Hi, all. Well, here it is.. part three, and only three weeks late. I hope
you not only enjoy it, but give me feedback. What worked for you, what
didn't, what you think I should change, any typo's you happen to stumble
across.. you know the drill.
I'l like to thank Gaffeny, Zen, White Wolf, Mike Loader, the infamous
Sterman, (aka Richard Lawson), RpM, and the rest of the KawaiiMUCK gang who
provided incredibly valuable moral support during my recent cerebro-vascular
incident. (That's what the doctors are calling it. Go figure.)
I'd especially like to thank both Zen and Lara Bartram for agreeing to
guest star in this fic. Have fun finding Lara's appearance. Heh.
Once I get to part four, I will start releasing the first parts to RAAC. As
for those people who'd like to get my stuff off the web, try Barry Cadwgan's
web page. He's kindly offered to host my stories, and puts each episode up
on his anime fiction page as he receives them. If you need his url, email
me, or check the Anime Turnpike. Or Rui's Fanfic page.
If you've missed previous parts, email me, and I'll send you a complete
copy of everything that's already gone to my pre-readers. I'm sorry, but I
can't honor any requests to see the unfinished working draft. That privilege
is reserved for my personal victim^H^H^H^H^H^H pre-readers. heh.
Again, thank you all, who took the time to write, call, or email me with
words of good cheer. They were sorely needed.
Have fun reading, and drop me a short note, even if only to say that you
read it.
Ed Becerra
"Dreamers may die, but the Dream is eternal.."
***********************************
"If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a
great deal faster"
- The Duchess, "Through the Looking Glass"
"Talking much about oneself can also be a means to conceal oneself."
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Money can be a more powerful force than most people realize. Too many
people simply assume that the having of money means that you can purchase
things. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Alexis Gilliland said it best...
"Money spent to buy a dinner is different from money spent to buy a
house. Snow thrown as a snowball is different from snow shoveled
laboriously out of the driveway. Money, en masse, acquires singular
properties, as snow, blowing through the air in cold crystalline flakes, may
in time be transmuted to spring floods, or, if the climate is right, to the
ponderous and inexorable glacier."
After a certain point is reached, money acquires a certain hypnotic power
that some people cannot resist. Even when they have what others might
believe is more than enough, they feel a mysterious pull to acquire more and
more.
The problem with this is that money is a form of power. And as Lord
Acton said long ago, "Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
It can also make you do _really_ stupid things to try to get your hands
on it.
* * *
{Boss, wake up. We have a visitor}
{snortz.. snarf.. uhh.. huh?}
Somewhere in cyberspace, Minerva put her hands on her hips and gave vent
to a little snort of frustration. {WAKE UP, BOSS!}
Ed shot straight up in bed. {I'M AWAKE I'M AWAKE!}
{Good. Now.. we have a snoop in the hotel room. The maid came in with a
mop, a bucket, cleaning rags - and a very tiny video camera hidden in a
broach.}
He pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt and walked barefoot into the parlor
where the maid was dusting. She spotted him and caroled "Hello, sir!"
He stalked over and crushed the broach with one hand, grabbing her with
the other. "Who do you work for? Jordan? Quincy? Heimdahl? Tal Shiar?
The 3WA?" He shook her by the collar of her maid's uniform. "WHO? Answer
me!" he roared.
The short blond woman gurgled, unable to speak thanks to the violent
shaking. "I-I-I-I.."
{Boss.. she _can't_ talk unless you calm down and stop treating her like
a cheap rag doll. She's probably just a..}
{STAY OUT OF THIS, MIN!} he snapped. He thrust the spurious maid towards
a chair, almost throwing her across the room. "You have two choices. Talk
or die. Choose now."
"I - I bribed the real maid to let me come up to your room. I thought I
could find something to sell to the Galactic Inquirer," the young woman
babbled nervously. "The way the staff of the Croessus has been keeping
reporters away from you, you HAVE to be someone they'd want on page one."
"A lousy _reporter_?! That's what you are?" Ed smacked himself on the
forehead. "I don't believe this.. Of all the things that _could_ have
happened, _I_ get a damned Lois Lane wanna-be!"
