I love the way she moves.
I love the way she looks.
I love the way she gives her total concentration to whatever she
does.
I love the way she smells.
I love the sound of her voice, a siren's song that pulled me from the
abyss.
I love her.
She is wonderful.
***
TRUE LOVE
Another story of the Bubblegum Crisis
by Jeanne Hedge
Tokyo, Japan
January, 2034
"Did you have any trouble getting away from the Raven?"
"No, we're off tonight. But, like I was telling you, we're stuck
there for another week. And that club is _really_ strange."
"Oh? How so?" The two young women who stepped onto the
elevator in the basement of the Lady 633 building began their ride
companionably enough. But by the time they arrived at their
destination, one was irritated, while her dark haired friend was
attempting to hide her snickers behind a concealing hand. As the
doors opened, the conclusion of the one's litany of grievances rang out
loudly, easily heard inside their mutual destination, the penthouse
apartment.
"...AND Janette's impossible to understand. Have you ever tried to
decipher Japanese spoken with a French accent?"
"Are you on about _that_ again?" a short, redheaded young woman
snickered as she opened the apartment's door. "We could hear you
yelling from the basement! Give it up already, Priss."
"Yeah, I'll never be able to hear again," Linna said, as she stepped
through the door and bent to remove her shoes. "Look, if it's so bad
there why don't you just quit?"
"Yeah, what do you think this is? Some plot by the owner of Hot
Legs to make you miserable so you'll go back so he can fire you
again?" Nene mocked.
A fourth young woman joined them, smiling. "I told you the other
day, Priss, there's nothing unusual about that club. I checked. I really
do think you're making something out of nothing..."
"Aw, Sylia, not you too?!" Priss groaned.
"Why are you so paranoid all of a sudden?"
"Oh, shut up Linna. And I am _not_ paranoid!" Priss grumbled
back. Her friends continued to tease her as they moved to the living
room. Sylia sat down in her lounger, an amused expression on her
face as she watched her friends carry on.
In late 2030, Sylia Stingray, then 20 years old, founded the Knight
Sabers. She had recruited and trained three carefully selected
teenagers, Linna Yamazaki, Priss Asagiri, and Nene Romanova, to be
her weapons in her personal vendetta against the Genom Corporation.
Now, after almost three years of extensive activity, the group's anti-
Genom focus had mellowed somewhat. While their primary goal
remained that of countering the mega-conglomerate's excesses, they
had evolved into an elite mercenary force, available to almost anyone
for the right price.
They had also grown to be a closely knit group, in some ways
closer than family. One of the charter rules of the Knight Sabers, that
the members do not know each other on the outside, had quickly fallen
by the wayside when Nene, Linna, and Priss began hanging around
with each other. That it had happened wasn't surprising considering
the nature of the jobs they took, and that half the group _had_ no
living family.
Of course, whenever she brought up the fact that there were
excellent security reasons behind that particular rule, one of the others
invariably asked her which rule was more important: not knowing each
other on the outside or keeping in contact with the other members
regularly. To which Priss inevitably added with a grin that if she was
going to be executed for violating the rules, she'd like to know which
rule it was she was dying for.
"I _said_, 'don't you agree, Sylia?'!"
Sylia jerked from her reverie. A quick look around showed she was
the center of attention. "I'm sorry, Linna, you caught me
daydreaming."
"Some daydream. You were really out there," Priss grinned at her
leader.
"He must be really cute! Do we know him?"
"Nene, really," Sylia frowned, embarrassed to have been caught in
such a state. "What were you saying Linna?"
"Just wondering when we were going to get started with this. I've
got an appointment for later this evening."
"Appointment, huh?" Priss teased. "Blonde, brunette, or redhead?"
"Hush, you, or I'll make you go back to the Raven."
"Ladies, please," Sylia interjected, before things could escalate
further. "Linna has a point. The sooner we get started, the sooner we
can be about our business."
The trio took their seats on the couch and chairs scattered about
Sylia's living room. "Before we get started," she began, "I've an
announcement to make. I need each of you to schedule a time to come
in for your physical measurements to be taken." Nene groaned, and
Linna and Priss snickered in response.
"What's the problem, Nene? Don't you want your new suit to fit
properly?"
It took a moment for Sylia's words to sink in. "But Sylia, they
were just upgraded!" came the stunned response.
"Yes, Priss, I know. But you can only do so much with upgrades.
Recent data leads me to believe that it's time to bring a new generation
of suits on-line." Sylia looked at the still surprised faces around her,
and forged ahead. "It will be a few months yet before they are ready,
so don't worry, we'll be getting plenty of use out of this latest
upgrade."
She smiled slightly. "If there are any special modifications you
would like from your current suit, see me later." Priss began to grin in
return, picturing more, more powerful weaponry, while visions of
enhanced electronics danced in Nene's head. Linna, on the other hand,
vowed to have a chat about making the 'monomolecular' ribbons
attached to her helmet retractable.
"Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to discuss the real reason I
asked you here. 2033 was a difficult year for us, in many ways. We
had many obstacles to overcome, and personally speaking, I think, on
the whole, we did admirably." Sylia had to stop. I am so _very_
proud of each of you, she thought as she turned her gaze upon her
friends, each in turn. Friends she knew she could never do without
again.
And they looked back at her: proud, confident, strong, with total
devotion to each other, and total trust in her, shining in their eyes.
The moment came to an end all too quickly, and, having regained
her composure, Sylia was able to continue in her usual businesslike
tone. "But, there were also some things we didn't perform quite so
well at. And since we'd rather repeat the things that we do well, and
improve on the things that we don't do so well, I think it's time for a
performance review."
As good-natured grumbles filled the room, Sylia dimmed the lights
and activated a monitor set into the wall. A series of computer
generated images featuring a blue hardsuit in action against various
boomer opponents, filled the center of the screen. Suit telemetry
covered the bottom and right side of the monitor, while suit-wearer
telemetry ran up the left. "OK, now then. Priss. How many times
have we told you _not_ to...."
"Ms. Asagiri? Edward Haskell, Nezumi Records." The tall, blonde
man in the gray suit extended his right hand. Priss stared at him for a
few moments, then went back to her burger.
"Nezumi, huh? Interesting name for a label," Priss said around a
mouthful of food as she stared out the window next to the booth.
"Have a seat. How'd you find me?"
"Followed you from the Raven. You're a big hit over there."
Haskell slid onto the bench seat opposite her.
"Maybe. But tomorrow's the end of the run. We're opening
someplace else next week." She took another bite of her burger and
feigned disinterest in the conversation. Actually, she was paying
careful attention to him, what he had to say, and, most importantly,
how he said it.
"I know. Going back to the Legs."
Priss turned back to stare at him. "That hasn't been made public
yet. You been checking up on us, Haskell?" she asked with an edge in
her voice.
"Of course. How else am I supposed to decide if you guys are
worth signing?" he replied smoothly.
"The usual way is to listen to the music, bud," she laughed. She
took a sip of her beer, then continued. "So, you want to sign us, huh?"
"Maybe. What can _you_ do to make it worth my while?"
Priss stared at him, then scooted out of the booth and stepped
across to his side of the table. "Haskell," she began tonelessly as she
looked down at him with disgust, "I think you just lived up to your
label's name."
"Come on, Priss. You're a big girl; you know how the game is
played. Why don't we--"
He never got to finish, as Priss reached back across the table,
grabbed her beer, and dumped it over his head. "That's not how _I_
play the game, asshole."
As she stomped across the room, headed for the door, she heard
Haskell, still sitting at the table, laughing. "See you at Hot Legs,
Priss!"
Priss stepped into the taproom, a secondary bar at Hot Legs used
mainly by those more interested in drinking than music. She stood at
the entrance until her eyes could adjust to the darkness. Most of the
night's crowd had left by the time she had finished her shower and
changed clothes, so she had little trouble scanning the room. She
quickly spotted the two people who _always_ made it to her opening
nights. Over the past couple years Nene and Linna had become sort of
good luck charms for the Replicants. If they made it to an opening,
things went well for the run. If they didn't, for some reason things
usually became a disaster.
Priss stepped over to the bar to collect a drink, then made her way
across the room, nodding to or exchanging a word with people she
knew, ignoring those she didn't. Nene and Linna, seated at a corner
table, stood to greet her as she approached. Nene, as usual, was overly
enthusiastic in her appraisal of the performance, Linna only somewhat
less so. Priss smiled to herself as the three sat back down at the table.
If she ever needed an unbiased critique of her musical performance,
she knew where _not_ to go.
Still trying to unwind from the show, Priss closed her eyes and
leaned back into the chair, sighing blissfully. She let Linna and
Nene's discussion of the relative merits of cheesecake versus fruit as a
between-meal snack wash over her. After a few minutes, she had
relaxed enough to nod off, only to be startled back to wakefulness by a
kick in the leg.
"Hey, are you listening to me?"
"Uhh, whaa?" Priss responded intelligently. "What is it?"
"Geez, Priss, if you're so tired why don't you go home?" Linna
asked.
"Wish I could. Got a meeting with an A&R guy later."
"Oh, that's terrific!" Nene enthused. "Which label?"
"Nezumi Records."
Dead silence. "You're going to sign with 'Rat' Records?" Linna
said slowly, as if she couldn't believe her ears.
"We're not signing with anyone yet, I'm just meeting with their
guy." Priss stifled a yawn.
"Is that him over there?" Nene asked, nodding in the direction of a
booth by the door. "He's been staring at you ever since you came in
here." Priss and Linna both turned to look.
"Him?" Priss studied the leather-clad man Nene had pointed out
from across the room. "Nah, the Rat guy is tall, blonde, and acts like
one."
Their sudden scrutiny seemed to disconcert the booth's sole
occupant. He stood, and, after looking about a little wildly, grabbed a
paper bag off the seat and left the bar, exiting back into the main room
of the club. Priss and Linna turned back in their chairs. "Just another
flake, I guess," Linna said with a snicker.
"Whatever," Priss replied, running her fingers through her hair.
"Hey, either of you got your brush? Mine's turned up missing."
"Someone stole your hairbrush?" Nene asked in disbelief as she
dug into the depths of her bag for her own brush, lending it to Priss.
"Yeah. I think there's a thief following me around or something.
I'm missing lots of little things lately, but it's not like they're worth a
lot. Mainly picks, strings, a t-shirt or two, stuff like that. And now my
god damned hairbrush!" And I just bought it too, she grumped to
herself.
"Did you talk to the manager?" Linna asked.
"No, he won't do anything about it. I tell you though, when I catch
this guy...."
"What's the world coming to?" Nene commented.
Outside the club, a man in red leathers walked swiftly to a line of
motorcycles. Working his own machine out of the bevy of bikes, he
made his way to the streetlight illuminating the parking area. After
putting the kickstand down, he leaned back against the seat.
Opening the paper bag he'd been carrying, he examined its
contents, then carefully removed a towel from inside. He held the
towel to his face for several minutes, inhaling the residual scent of its
user. Sated, he folded the still damp towel, replaced it in the bag, and
stowed the bag in the bike's storage compartment.
That task concluded, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and
removed a hairbrush. Reaching forward, he adjusted the bike's mirror
until he could see his own reflection, and began to brush his hair.
Priss had a headache. After four meetings with Haskell, four
_loong_ meetings with Haskell, they'd finally gotten to the point
where he brought out a contract. But she had her doubts about the
whole thing.
It wasn't that the sections related to the contractual obligations of
the band for performance and the label for support were bad. In reality
they were perfectly acceptable; she'd hoped to have been offered
better, but could live with this. The problem, as usual, was with the
legal-ese. And the money.
Translation rights, reciprocal agreements, mechanical reproduction
rights, performance rights, synchronization rights, sheet music....
_merchandising_ for God's sake. And Nezumi wanted a piece of
everything.
No, more than just a piece. They wanted it all.
She was getting heat from the guys to get the deal done. Hot Legs
was fine if you were starting out or had no other place to go. But it
was beyond time for the Reps to have moved on. If they didn't sign
with somebody soon, they ran the risk of becoming old news. Has-
beens. Or worse, never-weres.
Two band meetings, and a lot of arguing later, and she was back at
the bargaining table. After three hours, she and Haskell had come to
an agreement about most things, but were stuck on something so
ridiculous she'd couldn't believe he was trying to get away with it. In
exchange for giving the band a percentage of the net for foreign
translation of their songs, Nezumi wanted 100% of the gross profit for
merchandising.
