Ranma 1/2 used without permission
Jet Moto used without permission
Find my other works at http://www.ior.com/~sofaspud
=====================================
"Mr. Hawkes?" It was the receptionist, the young Pakistani woman who
worked at the firm part-time to help with her university expenses.
"Rita, I-"
"You said you didn't want to be disturbed unless it was Mr. Clark... and
it's Mr. Clark. He's here to see you." A statement which defused whatever
irritation the attorney might have felt at the interruption.
'Clark' wasn't even this visitor's real surname. It was, in fact, a
psuedonym which lingered from their first contact. It had somehow stuck, and
neither party had any real interest in expunging it, so it stayed. His
visits, Hawkes knew, were rare; understandable given his general
satisfaction with the current business arrangement. So for him to put aside
whatever it was he did to do so was a good indication of something important
being on his mind.
The thought had barely time to form fully before Clark walked into the office.
To Chance, 'the responsibilities of command,' as the buzzphrase went, were
easily defined. On the one hand, he had to lead his small unit in the
execution of objectives as laid down by duly designated superiors; on the
other, as leader, it was necessary to balance that obligation with his
responsibility for the welfare of his subordinates and, in a less specific
sense, whatever friendlies the current operation was being conducted in
concert with.
So he would encourage their good work, chastise them whenever it was called
for, and make sure their lives weren't thrown away; in short, he helped them
live up to the spirit of the famous US Army motto from the previous century:
'be all you can be'. Had he taken the time to think about it, he would have
figured it to be much like being a father.
When he realized Ukyo wasn't going to talk readily about what it was about
this Ranma Saotome that so bothered her, coming here had been a logical next
step. Silas had, after all, hinted at having taken more of an interest in
the girl's background than he had in those of the other pilots he had
located; and then, he had explained that she wasn't exactly in tip-top
emotional shape, so could he please be careful in involving her in whatever
it was she was needed for? Please?
"I thought you'd be interested to know that Ukyo's doing well with us," he
told Silas halfway through lunch.
The attorney/fixer nodded approvingly. "Thank you..." His brows furowed a
bit, briefly. "But there's something else, isn't there? You were never one
for social calls."
Chance arced an eyebrow. "Yes, there is, and I need your help with it."
>From there he launched into a brief description of one Ranma Saotome.
"Something about him bugs her," he concluded, "and I want to know what. BUT
I don't want to push her too hard for an answer."
Silas's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, a black piece of blood pie
balancing on the silver tines. He didn't know all that much about anyone
named Ranma, but the name Saotome definitely rang a bell. When he had first
recruited Ukyo Kuonji in that crowded, dank cell in the lower regions of the
KPD's headquarters, he had already researched her past quite thoroughly,
even moreso than many of the others he had sent Clark's way. Silas couldn't
identify why he had done so much research into her background. Perhaps it
was because of the hard knock life she'd led that inspired him, but he
wasn't sure.
"Is Ukyo all right?" Silas asked, concerned.
"She's fine, as far as I know," Clark said, taking a bite of his lunch.
"Thankfully, it didn't affect her performance."
"That's good," Silas conceeded even though he had absolutely no idea what
Clark was talking about. Mr. Clark had never told Silas about his
activities, and Silas had never asked. He often found it better not to ask
about his client's private lives and dealings.
"So, about this Ranma Saotome," Clark said. "What do you have on him?"
"Nothing that isn't on any public record," Silas replied. He saw Clark's
face take on a look of disappointment at the admission.
"I searched the public records," Clark said with a note of impatience. "I
didn't find one single thing to correlate Ukyo with Ranma Saotome. Maybe
they were lovers once, or..."
"Could be," Silas said noncomittaly.
"Silas," Mr. Clark said, the epitome of seriousness, "I want you to tell me
about Ukyo's past. That's the only avenue I haven't explored yet."
"Mr. Clark," Silas said, equally as serious, "You know I can't do that."
"Oh?" Clark said, arching an eyebrow.
"I can't violate attorney-client privelege like that." It was a flimsy
ploy. Since he wasn't on retainer with Ukyo, any conversations she'd had
with him and any information he knew wasn't protected.
"Who says?" Clark asked with a touch of menace. "The people whom I
represent have paid you quite handsomely for your assistance in this matter,
and so far you have more than adequately held up your end of the deal.
However, I made it clear that you were to cooperate with me in every way,
shape, and form did I not?"
"You did," Silas said almost reluctantly. He really didn't like what this
implied.
"Good. Now, if you can't live with that, then I may be forced to
re-consider your position with us. Do I make myself clear?"
Silas stared into Clark's eyes, which seemed to bore into him with
frightening intensity. He knew, staring into those eyes, that Clark would
not hesitate to have him removed from whatever operation he was conducting.
