Die Hard 2031
Dead On Arrival
A crossover by Sean Hayden
Edited Graciously by Todd Hill
Authors notes follow the finis.
PACIFIC OCEAN, NEAR JAPAN
December 31, 0904L
1989
John McClain looked out the window of the DC-10 making its way to
Tokyo. A mixture of boredom and apprehension played on his face. He
still hated flying, but forced himself to endure it. Holly had gotten a
job working for a new company called Bradley Inc. They were flying her to
the Tokyo branch so she could make several business presentations to the
board on New Years day.
True to Japanese logic, the best time to propose something new and
earth shattering would be on the eve of a new decade. A decade that would
also see the completion of the world's largest skyscraper that was said to
be fortified sufficiently to withstand d even the great Kanto earthquake.
He thought back to that phone call and wondered how she'd managed
to talk him into it. "Yeah." John said.
"John?" His wife Holly, said.
"I'm here."
"I want you to spend Christmas with us in Tokyo."
It took a few seconds to register that Tokyo was not in Illinois,
where Holly had moved after she quit her job with Nakamura.
"Tokyo? What the hell is in Tokyo?"
"The company wants to fly us out to the branch there--It's a big
promotion for me."
'Great.' John thought sarcastically. Instead, he said, "Will the
kids be there?"
"Yes, dear."
He scratched his two o'clock shadow thoughtfully. He had the
leave saved up.
"Besides, it'll be an all expense paid vacation in the finest
hotel in Japan."
"I guess it'd be nice to relax."
John yawned, he knew he had a long flight ahead of him. He closed
his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.
His eyes snapped open moments later. He was still sleepy and
disoriented, his eyes felt like they had been super-glued shut. The added
touch being that he felt like someone had poured sand in his eyes just to
be mean. His suit was rumpled to hell and
back, he needed a shave and he caught the faintest whiff of body odor.
After eighteen hours in a plane, John, bluntly put, looked like hell
warmed over.
John's addled and slightly hung-over brain was startled into full
awareness when the voice of the Captain blared out of the PA system into
the confines of the cabin.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen," the cultured voice said.
"This is Captain St. Claire. On behalf of British Airways International,
I'd like to welcome you to the Narita International Airport. We hope
you've had a pleasant flight and that you'll choose e to fly with us again.
The local time is six o'clock. The weather in Tokyo is a brisk zero
degrees centigrade, and there is a slight chance of snow this afternoon .
. ."
The speech already boring him, McClain tuned it out and looked to
his right through the small window. The landscape of Japan rolled into
view and finally the city of Tokyo. John noticed with unease the lurch and
brief queasiness he always felt when a pla ne started its descent. A
gargantuan skyscraper, currently under construction, caught his attention.
>From the bird's eye view he had, he guessed the base of the behemoth
covered at least four city blocks.
"That's the Sumotori building," a cultured gray haired Japanese
executive said from his left. "A new company in Japan is building it to
be their headquarters."
"Jesus Christ." McClain said.
"You would need to be, if you ever wanted to knock it down." The
smiling businessman returned.
"Huh?"
"That building down there. Every one of the main supports is
designed to take a sustained 7.8 on the Richter scale. When it's
finished, the building will be able to create a negative harmonic wave-"
John found himself nodding off during the man's speech.
"--canceling out any shock waves generated by even the severest of tectonic
actions."
Why is it, John thought, that I always manage to sit next to the
yakkers?
"My engineers say that it's supposed to take about 8.9, once the
building's done. I personally think it will take a nine without budging."
"Well, shit," McClain said. "ain't that impressive."
"Thank you," the aged Asian executive returned. "I designed it."
He laughed at John's open look of surprise, and extended his hand outward.
"I am sorry," the gray haired man said. "I have not properly introduced
myself. I'm Doctor Tanaka."
"John McClain," he returned, shaking the offered hand.
"You will have to excuse my pride, that design is my masterpiece."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes, of course, it was a difficult project. I've had quite a few
talented people working for me. Actually, I believe I know your wife, she
wouldn't happen to be Holly McClain, would she?"
John was genuinely surprised. "You know my wife?"
"It's a small world, isn't it? Actually, yes, I met her when she
was working for Nakamura. She's an extremely talented individual. So,
Mr. McClain, what business are you in?"
John eyed the spotless executive. He looked like he had just
stepped out of the dry cleaner's. Not a hair on his head was out of place
and he looked no worse for the wear.
"I'm a cop." He said sourly. He wondered to himself if he would
still be one when he got back. Given his tendency to lose the title.
SUMOTORI COMPLEX, MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1113L
2031
A convoy of drab gray trucks rumbled throatily through the icy
highways of MegaTokyo, resolutely moving towards the Sumotori Complex.
The trucks hung tightly together, moving slowly, like soldiers marching.
Rising over the skyline, the lead driver could d see the dark figure of the
Sumotori Complex. He spoke into his microphone in quiet tones.
"Yes sir, the building is in sight. ETA about four minutes."
The cast iron gates that surrounded the Sumotori complex were
foreboding and ominous, they were made in a time when Genom was a humble
car manufacturer in Tokyo. The trucks pulled to a stop in front of the
main gate, a roadblock with a stop sign dropped down and a security guard
walked out to meet the trucks.
"Yeah, we got a delivery to make." The driver said in a harsh
accent to the bored security guard.
"I don't have any deliveries scheduled . . . Urk!" The driver cut
the guard off in mid-sentence as he neatly threw a knife that punched
through his throat up to the hilt, cutting off any further argument. The
back of the truck opened up and two men ste pped out dressed in Sumotori
security uniforms. They picked the dead guard up by the shoulders and
legs and slung him like a sack of potatoes into the guard shack. One of
the 'guards' knelt down and pulled the knife from the unfortunates' throat
and he neatly wiped the blood on the dead guards pants.
"Security Station One, this is main gate."
"Go ahead main gate."
"I've got six trucks coming for a delivery."
"Roger that main gate, we'll be standing by."
The 'guard' smiled grimly to himself as he waved the trucks
though. 'They'll be standing by, all right.'
Two men dressed in blue coveralls with the words 'EXPRESS COURIER'
stenciled on the back, walked to the front door of the Sumotori complex.
The elaborate gold and blue seal that was painted on the glass obscured
the view of the lush interior of the buil ding. One of the men, a tall
blond, who looked like he was of Swedish descent, tapped on the glass
door. The guard who had been sleepily watching TV at his station sat up
and walked over to the glass door. The two deliverymen smiled and waved,
holding up a clipboard. As the guard opened the door, the first
deliveryman said, "Yeah, I got a delivery for U.R. Fucked."
"Is this some ..." He was stopped by a quiet 'phut' from a
silenced pistol.
"Clean that up." The blonde said to the group of business suited
men that had followed them.
The blonde's radio crackled to life, "Hans."
"We are in position."
"Hans?" The shorter, dark haired man said.
"I took it from an old movie, used to watch 'em when I was a kid."
The other shrugged and hefted a duffel bag. He moved purposefully
past the main desk as Hans took the security station.
He found a door that read, "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" and opened
it after a minute of picking the lock. The small access space wound
through a glut of pipes and wires.
"Ah." He said as he found the nexus of fiber optic cable he was
looking for. Working quickly he unscrewed an access panel and began
disconnecting fiber lines.
"Johnson." His headphone crackled.
"Here." He said, wiping sweat from his brow.
"What's the status on that line?"
"Just...about...done!" He said as he pried a small metal plate
off a router circuit. Attaching the leads of a small device to the leads,
he began keying commands that would reroute all calls, internal and
external to the front desk. That done, he cut off outside contact with
the world.
At the lowest level of the parking garage, a nondescript delivery
van rolled to a halt in front of a dusty freight elevator. The door to
the van rolled up and four men strong-armed the crate into the freight
elevator. The crate itself was ordinary, exc ept for the original
stencils that had been clumsily spray painted over, obscuring the warning
labels. Thin tendrils of white smoke seeped slowly from the cracks.
A man dressed in a lab coat jumped out of the passenger side and
directed the four men to the freight elevator. They set the package down
and he closed the gate behind them.
The freight elevator shuddered to a stop and disgorged the men on
a quiet and ill-lit floor that looked to be under construction. Four sets
of red eyes glowed in the darkness, and in the quiet dark, the lab
technician imagined he could hear the polymers
and myomers straining to carry the ton crate.
