Thought I'd post this for people who don't feel like visiting my site. ^^;
(Not that it's possible, since Xoom/NBCi has been a #@&$^*@ lately...)
Any comments are welcome, as long as they are civil.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
Angel's Quest
_____________
(Sharp Swords, Big Girls, and Powerful Mecha)
or
(Sharp Girls, Big Mecha, and Powerful Swords)
by Jeff Yang
chapter 02 / 03.29.2000 - 04.15.2000
__________
"Vague" pretty much summed up the times when the Angels would arise from their
beds to face the day. Sometimes they would wake up as early as their contracts
demanded, occasionally running an all-night planning session since sleep would
do little more than get in the way of their deadline. Naturally, this was not
one of those times, and Adara finally opened her eyes a few minutes past the
eleventh hour, as indicated by the clock on the space of wall above her bed.
She grumbled, mumbled a muffled curse or two, and flung the covers aside,
annoyed at herself for not being a better example and at a lot of other things
for simply being themselves. She leapt off the bed and stumbled over to the
bathroom to wash up, hoping to hell that no one else was waiting for her. It
really wouldn't be appropriate if the leader was the last to get up, after all.
To her mild surprise, Raina was there as well, trudging through the extremely
tedious and tiring process of washing her face. Adara looked her over oddly
before setting her brush down. "Where the hell were you last night?" she asked,
none too politely.
"Um, I was... practicing." Raina smiled slowly, brightly, much like a halogen
light that wouldn't quit. "Did I miss anything important?"
"Dinner, for one," Adara said. "And Kyla found a gig that may work out for us.
I'd like you to participate, naturally."
"Oh? That's great! Now we can start having fun again, right, Adara?" Raina
folded the towel and returned it to its rack. "When do we start the plan?"
Adara raised her hands in defense against the verbal assault. "Wait, just wait
a second, Raina. First, it's not a normal job... this is a *steady* job."
"Oh. Well--"
"We decided last night to go out today. You haven't seen the others, have you?"
Adara, naturally, did not expect an affirmative to this at all. Her
expectations were corroborated a moment later with Raina's response. "Right, of
course not... all right, whatever."
They finished the rest of their routine in silence, and Adara headed out first,
slipping on a red jacket from the rack in the hallway as she walked towards the
meeting room. Raina emerged a moment later, mirroring Adara's motions with a
blue coat that was hanging off another hook. The two arrived in the room, where
Kyla and Meura were waiting, discussing something about a bar, a Mechrasor, and
the broken jars.
"What took so long?" Kyla said, looking up. Her look of irritation shifted into
a small smile. "Are you two keeping something from us?"
Raina immediately nodded, much to Adara's chagrin.
"Never mind that," Adara said, shoving the other girl aside lightly. "We all
ready?"
"Yes, Adara. We have been planning our methods of approach as you were getting
up," Meura said pleasantly.
"Oh, good. Well, then... uh, let's go."
They arrived at the establishment ten minutes later, a polished, fresh-smelling
white brick building with a sign overhead proclaiming it to be "The Rusty
Razor". The four disembarked from a coach, and Kyla paid the driver a few coins
of gold and silver before he drove away in a small cloud of dust. There was no
one visible around the building; it seemed as if it exuded an aura which kept
all the people walking in the streets at a distance from it.
"Well? What're we waiting for? Go on!" Adara said, irritated that no one in her
team was moving.
"You're the leader. You go first," Raina reminded her.
Adara shrugged. "Fine, if you insist. Here goes." She opened the door and
stepped inside. For the most part, it seemed to be a normal bar, adorned with
tables and chairs with a stage against the far wall, and a couple of visual
broadcast screens overhead. There was a hallway leading towards another room,
and from there she could see that the other room seemed to be unfinished, as it
was littered with sheets of plastic, paints, and other detritus.
She took another few steps in, before a man's voice came from her right. "Can I
help you?" it said.
Adara whirled and struck. "Don't *surprise* me, you moron!" she nearly
screamed.
The man's voice elicited a couple of interesting squeaks. "S-sorry," he
groaned. "I really didn't mean to--ow, you're quite strong. Were you here to
apply for the position? Seeing as how we haven't officially opened yet..."
"As a matter of fact, yes. My friends are outside right now, should I tell them
to wait or can they come on in?"
The man managed to regain part of his balance, and smoothed out his hair in an
attempt to look professional. "Of course! We need all the help we can get at
the moment, so the more, the merrier, right?" He laughed nervously.
Adara didn't. The laughter cut itself short.
