Subject: [FF][BGC/WHO] Slipt, the *real* part 2
From: Goosed
Date: 2/24/1997, 8:06 PM
To: fanfic@fanfic.com

Okay, I finished the rest of part 2.  Hope this makes it out before WW
shuts down the list.  C&C appreciated, of course.  If you're writing a
non-Ranma fic, you might even be able to convince me to read it and
C&C on it if you C&C mine.  8)

Enjoy...

----------

BGC/WHO:  Slipt, part 2.

        It was several hours before Ace and the Doctor arrived at what
could loosely be termed civilization.  A small electric lantern allowed
them to pick and scrabble their way towards the city, across the canyon
along the only major thoroughfare which had been cobbled together since
the last great Kanto quake of 2025 to bridge it, and into the dangerous
side of Tokyo that had the disheartening appearance of one huge,
run-down trailer park.  It was the worst place to begin asking questions
about what might have caused their troubles the evening before, and the
worst time of the day, when the dawn was just beginning to creep over
the sleeping giant of a city, stirring it to reluctant, wary
wakefulness.
        Naturally, it was there that they began.

        A thundering horde of motorbikes roared past them on the street.
Most of the bikers headed left down a side street ahead of them.
        A huge, crudely shaven brute wearing an earring sporting a
skeletal, but clearly human finger pulled up in front of a bar across
the street.  His motorbike was a hulking monster, idling at a dull
roar, with the moniker "Cranks" neoned onto the gas tank.  The unfortunate
bouncer at the bar's door was shoved bodily through the wall, the crash
and sickening wet slapping sound audible even over the motorcycle's
engine.  Moments later, the street was almost quiet again.
        "Professor," Ace whispered, "I don't like it.  Let's go back."
"Nonsense," he replied.  "We've only just arrived.  We haven't even had
breakfast yet."
        Ace glanced around the street.  Nearly a mile away, a woman
screamed shrilly, then fell silent in mid-scream.  "I'm not very
hungry."

        From a trailer at the end of a dirt cul-de-sac, a pair of
intensely brown eyes followed them down the street suspiciously.
"Shit," muttered a woman's voice just inside.

                        *       *       *

        "Priss, you can't be sure they had anything to do with it," a
short, redheaded girl said.  The short redhead in question was leaning
against a wall in a meticulously neat storage room.  Several boxes were
carefully piled in short stacks in a far corner.  Most were labeled
"Silky Doll".
        "Oh yeah?  Explain those two strangers showing up in *that*
district of MegaTokyo the morning after we saw that--that *thing*."  This
time it was a taller woman wearing a biker jacket.  Those same intensely
brown eyes hammered unmercifully against an innocent dust bunny drifting
across the floor for a full three seconds, before she turned to gaze at
the lady standing across from her.
        Lady, was all the description Sylia needed.  Her demeanor spoke
of an inner calm that radiated outward, sweeping away Priss's low,
rumbling anger.  She wore a small, practiced smile which flicked to
cover the other three women present.
        "Priss has a valid point," Sylia concluded.  "Nene--"  The
redhead nodded quickly.  "I'll find out who they are," she replied.
        The fourth woman, who had thus far remained silent, now spoke.
"But they're not Genom people, are they?"  She seemed the most nervous
of the four.
        "No," Priss agreed.  "But they're dead if they stay around there
for too long."  Linna giggled.  "The Ota district doesn't give you any
trouble."  "They know better than that," Priss shot back without missing a
beat.
	Sylia's expression flickered again momentarily.  Instantly, the
other two women were silent.  "Nene," Sylia began after a slight pause,
"run a low level Mellifera search on any kind of research going on on the
other side of the fault."
	The data search would take time, perhaps even weeks.  But it would
provide them with the starting point they needed, and they could afford to
be patient.
	Nene nodded.
	Sylia smiled.  "That concludes our business today.  Don't forget
the training session this evening, after the concert.  Good luck, Priss."
Priss grinned.  "I'll knock 'em dead."
	They all laughed.  "I'm sure you will," Sylia whispered to
herself.
	The women filed slowly out of the back room into the shop proper,
emerging behind a gaudy display of bras in a rear corner.  While Sylia and
Nene pretended to haggle over an obscenely expensive and fragile bit of
lace, Priss and Linna browsed for a few minutes longer, then left the
shop, going their separate ways.
	In the storage room, a small computer screen embedded in the wall
flickered to life.  It had been perfectly concealed until the phosphor
glow etched a series of hiragana and English letters onto the display.
"Log file activated," it said.  Then the text gave way to film, displaying
a series of steps outside of a large corporate building.
	"This is Jessica Genjiro, reporting live from Genom tower," said a
tall woman in red, from earrings to high heels, holding a tube microphone.
A subtitle flashed briefly on the screen.  "Flag search key:  Genom".  She
waved it at three icy figures standing just behind her, bedecked in 
corporate blue.  "Three of the Genom board of directors are resigning
today, pending an investigation into the diversion of funds into a secret
research project which, I have been informed, has resulted in a
precarious, potentially deadly situation."  She offered the mike to a 
tall, hawk-nosed man to her right.  "David Nakamura, can you give us any
details about the project itself?"
	The director didn't move a muscle.  "We don't know ourselves," he
whispered harshly.  "A security force was deployed into the old town, past
the Fault."  Another subtitle flashed onto the screen.  "Flag search key:
Fault".  A moment later, it was replaced, and this time the subtitle
remained.  "PRIORITY FILE".  "These were standard, class B service
boomers.  We don't risk human lives as guards."  "Flag search key:
Boomers".  "The record of their deployment was left in the computer,
purpose listed as top secret.  No mention of who made the requisition was
logged.  Again, we don't know ourselves."
	The woman next to him picked up the story.  "Two of the boomers
didn't return, but their service frequencies still list them as active in
Ota district.  The remote recall circuits have failed, but even *we* can't
get authorization to retrieve them ourselves."
	The reporter nodded.  "The AD police is being dispatched to the
scene at this moment."  "Flag search key:  AD Police".  "Citizens are
advised to remain indoors, and out of danger."
	The screen flickered as the news brief ended and another began,
then it returned to text mode.  "PRIORITY FILE.  ACTION QUERY?" appeared,
followed by a blinking cursor.
	The question was met with silence.

