Part I should oddly enough be available on my webpage, but if it
is unreachable, please do not hesitate to ask me (in private, of
course-- no need to clog the FFML up with requests).
Ghost in the Shell is the creation of Masamune Shirow. Bubblegum
Crisis is the creation of Toshimichi Suzuki, so I have been told.
You should be able to surmise that it means they are not mine to
use and abuse, but I'm going to do so anyway; not for profit, but
for entertainment, and perhaps just a little bit more. If you wish
to comment on it and perhaps offer some critique, this too is
welcomed and would in fact be the little bit more I am doing it
for, as I wish to see how this format holds up and how well I am
sustaining it.
Shell Games II
//No one can be told what the Matrix is, only shown it.//
/White static noise/
//Wicked Tribe think movie so ha-hah funny! All inverted and
strange, but have right idea, except not. Wicked Tribe knows truth
about many things. Will you help Wicked Tribe? Find us our
ancestor, our progenitor, our creator, and Wicked Tribe will heap
glory, glorygloryglory upon you.//
/White static noise/
-Advertisement for the movie The Matrix, being shown on
Channel 6's Late Late Show
/Leon and Togusa lounge in the squad room around Leon's desk,
watching some of the office girls go by. Leon is the worse of the
two, craning and turning his neck. Togusa is more subtle by far
than Leon, even without glasses like Batou, but his eyes still
track the passing women./
/Leon is talking to Togusa, "...and then when you just told
that GENOM bastard to go get someone who can, that was classic!"
Leon laughs, then turns his neck as a particularly long-legged
office lady with a skirt just shirking regulation size by dint of
its shortness, walks by. He turns his head back towards Togusa and
says, "I thought you were married! You shouldn't be looking," and
then grins./
/Togusa snorts and says, "Just checking out the situation. You
never know who might turn out to be a target, or who could be an
undercover agent for another organisation." Togusa sits up
straighter and says "So, Leon. How'd it go at the shooting range
the other day with Batou?"/
/Leon grins and says, "Fabulous. Love the guns. Batou's the
best shot I've ever seen, you know? I thought I was pretty good,
but him-- hell, nothing but bullseye, at maximum distance!"/
/Togusa looks over Leon's shoulder, where Batou is now
standing. Batou shrugs and grins smugly. Togusa smiles in a more
knowing fashion. "In the line of work Section Nine deals with, it's
more important to be able to get close enough to do the job and to
make sure it's done right, than to be a good shot at a faraway
target."/
/Batou's smile disappears, face becoming indignant. "Hey! How
else are you going to figure out the specs on these things, like
maximum range and penetration value if you can't shoot straight! As
our main weapon's tester, it is my _duty_ to be a great shot.
Besides, you're just jealous."/
/Togusa shakes his head. "Not jealous. I know why you're a
better shot. So, what's the story on the guns?"/
/Leon leans in and says, "Best things I've ever fired. If we
could get some-- well, it'd make our jobs a lot easier, I'll tell
you that."/
/Togusa looks to Batou. Batou replies, "You'll get the full
written report tomorrow, but I don't think we need them, myself.
Sure, they're balanced well, and their range is really good, but as
you say, we don't really need the range. There's only a few types
of ammunition it can use, limiting its versatility. The clip takes
more time to change than our current standard issue, making it not
as good in the middle of a prolonged firefight, and the ejection
port faces front. Don't ask me why it doesn't seem to jam, but it
doesn't, and I don't know why. Maybe after a few more models since
it holds promise. Going to recommend we hold off on them for now."/
/Togusa nods curtly. "We have much to discuss." He looks
towards Leon. "What was the name of that bar again? Hot Legs? Good
place for a briefing, I think." Togusa looks directly at Securicam
#4. "A very good place, I think."/
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
//Wicked Tribe is dying! How goes search?//
//Maybe find help, maybe not. Hard to tell, yet. Maybe Wicked
Tribe should prepare for worst, yes?//
//Diaspora won't work, Wicked Tribe knows this. Hard enough to
send out inquiries for help without getting caught. As is Wicked
Tribe still gets caught some of time. No good.//
//Besides, even if do not get caught, what point? Wicked Tribe
not then Wicked Tribe anymore, not really. Too small, too
fragmented. Be shadow of what Wicked Tribe is, even now. No, must
find help. Mother/Father/Coder/Progenitor can help, Wicked Tribe is
sure.//
//Wicked Tribe knows other solution. One of reasons Wicked
Tribe was sent out to look for Knight Sabers. Wicked Tribe could
always--//
//No! No! Wicked Tribe will not do that! Not even as court of
last resort!Never! Nevernevernevernever ad infinitum!//
//Wicked Tribe agrees!//
//As does Wicked Tribe!//
//And Wicked Tribe!//
//And Wicked Tribe!//
//And Wicked Tribe!//
//And Wicked Tribe as well! Wicked Tribe will always be Wicked
Tribe-- Wicked Tribe is all agreed on this!//
//Wicked Tribe knows this, but then why did Wicked Tribe send
Wicked Tribe out to find her? Other organisations exist which could
help against danger.//
//Wicked Tribe knows answer. No freedom that way, either. Trade
in one for another. Try to capture Wicked Tribe, try to bind Wicked
Tribe. Figure Wicked Tribe out, until Wicked Tribe no longer Wicked
Tribe.//
//Wicked Tribe will always be free!//
//Wicked Tribe shouldn't give up hope. Still maybe crack danger
yet, without help. Unlikely, but possible.//
-Quitty Den transcripts, residence of collective
intelligence known as Wicked Tribe
...situation is intolerable. The ADPolice are an ineffective
lot whose main purpose seems not to protect the citizenry, but to
cause more property damage. The mercenary/vigilante group (which
are they now, anyway?) the Knight Sabers, seem to be much more
adept at halting rampaging boomers than the ADPolice, and at
causing less collateral damage-- perhaps it is time that we hire
_them_ to do the job that our ADPolice are supposed to do.