"Lois who? Who's that?" asked the faux maid. He speared her with a
furious glance, and stepped over to the desk, reaching for the phone. He
was about to punch the button that connected directly to the concierge's
desk when the woman shouted "Wait!"
"Why should I?" he growled.
"Uhh.. because I deserve a break?"
"_Wrong_ answer, Miss Snoop." He stabbed at the button, and Bailey
answered after the second ring.
"May I help you, sir?" inquired the urbane voice.
"Bailey, you have a small security problem," said Ed. "Specifically, a
maid who took a bribe. I happen to have a reporter in my room whom I caught
searching it for material she could sell to the gossip sheets."
Bailey's voice grew noticably cooler. "It shall be taken care of
promptly, sir. Do you have any _specific_ desires as to HOW it should be
done?"
"If you're suggesting what I think you are, Bailey, no. I don't _believe_
this little thief got anything of importance, and right now, her camera is
busy impersonating a pile of crushed junk. Simply remove her, strip-search
her for anything I might have missed, and do whatever it is you normally do
to snoopy little reporters who intrude."
"Very good, sir."
Ed hung up, and turned back to the young girl. "I'm not always as stupid
as I look, girl. Nobody _could_ be. It had to take a lot of money to get a
maid working _here_ to risk her job. Something a reporter just starting off
in the business wouldn't have. Where'd you get it?" He frowned. "And
what's your name? I can't keep calling you 'girl'."
"Lara," she muttered. "Lara Bartram. And I got the money as an advance
from the local office of the Inquirer. They couldn't find anyone else who
was willing to try to slip past this hotel's security. I was a fairly close
match for the maid I bribed. So they advanced me the cash."
"Too bad for you, Lara. You wanted to be a reporter, and this is how
they're treated on occasion. I suggest you apply to the 3WA academy. You
appear to have the same aptitude for disaster that they seem to look for in
their Trouble Consultant teams." He laughed harshly. "You could even end up
as famous as the Lovely Angels team."
She blanched. "No! Never that! I'll confess. I'll tell the police
everything! Just don't make me join the 3WA!"
About then there was a polite knock on the door, announcing the arrival
of hotel security. Three rather.. striking women came into the room and took
charge of Ms. Bartram. Their leader bowed to Ed.
"We _are_ quite sorry about this, sir. It will NOT happen again."
He eyed the leader of the three. While still pleasant to look upon, she
was a woman whose physique reminded him strongly of Mari from 'Project:
A-ko'.
"Simply make certain she didn't take or copy anything," he sighed. "If
you find anything, destroy it. No need to jail her. Just.. get her out of
here."
"Sir! Yes, sir!" The leader turned swiftly towards the door, her two
assistants frog-marching the would-be reporter with them.
After they left, Minerva re-entered the room. She gazed at him coolly.
"Why?"
"Why what, Min?"
"Why _that_!" she snapped, to his surprise. "Didn't you even LISTEN to
yourself?! We left Heimdahl behind us years ago. Jordan wouldn't spy on
you, he'd show up and challange you to your face. And Quincy? Don't make
me laugh. He couldn't have followed us here, and wouldn't have if he could.
Grudges are bad for business, there's no profit in them. That's his belief.
None of them are here. There wasn't any _need_ to crush that girl the way
you did. Why did you do it? It was totally uncalled for!"
"Because I _felt_ like it, all right? And just where do you get off
questioning my actions OR my motives?" he retorted.
She flinched back as though he'd slapped her. "That's my _job_! I was
_incepted_ for that very purpose. It's the reason I exist! And I can no
more stop living that way than you can stop looking for your family, damn
you!" She spun on one heel, her black skirt twirling around her, and
vanished in a shimmer of light.
He stepped back in surprise and sank into a nearby armchair. "Min?
Minerva? Minerva? Answer me!"
There was only an empty silence.
***********************************
Personal Log: Entry 68, Year 26.
I've behaved like a jackass before. God knows I've done it often enough
to have plenty of practice at it. But this time I fear I've gone much too
far.
I've offended Min.
She's always been there by my side. Loyal, cheerful, uncomplaining,
always faithful. Totally reliable. Dependable. Strong. The perfect
companion. Kasumi Tendo with an attitude.