Whether it meant simply cutting him out of the loop or something much more
drastic, Silas didn't know, nor did he care to find out.
"All right," Silas said after a few seconds. Reaching into the sterlng
silver ice bucket, he pulled out the bottle of 1997 vintage red and refilled
Clark's glass and his own. "You may want to take a few snorts of this before
we begin."
"Why is that?" Clark asked.
"Trust me," Silas replied.
====================================================
An hour later, Chance Checkov found himself meandering Tokyo's streets,
Silas's account of Ukyo Kuonji's past bouncing around in his head. The sun
rested just a fraction below zenith in the sky. A few thin, wispy clouds
drifted lazily in the otherwise deep blue sky as a light breeze blew softly
through the concrete maze of the city. It was the best spell of weather that
Tokyo had seen in weeks.
None of that, however, helped to lift Chance's mood. What Silas had told
him was one of the sickest, most disturbing tales he had ever had the
misfortune to hear. Before Silas had begun, the wine having taken the
proverbial edge off, he had asked if Chance wanted him to go into detail.
Chance had told him to leave nothing out.
Halfway through, Chance changed his mind, asking Silas to ease up on the
sordid details. He had always considered himself a tough kind of man, but
that was something he couldn't bear to hear. He'd had no idea that Ukyo had
been through so much in her short life.
Also, behind the scenes of the conversation that replayed itself repeatedly
in his head, was a sense that he had betrayed her and his principles. Chance
had always respected the privacy of his subordinates, not prying into their
pasts more than necessary. When he had tried to talk with Ukyo about her
life, she would almost literally slam herself shut. She had obviously not
wanted him to know about her past, and Chance had let it end at that. If she
wanted to tell him, she would in her own time.
If Ukyo found out that he had gone behind her back, she would not take it
very well. Chance didn't want there to be friction between him and Ukyo. He
kept telling himself it was for professional reasons, but deep down he knew
he really cared for her. Somewhere inthe back of his mind, Chance wondered
it that was really a good thing.
=================================================
//Ahh... damn field generator.\\ Mu Tsu knelt before the now mostly
assembled prototype Moto, the entire engine casing laying at his side. A
voluminous blue robe had taken the place of his brown business suit, several
stains dotting the denim material. Two thin red wires stretched from the
instrument panel to a point on the side of his neck, jacked into two ports
normally concealed by his thick mane of black hair, which was now pulled
back in a ponytail.
Mu Tsu's eyesight had always been poor, corrective surgery unable to
improve it. However, he displayed a definite knack for mechanics and
engineering. The thick prescription glasses, which went with him wherever he
did, had helped alleviate the problem, but his vision was still a good deal
below par.
In spite of his problems, or maybe because of them, Mu Tsu managed to
graduate from a reknowned engineering school with honors in Hong Kong.
Joketsuzoku, Inc., a firm that dealt with consumer, medical, and military
technology, hired him due to his almost instinctual knowledge of mechanics.
They had implanted in him some basic cyberware, allowing him to interface
with most computer systems directly and thus eliminating his need for thick
glasses and even monitors when working. Mu Tsu had objected to experimental
optical implants, not wanting to become a guinea pig and risking permenant
damage to his optic nerves. Once the technology had been perfected, then he
would reconsider.
His vision, when connected to a system via the datajacks in his neck,
improved by almost a hundred orders of magnitude. In many ways, such an
interface enhanced his vision above normal human standards. An
Eyes-Up-Display activated while interfaced, allowing him to access any and
all options with the computer system he was connected with.
At that moment, he was jacked into the prototype's diagnotstics program, a
line of blue hyperlinked options lining the left side of his field of vision
in a vertical row. He noticed the muted sunlight that struggled through the
filthy windows of the warehouse, augmented by the bare bulbs overhead. The
technicians had done an excellent job of clearing away the dust and assorted
other debris, an electric field around the small area keeping the dust at
bay. Mu Tsu had overseen all aspects of the assembly, and had dismissed the
team of assistants so he could fine-tune their work. The prototype was more
or less his baby, and he would obsess over every single detail.
**Mu Tsu?** Shan Pu's voice startled him out of his work, the small windows
showing various diagnostic menus and circuit boards reducing into small
icons on the bottom of his vision as he turned to face her. Mu Tsu had met
her early in his employment in Joketsuzoku, having been assigned to the
prototype Moto project almost before the ink dried on his contract. At that
moment, he found that there was such a thing as love at first sight. **How
is it going?**
**As well as can be expected, as much as we've been rushed in getting this
prototype out,** he replied. Mu Tsu could never fully understand how Shan Pu
felt about him. At times, she seemed sort of concerned for him. She showed a
softer side that he rarely saw. Other times, especially when that old crone
was around, she was highly indifferent towards him.
