------------------------------
Tales of the Dragon
-/\/\- 8/12/99
-Chapter 3
------------------------------
The peculiar solar phenomenon that occurs each day in unique amidst all other off happenings in
the world. As the planet turns towards Sol, like a living being trying to warm its backside, our bright and
young star responds by spreading over the distant horizon, sending various beacons of light to herald its
way, saying, "Morning comes! Wake up!"
True dawn, unlike the lesser, false kind, lasts a good while as the sun named Sol cheerfully wakes
up and pokes its bright head above clouds and horizon. Those awake at such a moment can catch rays of
light bursting through random gasses and particles in the area, giving it a lovely rose coloration. This,
perhaps, is one of the fine points of pollution... it makes sun-rise all the more spectacular.
This particular morning found a young man, laying out in the coming sun, an unusual smile
adorning a bronzed face, lids closed on dancing mercury cat-eyes. The young man, all of one year of
twenty, had taken the name 'Dragon', preferring it oddly over his true name of Sharr Machusak. The new
title referred to the strange body Dragon wore, which was perhaps the metallic version of a human. All
organic compounds in Dragon's body had been translated to its component or opposite on the metal side of
the periodic table. Of course, in some ways this was seemingly impossible. But then, our young friend was
full of impossibilities.
About this young boy bustled an extra-ordinary mercenary crew in its preparations for an assault
against a man who'd insulted their employer. Facing possible disrespect to their reputations of being
bloodthirsty soulless men, they could not let such a insult go without punishment. Especially when
employed by one of the most powerful mercenaries ever, a deceptively small woman named Cortes. After
her ancient namesake, Cortes was a fierce, intelligent, and sometimes devious woman.
This group, for their part, ignored the boy who was laying on the ground. In their estimations, he
was an advanced droid that had their employer's respect and fancy. Of course, after several broken ribs and
fore-arms, no-one was willing to force Dragon to do something he didn't want to do; namely work. So if he
didn't want to pitch in, hey! that was fine.
Close to eight in the morning, the final touches were made, and Cortes approached the resting
humanoid. Glancing at his still form, she queried, "So, are you going to help at all... Dragon?"
"Sure," he responded, moving only his mouth. "I'd love to. Just point me in the general direction
and fire." His eyes opened, dancing with a peculiar fire around cat-slit pupils, "Like a smart gun."
She smiled, "More than a gun, my friend. If you really are the 'Dragon' you should be able to mess
Grewicca's troupes up good. Do you think you're ready?"
"Give me a minute or two to stretch my muscles," he nodded.
Another half-hour passed, and the group loaded into vehicles for transport. Dragon kept close to
Cortes, on her right side, while a strange old man took place on her left. He had a computer connected into
his arm by incredibly small machines called nanites. Genetically engineered electronic impulses from his
brain powered the small computer. Gene, for that was his name, also had scientifically manipulated eyes
that were nearly twice as powerful as a man's. It allowed him to see print on the screen that would have
been invisible to the naked eye.
In the normal human society, Gene would be considered a freak, being a cyborg. Cyborgs were
people unable to afford their own bodies, so they became virtual slaves. Even simple changes like these on
Gene's body were enough to condemn him to base jobs or virtual slavery, unless he was incredibly rich.
However, in this profession, his engineered changes were a reason for advancement, landing him an easy
job as assistant to Cortes.
Normal cyborgs were maintenance workers, prostitutes, or even powerful wrestlers. Such jobs
were considered better for cyborgs than simple droids as they could react and interact with human feeling.
People unable to afford a living usually grew to deep in debt that they were sold to companies to earn their
way out. Of course, the company only profited while the cyborg grew deeper in debt. Gene was a special
case, having earned an untaxable inheritance, which he spent on the gencomp and enhancements. He
quickly joined TriOp and was sent to Cortes' team, subsequently proving himself many times.
Dragon, of course, had received his enhancement free of charge. He had eyesight as, if not more,
powerful than Gene's, hearing a damn sight better, and muscular skills that would have put anybody to
shame. Unfortunately, the only reason Dragon was standing was his immense natural ability for adaptation,
so he could ignore the pain of his body having suddenly changed on itself, from pure incredibly fit organic
material, to unthinkably powerful metallic compounds.
Perhaps strangest was the plasmatic abilities. The 'blue touch' that he'd shown during his fight in
Grewicca's hall. Perhaps more would evidence themselves in the fight. Dragon, suddenly unsure, began to
chew his lip. 'This is so outside my realm...'