It's been about 26 years since the day I first met her, there at the New
Avalon spaceport, and I've often seen her angry. But this is the first time
I've ever seen her angry at _me_.
And I don't even understand why I was so upset with that reporter. Min
was right - I _was_ out of line. I could have cheerfully crushed her throat
without a second thought. What is wrong with me?
I'm afraid. Afraid that I'm being subsumed by this reality. Becoming a
part of it. Accepting those axioms and tenets which it is based upon.
That's never really happened to me before. The closest I've ever come to
that happening before was when I first awoke in the reality that Megazone
and Gryphon had created. And that was because that particular reality felt
so much like my home.
For all it's inherent humor, this isn't a peaceful reality. If it was,
there wouldn't be any need for the 3WA. I'd never led a peaceful life...
could that be why I seem to be fitting in so frighteningly well?
And if I am... what _sort_ of character has this reality decided that
I'm best fitted for?
That, as the Bard would say, is the question.
But will I really want to know the answer?
End Log Entry 68, Year 26.
***********************************
Yuri trotted down the companionway towards the cockpit of the 'Lovely
Angel', eager to see the incoming communique from Repose. When she got
there, she found that Zen and Kei had already arrived. Kei had the sheet in
her grip and was grinning widely. She waved it wildly at Yuri, almost
putting out one of Muhgi's eyes.
"Great news!" she crowed. "Those goofballs in the 'Galactic Inquirer'
folded like a bad poker hand. They sent some of their expendable reporter
wanna-be's around to the various hotels on Repose, and one of them found
Edwards!"
Yuri raised an eyebrow. "That actually _worked_?!" she said, astonished.
"That had to be the least likely way of finding someone that I've ever heard
of!"
Kei smirked. "You're just jealous because _I_ thought of it first."
"No," replied Yuri. "I'm still amazed that Goulet actually approved it.
I thought he'd kill that plan just like he killed off your idea of
carpet-bombing Repose in order to force Edwards out of hiding."
"That would have _worked_!" pouted Kei. "There wouldn't have been THAT
many civilian casualties..."
Zen groaned. "Kei, even ONE casualty is too many. Zen thought you
wanted to LOSE the name.."
Both women looked at her and snarled in unison, "Don't SAY it!"
Zen gave them both a nasty look. "Zen is not stupid. She didn't say it,
and didn't plan on saying it. But Zen would STILL like to remind everyone
that Kei is being MUCH too hostile. The Commisioner gave us orders, Kei.
We're to bring in Edwards ALIVE and COOPERATIVE," she pointed out. "Trying
to kill him is not exactly something that will make him feel kindly inclined
towards us OR the 3WA."
"I am NOT being too hostile!" yelled the angry red-head. "I am NOT being
too hostile, I am NOT!" She hammered her fist on the arm of the co-pilot's
seat. To her embarrassment, on the fourth blow, the arm snapped off with a
loud CRACK. Yuri simply pointed at the broken arm-rest, and Kei flushed.
"I'm NOT violent! I'm just.. strong-willed. Forceful. Determined.
That's all." She slapped the fax sheet down on a console and stalked out of
the cockpit.
"She's still pissed that he got away from us so easily," sighed Yuri.
"Sometimes I think she's more concerned with winning than she is with
getting a better reputation."
"She's taking it personally, Yuri," nodded Zen. "But that's what makes
the two of you such a great team. If you didn't take each case as a
personal challenge, Zen doubts that you'd be as successful. It's a part of
what you are. And _who_ you are."
Yuri looked at her gratefully. "Thank you, Zen."
"No problem," shrugged Zen. "Now, let's go have something to eat. Zen
feels like a root-beer float."
"That's funny," giggled Yuri, "you certainly don't _look_ like one."
* * *
The staff of the Croessus tipptoed carefully when they had to use the
hall that passed by Edward's suite. Anyone who could possibly avoid having
to use it, did so. All the lights were off, but they knew he was there. A
maid who hadn't gotten the word had tapped at the door, asking if he wanted
the room cleaned.
His reply was a silver tray thrown so hard, it blasted through the door
and embedded itself six inches deep in the opposite wall. Fortunately, the
maid was uninjured, and Bailey simply added the cost of the tray and the
building repairs to the bill.