Translation rights were chump-change, unless they hit it huge.
Getting a few points of the net meant they'd never see a penny; the
label was always the one that determined if there was a net profit on
anything.
Merchandising was going to lead to a tidy sum.
She wasn't going to stand for it.
The guys said take it.
Priss demanded to meet with Haskell's boss.
"Aw, no, not tonight!" Priss groaned as her pager alarm went off.
She was due on stage in ten minutes. After the show she was
supposed to meet with Haskell again, and maybe, finally, sign the
contract. And now it looked like all her plans for the night were shot.
How the hell do I get out of this? she thought as she silenced the
alarm. There was no way she could ignore the call-out. If Sylia found
out, she was dead. Maybe literally. She was going to have to blow off
another performance, which wasn't good, and Haskell, which was
worse.
She stuck her head out of the dressing room, and waved over the
bouncer stationed at the back door. "What's up Priss? Aren't you
supposed to be going on stage in a minute?"
"I need a favor, Kenji. I'm not feeling well; it must have been
something I ate." Well, the tako-yaki at dinner _was_ a little off... "I
don't think I can go on tonight."
"Oh, Priss, that's terrible. I know how you _so_ look forward to
playing here," Kenji said sarcastically. "You want me to go get Paul?"
"No. Just tell him I got sick and went home. Have him reschedule
the meeting with that guy, Haskell, for tomorrow. I should be feeling
better by then." The pager went off again, and again Priss, now red-
faced, acknowledged it. Kenji stared at her for a second, then grinned
hugely.
"Uh-huh." He turned and began to walk toward the backstage area.
"Tell him to tell Haskell I still want to talk to his boss!" Priss called
after him, and he acknowledged her with a wave as he made his way in
search of the Reps bass player to tell him he'd be singing lead tonight.
***
The demons are trying to tear us apart.
They tempt my love with the pleasures of the flesh.
They will be warned.
Just this once.
***
"This is Haskell. I need to speak with the Director. ... Yes, I know
what time it is. ... Look Anya, I know she's there, now put me
through." Haskell sighed with exasperation as his boss's executive
assistant put him on hold while she went to 'see if the Director is in.'
Dammit, who is Anya trying to kid? The Director is always in this
time of night.
"Yes, Haskell," came the throaty voice across the audio-only line.
"What do you have for me?"
"Good evening, ma'am. I've just concluded a meeting with
members of 'Priss and the Replicants'. They are the group that--"
"Yes, Haskell. The group with the grabby lead singer who has an
overly high opinion of both herself and her negotiating skills.
Continue."
"Yes, ma'am. The group's representative was unable to attend
tonight's meeting due to a sudden illness. I met with other members,
who informed me that the group is more than willing to sign our
contract as it currently stands."
"I see." There was a pause, and Haskell could picture the Director
sitting back in her chair, eyes closed. She tended to do that whenever
she was analyzing information. "Have you checked into those rumors
about the singer?"
"Yes, ma'am. The stories are true: on several occasions she has left
the venue shortly before or during the performance, claiming to be ill.
At other times she has left with no explanation whatsoever.
Additionally, several times in the past she has been unable to perform
due to injury. There are no overt signs of the illnesses being drug or
alcohol related, or due to some sort of physical or psychological
problem. The injuries are apparently related to accidents on her
motorcycle."
"And you still think it prudent for the company to invest in this
band?"
"Absolutely, ma'am!" Haskell responded enthusiastically, finally
breaking from his "corporate report" demeanor. "The musicians are
not much more than a talented garage band, and, of course, the
standard changes will be necessary. But the singer is worth the
investment by herself. Looks, singing, performance... she even writes
her own music. When we match her with better players, she'll be a
gold mine."
Another long pause. "I don't think so, Mr. Haskell."
"Ma'am?" Haskell was stunned.
"Mr. Haskell, we have too many prima donnas under contract as it
is. Prima donnas who are good looking, who can sing, who can write
songs, who can perform, and _who_ _can_ _show_ _up_ _for_ _their_
_performances_. No, Mr. Haskell. We don't need any more
headaches."
"But ma'am!" Haskell protested. "Surely we can--"
"Mr. Haskell, _that_ _is_ _enough!_" the Director snapped.
Haskell immediately shut up. "Thank you. Now then, on second
thought, I'm willing to reconsider my position. Is the singer still
asking for me to enter the negotiations?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"When is your next meeting scheduled?"
"Tomorrow night, after their last set at Hot Legs."
"That hole? I thought they were playing at the Raven." The
Director shuddered as she thought of all the time she had put in at Hot
Legs when she was younger. "Very well, Mr. Haskell. I'm assuming
all negotiations with this group, personally. I want all of your files and
reports on them updated, completed, and on my desk in three hours."
"Are you sure, ma'am? You shouldn't waste your valuable time. I
can--"
"Don't worry, Mr. Haskell. When I sign them tomorrow night, and
I _will_ sign them tomorrow night, you'll get your commission. Three
hours." She cut the circuit.
Anya stood from where she had been monitoring the conversation,
and walked into the small kitchenette off of the office. When she
emerged again, she was carrying two cups of tea. She set one on the
Director's desk, and, keeping the other cup for herself, returned to her
own desk at the side of the office. "Ma'am, are you sure about this?
They sound like nothing but trouble to me."
The Director sipped her tea. "When you have been in this business
as long as I have, Anya, you'll learn that you can find a use for
everyone. Even the problem children."
"If I may ask, what use will you put these 'problem children' to?"
"Our performers already under contract are getting pushy again.
We need an example of what will happen to them if they
inconvenience us." The Director smiled coldly. "Miss Priss is going
to be my example."
Sylia was awakened by the wail of the building's security alarm.
Her first, reflexive, action was to seal the blast doors to, and the
security doors within, the Knight Sabers complex. Her second action
was to get out of bed and bring the building's live-time security
monitors on-line. A quick scan of the area showed that she wasn't
under active attack. A more detailed internal scan proved the building
hadn't been penetrated, to any great extent anyway, and that whatever
had triggered the alarm was gone.
Immediate concerns satisfied, she called Mackie at Raven's Garage,
where he'd planned to work through the night to complete the
preliminary design models for the new suits. Once she'd filled him in,
she entered the command codes to download the last few hours of
surveillance recordings from the security system. Only then did she
take a few moments to get dressed. That done, she went downstairs to
await the arrival of the police.
"Hey Priss, you in there?" Kenji knocked on the dressing room
door again, a little louder this time. "Priss!"
After a couple minutes of pounding, a muffled "All right, just a
minute," came floating out of the locked dressing room. Kenji put his
ear to the door. Thumps. Voices. Male and female. Yep, they were
at it again. He jerked away just as Priss threw the door open. "This
had better be good," she growled as she reached over her shoulder to
pull her hair from inside her t-shirt.
Kenji looked into the small room. A full length mirror on the wall
opposite the door showed the reflection of a tall, red-haired man, just
out of Kenji's direct eyesight, trying to pull his pants on over his
boots. Priss looked over her shoulder to see what Kenji was staring at
and sighed. She gave him a shove, and moved into the corridor,
closing the door behind her. "What?"
"Sorry to interrupt," he smirked. Arms crossed over her chest, she
glowered at him. "OK, OK, I'm really sorry, but I've got some
messages to give you."
"What?" she repeated.
"Boy, you're nasty when you get interrupted, you know that?" He
winked at her.
"Jesus, Kenji, I wish you wouldn't do that. It's impossible to stay
mad at you," Priss smiled, the absurdity of the situation finally getting
to her. "All right, let's have them."
"I'm just too irresistible," he grinned as he handed her an envelope.
"Some joker came to the back door a bit ago. Said you wanted to see
him. He wasn't on the list, so I didn't let him in. Would've gone
looking for you, but you'd just retired with loverboy there."
"Leave it alone," Priss warned. "Who was it?"
"I don't remember the name," Kenji shrugged. "Some guy in red
leathers. Seen him around, out in the crowd, but not in the back
before. Seemed like the fanboy type. Anyway, when I wouldn't let
him in, he asked me to give you that envelope. He had a message too;
I wrote it on the back so I wouldn't forget."
Priss glanced down at the scribbled handwriting: 'Meet me out
back -- 11 AM.' "What time is it?"
Kenji glanced at his watch. "Little before 11."
"OK, anything else?"
"Yeah, a phone call a few minutes ago. Lady said your lingerie is
ready, but you have to come get it now if you want the special price."
Kenji almost leered now. "Picking up something special? Do I get to
see it?"
Priss's heart almost stopped, and her whole body tensed. That was
one of Sylia's priority one code phrases. It wasn't quite on the level of
a crash emergency or a Knight Sabers call-out, but she had to get over
to Sylia's immediately.
"Here, throw this away, will you?" she said distractedly as she
thrust the now crumpled envelope back into Kenji's hand. Without
another word, she turned and went back into the dressing room,
ignoring the man waiting inside, who had, by now, managed to get his
clothes back on. She stopped just long enough to pull socks and boots
on over her bare feet, then grabbed her jacket, helmet, and gloves, and
headed out the door.
"Women," the two men said simultaneously as they watched her
run towards the front of the club.
***
Again, the demons try to interfere with our love.
One of their minions is close at hand.
Because of him, she did not join with me.
He will intrude no more.
***
"Priss, I want you to leave town."
"Are you NUTS?! I can't leave now! I'm signing a record contract
tonight! Send Nene or Linna on your errand, I don't have the time for
it."
"This has nothing to do with the Knight Sabers," Sylia began, a bit
hotly, "and if you'd take a minute to think about it, instead of yelling
at me you'd know that too. To refresh your memory of current events,
someone trashed every storefront in the building last night. Just hours,
I might add, after you paid a supposedly secret visit. And he left a
calling card, if finding 'Leave Priss Alone!' spray painted on your
back wall can be considered a calling card."
Priss stared at her, her stubborn expression showing no sign of
slackening. Sylia decided to try a different tack. "Look. Someone
obviously followed you here last night. He's connected you to 633,
which puts him too close for my taste to connecting you to me. He's
obviously taken a strong interest in you. I want you out of here, if for
nothing else than to cool off his interest before he makes a connection
between you and the Knight Sabers."
Priss's face lost a little of its mulishness as Sylia's words began to
sink in. "What did the police say?"
"TPD wanted to know if I knew anyone named 'Priss'. I told them
I had two or three customers named Priscilla, but they didn't press for
details." Priss suddenly stood and began to pace around the room.
"Please, Priss, get out of town. At least until the police ID this guy
and bring him in. If he's capable of vandalizing a building over you,
who knows what else he could do?"
Priss completed a few more circuits of the room in silence. "I can't
go anywhere for a couple days, at least," she finally said, placatingly.
"Tonight I do the record deal, tomorrow we finish this run at the Legs,
and I can't bail on that, not after signing with a label." Not with some
of the screwy things Haskell has been trying to get away with. "It'll
have to be the day after."
"Right. I'll call Linna--"
"No." Priss finally stopped pacing long enough to grab her things
off the chair she'd dumped them in, and headed for the door. "You
haven't said anything to Linna or Nene about this yet, have you?"
Sylia indicated that she had not. "Then don't involve them now. I'm
a big girl, I can take care of myself, and keep this guy off our backs
too." Assuming you aren't just being paranoid, Sylia.
"Be careful then," Sylia called as Priss started to leave. "Let me
know your travel plans. Maybe I can help."
"Hey, careful is my middle name!" Priss smiled back at her friend,
then left, closing the door behind her.
"I wish it were," came the sighed reply.
"Thank you, Asagiri-san," the woman said as she capped her pen.
The freshly signed contracts went into a manila folder, the folder into
her slim-line briefcase, and the briefcase to a young woman standing
behind and beside her chair. "A drink to toast our new relationship? I
am sure this agreement will be profitable to both of us."
Priss nodded, and the pair drank in silence. "To _all_ of us. You,
me, the band, your company."
"As you say. I regret that the terms of our agreement are not more
to your... liking. However, if 'Priss and the Replicants' perform well,
I am certain that changes will be considered."
Priss shook her head in disbelief. These corporate types are all the
same: a big pain in the ass, she thought to herself. And I was stupid
enough to think bringing in the boss would help. "All right," she
reluctantly agreed. "But I'm still not happy about it."