Cortes saw his sudden look of anxiety, but said nothing.
Imagine it as thus it is described. A massive army, made of mostly robots, war-droids, immense
human-driven mechas, smaller remote mechas, and cyborgs in powered armor. This army amounts to
perhaps two hundred, the personal guard of the man known only as Grewicca. Now, pit against this
reasonable army five hundred veteran, trained humans; each in a power armor that makes Grewicca's best
look cheap. Now divide that veteran army by...say...ten.
Fifty super-mercenaries with high-power equipment against powerful droids more than twice their
number... pure slaughter, any way you look at it; those poor robots. Now add a extremely volatile martial
artist that has had his perceptions, speed, and over-all abilities enhanced by about four times, as well as an
uncanny ability to generate devastating azure plasma that is able to slag a multi-million-dollar mecha in two
to four seconds. The only thing that slowed the Dragon down was his human friends and the stiffness of
still-adjusting muscles.
Dragon virtually flew threw the army, his touch rendering every single droid he touched useless,
perhaps one each second. The army mowed down the heavy-mechas and cyborgs, losing but one foolish
youth. The battle took a glorious five minutes due simply to the fact it took some droids up to five seconds
to fully explode.
Grewicca himself, stood stunned in his tower, staring at a field strewn with parts of metal and
plastic, once green grass seared to the roots with strayed plasma fire. It was the last thing he saw when
Cortes fired her pistol through the back of his head, searing a round, clean hole the size of a dime out his
brain cavity, through the reflective sun-shielded glass.
After studying the dead body for a few more seconds, Cortes took the elevator down to ground
level, where the mercenary crew was going through the remains of the battle for survivors or usable scrap.
Dragon was seated by himself on the back of a skimmer, leaning over slightly. Although she could not see
it in his body, she somehow sensed he was in pain.
He looked up as she approached, "Hello Ms. Cortes. Was it good for you?" She seated herself on
the skimmer beside him.
"I've had better," she responded, gazing at the carnage. "You're pretty thorough, Dragon.
Thorough, and somewhat expensive. You _could_ have left some spare parts."
He shrugged, "I still don't have a complete control over this newfound talent, Cortes. It has its own
mind. Did you see the red energy burst?"
She expressed interest, "Red? Was it plasma-based?"
He blinked, "How the hell should I know? I don't even know what you consider plasma... I figure
its not the compound in a person's blood, but some type of energy?"
Nodding, Cortes answered, "Plasma is the source of energy most weapons use, instead of
projectiles or lasers. Lasers, being light, can be refracted, losing strength. Projectiles are a physical force
that has to go through armour, besides not really being able to damage a mecha or droid. Plasma, however,
just happens to be incredibly hot and temporarily radioactive. Its one of the states of matter, right above
gaseous. If I remember my science right, plasma is essentially highly excited electrons and protons
unconfined to an atom. The plasma generation devices we use today are usually small and portable, able to
easily stay in a basic weapon design. I'm no expert, but I'll bet your..." she cocked and eyebrow..." two
talents are not true plasma, but maybe a mixture? Because normal plasma is a white-yellow color. Not
blue, and definitely not red."
"Do you have the schematics for the original Dragon mecha the old man was working on?"
She shook her head, "They're locked under company records. I'd have to get the permission of the
other two leaders in TriOp give them to you."
"Great." He frowned, than glanced back over at her. "So, what now?"
"That's your decision, Dragon." Cortes gazed at him. "You're no robot I can order around, but my
suggestion is take a break. Go around our world and figure things out for yourself. I can give you some
money and clothes, but other than that you're on your own."
"Perhaps the best advice I've had yet."
"The money is part of the spoils, and part payment for aiding us in battle." She shook her head
ruefully, "It'll be one to remember."
If one was to guess the man named Niko's age, it would be most likely in his early forties. He had
an exuberance around him that matched a sleek runner's body. His friendly brown eyes matched perfectly
with the bouncy light brown hair. His face was slightly wide, giving one the impression of chubbiness, his
mouth curved in a perpetual smile. He looked to be a friend, confidant, comrade. Someone to trust and be
trusted by.
His personality was no different than his appearance. Niko was, to anyone's opinion, a sociable
and agreeable man. He was the one of the TriOp to most favor changes, and we would have readily
welcomed any suitable person his place in TriOp. But, Niko would never have risen to that place if he had
not the skills to keep it. He was a cheerful man who inspired confidence and confidentiality in his men,
ruthless in a fight, honorable and powerful. The deceptive lack of girth to his muscles hid a powerful
strength, easily able to lift the rear of a skimmer with no power-suit enhancements.