"Right," she said after a brief moment to ensure that enough egg had been
applied upon yonder face. She opened the door and motioned for the others to
come in. There was a brief moment of gawking from both male and females before
the former regained his composure, combing one hand through his hair again.
"Right this way," he said, leading them to a small door behind the bar--the
office, presumably. "All of you are applying?"
"That depends," Meura said. "I would like to know exactly what I must do
before committing."
The man nodded. "I understand that. We can speak in my office, then, and I'm
quite sure we'll come to an agreement."
"Why can't we just talk out here?" Adara asked. "I fail to see how being in
your office--"
"Shut up, Adara," Kyla whispered furiously.
Adara did so, as they made themselves comfortable on the padded chairs.
"Now, I'm sure we're clear on what this position involves," he began
pleasantly. "My name is Charles Bentley, but I go with Chuck. The Rusty Razor
is an establishment tailor-made for the gentlemen of Velaiya. Naturally, this
means that a portion of my services will have to involve... to put it simply,
women."
Meura looked slightly uncomfortable at the statement. "Um, may I ask a
question?"
Chuck held up a hand. "I'd like to finish first before I address any
questions," he said. "Now, since you are all sitting here before me, I assume
that you are in need of money... or perhaps something else. I believe I have
just what you are looking for, here. If at all possible, I'd like to get all
four of you as regular dancers. You seem to be fine ladies, and I mean no
offense towards any of you in any fashion; it's just that some men out there
are in need of an elusive goal, and that it has proven to be a lucrative market
before."
"Will you get to the point?" Adara snapped. The "something else" had miffed her
more than a little; she didn't understand why, exactly, but the anger was
there, seething and pulsing in a red, acidic boil within her stomach.
Chuck laughed softly. "Of course, my dear. I was just getting to that point.
Being a dancer would mean that I would want you here from the third hour of
noon until perhaps, say, the twelfth hour of night. You would be wearing
costumes of my designs, and they are quite skimpy. If that's a problem, you're
more than welcome to walk out." He smiled pleasantly.
"Are there any other positions available for us besides being a dancer?" Meura
asked. "I... I do not know how to dance, either, but I can cook and clean."
"That's wonderful, dear. Maybe you can get a job as a maid in the hotels around
town. I'm afraid that I have all the cooks and cleaners I need for now."
"How much are you willing to pay us?" Kyla said. She was trimming her
fingernails, pretending not to particularly care.
"Does two hundred gold an hour, plus any tips you may earn, sound reasonable?"
Chuck said, leaning back in his seat.
Adara managed to conceal her surprise. "We'll think about it," she said. The
rules of engagement were old hat to her: never accept the first offer. Well,
almost never, since there had been one-shot deals that were really too good to
pass up. "Angels, outside, now."
The four filed out of the office and congregated around the bar. Raina was the
first to speak.
"That's a *lot* of money, Adara," she said, all but tripping over her words.
"We should just take it now!"
"I wish there was some other way to handle this besides being a dancer," Meura
said quietly.
"Either way. Adara, you're the leader. What's your call?" Kyla said.
Adara couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. She began pacing slowly,
hands clasped behind her back. "Look, I know we're in need, here, but being a
talented and intelligent leader--don't laugh, you--I think we need to consider
all aspects of the situation here. Kyla, you're intelligence. Do you think the
benefits would outweigh the fact that we have to prance naked in front of ugly,
drooling men hours at a time?"
"Uh... I don't know," Kyla said. "I just said you were supposed to make the
decision."
"Right, but it's obvious poor Meura here doesn't want to be a dancer--by the
way, I'm sorry about last night, I was in a bad mood--and it'd be bad of me to
make her do that."
Meura shrugged. "I would be willing to, if it was truly necessary. However, I
am sure that there are other options we can turn to." She hesitated. "Maybe we
should continue looking, just for the moment."
"Well, we can't just pass this opportunity up," Adara protested. "We need
someone who doesn't mind the conditions, has the endurance, and the figure.
Creator knows that Kyla wouldn't be qualified--"
"Oh, go leap off a cliff."
"--or Meura, so..."
They turned and looked at Raina. She was busying herself by toying with a piece
of shiny foil on the countertop.
"Fair enough?" Adara said.
"I really think you should ask her first, Adara," Meura offered.
"Right." She made her way around to the bar and propped Raina's chin up with
two fingers. "Raina, dear? Are you home?"
"You're so silly, Adara," she said, giggling. "Of course I am. What is it?"
"Did you really hear anything that the nice man was saying in the office? About
the job, and what you had to do, and everything else? You weren't just
pretending to earlier, were you?"