**How soon?** she asked.
**Some of the bugs still have to be chased out of the systems,** he
answered, **Maybe by tonight, but that's pretty optimistic.** He let his
gaze linger on Shan Pu, seeing her in a way he hardly ever had the chance
to. Times like that made him wish that optical implants were perfected.
**Just get it done, four eyes,** Taro said as he approached, his face set
in an angry mask. Of all the assholes Mu Tsu had ever dealt with, Pansuto
Taro was the worst. It seemed that he lived to intimidate and antagonize others.
**I can't rush through this,** Mu Tsu said tersely.
**You may want to rephrase that,** Taro retorted, **We're scheduled to test
in two days.**
**Taro, Shan Pu,** came Khu Lon's voice from behind. The two turned around,
starting from the suddeness of her appearance. **I would speak with you.
Privately.** Shan Pu immediately set after the elder woman, almost like a
dog following it's master. Taro followed her, his gaze on the girl's
posterior not escaping Mu Tsu's notice. Choking off his anger, he dove back
into his work. Focusing on the field generator, he flicked his right wrist.
Instead of the phase adjuster he needed a long, wickedly curved dagger
appeared in his palm. Taro had no idea just how dangerous the Art of the
Hidden Tool could be. It was just as useful for concealing weapons as it was
for carrying tools. One day, Taro would cross that final line...
=====================================
//Not too shabby,\\ Nabiki thought as she climbed out of the taxi after
paying the driver. The yellow cab sped away, the driver thanking her
profusely for riding his taxi. Some things never changed.
The house was modest, a one-story affair whose style harkened back to older
Japanese architecture. The polished wood and rice-paper doors were probably
synthetic, as much of those substances were. The infrastructure was most
likely all steel, and proofed against earthquakes. Most of the world really
learned the value of such protections back in 2002 after the massive series
of global quakes that claimed billions in lives and property. The Japanese
had always been on the forefront of earthquake safety, but that hadn't been
enough to save everyone from the disasters.
Nabiki stepped through the small gate that granted access to the tiny front
yard. The sounds of someone playing a guitar reached her ears, muted by the
walls of the house. Figuring it to be Ryoga, she strode to the door.
She'd only knocked once before the door slid open. On the other side stood
Mikado Sanzenin, a suave grin forming on his face as he saw Nabiki standing
there.
"Hello, Ms. Tendo," Mikado intoned in what had to be one of his better "Mr.
Smooth" voices. "You are looking lovely as always."
"Yeah, thanks," Nabiki said noncomittaly. She had opted for a more
conservative ensemble for this meeting. She had another one later in the
day, and wanted to look her professional best. A black sportcoat matched
with slacks and modest pumps of the same color adorned her shapely body, the
barest hint of makeup on her face. "Ryoga is expecting me."
"Of course," Mikado said as though Nabiki hadn't given him the cold
shoulder. "Right this way."
Mikado turned and retreated into the living room, Nabiki following behind.
They walked through a small foyer, a low table and some tatami mats in the
center of the room. On the far wall was a small sofa that faced a large
screen television in the corner. No matter where one sat in the room, you
could easily see the tv.
The music grew louder as they entered the narrow hallway beyond the foyer.
Nabiki recognized the thundering rhythms as heavy metal, though couldn't
place the band. Heavy metal wasn't Nabiki's music of choice.
"Right through there," Mikado said as he turned to face her. Nabiki thanked
him as she strode past.
Her hands shot to her ears as the noise assaulted them. The reflexive
measure didn't help much as the blazing riffs seemed to slam directly into
her brain. Grimacing as she felt her ears throb, she stomped over to where
Ryoga sat cross-legged, head banging to the music. Not bothering to announce
her presence, he wouldn't have heard her anyway, she reached out and clamped
her hand over the fretboard of the red Fender Strat.
Ryoga looked up at her in surprise, hands still on the strings. "Hey!
Nabiki, I'm sorry. Didn't hear you come in."
"WHAT?" Nabiki shouted. Her ears were ringing like church bells on Sunday,
blocking out any other sounds. They popped after a few seconds, aural
sensation returning in a rush.
"I said I didn't hear you come in!" Ryoga shouted in reply.
"It's a wonder you can hear anything at all," Nabiki said in a dry voice as
she released his guitar. Despite herself, she let her eyes wander briefly
along Ryoga's muscular arms and chest, highlighted by the white undershirt
her wore. Black satin pants covered his legs, hiding the muscles beneath.
"Hey, have a seat," he said as he switched off the large Peavy amp that
rested beside him. Nabiki cast her gaze about the neat room, penants and
posters lining the walls. A stereo system rested near the bed on her left,
with a beanbag chair identical to the one Ryoga rested on to her right.