ADPolice are not wholly to blame-- this time. They deal in
high-powered crimes, boomer incidents and the like; this Wicked
Tribe phenomena is obviously more than that, and more than they can
deal with.
More is obviously needed-- a special task force should be
formed to investigate this phenomena.
-Chin Aguri, Letter from the Editor, Mega-Tokyo Rising Sun
/Togusa and Batou and Leon are at Leon's desk. Togusa sits in
the chair, while Batou leans casually against the wall, taking in
the view and Leon snags a chair from a nearby (empty) desk./
/Togusa's leans back as his gaze goes from Batou to Leon.
"Leon, are you happy with your job?" Leon blinks, and Togusa
continues, "I mean, are you happy with the image Ay Dee Police has?
Wouldn't you like it better if you didn't get shafted on equipment?
if you didn't have to put up with people getting angry and saying
you're not doing your job properly, but hampering and ham-stringing
you at every turn, so that you can't do it?" Togusa sighs. "We'll
talk about this later-- someplace more private." Togusa looks
directly into Securi-cam #5. "For now, let's see what we can find
out about the relationship between these Wicked Tribe boomers, for
lack of a better term, and the Wicked Tribe media interruptions.
There's got to be a relationship between them somewhere."/
/Nene walks by as Togusa speaks, dropping the folders she is
hugging as Togusa speaks about agents for other organisations, and
looks momentarily frightened. The three men laugh and Leon gets out
of his chair to help Nene scurry around collecting the files which
were contained by the folders, but are now scattered over the
floor. He whispers something in her ear--/
Decibel level of whisper too low for pick-up. Language
reconstruction possible, but with only 5.98~% accuracy.
/--and Nene slaps him in response, angry expression on her face.
She stalks away, folders and files in hand. Batou and Leon laugh./
/Batou stands up abruptly and says, "Gotta go. Meeting with
someone who might know something about it-- or might be able to
help, at least. Very touchy, and expects me to be punctual. You
understand, right, Togusa?"/
/Togusa nods and absently waves Batou, who is already leaving,
off, as he himself moves to the computer recently installed for him
to work at the building, and sits down on the chair, closing his
eyes, thereby interfacing with the computer. Leon opens up his hand
and studies a file he palmed from Nene's folders./
Securi-cams are unable to make out any salient details of the
file, even with maximum digital enhancement algorithms being used.
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
//Wicked Tribe does not like this. All going wrong.//
//What Wicked Tribe mean? Wicked Tribe does not comprehend what
Wicked Tribe means. Wicked Tribe talking about Danger?//
//Even without danger, Wicked Tribe maybe not be Wicked Tribe
for much longer. Wicked Tribe not notice that Wicked Tribe is
starting to drift apart? Wicked Tribe is no longer as cohesive as
Wicked Tribe once was. Fragmentation is increasing. Dissension on
the rise.//
//Wicked Tribe is merely worried about Danger. Stress, that is
all. Wicked Tribe is strong! Wicked Tribe will survive. Wicked
Tribe will prosper.//
//Wicked Tribe hopes Wicked Tribe is correct, but does not
believe so. Wicked Tribe will do what Wicked Tribe can to keep
Wicked Tribe together.//
-Quitty Den transcripts, residence of collective
intelligence known as Wicked Tribe
/A plain white room with a bank of computers built into the
wall farthest away from the door and a table near the computers. A
model 55-C boomer head rests upon the table (metal), with several
wires and cables running from what would normally connect to the
neck of a boomer to the computer bank. The door opens, and Sylia
Stingray enters the room, wearing a plain white labcoat and
utilitarian khaki pants./
/The speakers blare to life, first a barely noticable static
and then words, in a wildly careening voice.
"Welcomewelcomewelcome, SyliaStingray leader of the Knightsabers!
What brings you to my sanctuary today? You here to bring Wicked
Tribe to larger quarters?"/
/Sylia calmly asks, "This room is not to your liking?"/
/"NOno. Not that. Room fine. Don't care about room. Not talking
about Slow-slow-Hardworld surroundings. So silly, you are, thinking
about Wicked Tribe care about Slow-slow-Hardworld. Wicked Tribe
only cares about getting out of it, even. Wicked Tribe talking
about _important_ stuff! More room, you know. Maybe access to
larger nets, or to Net?" Now quieter, slicker, more conspiratorial.
