This is a major revision of the first five parts of Bubblegum Slipt. I've
been debating doing this for several months now -- more than a few people
have mentioned to me that the 10-12k chapters that I've been posting are
just too short. Not enough plot development.
With that in mind, the chapters (instead of parts, now) will be about
60-65k long apiece. I'm going to plan on six chapters altogether, but it
might be longer, depending on how much of the story I actually have. I
haven't really sat down to plan it all out in a great amount of detail --
not yet. At this point, all I have is a vague outline, and several
isolated scenes and ideas.
Expect the second chapter within another week to two weeks -- I've only a
major plot element change to slow me down. The third chapter will involve
a lot of new material and even more rewriting, encompassing the original
parts 10-14. It will likely take significantly longer.
Comments are welcome. Sincere thanks go to Job, aka Thomas Kinnen, for
his time and patience with this rewrite.
For those of you who have not given Bubblegum Slipt a try before, I
encourage you to do so, even if you have not seen Doctor Who -- or perhaps
have not seen Bubblegum Crisis. I'm endeavoring to put enough of the
original series -- both of them -- into the story, so that anyone can
understand what's going on, and enjoy it. Comments and criticism in this
regard would be invaluable to me.
Let the story begin...yet again.
----------
Damon Casale, damoo@jps.net
Spam, spam! WONDERFUL Spam!! ^_^
-------------- Enclosure number 1 ----------------
"The data unit was a tiny, insignificant bit of electronics. I
held it in my hands, the tears barely dry on my face after the news of his
death. Trembling, I went to the bedroom, to the viewer that daddy had left
there. In less than two minutes, my entire perspective was to change so
dramatically, that my life would never be the same. In that instant, as
the glow faded from the flickering viewscreen, I knew what I had to do."
-- Sylia Stingray, memoirs [of age 14]
Bubblegum Slipt: A Story of the Bubblegum Crisis
A Doctor Who Crossover story
By Damon Casale
damoo@jps.net
I: The Stranger
The tepid drizzle outside was ending, giving way to a fine mist
that filled the lungs and hindered breathing. The sky roiled with
clouds, threatening continued punishment at the slightest provocation.
Somewhere off in the distance, a car horn wailed, a lonely howl against
the unfriendly night.
Pandrel was wheezing softly. Curse the foul weather, he thought.
There would be no pickings tonight. The makeshift hut around him
shifted uneasily as the wind gusted and heaved momentarily. It would
hold, though. The timber was strong, and the aluminum panels themselves
were lashed together carefully. They were holed in the corners with an old
swiss army knife, then painstakingly smoothed and padded. Small bits of a
heavy, fibrous cord, which he'd scavenged from the refuse and detritus
piled high on this side of the canyon, held the panels in place.
The wind moaned again, a pained sound. Yes, most of the other
freejacks, as they called themselves, would be under cover, to say
nothing of the quiet, middle class plebes who took to the old town out
of a desire for excitement and adventure. They tended to huddle in
groups for protection, almost like an aristocratic herd of animals.
There were still enough willing to chance it singly or in pairs that he
could eke out his living, however.
Pandrel pushed a mold-eaten mattress across the hut's doorway,
partly to keep out the wind and partly to post an obvious "freeloaders
can eat shit and die" message to any wandering freejacks in the area.
There was a bundle of rags in one corner that served as his bed; he
collapsed into it, not bothering to undress. His own clothes were
nearly as much a part of him as his hair or fingers, and they served a
better measure of protection than his naked skin might.
For a while he stared into a high corner of the hut, where a small
crack in the aluminum siding let in a view of the sky outside. A few
sickly stars shone fitfully down through the smog-filled air. The steady
susurration of the wind outside, rising and falling in a complex pattern
just beyond his semiconscious ability to comprehend, slowly lulled him
toward dreamlessness.
He awoke with a start, glancing about quickly, warily. The wind
and rain had altogether stopped, and the night was quiet.
No, that wasn't right. The night was silent as death.
Something was wrong.
He rose silently, padding to the mattress to peek around it at
the world beyond. Nothing leaped forward and attacked him, biting and
scratching and tearing out his life. The panicky fear and dread that
had overcome him loosened its grip somewhat. Maybe a distant gunshot,
or car crash, or explosion. The crickets were already chirping again,
and a faint flapping sound overhead told of a bird seeking its roost
after whatever had disturbed the night.
The ground several meters away crackled softly. Pandrel tensed
again. Someone was walking towards the hut across the small, sharp
rubble he'd purposefully scattered outside. A hint of moonlight caught
a metallic form -- buma!, something inside him screamed. But it wasn't
a buma. Its head cocked away towards the earthquake-shredded pavement
beyond his hut and tilted slightly, as if listening. Then, the thing
walked languidly out of sight towards the old town.
He cursed himself silently even as he knew he must follow. It
couldn't have been what had awoken him. No, whatever it was, it was
more likely an observer of the mysterious event, if event it was. Half
a minute later, the mattress slipped noiselessly aside, and he padded
across the ground without so much as a sound. The rough but cushiony
foam he'd wrapped his feet in for protection from the elements, as well
as for stealth, kept him unnoticed and unheard.
All at once, he saw it. Glowing amber like a dying fire, a
column of *otherness* rose into the night, reaching for the black void
above. Here and again at its base, electricity crackled across its
width, giving the air a faintly acrid taste. Whatever unnatural and
hellish abomination this might be, there was only one answer for it.
There could be only one. Genom.
Standing on a small rise in front of him were four of the metal
creatures. One turned at his approach and regarded him with what he
felt must be a predatory look, and the black fear rose in him again. It
was only when it turned back again to gaze at the nightmare beyond that
he could relax. They, at least, were not from Genom, the most wretched
company imaginable.
Genom, the megalithic corporation that had revitalized Megatokyo
after the quake. Genom, the corporate giant that had dominated the economy
of the city, and to a lesser extent the globe. Genom, the den of iniquity
and corruption that had spawned countless evils, the most common of which
had been the buma. Sadly, it was not merely the biomechanical humanoids,
all too often perverted to murder and destruction, which haunted him now.
