Author's note: Standard disclaimers apply. As usual, if you missed any
Patlabor Stateside and you'd like to read it, it's located on my
homepage, at this link:
http://www.cis.ohio-state.edu/~kelsey/fanfics.html
Stop by and take a look. And if you read this fic, *email me*, if only
to acknowledge my existence. :)
Later,
Bart Kelsey
*****
Patlabor Stateside
Episode #8: Hurricane Jody
by Bart Kelsey
"How does he /do/ it?" Mitch leaned back in the Nova's
control chair and gawked at the labor's status displays.
Tony looked up at Mitch, who was seated in the mech's
open cockpit. "How does who do what?"
"Larson," said Mitch. "He went out there on point and
made two arrests in succession, and the Nova didn't even get
a scratch. The damn thing's practically in better shape now
than it was when he took it out."
Mitch glanced back over his shoulder at the sound of
Laura descending the stairs from the residence area. Her
hair was slightly wet and tied back in a ponytail, and she
was wearing a blue and white Columbus Mobile Police T-shirt,
rather than her duty uniform. "I think it's pretty
obvious," she called out to him. "He had great back-up.
Anyway, I wouldn't get too excited about it. Sure, it was a
perfect run, but where's the challenge in bagging a couple
of drunks piloting Amstrads?"
"Hey," Mitch protested, "Amstrads aren't that bad as
far as general-purpose labors go. That's what they trained
us on back at Ohio State."
Laura paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up
at him, shrugging slightly. "Well, good labors or not,
those two guys were so plastered they could hardly tell
which way was up, let alone resist an arrest. Don't get
overconfident -- it doesn't help any when you're dealing
with the unexpected."
"Wow. Four months on the force, and you're already
spouting police advice."
"Weaver," said Laura, "if you think that only applies
to police work, you've got a lot to learn about life." She
shrugged slightly and smiled at him the way a mother would
to her son.
Mitch entered the shutdown code and climbed out of the
cockpit, leaving it open behind him. As he stepped out onto
the boarding platform, he heard Gabe Larson's voice from the
break room: "Hey, Weaver! Get in here and take a look at
this!"
"Be right there." Mitch slid down the ladder and
strode purposefully into the break room, wondering just what
Larson thought was so important that he see.
When he arrived, Larson was seated at the table filling
out a police report. Laura was taking a seat across from
him, apparently preparing to do the same, and Jody was
tilting back in a chair blowing her hair out of her eyes,
with a look on her face that plainly asked 'Why me?'.
"So, uh, what am I supposed to be looking at?"
Gabe glanced up from his paperwork and pointed toward
the television with his pen.
"Great," said Mitch. "I walked all the way in here to
see a tampon commercial.
Gabe rolled his eyes. "Not the ad, kid. Wait 'til the
news comes back on."
"/This is Ed Gruberman returning to you from the
Channel 4 Weather Center. Since the report last night,
Hurricane Jody has intensified by two categories, with
maximum sustained wind speeds now reaching over a hundred
and fifty miles per hour. The storm is expected to hit the
Florida coastline by noon tomorrow, causing severe damage
and flash flooding as far inland as Atlanta, Georgia.
Evacuations are currently underway. Let's take a look at
the satellite image of--/"
Mitch took the remote from the table and turned the
volume down several notches before speaking. "Hurricane
Jody?"
Jody groaned.
"How ... strangely appropriate."
"Shut up, Mitch."
"Shut up? I've hardly even begun--"
The Captain's voice blaring over the PA system
effectively prevented Mitch from finishing his sentence.
"This is your captain speaking. I need all on-duty
personnel to meet me out in the labor bay immediately.
Thank you."
Laura set her pen on the table and stood up, stretching
momentarily. "I wonder what that's about."
"One way to find out." Mitch walked back out into the
mech bay, and was joined shortly by everyone on the squadron
except for Ron and Elaine, who had been assigned to night
duty the previous evening.
"Well," said the captain, as he approached the group.
"By now, I'm sure most of you have heard about the hurricane
headed for the southeast coast."
General nodding and affirmative mumbling.
"I just got a call from Captain Stillman over at Metro.
Evidently, the police in Florida and southern Georgia are
requesting volunteer assistance from Patlabor divisions in
the northeast and Midwest. Now, this is liable to be a very
dangerous job, so I'm not going to order anyone to go, but I
would greatly appreciate it if someone were to volunteer to
help out. It'd be great PR for the department, and you
could very well end up saving some lives."
Laura raised her hand hesitantly. "Exactly what would
this entail?"
"Stillman wasn't a hundred percent clear about exactly
what you'd be doing there, but I'll tell you what I know.
I'm told that if we do send a volunteer, they'll be going to
Jacksonville, which will be about a fifteen-hour drive.
This means you'll have to be ready and out the door within
an hour or so, so you'll have at least a few hours of sleep
before the storm hits. When you get there, you'll be
working with a group of other volunteer Patlabor officers
helping with evacuation, and search and rescue. I'd rather
not send the Nova out there, and I doubt the Corwin will be
adequate for the task, so if you go, you'll be taking the
Apollo."
Laura nodded. "Alright. I'll do it."
Styles looked around. "We still need a driver."
Mitch raised his hand. "I'll take it, sir."
"No." Styles shook his head. "You won't. You've got a
tendency to act rashly in tense situations ... I'd rather
send someone who I can trust to be a bit more level-headed."
Tom Harris, who was standing near the back of the
group, cleared his throat before Mitch could object. "I'm
up for it, Captain."