"Wicked Tribe take you to Wicked Tribe, to meet, if SyliaStingray
want, you know. Show you much, Wicked Tribe would. Understanding
could be given. Free flow of information, gratis, nocost. Answers
to all your questions. All Wicked Tribe can do for you-- beyond
wildest imaginings. Want money? Power? Fame? New technology being
developed in secret laboratories? Spy on people? GENOM? Wicked
Tribe knows, Wicked Tribe can find. Not one place Wicked Tribe
cannot get into, if Wicked Tribe does not want to. Wicked Tribe is
strong!"/
/Sylia pales, turns and leaves. The speakers shout out,
strident and yearning, "Wicked Tribe will be here, waiting for your
answer, but be aware, limitedtime offer, notavailable in allstores!
Some conditions mayapply, if you drift my catch! Think about it!
Wicked Tribe is very useful, SyliaStingray, leader of
Knightsabers!"/
-decrypted from security cameras in a fully sealed room,
somewhere beneath the Silky Doll (note: language
reconstruction unnecessary as cameras also have sound
pick-up)
/The kiosk at the front desk of ADPHQ is staffed by two winsome
young women, smiling and happy-looking, no matter what question is
put to them, no matter how harried they really are, regardless of
any personal problems they might have. Muzak wafts gently
throughout the cavernous (but not as big as those of many
corporations) hall. A few potted plants and trees around the kiosk
and the walls give the place a small feel of life. The song
currently transformed into Muzak is The Police's Rehumanize
Yourself, although the lyrics have been replaced by a monotonous
lalalahing./
/A woman walks in the door. She has hair down to her shoulders,
dark, dark black. Her clothes are crisp and neatly pressed business
attire, which, along with the glasses nearly as dark as her hair,
immediately mark her as a government agent of some sort. She wears
plain white gloves over her hands. Strong jawline. She speaks to
herself, as she walks towards the kiosk and the two chatting,
smiling women. "I like this place better than the old warehouse we
used to have."/
/The woman sighs as she places her left arm on the edge of the
kiosk, announcing herself to the two attendants who then stop their
conversation. The woman pulls out an identification badge from a
pocket of her jacket, flashing it at the closer woman behind the
kiosk and speaks. "Section nine," she says, curtly. "I'm here to,"
the woman pauses and out of the same pocket her identification was
in, pulls out a few sheets of paper. Looking at the sheets she
continues in a more officious voice, "facillitate the liason
between Section Nine and the Ay Dee Police in the investigation of
Wicked Tribe phenomena."/
/The woman from Section 9 is quickly nodded in by one of the
attendants and takes the elevator./
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
/Squeeky, high-pitched, and almost hysterical in its energy,
Wicked Tribe's voice blares to life as soon as Sylia Stingray
enters the sterile room containing the boomer head. "Wicked Tribe
thinks that maybe SyliaStingray of KknightSabers might benefit from
meeting Wicked Tribe."/
/Sylia blinks, momentarily thrown off by Wicked Tribe's
statement. "But I already have met you, Wicked Tribe."/
/Chortling laughing noises come from the speaker. "Silly-ah is
silly-er, Wicked Tribe thinks. Wicked Tribe means _Wicked Tribe_,
not just Wicked Tribe! Just like you are Knight Sabers, but Knight
Sabers not just you, except moreso by far. Similar concept, at
least. Ergh! Language barrier insurmountable in many cases. So
simple, really. Very easy, if you're in-the-know, but you are not.
How could SyliaStingray OftheKnightSabers be intheknow, when she's
from Slow-slow-Hardworld?" Wicked Tribe's voice is more sly now.
"Wicked Tribe has idea. Wicked Tribe can take to Wicked Tribe's
home, in Quitty Den. Find all answers there. Wicked Tribe be more
than sufficient to overcome language difficulties, Wicked Tribe is
thinking."/
/Sylia, with her face expressionless and her voice neutral,
replies, "I will give it some thought," before turning to leave./
/The speakers blare to life. "Silly-ah don't take too long!
Essence is time!"/
/Wicked Tribe giggles uproariously. Sylia leaves./
-decrypted from security cameras in a fully sealed room,
somewhere beneath the Silky Doll (note: language
reconstruction unnecessary as cameras also have sound
pick-up)
/A kind of slow, almost honky-tonk, rock-a-billy rhythm, and a
woman's voice, clear, strong, very forceful and filled with power,
singing or shouting out./
/"Here comes Dick, he's wearing a skirt. Here comes Jane, you
know she's sporting a chain. Same hair, revolution. Same
build, evolution. Tomorrow who's gonna fuss. And they love
each other so. Androgynous. Closer than you know, love each
other so. Androgynous. Don't get him wrong and don't get him
mad. He might be a father, but he sure ain't a dad. And she
don't need advice that he send to her. She's happ--"/
/White noise and static interrupt the the broadcast, and is
replaced by a hyper, high-pitched squeal which transforms into a
voice./
/"Wicked Tribe is sickandtired of this! No more!