Nabiki repressed a chuckle as she imagined herself, dressed like the
consummate professional, sitting on a hippie beanbag. Dragging the seat over
in front of Ryoga, Nabiki sat down with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Want a beer?" Ryoga asked as he fished one out of the small cooler that
rested next to him. Nabiki began to refuse, then reconsidered given the
sensitive nature of the questions she would be asking. Ryoga getting a sheet
or two into the wind would loosen his tongue a little, and it wouldn't hurt
to take a few sips herself. It couldn't taste THAT bad, after all.
"Good, huh?" Ryoga asked as Nabiki took a healthy slug from the glass
bottle. The taste was a bit strong, but surprisingly good. Lowering the beer
from her lips, she cast a glance at the white label. A blue mansion rested
in a white background, with the word Icehouse printed above it.
"Not bad," she answered as she looked back up at Ryoga. His guitar was held
at an angle, obstructing her view of his upper torso. So, he was a bit
bashful. Nobody was perfect.
"So, uh... what'd you want to talk about?" Ryoga asked with a hint of
nervousness in his voice.
Nabiki went on for a while with small talk before coming to the main topic.
"How long have you known Ranma?"
"Oh, jeez, it's been about twelve years," Ryoga replied.
"So, you know him pretty well?"
"Yeah," Ryoga said.
"What did you think of his parents?" Nabiki asked.
"Where's all this going?" Ryoga asked, a puzzled expression forming on his
face.
"I tried to talk with him about what he did before he joined our team,"
Nabiki said after draining her beer and grabbing a second. These were pretty
good, actually. "He wasn't very forthcoming."
"Yeah, that's Ranma, all right," Ryoga said with a note of exasperation.
"He doesn't like to talk about himself."
"So..."
"Oh, yeah. Ranma's mom was okay. A little off maybe, but she was nice."
"What about his father?" Nabiki asked.
"Him," Ryoga spat as if the name tasted sour. "I'd say he was scum, but
that'd be an insult to scum everywhere."
"He couldn't have been that bad," Nabiki said while nursing on her second beer.
"You don't know Genma Saotome," Ryoga said, his voice and expression so
intense that for a moment Nabiki became worried. What could Ranma's father
have done to have this guy hate him so much?
"What did he do?"
"What DIDN'T he do, more like," Ryoga snarled. "I remember times when I was
over at the Saotome's with Ranma and Ranko. We'd hear yelling from
downstairs, Genma and Ms. Nodoka would go at it hammer and tongs sometimes."
"They fought alot?"
"Oh, yeah. I don't know why she stayed. Ms. Nodoka could have taken Ranma
and Ranko back to her parent's house or something."
//Not likely,\\ Nabiki thought, recalling the information she had dug up on
Nodoka Saotome. Her parents would never have taken her back, two kids or
not. It may not have been right, but some people could be real pricks. "I
guess the arguments were pretty rough."
"I wish it had only been arguements," Ryoga said, his face falling.
"Sometimes, Genma would hit her."
"What?" Nabiki gasped, feeling a chill running up her spine. "He hit her?"
"I saw it once," Ryoga said. "They were almost screaming. Genma just hit
her. Not with an open hand, but with his fist. He hit her, I don't know how
many times. Ranko would just cling to Ranma, looking so scared. Ranma...
he'd just get this weird look on his face, like he wanted to kill Genma. I
don't really get it, either. She seemed so strong. Why would she let that
happen?"
//Who knows?\\ Nabiki thought, her stomach constricting into a tight ball
of anger. She just couldn't imagine how anyone could do something like that.
"That's why I think he killed her," Ryoga said.
"What does Ranma think about it?" Nabiki asked.
"He refused to even accept that she was dead. Genma fed him some crap about
her leaving. It was a lie, anyone who knew them would see through it, but he
and Ranko believed it."
Nabiki didn't want to believe it herself, but it would definitely explain a
lot about why Genma suddenly took his two young children on the road. While
she didn't have any concrete evidence, she was beginning to side with Ryoga
on the matter of Nodoka's sudden and mysterious death. Finishing her second
beer, she decided against a third. It was okay for Ryoga to get bombed, but
she would need her wits about her.
"He took Ranko's death pretty hard," Nabiki said, changing the subject.
"Yeah," Ryoga answered, "It was rough." Nabiki could tell that how Ranma
dealt with the passing of his sister was something Ryoga didn't want to go
into. She decided not to press that particular issue.
The conversation went on longer than Nabiki had intended. The light buzz,
along with Ryoga's musculature, made the room seem much more cozy. Glancing
at her watch, she realized that she was a good deal behind schedule. She had
to meet Hikaru in forty-five minutes. If she wanted to be on time, she would
have to leave now.
