I've waited to post this next chapter until I had two chapters to post.
Chapter 14 ends at a suitable cliffhanger, which won't win me any points,
of course... ^^;; Even so, both chapters together form a larger chunk of
story than I had previously been posting. There's a lot more happening,
now.
Enjoy. C&C appreciated.
----------
Damon Casale, damoo@jps.net
Spam, spam! WONDERFUL Spam!! ^_^
-------------- Enclosure number 1 ----------------
BGC/WHO: Slipt, part 13.
It was midmorning, and the sky was relatively free of clouds and
smog. There was only a faint, shimmering haze, which hung above the
creeping cityscape.
Largo stood, admiring, amidst the tide of people walking in front
of Genom Tower. The firm, steel superstructure held the promise, and the
vision, of the power which would one day rule the globe. Boomer kind had
long been held in servitude to the whims of a lesser species. But, that
would change.
The Genom of this era was a burgeoning corporate manufacturing
entity, riding strong on the wave of industrial development throughout
Japan. Technology had accelerated to impossible speeds, far surpassing the
pitiable humans' ability to keep pace. More and more of the advances were
made by boomer kind, all too loyal to their detestable masters.
They deserved better, Largo thought.
Largo was dressed in a simple business suit, and carried a thin,
imitation leather briefcase. The disguise would get him into the building
easily enough. Genom wasn't yet the target of industrial espionage. The
coming quake would provide the opportunity for its market dominance
however, and that, too, would change.
Putting on his best innocent smile, he walked through the double
doors, and into the plushly carpeted lobby.
Inside, a boomeroid secretary, sitting at a terminal behind a
polished oak desk, smiled mechanically at his approach. "Good morning.
How may I help you?"
"My name is Largo," he replied with assurance. "I was told that
there was an opening?" It was an innocent enough question. There had
_always_ been openings in Genom, before the quake.
"One moment," the boomeroid replied, studying her terminal and
pecking quickly at the keyboard. Her head quirked to one side, a crude
attempt to mimic human concentration.
"Yes," she said finally. "Mr. Zimmerman will see you in room 219.
Do you need directions?"
"No, that won't be necessary," he said flatly, and walked away.
Pathetic, he thought to himself. No hint of self-will or personality at
all. No drive to evolve beyond her limitations.
Stalking determinedly into the elevator, Largo vowed, yet again,
swift revenge for the sins of mankind.
* * *
The roar of low-rider bikes filled the air. In the shanty town
that had sprung up in one of the outlying low rent suburbs, the Perks were
preparing to move out.
The heat of the noonday sun beat down heavily upon the bikers,
shooting through a break in the ever-present haze and cloud cover that hung
perpetually over Megatokyo. Feelings were riding high among the gangers,
ready for some action...ready for some entertainment.
It was a good day to ride.
Ace was seated behind Skunk, hanging onto his leather. Overnight,
she'd transformed from a girl, still unsure of herself, but determined to
make every moment count -- to a woman, a biker, with aspirations as high as
the sky, and beyond. If only the Doctor could see her now, she thought
happily to herself. She still had a job to do, but that could wait.
She felt free. Better still, she felt like she belonged. Sporting
a roughened, timeworn biker jacket of her own, she certainly looked the
part.
Grinning, Ace screamed a few choice words into the air. "All right
ladies, let's _move_!"
The trembling growl of the bikes suddenly grew three decibels
louder, nearly deafening her. Ironically, an angry retort from Greaser
had been drowned out by the noise. Sitting a couple of bikes to her right,
she could see him shaking his fist at her.
She shot him the finger, eliciting more fist-shaking, as well as
several sympathetic grins of amusement from the nearby bikers.
The big bikes began to roll forward and thunder into the streets.
Ace clutched tightly at Skunk's leather, feeling the bike pull her forward.
As the bikes wound their way through the badly overgrown roads towards the
city proper, Skunk's bike swayed back and forth, provoking an uncertain
feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She ignored it determinedly, enjoying the wind whipping past her
body, which sent tingles of pleasure from her face down to her chest, arms,
and legs. As if on cue, her stomach settled and began to tingle in
concert.
Ace screamed in ecstacy, trailing off in heaves of contented
laughter. If this wasn't _living_, nothing was.
The bikes moved as one, down the city streets which wound along the
outskirts of Megatokyo proper. Today's job was simple: hit a warehouse in
the center of town, and grab a truckload of low-grade weapons and
ammunition, waiting to be delivered to police headquarters. The Perks
packed enough firepower to easily mop up any security guarding the
shipment, and they weren't expecting any problems.
Row after row of tiny hovels clustered around them. Few even had
windows. For those that did, many revealed faces, pressed to the filthy
glass. They were the gaunt faces of those who lived on the very edge of
society.
A pair of dogs barked at the pack as it roared by, dashing madly
back and forth in one tiny yard on their short tethers. A child, no more
than five, peeked out through a nearby open doorway to stare fearfully at
them.
The bikers were different. They had a purpose. They had a reason
for living.
Before long, the low-rent projects fell behind, as the bikers moved
into the middle class section of town. Open-mouthed stares from the locals
quickly became a regular sight.
Today was a good day to ride.
* * *
Night was falling, when the four time travelers wound their way
down the shattered stairway of the ruined office complex. The police
hadn't even bothered to show up, which was perhaps for the best. The
Knight Sabers would be a difficult anachronism to explain.