But, at this time, his friendly grin had made a rear-ward transition, darkening his eyes. He was
saying in a strong voice, "I disagree, Wren. If Cortes needs the files, I think she should have them. There is
obviously a reason she wishes to show them to this young sprout, Machusak."
*What I think,* the computer simulated voice replied, *...is disturbingly obvious, my dear friend
Nikolai, is our poor Cortes is smitten with this 'sprout'. She found him in a dessert less than a month agone,
and he had awakened... yesterday? Already she trusts this boy enough to bequeath him valuable weapon
plans that would be worth billions of dollars in America. Not to mention billions of yen on the Japanese
international market.*
Nico sighed, "Until she files a full report, I think we should trust her, Wren. Already she had one
more victories on field than either of us combined. Do you believe _that_ to be a farce?"
*No,* the voice soothed, *I don't. Nicolai, our company is based on the trust of us three, even
though none of us has met face to face. I am not suggesting that Cortes is unsuitable. I merely believe she
has been smitten by a pretty face.* The soothing voice turned to a slightly amused version of itself, *Truly,
haven't you ever had a luscious bed-mate that could guile the most stunning secrets from you? I'll not lie to
say I have not.*
"But Cortes is not either of us," Nico growled. "You know as well as I what she is."
*A woman. Even women have their fancy struck.*
"That's not what I meant..."
*I know,* Wren interrupted. *But it doesn't matter. I will not allow Cortes to give this
information to this boy, _until_ she is able to file a report detailing why it would benefit him. _Or_ he
provides ample reason himself for it. That is all I have to say on this, Nico.*
"God damn you, Wren..." Nico sighed. "Fine. We won't release the information to her unless she
can give a suitable reason. Now... do you want to be the one to tell her that?"
*Hell no! I'm a coward!* The fake voice laughed, *And on your earlier statement, I'm already
damned, Nico. Why not take a few people with me?"
Nearly a day later, suited in a new pair of slacks and shirt, a slight visor to hide his incredible eyes,
and a pack of clothes adorning his powerful back, and a couple thousand credits richer, Dragon strode off
from Cortes' camp, aiming for the world at large.
Cortes watched him, no smile on her lips, no interest in her eyes.
Just another man...leaving.
End Chapter Three
--------------------------
------------------------------
Tales of the Dragon
-/\/\- 8/18/99
-Chapter 4
------------------------------
"Bright lights... sterile room. I saw operating visual equipment... when I could look around, I
scanned the room for myself. The walls were painted a light blue, and cracks were showing through the
inadequately and roughly slathered paint. On a monitor to the side was a typical cyborg fighting match..."
"Calm down, calm down girl. Slower."
"I saw two men, the first a disgustingly obese man with red hair. His hands, though, were long and
calloused. The second was more like a weasel than a man, with sharp features and long black hair. The
weasel was rubbing his hands together at what the fat man was saying, 'Its in perfect working order. Should
be as good, if not better, than a standard sectored or 'borg with a bit of experience.'"
"If you don't want to relay the communicating exactly, you don't have to."
"It's... easier for me to remember it this way."
"Alright. Go on."
"The weasel nodded in reply to the fat man's comment. 'You're lucky, my friend Ned.' he said, 'If
you'd busted like that last one, I'd have your head...'
'Ned interrupted, 'The drive it's using is an old, slightly odd model, but I'm confident it will work.
In fact, it should be on-line right now.' Then he gestured vaguely in my direction. The weasel turned
around, and located the corner in which my body lay. I saw him come towards me.
'Looks good enough laying down,' he muttered to himself, then commanded stiffly, 'Stand up.'
My body obeyed the command before I could even think, and... I felt... I _resented_ the way he
gazed at me. The resentment burned to anger when he placed his hands on me, then ran them down my
body! Then this creature had the audacity to say, 'Incredible, its actually responding to my touch. What did
you do?' !"
"Shhh. Calm."
"Yes... yes... I'm calm. Anyway, Ned replied to the weasel, 'I installed Cyborg implants. For some
reason the drive is able to translate into suitable data, making for those reactions.'
'Excellent. I'll take it, Ned.' The weasel said, turning to Ned, holding out a small plastic stick.
'Thous' creds. Don't spend it all at once.' Ned eagerly took the credit stick, then reached over and flipped a
switch."
She paused, the whites of her eyes showing, "I saw darkness."
"Darkness? Were you unconscious?"