"You've made _that_ abundantly clear to Mr. Haskell. Which is
why, despite regular procedure, he asked me to assume the
negotiations directly." She smiled slightly; a shark's smile, with
absolutely no warmth in it. "If this is so unpalatable to you, perhaps I
should inform him that we are unable to reach an accommodation, and
direct him to look elsewhere. There are, after all, other groups in this
city."
Priss kept a carefully calm facade, but inside she shook with rage.
Damn bitch. She can't treat us like that. She can't treat _me_ like
that! I ought to tell her just where.... No. The guys will kill me if I
blow another deal. They want this one. Priss forcibly calmed herself.
"No need to go elsewhere, Oomori-san," she said, each word sounding
as if it were forced out. "I just wanted to clarify our position one more
time."
The shark disappeared, replaced by the businesswoman again.
"Noted, and I believe our meeting is concluded. Good evening."
Priss watched as the record company's A&R Director stood,
gathering her things to leave the darkened room that was Hot Legs
after hours. "Hey." The woman looked up. "Something has been
bothering me. Have we met somewhere before?"
"I think not," she sniffed, and left the room as quickly as she could,
her assistant close behind.
"Bitch," Priss muttered under her breath. "OK, guys, all clear!"
The rest of the band emerged from the backstage area. "Well?"
Paul demanded. He was the most outspoken of the Reps about making
the deal.
"All signed. One year, with another year at their option. One
album the first year, one in the option year, touring, performance
support, the usual stuff." She thought briefly of some of the clauses
that weren't quite so usual. Ahh, who cares about non-performance.
We _always_ meet our performance dates. Well, almost always....
"The money's not the greatest, and you know I'm not happy with
some of the terms, but it's the best I could do." Given that somehow
that bitch knew you guys were pushing me into this deal.
Priss eyed the bassist narrowly. Was it you, Paul? Were you the
one?
"Then that'll have to do," the drummer interrupted her thoughts.
"It'll be OK for a start, that's for _damn_ sure," Paul agreed. "But
who gives a shit about that now, let's PARTY!"
"Damn right!"
Priss joined in the general euphoria of the moment, but passed
when the drugs and booze came out. She hadn't engaged in what
Sylia euphemistically called "recreational pharmaceuticals" since
before joining the Knight Sabers, and, truth be told, didn't miss it.
The high she got from performing and Boomer-bashing more than
made up for them.
Besides, tonight was not a time to be even slightly blurred. She
thought she'd seen what looked like the same motorcycle at least five
times today. Thinking back, it seemed like she'd seen that same bike
several times over the last few weeks. Of course, she couldn't be sure.
She'd never noticed the rider. Or if she had, she'd never connected the
one with the other.
Maybe what she'd initially thought of as paranoia on Sylia's part
was rubbing off, but, real or imagined, the thought of being followed
was beginning to spook her. Ah, I'm overtired, that's it. It's just these
damn negotiations getting to me. I wouldn't put it past Leon to follow
me around, she thought wryly, but there's no reason for anyone else to
do it. But still, Sylia wasn't often wrong....
Or maybe it's just old age. Decrepit at 20. Early onset senility,
that's the ticket.
Shaking off the dark thoughts, she turned back to her friends,
determined to have a good time. Tonight was, after all, a night to
party.
***
The demons are calling to her, and she's been blinded by their
falsehoods.
They've promised her fame and fortune and happiness.
But she can only be happy with me.
She thinks she's leaving me.
She can never leave me. We are one, soul mates.
She must be saved from herself.
I must save her.
I love her.
***
Word of the signing spread quickly among the regulars at Hot
Legs, and from there to the more casual fans of the band. Tonight, the
club closely resembled a zoo, as it seemed like the entire city wanted
in to see 'Priss and the Replicants'. After all, once they made it big
most of the crowd wouldn't be able to get in to their venues, let alone
afford the price of a ticket.
Newcomers already inside the club were removed, forcibly at times,
as room was made for the regulars. Although upset that he would
soon be losing his premiere attraction, the manager reacted like any
intelligent businessman -- he tripled the cover charge, watered down
the drinks even more, and was making a killing.
As a result, there was a sudden rush of new roadies appearing at the
club's back door, all vouched for by one or another of the band's
members. Which was how Nene Romanova and Linna Yamazaki
found themselves on the main floor, helping Charles, the guy at the
mixing board. Helping, that is, by staying out of his way and not
touching _anything_.
When the house and stage lights went down, a stylish half-hour
late, the crowd turned its collective attention from their mundane
activities to the stage. Priss had dictated a change in the playlist;
instead of their signature opener, "Konya wa Hurricane", the Reps
were kicking off with another old favorite, "Rock Me". As the pulsing
bass and percussion lines of the opening began, the crowd roared in
recognition. The roar built as the wailing guitar solo joined the wall of
sound thundering out of the darkness. An infinitesimal pause in the
music, and the lights flared on as Priss began the verse. The roar of
approval changed to something more primal, like that of some
prehistoric beast, shaking the building to its foundations.
Priss strutted around the stage, putting everything into the
performance, selling the song to the crowd of willing buyers. Nezumi
might have spies in the house, and she was determined to prove that
they were worth a better deal. There were times when Priss was totally
drained after a performance; this looked to be one of those nights.
And then...
During the reprise of the intro, Priss suddenly staggered backward a
couple of steps, a surprised look on her face. As she fell to her knees,
one of the can lights at the side of the stage exploded. Some of the
crowd cheered this bit of rock-n-roll pyrotechnics, something new for
the Reps, but Nene seemed to know instinctively that something was
very wrong. The band vamped a bit when their leader didn't come in
on cue, confused looks on their faces.
Nene grabbed Linna's arm and they moved out from behind the
board onto the floor, shoving their way through the crowd of drunken
or stoned (or, in some cases, both) fans, all intent on, it seemed,
getting in their way. As they finally broke into a relatively clear area,
Linna looked up in time to see Priss fall forward onto her face. The
band ground to a halt, and the drummer climbed out from behind his
set, moving to Priss's side.
"Get him! He's got a gun!!" The cry shattered the sudden silence
engendered by Priss's collapse. The crowd started to panic: a few
moving to the source of the cry, more moving toward the stage, most
running for the exits as fast as they could.
"Go on!" Linna yelled into Nene's ear over the screaming crowd.
"I'll see what's happening over there!" Giving Nene a push in the
direction of the stage, she began shoving her way across the room to
where several men were pounding on someone. Although it had only
been 3 or 4 seconds since Priss fell, Nene felt as if hours had elapsed.
Thanking her stars that she was, for once, complying with
regulations, Nene pulled her shield case out of the pocket of her jeans.
She clipped her ADP ID card to her collar, and looped the case
through her belt, all while worming her way through the rapidly
thinning mob. The initial surge away from the stage seemed to have
passed, and, after flashing her badge at one of the overwhelmed
bouncers trying to move the remaining crowd out the exits, she
climbed onto the stage itself. She walked quickly over to the small
clutch of band members and stagehands huddled around Priss.
Wiggling her way through the group, she was finally able to see her
friend.
Priss was lying on her stomach, face turned to the right, feet tangled
with some cables, wig askew. One of her band-mates (the drummer,
Nene identified distractedly) was kneeling at her side, talking to her
softly. She's only tripped and knocked her fool self out, Nene sighed
in relief.
The drummer looked up then, the lost expression on his face
shattering her illusion. "Please, do you know what to do? She won't
answer me. She's just staring into space." Nene blanched, then knelt
at Priss's other side and gently removed the microphone still clenched
in her hand. She checked Priss's pulse, first at the wrist, then reaching
across and checking at the arteries in her neck.
Reaching up blindly, Nene grabbed the nearest fist full of clothing
she could reach. "AD Police. Call an ambulance." The person didn't
move, and Nene looked up at him, anger suffusing her face. It was the
bass player, and he looked back at her blankly. She shoved him away,
wishing that there was someone she could count on here. Even Leon
would do.
"Hey! I need some help over here!" she yelled at the nearest
bouncer. Focused on a rapidly escalating fight near one of the side
exits, he didn't hear her. "Hey! YOU!! FIIIIIIRRREE!!!" That got
his attention. "AD Police. Call an ambulance. Call the police.
NOW!" He nodded, and started moving toward the bar. Now that
help was hopefully on the way, she returned her full attention to the
injured singer.
Nene pulled the tangled blonde wig the rest of the way off Priss's
head, then, with help from the drummer, she turned her friend onto her
back. Priss's chest was covered with blood and gore from what looked
like a gunshot wound, and there was blood trickling from her nose and
mouth. Nene started to panic a bit herself when she realized there
were air bubbles in the blood welling from the chest wound.
OhmygodohmygodohmyGOD please don't let me fuck this up! her
mind gibbered as she closed her eyes and took two or three deep
breaths to steady herself. The crowd on the stage vanished when they
realized what was happening. Someone had been shot and the police
were on the way. Not a good place to be.
Nene grabbed the drummer before he could disappear, and sent him
in search of a first aid kit, threatening to come and find him some dark
night if he didn't come back. Then she took off her own jacket and
folded it up into a kind of pad, and placed it over the wound, applying
pressure.
She suddenly realized that Priss was watching her. From the look
in her eyes, she obviously didn't understand what was going on, but
there was some bit of consciousness there. Nene brushed the hair out
of Priss's eyes with blood streaked fingers. "Hang in there, Priss.
Everything's going to be fine. You just relax and keep still and let me
take care of things," Nene muttered, trying to comfort her. Oh SHIT,
why didn't I pay more attention in field medical training? What do I
do now?!
"Oh my God...." Nene glanced back to see Linna standing behind
her, a stricken look on her face. As she looked up at her other friend,
another part of her mind registered the sudden quiet in the club. The
drummer returned, dropped a battered metal box with a red cross on
the lid on the floor at Priss's feet, and ran back stage again.
Linna broke out of her shock and grabbed the first aid kit. Moving
opposite Nene, she opened it and began digging through the contents
for something that could be remotely considered a bandage. Priss's
eyelids began to sag shut; she was fading out. Nene reached out,
slapping her face lightly, leaving bloody finger marks on her cheek.
"Come on, Priss, stay awake. Stay with us here. Don't you do this to
me, Priss. Come on...."
"No, nothing yet. When did she leave? ... Well she hasn't shown
up here. ... That's right, Midori General. ... Of course I'll let you
know, Mackie. As soon as I know something myself. ... Right."
Linna looked toward the bank of elevators as she heard the familiar
'bing' announcing an arriving car. A dark haired woman wearing a
red business suit with a navy blouse and pearls stepped out and looked
around. She spotted Linna at the phone bank and moved in her
direction. Geez, Linna thought, she looks like she's spent all this time
just getting _dressed!_ "Oops, here she is now," she said, returning to
her telephone conversation. "I'll call you back later." She hung up the
phone and turned to face the approaching woman. "It's about time
you got here, Sylia. We called hours ago."
"I'm sure it's been difficult, Linna. Where's Nene?"
"Probably pacing a trench in the visitor's lounge. Where have you
been?"
"Come on. It can wait until we're all together."
The pair walked in silence down the corridor, past the nurse's
station, to the tiny visitor's waiting lounge. Nene looked up as they
approached and rose to greet them. "No news," she said solemnly.
"Where have you been Sylia?" she echoed Linna, a touch of rebuke in
her voice. "We could have used some support here."
"Since Priss was already in surgery when you called, I felt I could
put the time to better use. I've been doing some research, and making
some arrangements."
"Research?" Nene loved Sylia dearly, and would follow her, as the
cliché went, to hell and back. But there were times when she
wondered if the icy mask Sylia showed the world really was her true
self. Priss had almost died in her arms tonight. The doctors still
weren't sure if she would survive the night. And Sylia couldn't find
the time to come to the hospital and lend her support because she was
doing _research?!_ "I hope to hell it was worth it," Nene continued to
grumble under her breath as she slouched back down into her seat,
staring at the floor.
Sylia ignored her, taking the seat next to her. Linna remained
standing, leaning against the opposite wall, near the entrance to the
cubbyhole. She rubbed her eyes, red with fatigue, and resumed her
watch on the doors to the surgical suite. "In a number of ways," Sylia
finally responded to Nene's gibe. "To begin with," she said, very
matter of factly, "Priss was being stalked."
Linna slid down the wall to thump onto the floor. "A stalker?" she
quavered, her voice betrayed her disbelief. The look of total shock on
her face was mirrored by the one on Nene's.
Sylia opened her purse, removing a slim gold case. "Kusanagi Rei.