The captain nodded. "Alright, then. You'll be leaving
in one hour. Stillman said he'd fax over directions, so
I'll get those to you before you leave. Weaver, I need you
to make sure the Apollo's working perfectly. Larson and
Morisato, the two of you are now on standby if there are any
incidents here in town. Any questions? No? Then get to
it, people!"
*
Mitch sat quietly in the dimly-lit break room, taking
an occasional sip from his Coke. The television was on, and
he was looking in its general direction, but he wasn't
really watching it.
"What's the occasion?" Jody asked.
"Huh?"
"You're never this quiet, Weaver. You're always
yapping about something or other. What's up?"
He sighed. "Just thinking is all."
Recalling the argument that had ensued last time she
had pressed him for an answer, Jody decided that it might be
better just to leave it at that, so she turned her attention
back to the TV, which was showing an old Seinfeld rerun.
"Was I out of line, driving the transport through that
guy's labor?" Mitch asked, after a few minutes had passed.
"Well," said Jody, "you sure managed to scare the piss
out of me."
"Yeah, but was I wrong to do it?"
"You stopped a potential terrorist, Mitch. There's no
telling what would have happened if you hadn't done what you
did."
Mitch turned to look Jody in the eye. "You're avoiding
the question. Was I wrong?"
Jody picked up her near-empty can of Mountain Dew and
swirled it around, considering. "No," she said quietly.
Mitch's eyes widened ever so slightly, as if he'd just
heard something he didn't expect, but was too tired to be
truly surprised. Jody looked up at him, and for some reason
that made him uncomfortable, so he quickly cast his eyes
down at the table. "Thanks," he said, his voice slightly
hoarse from lack of sleep.
"Yeah," Jody replied.
*
It was about four in the morning by the time Tom and
Laura reached Jacksonville. Tom pulled into the city police
station, taking note of the fact that there was light coming
from its windows, unlike the rest of the city, which was
apparently suffering from downed power lines. Through the
downpour, he could vaguely make out six other labor
transports already parked out in the lot, exposed to the
elements. He wearily nudged Laura, who had fallen asleep
several hours prior, despite the stormy weather outside.
"Hm?" Laura shook her head and yawned.
"We're here," said Tom, reaching into the back seat of
the transport and producing a pair of blue police-issue rain
ponchos. "You may want one of these."
"Thanks," she said, taking the jacket and slipping it
awkwardly over her head.
A crash of lightning illuminated the interior of the
cab for a moment while Harris donned his rain jacket.
Taking hold of his duffel bag with one hand and the door
handle with the other, he squinted out into the night storm.
"Ready?"
"Yeah."
"One ... two ... three ... go!" The two of them jumped
out of the truck and into the downpour outside. They made a
mad dash for the police station, tripping up slightly on
their ponchos, which were being blown into their feet by the
gale-force wind at their backs.
When they reached the door, they were quickly ushered
in by an Asian-American woman dressed in full police
uniform. She gave them a curt salute despite her obvious
lack of sleep. "I'm Captain Kanuka Clancy from NYPD,
currently in charge of the Jacksonville Volunteer Disaster
Relief Force, second contingent. Welcome aboard."
Tom and Laura returned the salute. "Lieutenants Laura
Vance and Tom Harris," said Laura. "We're from--"
"Columbus," Kanuka finished. "You've had a long drive,
so I recommend that the two of you get some sleep--
tomorrow's going to be a long day. There are some spare
bunks up the stairs and in the first room to the left. I'll
be waking you up at eight AM sharp, so if you have any
questions, you can ask me then."
Laura nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
The two of them hung their sopping wet ponchos up on
the coat rack and ambled up the stairs as per Kanuka's
directions. The makeshift bedroom was had apparently been
fashioned out of a large office; a number of desks were
pushed up against the wall to make room for the bunks--
sixteen in all, twelve of which were already occupied.
Laura tossed her bag under a nearby cot and lay down,
falling asleep within minutes, even despite the combined
snoring of twelve police officers and the constant metallic
ring of rain hitting the building's roof.
*
"Alright, people, it's eight o'clock! Time to get a
move on!" A man in a police uniform who Laura didn't
recognize stood in the doorway and clapped his hands a few
times and turned on a light, jarring the people in the room
out of their slumber. "I'll need all of you assembled in
the labor bay downstairs in five minutes!"
The majority of the people there had slept in their
uniforms; the few that didn't dressed quickly. The air was
tense and quiet--there were no doubts as to what the
remainder of the day was going to be like.
Laura sat up and stretched, then stumbled out of bed
and approached Harris, who was standing by the door.
"You ready?" he asked.
"As I'll ever be."
Along with the room's other occupants, the two of them
descended the stairs, and followed the group down another
hallway into what was apparently Jacksonville PD's labor
hanger. She took a moment to observe the labors that were
there--four in all. Two of them were Apollos, a fairly
standard police model. The other two, a design she didn't
recognize, were somewhat older by the look of them, but in
good condition.
"Wow," said a thin blond man who was standing beside
Laura. "Zeroes."
"What?"
"Those labors over there," he said, pointing toward the
two mechs at the far end of the bay that Laura had been
unable to identify. "They're Zeroes. 1999 model, if I
remember right. Must have cost an arm and a leg back when
they were new, 'specially since they had to be shipped all
the way here from Japan. Even though they were designed
nine years ago, they're still damn good labors."