He sat alone in the dark room for what seemed like hours, then rose and
made his way down to the concierge's desk.
"Bailey?"
"Yes, sir?" Bailey replied, carefully controlling his voice. As the
concierge of the best hotel on Repose (and therefore, arguably one of the
best in the galaxy) he'd often seen furious people, but he'd thought the
phrase 'black with anger' was simply that, a phrase. He was dimly surprised
to see that in Mr Edwards' case, so much blood had suffused his face, the
skin had turned a deep purplish black. He was reminded of the old term,
'choler'.
"Is there a shooting range anywhere on this world, Bailey?"
The concierge looked at him thoughtfully. "If I might take the liberty,
sir?"
When Ed nodded, Bailey tapped at his keyboard, and a small printer spit
out a curl of paper. "Give them this and inform them I sent you. I'll
summon a driver to take you there. Shall we expect you back anytime soon?"
"Perhaps tonight." Ed turned to go, then stopped and looked back at the
concierge. "Bailey?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Thank you."
* * *
"Will you ever ease the pain tears won't take away?"
- Prisilla S. Asagiri, 2033 AD.
The out of the way building the driver took him to was a low and thickly
constructed one. It vaguely reminded him of the old nazi artillery bunkers
he'd once seen on the cliffs that overlooked the French side of the English
Channel. Showing the paper as Baily had instructed resulted in his being
admitted promptly.
The large square man behind the desk smiled when Ed mentioned Bailey's
name, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"You wouldn't be here unless Jonathan thought you needed it. And you
look like someone who'd like to take his anger out on something. Any
preferences?"
Ed paused for a long moment. "Can you do an interactive targeting
enviroment?"
"Targets shooting back?" The man cocked his head. "I can. But are you
sure you want that? It isn't the healthiest thing for someone in your state
of mind."
"I'll consider myself duly warned."
"Then sign this waiver."
Ed scribbled a illegible signature on the paper, and was led into a
heavily shielded room. The thick walls were covered with sound absorbing
tiles and shimmered with inertial damping fields. The floor beneath his
feet was similarly re-enforced. A small war could be fought here, and
people standing outside the room would never know it had occured.
"Any choice in targets?" asked the proprietor.
A muscle in Ed's face twitched slightly. "Human, interactive, armed.
Make them look like this." He reached for his wallet and pulled out a small
chip with an embedded hologram.
The square man looked at the image of a gaunt, rail-thin man with an
unkempt mop of bowl-cut hair and a lab coat. He shrugged. "You're paying
for it. What weapon would you like to use?"
"You're supposed to have almost anything, right? Then this one." He
scribbled a name on a desk pad.
The owner nodded again, and a few minutes later, an assistant rolled a
cart into the room with the weapon in question and a large supply of
ammunition.
"Do you want to start now?
Ed paused for a moment. "Do me a favor."
"Yes?"
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small data crystal. "When you
start up the simulation, play this for me."
The owner and his assistant look at the label, then at him. "You're
paying for it. Your funeral."
* * *
I kept racing down the stormy highway, searching
for the whereabouts of my interrupted dream,
letting all my lies and bitter illusions
blow off my back, with the wind.
We're all just lonely hearts in the big city,
everyone a child lost in love.
Day by day in the big city,
tears only aggravate thoughts that won't rest.
Tonight... "Hurricane"
...I want... "Hurricane"
...to tell you I love you.
Tonight... "Hurricane"
...touch me... "Hurricane"
...like you mean it.
"Touch!" "Give me Touch!"
I cannot share the pain in your heart
with darting words that merely placate.
I want you to tell me what it is
that makes your eyes cloud over.
In the big city, our hearts are all torn and tattered,
and we're tired of dancing around each other at night,
so in the big city's empty days,
we waited anxiously for a little warmth.
Tonight... "Hurricane"
...I want... "Hurricane"
...to tell you I love you.
Tonight... "Hurricane"
...I want... "Hurricane"
...to hold you once more.
"Touch!" "Burning Touch!"
We're all just lonely hearts in the big city,
everyone a child lost in love.
Day by day in the big city,
tears only aggravate thoughts that won't rest.