Does the name ring any bells with you?" Both Nene and Linna shook
their heads. "I thought you might have met him; I understand that he's
a regular at Hot Legs. Anyway, he shot her. He's already admitted to
following Priss around for several weeks now; apparently she never
noticed. He says they love each other."
Sylia paused in her narrative long enough to light the cigarette she
had removed from the case, totally ignoring the "NO SMOKING" sign
on the wall. She inhaled once, deeply, then began to resume her story.
"Don't put those away," Linna cut in, holding out her hand. As Sylia
looked at her curiously, she clarified, "Your cigarettes. Let me have
one."
"But Linna," Nene started, "you don't smoke."
"I do now." Sylia and Nene continued to stare at her. "Look, I've
got to have something to do," she told them, barely controlled hysteria
evident in her voice. She'd been holding together fine until now, but
the thought of a stalker targeting one of her friends had shaken her
worse than almost anything she'd ever faced. It was every woman's
nightmare come to life. "I'm going nuts just sitting in here. And I
don't dare leave in case...." She trailed off, leaving unsaid what they
all feared.
Sylia gave Linna a small smile of reassurance and tossed her the
case, keeping the lighter herself. As she'd half-expected, Linna didn't
ask for the lighter, didn't even seem to realize Sylia hadn't given it to
her. After holding it for a few moments, Linna began to play with the
case, unconsciously turning it every which-way, opening and closing
the lid. She settled back into her new vantage point on the floor,
watching the doors to surgery. After a few more seconds Sylia
continued her story.
"According to the police reports, the investigators say he's
exhibiting some of the classic characteristics of a celebrity stalker
mentality. For some reason he got fixated on Priss." Sylia sat
watching Linna; she seemed to have calmed a little. "To the extent of
killing someone who, he says, got in his way."
Linna seemed to falter a little in her toying with the cigarette case,
but otherwise gave no outward sign that she was listening.
"They found a body in the dumpster in the back alley. The fellow's
name was Honda Kenji, and he was a bouncer at the club."
"Oh my God...." Nene breathed. Then, in a whisper, "But, why
Priss? Why shoot her if he likes her so much?"
"He told TPD that Priss had been blinded by the promises of
demons, and that's a direct quote. He said that she could only be
happy with him, and that someone had to save her from herself. So,
since he loves her so much, he was the only one who could save her."
Nene looked at her uncomprehendingly. Linna was still off in her
own world: she continued to stare down the corridor. Sylia reached
over and patted Nene's hand. "Don't try to make sense of it. He's
obviously a very sick person. If there's any good to come of this, it's
that he's off the streets and won't be bothering anyone else for a long,
long time."
After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Nene looked
around, and asked in a low voice, "So this has nothing to do with... her
other activities? I mean, did he find out...."
"No," Sylia replied shortly. At least, I don't think he had time to
make the connection, she thought to herself. God, I can't believe this
is happening again, her mind rambled, and she shook herself mentally.
I've _got_ to keep a positive attitude. Suddenly she smiled slightly,
changing the subject. "I hear you're in for a surprise at work, Nene."
Nene looked up. "What are you talking about?"
"The Emergency Medical Technicians at the scene told the
investigating officers that Priss would probably have bled to death
before they arrived if it hadn't been for your quick thinking. TPD
passed that on to the ADP, and you're going to get an award because
of it."
Nene blushed furiously, staring at the floor to hide her
embarrassment. Then her head jerked up again, and she glared
suspiciously at Sylia. "Now wait a minute. How do you know all
this?"
"You're not the only one who knows how to access outside
databases, Nene," Sylia said slyly. For the first time in hours, Linna
smiled slightly. But it disappeared as quickly as it began when the
double doors at the end of the corridor opened. A man wearing a
white lab coat over blue-grey surgical scrubs shuffled wearily through.
She jumped to her feet. At the other's look of inquiry, she hissed,
"The doctor's coming."
The physician entered the visitor's lounge, where he was greeted by
three sober-faced young women. He vaguely remembered speaking to
the dark haired one in jeans briefly in the Emergency Room.
"Asagiri?" he asked, as a matter of routine.
"Yes," replied the other dark haired woman. "How is Priss?"
"I'm Doctor Cengia Walsh, Ms. Asagiri's primary care physician.
Ms. Asagiri is still in surgery. She's doing as well as can be expected
at the moment. Would any of you be," he glanced at a note attached to
the file folder he carried, "Dr. Ryoko Asagiri?"
"I'm Ryoko Asagiri," Sylia answered calmly. "Is there something
wrong?"
Walsh opened the folder and began to flip through the paper inside,
apparently looking for something. "You are Ms. Asagiri's next-of-
kin?"
"Yes, she's my cousin, and I have her power of attorney. Has
something happened?" she repeated, a bit impatiently this time.
Stopping his digging, he looked up. "The test results aren't back
yet, but it appears that your cousin has suffered some sort of allergic
reaction to the anesthesia we used. It was the damnedest thing. I've
never seen anyone have a reaction like that before. She's lucky we
were able to get it under control in time." He removed a few clipped
together pages from the file, and handed them to Sylia. "This is her
record from the MedNet database. Is there anything else not in here
that we should know about?"
"Everything should be there. She always has her updates sent in,"
Sylia muttered as she began scanning the file. Walsh stood next to
her, rattling on about anaphylaxis and treatments and types of
anesthesia.
"She's going to be all right, isn't she?" Linna asked, running her
hands through her hair.
Walsh turned his attention from reading over Sylia's shoulder to
Linna. "The damage was fairly extensive, but she's doing as well as
we can expect right now."
"When can we see her?" Nene burst out, almost before the doctor
could finish.
"She's still in surgery now," he repeated. "Maybe tomorrow, or the
day after."
Sylia handed the file back to Dr. Walsh. "That's complete, to the
best of my knowledge. When will she be ready to transfer?"
"Transfer? To another hospital? Not for quite some time, Dr.
Asagiri." The look he gave her plainly said, 'I shouldn't have to
explain this to you.' After a moment though, he relented. There were,
after all, times when doctors had to be treated like The Rest of the
World. With a relative involved, it was clearly the time to treat Dr.
Asagiri that way. He looked Sylia directly in the eye. "Due to the
nature of her injuries, and now this reaction, your cousin is going to be
a very ill young lady for quite a while. She'll be in intensive care for
the foreseeable future."
Sylia took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, her face
briefly betraying her worry for Priss. "All right Doctor. No offense
intended to you or this hospital, but I'd like to transfer her to a private
facility as soon as she's able. Would you be the appropriate person to
contact about the arrangements?"
A sour look crossed Walsh's face as he stared at Sylia. The
temperature in the room seemed to drop more than a few degrees.
"Yes. Please excuse me, I have to return to surgery." As he turned
and walked away, they could hear him muttering, "Better worry about
her surviving to _be_ transferred first."
Sylia knocked on the door to the office of Dr. Takezaki Ataru.
Another of her father's old friends (and why had so many of them
remained available to her, she never ceased to wonder), Dr. Takezaki
ran a private hospital specializing in the treatment and rehabilitation of
trauma cases. Although he had no inkling of her activities with the
Knight Sabers, and she had no intention of sharing that particular
secret with him, she supported his facility with generous donations.
They helped at a time like this.
No one answered her knock. With the ease of someone who knows
she'll be welcome, Sylia entered the office anyway, closing the door
behind her. Making herself comfortable in one of the chairs facing the
cherrywood desk, she removed a palm-top computer from her bag and
began entering notes. She wasn't left waiting for long.
"Well Sylia, punctual as ever," Takezaki smiled as he entered his
office. He motioned for her to remain seated as he took the leather-
bound chair next to her.
Some things never change, she thought. It didn't matter where they
met, or if she was early, late, or right on time. He always greeted her
that way. "Of course, Takezaki-sensei. I wouldn't want to disappoint
you," she briefly returned his smile, then turned serious. "You wanted
to see me? How is Priss?"
"You should ask your friend that, Sylia." At her puzzled look, he
elaborated. "Someone has been hacking into this hospital's patient
records. The other day I overheard that little red-headed friend of
yours and Priss's -- the one that's the police officer...."
"Nene."
"Nene, yes. The other day I overheard Nene tell Priss that we were
going to take her off the ventilator that day." He frowned at Sylia.
"Now, unless she's been sneaking into the nurse's station to read the
patient charts or bribing my staff, the only way for her to have known
that is to have read the on-line transcription of Priss's chart records. I
would have thought a police officer, of all people, would know better
than that."
Sylia looked a bit abashed for a moment. "Takezaki-sensei, I don't
know what to say. Surely you don't really think Nene broke into your
computer system, do you?" He continued to stare at her.
"Just tell her for me to make certain it never happens again."
"Of course. Perhaps she can have her department look into this for
you."
Takezaki smiled a bit at this, as if to say, 'I don't believe a word of
it, but I'll give you one chance to straighten her out.' "Good. Now
then, about Priss...."
"How is she?" Sylia repeated.
Takezaki sat silently, collecting his thoughts. He remembered back
to the night two weeks earlier when a very distraught Sylia had called
to ask about admitting a friend who had been shot. The next day,
reviewing her friend's case file with her attending physician, he had
been impressed again with the amount of damage that one bullet could
cause.
The only external indications of injury were the entry wound in her
chest and the obvious signs of a broken left shoulder. However, she
had also suffered extensive internal injuries from shrapnel, not to
mention complications from her reaction to the anesthesia. Priss had
been lucky that the explosive load in the ammunition was small: a
larger charge could have easily blown her arm off.
"What can I say? She's doing very well, considering everything
she's been through. Dr. Walsh and his team at Midori did a
remarkable job keeping her alive long enough to put back together."
Takezaki seemed to be gazing at something over Sylia's left shoulder
as he mentally ticked through Priss's case file. "All the fragments are
out of her heart and lung, and there's been no sign of further arterial
bleeding. All we can do now is monitor the healing progress in those
areas. In another few days we'd like to go back in and rebuild her
shoulder."
"But...."
Takezaki broke from his reverie. "What?"
"I think I heard an unspoken 'but' there." Sylia looked at him
steadily. "What's going on, Doctor?"
He sighed. "It's the anaphylactic reaction. Her lungs are healing,
but her trachea, larynx, and vocal cords aren't. The standard
treatments aren't working very well for some reason. Since you
authorized it, we're going to try some new treatment regimens. But
her shoulder is going to have to wait until we get this mess cleared up.
She's had five operations in the last two weeks; unless it's life and
death I'm not subjecting her to any further surgeries right now. They
put too much of a strain on her respiratory system."
Another long pause, then, softly, "But in any case, I'm afraid her
voice may have been irreparably damaged."
Sylia closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Priss is strong, she can handle anything... but this....
The doctor watched the emotions flicker across his friend's face.
When she appeared to have calmed herself, he added quietly, "I'm so
sorry, Sylia. I understand that she's a singer. Obviously, we'll do
everything we can, but I just wanted to let you know how things stand.
A lot of her recovery is going to depend on her attitude. She's going
to need her friends to help her through this." He stopped for a
moment, removing his glasses. "Which is the main reason I asked you
to come by today." Sylia looked up at that, shaken from her private
thoughts. "Priss had some visitors this afternoon. Some of her
bandmates. Apparently there's been some bad news...."
"Priss?" By the glow of the indicators on the monitoring
equipment, Sylia could just make out a human shape on the slightly
elevated hospital bed across the room. She appeared to be sleeping.
Sylia quietly closed the door behind her and ghosted through the
darkness.
"Sylia?" The voice, little more than a whisper, was harsh, raspy,
and deep. If Sylia didn't already know the identity of the owner, she
would have been hard pressed to guess its gender.
"Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?" She moved a chair from its
place along the wall, setting it down beside the bed.
"How the hell do you think I'm feeling?!" The strain that
exclamation of rage put on her abused body led to a coughing fit.
Sylia was about to ring for help when it finally subsided, and Priss lay
back, panting for air. She never seemed to be able to get enough air
these days.
"Would you like something to drink?" At her nod, Sylia poured a
glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table, then held it for her
while she drank.
"Thanks."
They sat a while in the darkness, each to her own thoughts,
accompanied only by the whirrs and beeps of the machines monitoring
and supporting Priss. At length, Sylia softly asked, "What happened?
Takezaki-sensei said you had visitors, and that you've been upset since
they left." Nothing. "Priss, please. Talk to me."
For the longest time Sylia thought she wasn't going to answer.