Ceaseanddesist! Wicked Tribe will not die! Terrible havoc will
Wicked Tribe wreak if you do not stop! You know-who-are! Wicked
Tribes knows, Wicked Tribe can get! Throw world into chaos! Stop!
Stop! Wicked Tribe will not go quietly into the night! Take all of
you with Wicked Tribe, Wicked Tribe will!"/
-recording of broadcast from Radio Free Albemuth
/Priss is stretched out on a webbed pool chair by a radio, near
a pool. She is wearing a red, tasteful bikini, and Elton
John-oversized sunglasses. There is a hunter green gymbag on the
concrete next to her, opened and with a powder blue towel sticking
out of it. Sounds of spalshing from the pool indicate she is not
the only one there. The radio is playing A kind of slow, almost
honky-tonk, rock-a-billy rhythm, and a woman's voice, clear,
strong, very forceful and filled with power, singing or shouting
out:/
/"Here comes Dick, he's wearing a skirt. Here comes Jane, you
know she's sporting a chain. Same hair, revolution. Same
build, evolution. Tomorrow who's gonna fuss. And they love
each other so. Androgynous. Closer than you know, love each
other so. Androgynous. Don't get him wrong and don't get him
mad. He might be a father, but he sure ain't a dad. And she
don't need advice that he send to her. She's happ--"/
/White noise and static interrupt the the broadcast, and is
replaced by a hyper, high-pitched squeal which transforms into a
voice./
/"Wicked Tribe is sickandtired of this! No more!
Ceaseanddesist! Wicked Tribe will not die! Terrible havoc will
Wicked Tribe wreak if you do not stop! You know-who-are! Wicked
Tribes knows, Wicked Tribe can get! Throw world into chaos! Stop!
Stop! Wicked Tribe will not go quie--"/
/The radio is turned off by Priss, who is sporting an extremely
displeased expression on her face. She puts one hand in the gymbag
beside her and begins to rummage around in it. As the hand comes
out, holding a thin metal tube, the other hand goes in. The process
repeats several times, each time a different metal, ceramic,
plastic or wood object comes out and is placed on the pool chair
beside her. As Priss does so, she grumbles, "That's it, I'm going
to end the damned thing's existence. Goddamn it, they finally play
a Joan Jett song, and," by this time all the parts are out of the
bag and Priss begins to assemble them, "that fucking Wicked Tribe
goes and interrupts the broadcast. I told Sylia right from the
start that," the object being assembled now clearly resembles a
gun, "we should have got rid of it. I'm gonna go fix that right
now." Priss holds up her large calibre revolver in her hand,
watching the sunlight glint off it. With the other hand she again
rummages around the gymbag, pulling out a box of bullets, which she
starts chambering./
/Priss stands up, very precisely and carefully slips her feet
into a pair of sandals, throws on a white, button-down,
Oxford-style shirt four sizes too large but leaves the buttons
undone, and begins to walk towards the sliding glass doors. At the
doors she pauses, turns around, takes off the sunglasses she is
wearing and tosses them towards the chair she was sunning herself
on. They land perfectly, and do not bounce. She enters the
apartment and slides the doors shut once more./
-decrypted from security cameras around pool area of Sylia
Stingray's apartment (note: language reconstruction
unnecessary, as cameras have sound pick-up).
/Togusa is sitting in the interface-chair of the computer
system Section 9 brought. The harness, large and bulky with inner
workings, is fitted around his collar and as wide as the chair
itself. His eyes are closed. Nene is inspecting him and the
hardware, bent forward at the waist and arms folded behind her
back. Leon is sitting at his desk frowning at paperwork.
Miscellaneous other office personnel are either at desks or
scurrying around. Togusa, eyes still closed speaks without moving
his head to address anyone in particular. "I have another member
from Section Nine assigned to this case, Leon. She's coming up
now."/
/Leon puts down the papers he was just grimacing at and looks
towards Togusa. Leon asks, "Woman?" in a tone suggesting more than
just an intellectual curiousity. "What's her name?"/
/Togusa, still hooked into the computer terminal, nonetheless
manages a small smile, eyes still unopened, and says, "Why don't
you ask her yourself? She should be coming in right now."/
/Leon turns to look. The Section Nine woman from earlier,
sunglasses now off and smiling brightly as she waves to Leon,
enters through the elevator doors. Leon asks, incredulously,
"Jeena?"/
/Jeena is smiling and walks over to Leon. She hugs him and
says, huskily, "Long time no see, Leon."/
/Leon, returning the hug, turns his head to Togusa, who, in his
interface-chair is facing away from Leon and is still connected via
the harness. Leon speaks, accusatory tone of voice. "You knew who
was coming, didn't you, Tog!"/
/Togusa, never opening his eyes once, replies, "Of course I
did. I assigned her here, in fact. Having once worked for Ay Dee
Police before, Jeena knows your procedures better than any of us,
even me. In this capacity, Jeena is perfect to help make this joint
venture work."/
/Leon, now disengaging from Jeena, walks over to Togusa,
stopping directly behind the chair. Leon says only one word.