* * *
The crystal column in the center of the console rose and fell,
meshing with an identical column in the ceiling, with a satisfying
familiarity. The room about it was dotted with gothic-Victorian furniture
and high tech knicknacks. A fancy metal hatstand stood next to an oak-
paneled wall, accompanied by a large handbag and an umbrella.
The console, blending elements of the quaint and the ultra-modern,
bleeped and booped happily, humming to itself. The machine was in good
spirits, inasmuch as was possible with only rudimentary emotive empathic
programming.
Outside the room, outside the machine, a whirling tumbling
nothingness darted by, impossibly fast. If one had eyes to see it and a
place to stand, one might have made out a faint bluish afterglow from
the passage of the machine. It was oddly shaped, a tall blue box with a
bobby light on top. Both within the room where the console stood and
immediately outside, a groaning, wheezing sound echoed, vaguely similar
to the sound a train might make as it pulls into the station.
From beyond an arched doorway came the sound of a man's voice.
It was difficult to make out the words, on the whole, because of the
wheezing sound. But the woman's, or more appropriately the girl's, voice
that followed was unmistakable.
"Professor! That's not being very fair, how come I don't get a
say in it?" the girl's voice said. It had the cockney accent one might
find on the streets of middle-class London, without sounding middle-
class.
Immediately, it was answered, and this time the man's voice was
loud enough to be understood. "Because it's a surprise, Ace. Don't you
like surprises? It's a vacation planet, and lord knows we need one
after the business with the Cybermen."
As if the business of being in an enormously complicated and
intricate machine, traveling through nothingness with reckless abandon,
and carrying two very human sounding passengers who obviously thought
little of the sheer unbelievability of their situation -- as if it all
were not nearly enough, the appearance of the passengers themselves was
even less reassuring.
The smallish man wore a tan hat and colorful sweater, with a shirt
collar embroidered with a pair of question marks poking from underneath it.
His hands were gesturing in wide arcs, as if hugging to himself all that
surrounded him in the slightly gothic chamber containing the console,
claiming it as his own. Which, in fact, it was. His face was warm and
friendly, with a long nose sticking out beneath two deep brown eyes. He
was wearing a clownish smile, as if everything during his entire life had
been happy and gay, and he hadn't a care in the world. Nothing could, of
course, be further from the truth.
The girl was pert, walking quickly, very sure of herself. A
short ponytail and a cheeky smile she wore, both with confidence and a
bit of flippancy. The backpack completed the college girl look, but
something about her manner gave air to her never having been in a
college of any sort, but more of a high mannered street urchin life.
"And I'm glad it's over. If I never see another robot with a gun and a
mind to use it for the rest of my life, it'll be too soon." She
giggled, and the man realized she was pulling his leg.
"Ace," said the Doctor, for that was what he called himself,
"where we're going, they serve the drinks with a spoon, and the pastries
they bake are lighter than--"
The console interrupted him, squealing in alarm. An ominous,
echoing *klong* vibrated throughout the whole of the machine. The
Doctor dashed forward and began poking and prodding at several things on
the console all at once. What he did or how long he did it or how often
the dire-sounding *klong* echoed yet again was impossible to say. The girl
kept silent, and the seconds, then minutes, dragged on.
"It's no good," he muttered finally, drawing back. "Something's
ruptured the space-time continuum, and she won't respond. We'll have to
materialize soon, or we never will at all."
"Well, where and when are we?" Ace asked.
"Still near enough to Earth, although a bit farther along," he
replied, without taking issue at the outlandish question. "Hold on to
something, this won't be very gen--" The entire room bucked, and he was
thrown against a wall. "--tle..."
The old city was quiet again. The column had disappeared from
sight, slowly vanishing in a whirl of electric reds and blues. Whether or
not it had ceased to exist, however, was not entirely certain.
There was a shimmering in the air, a faint bluish light. The
same wheezing, groaning sound grew louder and louder, frightening the
night creatures into silence once more. Then, the sound wavered and died
away into the silence of the night. Where the shimmering had appeared,
the blue box now rested, slightly askew on the broken pavement that once
had been a superhighway crossing the canyon, before some great earthquake
had torn the land apart.
Pandrel was very unhappy at being awakened a second time, and he
peered out from around the corner of his hut in tense annoyance. The
sight of the two strangers emerging in a cloud of smoke from the blue
box, cursing and sputtering, was enough to turn his spirits, though. He
crouched low, and listened as they came nearer.
"This place really gives me the creeps. Are you sure it's Earth?"
came the girl's voice. Pandrel nearly coughed in shock at the statement.
Is he sure it's Earth??!? he wondered. What the hell? Who?
"Of course I'm sure," said the man. "It's not very hard to tell
you know, not when you've been around. That canyon there? There were two
major earthquakes that formed that, one in the late 2020's. We're in
Japan, fairly close to Tokyo, proper." The voice smiled. "And if the
fellow behind that hut decides to spring out and rob us of our pennies,
you'll see he's quite human, too."
Pandrel started guiltily, stepping away from the hut and eyeing the
strangers.
"Hello." The man waved cheerfully. "I'm the Doctor, and this is
Ace. Lovely night, isn't it?"
Pandrel would have none of it. He skulked back into his hut and
pushed the mattress into place. Whoever they might be, they spoke
Japanese well enough. But the night had been full of too many odd things
to make any course of action other than shutting all of it out safe enough.
"That's it, then," the Doctor sighed. "Let's get going. We
should be in Tokyo by morning."
Ace simply gaped. "You're kidding, right?"
"Of course not," he said. "The TARDIS isn't going anywhere in
the shape it's in, and we'd best not hang about here. Let's go see the
town, shall we?"
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. After reaching the
canyon itself, they slowly hiked across, along the only major thoroughfare
which had been cobbled together to bridge it, since the last great Kanto
quake of 2025. From there, the two of them entered the dangerous side of
Tokyo. Though the entire city was a morass of civil and social unrest to
begin with, the area they had entered 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.