Although she'd loosened up over time, Priss was still more
comfortable keeping her own counsel. Finally, she spoke, haltingly,
having to pause occasionally to get her breath.
"The guys... came to see me today. That bitch... from the record
company... says they have to start... performing... next week or... they
lose the contract.... Contract clause.... They were very... nice about it.
Said... they felt terrible. They've been... assigned... another singer."
Now the glow ffrom the machines revealed unshed tears glistening in
Priss's eyes. "All those years... all that work... and I'm out... like
that.... They're going on... without me... and I'm... I'm...."
"Oh Priss." Sylia leaned forward, gathering her into a gentle hug as
Priss sobbed heartbrokenly into her shoulder.
The weeks passed.
In a luncheon ceremony, Nene received the ADP's Meritorious
Service Medal for 'conspicuous presence of mind in an emergency'
and 'performance beyond the bounds of her expertise and training'. In
a surprise announcement, Linna was given a Civilian Assistance
Award by the TPD. She professed to being very satisfied with the
¥100,000 and the certificate that the award brought to her.
Mackie was selected to participate in an exchange program with a
technical school in Germany. He'd left in early March, at the
beginning of the new school year in Japan. Dr. Raven was sure he'd
be able to continue to support Knight Saber operations without
Mackie's help. Sylia wasn't as sure that he'd be able to keep up, and
began to look for a reliable, yet discreet, technical assistant for him.
Sylia decided that, since Mackie would be away for the better part
of a year, it would be a good time to do major renovations on both the
Lady 633 building and her penthouse. Renovations to the Knight
Saber's complex were also in the offing, including the addition of an
aircraft hangar large enough to support the jet she had recently
purchased.
Priss continued to heal. Dr. Takezaki's surgeons rebuilt her left
shoulder when she was strong enough to withstand further surgery,
and cosmetic surgery and other treatments erased almost all the
scarring left behind. Her voice was also healing, but Dr. Takezaki's
prediction had come to pass. It was still very raspy and fluctuating in
tone, but it had become clear that there was permanent damage. Her
voice therapist had promised she would be able to sing again, but
privately Priss had her doubts.
Psychologically, Priss was having trouble coming to terms with
what had happened to her. Being 'fired' from the band had been a
tremendous emotional blow, and there was a great deal of concern that
it would affect her physical recovery. She spent the majority of her
time lying in the dark, unresponsive to all who approached her. She
wasn't sleeping much, or for very long, because of horrible, recurring
nightmares mixing recent events with demons from her past.
Only twice in the first few weeks of her recovery had that wall
cracked. The first was during Sylia's visit, shortly after she was forced
out by Nezumi. The second was when Paul, the bassist with her
former band, came to visit her in the hospital. It seemed that Nezumi
was engaging in that age-old industry practice of signing a band, then
replacing the musicians and promoting the singer. Mr. Andrue, the
man assigned by the label to handle 'The Replicants', had just
informed Paul that his services were no longer required. Paul, looking
for a comforting shoulder to cry on, came to see Priss. Priss took great
delight in having him thrown out on his ear.
Shortly after her shoulder surgery, Priss was released from the
hospital and sent to recuperate at Linna's. After finally finishing her
degree at night school, Linna had recently begun working at a stock
brokerage. She had been charged with delivering Priss to Dr.
Takezaki's rehabilitation center every morning for her therapy
sessions, and with picking her up again at the end of the day.
The subject of Kusanagi Rei was taboo. When she had recovered
enough to talk, Priss had impassively answered the questions of the
police investigators, stating that she had never met the man, didn't
know who he was, and couldn't identify him. But once they were
finished, she refused to discuss it with anyone. Her psychotherapist
was concerned, but seemed to feel that this denial was just a stage that
needed to be worked through. Sylia was more alarmed. She knew just
how much feeling Priss could bottle up inside. When it finally got out,
Priss would either explode or fall apart.
***
The Reps were kicking ass tonight. One of those nights when the
band fed off the crowd's energy as the crowd fed off the band's.
Priss, out front once again, takes it all in. An intense feeling that
could only culminate in an almost orgasmic climax. She lived for
these moments.
Akuma to Tenshi no Enjiru. Tight. Precise. The way it should be.
And at her feet, the world. She holds them in her hands, has them in
her control, ready to do her slightest bidding.
But now there is a distortion in a small part of that world, as the
bobbing and dancing crowd in her domain parts to allow entry to a
dark-haired man wearing sunglasses despite the darkness, and a dark
jacket despite the heat.
Leon, with that ever-present 'all's right with me so all's right with
the world' smirk on his face, and she grins back. She glances off into
the crowd for a moment, and when she looks back it's not Leon
smirking at her, but Largo, back from the dead.
Shocked, she turns to warn the band, only it's not the Reps behind
her after all. The trio looks at her curiously, and stops playing.
"Guys, we've got to get out of here," she warns them.
"Hey, don't drag me into this," Linna cautions, as she steps from
behind the drum set.
"Yeah, Priss," Nene says, as she packs up the twin-necked guitar
she's been playing. "This is between you and him."
"You're on your own with this one," Sylia says, as she disconnects
her bass from the amp and follows the others off the stage.
Her feet are frozen; she can't follow. Panicked, she looks around
wildly, trying to find someone, anyone to help her.
Largo begins to laugh, and gestures to the heavens, summoning the
wrath of a God.
***
"NoooOOOO!!!!!" The shattered scream had Linna off the couch
and running for her bedroom before she was even fully awake. An all
too common occurrence of late.
She hurtled through the open door, and rushed to the bedside. Priss
was fighting against the sheets tangled about her as she tried to sit up,
and Linna was afraid she'd hurt herself. Again. The week before she
hadn't been as quick on her feet when the nightmares struck, and, as a
result, Priss had thrashed herself out of bed and reinjured her shoulder.
"Priss, Priss," Linna called out as she grabbed her comrade by the
arms. "Come on, wake up, it's just a bad dream."
Eventually she stopped struggling, and Linna shifted from simple
restraint to a hug of support as great, wracking sobs shook Priss's
unaccustomedly fragile body. "Shh, shh, hush now... It's ok... it's all
right..." Linna soothed. A few minutes later she felt Priss stiffen in her
arms, and she let go with a sigh. "Are you OK now?"
Priss peered back through the darkness. "I'm fine."
"Priss, come on. You've got to talk to someone. What was it this
time?"
"Nothing. Leave me alone."
Linna sighed in exasperation. From the stony expression on her
face, Priss was obviously back in mule-mode, another all too common
occurrence lately. "Fine. As long as you're all right?" Priss nodded,
and Linna didn't believe her for a minute. "OK, then I'll be just
outside if you need anything," she said as she stood and made her way
to the door. "Goodnight."
"'Night," came the subdued reply.
Left alone again in the shadows, in the large bed in the strange
bedroom, Priss ignored the dampness on her cheeks and stared at the
ceiling, willing sleep not to come.
Sylia had just finished reading the morning paper when her phone
rang. The scanner indicated an audio/video signal sourced from ADP
Headquarters. What could Nene be calling about at this hour? she
thought as she slid into the seat in front of the monitor. She pressed
the 'Accept' key, and was immediately faced with a very distraught
redhead.
"Sylia, I don't know how to tell you, but..." Nene puffed,
practically hyperventilating in her distress.
"Calm down, Nene. Take a couple breaths and take it slowly."
Nene did as instructed, but it didn't seem to help.
"You... I... You... You're not going to believe this," Nene
stammered. "Kusanagi's gotten away from TPD."
"WHAT?!!" Sylia sat bolt upright in her chair, stunned. "What
_happened?_"
Nene swallowed hard, still trying to regain her composure. "About
an hour ago. They were transporting him to Court, and got involved in
a traffic accident. And when the guards weren't looking, he just
walked off and an all-points bulletin just went out about it and as soon
as I heard IcalledyouwhatarewegoingtotellPriss?" Nene was talking so
fast by now that it was difficult to understand her. Fortunately, Sylia
got the gist of the message.
Checking the time, Sylia muttered to herself, "She's already at the
rehab center for the day." Looking up into the screen she added, more
audibly, "Don't worry Nene, I'll take care of it." She smiled at the
younger woman encouragingly. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Get
all the information about this that you can, and meet me here tonight."
Nene swallowed again, nodded, and closed the connection.
Sylia sat for a few moments, her mind churning over the possible
consequences of Nene's news. Her first thoughts were for protecting
Priss. From Kusanagi, obviously; who knew what he might have in
mind. But also for protecting her from herself. There was no way of
telling how she'd react to the news.
Reaching forward, she keyed in a comm-code she'd recently
become very familiar with. "Dr. Takezaki's office, Hiroe speaking.
How may I help you?"
"This is Sylia Stingray. I need to speak with Takezaki-sensei,
immediately. It's an emergency."
"Pull over. I always meet her right here."
Linna and Sylia sat in Sylia's red Mercedes, parked on the street
outside the rehab center. From the outside it appeared that the two
women, facing each other, were chatting to pass the time while waiting
for someone. While it was true that they _were_ waiting for someone,
it was also the only thing true about their appearance.
Sylia, in the driver's seat, was looking out the windows on the
passenger side of the car, watching the parking area for any sign of
trouble. Linna, riding shotgun, was scanning the front of the building
out the driver's side windows. Neither had had much to say since
Sylia had picked Linna up from work an hour before.
After about ten minutes, the sliding doors at the front of the center
whooshed open, and Priss stepped out, accompanied by a security
guard. Linna opened the car door and waved Priss over, then got into
the back seat.
It broke Sylia's heart to see Priss like this. She had lost a great deal
of weight, to the point of gauntness, and it did not suit her. Her usual
confident stride had disappeared, replaced by a stooped shuffle, as if
she bore the weight of the world on her back. A car door slammed in
the parking area, and Priss jumped, looking about wildly. Her eyes
greatly resembled those of a trapped wild animal. And this is the
person who keeps telling everyone that everything is all right, Sylia
thought sadly.
While Priss slowly climbed into the passenger seat, the guard stood
between her and the outside world, shielding her with his body while
he scanned the area. Sylia and Linna exchanged a significant glance.
Once Priss was safely inside, the guard turned and leaned into the car.
"The Doctor said some people had reported troublemakers in the area,
and asked me to see Ms. Asagiri out today. You ladies be careful,
now." He stepped away from the car and closed the door. With a nod
to him, Sylia pulled smoothly away from the curb.
Linna unlocked the door to her apartment, and stepped inside. Priss
started to follow, only to be checked by Sylia's hand on her arm and a
shake of her head. Linna removed her sneakers, and stealthily moved
into the apartment, leaving Sylia and Priss standing silently outside the
door. Five minutes later she returned. "OK, it's clear," was all she
said, then she retreated to her kitchen.
The other women stepped into the entryway, and Sylia closed and
locked the door behind them. "What's going on?" Priss asked as she
toed her shoes off. Something was obviously wrong, and she didn't
like being kept in the dark.
Sylia straightened from removing her shoes. "Let's go to the living
room; it's been a long day and I'd like to sit down."
"If it's all the same to you, Sylia, I'd rather go lie down instead.
I'm exhausted. I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Just for a few minutes, then you can lie down. Besides, don't you
have to take some medicine about now?"
Priss sighed, and shuffled off into the apartment proper, followed
by Sylia. Blender noises could be heard from the kitchen as they
entered the living room. Priss slumped onto the couch, while Sylia
took a chair opposite her. Linna soon joined them, carrying a tray with
a large glass and two coffee cups on it. She set the tray down on a side
table, then handed one of the cups to Sylia.
"Here you go, Priss," Linna said brightly, as she sat on the couch
next to her. She handed her the glass and kept the other coffee cup for
herself. "Chock full of those healthy vitamins and nutrients. Drink
up!"
Priss stared at the glass as if it had a dead animal floating in it. To
help her regain some of her lost weight, she was supposed to drink a
special high calorie, high vitamin, high nutrient beverage four times a
day. It may have been good for her, but it tasted awful. Assuming the
air of a martyr, she made a face, then attempted to drink it all down at
once.
Sylia stifled a small smile. There were times when small flashes of
the "old Priss" came through. Sylia hoped that they were a sign that,
eventually, Priss would recover from this ordeal.
After a few minutes of relative silence, punctuated only by drinking
sounds, Priss could take it no more. "All right," she rasped, "what is
it?"
Linna and Sylia exchanged a glance, and Linna made an 'over to
you' gesture. Sylia set her half-finished coffee down, and looked at
Priss. "Kusanagi Rei has escaped police custody," she said bluntly.