'Rubbish.' he thought to himself. 'Those boomers are individually
rated to carry...'
"Set it down there." He pointed to the center of the room.
The eerie phantoms deposited the crate on the deck with unerring
care.
"Open it." He snapped to one of the suited businessmen.
With inhuman strength, he carefully opened the crate with his bare
hands. Wood cracked like gunshots in the darkness and nails protested
under the force. Of the five, only the technician flinched at the
sound-the others stared on in disinterested silen ce.
"Idiot! Be more careful." The technician said after he regained
his composure. 'Stupid boomers.' He muttered under his breath.
When the crate had been dismantled a complex arachnid framework
was revealed built out of a matte black metal that seemed to swallow light
whole. The framework made complex shapes that the human mind could not
follow and was lost in fuzziness that liquid d oxygen helped conceal.
Various canisters were brought in to be set up around the device. A rat's
nest of wires made a nexus point at a console the technician was busy
setting up. The technician thought the whole alien structure had a
disturbingly org anic feel to it.
AD POLICE HQ, DOWNTOWN MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1430L 2031
Nene Romanova, computer hacker extraordinaire and covert Knight
Sabre, was working furiously at her desk. She had thousands of reports on
her desk that she had to file, and it was New Year's eve, for crissakes!
"I can't believe the nerve of the chief, making us work like
this!" She blew her breath out disgustedly, resigning herself to the
awaiting slave labor. "Well, they say the AD Police never rest. Always
vigilant!" The naturally bubbly redhead said, ch eering herself up.
Leon McNichol sauntered over to her desk with an evil grin on his
face. The rubber band fight, earlier, in the inspector's office had gone
in his favor, owing largely to his "automatic" rubber band gun. The Chief
had put a quick stop to it, however, wh en Leon had autofired thirty into
the back of the old man's bald head.
"What are you doing for New Year's eve?" Leon asked brightly.
Nene repressed a shudder and thought, 'Like hell I'm going
anywhere with this creep.' "I'm sorry, but I have to give my cat a bath."
She replied tartly.
Leon was not one to be put off so easily, "Oh really?" He said
smoothly, "That's too bad. I guess I'll have to find another date for
these front row seats to Priss and the Replicants..."
"FRONT ROW SEATS?!" Nene shouted, causing all the heads in the
quiet office to turn in her direction. "Really?" she asked in a
conspiratorial whisper. "Pick me up at seven."
"Well, if you don't want to ... What? You'll go with me?" Leon
said in shock.
"Of course I will, dummy!" she retorted, clouting him lightly on
the arm. "Where'd you get those tickets, by the way? They were sold out
two months ago!"
"Trade secret, Nene-chan." Leon replied with a grin.
"When is it?"
"Seven-thirty," Leon said, using his most charming voice.
"Nene!" A voice called in the back, "Quit goofing off and hurry up
with those reports!"
SUMOTORI BUILDING, DOWNTOWN TOKYO
December 31, 1232L 1989
John met his wife with Dr. Tanaka in tow. "Good to see you
again," Dr. Tanaka said to Holly. She smiled to him and bowed formally,
and he returned the gesture with an equal amount of respect.
Holly turned to John, "John, this is Dr. Tanaka."
"We've met." John replied curtly. He was already sick of the
formality crap and wanted nothing more than a beer and a place to crash
after his plane ride; his nerves were shot. To make matters worse, he had
hit his head twice on a doorjamb and was in s serious need of a bottle of
aspirin.
Dr. Tanaka, the ever cordial, noted John's restlessness and said,
"Please, you both must be tired after your flight. I have taken the
liberty of reserving your room. That is, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." Holly spoke up, "We are grateful for your
hospitality."
"It's the least I could do for my senior consultant and her
husband." He smiled. "Now, if you will follow me please?"
"Of course, Doctor." Holly smiled graciously.
Dr. Tanaka led them to the front desk that served the hotel. "Mr.
Hyashibara, I believe you have a reservation for Mr. And Mrs. McClain?"
"Of course, Dr. Tanaka." He bowed to the trio. "On behalf of
Sumotori Suites, I welcome you. I am the hotel manager and I am at your
service. All of our staff speaks English, so if you need anything, please
don't hesitate to call." He spoke with a slight t British accent that did
nothing but irritate the shit out of John.
"Pleased, I'm sure." He grated. Holly wore an air of irritation
herself. Her irritation was directed mainly at John.
"Of course." The hotel manager said, "Your room number is 5202."
He handed John the keycard. "A porter will see to your luggage. Have a
pleasant stay."
"John, there's something I need to speak to Dr. Tanaka about.
I'll be up in a minute."
"Fine." John said, shortly. He was beginning to feel justified
about not wanting to come. Besides, he didn't want to argue just now, he
wanted a carpet to curl his toes in and go to sleep.
DOWNTOWN, MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1405L 2031
A cop lurked in the shadows, sipping his coffee as he watched the
traffic drive past. Wind buffeted his patrol car as a red streak of bike
and woman flew past him. He threw his coffee out of the window when he
saw her speed flash in red display of his radar. He slammed his foot down
on the accelerator and shot out in hot pursuit of the high-speed crotch
rocket.
Priss saw the strobing blue light behind her-she leaned forward,
shifted and gunned the throttle. This is not exactly what I had in my
mind, Priss thought, to see how fast this bike could go. She gave the cop
a New York salute and began to pull away fr om the cop. With her speed at
180 kilometers and still climbing easily, the cop didn't have a chance of
catching her. The cop continued his chase, and Priss became acutely aware
of every piece of lint on the road.
SUMOTORI COMPLEX, MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1550L 2031
In the bowels of the Sumotori complex Brian J. Mason spoke into a
cellular phone. Around him, assistants worked on the locking mechanism
that secured the great vault. "We need the interlock code." He said
quietly into the phone. "Twenty pounds of C-1 3 had no effect on it,
however."
Two of Mason's assistants argued quietly in the background while
waiting instruction. "We must have the interlock code." The larger of the
pair said thickly. At 6'10", the Slovak micro-demolition expert was not
one for conversation. He wore the express ion of one who does not suffer
fools gladly.
"However," the second man mocked the congenial Slovak, "Shut up
and let me think. You should have known that useless explosive of yours
couldn't crack a tin barrel."
Pyotr looked at his compatriot, this F.G. Frederick. He was
supposed to be a computer and robotics genius. It was not his place to
divine the actions of his employer, merely to comply.
"The interlock code is a twenty kilobyte key," Mason continued.
"There is no known way to crack the key in the time we have available. If
we had the inventor, it could be done. Yes. Yes, I understand. This is
a contingency we have planned upon. Yes , sir."
Mason hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. "Get the
accelerator ready. We're going to get Dr. Tanaka."
"But Sir, what about the possibility of altering time?" Pyotr
asked, immediately regretting he had opened his mouth.
"Great leaders change history to suit their needs. So shall I."
AD POLICE HQ, DOWNTOWN MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1705L 2031
"Free at last!" Nene said out loud as she unlocked her scooter.
'Maybe I can get something to eat before the concert,' She thought to
herself. Leon rounded a corner just in time.
"Nene-chan!" He called, "Where do you want to meet at?"
She thought for a moment, "You know that ice-cream shop around the
corner from here?"
Leon nodded his head slowly, suddenly understanding why she was so
quick to agree.
"Meet me there at six!" Nene said brightly.
SUMOTORI COMPLEX, MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1743L 2031
Bitter wind whipped through the cast iron fence that surrounded
the Sumotori complex and flakes of snow blanketed the ground giving the
gate a foreboding look. A gray antique Jaguar drive to a side gate and
its driver flashed a badge to the freezing sec urity guard.
The driver drove into the parking garage of the building and found
a marked spot that read MACNAUGHTAN.
Janice MacNaughtan stepped out of the sports car, she was dressed
in a brown raincoat and a tasteful, if subdued suit. She walked to an
elevator and punched the button for the thirtieth floor.
After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator dinged and
deposited her at the R&D department's New Years eve party.
Glasses clinked and merriment was heard throughout the ballroom of
the megalithic Sumotori building. Waiters bustled about and Maitre De's
showed guests to their tables.