It was the worst time of the day as well, 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 swerved left down a side street ahead of them, kicking
up a rain of debris which pelted the nearby shops.
A huge, crudely shaven brute, wearing an earring which sported a
skeletal, but clearly human finger, swept up in front of a bar across the
street. His motorbike was a hulking monster, with the moniker "Cranks"
neoned onto the gas tank. There it sat, trembling and idling at a dull
roar, its power restrained for the moment.
The gangster jumped off of his bike and effortlessly shoved his way
inside the bar. The unfortunate bouncer at the door took a meaty fist to
the sternum and flew headfirst 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 redhead in question was leaning against a
wall in a meticulously neat storage room, with an innocent and disarming
gaze that seemed at odds with the very serious expression she wore.
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 bespoke
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, the fourth, 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, effecting a slight, graceful nod in return. "That
concludes our business today. Don't forget the training session this
evening, after the concert. Good luck, Priss."
Priss grinned impishly. "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.
"News segment detected," it said. "Video logging activated." 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. She was holding a tube
microphone with practiced ease.
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 LOG 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 LOG 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 with
grease-laden trays for the poorer customers, and delicate sweetmeats for
the one or two true middle class citizens, 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 -- a Nox IV drip.
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, leaving half an ear for 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," he was saying. "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, and 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, the ominously huge,
fibrous musculature of their frames rippling with inhuman strength and
balance, though the faces were anything but human. 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 we--" 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 very 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. He finally decided that life was worth more than
motorcycle, and dodged barely in time to avoid an unpleasant demise.
Insults and imprecations followed in the van's wake, as the earringed Crank
kicked at his bike's crushed remains.
Priss drove past, ignoring him, intent on the van ahead as it
pulled 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 Priss' concert would take place on schedule. The boomer was in
pieces, scattered all over the room, covered in reddish-orange
lubricating goo. Its 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.
Moments later...
The cell phone rang, and Sylia snatched it up immediately, turning
with practiced ease away from the store's clientele so that she could hold
a private conversation, in public. "This is the Silky Doll," she murmured
questioningly. She had a nervous feeling already.
"Sylia," said the voice, "we got another sighting of those
boomers!"
"Yes, and will there be anything else?" she replied calmly, her
hands pressed hard against the phone.
"They kidnapped the guy, but the girl he was with is on her way to
AD Po--"
"Please inform our mutual friend, then, and inform her that her two
escorts will be waiting." Sylia interrupted. "Thank you for your
business." Then she hung up.
"Damn," Sylia thought, as she smiled icily at the next customer to
approach the counter. "Damn them all to hell."
She made a mental note to contact Fargo, their "inside man", at the
earliest opportunity. She needed more information about these new boomers.
She doubted that he would know anything about the new arrivals, but she
could do no better than ask.
Nene was sitting at her desk, battling the flow of efficiency
reports that threatened to topple and spill out of her inbox. Just a
few days prior, the chief had passed on to her department some
unpleasant news: AD Police was being audited before its budget would be
approved for the next quarter. Efficiency and cost effectiveness were the
name of the game, to the lofty corporate and government functionaries whose
job it was to make life difficult for the officers. "If they really wanted
us to get it together," she thought to herself, "they wouldn't tag us with
all of these stupid reports!"
Nene's mind wandered. The ghostly image of that crackling pillar
of energy had unnerved her, and the thought that Genom might have been
testing another new superweapon frightened her even more. But it didn't
make sense that these two would have had any connection to it at all.
Genom knew better than to let its operatives be traced so easily.
The data search had been fairly simple to initiate, though. She
couldn't risk anyone finding her code, so she'd kept the Mellifera sniffer
on a floppy. That morning, she'd fed the code into the main databanks,
releasing a hundred or so copies of the data sniffer, each carrying the
images of the two strangers that they'd filched from an orbital satellite.
Only one of them had returned, having traced a pathway back to the
satellite's systems.
The search had been thus far fruitless. So who were these
mysterious people, who appeared out of nowhere, to vanish into Ota
district?
Her phone rang twice, signaling an outside call. She finished
penciling in one last set of figures, letting it ring for a few seconds,
then grabbed it distractedly and muttered, "AD police, Romanova speaking."
The lead in her pencil snapped, at the sound of the husky
whispering on the other end of the line.
"Nene, a couple of boomers attacked Hot Legs and grabbed the guy we
were following. The girl is on her way to you for questioning now. Signal
Linna when you're done, she and Sylia will be waiting outside in their
suits."
"P-Priss...?" She stuttered breathlessly, caught off guard by the
call. She looked around and made sure no one was listening. "I don't
know if I--"
"Handle it, girl!" Priss shouted hotly, and hung up.
Nene gulped a breath of air, and steadied herself. The chief
probably wouldn't even let her *near* the girl, let alone question her,
with this mountain of reports waiting on her desk. She'd have to
improvise something, and fast.
With that, she was on her feet and marching towards his desk,
the vague beginnings of a plan forming in her mind. Better to think on
her feet, she thought grimly. The hard decisions were best made with
little time for deliberation. And it usually worked. Nene could only
hope it didn't blow up in her face this time.
She waited in front of Todo's cluttered desk as he finished
chewing out what could only have been Leon over the phone.
"Dammit, don't give me that crap! I don't wanna hear 'I lost it'!
Find that boomer! We can't have these crazy things abducting people left
and right!" Without giving the officer on the other end of the line any
time to respond, he slammed the phone back onto the receiver. The whole
thing clattered off of the desk and onto the floor.
He started to reach down to pick it up, then noticed her
standing there. "Well? What's the matter now? Don't waste my time, Nene,
spit it out!" He practically snarled.
Nene fought down her nervousness, and began. "Chief, I'd like to
talk to the officers who followed up on the rogue boomers this morning,
when they get back. I want to make a few notes for the audit."
Todo glared at her, but nodded. "Wait until after they get a
statement from the civillian they're bringing in from the scene."