The blood rushed from Priss's already pale face, and she swayed
slightly on the couch. Linna quickly reached out and put a steadying
arm around her. "Nene says every police officer in the city is on the
lookout for him. Don't worry, they'll find him."
"Oh, God," Priss croaked, tears coming to her eyes.
"Priss," Linna began softly, "Sylia's talked to the TPD. In a little
while they're coming here to pick both of us up. They're going to take
you someplace where he can't find you, and I'm coming along to keep
you company."
Priss paled further, if that was possible, and her mental, physical,
and emotional stress and exhaustion came crashing down on her all at
once. "You think he's coming here, don't you? He's coming here to
get me, isn't he?"
"No, Priss, no no. It's just a precaution. Nothing's going to
happen to you. I'll be there to make sure nothing happens, and TPD
will have people there too." Priss wasn't listening.
"He killed Kenji," she said in a rising whisper, tears streaming
down her face, "and now he's coming to kill me. He's coming to kill
me! Oh, God, what am I going to doooo?!" Her shattered wail echoed
around the room, and she collapsed forward out of Linna's arms,
hands over her face. Head to her knees, she began rocking back and
forth on the couch, sobbing. A horrified Linna looked across at an
equally appalled Sylia.
Sylia quickly crossed the room and knelt in front of the pair on the
couch. Taking Priss's hands in her own, she made soothing,
nonsensical noises, trying to calm her. Linna put her arm back around
Priss, trying to provide some comfort of her own.
It took almost half an hour for Priss's emotional storm to abate, a
half-hour that was wrenching to all of them. Sylia had moved to the
couch, sitting opposite Linna, both providing physical and emotional
support to their friend.
"Do you trust me, Priss?" Sylia asked softly, as if speaking to a
frightened child. Priss looked up, her eyes red from weeping, and
nodded hesitantly. "Good. I'm glad." Sylia smiled. "I'm going to
make you a promise." Sylia looked solemn now, gazing steadily into
Priss's eyes, as if they were the only ones in the room. "I promise you
that nothing is going to happen to you. I won't _let_ anything happen
to you. Do you believe me?" The hesitant nod came again.
"Good. Now, in a little bit TPD is going to come by and take you
to a safe place; somewhere where nobody can find you unless you
want them to."
"Are you coming too?" came the tremulous, whispered reply.
"Linna's going to go with you. But if you want me to come see
you, or you just want to talk to me, you know all you have to do is
call. Is that OK?"
Again the hesitant nod. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to make sure no one's going to harm you. And no one
will. Not while I'm around."
***
The dream begins the same. On stage. The rush of performing.
The godlike power over the faceless minions. And then a dark-haired
woman, incongruously dressed in a deep purple business suit,
approaches from the crowd.
Priss's mind fills with confusion. Sylia? What are you doing here?
Sylia pauses in front of the stage, and smiles up at her. A mother's
smile, full of love and compassion.
And then a shift, and it is her mother's smile. Her mother, as Priss
best remembered her: tired after a long day at the office, but never
without time for her little _musume_, her little Priss-chan.
She feels the tears of joy start to form. "Mama..." she whispers,
her heart filling with indescribable joy at seeing her again. Alive and
whole and smiling all the love Priss thought she'd lost forever.
She basks in the infinite tenderness in her mother's brown eyes; a
frozen woman suddenly in the warmth of the sun. And as she stares
into those warm eyes, her mother raises the revolver, its dark maw
rising to a point just below them.
***
Linna was on the phone, arranging for an extended leave of absence
from her job, when the screaming began. Quite literally hanging up on
her boss, she sprinted for the back bedroom of the 'safe house',
accompanied by the two TPD officers on duty.
Slamming the door open, the officers dove into the room, weapons
drawn, searching for an assailant. Linna, following hard on their heels,
made straight for the bed, where Priss sat bolt upright, staring blindly,
shirt soaked with sweat, face wet with tears.
While Linna tried to comfort her charge, the officers gave the room
a quick search, making sure all was as it should be. "God, I hope
_that_ doesn't happen too often," one said to the other as they turned
to leave.
"Hi Sylia, it's Nene," came the voice-only message on the
answering machine for Sylia's secure line. "I got stuck with a double
shift again, so I'm on dinner break. I guess I won't be able to make it
over tonight. You must still be over at Linna's. Geez, I hope Priss
took it OK. I mean, she doesn't need any more worries right now.
Well, anyway, just to let you know, they haven't found him yet. I
don't think they even know where to start looking. I've got those
searches that we talked about running, but I don't know if they'll
really do any good."
Nene's message droned on, and Sylia listened with only half an ear.
This is _all_ my fault, she thought gloomily. It almost happened
again. It still might. I should have made her listen to me, made her
see reason. I should have gotten her out of town, even if I had to drag
her out by her hair!
The message clicked off, and Sylia sat quietly in her dark
apartment. She lit a cigarette, then ignored its presence as several
courses of action whirled through her mind. While she stared blindly
into the darkness, one plan in particular kept coming to the fore. It had
the advantage of being simple, and stood an excellent chance of
success. Reaching back to the secure line, she entered a code, then
waited several rings for the connection to be made.
"It's me," she said rather cryptically to the answering machine on
the other end. "I need to hire your services."
A week later, Nene came bursting into Silky Doll, just at closing
time. She waited impatiently while Sylia saw to her remaining
customers and closed the shop. "How many times have I told you not
to come in here like that?" Sylia chided her.
"They had him. They had him and they lost him," Nene said
angrily.
Sylia was frozen with shock for a moment. "How....?" she finally
managed.
"TPD got a tip Kusanagi was hanging out at the American Bar and
Grill. A couple guys went in undercover to check it out, and he was
there. They left to go get back-up, and when they came back, he was
gone. No one knows where he went." Nene wiped her sleeve across
her tearing eyes. "He's still on the street, and now we don't know
anything more than when we started!"
"Go on upstairs. I--"
"But Sylia--"
"I've got to meet someone. Go on upstairs and get into TPD's
evidentiary database. I want to see everything they have on Kusanagi.
Then call Linna. Ask her to be here in four hours."
Sylia turned and left through the back entrance, leaving Nene
standing alone in the middle of the store. "But _Sylia_..."
Sylia slid onto a barstool at C'est la Vie, a ratty bar located in the
basement of a bedraggled downtown building. The bartender placed a
drink in front of her, and stepped away to tend his other patrons. Sylia
ignored the drink and lit a cigarette. "What happened?"
"And a good evening to you too, Sylia," the shaggy blonde man on
the stool next to her replied.
"Cut the crap, Fargo, I want to know what happened. You assured
me there wouldn't be any problems."
Fargo took a sip of his drink, the glass already half empty. "What
can I say? They blew it." Sylia stared at him, then looked back down
at the bar and puffed silently on her cigarette. "I did what you asked.
We found him and tipped-off TPD. They sent in a couple clowns to
check the place out. He was on to them the second they hit the door."
Fargo shook his head in disbelief at the ineptitude of the Tokyo Police
Department. "Instead of one calling for back-up while the other kept
an eye on him, they both left to get back-up, the idiots. As soon as
they left, he was out the back so fast, _my_ guy lost him."
"Can you find him again? I need to know where he's spending his
nights."
"Shouldn't be too much trouble. Why the interest?"
"I'll pay double if you can tell me by tomorrow night." She
stubbed out the remains of her cigarette, burned to the filter, and stood
to leave. Fargo caught her by the arm.
"You never answered my question."
Sylia shook her arm free. "Let's just say I'm keeping a promise to
a friend."
"Did you have any trouble getting away?" Nene's question gave
Linna a shivery sense of deja vu. It was strangely reminiscent of one
she had asked Priss weeks earlier, before all this trouble began.
"No," she finally answered. "Priss went to bed early, and, frankly,
I was glad to have an excuse to get away from there, even if it is just
for the evening. Where's Sylia?"
Nene shrugged. "Computer Room, I guess. How's Priss doing? I
haven't seen her since she went into hiding."
"It's not hiding, Nene, it's protective custody; you ought to know
that," Linna said sharply. "Or, rather, that's what TPD keeps telling
us." They began to move down the hallway, deeper into Sylia's
apartment.
"Priss is... OK, I guess," Linna continued. "She's still spending a
lot of time resting, which is probably for the best. And she's definitely
looking better. But she's still having nightmares. I think it's been
weeks since she's gotten more than one or two hours of continuous
sleep."
Nene sighed and shook her head at the state of affairs. She was
about to reply when Sylia intercepted them at the entrance to her living
room. They were frankly shocked at her rumpled and distraught
appearance. "I'm sorry, but this is going to be a very short meeting,"
she said, waving them toward the couch. "You're welcome to stay
afterward, but I've got something I need to finish work on tonight."
The younger women sat as directed, and looked on questioningly.
"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when someone vandalized the
building?" They nodded. "Well, he did more than just break a few
windows out. There was a message about Priss spray painted on the
back wall. Someone followed her here that night, and got upset when
she didn't come out immediately. I don't think we need to wonder
who it was anymore." Sylia began to pace up and down the length of
the room.
"It was obvious to me that someone had taken more than a casual
interest in her. I tried to get her to go out of town until the police
picked the guy up. They had the video from the security monitors,
after all. I thought it would be only a matter of a few days, but she
refused to go, and I didn't force the issue. And because I didn't, some
nutcase managed to ruin her life, all in the name of 'love'." This last
came out bitterly, and left Nene and Linna looking at each other.
"Sylia," Nene began hesitantly, "don't you think you're being a
little hard on yourself? This wasn't your fault. You couldn't know--"
"That's the problem, Nene. I _did_ know. Some lunatic almost
killed one of my family, just like before, and I let him do it." She
didn't see the surprised looks on her audience's faces. "I knew that
whoever it was, he wasn't going to stop until he got to her, I couldn't
do anything to stop him, and I couldn't get her out of the way.
"I tried to correct things by going through official channels. When
Kusanagi got away from TPD, I hired someone to find him. They did,
and they tipped off TPD about where to find him. But TPD blew it
and Kusanagi got away again." Sylia's voice gained a touch of steel.
"Well, they had their chance. Now it's my turn."
"Excuse me?" Linna asked. Sylia couldn't be thinking what she
thought she was thinking. Could she?
"Tomorrow night I'm going to take care of Kusanagi Rei. I want to
make sure he never destroys anyone else's life, ever again."
Nene was more than slightly alarmed. "Sylia, aren't you being a bit
extreme? What you're talking about sounds like--"
"It's _exactly_ what it sounds like," Sylia interrupted. Finally
stopping her pacing, she dropped into her lounge chair, running her
fingers through her hair in agitation. She took a deep breath, and
seemed to be mentally gathering herself.
"Before I have to go, there's something I would like you both to
consider. I made certain promises to myself about each of you when
you joined the Knight Sabers. It doesn't matter to me that what
happened to Priss was unrelated to our activities; this is just something
I have to do." She paused for a moment, and Linna thought that she
had never seen Sylia so intense about anything before.
"I'd like your help in this. But keep in mind that what I'm
planning for tomorrow is going to be very different from our usual
work. We won't be going out because of something Genom did. We
won't be going out against rogue boomers. We won't be going out
against Largo. Someone has harmed one of ours, and we are going to
avenge her. This is, purely and simply, personal vigilantism." Sylia
turned her full attention to Nene. "Consider this carefully. I don't
want you doing anything that will put you against your oath as a
police officer." She looked thoughtful, considering Sylia's words.
Sylia stood once again and faced her guests. "I'm sorry, as I said
earlier, I have a project to complete tonight. I know this is a difficult
decision for you, but its one you have to make for yourselves. I hope
you can see your way clear to joining me without any reservations."
She looked her two fellow Knight Sabers squarely in the eyes.
"Remember, this is strictly voluntary. You don't _have_ to do this,
and I won't think any less of you if you don't come with me. But if
you do decide to come along, be in the suit room at midnight
tomorrow."
"May I join you?"
Startled, Priss's head snapped up and jerked around in incipient
panic, immediately smothered, to stare at the figure standing in the
doorway. The bright light streaming into the dark, empty room made
it difficult to see who it was, but after three years of working together
the voice was unmistakable. "Come on in, Sylia." Priss rolled onto
her back and sat up on the bench as Sylia Stingray slipped quietly into
the sauna. "Haven't heard from you much lately. Must've been pretty
busy or something."