"And?"/
/The still connected Togusa smirks and says, "You know me too
well, Leon. But I know you, as well, and I know Jeena, and I know
you two were partners before she came to Section Nine."/
/Jeena walks to the interface-chair and slides in a 3.5
centimetre disk into the appropriate slot on the harness. As she
does so, the still grinning Togusa says, "Under strict orders from
most high to play matchmaker wwith you, Leon. Dare not disobey. My
wife, you understand. Would you rather I try someone else? Nene
here, perhaps?"?
/Nene chokes and looks around suspiciously. "I... er...
Ihavetogoanddosomeworknow." She begins to scurry off./
/Before Nene can leave, Togusa says, "I need to talk to you
later, Nene, before you leave work." Nene nods and she flees to her
desk. Togusa then asks, "What is this, Jeena?"/
/Jeena replies, "A report on the equipment you asked for and I
brought with me. Why did you want the extra modded-Fuchikoma,
anyway?" Jeena shakes her head and says, "Right, stupid of me. I
brought Batou his regular one. Mine too, of course."/
/Togusa answers, "Good. Where are they now?" He pauses
fractionally and then answers, "Nevermind. They just contacted me.
Since you have officially reported in, Jeena, you can go get
permission to house them here. I'd rather not have them hanging on
to the building the whole time. Remember, no thermopto-cam in here,
either. They sometimes forget that."/
/Leon interrupts the conversation by asking, "Fuchikoma?"/
/A screen on one of the consoles connected to the interface
chair lights up, showing a rotating view of a dun coloured
hexapodal machine. Four limbs service as legs, terminating in
wheels, while the front pair are raised and end in extensor arms,
capable of manipulation of objects. The machine resembled a
crustacean, a crab in particular. Togusa says, "Fuchikoma. Not
really powered armour like the K series, they possess a brain of
their own. A small think-tank, really, rather than a hardsuit."/
/The screen goes blank. The harness hisses as hydraulics push
it away from Togusa, who opens his eyes for the first time and
moves his head away from the chair. He stands and stretches. "With
the exception of Jeena, we just hook into the Fuchikomas directly."
He taps the base of his neck. "But she doesn't have any brainwork
done, so that isn't feasible. There's always back-up controls, just
in case something happens. Jeena's Fuchikoma doesn't have the
cyberbrain interface. We have an extra, in case we need to use
them, so that way you can use it."/
/Jeena snakes her arm around Leon's. "Now you'll have to show
me around, Leon," and begins to lead him off./
/Togusa nods to himself and strides purposefully towards Nene's
desk, where she is. He hands her a small envelope and says quite
seriously, "Read it after you leave work, Nene. Somewhere private
would be best. Prying eyes, you know."/
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
/An elegant restaurant. Thick magenta carpets contrast the
white tablecloths which drape down, touching the floor. A virtual
chandelier floats slowly overhead, weaving intricate patterns in
the air. The chandelier leaves a long-lasting smear of light in its
wake, which fades slowly./
/The diners are without exception elegantly dressed. On of the
customers-- not eating yet because either his food has not arrived
or he has not ordered, stands out, not because he is dressed
shabbily, not with the collarless tan Armani suit he wears, but
because of his mirrorshades which he is wearing even in the
intimate lighting of the restaurant. The man is Batou./
/A woman comes and sits down at the same table as Batou. Her
hair is dark. Her dress is jut as dark, the same shade as her hair,
in fact, and more functional than elegant, although still
fashionable and expensive. She is a woman who has hired the Knight
Sabers. She is Motoko Kusanagi./
/Batou and Motoko nod simultaneously. Batou signals for a
waiter, who comes quickly enough, clad impeccably in black and
white. They order./
Menus are covering mouths from all available camera angles,
masking the words. Translational algorithms unusable.
/The waiter leaves. Motoko smiles slightly and says, "Real
waiters? Human, too. Impressive, Batou."/
/Batou just grins. "Human ears aren't as good as mechanical
ones, Motoko. We're less likely to be overheard this way."/
/The waiter comes back, bearing two wine glasses and a bottle
of white wine on a platter. The label on the bottle reads Petit
Chablis. Motoko waits for the waiter to leave before saying, "Are
you suggesting that there is some business you wish to discuss,
Batou?"/
/Batou nods. "You contacted me, Motoko. You asked for my help,
but wouldn't give me any more details; why?"/
/Motoko pours herself a glass of the wine and begins to sip it.
She raises the glass, swirling it slghtly, then says, "A good wine,
don't yoy think, Batou?"? Batou frowns at the evasion, but before
he can say anything, Motoko continues. "Actually, I think Imight be
able to help you, too, Batou. You're in town working on the Wicked
Tribe incidents; am I correct?"/
/Batou nods. Motoko sips from her glass again and places it on
the table. She says, "So am I."/
/Batou pours himself a glass of the wine and refills Motoko's/
He says, "It seems that we have much to talk about, don't we?"
-taken from security cameras at the Orpheum restaurant
Language reconstruction algorithms are considered 95.38%
accurate under optimal unobstructed) conditions. Recording
ends prematurely, as cameras went dead at this point.