Tonight... "Hurricane"
...I want... "Hurricane"
...to tell you I love you.
Tonight... "Hurricane"
...I want... "Hurricane"
...to hold you once more.
"Touch!" "Burning Touch!"
"Give Me Touch!"
"Burning Touch!"
* * *
The rolling thunder of the full automatic machine shotgun filled the room
and despite the soundproofed walls and the active counter-sonic projectors,
it leaked into the hallway and down to the front desk where it could be
faintly heard.
The assistant shivered just a little. "You know, I'd _really_ hate to be
the fool in that picture... who_ever_ he is, he's managed to seriously piss
off that guy in there." He shook his head. "Still, the music is nice. She's
a great singer, whoever she is. Wonder if he'd mind my making a dupe of
it."
* * *
His fingers were cramped around the grip of the antique USAS-12 assault
shotgun. Looking like an M-16 rifle that had been overdosing on steroids
and weighing in at 11.5 pounds, it was hell to carry, but it fired 12 gauge
shotgun shells at a fully automatic 360 rounds per minute. Loaded with
buckshot rounds, it was a meat grinder looking for a target.
This one had been converted to a belt-fed model.
Priss's yearning tones went unnoticed in the background as he held the
trigger down, chopping the on-coming men into bloody corpses. If the
computer game 'DOOM' had ever been converted into VR, any player would have
felt right at home in the pools of holographic gore that filled the room.
He failed to notice when the ammo belt ran out, but when the targets
stopped appearing, he looked down at the shotgun to see the empty belt
tangled on the floor near his feet. Throwing the weapon aside, he leaned
over one of the targets, looking it in it's synthetic face.
"Someday. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday. I have all of
eternity, Smith. And I _will_ find you."
* * *
Paying the owner of the range, he waved to the hotel driver, and they
headed back to the Croessus. He felt less tense, but no more cheerful than
before. The range had allowed him to burn off some stress, but did nothing
for the _source_ of that stress.. the INCREDIBLE moment of stupidity where
he'd snapped at the only real friend he had now.
Bailey greeted him pleasantly, and held up a palm. "Your assistant has
returned, sir. She left word to inform you she'd be waiting for you in your
suite."
"What?!"
The concierge frowned ever so slightly. "I'm sorry, sir. Was she to be
barred from your rooms? I was under the impression that--"
Ed shook his head sharply. "No. I - I simply hadn't expected her back
this soon, Bailey. She and I had a.. difference of opinion, shortly before
my outburst. It's.. surprising to see her return this quickly, after the
harsh words we had." He massaged his temples with his forefingers, sighing
at the tension. "Please call up to my room and inform her I'm on my way up,
won't you?"
"Are you certain, sir?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. But as another person in my situation
once said.. ''if t'wer done, then t'were well it were done quickly''." A
pained - and painfully false - grin crossed his face. "History may have
handed Mac the short end of the stick, but he was right. Then AND now.
Damn him."
He turned on one heel even before Bailey began reaching for the phone,
headed for the elevator that led to his rooms. Behind him, Bailey shook his
head slowly, and tapped out the number for the room.
* * *
Opening the door to his suite had the leaden feel of the slow walk to a
waiting gallows. The sitting room was empty, but a light was on in the
terrace, illuminating a woman sitting there. He gathered what little
courage he could find within himself and stepped outside.
"Hello, Min."
"Hello, Tony."
The name felt like a stab in the heart. He hadn't heard it in decades.
The last person who'd called him that... he shook himself from head to toe.
"'I'm sorry' are about the most inadequate words I can imagine, but
they're all I can think of, Min."
"Why?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. What point would there be to even
attempt dissembling? He looked back at the glass doors that lead back to
the main room. There was just enough light outside to cause them to be
reflective. He nodded towards them.
"Ever wonder why you look the way you do, Minerva?"
"Sometimes. Not often, though. I simply took it as part of my
inception." She waved a hand across the front of her body. And when Vallana
created this body for me, I think she took my usual manifestation as the
model to go by."
"A person changes a great deal as the years go by, Min.. you know that
as well as I. But I often forget. And I think the person I'm going to
become, the person who had you incepted, forgot something very important."