"Hate to break this up," Nabiki said, meaning it, "But I'm running a little
late."
"No problem," Ryoga said, speaking as if the beer hadn't affected him in
the slightest. "Let me walk you out." Putting down his guitar, he rose from
the beanbag and offered her his hand. Nabiki took it, the feeling of
strength in the appendage almost tangible, and rose as well. Ryoga turned
and walked to the nearest door.
"Uh, Ryoga," Nabiki said, "Why are you going into the closet?" Ryoga
stopped abruptly, muttering a curse under his breath as he turned back
around and walked to the door leading to the hall, an angry blush turning
his face an embarrased shade of red.
=====================================================
Akane sat alone in the holo-trainer, the mock-up Moto her only companion.
Her thoughts kept returning to the mysterious black Moto and the pilot who
had so easily trounced her.
She had accepted the fact that she had to deal with second place, ranting
and raving about it would never change it. They all kept telling her that
second wasn't a bad showing at all, and the purse she won for it had helped
a good deal with the team's debts.
None of this, however, made her feel any better. Akane Tendo had been the
only pilot for Team Ryu-Ken for years. Kasumi, while an excellent mechanic
and medic, was by no means a pilot, having shown absolutely no skill on even
a ground bike much less being able to handle the insane speeds of a Moto.
Nabiki was, quite simply, not interested.
Her mother and father had founded the team long before any of them were
born. They both raced and shared the duties of running the show. However,
Soun had been injured in a training accident on the track one day. He had
been in traction for months, according to Kasumi's accounts. The damage to
his spine, while not serious enough for even a cane, would definitely keep
him off the track permanently. This left Sachiko the burden of being the
only one to bring home the bacon.
For years it had been successful, Sachiko running the races and Soun
handling the administrative ends. Nabiki and Akane had been born in those
years, and the team managed to stay alive. However, Sachiko soon contracted
a rare form of bone cancer and died within six weeks. Akane had been only
six years old at the time.
From there, things had gone downhill. There was nobody to race, and Soun
was far too distraught to do anything. Kasumi had taken over the domestic
duties, while Nabiki had dedicated her time to finding ways to keep the
family off the streets. Akane knew then that someone had to learn how to
ride a Moto and soon, or nothing would save them.
After much pestering and pleading, Soun finally gave in and taught her the
basics of handling a Moto. She had spent day after day in the
newly-constructed gym facility, working to become strong enough to last on
the track. She had logged countless hours in the holo-trainer and gone
through a training regimen that most other racers would balk at, all with
the purpose of being what her mother was... the best damn Moto pilot the
sport had ever seen.
After months of sacrificing her social life and busting her ass as hard as
she could, she finally made it to the track. The league was an amateur one,
but it was a start.
All her hard work, training, and determination paid off when she brought
home the first purse the team had seen in who knew how long. It was almost a
pittance, but it was money. Not even Nabiki's quips about racing for pink
slips could dampen her mood. She was on her way to the top!
But then real life stepped in with one of its patented hard knock lessons,
things don't always work out the way you want them to. The team's sponsors,
who had more or less abandnoned them when the team stopped racing, would not
support a thirteen year old girl on the amateur circuit. Despite Soun's
attempts to call in old favors, they all answered with a resounding no.
Without sponsors, their chances of getting on the professional circuits
shrank to almost nothing. With no one to back them, all they could do was
send in an application, which cost about a hundred thousand yen, and hope
for the best.
As such, Akane toiled on the amateur circuits for over three years in the
hopes that one day her ship would come in. Even so, the burden of being the
only team member who could actually race was becoming too much for her. The
strain was beginning to wear her down, her spirit fading like the light from
a dying fire.
Then came the news that Soun had taken on another pilot, an announcement
that gave her a great sense of relief. She felt on top of the world again,
until she saw him. Her father had hired the dickweed who had aced her on the
track that very day!
Akane knew deep inside that if she hand't lost to him, her reception would
have been vastly different. She would have met him with a warm hug instead
of a right cross. It was then that her subconscious profile of her ideal
partner came to the forefront: a good pilot, one capable of winning races,
that would know where he stood in the rankings. One that would probably give
her a good challenge from time to time, but not completely spank her every time.
Ranma Saotome had totally shattered that profile. He was obviously...well,
she would never say miles above her in skill, but was damn good nonetheless.
If it was just that, she could at least come to terms with it. However, he
had to be rude, callous, arrogant, and a total smartass to boot! He didn't
know what she had gone through to get the team where it was now! He had no
respect for her as a racer, and probably not as a person either! How could
some jerk off the streets possibly understand the meaning of teamwork and
family?