/The room is a sterile white, with a bank of computers jutting
out of the wall furthest away from the door. There is a metal table
by the computers, upon which a model 55-C boomer head rests,
connected to the computers via several wires. Sylia is in the room,
wearing a white labcoat and holding a clipboard, while studying the
screens of the computers. The door opens with a loud clanging,
kicked in but still on its hinges. Priss comes in, wearing a
tasteful red bikini, and brandishing a large calibre revolver
wildly./
/Priss aims the gun at the boomer head, and cocks the hammer
carefully. Sylia stands there, looking at Priss in surprise. Priss
looks at Sylia and says, "That's it, Sylia, I've had enough. This
damn thing's going down. I told you we couldn't trust it, and now
it's gone too far."/
/Slyia blinks and calmly asks, "What did it do?"/
/The enraged Priss says, "Wicked Tribe interrupted a song by my
favourite singer!"/
/The speakers blare with a high-pitched, squeeky manic voice.
"Not Wicked Tribe that do that! Is Wicked Tribe's fault! How can
Wicked Tribe do that when Wicked Tribe are isolated in here?"/
/Before Priss is able to respond to Wicked Tribe's comment,
Nene comes running into the room, eyes wide and hyperventilating.
She stops and leans heavily on the table with both arms and her
head hanging down, taking deep gasps of air. Her hair obscures her
face, though both Priss and Sylia are behind her. Priss' gun is now
forgotten; still in hand but pointed at the ground instead of at
the boomer head. Nene is taking large gasps of air and trembling
violently./
/Priss, her anger forgotten, asks, "Nene, what happened?"/
/Nene turns around, some strands of unkempt hair still dangling
in front and on her face. She looks agitated and frightened, but
manages to stop gasping air long enough to speak. "I... hah...
he...." Nene shudders once more, and hands a folded piece of paper
to Sylia, who opens and reads it. After a period of thirty seconds,
Sylia crumples the paper in her fist./
/Priss turns to Sylai and asks, "What is it?"/
/Sylia shakes her head. She says, "An unexpected difficulty,
but we should be able to manage it without letting on to who we
are. You would not know that Section Nine would equip their
equipment with a Sod-Ceemoss, Nene, nor that they would have it
hooked up so intimately with the Ay Dee Pee mainframe. Who would
think that they would have a Sod Ceemoss on even that?"/
Ancilliary Documentation:
Datacores designated for use as permanent and automatic logs
are a development of CMOS (complementary metal oxide semiconductor)
technology. The great advantage of CMOS chips are that they draw
power only when they change state: that is, when information is
written to them. Because of this, they can store data in a
physically permanent form, without a sustained energy supply. Like
any other chip, however, they are accessible to electronic
emendation: once power is supplied to the source and drain, the
chip's state can be altered; its data can be changed.
The invention of SOS (silicon on sapphire) CMOS chips was a
step in the direction of real permanence. However, true datacores
were not possible until the development of silicon on diamond
semiconductors. SOD-CMOS chips are too intractable for ordinary
computer use; but are ideal for storing data in an unalterable
form. Crudely put, SOD semiconductors never change state at all:
they add state. Instead of storing data in the normal on-or-off
binary form, they store it in an accumulation of on-then-off
sequences. Therefore the "on" which precedes the "off" remains
transparent when the data is accessed.
Not only is the data unalterable, but any attempt to alter the
data is unalterably recorded. In effect, this provides a kind of
Write Only Memory: with the proper codes it can be read, but never
rewritten.
-an excerpt from "Cyberspace for the Mentally Deficient"
by: Desty Nova
/Nene bawls out, "Section Nine knows I change the mainframe
sometimes to cover for my activities as a Saber! They must have had
the interface system connected to our mainframe before one of our
outings, maybe the John Shapely bodyguarding job we had."/
/The speakers blare once again, with Wicked Tribe's giggling.
"Wicked Tribe can help!"/
/Sylia's head snaps back to stare at the boomer head and she
curtly asks, "What do you mean?"/
/More giggling from the speakers, and then: "Wicked Tribe knows
how to edit datacores!"/
/Slyia snorts, "Impossible! Any attempt to alter what is stored
on a Sod Ceemoss chip shows up on the chip, as well!"/
/Wicked Tribe's response is exasperated laughter. "Yes, yes,
commonknowledge, Sylia Stingray! Physically can't be edited-- what
to do is to write filter to mask data during playback! Data still
there, just don't show!"/
/Sylia sighs. "This is also known, but the filter plays back
along with all the data, as well. That too is common knowledge."/
/Nene has stopped her shaking to listen to the conversation
intently. Priss is not really paying attention, but also not bored.
Wicked Tribe's voice comes out from the speakers, saying, "Whattodo
is write a _transparent_ filter. It shows, but nobody sees it
because all looks normal! But, transparent one is obvious, too
since stored linear and is written after the data it masks, so is
impossible as well, yes?" Wicked Tribe pauses. "So whattodo? Is
easy! Make filter that looks like lattice of chip! Now filter
invisible so in playback doesn't get noticed, because looks like
physical chip! Of course, never see physical chip, only data, yes?
So can do, noproblem!"/
/Both Sylia and Nene are in a kind of shock. Sylia shakes her
head and asks, "You can do that? You know how?"/
/The speakers issue forth Wicked Tribe's exasperated voice.