He paused for a long moment. "No. That's not quite right. He _outgrew_
something that _was_ very important to me, for a time."
Minerva looked at him curiously. "I don't understand."
"Min, you said something earlier. That you were incepted to help me
question myself. I think maybe.." An odd flash of inspiration crossed his
face. "Min, do you have any files on me regarding my earlier life? Files
that _I_ gave you when you were born?"
"Yes, I do," she replied, in a puzzled tone.
"Access all personal records between July 1981 and January 1984."
Her head cocked to one side. "Accessing.." Then her eyes went wide.
"Blocked! Restricted access, encrypted files. Passphrase required."
Ed snorted. "Thought so. I always was a sneaky, back-stabbing.
untrusting little son of a singularity. Seems I didn't even trust myself.
Heh." He scratched thoughtfully at the scar on his forehead with a finger.
"What passphrase would he have used?"
"What passphrase would YOU use? He is you, only older."
He sat there, quietly eyeing the mountain view. Then he abruptly leaned
forward. His voice was calm and determined.
"Minerva? Access all personal records between July 1981 and January
1984. Passphrase... Dark Mirror."
Minerva's eyes slowly widened. "I'm... not certain I understand this.
Why are there police reports in here? And there's a picture of _me_. But
it's dated 1982. How's that possible? And I don't understand some of these
references. What _is_ this, boss?"
*At least we're back to "boss" again. That isn't going to make the rest
of this any easier though,* he thought. "Min? Get into your archives, and
reference the Chaos Computer Club, circa 1980-1990. Try 'Der Spiegel'
magazine, a german publication of the time."
She tipped her head to one side. "The Chaos Computer Club, organized
shortly after the Federal Republic of Germany established a nation-wide data
network through the federally-run phone service. The German postal service,
the Bundestpost, also controlled the nation's phone service and in the early
1980's founded the Datex network to link computers together, and to the then
budding Internet." She paused for breath. "Being essentially a _goverment_
bureaucracy, the service Datex provided was abysmal, and their pricing was
atrocious. After all.. it WAS a goverment-controlled monopoly. The
natural reaction of the first hackers to encounter it was to try to hack
their way in to obtain free service. Several of these hackers banded
together, and the Chaos Computer Club was born."
"Essentially correct, pretty lady.. but there were a few details you
left out."
She nodded. "One member, Hans Heubner, aka _Pengo_, simply didn't have
enough money to satify his computing addiction, and suggested to his friends
Dirk Brezinski and Peter Karl that they attempt to use the new links into
the Internet to break into American and Nato military computers and sell
what they found there to the KGB. With the aid of Marcus Hess, who did the
actual break-ins and Karl 'Harbard' Koch, who acted as the courier to East
Berlin on occasion, they proceeded to do just that. While they were never
actually able to acquire any _military_ secrets, they were able to steal
software in the form of the source code to several operating systems and
many major programs that the Soviet Goverment was otherwise unable to
acquire through legal channels. And they made a nice little bit of cash
while doing it."
She frowned. "The entire event was later known as the 'Cuckoo's Egg'
affair, after the book by Cliff Stoll, who was the first to stumble across
their trail. But what's that got to do with _you_, boss?"
"Min.. those five were running that hack on their own. The rest of the
CCC were bright enough to realize that getting involved with the shadow
world of espionage was about as bright as standing outside of 3WA
headquarters and screaming 'The Dirty Pair are lesbians' at the top of your
lungs. And nearly as dangerous to your health." He winced at the thought,
being reminded of his own current situation. "Anyway, they stayed _well_
away from those five while this was going on. But that didn't help.. they
still ended up with egg on their faces." He shrugged painfully. "The only
hackers in Germany that DIDN'T get tarred by association were those who were
smart enough to go WAY underground, long before those five idiots started
their foolish stunt." He chewed on his lip. "Check 'Der Spiegel' again,
along with other german newsmagazines in that time period."
"What am I looking for?" she asked.
"Look for the hackers known as 'Boris' and 'Natasha'. There won't be
much."
She searched, then nodded. "You're right. Boris and Natasha never
seemed to associate much with other hacker groups, always worked as a team,
and their only connection to the rest of the hacker community, through the
CCC, terminated abruptly." She raised an eyebrow. "It terminated less than
two days after the date that the conference between Markus Hess and the
other four took place. That _can't_ be a coincidence."