Akane rose from her spot on the floor, her rear end tingling from having
sat on it for so long. She would have to have a talk with Ranma, and show
him his place once and for all.
==================================================
"You wanted to see me, Nabiki?" asked the small man who sat across from
her. Hikaru Gosunkugi stared at her with his owl-like eyes, the dark rings
and pale skin around them giving him an almost vampiric visage.
The sunlight poured in through the windows that adorned the front of the
cafe, bathing the collection of brass, brick, and hanging foliage in its
golden glow. Nabiki and Hikaru sat in one of the more secluded booths, out
of view from many of the other patrons.
"Hikaru," she said in a false warm voice, "how's life?"
"Cut the crap, Nabsy," Hikaru said sharply, "what is it this time?"
Nabiki allowed Gosunkugi that verbal barb, him having come through for her
in the past. She never asked for anything illegal before, certainly things
in the grey area of the law, but never anything outright illicit. She
checked her preipheral vision, the nearest patron a waif of a man with his
nose in a book who was busily scribbling notes. Figuring it to be safe, she
made her proposal.
"I need information on one Genma Saotome, I mean the good stuff."
"Good stuff?" Hikaru asked, his eyes twinkling a little.
"A case file," Nabiki went on as quietly as she could, "from PSIO."
"Are you nuts?" Gosunkugi hissed, "do you have any idea how well protected
their databanks are?"
"Come, now, Gos," Nabiki chided, "I thought that you were the Cyberlord. In
the realm of cyberspace, there is nothing beyond your reach."
"I didn't get that reputation by taking stupid chances," Gosunkugi said.
"So I take it you're too afraid to take the job?" Nabiki asked with a hint
of condescencion.
"Who said I was afraid?" Gosunkugi snarled. "I'll take the job, but it'll
cost you BIG time."
"Does an extra thirty percent sound good?" Nabiki asked.
"A good start," Gosunkugi said, a lascivious smile crossing his face.
"I don't think so," Nabiki said in an icy voice.
"It's not like you have a choice, Nabsy," Gosunkugi said, "Nor will it be
the first time either. You think you're the only one who knows just HOW you
got Kodachi Kuno not to call in that rather large loan on the spot?"
"You sick little bastard," Nabiki snarled.
"You think YOU'RE the only one who can manipulate people?" Gosunkugi sneered.
"I don't want information that bad, pervert," Nabiki growled, anger burning
in her narrowed brown eyes.
"Okay," Gosunkugi said, "the usual fee plus fifty percent."
"Very well," Nabiki said. "Afterward, our business relationship is through.
And if you EVER tell anyone about Kodachi, I will personally skin you alive.
Got that?"
"Perfectly," Gosunkugi said, knowing full well that she meant it.
He watched the girl, that Nabiki, leave in a big huff. No surprise there,
given the rather lewd advance Gosunkugi made on her.
Hiroshi Kagawa had been trailing Hikaru Gosunkugi for weeks, cursing his
rotten luck all the while. As he followed the willowy little geek around, he
often wondered why HE got all the shit jobs while his partner, Daisuke, got
to remain in the office. He couldn't complain, however, at least he didn't
have to wade through all that paperwork.
PSIO had dispatched him to follow Gosunkugi around, the word on the street
indicating that he was involved in some rather... illicit... software
distribution. Being known as the Cyberlord, he had a reputation of being
quite the little hacker. However, nothing concrete had been dug up, so an
arrest wasn't possible.
With that little conversation, however, his interest was piqued. Being an
expert lip reader, he didn't have to be close enough to hear, just see what
was going on. Hiroshi gazed down at the small black remote recorder he held
in his hand, a grin forming on his face. It was a right handy little gadget,
able to amplify any sound, no matter how soft, into perfectly audible
digital recordings. All he had to do was point it in the right direction and
hit record.
Leaving enough cash for the small coffee and a generous tip, he walked
outside and pressed the speed dial on his cell phone. His superiors would
want to hear about this. While it was only conspiracy to commit a crime,
even if it was hacking into the agency's files, he needed to report it.
======================================
Hanzo Hattori sat behind his cramped particleboard desk, mountians of
paperwork stacked before him. The noises of the PSIO offices; muffled voices
talking over telephones, fax machines, rustling papers, hovered at the edge
of his concentration. His mind was focused solely on making a molehill out
of the mountains before him.
"Hey, Hanzo!" shouted a voice from in front of him, shattering his
intensely meditative state. Annoyed, he looked up into the face of Galford
Connoly, his partner. The American had been on loan from the FBI for quite
some time, in an effort to bring the two agencies closer together. His old
partner, Jubei, was in the States with Galford's old partner.
"What is it, Galford?" Hanzo asked in his usual stoic voice. Of all the
people in the PSIO, Galford was the only one capable of constantly getting
under his skin. This time, instead of a mischevious grin, there was a look
of excitement.