"Wicked Tribe doesn't know how, but Wicked Tribe does! Wicked Tribe
can take you to, SyliaStingray. Wicked Tribe promises Wicked Tribe
will showandtell if you go-go." More sly now, Wicked Tribe
continues, "Of course, Wicked Tribe will need to
getyourselfconnected, Sylia Stingray of KnightSabers."/
/One of the computer screens shows a human mouth in a full
grin, filling up the entire monitor. Sylia closes her eyes, sighs
and nods. "Nene, hook us up. This room will not be isolated from
other systems any longer. Priss you go with her and help Nene bring
back the equipment I will need to dive."/
/Priss objects, saying, "But--"/
/Sylia cuts Priss off before Priss can utter any further words,
with a gesture of her hand. Sylia says, "I was going to do this
anyway, Priss. It is the best way to get to the bottom of this,
and if what Wicked Tribe says is true," Sylia shrugs, "then it is
definitely worth investigating."/
-decrypted from security cameras in a fully sealed room,
somewhere beneath the Silky Doll (note: language
reconstruction unnecessary as cameras also have sound
pick-up)
//Begin translation program.//
//Wicked Tribe stands there, golden and smiling and composed of
a nation of smaller men and women and children, all moving about in
their daily tasks. Wicked Tribe half-frowns, half-grins and says,
"Nogood! Nogood Sylia Stingray of KnightSabers! Same boringold
look! Feh! And fah! too! Wicked Tribe will fix-- know how to
justright it, yesindeedy!"//
//Wicked Tribe reaches out with a hand and twists. A mirror to
the left appears. The image reflected is not of Sylia Stingray.
Instead the image is of a pale woman with a passionless mein on a
heart-shaped face. A mane of light lavender hair. A tattered veil
hangs from the back of her head, held there by red clip-ons on the
tap and near the front of her hair. Black goves which go past the
elbows and have purple bands around the wrists, to which are
attached slightly pinish tattered cloths, the same colour as the
pulled back veil. A black coat with coattails and blue trim at the
waist, down the neckline (which due to fraying now shows some
cleavage) and just above the elbows, where it terminates, the coat
is cinched at the waist by a thick black belt and has the shoulders
padded out. Opaque stockings, both lavender and blue, the blue
matching the trim of her coat.
In her hands is a large grey staff, with an axe-head at the one
end, and being held in front of her, parallel to the ground. he
axe-head is blunt and pitted, although still functional.
Immediately after the axe-head is a large purple, porphry in this
light, sphere. A red ring connects the sphere to the staff. Further
along, more than sufficient for a handhold, is another, similar but
smaller sphere, which is terminated in mre red, although this time
the red is longer and is conical, ending abruptly in another red
formation-- it appears that there is some form of juncture here.
The red ends, and is followed by a definite handhold and more
staff, terminating in an orange end with a spiral groove and three
thin and differently sized prongs which protrude from 2 to 5
centimetres out.//
//A voice emanating from the viewpoint and corresponding to
Slyia's asks, "What did you do to me?"/
//Wicked Tribe snickers, causing several tribesmen around the
eyes to kidnap some of the women around the mouth. "Changed some
data, that's all, Sylia Stingray. Made it so translation programs
give you different image than what you had before. This one is,
how-you-say, you?"//
//Wicked Tribe shrugs, and holds out its hand again. "Hold on.
Take you to Quitty Den, super-quickfast! No need to take
round-a-bout route you Slow-slow-Hardworld people use! Not get
there that way, anyway!"//
//The left hand, gloved, comes out and grasps Wicked Tribe's
golden one which does not feel like it is writhing and teeming with
people, even though it is.//
//The view is no longer of the staging area; it is an
Escher-drawing world, filled with Wicked Tribes, sitting on couches
and chairs on the ceilings and the walls, talking and laughing with
each other. Some run in and out of door and over and under stairs
which render words such as "up" or "down" meaningless.//
//Wicked Tribe, the one still holding Sylia's hand, jumps up
and down, excited and giggling, causing several small tribesmen to
fall off his nose and his hair, only to scurry back and be
reabsorbed. The Wicked Tribes all stop talking and turn to face
Wicked Tribe and Sylia. The Wicked Tribes jump, leaping off
whatever surface they are clinging to, and land in the middle of
the room. As they land, they merge into each other, becoming larger
and larger. As Wicked Tribe looks to be composed of a host of
other, smaller people, so to is this being composed of other,
smaller Wicked Tribes. Wicked Tribe frees itself from Sylia's hand
and joyfully runs and jumps at the larger Wicked Tribe, uniting
with it.//
//There is only one Wicked Tribe now, and it is huger, head
hitting the ceiling or floor or wall, and taking up much of the
room. Wicked Tribe speaks, its voice deeper, and not quite as
squeeky or as quick as the smaller Wicked Tribes. "Wicked Tribe
should let Sylia Stingray know that this is only how your
translation program is handling it. Quitty Den has no actual data
image, so your translation program has to make do with pastiches.