"Some things _have_ come up recently..." Sylia replied, adjusting
the towel she wore as she sat on the bench next to Priss. "But I'm not
here to talk about that. Takezaki-sensei tells me you are doing well."
"Yeah. I got a little behind on my sessions since my keepers
wouldn't let me out until today. But Linna told them that Doc
Takezaki said I had to come by once a week, so they escorted me over.
Real cloak and dagger stuff. His people gave me some things I can do
back at the apartment."
"Oh? Well, that's good. And how are things there? Are you
getting along all right?"
"Well, you know how it gets," she began, wondering why the
sudden interest. Although Sylia hadn't exactly _promised_ to keep in
daily contact, she hadn't been exactly communicative either. To be
fair, though, Priss thought, the TPD guys _were_ screening the
incoming calls. Sylia could have been calling hourly and she probably
wouldn't know it unless someone remembered to tell her, or unless
Sylia specifically asked to talk with her.
While Priss described the monotonous day-to-day life of someone
in protective custody, Sylia half-listened with feigned interest. She
was much more interested in other things. Priss _was_ looking better,
Linna was right about that. In the week since she'd last seen her, she'd
regained some of her lost weight, and the pallor of a long illness was
fading. Her voice seemed to have finally settled down into something
a little deeper than it had been, with a rougher, gravelly edge. All in
all, she looked like someone well on the road to recovery. Until you
looked into her eyes.
Something in those red-brown eyes gave Sylia pause. Priss had
more demons to deal with than most people, and she usually kept them
under control. But, even considering what had happened to her, there
was something off... something fey lurking in the back of those eyes...
and Sylia suddenly realized just how close Priss was to going over the
edge.
Sylia's own eyes hardened momentarily. That's one more thing for
you to atone for, you son of a bitch.
Priss didn't miss the sudden change in Sylia's demeanor, and the
equally sudden shift back. "OK, you didn't really come here to listen
to me talk about watching TV, did you?"
"I'm not allowed to ask how you are?"
"You don't need to see me to find out how I'm doing," Priss shot
back. "What's happened now?"
Sylia gazed calmly back, assessing just what she could and should
tell her friend.
Midnight came and went.
The Lady 633 building was eerily quiet, as if the world was holding
its breath. Inside the Knight Sabers complex, Linna Yamazaki slipped
silently through the corridors. On reaching her destination, she
touched a control on the wall, and the door to the Knight Saber's suit
room slid open.
Sylia, wearing a sweatsuit over her softsuit, was already there,
seated in front of the control panel for the main diagnostic analyzer,
apparently running her suit through some sort of test sequence. Nene
was performing a careful inspection her hardsuit's externals. As the
door opened, they both turned and nodded their welcome.
Linna gazed back soberly, her full attention directed at Sylia. "I'm
not going. What you're doing is stupid."
"All right," Sylia replied, looking a little disappointed as she went
back to her work. Nene paused in her inspection, and turned to watch
the other two quietly.
Linna crossed the room and grabbed Sylia by the arm, jerking her
up out of her seat. "Let the police handle it," she began dangerously.
"I'm not kidding about this, Sylia. He's scum, and he deserves
whatever he gets, but what you're planning is flat out _wrong_. And
if you make one move to hurt him, to _really_ hurt him, I'm going to
stop you."
The two locked eyes in a battle of wills, only broken when Sylia
motioned toward Linna's suit. "Then you'd better get ready, hadn't
you?"
With an exasperated sigh, Linna let go of Sylia's arm and stalked
toward the change room, only to be halted by a hand on her shoulder.
"What are you--"
"Have you _really_ thought about this, Linna, or are you just being
a 'good citizen'?" Nene asked, a little scornfully.
"What's _that_ supposed to mean? She's talking about cold
blooded _murder!_"
"Yes, I know," came the quiet reply.
"And?"
"I'm here, aren't I, Linna?"
"But, how can you stand for..." Linna trailed off in confusion.
"Come on, let's sit down. There's some things you need to know."
Nene grabbed Linna's arm and dragged her to a work bench, then sat
cross-legged on top of it. After a moment of hesitation, Linna sat on
the edge, legs dangling over the side.
"First off, Sylia had me pull down the evidentiary database TPD
has on Kusanagi yesterday. I shouldn't have done it, but I made a
copy for myself and took it home to read. Sylia's right," she said with
an almost-snarl. "Something has to be done about Kusanagi, the
sooner, the better. And, as much as I hate to say this, I don't trust
anyone but us to get it done."
She shifted in her seat, turning to face Linna more directly. "He
was keeping a diary, and it's really sick stuff. And the first thing you
need to know is that Priss wasn't the only woman he's done this to...
he's stalked like this. And she wasn't the only one he's tried to kill
either.
"The parts about Priss are pretty much like the rest of it. He raves
about how much he loves her, then he starts on about how much she
loves him too. Then he starts talking about people trying to come
between them, and what he was doing about it." Linna looked a little
surprised, so she elaborated, "That's right, not what he was _going_ to
do about it, but what he was actively _doing_."
She glanced over at Sylia. "There's an entry the night 633 got
trashed, about warning off demons. And then a little later there's an
entry about making sure the demons don't interfere any more."
"Kenji..." Linna breathed, putting it all together for herself.
"Yes," Sylia agreed, turning from the analyzer, "it seems to
correspond to that time frame."
"And then," Nene continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted,
"comes the _really_ scary stuff. Things about demons blinding Priss,
and Priss leaving him, and him having to save her from herself
because he loves her."
"So he shot her," Linna said flatly, and Nene nodded her
agreement.
Linna stood and began to pace about the suit room, a troubled look
on her face. "OK. You're right, something's got to be done about
him. But what you're talking about... I don't know. He's sick; he
needs help, not an execution."
Nene hopped off the bench top and walked over to Linna. "He's
followed the same pattern, written the same things, about _all_ the
women, not just Priss. There were six of them, before her. And
Linna... he killed or maimed all of them."
While Linna pondered what Nene had said, Sylia shut down the
analyzer and joined her friends. "Priss isn't going to be able to sleep
again until something's done about him," Sylia said quietly.
Linna whirled on her, shocked. "That's dirty Sylia. I thought
better of you than that." The two stared at each other for another long
minute, and Nene waited for the silent struggle to come to a
conclusion. As she expected, Linna broke first. "You knew about this
last night, didn't you?"
Sylia nodded.
"And why didn't you say anything?"
Sylia paused, the answer weighing heavily on her. "Does knowing
that he's done this several times make a difference? This is for Priss,
not those others, and I don't want you involved if you have any
doubts."
Caught between the Nene's facts and her own conscience, Linna
replied defensively, "You don't, do you? It seems to me like you've
been trying to manipulate me into agreeing to this."
Sylia looked back, regret written on her face.
"All right," Linna finally decided. "I'll go, but only because I don't
want you doing anything stupid. I'm still not going to let you kill
him," and the sweatsuited woman nodded her acknowledgment.
Linna looked aside and gave a small smile to her red-headed
colleague. "You can be pretty persuasive when you want, can't you?"
Nene grinned back, and returned to her suit to finish her interrupted
survey.
Turning her attention back to Sylia, she added softly, "I don't know
how much longer I can take spending my nights listening to Priss's
nightmares, and my days of watching her go through hell. And Nene's
given me some things to think about." She sighed. "Besides, there's
the chance you might be right," Linna conceded.
Sylia smiled grimly, and took her friend's hands in her own. "Shall
we get started then?"
Nene Romanova wasn't happy. Running yet another sensor sweep
of the area, her sixth in the past half-hour, she heartily wished that
Sylia's informant had been able to come up with better information on
Kusanagi's location. But for tonight, he was only able to place him as
somewhere within this warehouse area. That gave them 36 square
blocks to cover, which was too large for them to be able to search
effectively and still be able to cover each other. All they could do was
run scans and wait for him to show himself.
"Still clear, Sylia," she radioed. "If there's anybody here, I can't
find them."
"Copy that," Sylia replied. She wasn't any happier with the
situation than Nene was. "How are you doing, Linna?"
"Trying to find someplace comfortable to sit," came the grumbled
response. The three Knight Sabers were positioned on a roughly
northeast-to-southwest line running through the center of the six block
by six block area. Nene, at the mid-point, was tasked with scanning
the entire area every five minutes. If she picked something up, Sylia,
at the northeast end, or Linna, at the southwest, would check it out.
"Yes, well, do the best you can, and stay out of sight."
"Right. Sylia?"
"Yes, Linna?"
"What made you change your mind? About tonight?" It was
obvious to Linna that something dramatic had happened to her friend
since their meeting the previous night.
"I'm sorry," Sylia said, answering the unspoken question first.
"Pardon me?"
"I'm sorry I jerked both of you around like that in the suit room.
Yes, I'd changed my mind about killing him before we met, and I
didn't tell either one of you. You were right when you said I'd been
trying to manipulate you. Both of you. I'd do this by myself if I had
to, but... I wanted you with me."
Linna considered Sylia's words in silence. Although she, Nene,
and Priss had long ago realized that Sylia manipulated both people and
situations to her benefit, it was the first time she'd ever heard her
actually admit to doing it. That she _had_ admitted to it was out of
character for her, Linna thought. And, considering further, Sylia had
been acting considerably out of character ever since Priss had been
shot. It bothered her that Sylia didn't seem to be herself anymore, and
Linna wished she'd taken the time to talk with Priss or Nene about it
before coming here tonight. But Priss had her own problems to deal
with, and there hadn't been the time to really talk to Nene.
"That's all right," Linna finally acknowledged, somehow knowing
that some sign of acceptance from her would ease the psychic burden
Sylia had seemed to be dealing with in recent days. "But why the
change?"
Why indeed, Sylia thought to herself, and then her thoughts drifted
back to earlier in the day, back to the warm, damp darkness of a sauna
room. Back to her visit with Priss.
She had initially evaded Priss's questions about what was
happening, why she had suddenly decided to visit after virtually
ignoring her for a week. Especially when her mind was obviously not
on the visit. But as Sylia continued to evade Priss's increasingly
pointed questions, Priss became more and more agitated, her voice
getting louder and louder. Although time had granted healing to her
injuries, some things were by no means completely healed, and her
abused vocal cords reacted predictably. Priss began to cough, and
couldn't stop.
An hour later found Priss and Sylia alone in a treatment room.
Priss was resting on a bed, while Sylia sat by her side, telling her
everything, as if seeking some form of redemption. The diary. The
attempt at recapture. Her plans for that night. Why she was going to
kill Kusanagi.
Priss began to weep, and Sylia took her in her arms to comfort her.
Unlike weeks earlier, though, Priss pulled away. "I'm not crying for
me," she had sniffled. "Or not just for me, anyway. I'm crying for
everyone else he's hurt too. Including you.
"What happened to me happened," Priss said, swiping at her tear-
filled eyes with a towel. "I don't have to like it, and I know my head's
still messed up over it, but it happened, and I'll deal with it. But
please, don't blame yourself. There was no way for you to have
known for certain what he'd do. Remember, you warned me, you told
me to get out of here. That's the best you could have done. It isn't
your fault that I didn't move fast enough."
Sylia had been surprised at Priss's attempt to offer her comfort, and
stared at the floor, tears in her own eyes, a little ashamed of her own
recent attitude. However, Priss wasn't finished yet.
"Losing your father must have been rough. I know, I've lost
people I considered family too." For a few seconds, Priss seemed a
long way away from the here and now, her eyes were filled with old
pains as she gazed at something invisible in the distance. "You said
you want to get Kusanagi because he hurt me, you couldn't stop him
from doing it, and you couldn't stand the idea of losing another family
member that way." Sylia looked at Priss in surprise; it was the first
time she'd ever heard her mention her assailant by name.
"I'm glad you feel that way about me... about all of us, actually...
But Sylia, there's no reason for you to beat yourself up over what
happened. Mason knew what he was doing when he killed your
father; Kusanagi is your run-of-the-mill stalker. In this city alone,
there are thousands just like him. Much as we'd like, we can't be
responsible for cleaning up every piece of garbage in this town. How
many times have you told us that? Sylia, Kusanagi's small potatoes
compared to what Mason could do. Mason was worth taking out.
Kusanagi'll make a mistake sometime, and then he'll get his. You
going after him... well, I appreciate the thought, but it's just not worth
it."