Harris nodded. "Last police model to be built before
the old Shinohara factory collapsed into the Pacific."
"Impressive," said the blond man. "Not all that many
people know that. Maybe we can talk labors sometime before
we all head home."
"Sure thing. I'm Tom Harris, by the way."
"Jesse Fenwick. Nice meeting you." The two of them
shook hands.
Laura looked back and forth between them and blinked.
She'd never seen Harris be quite this outgoing before, so
this conversation came to her as a bit of a surprise.
"Anyway," Jesse continued, "what's so amazing about the
Zero was that it was so far ahead of its time. Its specs
match up almost exactly with--"
"The Apollo," said Harris, "which wasn't built until
five years later, by General Motors."
"Right again. Oh, hey, have you heard anything about
those new Novas?"
Harris grinned. "As a matter of fact, we /have/ one,
and it's the only one in the Midwest, as far as I know."
"That would put you in Columbus," Jesse stated. He
continued, catching Tom's look of surprise. "I'm not so
much of a labor buff that I'd know that normally--I only
heard about it because I'm on the Cincinnati Special
Vehicles squad. We sold you guys one of our Apollos when we
upgraded to Paladins last May."
Laura decided to ignore the conversation, which was
beginning to remind her of the way her ex-husband used to go
on and on about cars. She didn't have to ignore it for
long, though, because about that time, the man who had woke
them up a few minutes earlier entered the room and cleared
his throat.
"I'm John Hazelton, captain of the Jacksonville SV."
The room went quiet. "Since you're here this morning, it
means that you're going to be working on one of two
volunteer labor relief contingents. Contingent One will be
headed up by Captain Ross Brighton, from the Atlanta Mobile
Police. His team will consist of the units from Pittsburgh,
Charleston, and Detroit."
A tall, large man with a dark beard and a blue ball cap
with the letters 'AMP' printed on it in yellow smiled and
gave a quick nod.
Hazelton continued: "Contingent Two is under the
command of Kanuka Clancy, who's here from NYPD Mech. Those
of you who are here from Columbus and Cincinnati will be
taking orders from her."
Kanuka, who had slipped into the room while the captain
was speaking, raised her hand to identify herself.
"I'll be in command of the local Patlabor force. If
you have any questions, please direct them to your
respective team leaders." Hazelton saluted the group and
then hastened out of the room.
Captain Clancy wasted no time getting started.
"Alright, both of my units over here with me, on the
double!"
Laura, Tom, and two others approached her and stood
ready.
"We're going to need to know each others' names, so
introduce yourselves, but keep it brief--we've got a lot to
do today, and we need to get started."
Laura, noting that no one else was going to speak up
first, raised her hand. "Laura Vance, from Columbus Mobile
police."
"Tom Harris. I'm Laura's transport driver."
A tall, serious-looking black man with thinning hair
and a neatly-trimmed moustache spoke next. "Bryan Alford.
I'm a pilot with the Cincinnati Special Vehicles division."
"Jesse Fenwick," said the blonde man who had introduced
himself earlier. "I'm Bryan's backup."
The next person in line was a slightly overweight dark-
haired woman just over five feet tall. "Katrina Zunkelwitz.
I drive for Kanuka at NYPD."
"As you already know, I'm Kanuka Clancy. I was down
here on volunteer duty when Trent hit three years ago, so
I've had experience with this sort of thing, and I know the
procedures. Like any disaster, this situation will be very
unstable, so I need everyone here to follow my orders to the
letter. Is that clear?"
"Yes ma'am!" said the group, approximately in unison.
"In that case, I need you to follow me outside and
board your labors. I'll give your further instructions once
we're ready to depart."
*
The winds had intensified significantly since Tom and
Laura had arrived, and the force was now such that it
required a notable effort just to walk across the parking
lot. The remains of a particle-board sign, a piece of sheet
metal, and numerous shingles all skittered by across the
ground, liberated from their respective moorings by the
coming storm.
When Laura reached the transport, she found it
difficult to climb up the boarding ladder. The winds were
pushing her off-balance, and at the same time causing the
truck to rock back and forth. She slipped slightly as she
ascended, but managed to catch herself and keep going. With
the rain stinging at her face, it took her almost a minute
to maneuver the Apollo's hatch open, but she was glad when
she finally did. Climbing in quickly and closing the hatch,
she lay back on the pilot's chair for a few moments before
buckling herself in, sighing as the truck rocked gently back
and forth in the gale.
"Everybody in?" Kanuka's voice crackled in over the
radio.
"Roger," Bryan replied.
"Doing okay here," said Laura, strapping herself into
the seat.
"Okay, drivers, I want you to follow Katrina's truck
out to the shoreline. We're going to be sandbagging there
for an hour or so. If you've got any questions, contact me
by radio. Clancy out."
The subtle back-and-forth motion was soon joined by the
sensation of movement, as Laura's truck pulled out of the
parking lot. Try as she might to calm herself, Laura was
unable to keep the dull groan of the wind outside from her
mind. The noise chilled her to the bone, despite the
unseasonably warm and humid air inside the cabin.
Laura brought up the Apollo's satellite navigation
system hoping to track their progress toward the shore, but
met with an unpleasant surprise when a status window popped
up on her computer screen, in lieu of her navigation
program. "Unable to establish satellite uplink. If problem
consists, please contact your local distributor."
Laura resisted the urge to pound the labor's dashboard,
and instead clenched her fists together until her knuckles
whitened. Meanwhile, she felt herself scrunched into the
left side of her seat as Harris rounded a right turn. The
trip continued in this manner for several minutes, until
they finally came to a halt on a slight incline.