Dr. MacNaughtan found herself a quiet table and accepted a glass
of champagne a waiter offered her. She observed the party over the rim of
the fluted champagne glass.
"Dr. MacNaughtan!" A slurred female voice cried.
"Linda, don't be so stuffy," Janice admonished her. "It's
wonderful to see you. How have you been?" She said, smiling.
"Oh, we're way ahead of schedule. We've been so busy Janice, you
wouldn't believe our developments." Linda Hirohito said, taking a generous
gulp of her champagne. "Besides, I'm already drunk! What could be
better?"
Indeed, Janice thought, what could be better?
Linda, having better things to do, mumbled something polite and
ambled off after another social victim.
Janice also had a Ph.D. in cybernetics, she was in fact the
director of the cybernetics research project. She found it fascinating
research, lately however, there had been developments that gave her pause.
She was probably just being paranoid.
The whole party was to celebrate the anniversary of the building
Genom had purchased at great cost to be extra office space for the already
overflowing Genom corporate tower. The Sumotori building had been
symbolically linked to the strength of Genom. It, too, had withstood the
great Kanto earthquake.
Janice raised her champagne glass in silent toast to her mother.
Her mother had been there at Genom's start when it had been a humble car
manufacturer. Her mother had won great respect, something of a feat for a
Gaijin, and her transfer to Tokyo in 199 4 had been considered a promotion
of the highest order. It had been difficult moving to Tokyo in
ninety-eight, but as a girl, she had grown to love it as her home. After
the quake, she moved to the U.K. and met her future husband, Michael.
After gettin g her Doctorate in Cybernetics she moved back to Tokyo to
work for Genom, on her mother's insistence. In the beginning, it was
exciting work, now it was the drudgery of workaday corporate politics and
backstabbing. She was terribly sick of it.
As she polished off her champagne and began working on the second,
one question stuck in her mind. Why had her mother kept her married name,
McClain?
She sipped her champagne, and chamber music mingled with the
sounds of the party going on.
SUMOTORI COMPLEX, MEGATOKYO
December 31, 1847L 2031
As the party continued on the upper floors, a darker plan was
being carried out below. Through a monitor, Mason watched the accelerator
start with a hiss of super-cooled oxygen spilling over the parachronic
modulator. He thought it looked like a grote sque image of a spider. It
was a marvelous piece of engineering, unfortunately, it could be used only
once. The components were comprised of trillions of 'nanobots', which
would disintegrate in roughly thirty minutes because of the gravity that
they wer e being subjected to. Another device would never be built
because its inventor had died in an, 'unfortunate', accident. A
technician gave Mason the thumbs up. "Begin the process," was all he
said.
Electricity began to arc across the legs. The level of static
electricity it was generating was enough to short out the better part of
the MegaTokyo primary grid. In the center of the device, the 'landing
zone', a tiny black dot appeared. It hung in s pace amidst the swirling
fog and electricity like an ethereal black pearl. For the space of an
eternity it seemed as if nothing was happening. The techs' muttered back
and forth between themselves amidst the eerie sight.
"Roger. The gate is holding and is at point 003 percent.
Critical mass for the gate in one minute."
"Roger, lock-on probability is at 38 percent."
"Lock-on in one mike thirty seconds, mark."
The countdown continued until ten seconds remained.
SUMOTORI BUILDING, TOKYO December 31, 1631L 1989
Dr. Tanaka gave a tentative knock at John's hotel door. John
McClain had left his cigarette lighter in the plane seat where it had
fallen out of his pocket, and he wished to return it to the New York cop.
Someone inside the room grunted, snored and cou ghed all at the same time.
Not wanting to disturb the sleeper, he turned to walk away when the door
opened.
SUMOTORI COMPLEX, MEGATOKYO December 31, 1903L 2031
"Five ... four ... three ... two ... one! Lock-on and retrieval
probability is at 98 percent. Initiating retrieval protocol."
The black pearl in the center suddenly expanded with frightening
speed until it was bulging at the edge of its supports. A haze surrounded
the globe of darkness, and Mason could see odd figures like light through
a prism. Blue sparks flew across the su rface of nothingness, as the
process continued.
SUMOTORI BUILDING, TOKYO December 31, 1632L 1989
"What?" John answered gruffly, standing in the doorway of his
hotel room in a pair of sweat pants and a 'wife-beater' shirt.
"Mr. McClain, I thought I would return your lighter. You dropped
it on the airplane," Dr. Tanaka said politely, showing the silver plated
Zippo lighter with his hand.
"Oh, thanks," John said as he reached for the lighter. As his
fingers reached it, blue sparks arced to his hand. "What the hell?!" He
shouted in shock.
Then there was only the void.
Something was horribly wrong with the device. The surface of the
void bubble was beginning to ripple. Blue sparks flashed around the
supports of the arachnid machine. A serpentine arc of electricity
grounded itself to one of the steel supports that cr owded the small room
with a shower of sparks. The bubble swelled and burst like a balloon in a
violent explosion that enveloped the building in an eerie phosphorescence.
To mark the point that something had indeed gone wrong, a ring of flame
belched for th from the tower lit up the night sky of downtown MegaTokyo.
The lights in the observing room and over the hotel simultaneously blew
out, scattering sparks and hot glass over two square blocks of MegaTokyo.
Mason rose calmly from the position he had been ungraciously
tossed into. He just as calmly wiped away the thin ribbon of blood that
had formed on his cheek.
In the heart of MegaTokyo's main power distribution center, sirens
and alarms pealed startling sleepy shift engineers.
"What's going on!" The shift supervisor said to the bank of
engineers furiously rerouting power from blown automatic systems.
"Brownout over the grid sir!" The harried technician said as he
pounded on his console trying to bring up a distribution station.
"What caused it?"
"Not sure, think I have it localized to ... Damn, lost it!"
The supervisor stared at the numbers in growing disbelief. In
less than two hundredths of a second something had drawn enough power to
light every bulb in Japan for a week. "Good god." He whispered in awe.
MegaTokyo lay in chaos as traffic systems failed to initialize
properly and hospitals lay in bedlam. Air traffic control was working
furiously to maintain its carefully constructed waltz now in shambles.
Except the conductors were blind and deaf. Resc ue crews and police would
be frantically trying to clean up the cardiac stroke the city had for
hours, possibly days to come.
John groggily got to his feet and shook his head. Dr. Tanaka was
nowhere to be found. Even though he seemed to be in the same hallway, it
felt oddly different. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his
finger on it.
"That guy must've had one hell of a taser," he thought groggily.
He looked down at his hand, remembering the lighter Tanaka was trying to
return to him.
John flicked it open and thought he saw a blue spark flash. He
wasn't sure, though, and figured it was just his imagination. He lit it,
the yellow light gave him something to steady himself with. The hallway
was lit by the dull red glow of emergency l ights.
"Maybe the guy didn't have a taser, after all. I guess I couldn't
step on a wire or something and the old guy went for help," John reasoned.
Something about that, didn't ring true. But he could barely remember what
had happened. He recalled seeing a security station when walking up to
his room, so he figured he'd call the desk from there.
A flash of pain interrupted John McClain's thoughts. "God
dammit!" He swore explosively. Propping himself up on the wall with one
of his hands, he bent down and inspected his feet. He noted disgustedly
that he had managed to step in some broken glass from the wall-mounted
light covers. He turned around to go in his room and get the wounds
cleaned up. He pushed the door to his hotel room open and hopped his way
in the darkness to the bathroom. He was unsuccessful in trying to turn on
the lights in t he hotel room and instead concentrated on cleaning the
lacerations on his feet.
In the bowels of the massive building, a technician spoke quietly.
"Sir, there is an 89 percent probability that the target did land in the
building."
"Excellent." Mason replied. "Find him."
Much to Miss Asagiri's dismay, the cop had in fact caught her. He
had written her a ticket that had made her previous legal entanglements
seem trivial by comparison.
The night sky was suddenly lit as though a nuclear explosive had
gone off. A crack of rolling thunder blew out nearby windows and showered
the two with glass. Every light around them suddenly extinguished. A
blast of hot air whooshed by. Up above in the sky another, smaller
explosion went off and to objects separated into plasticine balls of fire
that left two trails of fire in descending arcs.
For a fleeting second, Priss wondered if the conspiracy nuts were
right about the 'Orbital Lasers'. She quickly dismissed the thought and
dropped the ticket as she ran to her bike. She tried to reach Sylia.