"It wasn't. Tasha pretty much ordered me to stay away from those fools."
He grinned lopsidedly. "Surprise."
Minerva's jaw sagged. "You were Boris? YOU were the one hacker they
never identified?"
"One of two, actually.. they never caught Tasha either."
"I don't believe it," she whispered.
"Believe it," he shrugged. "That portrait on my wall? The one of the
female vampire? That was Natasha. She was the first woman I ever really
loved.. and the first one who chose to love me back." His smile grew a
little less crooked.
"But how?!"
"It was the early 80's, Min.. Bill Wynd had introduced me to computers
back in the days of the mainframe and paper-fed terminal. Then the first
personal machines hit the market. The Altair 8800. The Commodore PET. The
TRS-80. It was like taking a junkie who was desperately trying to control
his habit, and dropping him into an unlimited supply of dope. I went a
little insane there, for a while. I had the equipment and a nasty paranoid
mind while Natasha had the experience and knowledge of how human systems
work, and the skill to manipulate them that can only come from years of
living under a Soviet bureaurocracy. We never crashed a system, though, and
never stole information. We merely entered them because bypassing the
frontline security was something we saw as a challenge. The old 'because
it's there' bit. And Tasha was the one who insisted that we distance
ourselves from the other hackers. She said that they had all the honor of a
Genma Saotome." He winced slightly. "And she was right. When it hit the
fan, they started turning each other in to the authorities to save their own
skins. 'Honor among thieves'.. ha! If it hadn't been so serious, it would
have been laughable. It turned into a race to see who could rat on who
first, with the winner's prize being immunity from prosecution."
Minerva grinned wolfishly. "You _must_ have been a social virgin, boss..
expecting crackers like those to nobly sacrifice themselves to save their
buddies?" She began giggling. "Now, THAT'S comedy!"
Ed gave her a dirty look, but smiled inside. *If she's laughing, then
she's not quite as angry with me now.* "Anyway.. you commented once on how
much Natasha's picture looked like you. It's the other way around, I
suspect. Your initial inception was programmed to look like Natasha."
That statement stopped her laughter cold. She looked at him levelly.
"That couldn't have been an accident."
"No. Tasha was the first love of my life. I _think_ I.. he.. did it
as an attempt to make me feel both trust towards you, and a certain level of
discomfort. When I lost Tasha, it left a lot of things unresolved,
emotionally."
Minerva nodded thoughtfully. "Those first few years you were very
cautious around me, boss. You tried hard not to show it, but I wasn't bound
by human sensory limits. I could tell. Still you tried very hard, and I
appreciated the effort, even if I didn't understand _why_ I put you ill at
ease then. Now that I do, a great many things are much clearer." She
hesitated. "How..?" She coughed and tried again. "How did you lose her?"
He shook his head. "That's a story for another time and place, Min.
Right now, I need to know - are we still at odds with each other?"
"No, boss.. we aren't. But we _will_ be talking about this later." She
looked him squarely in the eyes. "A partnership is just that. Partners.
Trust is what it's all about. We can't function if we don't trust one
another. You aren't who and what you were back then, and I'm not the same
innocent little program I was 26 years ago. We've both changed and grown.
It's time to admit that, and learn to deal with it."
"We can't go back to what we were, can we."
She shook her head. "No. But we _can_ go forward. And that's all for
the best, boss. When you stop learning and growing.. that's when you start
to die inside."
Ed pinched at the bridge of his nose, massaging it. "I just wish growing
and learning could come a _little_ less painfully. I really get tired of
teachers who seem to think the best way to get me to remember something is
to hit me over the head with it."
Minerva laughed, a tinkling waterfall of sound. "If it was easy, it
wouldn't be worth anything."
"Ayup. Uh-huh. Ooooo-kay. I think I'd better get some sleep. You'd better
rest your body too, Min."
She nodded, and vanished. He turned towards the bedroom, and flopped down
on the bed. A few moments later, the calls started coming in to Bailey's
desk.