"Alright. Drivers, I need you turn your trucks so that
they're facing due south, into the wind, before you raise
your labors. If you try to raise facing perpendicular to
the wind, the extra leverage from the air hitting the
upright labors will topple you over onto your side."
"Understood." Harris' voice rang out through Laura's
headphones.
Laura felt the truck move again for a few seconds, then
stop. "In position," said Harris.
Jesse chimed in next. "Ditto."
"Ready when you are, ma'am," said Katrina.
"Alright, go ahead and raise."
Laura powered up her labor and watched the horizon
appear on the monitor as the Apollo tilted slowly upright.
There was a slight jerk as the restraining bolts released.
She stumbled slightly as she climbed down off of the truck,
surprised by just how much the wind threw her mech off
balance.
And then, she saw it.
Out to her left, over the ocean, was a pillar of clouds
vaster than she could have ever imagined. For a moment, she
was petrified; unable to do anything other than wonder what
mankind might have done to bring down what was so obviously
the wrath of God Himself.
Kanuka's voice jerked her back into reality. "Those
dump trucks due south of us are carrying the sandbags.
We've got a little over half a mile of coastline to cover
before the storm tide hits, so we can't waste any time.
Let's go to it."
Laura took stock of her surroundings, which she had so
far been too preoccupied to notice. They were in a large,
empty parking lot, on the inland side of a coastal road.
Across the street was a beach, also empty except for the
wind-whipped palm trees running in a row beside the road,
spaced about fifty feet apart.
Forcing the Apollo forward into the wind, she made her
way toward the sand trucks behind the other two labors. She
was surprised to find that the sandbags were normal-sized,
and not scaled up to labor proportions. Even in the heavy
wind, it took her labor little effort to reach into the back
of the nearest truck and pull out a sandbag. The wall of
sandbags started across the road from the trucks and
extended southward along the outside edge of the coastal
road, beyond the range of visibility.
Laura maneuvered her labor across the road and set her
sandbag down next to the end of the row, passing the other
two labors as she returned to the truck for another. Noting
that the other pilots were both carrying a bag in each hand,
she picked up two this time and returned to the wall with
them.
They continued in this pattern, and the makeshift
barrier slowly began to extend northward as they worked to
secure Jacksonville, at least temporarily, against of
ravages of the storm tide.
*
"How is it?" Tony glanced from his maintenance work.
Ron, who had just come in from the break room, looked
around the labor bay and shrugged. "Could be worse, I
guess. Apparently, the wind speeds have actually gone down
a bit since last night. They've leveled off at about one-
forty-five."
"Oh, /that's/ all."
"/Attention. This is your captain speaking. We have a
hostage situation out in front of the Metro police station.
Repeat, hostage situation in front of the Metro police
station. I need everyone in the mech bay immediately!/"
Ron sighed. "No rest for the weary."
The CAMP task force (except for Mitch and Jody, who
were asleep) emerged from various parts of the building and
clustered in the bay near the entrance to the front hallway.
Styles looked around. "Is this everybody?"
Tony nodded. "This is everybody, Todd."
"Alright, then. I want Larson and Allison on the Nova.
Ron and Elaine, you two take the Corwin. I'll brief you
enroute by radio."
"Yes, sir!" The four of them saluted and headed for
their respective transports.
Several minutes later, a bleary-eyed Mitch Weaver
emerged from his bedroom wearing a hastily-donned uniform.
"What was all that about?" he asked Jody, who was
stepping out into the hallway in a similar state.
"Well, seeing as how we just heard a bunch of sirens
and the labor bay's empty, I'd assume there was some sort of
labor crime."
Mitch scratched his head. "Didn't we just have one of
those yesterday?"
*
"Dammit all." Tony downshifted and brought his rig to
a stop, picking up his intercom. "Looks like traffic's
backed up from here to the station. We're going to have to
release here, and you can walk your labors the rest of the
way."
"Roger that," Gabe replied. "Go ahead and raise."
The Nova, after it had climbed down off of the
transport, turned around and started toward the Metro Police
Station. From his vantage point thirty feet above the
halted traffic, he could easily make out the form of a
yellow and black construction labor, about twenty-five feet
in height.
Gabe brought his labor to a stop and turned up the
magnification on his monitor by several levels. "Ron, is it
just me, or is that an Amstrad?"
The Nova's radio lit up. "Three points for correct
labor identification, Gabe. Now, for the bonus ... How many
construction firms in the City of Columbus use Amstrads?"
"No idea."
"Only one," said Ron.
Gabe raised an eyebrow. "So it would make sense to
assume that this situation and yesterday's--"
"--are related," Ron finished.
"Let's go." Larson reset his monitor and resumed his
approach. The CAMP labors strode easily down the median of
the road toward the scene. As they approached, it became
evident that the Amstrad was holding someone aloft in its
hand. The captive appeared to be struggling weakly, but was
making no headway against the labor's iron grip. On the
ground beside the labor's feet lay an overturned police car
with its driver's side door open.
"Well, well, well," boomed a voice from the Amstrad's
loudspeaker, "if it ain't the cops that arrested Frank and
Arnie yesterday! Who's the big man now, huh?"
"Put him down," Gabe replied, reaching for his holster.
"I wouldn't touch that gun if I were you." The rogue
labor tightened its grip slightly, eliciting an agonized
groan from its hostage. "One false move and I squeeze."