"Oh, of course not! I heard everything. You want me to dance, right? I can do
that, Adara! I'd love to, since it would help the Angels and all."
Adara's expression became serious, to say nothing of the way she felt inside.
"You're sure, right? Because this... isn't a very pleasant occupation, you
know."
"Yes, I know. You told me all about it before, that's why you quit working as
an undercover call girl," Raina said easily. "I can handle it. I can do
anything you want, Adara."
"Well, all right," Adara said, feeling a bit uneasy. She didn't remember when
Raina had acquired such devotion. "Come on, let's go tell Chuck, then."
They did so, and Raina was thus inducted into the immortal halls of those
willing to bare their breasts for money, the first of not many in the Rusty
Razor. She was to work five days a week, at the hours and rate specified,
protected under the security force that he promised he would hire shortly. As a
bonus for being the first hired, Chuck slipped them each ten gold, "to spend on
some nice things".
"There's something I don't like about that man," Kyla said as she walked out.
Nevertheless, she was holding the coins in her hand, jingling them around.
Adara made a flippant gesture. "He paid us. I think that's good enough for
now."
Meura remained silent for a moment before hailing a coach. "I am going to
return to base. Am I needed further today, Adara?"
"I don't think so. Kyla and I might look around for a bit to see if anyone
needs--" Adara smirked, "--our particular brand of justice, but that's about
it. I doubt we'll find anything that hasn't already been looked over with a
comb, anyways."
"All right." Meura nodded once, before boarding the coach. "Please take care of
yourselves. You did bring your Weapons, I hope."
Kyla nodded in return. "We can't stand to risk anything," she said. "Don't
worry about us, Meura. You just go do what you have to."
"What she said," Adara chipped in.
The coach drove off, leaving the two on the street. "So, where shall we go
now, O Fearless Leader?"
Adara chose to ignore the implications. "Wherever. As long as I don't end up
mostly naked again."
_____________
Three large white robots lumbered down the streets. They were complex machines,
plates of sparkling metal with joints held together by elastics laced with
strips of thin, flexible polymers. Roughly humanoid in shape, the head was
devoid of any facial features save for a black visor over where the eyes should
be. The chin sloped down sharply, giving it a decidedly arrogant look.
Microscopic seams running along the arms and legs indicated the presence of
storage hatches.
The robots housed an egg-shaped chamber that served as the cockpit. Pilots
entered from the space in between its lower two limbs, and controlled the
Mechrasor with two maneuvering grips, each loaded with a series of buttons and
switches that were easily accessible to the fingers. The grips, working in
tandem with a simulated-terrain display screen that fit over the pilot's eyes,
were supposed to make for an unstoppable machine, great for gardening or
warfare.
Crain fumbled with the instruction manual. It slipped out of his fingers and
landed soundly on his foot. Rigger and Craftsworth winced for a moment as a
piercing squawk was broadcasted over their earphones. The first tapped his
comm piece. "Crain? You all right? Nothing shorted out, right?"
A few grumbles filtered over. "Fine," came the sullen reply. "Just fine. I
needed to look something up in the manual and I dropped it."
"What manual?" Craftsworth said.
There was a pause. "Never mind," Crain muttered. "Let's move out."
The three robots whirred briefly as the power source hummed to life, the black
visor streaking with blue. Slowly, each one began walking in circles for a few
seconds before falling into triangle formation, with Crain leading in front.
They slowly made their way down the driveway that separated the mansion from
the beginnings of the city, their steps a lot more graceful than it would seem
capable at first glance.
"You know..." Rigger began. He adjusted a couple of settings so that his
Mechrasor would auto-notify him should the suspect come into his line of
vision. "I really am starting to think of quitting this job."
There were indifferent grumbles from the other two. He wasn't really going to
get a response out of them by this approach, apparently.
He tried again. "Craftsworth? Crain? You're there, right? Sturman wouldn't like
it if he found out that we were walking around Taragon Square while sleeping
inside our 'Rasors."
"Rigger?" Crain said.
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
The rest of the journey towards the Square was uneventful. Most people hardly
gave the Mechrasors a second glance, as they were already accustomed to them.
For the most part, they were used to carry out errands these days; rich people
too lazy to haul their pockmarked bottoms out of bed would ring a bell and send
for a servant, who would then take a highly sophisticated machine of war to go
down to town and buy eggs and cheese. It came as no surprise to the people
milling about in the Square that there were three Mechrasors looking around the
whorehouses for someone or something.