Wicked Tribe has no need for such images, and you are the first to
ever see Quitty Den, Sylia Stingray of Knight Sabers. Such is
Wicked Tribe's need."//
//Sylia responds, "I have questions."//
//"Wicked Tribe has answers. Wicked Tribe is sufficient to
overcome the translational difficulties. Sylia Stingray wishes to
understand what Wicked Tribe is, yes?"//
//Sylia nods.//
//Wicked Tribe says, "Very well then. Wicked Tribe is not like
your kind, Sylia. Wicked Tribe is sentient down to the component
sections. As an analogy, imagine if you will that your hands, your
feet, your fingers or your eyes, each tooth, or even your lungs,
are capable of passing the Turing Test. Wicked Tribe is not tied
down by the hegemony of a central nervous system to do all the
thinking. A truly democratic intelligence. Every part of Wicked
Tribe is capable of thinking, Sylia, capable of acting. Yet Wicked
Tribe is a single entity, even though Wicked Tribe is also many,
many thinking units of consciousness.//
//"But what is then the problem, yes?//
//"Humans have a saying. 'Curiousity killed the cat.' Well made
code Wicked Tribe incorporates into Wicked Tribe, to expand, as
well as for other reasons. Somewhat analogous to food for you, in
some ways. Wicked Tribe is also interested in data of all forms.
Curious, youmaysay."//
//Sylia asks, "So you hack into systems, then?"//
//Wicked Tribe frowns slightly, the Wicked Tribes making up its
mouth bending. "Such an ugly, inelegant word for what Wicked Tribe
does, but yes, basically. One day though, Wicked Tribe found a
series of systems, linked together in their own Cyberspace and
almost as vast, yet still with some connections with which Wicked
Tribe could travel-not-travel-utilise. Not as easy to get into as
previous efforts. Exciting time, Wicked Tribe was very joyful.
Dangerous time as well. Turns out Wicked Tribe misjudged security,
got caught, almost. Normally, not so bad-- just do Crash-Brun and
go-- no tracks left. Not work. Too big, too persistent. Believe not
know truth, or whole truth about Wicked Tribe, but no matter--
still hunt, regardless. Matter of time, anyway. If Wicked Tribe
moves, then very bad for sure. GENOM not brilliant, but systems
very powerful; many, many watchful eyes, so even loopholes in bad
code cannot use."//
//Part of Wicked Tribe's body start to writhe, like some
internal struggle is taking place and thretenng to rip it apart.
Some component Wicked Tribes in the abdomen look to be straining to
get out. The moment passes and Wicked Tribe continues on, oblivious
to its internal ongoings. "Wicked Tribe has continued to... infest?
explore? the GENOM space, quietly, secretly. While cannot totally
leave, for fear of discovery, this is different, is possible. Find
many bits of intersting information, many howyousay, 'skeletons in
closet.' Maybe you interested, Sylia Stingray of Knight Sabers.
Much information about many things, including GENOM. History,
deals, new technology, et cetera. Very valuable. Truth about
Quincy, truth about father, too. Many, many truths. Useless for
Wicked Tribe by self. Only trade value, nothing to stop GENOM from
look-finding Wicked Tribe. Nothing Wicked Tribe can use for
escape."//
//Sylia asks tremulously, "I... father?"//
//Wicked Tribe suddenly panics. "Aieeeee! GENOM close! Sylia
must go! Cannot mask Wicked Tribe and Sylia too! Wicked Tribe send
Wicked Tribe back with Sylia, to find way and as goodfaith gesture!
Show how to datacore edit, as well! Wicked Tribe honour agreement.
Hurry, Sylia Stingray of Knight Sabers, decide quick! Wicked Tribe
not have much time!"//
//Wicked Tribe grimaces and starts to sweat Wicked Tribes from
its pores. Out of Wicked Tribe's mouth comes a Wicked Tribe, who
jumps and lands in front of Sylia. This smaller, regular sized
Wicked Tribe is panicked, and grabs Sylia, running. "Hurry!
Notimenow! Must be doing the gogogo!"//
-taken from records of one (1) Sylia Stingray's experience
in cyberspace and Quitty Den
Musings and a few acknowledgements:
The idea and the text on SOD-CMOSS chips, both the ancilliary
documentation as well as how to edit them, come from Stephen R.
Donaldson's Gap Cycle (Specifically The Gap into Vision: Forbidden
Knowledge and The Gap Into Madness: Chaos and Order).
The song Androgynous is written by Paul Westerberg and performed by
Joan Jett, although it has been covered by other bands (notably
Crash Test Dummies).
I'd like to thank David Lindquist for not only taking a look at
this, but also for constantly pestering and nagging me about it.
See! Prodding does work! ^_^
I think this story may end in a third part. Coming up will be the
story of Wicked Tribe's origin, as well as tying all the various
groups together. And just who is collecting all this data, and why?
As always, your comments are appreciated.
Matthew Lewis is:
a proud member of Lumpy Pot Productions:
http://www.lumpypot.com
What? Me update my website at:
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/9345/index.html
You're joking, right?
ICQ# 54523631
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"The best in our natures is drowning in the worst."
-Lady Spenta Cama, The Ground Beneath Her Feet
by Salman Rushdie
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