Gabe switched his megaphone off and went instead for
his comm unit. "Captain, this is Larson. What's our game-
plan?"
"Beats me," Styles replied. "Even if you got a shot
off and disabled the labor, he might end up dropping the
guy, and a fall from twenty-five feet could kill him.
Captain Stillman tells me that he's demanding the release of
those two drunks you booked yesterday within the next six
hours. Of course, Metro isn't planning to do it, so we've
got until 3 PM to figure out some way to put this guy away
without harming the hostage."
"Well, if anybody has any brilliant ideas, I'd
appreciate it if you let me know ... because for now, about
the only thing we can do is stand here and watch."
"We're working on it. Styles out."
*
The Second Contingent returned to Jacksonville SV
Headquarters after an hour or so of sandbagging. The First
arrived just minutes later, having completed their own
section of the Jacksonville coastline.
"Welcome back," said Captain Hazelton over the howling
wind outside, once the volunteer force had assembled in the
labor bay. "Once your labors are refueled, you're going to
be back out in the field responding to the rescue calls that
the regular 911 crews can't handle on their own. You won't
have any time to rest again until the eye of the storm,
which won't be for another seven hours or so, so I'd advise
you to grab a sandwich and something to drink before you go
back out on patrol. Once again, you'll be briefed
individually once you're out on patrol. If you're going to
get seven hours of operation time out of your machines,
you're going to have to board your transports rather than
walking from place to place. I realize that's a bitch in
this weather, but that's really the only way we'll be able
to operate effectively."
"Also," he continued, "you will be dispatched within
radio range of the other members of your contingent, but you
will not be working with them directly. I realize this is a
breach of standard Police protocol, operating individually,
but we have a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time
to cover it in. You'll be called in to base at 5 PM today,
although you may be out longer if the situation demands it.
If you have any questions, direct them to your respective
contingent leaders. Dismissed."
The squadron dispersed, most of the members taking
advantage of the brief reprieve to relieve themselves, or
get something to eat, as the captain had suggested.
Meanwhile, the wind beat noisily against the building's
metal siding, making it irritatingly difficult to hold any
conversations.
Laura fed two dollar bills into a vending machine, and
received something that could have been a ham sandwich. She
sat down on one of the benches and bit into it, trying not
to think about how long it might have been sitting
undisturbed in the vending machine before she liberated it.
The luncheon was dry, chewy, and generally unappetizing, so
it was a pleasant surprise when Kanuka took a seat beside
her and handed her a can of lemonade.
"Thanks," said Laura, opening it and taking a quick
gulp to wash down the remnants of her last bite.
Kanuka shrugged. "It's no problem. I would have asked
you what you wanted, but the soda machine's out of
everything else."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I like lemonade." To prove
her point, Laura took yet another refreshing swig. "This
sandwich, on the other hand..." She eyed the remainder of
her intended lunch and determined that she probably wouldn't
die if she missed a meal or two. With a light toss, she
sank it deftly into a nearby trash can.
"Here," said Kanuka, fishing out an apple from the
brown paper bag she was carrying. "You really should eat
something."
"Oh, no. I couldn't."
"It's alright, really. I brought an extra." With her
other hand, she reached into the bag again and produced a
second apple, which she took a bite out of. As she munched,
she held the first apple out to Laura, who accepted it
guiltily.
The two of them ate quietly for several minutes, until
the mechanic crew signaled that their labors were ready to
go.
*
Mitch and Jody sat in the CAMP office along with
Captain Styles. Together, the three of them were the only
people on duty in the building. Styles puffed gently on a
cigarette, staring intently at the monitor that was
receiving the camera signal from Larson's labor. The image
on the screen had remained virtually unchanged for half an
hour. The lone Amstrad was holding its hostage aloft in
front of the Columbus Police Station, surrounded on all
sides by police officers, all armed to the teeth. Beside
the labor's right foot sat the overturned police car, from
which the rogue mech had taken its prisoner.
"So," said Jody, "we need to disable the labor without
allowing it to either drop or crush the guy."
"Thank you, Morisato," said the captain. "Now either
be quiet and let me think, or go talk somewhere else."
Mitch raised his hand, a habit which he had picked up
in college and had yet to shake. "Actually, Sir, I just had
a thought. If we shoot the Amstrad in the right place, we
may be able to cut the nerve going to its arm without
knocking out its hydraulics."
Styles took the cigarette from his mouth and put it out
in the ashtray. "Go on."
"Well, if we do that, we'll effectively immobilize the
labor's arm. He won't be able to squeeze the guy or drop
him, because the arm would have power, but no controlling
nerve signals. After that, we'll have a better position to
apprehend the guy."
"That's great in theory," said Jody, "but knocking out
a nerve cable takes a lot of accuracy, there's really no way
to know where to shoot."
Mitch nodded. "The Nova's got a hell of a targeting
computer. If you tell it where to shoot, it doesn't miss--
it's as simple as that. As far as knowing /where/ to shoot
... Captain, is it alright if I use your phone?"
"Go right ahead, Weaver."
Mitch picked up the telephone and dialed a number. "Is
Professor Zellner there?" he asked after a slight pause.
"Mitch Weaver, with the Mobile Police," he said.
There was another pause.
"Actually, no. This is an emergency. I need to talk
with him right now ... No, it can't wait."
Pause.
"A hostage situation ... No, I'm not making fun of his
Labor Design class. I'm talking about a /real/ hostage
situation. Turn on your TV if you don't believe me. It
should be on the news ... Well, /interrupt him, then/!"