"But sir, wouldn't that be approp--"
She stopped short in mid-sentence when he hammered his fist on his
desk. She'd blown it, she thought. Now what could she do?
But all he said was, "FINE! Do whatever you want. But I don't
want to hear a word about those blasted reports again, do you hear?"
She nodded quickly. Somehow, she'd managed it, with a little quick
thinking and a lot of luck.
Leon and Daley weren't long in returning, with the girl in tow,
who wasn't at all happy.
"Come on!" she shouted. "Aren't you going to *do* something
about the Doctor?"
The two officers couldn't manage to get more than a "Calm down,
miss" or a "We're doing everything we can" in between her rantings.
Nene smiled. Things might just have gotten a little easier. She
put on her best swagger, and followed them into the office they'd beelined
for. "Now, now, are you two bullying the innocent again?" She grinned.
Leon rolled his eyes. "Hardly, but we're getting nowhere, really."
Leon himself was a hunk, with slicked brown hair and a disarming
smile which, more often than not, utterly failed to win him any points with
women. It didn't keep him from trying, of course. Daley, on the other
hand, was an effeminate, freckled redhead. Together, they were exactly the
wrong types to be questioning an obviously scared but very assertive street
urchin.
Nene decided to gamble on that. "Why don't you let me handle
this? Go on, before the chief chains me to my desk with those efficiency
reports." She gave them a sly wink.
Leon laughed. "Fine, you do that. Let me know if anything
turns up, and I'll treat you to dinner." Nene harrumphed, and stuck up
her chin, but gave him another flirtatious smile for good measure. "Maybe.
I'll think about it."
Daley giggled at that. "Come on, I'll treat *you* to dinner,"
he said, and put an arm around Leon suggestively, leading him out of the
office.
When they were alone again, Nene sat and faced the girl, who was
eyeing her suspiciously. "Nice act," the girl said. Nene blinked in
surprise, but said nothing. "What's this all about, then?"
"Just a few questions, that's all," Nene replied without missing
a beat. "Who's this doctor you mentioned?"
"Curly brown hair, blue eyes, acts like a clown, but smart as
roses. Can I get some tea, if you don't mind?"
The sudden request caught Nene somewhat by surprise. "Er, tea?
Sure, I think we have some..."
She rummaged around a filing cabinet, producing a small box of
teabags, then washed out a dusty mug sitting next to the sink in one
corner of the small office/lounge. She filled the mug from a hot water
dispenser and offered it to the girl, with a teabag. "I'm sorry, I hope
Darjeeling is okay, and I don't think we have any sugar."
The girl grimaced, but gracefully accepted the proffered cup,
letting the tea steep for a minute before taking a cautious sip.
"I'm sorry," Nene repeated, "I never asked you your name."
"Ace," the girl replied.
"Um, if you don't mind my asking, where are you from? I can't
place your accent."
"Perivale," Ace replied matter-of-factly.
Nene gave her a blank look. "That's..."
"England," Ace finished for her.
"You speak Japanese very well, then," Nene murmured, but Ace
shook her head. "Not at all. Here." And she reached up to her ear and
removed a small spider-like device, with a stubby tube pointing inward
where the abdomen would be.
"Now can you understand me?" Ace said. When Nene gave her a blank
look without replying, she took back the translator and replaced it. "I
said, now can you understand me?"
Nene nodded. "Even Genom has nothing like that. They're still
years away from developing such a flawless translator. And so small!"
"The Doctor gave it to me," Ace said simply, sipping her tea.
"Your Doctor is an interesting fellow," Nene replied as smoothly
as she could manage. Inwardly, she was churning with questions. Before
she could voice any, however, Ace spoke again.
"That fancy robot popped 'im one and carried 'im off, though. I
don't suppose you know where it went?"
Nene sighed. "I wish I could help you, but at most we'd only
have a few eyewitness reports to go on. It would take weeks just to
track the eyewitnesses down, and by then the boomer could have taken
your Doctor anywhere. I'm sorry," she repeated.
Ace was silent for a long moment, trying to keep her
disappointment from showing. "Well..." she murmured, "if you do hear
anything..."
Nene nodded quickly. "I'll be sure and let you know. Where are
you staying?"
But Ace gave her a nervous smile. "Er, nowhere actually. I only
just got here."
Only just...? Nene thought to herself in amazement. From *that*
side of town?? Impossible! But looking at her, blithely finishing the
last of her tea, she could see Ace was sincere. "Hm. I probably shouldn't
speak for her, but I do have a friend who might have a spare room, if you'd
be interested," she lied.
Ace smiled hesitantly. "Thanks. You know, I don't think I ever
got *your* name."
"Nene," she replied. "I'm sorry, my mind's been wandering."
"Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" Ace said.
Nene laughed nervously. "Not at all, not at all!" Don't ask
questions, Ace! she thought with a tinge of annoyance.
Ace thought about it for a long, nerve-wracking moment. "Ummm...I
guess it would be okay," she finally replied.
"Good!" Nene said, a little too quickly.
An "I ain't seen or heard nothin'" written statement later, Nene
stood up, and Ace did likewise.
"Well, that's it," said Nene. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll give
you the address. You can take a taxi there." She handed Ace a rumpled
bill. "Here's a 5000 yen note, until you're settled in."
Nene made a show of checking her watch, pressing a concealed stud
on one side. A tiny red light flickered on. "It's nearly 1600, so Linna
should be home by now. I'll call ahead to let her know you're on your way,
okay?" She took a small scrap of paper from her desk and scribbled down an
address -- for the city park: 1060 West Addison.
Ace nodded, half-smiled again, and left the office.
Nene allowed herself a small, triumphant smile of her own.
Linna was, prompt as ever, waiting outside the giant skyscraper
that was the AD police headquarters, in her hardsuit. Nene's signal had
come only a minute before, and the girl would be down before long.
Sylia and Priss stood at the ready across the street, and Mackie was in
the van around the corner, ready to move as soon as the girl appeared.