"A field agent brought this in just a few minutes ago," Galford said,
practically crackling with energy, "Thought you might like to hear it."
"So, what is it?" Hanzo asked, his patience rapidly eroding.
"That guy who was sent to tail Hikaru Gosunkugi just managed to record a
rather interesting conversation."
"The Gosunkugi case isn't ours," Hanzo said irritably, "That's Hiroshi and
Daisuke's."
"Just listen to this," Galford said, tossing him a black remote recorder.
Hanzo activated the playback, listening to the amplified conversation within.
"I need information on Genma Saotome," a female voice said, "the good
stuff." Hanzo's grip on the device tightened dramatically, his knuckles
going white.
"Good stuff?" a male voice asked.
"A case file from PSIO."
Hanzo stopped the playback, his mind going back over ten years to the
Saotome case. The grisly murder of Nodoka Saotome that he investigated while
still with the Kyoto Police Force, the one that was never solved. For over a
decade he had been trying to piece it together, trying to find Genma
Saotome, or either of his two children. Once in PSIO he requested, and was
granted, a chance to work on the Saotome murder on the condition that other
current assignments take priority. After all this time, a key break in the
case may have just landed right on his desk.
"Before you ask," Galford said, "I already got her name. Nabiki Tendo,
Business and Administrative Manager for a Moto team called Ryu-Ken. I got us
an address and tickets on the six o'clock express to Tokyo."
"Good work, Galford," Hanzo said as he rose from his seat. Galford may have
been cocky and rude but when it came to police work, he was definitely
top-notch. "Finally, the spirit of Nodoka Saotome may find justice."
"Uh... what?" Galford asked, completely confused.
"I will explain on the way," Hanzo replied as he walked around the desk.
"Gotta hear this," Galford muttered in English.
=================================================
//Ah, home sweet home,\\ Ukyo thought as she walked into the brightly lit
apartment. It was tastefully furnished, a soft couch in the center of the
hardwood floor that faced a modest-sized television, a few hanging plants,
some tables, and a rug comprised the main room. A small kitchen ended the
hallway to the left, while the bedroom and bath was on the right. It may not
have been the Hilton, but it was a damn sight better than other places she'd
spent the night at. Since she also didn't have to pay rent or utilities,
that made the place all the sweeter.
Hanging her coat on the rack by the door, she made a beeline straight for
the shower. Chance was due soon, and she wanted to look decent. Maybe she
should cook while he was there. Some okonomiyaki sounded pretty good.
--------------------------------
The phone on the other end of the reciever rang for the fourth time,
Chance's curiosity rising little by little with each ring. The street was
crowded with people of all shapes and sizes, the noise from their constant
activity nearly deafening. Nonetheless, he held the cell phone tight against
his ear, a sixpack of Dos Equis in his other hand.
//She said she'd be home by now,\\ Chance thought as he cast his gaze up to
the dark sky, the myriad lights of the city blocking out nearly every star
in the heavens. //Wonder what she's doing?\\
-------------------------------
Ukyo heard the phone ring mere seconds after the turned on the shower. She
let out a little growl of frustration as she stood naked beneath the jets of
hot water, debating on whether or not to get out and answer it. Deciding
that the shower simply felt too good, she just let it ring in the hopes that
the idiot on the other end would get the hint and give up.
As she washed away the sweat and grime of the day's training, she tried to
tune out the incessant ringing of the phone. Finally, it stopped on the
fifth ring, leaving her to shower in peace.
After a few minutes, Ukyo stepped out into the steam-filled room, moving to
the full-length mirror. Wiping the fog off of the glass, she stood and
stared at her body for a moment, eyes tracing the old scars across her
abdomen and chest. The wounds had faded over time, but the memories of how
they got there still remained fresh and painful. Especially the long and
winding scar that rounded the inner edge of her left breast and wound its
jagged way down to her solar plexus. That one was still somewhat fresh,
having recieved it only seven scant months prior at the hands of the Kyoto
Police Chief. He had wanted to use her, sell her back to the men who would
ensure that she never saw the world as a free woman again. But first, he
wanted a little test drive...
The memories replayed themselves, despite all her valiant efforts to stop
them. The whip left trails of fire along her body, the pain in her shoulders
as she was suspended at least a third of a meter off the ground by her
wrists, that malicious stare...
Ukyo nearly broke down right there when memories of her first encounter
with Silas V. Hawkes in the cell the next morning began to play. At first,
she hadn't trusted him when he promised her an actual life, such promises
had been made and broken countless times before. However, her opinion
changed when he began to deliver. He managed to get her out of the dank
cell, away from the Chief and the other inmates. Then he introduced her to
Chance Sergeyvich Checkov.