"....Yes... I woke up in a seedy room, filled with a nasty-looking bed, and a single window. Even in
that state I knew essentially what it was for. And I was right... when that man came in...
'I screamed and screamed, but it only excited him... he... I didn't know what was happening... I
hated so much... I screamed and hit him.
Lost in her recollection as she was, he simply let her ramble, "He hit the wall... and I heard this
awful snap... and kept screaming until they came and grabbed me. I was forced down the street, still
frightened... they strapped me to that... thing... and lit it! I was burning! But, I was only dimly aware of the
fire creeping around my ankles... then my knees...'
Her eyes suddenly widened in wonder, "Then this man in blazing blue light saved me..."
The beaten and defeated sexaroid softly began to cry after she relayed her story, from her location
in a cold back-alley in one of the largest cities in the world. He'd been wandering the streets, feigning
blindness, learning his way about the place with the ease of those long accustomed to cities. Noticing an
odd scent on the wind, he followed, surprised when he encountered a large mob.
"What's going on?" he queried to a man standing close by, "I smell fire,"
The man glanced at him, then quickly back to whatever entertainment possessed him, "They're
burning a sexaroid. She nearly killed one of the guys she was servicing. The pimp's set her up to burn."
The man called Dragon suddenly then became unnaturally angry, for the sounds reached him of
the, burning droid, screaming in terror. Outraged at such an injustice, the Dragon had quickly sped through
the area, untying and running off with the droid in a great explosion of light. She'd begun the story once
he'd laid her on the ground, gazing at him in wonder.
Still crying, the droid suddenly went off-line, feigning sleep. It was more an attempt for back up
protocols to run, allowing her fragmented AI psyche pull itself back together. As she slept, Dragon took to
guarding the alley from intrusion, his simple prescience enough to make even the most crime-jaded citizen
back away.
In a few hours, the droid re-awoke, gazing about herself in wonder. "Where am I?"
"A back street," came her answer, in a cold tone, "I am Dragon. You are?"
She blinked at the man, then allowed her voice to drop to a sneer, "You're a human, I'm a droid.
What should you care what my name is? Why should you care at all for a robot created to... please men!"
"Enough to save said droid from a mob willing to sacrifice her in some noble but otherwise
moronic attempt at retribution?" Dragon looked back at her, his cold tone more disturbing than the
statement. "Besides, little one, I'm no human - not anymore, at least. I'm not a droid or cyborg either." He
gave a harsh laugh, "No-one can seem to figure out what I am."
"I...think I know how you feel. I...I don't know what you can call me... Dragon? I've never had a
name."
Dragon frowned in thought, "Well, then we'll have to find a name." After several moments, he
muttered, "I think I have an appropriate name for you. Sylvie... I knew a girl named Sylvie. She disappeared
a long time ago, but you resemble her." He looked away, thoughts still drifting, "She was a friend of a
friend.. I met on a bike ride once.... she seemed to have the strangest aversion to me, to any man in fact."
Blinking, he turned back to her, "How does that strike you?"
The effeminate droid looked at her ruined legs, trying to hide a suddenly shy smile, "I think I like
it... Dragon."
"Good," he replied, following her glance. "We need to get those fixed. Hmm... I'll go scrounge
some clothes... and a wheelchair. Like that, you could pass for a human with ruined legs. Shouldn't be too
difficult." He switched glances to her face, finding her nylon green eyes on him, "Do you think you can
handle being alone for an hour or two?"
"..."
About fifty credits sufficed for nearly the entire wardrobe, including a pair of pants and boots to
place the newly named Sylvie's legs in. Or, rather, fifty credits _would_ have sufficed, but a certain object
grabbed his curiosity, then respect. Finally, at the end, it was more than two-hundred credits; but the once
Sharr Machusak was satisfied.
"Some pants, a shirt, and a wheelchair." He announced to her on his return. Due to her damage,
she was only minimally successful at dressing, so he moved to aid. After dressing her, he glanced down,
"Yes, I believe you'll pass. I hope nobody considers it strange for a blind man to push around a
young girl in a wheelchair."
"Not if she gives him directions."
"Ah...yes." the mercury eyed wonder nodded. "And now, my dear Sylvie... the special part of
your disguise." Slowly, from his pocket he drew the object which had caught his fancy and more than a
hundred credits of his nearly three thousand account.
It was a jeweled necklace, laced with small diamonds, in the centre of which hung a beautiful
locket of laced silver and sapphire, glowing with some eerie blue light. The locket held the traditional shape
of a heart. With no preamble, he draped the begemed creation about the neck of the droid.