Mitch looked up from the telephone and shook his head.
He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on
Styles' desk, notwithstanding the captain's icy glare.
After about three minutes, he spoke into the telephone
again:
"Doctor Zellner? Mitch Weaver here ... Yeah, sorry
about that--this is really urgent, though. I need you to
bring me a set of blueprints for the Amstrad. Both
hardcopy, and AutoCAD format, if you can do it."
Mitch nodded.
"Within the next hour, if at all possible. The
situation's getting pretty tense ... Okay, thanks, Doc! I
really appreciate it."
At that, he hung up the telephone and smiled proudly at
Styles, who looked moderately impressed.
*
"'Scuse me?" A bald man with white eyebrows and small,
round spectacles stood in the doorway to Styles' office
holding a large, rolled up paper. "Mitch Weaver here?"
"Break room," replied Styles between two sips of
coffee. "Down the hall on the right."
"Thanks a bunch." Dr. Howard Zellner, professor of
Labor Design at the Ohio State University, ambled down the
hallway and entered the first door on the right, as per the
captain's instructions.
"Doc!"
"This better be good, Weaver," he stated as he entered
the room. "I've got thirty students back there who are very
angry and frustrated about class ending early."
Mitch grinned. "I can imagine. Oh, by the way," he
motioned toward Jody, who was seated at the table across
from him, "this is Jody--"
"--Morisato," he finished. "How've you been?"
Jody shrugged. "Can't complain, I guess. They don't
trust me to drive any labors around here, so I pretty much
have to baby-sit Weaver all day."
"Sounds like a tough job. Not many people can deal
with Mitch on a day-to-day basis."
Mitch rolled his eyes.
Dr. Zellner unrolled the blueprint and placed it on the
table, then let go and watched it promptly roll itself back
up again. Taking a pair of spatulas from the drawer next to
the oven, Mitch opened the blueprint once again, this time
weighting it down.
"Now," he said, "care to explain to me why I had to
drop what I was doing and rush these design specs out here?"
"Sure thingy. I assume you've heard about the
situation out at the Metro Police station by now."
Zellner nodded.
"Well, we figure that the best way to resolve the whole
thing is to disable the Amstrad in such a way that it
doesn't drop the hostage. Of course, that means knocking
out its nerve cable without hitting its power lines."
"That's easy," said Zellner. "Cut the shoulder nerve."
He indicated a place on the blueprint. "Your best bet would
be to hit it right here, just above the shoulder joint.
It's well away from the labor's power line, and it's also a
good distance from any major structural components that a
bullet might lodge into--if the bullet isn't allowed to pass
all the way through the labor, you could knock it over
backwards, which would probably kill the hostage."
"Doc, how is it that you know all this stuff?"
Zellner just shrugged. "It's just labor design and
simple physics. Not too big a deal, really. The hard part
is gonna be actually hitting it."
Mitch shook his head. "To the contrary, Doctor
Zellner, hitting it is the easy part. All we need to do is
mark the target area on the Amstrad's CAD file and then
upload it to the Nova's computer. It won't miss."
Mitch glanced at the oft-neglected Pentium II system
back in the far corner of the room. Although outdated by
nearly a decade, it held a near-current version of AutoCAD,
making it more than adequate for the task at hand. The CD-
ROM Zellner produced from his coat pocket bore the scuffs
and scratches of heavy use, but the computer made no
complaint about loading the image file.
Weaver made a few quick modifications to the file,
adding the targeting point at the place that Zellner had
indicated on the blueprint. He turned to look back over his
shoulder. "Hey Jody?"
"Yeah?"
"Could you do me a favor and tell Styles that I'm going
to have a file for him to upload to the Nova in a few
minutes?"
*
"Unit Three, this is command. Do you copy?"
Laura spoke into her headset, at the same time
concentrating on keeping her labor stable in the wind.
"This is Unit Three. Go ahead, command."
"We've got a car trapped in some flooding about three
blocks north of your current position. Reports indicate
that the vehicle has at least two occupants."
"Copy that, command. Unit Three out." Laura quickly
backed her labor up to the transport truck and activated the
auto-dock. Wavering slightly, the Apollo stepped backward
into the truck's upright docking bed. A click and a whir
later, Harris and Laura were speeding off toward their next
rescue assignment.
The report had been an understatement. The car wasn't
just trapped in floodwater; it was being carried downstream
in an impromptu river close to five feet deep. The people
inside--three, by Laura's count--were neck-deep in the
water, and beating against the inside of the windows.
Disengaging her labor from the carrier, Laura took a
cautious step downhill toward the flooded road. She took a
second step, but a gust of wind forced her to plant her foot
early. She gasped as her labor nearly toppled over, then
stopped to take a deep breath once she managed to recover
the Apollo's balance. Once she was sure that her mech was
steady, she stepped down off the hill into the flowing
water.
The labor's foot, however, did not come to rest where
she expected. Apparently, she had misjudged the depth of
the water where she stepped in by several feet, and when the
foot finally did hit the ground, the Apollo was moving too
quickly for her to regain control. In one quick motion, her
mech's legs slipped out from under it. There was a moment
of sickening weightlessness that felt to Laura as if she was
toppling backwards out of a third-story window. When her
labor finally hit ground, the crunch was tremendous.
A flash of light and flying sparks, and then complete
darkness. It took her a moment, but she slowly began to
feel a pain in her right shin. It was dull at first, but it
soon grew in intensity until she was sure that her leg was
broken.