Linna was watching the building, and Mackie was eyeing Linna and
Sylia. Priss was the first to spot the disturbance, far down the
crowded avenue. The pedestrians were huddling together strangely, away
from one clear spot which was slowly drifting closer. The cars were
beginning to slow and pile up, making the same show of avoidance.
Sylia was in another world entirely.
Fargo had been reluctant to set up a meeting on such short notice.
That is, until she mentioned Ciolino's -- a fancy Italian restaurant
downtown. For several years, he had been the chief informant for the
Knight Sabers. For reasons of his own, he'd been the contact man for a
good many of their contracts, and a reliable source of information, when he
could be persuaded to volunteer it. Fargo wasn't above a show of romance,
during their meetings, which Sylia might rarely accommodate, though with no
small amount of disdain.
And there were questions that needed answering. Why the sudden,
ominous appearance of the pillar of energy, and what connection, if any,
did it have with Genom? Who were the two strangers who had suddenly and
just as mysteriously appeared in its wake?
Priss gestured to her. "Take a look, down there. What do you
think it could be?"
Sylia pulled herself out of her reverie. She had been
daydreaming again. In her mind's eye, Fargo had grown older, sprouting
a full head of gray, and a large, distinguished moustache. His voice
had deepened, as it called to her. "Sylia...where are you? Help me!"
"Where am I, indeed?" She thought grimly, chiding herself for
allowing such a childish distraction, and looked to where Priss was
pointing. Just as quickly, she noted how some of the people weren't able
to move away from the clear spot quickly enough, because of the press of
the crowd. But the clear spot grew no smaller, as they were shoved
forcibly out of the way.
"It's another boomer," Sylia whispered softly into her comlink,
but loud enough for Priss and the others to hear.
Then, from the door, the girl blithely walked out and onto the
steps.
The first thing Ace noticed was the metallic creature near the
doors of the AD police skyscraper, that she'd just come through. The
second thing she noticed was where it was looking: another robot was
slowly marching down the street in her direction.
"Not again!" She muttered in annoyance. The creature turned at
her voice.
"If you want to save your friend, come with us, now!" It said.
"Who's us?" Ace replied suspiciously. But the robot--or boomer,
as Nene had called it--broke into a dead run, leaving her little time for
deliberation.
Ace had two choices: wait for the AD Police to muddle through, and
hope that the Doctor would turn up eventually, or...
Or not. She followed the creature into the back of a low, wide van
parked around the corner. "Stay here," it hissed, and dashed outside
again, closing the rear hatch behind it. The form and voice were vaguely
feminine, but Ace couldn't be sure. It might have been a very
sophisticated robot in its own right, for all she knew.
She turned and looked around at the cramped room she found herself
in. To her left were two huge banks of controls and computerized
equipment, blinking and beeping in a semi-regular fashion. A small chair
and table took up most of the rest of the space, leaving an area near the
back doors just large enough to maneuver in.
"Hey, back there in the van!" said a tinny, boyish voice, issuing
from a hidden speaker. "The boomer's giving S--uh, the Knight Sabers a bit
of trouble. Find something to hang on to, okay?"
Ace asked, "Who are you?"
"It's Mackie," said the voice. "Hold on..."
She tossed her nearly forgotten backpack under the table, and sat
down, noting that the chair had been bolted through the rug to the floor of
the van itself. Luckily, the police hadn't decided that it was important
enough to search, or they might have found a small stash of nitro nine
explosive she kept handy, for emergencies. Like this one.
She frowned for a moment, wondering why she hadn't even been asked
how the second boomer had been blown apart, or even about anything that had
happened at the restaurant. The girl, Nene, had only been interested in
the Doctor. How very odd, she thought.
The van started moving. A few moments later, she heard an
explosion behind them, and grimaced. Wasn't anyplace safe in this filthy,
smog ridden megalopolis?
The boomer hadn't wasted any time, opening its built-in jet packs
and jumping into the air, to follow the retreating van. It totally ignored
the Knight Sabers as it barreled past them.
Linna was the first to react, flipping onto the boomer's back as
it flew by and kicking firmly downward. That sent it crashing onto the
pavement amidst the terrified masses, who quickly backed away from the
fight. Instantly, the boomer was on its feet again, launching several
missiles after her. She backflipped and dodged, making use of her
practiced aerobic skills, but to no avail. The missiles followed her every
move, and slammed into her one after the other, sending her flying through
the glass doors leading into the AD police headquarters.
Priss and Sylia swept in simultaneously, sending missiles of their
own to hammer at the boomer's torso and head. Totally ignoring the
onslaught, it casually opened its mouth and fired an intense, red particle
beam after the two of them, sweeping across the street. Barely missing
Priss, it sliced through Sylia's arm, cutting cleanly through hardsuit,
flesh, and bone.
Sylia screamed. The arm clattered lifelessly to the ground. The
boomer growled menacingly, and turned again, roaring off after the departed
van.
The battle had lasted for less than a minute, and the Knight Sabers
had been defeated.
"Sylia!!" Priss shouted over the comlink. Linna, dazed, followed
Priss to her side, as Sylia clutched at the useless stump. The seared
flesh suddenly exploded in a spray of blood, giving way to the pressure
building up inside it. Linna tried in vain to stem the flow of blood as it
rhythmically pumped out, flowing freely onto the dry, cracked pavement.
"G-go..." Sylia whispered hoarsely, through clenched teeth. "Stop it...you
must...st..."
"Sylia!? SYLIA!!" Linna sobbed, hugging the stricken Knight Saber
tightly.
Priss stood. "Linna, stay with her," she breathed softly. "I'll
be back after I've blown it to kingdom come. Count on it."
And she was gone.
"Hang on," Linna whispered to herself, tears rolling down her
cheeks. "Please Sylia, you've got to hang on..." Still clinging to
Sylia's still form, she waited desperately for an answer that might never
come.
Priss' mind worked furiously. The boomer was obviously an
advanced prototype, similar in form only to the standard class B combat
boomers they had easily trashed in months and years gone by. Genom, the
sleeping giant, had arisen again, in a form more deadly than ever.