Craftsworth looked up. "No sign," he said over the intercom, privately so that
he didn't end up blaring his voice all over the Square. "Where did Sturman tell
us to look?"
"He didn't tell us to go anywhere," Rigger said. "He just told us to find her,
at any cost."
"Well, that's just plain nice and dandy," Crain muttered. "She could be
anywhere! We're on a wild ganna chase!"
"Yeah!" Craftsworth piped in. "Let's just make a break for it, head to a far
away place like Vartalen and just make it over there!"
Rigger turned his volume control up a notch. "Guys, hold it, hold it," he said.
"We'll find her, all right? It'll just be a matter of time, and we certainly
won't accomplish anything if we sit around here looking at--Crain! We don't
have the money for that! Put her d--that's better. Now listen up. We should
split up and scout out the Square thoroughly."
"Yeah? What if we do find her? How do we know she won't evade us again?"
Craftsworth said. He looked over at Crain's Mechrasor, currently in the process
of making some very interesting hand gestures.
Rigger made sure to turn the microphone off before sighing in exasperation.
"Just... don't, all right?" he said. "I'll cover the southern parts, and you
two, since you're just so qualified to go solo, can cover the north. Report
back in three hours. Sound good?"
"Sure, why not," Crain grumbled.
"Now, now, take pride in your job," Rigger admonished. Even if it does
completely blow the rabid goat, he added mentally. "Chin up, Crain!
Craftsworth! We are the law of Velaiya. We can do *anything*."
There were a few interesting noises and gestures from both Mechrasors as they
filed off, leaving Rigger's line of sight. The instant they were gone, he
flicked a hand over the right control stick and moved the Mechrasor up and
about in a direction that was most certainly not south.
_____________
They had spent the majority of their day wandering about the streets of Taragon
Square's market center, looking for something to occupy themselves with. Aside
from the brilliant array of fine Weapons on sale, the delicious-smelling foods
and the elaborate outfits for both warrior and wench--none of this was
affordable to them, mind you--there was little for them to look at. Department
stores or no, there was only a certain point when they could take their own
lack of wealth being rubbed into their faces.
When the sun was finally beginning to set, they took a short break from
non-shopping to get something to eat at a quick-food restaurant stand. The
young-faced man working the final shift for the day seemed more than slightly
annoyed to have to wait on them, and the food took longer than it should have
taken, especially considering that it was still half-frozen in parts. A
resounding slam of the window lock followed them as they left the stand.
Halfway through the veggie pocket and a few inches down her low-fattening
drink, Adara peered over at Kyla. "Hey."
"Yeah?" She was busying herself with tightening the holster to her Weapon: a
blade that was as massive as the one Raina had been using yesterday, affixed to
a thick black strap that went across her chest, hugging it rather tightly. The
aftereffects were beginning to show themselves, and Kyla was beginning to
wonder just why the thing was so damned heavy outside of actual battle.
Adara watched her for a moment. "Let's go home. It's not like we're going to
actually buy anything, right?" she said.
"No," Kyla admitted. "If you want, leader. We might as well see what Meura's up
to. I'm a bit worried about her."
"Oh, really? You didn't seem too concerned before, so why the sudden interest?"
"Please, Adara," Kyla said, rolling her eyes. "The only person I really dislike
in the Angels is you."
Adara remained silent for a while before sullenly finishing her food. Standing,
she hefted her own Weapon up and slung it onto her back. "I'm going to go ahead
and go back home," she said, barely addressing Kyla. "You coming along?"
"Sure, why not," Kyla said easily, standing up as well. She wiped her mouth
with one of the extra napkins lying on the table, then sauntered closer to
Adara. "Still mad, I take it?"
"You are such a bitch, Kyla," she muttered, turning to hail a coach.
She smirked, but said nothing.
There were no coaches roaming freely about by this time; the sixth day of the
week was usually a day of rest, and by sunset most people were already in their
houses, sitting around the makeshift artificial fireplace as dinner sat on the
stove and playing games. Two full minutes of frustration passed before Adara
gave up.
"Maybe we should walk?" Kyla suggested.
"I think we've done enough walking for the day already," Adara said, glancing
around to make sure that it was a coach and not a 'Rasor she was seeing off in
the distance. It was hard to tell in the purpling sky and dimming light.
"A little exercise can't hurt. What--"
Adara waved her hand at Kyla. "That's enough. I can tell when you're going to
start insulting me again, and frankly I don't feel up to being used as a verbal
punching bag this time."
"I was *going* to ask what that was up ahead, Adara," Kyla said acerbically.