And that wasn't the worst of it. She could dimly make
out the sound of running water to her left. The cockpit was
flooding.
*
"Download complete." Gabe Larson hit a few buttons on
his targeting computer and brought up the file that had just
been sent to him. A three-dimensional image appeared on his
console, depicting an Amstrad with a red crosshair over its
right shoulder.
"Now," said Mitch, "what you need to do is synchronize
the CAD data with your targeting system, so you can pinpoint
the target area on your heads-up display."
"Can't I just shoot the damn thing without using all
that jargon?"
"That's a negative, Larson," said Styles' voice. "None
of that Luke Skywalker shit. Use your targeting computer."
Gabe groaned to himself. He was tempted for a moment
to ignore the captain's suggestion, but then figured that if
he had his computer do the aiming for him, he wouldn't be at
fault if something bad happened.
"Paccini, this is Larson. Do you copy?"
"Loud and clear, Gabe. Go ahead."
"I need you to run interference for me. Do something
distracting so he won't be paying attention when I draw my
weapon."
"Copy that, Nova. Did you have anything particular in
mind?"
"Not really," said Gabe. "Just draw his attention."
He pressed a few more keys on his console and activated the
auto-targeting system. The enemy labor's shoulder flashed
bright red on his console. "On the count of three," he
said.
"Roger."
"One ... two ... three ... now!"
A hoarse voice crackled over the Corwin's loudspeaker,
in what sounded like failed attempt at humming something.
The Corwin, which had been still for upwards of two hours,
sprang suddenly into motion, twisting and flailing in a
grotesque approximation of The Chicken.
Larson hit his fire button, and in one swift motion,
the Nova drew its pistol, raised it, and fired. The bullet
was dead on target. The renegade labor barely moved as the
bullet passed through its shoulder, cleanly severing the
nerve wire. Hitting the marble wall of the police station
at an angle, the projectile broke a chunk of stone from the
building and then ricocheted harmlessly into the middle of
the police perimeter.
The Amstrad stayed still for a moment until its driver
was hit by the sudden realization that its arm no longer
worked, rendering it unable to crush the hostage as planned.
Paccini brought the dancing Corwin to a standstill and
drew his own weapon, training it on the Amstrad's pilot
seat.
"That was a warning shot," said Gabe over the Nova's
megaphone. "Now get the hell out of that labor *right
now*."
The Amstrad's hatch opened up, and a pair of hands
rose slowly out of the opening. The hands were followed by
two arms and a head. The suspect found himself staring down
the barrels of two labor pistols and about thirty police
rifles.
*
Harris picked up his microphone. "Laura, everything
alright in there?"
There was no answer.
"Unit six, status report!"
No reply was forthcoming.
"Oh shit," said Tom Harris, making a startlingly
accurate assessment of the situation at hand. "Mayday, this
is transport six. Unit six is down. Repeat, unit six is
down!"
"Transport six, this is command. What is your
situation?"
"Laura went over backwards into the flood water about
half a minute ago. Her labor hasn't moved since then. I
need assistance out here--she's probably taking on water."
"Copy that, transport six. Help should be there in
about twelve minutes."
Harris gaped at the radio. "Twelve minutes? She could
drown before then, and God only knows what'll happen to
those people in the car!"
"Transport six, we'd get someone out there quicker if
we could, but the closest unit is twelve minutes away.
You'll have to sit tight."
"Damn it all." Harris shifted the truck into drive and
headed forward into the running water. When the front end
was about four feet under, he threw the drivers' side door
open, nearly snapping it off in the force of the wind. He
closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then climbed out the
door onto the side of the transport. Hopping into the
stream momentarily, he gave the door a heave and shut it,
then climbed back up onto the side of the cab. Grasping the
mirror, he pulled himself up onto the truck's hood.
Steadying himself, he slowly brought his feet under him
and stood up. A stray shingle blew by and hit him in the
shoulder, but under the circumstances, he barely felt it.
He edged forward until he was standing at the front of the
truck, and then leapt out toward Laura's labor.
His landing was less than spectacular--in fact, his
feet hit the water about half a foot short of the labor's
appendage--but he somehow managed to grab hold of the
Apollo's knee joint without getting swept away by the
current. Grunting, he pulled himself up onto the top of the
mech's knee and began crawling up its leg toward the pilot
hatch at the top of its chest.
It was a slow process. He nearly fell into the water
halfway there when he ducked under a piece of plywood that
blew by. Somehow, though, he managed to get there in one
piece, and he threw open the labor's hatch.
Laura was inside, lying horizontally on the Apollo's
pilot seat. Water had filled most of the cockpit, and she
appeared to be struggling to keep her head out so she could
breathe.
"Harris!" she yelled, tilting her head back to keep
from inhaling any water. "I think my leg is broken!"
Tom lay down on his stomach and reached a hand down
through the hatch. "Can you get ahold?"
Laura reached up and took Tom's hand, but when he tried
to pull her out of the cockpit, a searing pain shot up
through her right leg. Alarmed, she gave a shrill yell and
let go of his hand.
"What is it?"
"I'm stuck! There's something pinching my leg."
"Oh hell." Tom swung his legs around so that they were
hanging into the hatch. He slid forward and dropped quickly
into the hatch on Laura's left. Laura sputtered slightly
and arched her back in an effort to keep her mouth out of
the rapidly rising water. Harris, meanwhile, ducked into
the cockpit and leaned over to get a look at what was
holding Laura's leg in place.