* * *
"I'm sorry, ma'am.. the guest in suite 905 is snoring." Pause. "I am
_aware_ it sounds like a small jet engine, ma'am, but I assure you it IS a
fellow guest." Pause. "Yes, ma'am. We'll have you moved to another floor
momentarily." Click.
Baily looked toward the ceiling as if for inspiration. Finding none
there, he reached for his console and punched out a number.
"Have I reached SonicTec, Incorporated? Excellent. I'd like you to send
one of your best engineers to the Croesuss Hotel." Pause. "I am aware of
the time, sir. Are you aware of this credit chip number?" Keys clicked as
Bailey slotted the chip and typed in the access code. "Indeed. We'll be
expecting him shortly. Thank you." He disconnected, and smiled faintly.
"Just another day in the life of a galaxy-class hotel."
* * *
Kei sat in the cockpit of the 'Lovely Angel' and smiled at the darkness
outside the ship. Less than a day to go before they touched down at the only
spaceport Repose had. She planned on making _quite_ certain that Captain
Edward's ship was disabled _before_ she went searching for him.
"I'll rip it's damned engines out with my bare hands, it I have to. He's
not getting off that planet without a set of handcuffs!" she muttered to
herself happily. "This is ONE mission that ISN'T going to end in wholesale
destruction. I am going to make sure we'll lose that damned name!"
Zen came sleepily up the passage behind her. "Zen's <yawn> turn on
watch, Kei. Zen relieves you."
Kei grinned and offered her seat to Zen. "Have a quiet watch, Zen. We
should be at Repose soon. Then the fun will begin."
Zen yawned again. "Zen certainly hopes not. If we can do this quietly,
Zen will be quite overjoyed. Trust Zen, Kei. Quiet is good. Peaceful is
good. Boring is good. Zen _knows_."
Kei offered Zen a dangerous smile. "But where's the excitement in that,
Zen? Where's the _fun_?"
Zen grunted slightly as she sat down. "The fun is in NOT wondering when
the next explosion is going to knock Zen arse over teakettle. It's in not
having to stand in front of Goulet to be chewed out for blowing another
planet into spare parts. THAT is where the fun is, Kei."
Kei hmph'ed, and strode briskly down the passage to her cabin.
Zen shrugged. "She asked Zen a question, what did she expect?" Then she
turned to the console, scanned the instrument reading, and once she was
satisfied as to the current status of the ship, she looked around the
cockpit, and back down the passage. Satisfied that she was alone and
unlikely to be interrupted, she cautiously slipped two fingers into the
space between the seat and the flight console, fishing out a sketch pad
covered with drawings of Kei and Yuri.
Setting it on the armrest, she reached up to her 3WA issue battle bikini.
"I know I can do this.. I've taken all the classes, damnit." Taking a deep
breath and steeling herself, she poked a pair of fingers into her cleavage
and fished around for a few embarrassed moments. She finally emerged with a
fistful of Prismacolor pencils in various colors and shades.
Her eyebrows shot up in delighted surprise. "Ice Hot! It _worked_! And
to think that Mr. Gaffney thought Zen would never be able to get it right."
Then she settled down to her favorite guilty pleasure, keeping one cautious
eye on the instruments. Her pencil flew, and another portrait of Kei slowly
began to take shape.
A tiny corner of Zen's mind wondered what would happen to her if the
Angels ever discovered that she was still doing etchi sketches and drawings
of them. That section of her intellect considered the situation calmly and
dispassionately, and came to the quite logical conclusion that, should the
occasion indeed arise, suicide really wasn't all _that_ painful...
* * *
The luxury liner 'Stellar Queen' arrived at Repose a few hours ahead of
schedule, to the mild bemusement of its crew. As the wealthy passengers
disembarked, a young man with a hawk-like nose and high cheekbones flagged
down a waiting cab.
"Where to, sir?" asked the driver, as a redcap loaded his luggage into
the vehicle.
The passenger grinned wickedly. "The Croessus hotel. There's a relative
of mine staying there that I haven't seen for quite a while. I expect he'll
be rather surprised to see me."
The driver nodded. "It's always pleasant when family gets together again
after a long absence, sir." With that, the hovercab sped off towards the
hotel.
* * *
"Dreamers may die, but the Dream is eternal.."