Sylia was staring openly at Priss by this time, and she laughed
softly. "I know, me telling you not to do this sounds weird, especially
considering some of the stunts I've pulled in the past. What was it you
said that time you guys went with me when I was so hot to get Mason
after Sho's mother was killed? 'We're doing this to preserve the
Knight Sabers Organization'? If you have to, think of _not_ killing
Kusanagi in the same way. I'd hate to have to execute you for
breaking rules 2 and 3."
And then Priss had smiled and held out her arms, and embraced the
openly weeping Sylia in a gentle hug. Priss was the only person likely
to really understand what she was going through, and as she had told
Priss what she was feeling, and why, it felt as if a great weight had
been lifted from her shoulders. Yes, there was still a niggling doubt
that Priss was wrong, that it _was_ necessary to wipe Kusanagi from
the face of the earth, but reason prevailed. Priss was right when she'd
said that they couldn't be responsible for everything that happened.
Even when it concerned one of their own.
Back in the present, Sylia looked down at the blue right arm
mounted on her white hardsuit and smiled to herself. She'd spent
most of the last 24 hours dismounting the right arm from Priss's suit,
including the railgun, and mounting it on her own suit's right arm.
She had transferred her own right arm weaponry to her left. In her
initial plans, using Priss's weapons against Kusanagi was going to be
the 'coup de grace'. By the time she'd left Priss that afternoon, there
hadn't been time to change things back. So she'd finished the
modifications and adjustments, and hoped she wouldn't need to use it.
In an odd way, it was nice to have it here, though. It was almost
like a part of Priss was with them.
"Why did I change my mind about tonight?" Sylia repeated Linna's
question. "Let's just say that I don't feel the same way anymore. You
see, I've been granted absolution."
"Sylia," Nene called out a couple hours later, "I'm getting
something. One target, looks to be on foot, moving in this direction."
"Finally," Sylia muttered under her breath. "Where?"
"Coming almost directly for Linna's position. If she takes a look
over the edge and off to the right she should be able to see whoever it
is."
"Linna?"
"I'm on it." Linna eased out of her position between a ventilation
intake and a sign depicting two girls, a boy, and a small black pig,
advertising the 50th anniversary revival of some old anime series.
After staring at the sign for so long, Linna wasn't the slightest bit
interested in seeing it.
Once clear of her position, she crouched down, and duck walked to
near the edge of the roof. She then lay flat, and eased herself forward,
to a point where she could see easily over the side without being seen.
"Nene, how far out?"
"On the street, about 200 meters out and closing."
Linna looked in the indicated direction, her helmet's night vision
gear helping immensely in the dark. Once she knew where to look,
she had no trouble picking her target out from the parked and
abandoned vehicles clogging the side street. "OK, I've got him. One
person, pushing a motorcycle. Must have had some sort of
breakdown. I'm magnifying now, and.... It's him, Sylia. And he's
got his bike loaded down with bundles of something. That's why he's
not riding, he's so overloaded there's no room for him."
"Right. Keep an eye on him Linna. Nene and I are coming over."
"Check."
Kusanagi Rei pushed his heavily laden motorcycle along the street
near the abandoned warehouse he'd recently taken residence in. He'd
been busy that night; he'd been given many gifts by his new love, and
he was feeling good. All he had to do was stay clear of those
ludicrous buffoons in the Tokyo Police Department for a while and
things would be fine.
He turned a corner, and stopped short. Standing in front of him
was what had to be an apparition. A white clad form, clearly
mechanical, with short wings on its back. It stood unmoving in the
middle of the road, featureless face staring at him.
Hearing a sound behind him, he look around to see another of these
creatures appear from the shadows, this one in red and blue. He
looked back the way he had originally come, and saw a form in green
drop from the sky. He looked off to his left, expecting to see yet
another of these creatures, but that way remained clear.
The form in white spoke. "Kusanagi Rei, your time is over. For
destroying the lives of Aoki Yohko, Priscilla Asagiri, Carmelita
Chang, Irina Grichinko, Matsui Megumi, Elaine Reed, and Watanabe
Naoko, you are to come with us."
His heart began to pound, and his hand darted into his jacket
pocket, coming out with a gun. The creatures, or whatever they were,
stiffened, but did not otherwise move. He fired at the white creature,
missing all three shots.
Its response was to step closer, echoed by its companions.
His response was to abandon his motorcycle and run off down the
opening they had left him. The creatures watched him go.
"All right, ladies, next position please."
Kusanagi pounded down the dark roadway. These things, these
demons, were everywhere! Wherever he turned they appeared. From
behind cars. From out of the shadows. Dropping out of the sky. He'd
shot at them, but they wouldn't go away. He had no idea if he'd even
managed to hit one. He'd cursed at them, and they just looked back,
staring with those blank faces. The one in white was the only one that
spoke, and all it ever said was "your time is over". It was unnerving.
He had to get away from them, he thought, as he turned into yet
another dark alley.
They had him where they wanted him. Buildings hemmed him in
on three sides, and there was nowhere for him to go. Kusanagi didn't
seem to realize it: he was attempting to scale the sheer face of the wall
at the rear.
Sylia slowly walked forward, flanked closely by Linna and Nene.
They came to a halt about five feet from him and stood quietly,
watching his struggles. Finally he stopped, and turned to face them,
the wall to his back.
Funny, Linna thought, he doesn't look like a murderer. He looks a
little like Leon, in a skinny sort of way.
"Haven't you interfered enough?" he shouted at them, turning to
face his pursuers.
Sylia blinked. "Why?" was her strangled reply.
"You people keep interfering. I find someone to love, and you try
to take them away from me!"
"That's no reason to kill them!"
"They were _mine!_ And you people took them away from me! I
had to free them from you, so we could be together. And you're never
going to bother me again!" He brought his gun up, firing his last
round. It struck Linna in the head, and she dropped to her knees,
falling like a stone. Her fellow Knight Sabers immediately raised their
weapon arms, locking on their mutual target, and one fired.
While Kusanagi screamed in agony, a railgun bolt pinning him to
the wall through his left shoulder, Linna struggled back to her feet.
"Sylia, NO!" she cried out. "It's not worth it!"
Linna's words brought Sylia up short. She stood frozen, arm
upraised and locked on target, but unable to fire again. Linna
staggered to her friend's side, and forced her arm back down. "You
don't want to do something you'll regret later, do you?"
Sylia was appalled with herself. All her promises to Priss, and she
almost threw them out the window because of an unthinking reflex
action.
"Linna, are you all right?" Nene called out, her attention still
focused on the writhing form on the wall.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she panted. "He just knocked me off balance."
God, I'm going to have a headache, she thought through the pain
already pulsing through her head.
"Nene," Sylia said softly, "please get him down. See how bad it is.
Linna, help her."
This has all been too much, Sylia mused as she watched her
companions deal with the wounded man. I _must_ be tired; I should
never have fired at him in the first place. I need a break. I wonder
how Mackie's doing? Maybe I should take a vacation and pay him a
visit.
Sylia crossed to where Kusanagi now sat, leaning against the wall,
Nene crouched over him. She looked up at her leader's approach.
"Doesn't look too bad," Nene commented over her external speakers.
"It looks like it went through cleanly. I'm no expert, but it probably
looks worse than it is."
"Fine," the white Knight Saber replied as she looked over at
Linna's green clad form. There was a scrape mark dead-center on
Linna's helmet visor, and she was leaning against the same wall as
Kusanagi, looking a little shaky. Switching back to the internal
communication system, Sylia said, "Nene, go get into your Motoroid
power armor. We'll wait here."
Nene acknowledged her instructions, and jetted down the alleyway.
Sylia turned to face Linna. "How are you doing?" she asked simply.
"My head hurts like a son-of-a-gun," she admitted. "I'd like to get
out of this armor and go lie down somewhere."
Sylia was a little alarmed at her admission. Being a dancer, Linna
was used to working through pain that would sideline lesser mortals.
"You take it easy then, and I'll get you out of here as soon as Nene
comes back. And no arguments."
Linna, who had her mouth open, ready to debate that order, just
smiled a little and nodded. It was beginning to look like the Sylia she
knew was trying to make a return.
Several minutes later, a muted roar from up the alley attracted their
attention. Nene was returning, not only wearing her power armor, but
accompanied by Sylia's and Linna's motoroids on remote control. She
brought them to a halt in front of their owners, then landed herself.
"Good thinking, Nene," Sylia said. "Linna's hurt, and I need to
have her checked out. Can you drop our 'friend' here off at TPD by
yourself?"
Linna started to protest, but Nene's response overrode her. "Sure,
no problem. I don't think he'll cause any trouble." She glared at
Kusanagi, still huddled around himself, and his injured shoulder, on
the ground. It looked as if all trace of fight had left him.
She mounted her Motoroid, motioning for Linna to do the same.
"Fine. We'll be off then. I'll see you back at base." They triggered
the ignition sequences of their motoroids and rode off, side by side.
Nene watched them go, then turned to face her prisoner, switching
back to external comms. "Get up," she ordered, pointing the
Motoroid's cannon at him. Kusanagi struggled to his feet. "Come
over here."
"What are you going to do with me?" he asked.
"Take you to TPD. Come over here." He crossed to in front of the
Motoroid, and stood facing her. "Turn around."
When he complied, she slung the cannon, then roughly shoved him
around, and picked him up, her Motoroid's right arm under his knees,
its left arm around his shoulders. They launched into the air, and she
triggered the autopilot to take them to their destination, across the
Canyons, and into the city. Five more minutes and it's over, she
thought to herself.
"You know," he said conversationally, his courage apparently
returning, "this is ridiculous." She didn't respond. "They don't have
any evidence to convict me, because I didn't do anything wrong."
"You think not? Then why did you run off?" Nene replied coolly.
"They didn't have any right to hold me. It's nothing anyone else
wouldn't do. So why are _you_ doing this to me?"
"Shut up," she responded, squeezing her Motoroid's left fingers a
little tighter around his arms, and, not so incidentally, around his
wounded left shoulder. He groaned a little, but didn't stay quiet.
"You know," he began again, annoying her, "even if they _do_
convict me of whatever they've trumped up, I'll be out again in a year
or two. As crowded as things are, you think they're going to keep
someone like me inside? I'll be out on parole in a few months, and
then I can get back to my life. And there's nothing you or TPD can do
about it."
He's right, Nene realized. He's going to be back out in two years,
tops. And he probably _will_ start all over again. If it's not Priss he
goes after, it'll just be someone else.
"Shit," she muttered, and Kusanagi began to laugh.
"I see you agree with me." As he continued to laugh at her,
something inside Nene Romanova snapped.
They were now over the Canyons, the great rift left behind by the
Second Kanto Earthquake of 2025. Nene switched the Motoroid back
to manual control, allowing it to tip forward into a more horizontal
flight mode. Her cargo started sliding forward on the slick metal
plating of the Motoroid's arms at the change in flight attitude. She
released the grip that the mech had on him, and watched silently as her
screaming cargo plummeted 100 meters, to pulp into the rough terrain
at the bottom of the Canyons.
"That was for Priss, motherfucker."
The End
***
For those who have never read them:
The Eleven Regulations of the Knight Sabers
1. Do not divulge any information concerning this organization.
2. Do not act upon a personal grudge.
3. Do act upon the mutual consent of all the members.
4. Do not secede from this organization.
5. Members are personally responsible for any damage done to the
organization's equipment unless that damage was unavoidable.
6. Do not divulge any information concerning our clients.
7. Do not gather information on your own. The task of intelligence-
gathering is to be distributed evenly among all the members.
8. Do keep in contact with the other members regularly.
9. The members do not know each other outside of this
organization.
10. Do not get involved with a man.
11. The penalty for violating any of the ten regulations listed above is
death.
-- From the B-Club Visual Comic Bubble Gum Crisis '89
Translated by Dan Su, Anime Berkeley
***
"True Love" is my attempt at providing an explanation for some of the
many unexplained mysteries of the Bubblegum Universe, particularly
why Priss's voice changed, what happened to the Replicants, and how
come Nene was so aggressive in Crash. I was also attempting to show
the members of the Knight Sabers in a slightly different light than we
usually see them in. Stalkers are, unfortunately, a real-life problem,
and you can find mention of celebrity stalkers in the news almost
every day. Unlike many women, the Knight Sabers are in a position to
do something about it.
If you care enough to comment, I'll be happy to read it. Send e-mail
to me at: jhedge@water.waterw.com
All characters (except the ones I made up myself) are copyright
Artmic, Youmex, and everyone else who holds rights for "Bubblegum
Crisis".