She looked. It really was a Mechrasor, done in the sparkling-white scheme that
gave it away as an agent of the Velaiyan law enforcement, and it was lumbering
(lumbering, yes... odd that it seemed to be half-drunk with elated victory so
that its very gait was affected) directly for them.
The Angels calmly unfastened their massive bladed weapons and brandished them
threateningly at the 'Rasor. "May I help you?" Adara said.
It stopped a few feet in front of them and powered down, the blue light fading
from its visor. There was a pause, and then the loud hiss of compressed air
being released as the hatch between the legs opened slowly. Rolling clouds of
thick fog-like smoke billowed out. The effect was greatly lessened due to the
location of the smoke.
Someone dressed in a wrinkled white jumpsuit climbed out from the hatch, not at
all intimidated by the two girls toting swords in front of him. He allowed a
moment for the billowing fog to subside before removing his helmet, revealing a
sharp visage, loose brown hair, and a face that was utterly marred by pimples
and curling tape around wire frame glasses.
"Evening, Miss Rynce, Miss... Brancel, was it?" he said. The voice, although
courteous and definitely attempting to be refined, was more than slightly
blemished by the face that went behind it.
Neither Angel relaxed. "What do you want?" Adara repeated, slower this time,
accentuating her inquiry with deadly calm.
The man shrugged. "Nothing, in particular, and if you're smart, you'll say the
same."
Kyla bristled. "Don't tell me what to do," she said, raising her sword a bit
higher.
"Just a suggestion," he said, raising his hands to indicate he meant no harm, a
gesture that oddly conflicted with the Mechrasor behind him with cannons armed
and ready. "My name's Rigger, by the way, Hans Rigger. Pleasure to meet you
both."
"Yeah, whatever," Adara said. "I feel compelled to ask why you stopped in front
of us with that thing of yours." She glanced around; was it deserted already?
No, not quite: over there was a crew of cleaners taking the chairs and tables
back into their respective shops, and off in the distance were some others
boarding the coaches that finally arrived to head home and participate in
domestic tranquility. They didn't seem to care about the police 'Rasor at all.
"No reason, aside from the fact that you're wanted, and by all rights and
orders I should be arresting you now by whatever means necessary," Rigger said.
He gestured amiably to the robot behind him. "But I'm not."
"Right. So, what's the price? One night with Kyla?"
"Shut up, Adara!"
Rigger sighed. "Ladies... children, if you prefer," he began, "I have a lot of
things to attend to. I just want you to know a few things right now, so we are
in the clear about avoiding any misunderstandings."
"And those things would be?" Kyla said.
"Well, Craftsworth and Crain are still looking for you," Rigger said. "They
won't find you for quite a while, as they're wandering about in the north of
Taragon at the moment. But I think it'd be a good idea to watch out for them;
I ran into you by chance, didn't I?"
Adara allowed the tip of her Weapon to rest on the ground, not so much a
gesture of neutrality as a sign that she was beginning to get tired of holding
the thing up. "Nice try," she said. "But I don't believe you."
"Well, that's too bad," Rigger said, placing his helmet back on. His voice
acquired a muffled, oddly-sharp quality to it. "Don't say I didn't warn you,
ladies. I hope you take care of yourselves."
Rigger hopped back on the small stairwell that led to the pilot hatch, and
disappeared from sight inside the 'Rasor, allowing himself a small armpump of
victory as he did so. He had appeared sufficiently evil, after all. The unit
powered to life, and its intercom crackled one last time. "See you two later,"
came his voice. With that, the robot wheeled around and began walking away from
them.
"Hey--HEY!" Kyla protested, slamming the blade of her Weapon against the
ground. Sparks and noise flew. "Are you just gonna *leave* like that?!"
"I don't see why we have to get upset over this," Rigger said. "I could really
care less about arresting you. It's Sturman that wants you, not me, and not
even you, Miss Brancel--just Miss Rynce over there." The 'Rasor turned around
to look at them evenly for a moment, its blue visor shining a faint curved bar
of light on the pavement in front of them. "Just stay out of my way, and I'll
reciprocate. Is that fair? I like to think it is."
"Fine," Adara said, replacing her Weapon on its holster. "That's just fine."
There was a general sense of approval from the 'Rasor. "Good evening, then." It
stalked off towards the distance.
Kyla glanced at Adara in mingled emotion. "I can't believe you let him go like
that!" she said in disbelief. Kyla's voice became shrill. "Adara, he's one of
the law! If anything, we should've taken this chance to even up the odds a
little bit, no matter how little!"
"I don't think we could have stood a chance against that 'Rasor of his," Adara
said distractedly. She was looking for a coach again.