"Damn!" No luck, only static.
Mason looked out of the demolished observation window. Wind
whipped his perpetually combed hair and ruffled his hideously expensive
business suit. He surveyed the destruction he had caused and allowed a
smile to curdle on his lips. It hadn't been in t he plan, but everything
was going along quite smoothly.
After cleaning the cuts on his feet, John looked around his room
and tried to find his clothes. The room was neatly made and showed no
sign that he had turned it into a pigsty. "That shock must've hit me
harder than I thought. Could've sworn that I we nt into my room," he
thought. He shrugged and walked out. He was hit with a mixture of shock
and disbelief as he stared at the little brass plaque. 52201. That was
his room number, all right. He looked in to make sure he had come out of
the right r oom. He walked in, and it was a different room. It had
changed.
"Geez, I need a fucking light!" he shouted to an uncaring world.
Nothing answered his demands. He looked at his watch. "Great! Just
great!" It had stopped some time during his ordeal, so he had no idea how
long he had been out. "This trip has gone from boring to being a pain in
the ass," he grumbled. John wondered where his wife was. Holly hadn't
called him in a while. He stumbled over to the phone and noticed that it
had a TV screen attached to it. Not that that helped much, considering
matt ers. He spent a few seconds fiddling around with the controls for
the phone, and gave up in disgust. After a brief while, he got sick of
waiting around. "I need a cigarette," he groused, heading for the door.
Two pair of red eyes glowed dully in the darkness like lost souls
bent on evil. The two C-55b's were whisper quiet as they patrolled the
52nd floor.
John was walking around the corridor when he saw the two boomers.
"Jesus!" he shouted as turned and ran for cover. His first thought was to
reach for his gun which of course, he didn't have. He ran through
seemingly endless halls to come upon the secu rity station. He found two
guards. Very dead and very headless security guards. Their heads lay a
few feet away grinning in rigor mortis. This was entirely out of his
scope of experience as a New York cop. Trying to hold back the searing
bile that ha d leapt to his throat, John searched the two guards. He
found a handgun he was unfamiliar with, a few clips of ammunition, a
canister of tape and a pack of cigarettes.
The handgun was unlike anything he had ever seen. The ammo seemed
to be encased in plastic and used some sort of liquid round. He hefted
the weapon and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. He grabbed the
satchel the guard had been carrying and s tuffed it full of anything he
could find. He yanked the boots off the dead guards' feet and tried them
on for size.
"Of all the goddamn places in the world I have to be stuck in
munchkin land." He said disgustedly as he tried the other guard's boots
futilely. He scrounged around for a few more minutes and grabbed the
bootlaces off the guards' boots, figuring they mi ght be useful. The
grenades, that's what he guessed they were, made him wonder exactly what
hotel security needed them for.
He needed to find a place to hide, catch his breath, and try and
call the cops. He grabbed a radio and took off in the opposite direction
from the impeding doom of the armed mechanoids.
It didn't take him long to figure that the elevators weren't
working. No telling what awaited him in the stairs. He would have to do
something those things wouldn't expect. He ran to the nearest stairwell
and he took what he figured to be a grenade an d taped it to a rail. The
bootlaces he took from the dead guards, he made a serviceable, but fairly
obvious trip wire. After he was finished, he went a few levels down and
well out of the way of the blast. He lit a cigarette and waited in the
corner of
the star well.
He looked at the cigarette with disgust after puffing a few times
on it. "Ahhhhgh! Fuckin' foreign cigarettes. Thing tastes like shit!"
he grumbled.
He heard one of the doors open and the sound of metallic feet
clanging of the deck. He plugged his ears with his fingers, opened his
mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut. The explosion bowled him back like a
toy. He shook his head to clear the ringing, a nd grabbed his gun, not
knowing what to expect. He heard several metallic clanks as he advanced
carefully up the stairs with his gun drawn. Standing on what was left of
the stairway was one of the ugliest metallic monsters he had ever seen.
Its latex s kin had been burned off patchily and it was a hideous parody
of the human form it was meant to mimic. John's eyes darted around
wildly, his composure totally lost. It snarled at him, the fucking thing
SNARLED at him! For the first time in his life he f elt terror. Terror
that threatened to overwhelm him. His heart seemed to drop in his gut and
flop around like an air-starved fish.
The startled cop shook his head. IT opened its mouth and John
could see its huge fangs. Squinting, John thought he could see something
else; it looked like a lens of some kind. He said a prayer internally as
he heard a buzzing sound, then aimed for th e head of the mad machine, and
fired.
For a split second, nothing happened. Then the boomer's head
cracked like a ripe melon. It fell down on its knees and slumped forward,
gushing orange nutrient fluid onto the stairs.
"Yippie-ky-ay, motherfucker." John said and wiped the sweat from
his face. He was breathing hard. Adrenaline, he figured. 'I should be
used to this kind of thing by now. What's the Christmas season without a
little violence?' He scoffed internally.
What was left of the other thing wasn't even worth mentioning, so
he didn't bother wasting time with it. He climbed through the debris and
went to a nearby window. The city stretched into the distance for miles,
and he was a good fifty stories above th e ground. Maybe more. He was
starting to get a feel for how big this damn building was.
"Fifty flights of stairs. Damn." He started his descent.
"Sir, we just lost 3056 and 2012."
This was puzzling news for Mason. Certainly an elderly doctor
wouldn't be able to defeat two C-55b's. He couldn't put it down to
mechanical failure, either. Boomers do not fail simultaneously without a
good reason.
He didn't need headquarters to page him to know that his date was over.
Leon jumped in his cruiser, with Nene in tow, hit his lights and headed
for ADPHQ.
Communications were still spotty over the city, Sylia reflected,
radio frequencies below the microwave range would be out for about another
thirty minutes. Three communications satellites had gone down when
telemetry stations had lost their respective l ocks. The city had
disintegrated into a seething cauldron of chaos, fear and misinformation.
In the distance, sirens throbbed palely. The rest of the business
district was silent. Deadly silent. The high pitched whine of a racing
bike shook Sylia out of her melancholy.
Priss ran through the darkened store front of the silky doll.
"Sylia!" Priss yelled leaping up a flight of stairs.
"Priss." Sylia said, calmly-which she wasn't.
"Sylia! Someone bombed the Sumotori building!"
Sylia thought about this for a few moments, then she drew a blank
and stared at Priss.
"The building Genom bought!"
Sylia remembered, with a start she remembered the building had
been designed as an earthquake disaster shelter. Her jaw dropped open.
'Could they? Would they?' "Get Nene and Linna," Sylia said. "Mackie!"
"Sis, two suits are down."
"What?!"
"Two suits were hooked up for diagnostics, the control circuitry
was shorted out during the blackout."
Like the rest of MegaTokyo, Sylia had never considered things like
major surge suppressers or UPSs for the lab. In 2031 power lines were all
underground and triply redundant. Power didn't even go out for
thunderstorms or hurricanes. In her entire life , she had never even
experienced such a thing. Luckily, the suits could remain independent of
a power source. She shuddered to think that she had considered the
possibility of discarding the suit's neutrino collector for ultra-dense
high powered batteri es.
"Which suits were damaged?"
"Your's and Linna's."
Sylia nodded. Those suits were tailor made for the individual. A
difference of five pounds would destroy the suit's calibration, and
probablly make it unwearable as well as extremely uncomfortable. It would
have to be Priss and Nene.
"Let's go." Sylia said simply.
As Sylia Stingray made her conclusion, an old friend made a
simillar one. The mother of Janice MacNaughtan sat at her desk in the
dark executive office in the Genom zigguraut. Her face was a bitter one,
worn by years of corporate politics, deals and ba ckstabbing. Her roots
in the company were deep and farspread. Almost as powerful as the old man
himself-and he knew it-and so did that shark Mason. She had played the
game for so long that it had been instinctive. Her husband had been very
fond of the
"bring-a-gun-to-a-knife-fight" policy. Her rise from a consultant, to
vice-president of Genom, was something of legend. She had been the
driving force behind Dr. Stingray's vision of world peace, and then she
had watched Genom slowly pervert that dream ; and finally when Dr.
Stingray had died in his 'unfortunate' accident she had not lifted a
finger when she knew the truth.