"Wha...?"
"For you," Dragon whispered. "You are a person, and traditionally, a person needs belongings. I
thought it to suit you... do you like it?"
She put her arms around his neck.
"I'll take that for a yes."
In the guise of a aged blind man, pushing a decent wheelchair laden with a young, crippled
woman, did the duo of Dragon and Sylvie traverse the streets of the large city. Sylvie, true to act, called
out directions for him to follow as he scanned signs and advertisements describing what the android
needed. It took an hour to walking to finally find what they needed, and both spotted it at the same time.
They entered, into a clean, but obviously newly repainted office. A woman gazed at the two, but
motioned for Dragon to take a seat, while Sylvie was wheeled next to him. A few minutes later, a man
came out of the back room and greeted them.
He was grotesquely over-weight, and perspiration beaded his forehead under the cool lights of the
waiting room. "Now, is there anything I can do for you?" he questioned in a deep, slurred voice. His eyes
were somewhat large under the heavy forehead, and they were opened to the widest extent possible.
There was no emotion to Dragon's reply, "How good are you at rebuilding droids?"
The fat man struggled for a suitable answer, rolled his deceptively thin and obviously powerful
hands together, "I like to think I'm the best, as no-one else has my record. But a few recent... failures
haven't helped my reputation. I am Ned."
"I've heard of you." Dragon nodded, "And what I heard was not to favorable."
Ned shrugged, "I challenge you to find someone better."
Dragon sighed, "I guess there is no help for it. This is the droid. Her legs have been damaged, and
I'd like extensive work to be done on other parts of the body as well."
Ned gave no sign of recognizing the droid before him. Examining the damaged prosthetics, he
nodded, "Easily fixed. It looks like simple fire damage. All it needs it a plasticene coating and some
rewiring. About the other work...?"
"Can you make her look human?"
The over-weight man turned to Dragon in shock, his fat rolling in almost an amusing manner,
"Human!? That's illegal! Would you have me arrested?"
Dragon grinned evilly, "Must I ask again? I want her to look like a human woman. Can you do
it?" With a giving slouch, Ned indicated that he would, indeed make the droid look like a human woman,
_if_ he was paid enough for the labour. He suggested a price, which Dragon thought over. After a few
moments, he responded the affirmative. "1200. It seems enough."
Sylvie cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say a thing.
Without another word, Dragon disappeared to leave Ned to his work. Several hours later, the fat
man emerged from his work-shop with good news. "I've managed to remove the plasticene coating and
synthetics, I've made the frame more sturdy. I'll be starting the reapplication of synthetics soon. I'm using a
plastic called Kylene because to the touch it feels like human flesh, and is warm like flesh. For the optics,
I'm using a new nylon-based material that is undetectable as synthetic. For hair, I'm using another synthetic
called mylin which may seem to grow during the next few months. It's just the material stretching; don't
cut it, because it won't grow back." At Dragon's nod, he continued, "I have a receptacle which will burn
actual food for energy, form the waste into neat tubes, and get rid of it." He smiled at Dragon's blink. "You
want her to be human... she has to eat and waste. There's some other systems I have that will make her
seem more human." As a parting note, Ned grinned, "This is fun."
It took another day to fully complete Sylvie's new body. Ned allowed Dragon to sleep in his
waiting room, while he himself continued to work. By now, a feverent mood had placed itself upon the fat
man, and he intended to create an artistic masterpiece. Whether or not this piece of art could walk and talk
was entirely up to someone else.
And she was beautiful She glowed with visible delight as she stood before Dragon, soft red hair
pulled back in a loose braid, green eyes sparkling mischievously, pert and slim figure as perfect as could be.
Ned had nearly made her inhuman in her humanity, making her nearly to perfect. As it was, Sylvie's face
was almost perfectly symmetrical, a impossibility in true nature.
As Sylvie clasped Dragon's arm in delight, he handed a small tube to Ned, which contained 1200
credits on it. Ned almost refused, citing his pleasure, but common sense reigned in tightly. He accepted it,
and profusely thanked Dragon for the chance. The duo departed, and both sides felt a right had been
committed.
Even so, Sylvie was convinced that Ned had overcharged Dragon, "You could have bought
another robot for that price!"
Dragon hushed her with a simple smile. Being the first smile she'd ever witnessed him express, she
allowed him to pull her along. Even though quieted, she never did quit the opinion Dragon willingly
allowed himself to be suckered.
End Chapter Four
--------------------------
---
-/\/\- myrriden out
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