She liked him right from the start, the enternally tousled hair, intense
eyes, and his muscular build. But mostly she felt safe with him, something
she hadn't felt for the longest time. If she didn't know better, she would
think that she was beginning to fall in love.
Ending her trip down memory lane, she toweled herself dry and donned her
undergarments and oversized shirt. She would do her hair, then get
officially dressed. That was all in the past, her life was back on track and
she would not get sidetracked again.
------------------------------------
Shan Pu watched Ukyo from her hiding place in the bedroom's walk-in closet.
The slatted doors provided just enough of a view for her to get a fix on the
target.
Breaking in was easy enough, the security system something any child could
disarm. One inside, she had slid into the closet to lay in wait for Ukyo to
start sleeping. Then, she would attack.
Shan Pu had no intention to kill the other girl, far from it. Khu Lon had
simply ordered her, over Taro's vehement objections, to ensure that the test
pilot for Militech's new Nazgul prototype would be unable to pilot it in the
next race. Nothing was said about killing.
Watching Ukyo brush out her hair in front of the vanity, she began to have
misgivings about the assignment. Ukyo, from what she learned, hadn't had the
training Shan Pu had. She wouldn't last five minutes in a real fight against
her. Something about using her skills to knock around someone who couldn't
fight back just didn't seem right.
//Stop it!\\ she mentally shouted. //You are an employee of Joketsuzoku!
You were ordered by a superior to carry this out, and you will do it without
question!\\
Shan Pu remained in place as she watched Ukyo, the padding hot and itchy on
her skin. The suit was designed to make her look like a man, not an easy
task with her voluptuous figure. It was uncomfortable as anything, but she
would endure it.
Suddenly, something about Ukyo's attitude changed. She stiffened, the brush
stopping halfway through a stroke through her long chestnut hair. Shan Pu
remained stock still, not daring to breathe even as the realization hit
home. Ukyo knew she was there. Shan Pu watched as Ukyo's left hand opened
one of the vanity's drawers, reaching inside after opening it. It didn't
take a genuis to realize that she was going for a weapon, and the time to
strike was now.
------------------------------------
Ukyo sat befor the vanity, one of several luxuries she'd never had before,
and brushed out her mane of long brown hair. Not even the shampoo had gotten
out all of the tangles, and the series of long brush strokes was beginning
to get tiresome. For a brief moment, she considered just cutting it short.
It would far less of a hassle to maintain and...
Ukyo stopped the ministrations to her hair, the hackles on the back of her
neck standing at attention. If there was one good thing about her life on
the streets, it was that her sense of danger had been honed to an almost
razor's edge. The feeling of eyes on her back wasn't something she was
imagining, it was quite real.
Slowly, trembling slightly from fear, she opened the top left drawer of the
vanity. Her eyes fell on the black stun gun that Chance had given her after
she had become part of the Nazgul test team. She hoped she'd never have to
use it, especially since weapons in the hands of the citizens was still
heavily frowned upon by the Japanese Government.
Her fingers closed around the cool black grip just as her visitor burst
from the closet. Ripping it free from the drawer, she whirled around with
the intent of giving the intruder a good seventy-five thousand volts right
where the sun don't shine.
------------------------------
Shan Pu charged out of the closet, Ukyo becoming the sole object of her
attention. With a leap, she cleared the bed and delivered a kick that
knocked the black tazer out of the girl's hand. At the same time, her right
hand lashed out at Ukyo's head with blinding speed. The blow connected
solidly, rocking the other girl's head back violently.
------------------------------
Ukyo, stunned from the impact, rolled to the floor as bursts of color
danced across her vision. The black-clad figure moved like lightning, and
hit like a piledriver. Rolling, Ukyo came to her feet, the intruder just
standing there watching. It was definitely a man, no doubt about it from the
way that suit covered the muscles. Ukyo stared into those violet eyes,
something was wrong about them, when he began to slowly advance.
She balled up her fists, preparing to fight it out. If nothing else, Ukyo
Kuonji was a fighter; she had fought everyday during her life, had fought
for her sanity, dignity, and on occaision for her own survival. If this guy
thought she was gonna be a pushover, he had another thing comin'!
------------------------------
Shan Pu studied her opponent carefully as she rose from the floor. She was
impressed to see Ukyo try to stand and fight instead of run away screaming.
She saw a strength in those eyes she had rarely ever seen, and began to have
a certain respect for the other girl. If the situation was different, they
could almost be friends.
She had originally thought to intimidate her into not piloting the Nazgul,
an idea which Khu Lon instantly squelched on the grounds that such an act
would definitely let Militech's people know they were there. However, seeing
Ukyo charge, she realized that it would not have worked in the first place.