That bastard Mason had done it. She knew that what he sought was
a joke. He had bombed the vault in the Sumotori building in the vain hope
that he would find only god knew what. Whatever it was, Holly McClain was
determined to make sure he would not g et it.
Rivulets of sweat coursed down John's aching back as he descended
the elevator shaft hand over hand. He stopped at the fortieth floor to
rest and scrounge around. He sat on the floor breathing heavily and lit
his last shitty cigarette. He dug through the knapsack he had
appropriated from the guard and pulled out a walkie talkie. He played
with it for a moment, trying to figure out how to change the channel.
After a few moments of fiddling with it, he found, what he hoped to be the
emergency channel.
"This is an emergency distress call, anyone who can hear me,
please respond." He repeated his message three more times and gave up in
disgust. He played with the radio some more, and managed to get a news
station, which to his surprise was in english.
"... it's mass chaos here, Dan. It has been almost an hour since
MegaTokyo lost power. Prime Minister Atsuhito has declared a national
emergency and has mobilized the Self Defense Force to assist police and
rescue teams ... Speculation as to the cause of the sudden brownout and
subsequent blackout ... Sumotori building as the source. Eyewitnesses
reported an explosion ... just moments before the brownout ..." John
turned the radio back to the emergency channel.
"... I repeat, person using AD Police emergency frequency identify
yourself!" A female voice said.
"This is John McClain, New York Police Department. I'm trapped in
the Sumotori building!"
"I understand Officer," the female voice replied. "Rescue crews
will be there in ..."
"Say again?" John said into the walkie talkie. The voice had
collapsed in a burst of static.
"Sir. I think you should listen to this."
Mason listened to the transmission. "Jam that. Where did that
originate from?"
"Apparently the fortieth floor, sir."
"Send a hunter. Tell it to leave him alive."
"Yes sir."
Something startled McClain. Someone, or something was in the
darkness with him. The hackles on the back of his neck rose as he felt
rather than saw, eyes watching him.
In the space of a heartbeat, it was on him. A flash of murderous
steel and baleful eyes greeted the New York City cop. John backpedaled to
slam against the wall, watching the mechanized dog. He reacted, rather
than thought when the dog crouched and le apt.
He felt, rather than heard, the air whistle and then he felt pain.
Hot, bloody pain, as serrated razor claws gashed his shoulder. He gasped
in pain and struggled to stay conscious. He stared dully at the dog.
"Nice doggie," he quipped weakly.
A thundering crack snapped him out of his stupor. He perceived a
blue and red streak of metal jet into the room.
Vortices of fire, left in the afterwash of Priss' jumpjets,
swirled around her armored legs as she faced a boomer hell-hound. It
snarled and lunged for Priss' throat and she slapped it away with a shaped
charge. The boomer flew across the room to slam into a wall-and with a
metallic thud, slammed into the floor.
For precious seconds, the boomer lay motionless, apparently dead.
Priss turned to look at the man it had been attacking.
Fat drops of orange blood spattered the floor from the boomer's
ruined muzzle. Its jaw hung loosely in snarling parody. In a fit of
primitive fury it growled and leaped again with it claws extended.
Nene's scream was a tenth of a second too late and Priss turned in
time to see the hellishly fast boomer slam into her and throw her into a
glass-composite window. She felt the sickening impact and heard the sound
of ribs cracking in protest.
"God damn it!" Priss screamed in absolute rage. Her pure hatred
of the boomer drove through her miasma of pain to throw a devastating
uppercut at the boomer's ruined jaw. The swing connected and rage
assisted myomers drove her mailed fist into its stee l skull. It twitched
feebly at the end of her arm. Priss Asagiri armed her railgun and fired.
"Fuck you!" she screamed, and blew its semi-organic brain out in a geyser
of parts and nutrient fluid.
Priss slumped down as red waves of pain and nausea threatened to
overwhelm her. She inspected her torso and dimly understood the impact of
her injuries. The polysteel composite of her chest armor had been
shredded into confetti in the boomers desperate
attempt to claw its monomolecular blades right through her. A thin line
of red oozed its way down what was left of the suit.
She disentangled herself from the corpse of the boomer to stand,
shaky and half dead-but triumphant.
Her victory was short lived.
"Report!" Leon said sharply to one his senior Sergeants.
"It's fubar'ed out there." The haggard Sergeant replied.
"What's the city without a little rioting, Leon?" Daley Wong
supplied.
"You people are being pretty goddamn casual about this!" Leon
shouted.
"What can we do? The Prime Minister has declared a state of
emergency for the city. The Self Defense Force has already been mobilized
to help with riot control and rescue work."
"I even hear the Americans are sending there forces from Yokuska."
The sergeant said, wearily.
"So what can we do?" Daley asked.
Leon chewed a fingernail thoughtfully. He wasn't trained for a
disaster on this order. He forced himself to think. A single question
formed in his mind. "What the hell caused all of this?"
His question hung in the air amidst a cry of silence.
Three B-33Cs leered hungrily at the wounded Knight Saber. Priss
watched the mechanoids advance slowly. Darkness was already threatening
to take her into oblivion. Something in Priss rebelled against so
ignominious a death.
Cold fury once again wiped away the pain as she charged the
boomers in a suicidal rush.
She brought her fist up to slam a knuckle bomb into the leering
face of one when she was stopped short by the roar of gun fire. The
boomer's head was obliterated in a mist of orange shrapnel.
"Let's get ready to rumble, motherfuckers!" , came the uniquely
American battlecry.
Priss saw the man, who had previously been ground into hamburger
meat, now sitting up in a crouch and firing at the two boomers. His aim
shifted uncomfortably on her.
"Get down!" he yelled. She heard two shots whistle past her head
and impact into the boomer behind her. The two shots did an impressive
amount of damage to the boomer's chest.
John desperately tried to remember whose bright idea it was to
piss of the quisenart from hell. It extended its wicked claws, to show
him first hand, how hamburger meat really felt-John's prayers were
answered as his brain connected to his trigger finger.
"Go fuck a toaster, asshole!" he yelled. The boomer failed to
oblige him and fell forward, sans head.
John perceived the nut case in the blue and red armor wasn't doing
so hot against the remaining motorized can. She sidestepped a swipe,
barely. There was deafening screech of metal as monowire claws met with
superalloy steel, meat and bone. A gory red spray hit the white wall
behind her. Screaming in pain, Priss renewed her attack with berserker
fury. Seconds later the dented heap dropped to the ground, beaten to a
metallic pulp. As it crashed to the floor, Priss grinned to herself and
hit the dec k.
"Sheee-it!" John said appreciatively.
Three monitors suddenly dissolved into static. Frederick turned
in his swivel chair to calmly face Mason. "Sir, the B-33Cs have been
defeated. Tactical data seems to indicate that the Knight Sabers are now
innvolved." He paused and looked at another console.
Mason sat in the darkness, calmly contemplating. It would have
been foolish to expect so much good luck. He had come prepared for such
annoyances.
"It would also seem the AD Police are now innvolved."
This was expected. Mason allowed himself the tiniest fraction of
a smile. Unknowns concerned him; incompetents with toy power suits did
not.
"Excellent."
John looked at his savior as he clamped a hand to his own arm to
staunch his bleeding.
He wasn't even sure if she was alive. He figured there was someone
in there, a female someone. Robots don't usually require breast cups.
BIG breast cups.
He knelt beside the suited woman. "Hey, lady."
"Whrrr?"
That was a good sign, at least. "How do I get this fucking
tin-can off of you?" he asked of no one in particular. He looked at the
helmet and felt under the rim and found the sealing latches that released
the seal. As he removed the helmet, he found h imself looking at a dazed
but very beautiful woman lying in front of him.
"Hey lady, can ya hear me?"
Priss' eyes fluttered, and fear lined her face when she realized
how vulnerable she was. A suited hand shot up to John's throat
"You got two seconds to explain."
"Jesus, lady! I'm trying to help before your dumb ass bleeds to
death!"
Her strength suddenly left her and her hand dropped to her side
uselessly.
"Now, how do I get this tin can off?"
"Are you a medic?" A heavily modulated voice said, though
obviously also female.
John jumped three feet, straight up. "Jesus! Don't do that!"
After what passed for a heart attack went away, John said, "No lady, I
ain't a medic. I'm a cop."