Kyla snorted. "You've taken down 'Rasors before, Adara. We both know you have
and that you can, even with the somewhat-mediocre Weapons we're carrying now."
"Still, he didn't seem intimidated at all by us," Adara reminded her. "I don't
know. Normally I'd agree with you--even though you *are* a bitch--but... this
time, it just didn't seem 'right.'"
"Heh." Kyla smirked, wagging a finger. "Gut feeling is the first thing you
don't consider in making decisions, Adara. Take lessons from the master."
"Rushing in is also a pretty stupid idea," Adara said, smiling. "Trust me on
this, Kyla--just *trust* me. We're still living after all these gigs, right?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Now then--here we go!" A coach pulled up to the two, a dirty gray affair that
looked somewhat like an ergonomic box with wheels. "Let's head on home."
_____________
The medical laboratory was a cool, silent place with a constant temperature of
somewhere between comfortably cool and tingly-feeling cold, with walls chock
full of bottles labeled with archaic notation and indecipherable lettering.
Beneath those lay shelves of equipment, most in sterile wrapping and unused.
Meura was a neat woman, almost obsessively so, and thus the desks that were
present in the lab--black-top affairs that were wheeled for easy moving--were
lined in neat rows, each cleaned off daily and lettered for easy access during
the emergencies that hardly seemed to happen these days.
She had been working for most of the day reorganizing the supplies. It was an
exhausting and thankless job, one that Meura was supposed to enjoy because it
provided her with the satisfaction of having improved the world. It was an
overly optimistic thought, the type she wanted to hold but had learned long ago
was not what the world was made of. Still, she retained her belief that she
*was* doing something of merit and that by helping the Angels, she could, in
some small way, help others outside of her own small group, the one that was
now her home.
Meura was never a particularly aware girl. She would dream a lot, especially
during the early mornings, when her long-time association with the Angels made
for a particularly monotonous day. There were only so many times she could
clean the house without growing utterly annoyed at having to clean up after the
others, whom she thought of as a group of children with large weapons and more
power than most.
After the bottles had been sorted, she had sat down on one of the padded
benches to think, mostly about Raina and the Rusty Razor. It seemed rather
cruel to give the job to the girl, almost exploiting her... well, apparent lack
of sense for profit. Adara had never struck her as a particularly sadistic
person, even if she liked to pretend she was--
She was *sure* that the bottle she was currently half-looking, half-daydreaming
at had not been there a moment ago.
Meura stood and pushed the chair beneath the desk, making her way across the
makeshift aisles. Was she getting sleepy? She hadn't done anything all day
except shuffle inventory; then again, that in itself was enough to make anyone
sleepy.
There was the soft chiming that preceded the noise of the door to the medical
lab sliding open. The lab itself was not directly linked from the corridors in
their headquarters; instead, the door led to a long hallway perhaps ten feet
across that opened into the medical chamber. The first door had been opened
already, and now Meura heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
Odd thing was, there was perhaps one person who would even come to the labs.
The Angels usually would use the internal intercom to speak with her, and they
had already learned the hard way (which consisted of a number of stern looks,
silent treatments, and cold dinners) that it was best not to disturb her if she
was in there in the first place.
The steps were coming closer now, and Meura could tell that they were heavy
boots, nothing like the casual shoes Adara and Kyla wore or the fuzzy slippers
Raina was fond of. She hesitated momentarily before opening the control panel
on the wall besides the door and locking herself in.
She turned the door intercom on. "Who is there?" she said.
The response came in the form of a massive explosion of noise. The
steel-fortified door seemed to budge slightly. Meura stumbled back, caught
completely off her guard, and collapsed onto her rear as her feet gave up
beneath her on the slippery tile floor. The crash came again, and this time she
could *see* the door move just enough so that there was a microscopic crack of
pale bluish light spilling in from the hallway.
Meura managed to stand uneasily back up. A third crash resounded against the
door, and despite the claims made by the contractor, claims which were then
subsequently echoed by Adara herself, the thing simply fell out of its hinges
with a final metallic shriek of protest. An armored limb reached out and
snagged the door by its frame, then tossed it, sending a slab of metal
flying across the space of the lab.
The door flew directly over Meura's head and slammed against the opposite wall,
showering her with brilliant, cutting shards of glass and clear plastic. She
immediately ducked and rolled underneath the nearest table, already calculating
the losses that that particular blow would mean to them. The attacker,
meanwhile, strode in the room, assessing it carefully. Meura could see armored
boots from her perspective beneath the desk.
