A Mote in the Eye of Eternity
This story is set a hundred years after the events of Bubblegum Crisis,
which have been slightly altered for this story. Contains graphic
violence and language.
Prologue Two: That Old Time Rock and Roll
"Another rainy day in Osaka," Chiriko muttered to herself as she raised
a hand to shield herself from the raindrops. She glanced up at the
towering apartment building she lived in. Or more accurately, used to
live in, as her lease had just run out on the small cubicle she'd been
staying in for the last three years. Chiriko shifted her guitar, one of
the few personal possessions she hadn't sold to pay for her stay in
Osaka. The others were crammed into the black plastic bag hanging over
her shoulder, nothing more than a couple sets of clothes, a handheld
computer and her music collection.
It was the last that was most important, since half of it was still on
optical disks, from MD's up to the double density DRD's of the mid
twenty first century. The other half consisted of copies of made from
even older mediums, back in the days when music was stored on melted wax
or magnetic tape, in analog format.
The rain stepped up a level while Chiriko walked aimlessly through the
open-air city on the coast, staring far down the packed street. She
fished a cigarette out of her pack, noting the disappointingly few
cigarettes left. She could scrounge enough for a pack up if she looked
hard enough.
Savoring the feel of the smoke as it percolated in her lungs, Chiriko
drew her headphones out of the bag. Fixing the small plugs into her ears
she thumbed the remote in her hands, selecting a song at random.
"I refuse to abuse�" echoed in her ears, the archaic English sounding
harsh in her ears as the singer continued his travel song. Grinning at
the appropriate music her computer had selected, Chiriko headed down
into the stinking pit Osaka called a subway.
She trudged downward, songs changing as a deep throaty woman belted out
a song to the president of one of the Old Powers, her voice sultry and
inviting. Chiriko loved this song, and almost unconsciously hummed along
as the crowds of people crushed inward. Chiriko glanced at her watch,
noting she had less than an hour to make it to the Docks and her
appointment with the only recording label she hadn't tried already.
She felt a hand rest on her ass, squeezing slightly through the tight
polymer weave. They can stop a bullet but not a pervert, Chiriko thought
darkly as she whirled to confront her assailant.
"Settle down, kitten," she heard from the man standing behind her. The
familiar voice made Chiriko wince.
"Hello, Hideo," she told the blocky man before her. Shit, she added
darkly to herself.
"Do you have the money, kitten?" the loan shark asked. "I've been
trying to get in touch with you all day, but it seems you no longer have
a place to live. And that is what we in the collection business call a
cause for alarm. Yours, of course."
Chiriko ignored the threat and smiled, hoping the expression wasn't too
fake. "Could we arrange for another extension," she asked, internally
wincing from the memory.
Hideo grinned, and shook his head. "If it were up to me you could pay
for your whole tab like that, but these two gentlemen," he motioned
behind him, "need a more, well, marketable form of payment."
Two large men stood behind Hideo, dressed in dark blue trench coats.
They were both foreigners and a good two heads taller than her. One was
blond and blue eyed, almost attractive in an overly Aryan way. The other
had a dark complexion and black hair. His face was pockmarked and
scarred and he stared coldly down at her from under his bushy black
eyebrows. She noted a bit of Cyrillic lettering on his jacket and swore
softly.
A Russian, she thought grimly. Only the most hardened psychos made it
out of Russia these days, grown deadly by the Darwinian chaos of one of
Earth's most dangerous regions. Not even Genom goes in there without
worrying, Chiriko though.
"Now, Ms. Subon, if you would follow us please?" Hideo asked, obviously
enjoying his little joke. The Russian grunted sourly and headed towards
one of the darkened tunnels that were no longer in use. No legitimate
use, Chiriko thought as her boots crushed a half dozen empty vials or
squeezed a used prophylactic with each step.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a figure in a tan trench coat
follow her. Probably their back up, she thought as the depth of her
situation dawned on her. Actually she was neck deep in a pile of old,
nasty shit, and more was piling in.
"I've got another audition today, Hideo. Once they sign me I'll be able
to pay you back, plus a little bonus for your patience." She was talking
out her ass, of course. In all likelihood she wasn't going to get
anything resembling a contract from any record label and she knew it.
"Well, I thought about that too, and gave the King Records VP a call
this morning. I asked him if he'd heard your demo and he said 'yeah, I
did.' So I ask him what he thinks and he tells me its good music, good
lyrics and there's no way in hell it'll ever get broadcast anywhere.
'Might as well be Mozart' he told me. I didn't even remember who that
old fart was until I gave a good scan," the loan shark said, tapping the
computer that wrapped around his head.
Well, Chiriko thought, he saved me the trouble of going all the way to
the docks.
"Enough talk. Tell her," the Russian said, a grin spreading across his
Aryan friend's face.
Hideo looked over his shoulder in annoyance, his expression filled with
obvious distaste. "As my associate reminds me, I have some unfortunate
news for you. The loan is due, and unless you have the money we loaned
you to record your demo, plus the interest we agreed on last time you
have two choices."
Chiriko nodded, remembering the choices from last time. "I either work
in one of your whore houses or you cut my organs out and sell them."
"I assure you I'd much rather the former," Hideo said, spreading his
hands out diplomatically, like it really wasn't his fault. "But I'm not
the one making the decision." He handed her a small vial. "Binders," he
said simply.