			*	*	*

        The Doctor and Ace had taken refuge inside a seedy looking
restaurant and bar.  It was nearly noon, and the heat was beginning to
drive a respectable portion of the crowd indoors in search of shelter.
The waitresses were kept busy, scurrying into the kitchen and back
again, while the bartender kept a wary eye on his patrons.  The other
eye was enshrouded with a toughened, metallic black patch.  Where his
ear would have been, a tube filled with a greenish liquid pulsated.  Nox
was a new breed of drug, heightening perceptions while relaxing and
freeing the mind from more sedentary distractions.  It was ideal for
combat troops, cushioning the lows that followed the more potent and
destructive pharmaceuticals, crafted and sold by another nameless
subsidiary of Genom.
        The balcony area overlooking the darkened stage was relatively
quiet, save for a vidscreen hanging several meters away.  Each quarter
displayed a different broadcast.  One was a music channel, the stage and
the psychadelic patterns of light on the ceiling the only clues.  Two
others were newscasts, and the last was unidentifiable.  Ace kept a
watchful eye on the crowd drifting in and out of the restaurant like
breaking tides, keeping half an ear on the Doctor's idle chatter.
        The Doctor sipped at a purplish concoction the bartender had
claimed was a fruit drink.  "In a city this size, there are too many
possibilities.  Ideas, Ace?  I don't fancy going door to door, asking
who's been mucking about with the continuum."
        "How about that big tower?  They look big enough to do
anything."  "I believe that's Genom's headquarters," the Doctor replied.
"They're a big, multinational conglomerate, probably big enough for
anything, you're right."  He leaned back in seeming thoughtful
contemplation, his eyes wandering to settle on a point half a meter to
her left.
        "Professor, are we going, then?" Ace ventured after another
minute. The Doctor waved at the vidscreen behind her.  "Shh.  Look at
the lower left one."
        Ace looked.  "Do the Cybermen have ugly cousins?" she muttered
in surprise.
        The telecast was either silent, or drowned out by the din of
voices, clattering plates and silverware, creaking chairs.  A pair of
hulking robots were slowly walking down a debris-littered street,
glancing at the fearful passerby.  The arms and legs were fairly crude
in appearance, lacking a human amount of detail, and colored mostly
charcoal gray.  Their movements seemed smoothly human enough, though the
faces were anything but.  Cold, red lenses glared out of skull-shaped
constructions affixed directly to their torsos, without intervening
necks.  Their slow, methodical pace, stopping every twenty meters or so
to look around, was unmistakable.  They were searching for something.
        The patrons below had noticed the robots as well, apparently.
Another vidscreen was hanging below the balcony, next to the bartender's
counter.  The din had muted perceptibly, and the crowd was swelling
slightly as people hurried inside and huddled around the now cramped
tables.
        "Professor, isn't that the bar where--" Ace began, then stopped
as the robots broke into a run, on the vidscreen.  The Doctor nodded
tersely.  "Time to leave, Ace."  He gave her backpack, sitting on the
floor next to their table, a gentle kick.  "I hope you packed your nitro
nine.  We just may need it."

        Priss had returned to Ota district and skulked about for a bit,
feeling restless.  However, on seeing an AD police van barreling down
the street, running lights off and sirens silent, she spun about on her
motorbike and followed.  This was no coincidence, she thought.
Something was definitely up.  Harried citizens darted right and left,
out of the way of the van, except for a Crank who was marginally slower
than the rest, finally deciding that life was worth more than
motorcycle.  Insults and imprecations followed in the van's wake, as the
earringed Crank kicked at his motorcycle's crushed remains.
        Priss drove past, ignoring him, intent on the van ahead, pulling
farther and farther away.  Suddenly, it slowed and took a sharp right,
leaving a small cloud of dust hanging in the air.  She squinted and ran
through it, nearly running into the van now parked just around the
corner.
        Priss glared at the "Hot Legs" sign hanging above the
restaurant, but kept back.  The building was cordoned off, and at least
four officers were milling about nervously.
        "What happened?"  She shouted over the gathering crowd.  "Two
boomers," answered one of the officers, distractedly.  "Some girl took
one out, but the other one got away with a hostage."
        Another officer came out of the restaurant, leading a familiar
looking girl towards the van.  "Her!"  Priss hissed to herself.  The
others quickly began removing the AD police tape and roping.  "Clear
off, nothing to see now.  Move along!"
        Priss took a quick glance inside.  The restaurant itself was a
shambles.  Part of the balcony had fallen in, ripping a gaping hole in
the floor underneath.  The stage was undamaged, though it was unlikely
that the concert would take place on schedule.  The boomer was in
pieces, scattered all over the room, covered in reddish-orange
lubricating goo.  His chest had been blown apart entirely, it seemed.
        Moments later, the van pulled away from the restaurant, taking
the girl she had seen that morning with it.  Hesitating only for a
moment, she crossed the street and entered a public calling booth,
dialing a number from memory.

Damon Casale, scyth@andrew.cmu.edu
Spam, spam!  WONDERFUL spam!  ^_^