"Is Priss going to be all right?" the pink hardsuit asked.
"I don't know until I get this thing off of her. She's losing a
lot of blood."
"Here," Nene said, as she leaned down and expertly removed the top
of the suit.
John whistled at the damage. Three parallel gashes traversed her
chest diagonally. Ugly white showed through meat and blood where claws
had sliced to the bone. Her form fitting skin-suit stank of coppery
blood, never a very pretty sight or smell. He wasn't about to stick his
finger in to find out how deep the gut wound was, but he knew from his
limited training as a cop that wounds always looked worse than they were.
To his eye, she hadn't suffered enough damage to die in the next few
minutes, unles s it was from shock. The lack of pink foam around her
mouth assured him she could at least breathe.
She was cold to the touch and shivering, he knew he didn't have
much time before she would be past professional help. John did his best
to patch her up with the supplies that Nene had shudderingly supplied.
John worked quickly on the fallen Knight Saber as he cleaned blood
stained wounds and wrapped what he could. He then turned his attention to
his own sliced arm. He winced in pain as he swabbed it the best he could
and then wrapped a bandage around it.
Nene watched in fascinated silence.
"Where are your friends?" John asked.
Nene still hadn't taken her helmet off, she figured it was bad
enough that John had seen Priss.
"Their, um, waiting." She said. 'Sylia's going to be mad.' She
thought.
"Well, you better get them, or whatever passes for an ambulance
around here or your friend is going to the happy hunting grounds."
"I'm fine." Priss said, even though she wasn't.
"Bullshit." Was all McClain said.
"What about you?" Nene asked.
"I'm fine." He said, looking at his bandaged arm.
"I guess you do this for a living?"
"Heh. Happens every fucking year," he said caustically.
The throbbing 'whump' of a helicopter stirred Holly. She looked
above her and found the outline of the helo slowly descending amidst a
snow storm.
The pilot was not amused by her request. "Ma'am, I can't take you
to the Sumotori building! I'd have to be nuts to go out in that again!"
Holly looked at the pilot coldly. The young man obviously didn't
know who she was, so she allow his indiscretion to pass. "Fine," she
said, "turn in your resignation." She reached into her purse to pull out
a cellphone.
"Now wait just a damn minute! No pilot will go out in that,
they'd have to be insane!"
"Then I will need an insane pilot."
The pilot quickly considered his options. If he left Genom, he
realized he could soon be part of an 'early retirement scheme'. "Ok, ok,
I'll do it."
"It's wonderful to see such company loyalty in one so young."
Holly remarked darkly.
A blast of air and a swirling cloud of snow were the only thing
that remained after the helo had taken off.
The city had settled into an unnatural quiet. The sirens had
stopped and people were taking the time to catch their breath and wonder
exactly what happened.
The eerie silence was broken as noisy ADP police cars descended on
the Sumotori building. Blue and red lights flashed in psychedelic
splendor as cops raced to cover the building.
Inspector McNichol casually walked to the thickest glut of
officers and looked for whoever was doing the least and talking the most.
He was rewarded with a, "Who the hell are you?"
A burly man with captain's epaulets snarled towards McNichol.
"Name's Leon, Im with AD Police. I'm taking over this operation."
"Like hell you are, I've got a full blown emergency situation on
my hands and I don't need your incompetent squad screwing this up!"
"Incompetent? I don't think so, Captain. You would have to be
incompetent not to see that." Leon paused and pointed at a ground floor
window. A figure cloaked in darkness shifted, watching the police's
antics.
"What th'." Was the Captain's eloquent reply. "Who'se in the
building?" The Captain demanded over the radio. The reply was a
unanimous, 'no one'.
"What you have Captain, is a full blown boomer terrorist
situation."
"Boomers? Who said anything about boomers!"
"Like hell there are! Now get out of the way and let us handle
this, before some good cops get hurt. You're not prepared to deal with
boomers, especially combat boomers." Leon retorted angrily. He turned to
Daley. "Break out the K-11s, and let's get
in gear. This one looks like it's going to be bad."
As Daley turned away, the Captain fumed in rage, just having his
limelight yanked away from him by a cocky upstart. His dreams of saving
the day and incidentally becoming Commissioner were rapidly dissipating.
He made once last attempt, "Now see here.. ."
Leon cut him off abruptly, 'No need letting the pompous old fart
get any further.' he thought, grinning mentally. "Captain, you're wasting
valuable time when we should be neutralizing these terrorists. What we
need to do is save people, not bicker. Yo u're not prepared to deal with
this, but we are. Just let us do our job."
The Captain stuttered, considering what Leon had said. A new idea
formed that would not only save face, but put him in a position to receive
the glory, if the AD POLICE should fail. "All right," he conceded, "I'll
have my men cover you and provide crow d control."
Leon felt a twinge of suspicion at the generous offer, but he was
not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Daley! Get me some coffee,
it's fucking freezing out here!"
McClain was tired-bone tired. If he could only rest for just a
few minutes, he was sure he'd be fine.
A sharp bang startled McClain. Something was trying to beat it's
way through the door-he was pretty sure it wasn't the Avon lady.
On the third crash, the door flew off of its hinges and crashed to
the floor.
"Don't these things ever fucking quit?" John asked.
The boomer that crashed through the door was as large and imposing
as all the rest. John took aim and fired. His shot went wild. He pulled
the trigger again only to hear an ominous clicking sound.
The boomer grinned and strode forward purposely. John had seen
these things in action long enough to last a life time and he had no
desire to see one again. He looked around for a weapon. Any weapon.
As he was frantically searching around, his brain screamed at him.
John took a second look at the boomer. It, he, was wearing a walkie
talkie.
It was John's turn to grin. Finally some good ol' pugilism, to
wipe that grin off the bastard's face.
Thwack! John's fist impacted solidly into the man's steel gut.
"Ow, fuck!" John yelled. The man stared and cast a cruel smile at
John.
"I hope I haven't harmed you." Pyotr said, in his thick Slovakian
accent. "Although, I must commend you upon your bravery. However, my
employer does not take kindly to, shall we say, interruptions. You may
come quietly with me, or," He paused and a m assive grin split his red
face. "You may discover the second, unpleasant alternative."
"Sure red, tell you what. Why don't you tell your employer to
shove his interuptions up his ass?"
John didn't even see it coming. A fist, the size of a hamhock
hammered him in the gut like a wooden mallet. John's breath whooshed out
of him and he flew backwards, landing uncerimoniously on his ass.
"Let me reiterate your choices." Pyotr said, unmoved.
"Fuck a goat, you illiterate commie." John said breathlessly.
It took the large man a moment to translate what had been said. A
dark flush of crimson red spread across the man's face. Pyotr cracked his
knuckles, and in the silence, they sounding like tree branches snapping.
"I will assume, for the present time, you will choose the latter
of your options. Perhaps I can persuade you, later." He grabbed John by
the shirt and hauled him to a standing position. Pyotr cocked his fist
back, while John struggled futiley, "This,"
Pyotr said as he rocketed a fist at John's chin, "is for professional
reasons." Every pain nerve in John's system lit up like a Christmas tree.
"I'm sorry," John slurred from a torn lip, "did I say you were a
goat fucker? I meant to say your father fucks sheep."
"This," Pyotr continued, "is to make my job easier." The dull
sound of fist slapping flesh cracked--John felt blood pounding in his
ears.
"Really, I apologize, I'm sure your mother's beard is very
attractive."
"This, however, is for my own sake." Pyotr said, breathing
heavily through a fog of anger.
"And this," John said, as his foot connected with the big man's
groin, "is my sincerest apology."
Predictably, the Slovakian crumpled to the floor. John nudged the
Russian with his toe. "Happy New Year."
Someone was rudely shaking Priss out of blissful unconciousness.
"Priss, wake up!" Nene shouted.
"Whu'?" Priss replied.
"We have to get you out of here." Nene said.
"Can't, what about the boomers?"
"We can't do anything about the boomers right now."
As it was, John tended to agree with that statement. The best
thing to do was to find a way out of this hell hole. He didn't feel like
tangling with a kitten, much less another of those things. 'Let the cops
deal with this,' he thought tiredly.
Nene's suit radio crackled to life. "Nene, status report."
"Priss is down, Sylia!"