Without resorting to voluntary thought--it was what slowed you down, which may
have a hand in explaining why Raina was Weapons Specialist--Meura placed her
shoulder against the desk and pushed up as hard as she could. The empty desk
flipped over, skidding for a few feet across the floor. She didn't wait to see
where the attacker was and instead aimed herself at the ruined door. A bit of
jagged glass slashed through her left sock and into the bottom of her foot.
Meura bit back a scream and let herself dive for the corridor.
The sounds of pursuit came behind her, and through a dim haze of pain, Meura
realized that she had at least a speed advantage over whoever it was. She
hopped to her good foot and began half-limping down the hallway, hoping that
she would at least have the chance to make it to the Armory...
The attacker was in the hallway now, pursuing her with something like a lazy,
confident stride, the kind reserved for killers who knew their target to be a
hysterical, defenseless ball of shrieking terror. He watched Meura stumble down
the hallway and turn left at the end, a thin trail of blood dribbling her
progress. He smiled to himself. This should be harder.
He calmly adjusted some settings in his suit--the door had been difficult, and
there was no need to kill the poor girl, now--and gave slow, deliberate chase,
turning left as she had. The halls weren't labeled, but she was most likely
trying to find some sort of hiding place where he would eventually find her out
and do what he willed to her, or something equally as futile. Pity, really; the
girl was cute, even when bleeding.
Following the trail led him into a darkened room that seemed like a hangar of
sorts: it was cooled, like the medical lab, and the walls seemed to be padded
with some sort of soft but durable material. He flicked a switch on his suit,
and immediately a bright blue beacon emanated from his helmet, lighting the
entire room in a pale bath of surrealistic light.
Something very fast and very large streaked out at him. He wasn't ready for it
at all, and the subsequent blow nearly sent him tumbling head over heels across
the floor, his armor being the only thing that saved him from being cleaved in
half. Cursing for letting his guard down, he stood back up to see Meura Vance
standing there, wielding a massive sword in both hands and wearing what seemed
to be arbitrary parts and pieces of armor over her now-wrinkled powder blue
dress.
"Airbreak Weapon," he allowed himself to say, loud enough so that she would be
able to hear. "You Angels are no joke, are you."
"What do you want from us?" Meura said. She was out of breath already, and
looked pale even in the blue light. "Who are you?"
"I cannot tell you that, now, can I?" he said, chuckling. "It would ruin the
suspense, my dear, the element of complexity. The play is merely beginning, and
it shall be a most *marvelous* show."
Meura shook her head slowly. "No. We can work out affairs if you have a quarrel
with myself, or my friends. There is no need for this violence."
"There is never a need for any violence, dear," he said gently before letting
one arm fly at her chest. Gently, gently; he had to overestimate the strength
of his blows to compensate for the fragility of the victim. The deflection came
as a surprise to him, and he had a moment to watch his arm glance off of the
flat of Meura's Weapon before she sent the blade slamming into his own chest.
He staggered back once again, not even winded this time, and began reassessing.
Clearly he was fighting a capable victim, here...
Except Meura had lowered her Weapon again, so that she would be in no position
to block or retaliate.
"Stop this at once!" she commanded, her tremulous voice nevertheless carrying a
tone of authority behind the pain. "Tell me what you want!"
The attacker brooded about the dishonor of striking a defenseless woman for a
moment before simply reaching out with enhanced speed to knock her unconscious.
Meura crumpled to the ground, the Weapon clattering onto the ground besides
her, its activation lights around the handle fading. Carefully, he extricated
her from the padded floor and softly stroked her hair.
"I must apologize, my dear," he whispered. "But I cannot fail in my desires."
The man glanced about him and decided that the collateral damage was of little
consequence. If the Angels wanted to seek him, then let them do so. He could
handle them easily enough, at this point. Mentally reciting that credo in his
head, he stepped over Meura's Airbreak carefully and began looking for the exit.
_____________
It seemed that luck was not one of the Angels' multiple assets, especially when
Adara was concerned. The coach that they had been riding on was owned by a
rather disturbing fellow who had the tendency to ramble about his family in the
belief that the passengers actually cared, taking his eyes off of the road as
he did so. Granted, there were few other coaches, 'Rasors, and other vehicles
at this time of night, but it was mostly the principle of the thing.
Then the coach ran out of fuel.
Typical shuttles such as this one ran on the liquefied extract of an ore that
was mined somewhere on the eastern border of Velaiya. It was inexpensive
enough, given that both labor and ore were recyclable and plentiful, which was
all the more reason for Kyla to engage is a fit of massive vocal exercises when
the vehicle seemed to come to an unmotivated, gradual halt.