He was not entirely sure exactly what it was; it
appeared to be a power supply of some kind that had been
knocked loose in the fall. Whatever its function, though,
it was large and very heavy, and it took everything he had
just to budge it.
Laura, feeling another sudden pain in her leg, inhaled
sharply, and this time got a mouthful of water. Tom braced
himself and put all of his limited weight into lifting the
power supply. Laura had the presence of mind to wrench her
broken leg free when the chance arose, even though it hurt
her terribly to do so.
Tom quickly dropped the bulky item and reached down to
grab Laura by the wrist, pulling her up out of the water.
Gasping for air, she struggled to get her one good leg under
her so she could stand up on the seat. She coughed,
spitting up the water that she had taken into her lungs a
few seconds earlier.
"You alright, Laura?"
"Been better," she said, once she had caught her
breath.
"There's another labor on the way out here to get us,"
Tom stated. "Should be here in ten minutes or so. This is
probably the safest place to stay until then."
"What about the people they sent us in to rescue?"
Tom poked his head out through the hatch and looked
downstream. "They should be alright for now. Looks like
the car's lodged up against a building or something. As
long as the water level doesn't go up any more, they should
be safe until the rescue labor gets here."
*
There was only a skeleton crew working at the
Jacksonville Municipal Hospital, and it took them several
hours to get to Laura's injury because they were busy
tending to more serious wounds. When they finally did get
to her, the storm had died down to a mere gale--noisy, but
relatively harmless.
"That should do it," said the doctor as she put the
finishing touches on Laura's fiberglass-wrapped cast. "Now
try and get some rest. Your friend out there tells me
you've got a long trip ahead of you tomorrow."
"I'll do that."
The doctor, a thin, middle-aged woman with spectacles,
stood up and stepped out of the room, quietly closing the
door behind her. A moment or so later, the door opened once
again, and Tom Harris entered, moving to take a seat beside
Laura's bed.
"Feeling any better?"
Laura sighed. "A little, I guess. I never said thank
you for risking your neck to come and get me like that. I
could have drowned in there."
Tom leaned back in his chair and smiled, adjusting his
glasses as he did so. "Hey, don't mention it. That's what
friends are for, right? Just remember, if I'm ever stuck in
a disabled labor drowning in the cockpit with a broken leg,
you owe me one, alright?"
"I'll keep that in mind." Laura sighed again.
"Is something else bothering you, Laura?"
"Well, I dunno. I feel like I've embarrassed the
entire department. See if they ever let CAMP volunteer for
hurricane relief again."
Tom shrugged. "Hey, things like that happen. It's
discouraging and all, but it's no reason to give up."
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Laura.
A somewhat bedraggled Kanuka Clancy entered the room,
graceful as ever despite the fact that she was quite
obviously exhausted.
"Captain Clancy." Laura nodded her head.
Kanuka brushed her slightly damp hair back out of her
face. "I just wanted to stop by and say thank you for
helping out. It was a pleasure working with you, however
briefly."
"Thanks," said Laura. "I just wish I could have been
more help."
"I wouldn't worry about it. As long as we learn from
experiences like this--that's what matters." She paused for
a moment and then spoke again, very directly this time, so
as to leave no note of question in her voice. "I hope to
see you again the next time there's a request for volunteer
patlabor aid."
Laura nodded. "Yes ma'am," she answered quietly.
"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go take a shower
and try to catch up on sleep. Good evening to the both of
you."
"G'night Captain," said Tom, touching the bill of his
CAMP baseball cap.
Inclining her head slightly, Kanuka Clancy turned and
exited the room.
"Strange woman," said Laura.
Tom took his cap off and ran a hand through his short
hair. "Maybe so, but she's one of the best labor pilots
alive. Apparently she's been in some situations that would
have made today look like a picnic in comparison. In fact,
there's a rather substantial rumor that she was involved
somehow back in '99 when the Shinohara building collapsed
during that monsoon."
Laura shook her head. "You conspiracy theorists are
all alike. A building collapses during a tropical storm and
all of a sudden everybody's dreaming up stories about
computer viruses and big cover-ups. I mean, give it up
already. It was a simple design flaw."
"If you say so. Anyway, you look like you need to get
some sleep. I'll be here to pick you up some time tomorrow
morning. 'Night Laura."
Laura stifled a yawn. "G'night, Tom."
*
It was nearly eleven at night the following evening
when Tom and Laura arrived back at CAMP headquarters. Tony
and Ron were on graveyard at the time, and they watched with
a certain amount of bemusement as Harris jumped out of the
truck and went around to assist Laura, who was wearing a
cast on her leg and holding a pair of crutches.
Tony winced slightly once he got a look at the Apollo.
It was caked with mud from head to foot, and didn't appear
to be attached to the transport correctly. "I don't suppose
the two of you are going to explain any of this, are you?"
Laura shook her head. "I'd really rather not."
Tony looked over at Tom. "Harris?"
"I know nothing," he said, catching a reproachful
glance from Laura.
"I don't doubt it," said Tony. "I can't wait to see
how Styles deals with this tomorrow morning."
*
Epilogue: Captain Todd Styles did not deal with it very
well. After ordering Assistant Labor Mechanic Mitch Weaver
to repair the heavily damaged Apollo, he took four aspirin,
smoked three cigarettes, drank two cups of coffee, and shut
himself in his office for the remainder of the morning with
orders that he was not to be disturbed unless there was a
dire emergency.