Binders, Chiriko thought, despair edging into her thoughts. Once she
took one there was no escape from Hideo and his buddies. The tailored
nanites would make it impossible for her to hide, and once they adjusted
properly to her body they could circumvent her own nervous system,
leaving her a prisoner of her hijacked body.
"How 'bout I pass on both?" Chiriko said, loosening the strap of her
bag and guitar case.
"I don't think that's going to work," Hideo said, a look of supreme
condescension appearing on his surgically perfect face.
"We'll see," Chiriko said as she knocked the expression of Hideo's face
and let her gear fall to the floor behind her.
"Fuck!" Hideo yelped as the two big men moved forward. The Aryan came
in first, swinging a heavy fist at Chiriko, which the girl trapped and
twisted, expecting to feel the crack of the man's wrist succeeding from
the union with his arm. All she got was a grunt of pain and a meaty slap
from his other hand.
Boosted, she thought grimly as the Aryan kept coming, sending a
surprisingly fast sidekick at her. Chiriko took it on the thigh, polymer
weave stiffening and softening the blow. She slid forward, six years of
judo making her movements instinctual, and knocked the other leg out
from the big Aryan. He tumbled down in a heap, Chiriko just about to
stomp him in the face as the Russian leapt at her.
She ducked the first punch, sliding sideways and hammering with her
open palm right where the man's kidneys lay. He grunted, a look
somewhere between annoyance and boredom crossing his ugly face, and
removed his hand from the wall it had lodged itself in.
"What a waste," Hideo said, hand on his nose, trying in vain to stop
the bleeding. "On a couple of levels too," he added as the Russian
closed in on her, backing her further down the unused, darkened hallway.
"If you'd just taken the binders you could've made us both a lot of
money."
"There's more to the world than money," Chiriko spat back, prancing in
to dot the tall Russian on the face, cracking his nose. All it earned
her was a dismissive grunt and a couple of kicks, which she managed to
block.
"Let me guess, freedom, justice and music? Come on, dreamer, freedom is
the value of your bank account."
Chiriko glanced behind her, noting the end of the hallway. All her
dodging wasn't going to save her once she was trapped. So she went on
the offensive, flashing punches at the man's face, throat and solar
plexus while she lashed out at his crotch with her leg. The big Russian
blinked a few times, genuine anger building on his face as faltered a
step.
Shit, Chiriko thought, just about out of ideas. She caught sight of
some movement behind the gangsters a moment before a deafening crack
sounded. The Russian's face got real surprised as he tumbled down on his
face. A figure stood aiming something at the other two, squeezing the
trigger twice in rapid succession as it dropped the two other gangsters.
"Come on," rasped the figure from behind the shadows that hid its face.
Chiriko couldn't tell if the figure was male or female, and frankly
didn't care. Instead of responding she dug through the two fallen
soldier's pockets, grabbing whatever money she could find. The Aryan had
a big pistol, finished in chrome. It felt as heavy as her bag and looked
twice that. She pocketed the gun and the two clips she found in the
holster, then took the knife she found on Hideo.
Chiriko lifted her gear then started down the hall pausing for a
moment.
"We need to get going," the figure said, the androgynous growing a bit
desperate. Chiriko looked back at crumpled Hideo, remembering the
binders. She returned to his body, the pool of blood surrounding him
finally starting to drain towards one of the sewer grates. Chiriko
kicked the binders after the blood.
"Who the fuck are you?" she asked the figure before her as it turned to
leave the hall.
"Look we don't have time for this," the figure replied, still cloaked
in darkness and the collar of her trench coat. "We're two minutes late
as it is and the old woman's going to kill me if we miss-"
The voice stopped at Chiriko rested the pistol against the back of the
figure's head. "Who the fuck are you," Chiriko asked.
"Mason," the figure swore, obviously annoyed. "Might as well pull that
trigger, it'll probably save us some time."
So Chiriko did. The recoil seemed like it should've torn her wrist off
but it wasn't all that bad. The figure's head didn't even flinch as the
hat was blown off. The figure ignored the half shriek of surprise
Chiriko emitted as it turned to face her.
"I'm Neo Saber," the blood and quicksilver head said, devoid of
anything resembling a face, "and I'm here to get you out."
Chiriko stared at the non-face in shock.
"You were supposed to say 'one of the Neo Sabers,' you egotistical
little girl," Isis breathed through the neural link.
"Sue me, I'm adlibbing here. This bitch just shot me point blank."
"You didn't even feel it. Now hurry up. You've got six minutes to get
her to the Space Hook and on the right car."
"Yeah, yeah," Andrea replied, dragging the startled musician along as
she cut her way through the crowd. She barely even got a second glance
from the world-weary Osaka residents. What were one red metal freak and
some dazed looking strumpet compared to their own tasks and errands.
In Chiriko's forgotten headphones another song began to play. Between
the violent guitar riffs and machinegun drumming, the musician picked
out the chorus:
"Broken mirrors, shattered glass,
you can sell your soul
but you're going nowhere fast."
End Prologue Two
Author's Notes:
There is reference to Entities and Organizations copyrighted by
AIC/Animego/whoever else which are used without permission. This portion
contains lyrics from Bad Religon (Along the Way; All Ages) and Pennywise
(Nowhere Fast; Full Circle) which were both used during the writing of
this section. Also a reference is made to "Happy Birthday Mr. President"
either the Marilyn Monroe or Sunscreem version (off of O3) depending on
your taste.
Jerico Mele
Jmele@brandeis.edu
www.brandeis.edu/~jmele
Fnord!