She shuddered at the thought that Sylia might have to leave the
Knight Sabers on account of her lost limb, or worse, might not survive at
all. Aside from the suits themselves, the van was their only means of
transportation through the streets of MegaTokyo, not counting the
motoroids. She cursed herself for not having taken hers out of the van
when she'd had the opportunity. No matter how simple, how easy things
looked, they should always be on guard for the unexpected.
If Sylia survived, they would need another vehicle, for just such
emergencies.
Rounding a corner at nearly seventy kilometers an hour, leaving
small, crumpled footprints in the pavement, she finally saw the boomer
closing in on the van just ahead. Seconds later, it grabbed onto the
rear of the van and began slowly forcing the doors apart.
Priss flinched. There were too many innocent people, and more
than a few cars, between her and the van. She would never get to it in
time to save the girl.
The van slammed on its brakes, plastering the boomer to the back
of the van and delaying its attack for a few precious seconds more. It
barely swerved in time to avoid an AD Police cruiser, which hastily pulled
out of the way, horn blaring. The gap between them was closing, as she
tore down the street at a dead run.
Half a kilometer.
The van very quickly turned and backed into a nearby building,
crushing the boomer into the concrete walls. The officer in the cruiser
stared for a second, snatched at his radio, and hurriedly drove onward.
Six hundred meters.
The boomer, incredibly, pushed the entire three ton weight of
the van forwards, releasing itself, and began clawing at the rear doors
again.
Three hundred meters.
And suddenly, an explosion ripped from the back of the van,
directly into the boomer's face. Priss skidded and fell in shocked
amazement, sliding down the street several more meters, coming to rest half
a block away from the van.
Within moments, the explosion had dissipated, leaving the burning
remains of the boomer, minus its head, still locked in an unbreakable grip
on the rear doors.
"Mackie!" She yelled over the roaring of the fire, into her
comlink. "Are you okay? Is the girl--"
"I'm fine," Mackie answered breathlessly. "But I don't know about
the girl."
Priss waited the interminably long minutes while the fire burned
itself out, and then spent ten more minutes hacking away at the boomer's
arms before the torso finally gave way and fell, allowing them entry
into the van's interior.
The girl was huddled against the far wall, unconscious, hugging
her backpack to herself. A shattered table leg rested on the floor next
to what was left of the doors.
At Priss' touch, she moaned faintly. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Ow, my head," she groaned as she clutched at a large bruise, starting
to show beneath her brown hair.
She slowly and shakily clambered to her feet, and looked at the
still smoldering remains outside. "It worked. I don't believe it..."
"What did you do?" Priss asked.
She smiled weakly. "Fed him a faceful of nitro nine plastic
explosive, on a stick."
Elsewhere in MegaTokyo, at a fancy Italian restaurant...
Fargo glanced at his watch for at least the tenth time that
afternoon. The restaurant was bare, save for two elderly couples in a far
corner. Sitting in a private booth with his back to the wall, he could
keep a watchful eye on the front door without being easily spotted. No one
had entered or left within the past half hour.
He'd been stood up, he thought to himself despondently, but
immediately dismissed the thought. Not him! Sylia wouldn't do that to
him -- wouldn't strain their relationship like that. She'd been cool so
far, but she couldn't resist his charms for long.
He raised his hand, and a waiter walked lazily over to his table.
"Yes, sir?"
"Lasagna, and two glasses of last year's SSV Merlot."
The waiter smiled slightly. "You're expecting someone?"
Fargo frowned, and didn't reply.
The waiter shrugged, nodded, and ambled off into the kitchen.
He *had* been stood up, be thought to himself despondently.
* * *
Priss emerged from the hastily cobbled emergency room, feeling
utterly exhausted. It was no small miracle that Sylia had pulled
through her accident, though it had taken a massive blood transfusion to
stabilize her. The all but stolen medical equipment would hold her
together long enough to attempt to reattach her arm. It had been frozen
almost as soon as they had returned to Raven's garage.
The small complex was located in the heart of Tinsel City, within
the Fault itself. On the surface, it was just a small garage and auto
repair shop that a crochety Dr. Thomas Raven ran, but beneath the quiet,
unassuming exterior lay their emergency headquarters. It had been chosen
not least for its location, but also for the mechanical services it could
provide. As a front for their operation, it wouldn't seem unusual to have
necessary parts ordered periodically. For instance, a new rear bumper and
doors for the van.
But, it was ill equipped to serve as a makeshift hospital, and they
were risking Sylia's severed arm by keeping her here. Unfortunately, they
had no choice. Too many bystanders had seen her cut down on the street the
day before. Somehow, somewhere, they would have to find a doctor to handle
the coming operation.
Priss walked down the silent corridor, fuming inwardly. She could
do nothing for her friend, and there was no enemy to strike out at, to seek
revenge on. The disaster had come upon them suddenly, and they were
woefully unprepared to handle it. That had to change, if they were to
continue their unending battle against the evil that was Genom.
Worse, Sylia was the one who planned their missions, and who kept
them prepared and ready to do battle effectively. She had been cut down
when she was needed most.
The girl, Ace, was even more of a mystery. She had suddenly shown
up after the appearance of the mysterious column of energy. One boomer had
been destroyed, apparently, by plastic explosive in a heated battle that
had devastated the Hot Legs. The other had seized her companion and taken
him back to Genom, as far as they could discover. A third, or possibly the
second again, had come back to retrieve Ace, and had almost instinctively
known where she was, without ever seeing her.
The girl was resting, probably not easily, in a guest room in the
south wing of the complex. They would question her that evening,
ostensibly to discover why the boomers were so eager to capture her that
they ignored the Knight Sabers themselves.
From what little she knew, however, it seemed that the greatest
enigma was the friend she called the Doctor.
* * *
The Doctor awoke to find himself lying in a luxuriously cushioned
four poster bed. The bedroom he found himself in was empty of all living
presence, save for himself. That left the menacing robot, keeping a pair
of watchful red lenses that served as eyes, trained on him, unmentioned.
