aiko out the door and into the armored Mercedes with enough time left over to ensure that the ever-dependable Mr. Jim Tanaka wouldn't have to risk a speeding ticket to get her to school on time.

That taken care of, Jillian returned her attention to the master. She made all the last minute preparations for the move to the office and then ushered Master Asakawa to his waiting limousine.