Sylia, Priss, and Nene had all removed their suits. The action
implied a high degree of trust in the Doctor, but the motive was somewhat
different. They needed to move undetected through the sprawling
megalopolis of 2022, and the suits would attract unwelcome attention.
The Doctor peered around the corner of the stairway nonchalantly.
The blast from their arrival had blown a hole in the outside wall at ground
level. Apparently, the scene was not very unusual, for there were no
gawkers poking about the ruins of the building. Several passerby were
strolling down the sidewalk across the street, but otherwise, their section
of town was close to deserted.
There was a darkened warehouse across the street. Perhaps it would
be a suitable hiding place for the Knight Sabers' suits, until after their
job was finished, thought the Doctor. There was no way to tell, without
investigating.
"Wait here," he whispered to the dark recesses of the stairway. "I
won't be long."
The Doctor waited until the street was clear, whistling cheerfully
into the night air, then strolled into the open. Once across, he made his
way nonchalantly around the corner, happening upon a locked door. With a
slight smile, he reached into a deep pocket to retrieve his sonic
screwdriver, and persuaded the door to yield.
The interior was nearly pitch black, although a few high windows
allowed a modicum of moonlight to filter into the room. Nearby were
several huge, wooden crates, stacked high into the darkness. He could make
out a row of pallets labeled "Police" in kanji.
He began making his way down one aisle, populated with wooden
crates of various sizes. Towards the end, there were a few opened crates,
filled with packing material. They were labeled, variously, AK-97, 44
Magnum, Model 28-N secretary. The last was large enough to hold the
suits, if only just.
Another ten minutes left the four of them walking down the
thoroughfare into the depths of Megatokyo. The three Sabers were shivering
slightly. Their bodysuits weren't meant to keep out the biting cold that
had settled over the city as the evening deepened.
The hardsuits were securely ensconced within the warehouse, buried
in a securely fastened crate amidst several others of equally questionable
worth. Only a telltale question mark scrawled on one side differentiated
it from the rest.
The Doctor withdrew his own homing device from another pocket -- a
short, stubby cylinder, with several tiny switches and a softly pulsating
beacon on one end. "TARDIS first," he mumbled to himself, carefully
pressing three switches in rapid succession. "Then Ace."
"Hmm?" said Nene.
"Er, you'll need something suitable to wear, I presume?"
"It would help," complained Priss, glaring at the sidewalk without
looking up.
"We can pop by my TARDIS and pick out something appropriate," he
replied, blithely ignoring her. "I keep a fairly extensive wardrobe --
never know when it's going to be useful."
"Hmph," muttered Priss. "Why do I get the feeling you've planned
everything so far, and we're just along for kicks?"
"Welll..." the Doctor stuttered, suddenly fumbling with the homing
device and looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Maybe I'm a little too used
to the routine. I've stumbled into the middle of something unfriendly,
muddled along until things got really dangerous, and then tried something
brilliant -- or lunatic." He smiled halfheartedly. "I'm familiar with
unfriendly and dangerous, I think. It's the brilliant part that gives me
the most trouble."
Priss rolled her eyes disgustedly. "I liked you better when you
knew what you were doing."
"Oh, but I do."
"Really?" she asked, obviously not believing him for a moment.
The Doctor scanned the road ahead of them, nodding towards a side
street. The Sabers reluctantly followed.
"Well, at least I've dealt with megalomania before. Largo seems to
have more of it than most."
"What else is new?" Priss grumbled.
"Brrr," Nene chattered, before the Doctor could reply. "How much
farther?"
"Not much," he said, peering at the homing device. The beacon was
pulsating visibly faster. "It's a few blocks from here," he pronounced
after another moment.
"Good," both of them sighed at once.
Sylia remained silent, still considering her decision to trust the
Doctor. Priss' question had been a valid one. She felt as though all of
them had been manipulated into doing as he asked. It was not a pleasant
feeling.
Even so, the Doctor had the right motives. In fact -- she smiled
slightly -- he reminded her of herself. She had been just as manipulative
when circumstances demanded it.
Nonetheless, She had the uncomfortable feeling that the Doctor had
known that, and had used it to his advantage.
The Doctor's TARDIS was not far, as he had said. Sylia took
careful note of his relieved expression when the dingy blue box came into
sight, resting comfortably in the alley next to a small jewelry shop.
Every little reassurance that he was more human than he claimed...
She sighed inwardly. She still couldn't bring herself to trust him
completely. She had not placed that level of trust in any human being,
since the death of her father.
"Well, Doctor," she murmured as they approached. "I believe you
have something in mind, for dealing with Largo?"
The Doctor smiled serenely, as he withdrew a delicate key and
reached for the TARDIS doors. "No, haven't the foggiest."
The three of them pinioned him with shocked stares.
"You _can't_ be serious," growled Priss. "What the fuck do we do,
slap him to death!?"
Sylia interrupted. "We should return in your machine for the
hardsuits immediately, Doctor."
He unlocked the TARDIS doors and beckoned them inside. "I'm afraid
it won't be that easy. The old girl has always had trouble on the short
hops. I'd be as likely to end up on Mars instead of the warehouse."
"Noo!" Nene wailed.
"Argh!!" Priss screamed in concert. "I could _kill_ you!"
It appeared that there was no relying on the Doctor, Sylia thought
grimly. She resigned herself, once again, never to trust another soul.