The Doctor sat up, finding himself still dressed, except for his shoes,
which were sitting beside the bed.
Light poured in through a window to one side, illuminating a
darkened doorway to what he assumed was a washroom. Standing, he walked
slowly to the window, to watch the glowering, ruddy ball of light descend
through several layers of smog, as it dropped toward the horizon.
There was a quiet knock on the door.
"Do come in and enjoy the sunset," he murmured aloud.
The door behind him opened, and a few, measured footsteps thudded
dully against the plush, red carpet, to halt at his side.
The Doctor turned to smile at the diminutive human standing next
to him. His brow was high and his hair nearly white, giving him a regal
appearance, despite his size. He wore a simple, brown suit, and a tiny,
multifaceted smile.
The man extended a hand. "I'm very sorry we had to meet this way,
my dear Doctor."
The Doctor shook it firmly. "Oh, not at all. I must say your
escort was very insistent, although I don't doubt I would have come calling
eventually. Genom, I presume?"
"Correct." His smile widened slightly. "Doctor, we have much to
discuss. Perhaps if we could talk in a more accommodating setting...?"
"Why not?" replied the Doctor. Stepping into his shoes, and taking
his umbrella and hat, flipping it onto his head with a flourish, he
gestured at the door. "If you will lead, I shall follow, "he baritoned
comically. "I can always tell a master salesman at work, you know. Show
off the product even before the client realizes he's interested, that it?
I'm utterly fascinated, I tell you..."
As the pair walked out through the bedroom door, the boomer
silently turned to follow them.
Below a ramshackle garage, a dreamer dreamt. She was in the dream,
a part of it. A part of a failed dream that would never come to pass.
She listened to the illusory world around her. The voices in the
dream were faint and distant, but audible.
"Hello, Uizu Laboratory," said a younger man's voice.
"Good evening," replied a young girl.
"Oh, good evening," the man greeted the girl. "Chief? It's your
daughter," he said to someone else, hovering in the background.
"Hello? Is that you, daddy?" said the girl again.
Another man's voice answered, deep and resonant. "What's the
matter, Sylia? It's the middle of the night. Why are you still up?"
"It's been a whole week, daddy. When are you coming home? I'm
all right, but Mackie's feeling lonely."
The lie. The first, and the only lie to her father. Lying still
in the darkness, without voice, without sight, Sylia wept.
The voices continued unmercifully. "Ah, I understand, Sylia.
You know I'm doing some very important research right now, don't you?"
"Yes," the girl who was not herself said.
"Be patient just a little longer," Katsuhito answered gently, his
voice filled with warmth.
The voices faded away. "Just a little longer," Sylia whispered
to herself. "Daddy, why didn't you come back for me? Where are you?
Where are you?"
Sylia moaned restlessly in her sleep, fighting the makeshift
support system that Linna and Dr. Raven had hastily cobbled together.
Linna, standing over her, pushed her back down gently, cooing, "Rest,
Sylia. Rest. Don't wake up until you're ready."
For a long moment, she gazed sadly at Sylia's ruined stump of an
arm, now encased in a semitransparent tube containing a thick, greenish
regen solution. The stuff was only available for the badly wounded in the
richer, more advanced hospitals in MegaTokyo. And on the black market, of
course. For a price. Sylia had paid that price dearly, in many more ways
than one.
She looked across the room. Tom Raven was standing in the doorway,
watching her expectantly.
He and Linna left the guest suite turned emergency ward. "You're
being too hard on yourself, Linna," he said.
"What are you talking about? I know I couldn't have stopped that
thing," she murmured back.
He nodded. "But you're not eating, not sleeping, not working.
You've been in that room almost since she got there herself."
They continued walking up the south corridor in silence. As they
passed another closed door, Linna gave it a quick, fearful glance, then
looked away again, lengthening her stride.
"You'll have to face her soon. And it's not her fault, Linna."
"Of COURSE it's not Ace's fault!" she exploded vehemently. "But
that boomer would never--" She stopped.
Tom regarded her calmly, unflinchingly.
She looked away, shamed and embarrassed. "You're right," she
whispered softly.
* * *
The Doctor stood on a high balcony overlooking the Kawasaki
district of MegaTokyo. A stiff breeze brought the faint morning sounds of
hurried commuting from below, mixed with the bitter odor of the ever
present smog. The sun, slowly creeping upwards behind him, threw an angry
reddish orange sheen onto the murky layer of clouds hanging above the city.
"Beautiful, isn't it, Doctor?" said the Chairman, standing beside
him, gazing without blinking at the smog-muted sunrise.
The Doctor smiled politely. "Yes, isn't it? And the height and
vertigo makes it worth so much more, a feeling of leadership, a sense
of--"
"Power," the Chairman finished for him.
"Of course," said the Doctor.
The Doctor silently regarded the mysterious Chairman. The
Chairman had known of him, through some miracle or other of technology, to
be sure. Just how much he knew, the Doctor was uncertain, but he could
easily sense the confidence, and--yes--the power, exuding from him. Here
was a figure who knew no friends, only minions and subordinates. The
Chairman was toying with him, that much was beyond doubt. But to what end?
"Come Doctor," the Chairman murmured suddenly. "Tell me about
yourself. And if you wanted something of Genom, do ask."
"Oh, I'm just a dabbler," he replied disarmingly. "Science is
something of a hobby of mine. I do have a little collection of odd
trinkets, but really, you must have a more interesting story."
The Chairman shook his head with a faint, calculated smile. "Not
at all. I helped to shape Genom, and the company has generously rewarded
me for my service." He paused, and his smile widened imperceptibly. "So.
What can *we* do for you?"
The Doctor decided to proffer a juicy bit of bait and lure.
"Nothing, really. Only, do you by any chance manufacture atomic clocks?
I have this fascination with time, you see, and I can't bear inaccuracy..."
"Time?" the Chairman said to no one in particular. "How unusual.