Sylia looked at Mackie. "How long till the hardsuits are
repaired?"
"I don't know, maybe hours."
"We don't have hours, Mackie!"
"I know, I know."
Nene's sophisticated detection gear began to register three blips.
"Hey, uhh, you!" She said, indicating John.
"The name is John, lady."
"Uhh, John, we have to get out of here."
"Good plan." John remarked drolly.
"I'm reading three targets, probablly hostile moving this way."
"Isn't everything hostile here?"
Nene did not find that amusing, "Look, we have three more coming
this way and I don't think any of us are up to another fight."
"Fair enough," John said, "let's haul ass."
Holly McClain wandered through the ghostly corridors of the
Sumotori. She too, had a piece of sophisticated detection gear. It in
some ways rivaled Nene's suite of surveilance gear, if in size and not
power. What she detected though was a lone heat so urce. Probablly
human, and more than likely the source of Mason's crusade.
It came then as a shock, as Holly reached the elderly man.
Dr. Tanaka was still unconcious from his time travel, although
Holly had no idea what exactly his ordeal had been. She had one of those
strange flashes of intuition that comes but rarely, and quickly deduced
what Mason was up to.
"Hidori!" Holly whispered, trying to shake the lederly gentleman
awake. "Tanaka-san, wake up!"
Eyes fluttered open to greet an aged Holly McClain. "Good god
Holly, is that you?"
"There's no time to explain Kiyoshi, we must leave, and quickly."
"Where is your husband?"
"I have an idea." She said, with the fire of hope burning
brightly in her eyes.
Mackie was grease stained and war torn when he finally came out of
the maintenance shop with Sylia in tow. Linna had thrown in a helping
hand, but she, not being mechanically inclined had been able to do little
more than hand a wrench and wipe a brow.
"Well, we can't do much more with the secondary actuators blown."
"We'll have to go in without hardsuits." Sylia said, matter of
factly.
"What?!" Linna and Mackie said in unison.
"We have trained for it." Sylia said, "Now it is time to put that
training to use."
"But, but, that's crazy!" Mackie said.
"Can you offer another solution?" Sylia asked.
"Well, no, but..."
"Priss is down, Nene can't handle a fight without her and we have
several badly hurt civillians down there. The best we can do is try to
withdraw Priss and Nene without getting hurt."
"I agree." Linna said simply.
"I like this the least of all of us, but I am left with no
choice."
"Sir, we have located the target."
"Good."
"We have also detected an escort."
"Identify."
"Senior Vice President, Holly McClain."
"Terminate."
"Negative. Regulation G-13 A, Section 1 requires executive
privilege for termination of said rank."
"I authorize it."
"Negative."
Mason had not expected this, and so had not had the obediance
circuits disconnected. He turned to Frederick. "Override obediance
circuit one-alpha-niner."
"Uhh, yes sir." Unlike the boomer, he could prioritize his
orders.
"Affirmative. Authorization accepted."
"Good. It is admirable to see such corporate devotion." His
smile was not a pleasant one.
"They've stopped their pattern!" Nene said. "They're moving
away."
John was nonplussed. He knew they would be back after whatever
errand they were running. It would be better, he thought, to follow them
and figure out what they were up to. He said so.
"That's insane." Nene stated. "No, you're insane. I think
you've lost too much blood."
"That's right." John agreed. "My wife said the very thing last
Christmas."
Leon observed the scene with much satisfaction. The scene before
him had been organized into a tight police cordon around the building.
Ten snipers covered every face of the building, with orders to fire with a
clean shot on any spotted boomer. APCs l ittered the parking lot and six
K-11s were arrayed in various tactical posistions with four ready to be
air dropped on the roof.
"Hey! Daley!" Leon shouted to his red haired partner who was
currently reviewing the tactical bill.
Daley quickly reviewed the situation with Leon. It looked good,
too good in fact. Something in Leon's mind rebelled in such confidence.
He rallied the Squad Commanders around him.
"Now listen up! We know the terrorists have taken the building by
force. We do know they have combat boomers, probablly B-33b's at the very
least. That is all we know. What we do not know is their strength in
numbers, armament or equipment." Leon tick ed the following off on his
fingers for emphasis. "What we especially do not know is the number,
status of hostages or the terrorists demands."
"So basically Chief, what you're telling us, is that we don't know
shit."
"That's true. And don't call me Chief, Smith. As Smith so
graciously pointed out, we don't know shit. Gentleman, keep your eyes and
your ears peeled. Clean, identified shots only. You see anything, pass
it on channel four! Right?" The response was
unanimous--but Leon still couldn't help but feel a wrenching sensation in
his gut. These things never went like they were planned.
"Leon-san!" Daley said, "Mayor on the line!"
"Shit."
Mason watched the scene below with considerably more amusement
than the nervous and trigger happy police below could at the moment. They
had arrayed themselves exactly as they should have. Of course without
having consulted any maps or building plans.
It wasn't crucial that they didn't know about his planned escape routes.
It was a definite improvement that they simply couldn't access them right
now. Yes indeed, this was going far easier than he had anticipated.
Linna and Sylia began to make their descent into the building.
Sylia and Linna were almost matched in one respect. Whereas Priss had
charged blindly down an elevator shaft, the two women were proceeding with
caution. Then again, Priss had had the bene fit of a hardsuit--and that
had not gotten her very far.
Linna hefted her weapon, it's weight unfamilliar to her. Work
with the Knight Sabres had never been on this level. Hardsuits tended to
make it easy to fall into the trap that the work was impersonal; that
wrapped inside a hardsuit, you were invincible.
A necessary disbelief, otherwise, how could one continue to do the work
she did?
Sylia tapped her head mike.
"Yeah, sis?" Came Mackie's quiet reply.
"Location." Sylia made the sybillants with a 't', making it sound
like 'locathion'.
Linna looked at Sylia questioningly. "Tounge problems?"
"No."
"Nene is currently on the thirty second floor."
'A far cry from where they started.' Sylia thought. She wondered
why they were steadily moving down and not up. A sudden thought occurred
to Sylia.
"Mackie, what does the fiftieth through the sixieth floors look
like?"
Mackie stopped to take a look at the news report. "Uhh, looks
like the, fifty fifth floor is on fire."
"Linna, did you bring the rappelling equipment?"
'Oh great.' was what Linna thought, instead she said, "Umm, yeah."
It was times like this--suspended almost fifty six stories above
the ground, and rapelling down the face of a burning skyscraper--Linna
felt, were the sort of things she'd rather read about than do.
Clothed in black from head to toe, Sylia and Linna were near
invisible on the side of the building. Besides, the police's attention
was currently only directed towards the top and bottom of the building.
They were even wearing non-thermal conductive cl othing. It was designed
to trap heat in the layers, so as to foil IR detection methods. It simply
made Linna miserable.
Sylia kept watch while Linna began cutting a circular hole in the
glass. As she went along, she taped the glass down.
"Finished!" Linna said after the arduous task.
Sylia nodded, "On three."
The glass shattered on impact and Sylia and Linna tumbled into the
skyscraper amidst a whirlwind of paper and debris. The tape didn't hold
and the whole window shattered as the two Knight Sabres looked up in
surprise.
Linna, being alergic to flying glass, beat a hasty retreat. Sylia
quickly followed.
John very nearly shot Linna in the face.
"No wait!" Linna shouted.
John was surprised, terrorists, he figured were the last male
frontier. He certainly didn't expect to hear a female voice from a black
ski-masked thug toting a gun.
"Linna!" Nene shouted with joy. "Why are you wearing a mask?"
Sylia was quick to intervene. "We do not need to expose more than
we already have."
"Oh, I get it." John said, always quick to understand. "You're
part of that group, 'Dykes on Bikes'."
The first Knight Sabre to recover was Sylia. "You... You..."
"I wish Priss had been awake to hear that one." Nene remarked. A
signal quickly alerted Nene. "Sylia, there's a bommer in the immediate
area about 30 meters that way." Nene said pointing ahead.
This was something Sylia was prepared to deal with.
The three conscious Knight Sabres took defensive posistions around
Priss. John hung in the background, waiting as well.
Two figures turned a corner and stared down the hallway. Dr.
Tanaka was the first to speak. "Good lord, Holly, what's happened to your
husband?" He said, eyeing the bloodied John McClain from a distance.