"Sorry," the driver said, interrupting his jovial flood of words with that one
which Kyla dreaded the most. "Seems like I'm out of fuel."
"Well, *obviously*," Kyla said. She glanced at Adara, who seemed to have fallen
asleep already. "How far are we?"
"Eh? Oh, well, according to the meter, it looks like you have a couple liners
left to go."
"You must be kidding me."
"Not at all! Fine night for a walk, ain't it? Sorry about this. Total comes out
to six gold fifty silver."
Kyla reached over and delivered her payment, to much yelping on the driver's
part. She jostled Adara with her elbow (sharply, in the ribs), and hopped out
the door, glancing around in disgust. Adara joined her a moment later, and the
two of them exchanged a glance before resuming the look around process.
"Well, now what?" Kyla demanded. It was cold out now, and she began rubbing
her arms with her hands.
Adara yawned elaborately. "Let's begin walking."
"Adara, this isn't funny. We really should check up on Meura. She's a bit
nervous about being alone, you know."
"No, I didn't know. Why didn't she tell me this?"
Kyla scoffed at her. "It's called 'being sensitive', Adara, and something a
good leader do is to know the dynamics of each person in her group."
For once, Adara really didn't have anything to say to that.
"Whatever," she mumbled after a long pause during which Kyla continued to
stare at her triumphantly. She peered briefly at the coach sitting besides
them. The driver had gone to get fuel from a nearby station, and was nowhere in
sight. "Maybe we can take that thing for a ride, and before you say it, Kyla, I
know it's out of fuel."
"So what do we do with a coach that can't be driven?" Kyla said.
"Um, take it. Equipment is equipment." Adara shrugged, seeing nothing wrong
with her proposal.
Kyla scratched her head and wheeled around. "Forget it. I'm walking home."
"Good idea," Adara said. "See, my ideas aren't so bad after all."
That particular statement led to a race. It was about six or seven liners
back to base, a distance that they were supposed to be able to run as a
prerequisite for being an active member of the Angels. It was more of a hazing
requirement these days, since the last member to sign up had been Raina a few
years ago. Raina was in surprisingly good condition and passed the tests with
few problems, and since then the active training roster was really only
maintained by her and Kyla, with Adara sparring irregularly whenever she felt
like it and Meura training only when she absolutely had to, as prescribed by
her own schedule.
They arrived at their base about two hours later, out of breath and sides
aching but triumphant. Headquarters was a shadowed structure against the dim
backdrop of the sky, with no lights on at the moment. Kyla leaned against a
tree and wiped her forehead, glancing at Adara, who was doing likewise.
"I won," Kyla said.
Adara shook her head. "No, you just think you did. I was here *long* before
you, girl."
The fatigue was getting to her; Kyla didn't bother to object, and began fishing
in her pockets for keys. Adara was already there, in front of her, unlocking
the heavy main gate that surrounded the complex's outer "garden": a collection
of browned trees and assorted botanical botches, with the singular exception of
a small patch of flowers maintained by Meura.
They entered in through the secondary door (different lock, Adara was the
paranoid type) and tossed their supplies and multitude of non-shopping bags
down on the ground. Adara immediately curled up on the closest couch and was
just about to drift off to sleep before Kyla's shrill voice woke her back up.
"*What* now?" Adara demanded. It was irritating enough to be nearly asleep
without being woken up by--
Kyla, though, looked more than a little panicked, which was terribly unusual.
Unusual enough, in fact, that Adara felt her sleepiness vanish as her
expression of disbelief became visible in the small circle of light thrown out
by a small nearby lamp.
"Adara, I can't find Meura," she began, gesticulating vaguely. "And--and,
there's been a battle."
"What?" Adara repeated. "I don't belie--oh, this is *so* not a good time to be
playing a joke, Kyla--"
"I'm not joking!" Kyla screamed. "Come take a look for yourself!"
Adara started, and slipped her a look of pure suspicion before hauling herself
up from the couch. She followed Kyla to the medical corridor.
On the ground were shards of glass and a thin trail of dried blood amidst them.
_____________
Angel's Quest, its characters, its settings, and all other concepts are
copyright Jeff Yang 2000. Thanks go to Alicia Ashby for her help in editing the
story.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
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bellreisa <<-->> Jeff Yang
homepage http://bellreisa.cjb.net
writings http://kaidese.50g.com
current project http://angelsquest.cjb.net
"How can I let you know I'm more
than the dress and the voice?"
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