Yes, we do have a small division which manufactures precision scientific
equipment, including atomic clocks, but you surprise me, Doctor. I would
have thought your interests would be less frivolous."
"I assure you, I have nothing but time to occupy me," said the
Doctor.
The Chairman nodded. "That being the case, I can have one
manufactured for you within a couple of months. I'm sorry, but we're a bit
understaffed in that division, so the order can't be processed
immediately."
The Doctor smiled again. "Wonderful!"
"My pleasure," whispered the Chairman, again to no one in
particular.
The Chairman allowed a senior executive to escort the Doctor from
the building, while he returned to his private laboratory, in
contemplation of the recent conversation. The Doctor had discovered what
his failed experiment had created, the energy column's distinctive EMF
signature was easily detectable on him. The tracking system he had
activated had determined as much.
But what did the Doctor want? Not power. No, not that. He was
hiding something, and hiding it well. Nonetheless, Largo despised
secrets. They were the bane of his existence, and had nearly cost him his
life, once. That would never happen again. His research, if successful,
would guarantee it.
* * *
Nene slowly walked out of the elevator, down a featureless
corridor, and into the small complex of offices that served as the
Information Systems division of the AD Police. Mechanically, she walked
over to her desk, bare even of a personal touch now, and sat down, staring
listlessly at the still large pile of efficiency reports.
Sylia's incapacitation had hit them all hard. They had always
looked to her to provide them with direction and purpose. Now that she
was gone, their future was uncertain. They were a unified whole, a team,
only because of her. Priss' sometimes irrational, angry outbursts,
Linna's frivolous relationships which might yet endanger their safety and
security, and her naivete--she admitted it--all balanced out and gelled
together through Sylia's leadership.
Who would lead them now? Did they dare continue on without her?
The day dragged on, as she plodded through one report after
another. Response time based on time of day and location. Average
property damage per incident. Usage of office supplies, correlated to
frequency of incidents. And on. And on.
She nearly jumped out of her chair when Naoko tapped her on the
shoulder. "Hey, you alright? You look like yesterday's news. What's
wrong?"
Naoko was a fellow paper pusher who had a cubicle exactly like
hers on the floor above. She and Nene were rivals of a sort, although
Nene always lost. No one ever took Nene seriously enough for a
relationship. She just didn't have the face for it. Naoko did.
Nene smiled blandly. "Um, nothing. It's just one of those days,
you know?" She laughed halfheartedly.
Naoko eyed her for a moment, then shrugged. "It's none of my
business, anyway. Were you running a project or something on the
mainframe? There's a notice waiting for you. Just thought you'd want to
know."
"Sure, thanks," she said. "Bye." She deliberately forced herself
to slowly stand up and plod toward the elevator. As soon as she left the
office complex, however, she broke into a run, a faint smile tugging at
the corners of her mouth.
She emerged a few floors lower, and headed inside the glass
double doors in front of her. Sure enough, her email light, set into a
panel of indicators on the computer lab's wall, was glowing, and the
highlighted "From:" field indicated an automatic notice. Supressing a
sudden urge to giggle, she sat down at an empty terminal and called up the
results of her Mellifera search. The electronic bug was designed to crawl
through the various pathways and interconnections in cyberspace, executing
a program specified when it was released. She'd given it a complicated
search algorithm, which would easily foil most security schemes, however
slowly.
As she traced the pathways of the three sniffers to return with a
positive image match, her fingers trembled. All three had led to the same
orbital satellite as before, but this time the data was fresh. There was
a hidden bit of tracking code set to constantly follow the Doctor's and
Ace's movements installed in the satellite's software loop. Tracing its
data dump would take time, of course, but they had time aplenty. Sylia
had seen to that.
The search had not proved worthless, after all.
* * *
That evening, the three Knight Sabers gathered in the guest
chambers, where Ace was pacing back and forth in agitation. A minor
emergency at the gym where Linna worked had prevented them from being
together the previous evening to question the girl.
"It's about good time!" Ace nearly shouted, turning around
to face them. "Any news about the Doctor?"
Linna stepped forward. "Yes and no. We know where he is, but we
can't pick him up very easily."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ace shot back.
"It means there's an orbital satellite trained on him, and we can't
tell who's watching," Nene replied.
Ace glared at each of them in turn. "And what's stopping *me*
from going?"
Linna sighed heavily. "Nothing. But it could be danger--"
"Then I'm going," Ace said flatly.
Priss laughed aloud. "That's the spirit. Don't know how or why
the Doctor's escaped, and you're ready to go charging off after him." She
chuckled. "Sounds like something I would do."
"Fine," Ace said. "Where is he?"
"He's waiting at the Hot Legs," Priss answered.
The remaining Knight Sabers needed to speak with the Doctor, and
find out what he knew about the strange column of energy. But, in the rush
to make it happen, the small matter of Ace's trustworthiness was
conveniently forgotten.
* * *
A little less than a week had passed since his insightful meeting
with the Doctor, and the Chairman was already pleased at the results.
Sitting at a terminal of his own at a large, luxurious desk in his private
laboratory, he read over the tracking system's log file with a growing
sense of excitement. Never, in all his wild, vain imaginings had he
considered the possibility that the Knight Sabers would also be interested
in the Doctor.
Yet, they were. Within a day, he had returned to the Ota district,
perhaps to await the return of his traveling companion. Just hours ago,
he had been accosted by the Knight Sabers and taken, said the log file, to
an auto garage in Tinsel City. Or, rather, to an area *beneath* that
garage. Presumably, the Knight Sabers' base. An incredible stroke of
luck that the Doctor's EMF signature had not degenerated past the point of
detectability, even now. Even through the Knight Sabers' bait and switch
game with an unmarked van under a highway off ramp. Picking up the Doctor,
and presumably the girl, where the tracking system could not visually
detect them had been clever, but not clever enough.
He allowed a triumphant smile to slowly spread across his features.
He would savor this victory. The time was not yet, but the end of his
final enemies would be swift, certain, and shortly to come.
[To be continued!]