As the pair came into view, John recognized the older gentleman as
Dr. Tanaka. The woman--there was something familliar about her that
gnawed just below the threshold of conscious thought.
Speculation was ended quickly as the boomer itself walked into
John's field of vision.
John felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise as a rising
whine broke his concentration. The boomer was going to fire.
A bolt of energy shot from the boomer's mouth, striking the woman
that was escorting the doctor. The woman staggered by the laser that had
destroyed her body, took a step forward and collapsed in a heap without a
word.
The boomer grabbed for the quickly fleeing Doctor, but caught only
air.
Sylia, Linna and Nene opened fire on the boomer. It advanced even
after a hail storm of bullets and opened it's mouth again to fire. That
was it's fatal mistake as John took aim and fired his last shell.
"Three times a charm."
The three Knight Sabres went to assist the elderly man while John
approached the woman to see if he could render any aid.
The smoking hole in the back of her jacket told him she was beyond
help--even if she was still alive. "Ma'am, can you hear me?" He could
hear her feebly rasping for breath and he bent down to turn her over.
As he looked at the woman's time-weathered features, John felt
once again that he knew the woman. A pang, deep in his guts told him that
this was not a casual stranger murdered in front of him.
A small ID card was clipped to her lapel. He turned it over
slowly, suddenly fearing the worst.
The color drained from John's face. Reality hit him like an anvil
in the stomach.
"Oh, shit." he said in a raspy voice. "Sweet Jesus, no! Holly!"
he shouted trying to disbelieve what was right in front of him. John's
eyes began to water as wave after wave of grief pounded into him.
"Oh my god, Holly." Why hadn't he seen it before she was shot?
He saw the face of the woman he had kissed goodbye what had only seemed
like a few hours ago--now in the body of the elderly woman lying in his
arms. She was somehow the woman who made his life whole; the only woman he
had ever really loved. Without her, even with all the fights and
arguments, he was a useless half. He looked at her face, etched deeply
with the ravages of time he had not spent with her, and felt utterly
helpless against t he loss and grief. "Oh Holly..." he said in a
strangled voice, wrapping the cooling form of his wife in his aching arms.
Her eyes fluttered open, "John? Is it really you?"
"Yes," he cried rocking her in his arms.
"I could ask where you've been," she began in a whisper.
John tried to shush her, "Holly keep still, you're weak, you need
to rest..."
"I'm dying John." Holly scolded, insistent despite the darkness
that creeped into her vision. "I have to tell you something," she paused
trying to gather her last reserves of strength. "I love you. I always
have! I never stopped searching, hoping that you'd return!"
"It'll be allright," he said feebly.
"It's not going to be allright if you don't listen to me! John,
you've got to get out of this building. I don't know what that bastard
Mason has planned, but you have to get out and you have to bring Kiyoshi
with you."
"I'll take care of it," John said, brushing a gray lock of hair
out of her face.
"John, there's a compact data unit in my pocket. Use it!" Her
eyes tracked to the three Knight Sabres. "The Knight Sabres will help
you."
Her breathing grew ragged and John's face became desperate.
"Holly! Wait, you can't die on me dammit!" He closed his eyes and held on
to her tightly, clenching her tightly in his arms. He held on to her
through several moments of silence. An ironic th ought came to mind,
causing a bitter chuckle to work it's way out of him. "Some holiday, eh?"
he whispered to her in a tight voice.
Holly laughed at that, although it came out more like a death
rattle. "Happens every year." she said as her life's fires went out
completely. Her head lolled to one side as muscles gave way to the pull
of gravity.
"NOOOOO!" John's agonized cry roared through the hallway like
thunder. "Oh God, not Holly. Please, God, don't take her away from me!"
"Why's he so upset about the old lady?" Nene stage-whispered to
Linna. Linna shrugged her shoulders and was about to respond when Sylia
held up her hand. The Knight Sabres leader led the two a discrete
distance away from the sobbing man.
"You wouldn't recognize who she is. Currently, she is Genom's
Senior Vice President of the Technology division. Her name is Holly
McClain."
"So?" Linna asked.
Nene gasped in shock, "Oh my, that's his wife?"
"Huh? I still don't get it."
"His name is John McClain, and that's his wife."
"Yes. Although I would think it more appropriate to say, that
'was' his wife." Sylia corrected. "Although, I do have one question."
"Hmm?" Nene asked.
"John McClain disapeared almost forty years ago." Sylia said,
walking again towards John. Unable to resist the impulse, Sylia knelt
down beside the cop and pulled off her mask. She looked at the dead
woman, and felt a mixture of sympathy and sadness. ' Here lies another
life taken in the name of Genom,' Sylia thought bitterly, mentally issuing
Holly's epitaph. Another life destroyed in the name of greed and power.
Fighting this sort of abuse of power was the raison d'etre of the Knight
Sabres.
"Oh God, what am I going to do without you Holly?" John asked, his
head buried against Holly's lifeless chest. Sylia hugged John to her as
best she could. He slumped against her, muttering to himself and sobbing
like a lost soul. Linna and Nene watche d the scene with misty eyes, both
choosing the wise course of saying nothing.
John slowly came to himself. Sylia comforted him the best she
could and he got up. He remembered something and reached into her pocket
grabbing a small silver disc and taking Holly's ID pouch.
"I'm going to find him."
"Who?" Nene asked.
"Mason." John said simply.
McClain clambereed down the ladder methodically. He now had a
purpose. In his eyes a grim mask of determination and bitterness burned.
"John." Sylia called to him.
"What." John replied flatly.
"You'll need help, but we have to get Priss and Dr. Tanaka to
safety."
John had forgotten that name. In his sudden quest for vengenance,
that was the only name that could have possibly snapped him out of it.
Dr. Kiyoshi Tanaka, the name his wife had begged him to keep safe. He
nodded and begin to climb back up.
A blinding bolt of light and energy stopped McClain short in his
tracks. McClain felt every hair on his body rise and smelled the tang of
ozone that was left in the air in the wake of the laser. One hand held
firmly onto the ladder, blood trickled down
his arm. He reached around to grab his pistol and fired. What he had
yet to realize about his pistol, was that it fired a recoilless,
hyper-velocity, armor piercing, high explosive shell. The super-sonic
gasses that ejected forcibly from the gun's fla sh ports blew across the
diameter of the vertical access tube and resounded with the force of a
thunder clap. The sonic boom knocked him unconscious. His grip failed
and he tumbled into the darkness.
When John awoke he found himself entagled in a safety net. By an
incredible stroke of luck, he had managed to hold on to his pistol. He
took stock of the situation and discovered that his left arm was numb of
all sensation.
"Great. What else could go fucking wrong?" He asked of no one in
particular.
The sound of a rope snapping keyed him into the fact that he
shouldn't have asked the question. Sitting up wasn't an option, and his
useless arm was currently entangled in the net. Looking above him he saw
safety nets that had sprung out of the walls.
'Pretty handy safety feature,' he thought. "I usually do this shit
without nets," he reminded himself. He tucked his gun into his waistband
and reached behind him to grab a stanchion. The net protested.
"Shiiiiiit!"
John found himself in a simillar net and began again the painful
operation of pulling himself to the door. He reflected on the merits of
firing his weapon in such an area and decided that 'Attaining Terminal
Velocity In An Elevator Shaft' was not on his
top ten list of things to do for the New Years'.
Finally, after minutes of creaking muscles and ropes, he made it
to the wall. Whoever had designed this little safety net trick had also
had the good sense to put them within easy access of the elevator door.
John deposited himself of the thirty second floor, breathing
heavily from exertion and pain.
Sylia looked down the darkened elevator shaft. Only darkness
greeted her. She took a flashlight out of her pack and covered it with a
red lens. The dim red light revealed an empty shaft. Sylia shook her
head sadly and turned away.
Finis Part One
Authorial Notes: (As promised) Well, if you've got this far dear reader
I applaud your efforts. This is of course a draft, and if you've waded
this far, I'm sure you have at least one comment to make, eh?
----
Sean Erik Page Hayden
http://www.flash.net/~haden <-- Homepage & Wierdness
http://nabiki.newberry.edu/shayden <-- Anime Supers PBeM
El Presidente Norte Americano Brotherhood de la Seans
(Seaners Internationella Broedraskap)