It was not a particularly nice bar, but it served.
Any and all sorts of people could come here and not be
noticed. Pushers, suppliers, thieves, fences, opposing
businessment, mercenaries, fixers...
That was the entire point of the place.
The elegant woman tried to keep this in mind as
she picked her way past the drunk sleeping on the
sidewalk.
{]The Lobster Empire presents...[}
"You wanted to speak to me Fargo?"
"I've got something you might be interested in,
Sylia."
{]A Nathan Baxter Fanfiction.[}
"So Klarion wants all the existing data on the
third generation boomer development projects? Do they
have any idea how heavy the security on those files is?
Even my people wouldn't be able to get all of it."
"They're willing to pay one hundred million US just
to have you, in particular, try. Another one hundred on
completion, with an additional fifty if you destroy
GENOM's copies of the information."
"...I'll...have to talk to my people."
<<Warren Zevon, _Quite Ugly One Morning_>>
MegaTokyo 2032
A Story of the Knight Sabers
] ] ]BUBBLE
] ] ]GUM
] ] ]CRISIS
Bubblegum^5
#1. Signs and Portents
There were two reasons to start with the GPCC.
First, it was the nexus of both their target and hundreds
of other projects. Second, of all the targets they would
hit for this operation, it had the lightest security.
Since the other targets would be top-secret weapons
development labs, 'light' was just a relative qualification.
The high heels of the Knight Sabers armor were not
designed for running. Jump jets eliminated the need, and
let you move faster to boot.
/How much farther Nene?/ came over the tacnet.
/It should be the last door in the next hallway to the
left, Priss./
Rounding the corner brought them face to face with
seven hulking, overmuscled blue mechanoids- C-class boomers.
/Nene, ID the model type. Priss, you have the two in
the middle. Linna, go to the left,/ Sylia ordered, rapidly,
while the others were still flinching in shock.
Linna dodged down and forward, ducking under the opening
beams of her opponents, then swung her head forward and
sideways, swishing the ribbons attached to her helmet through
the waist and upper chest of the one on the left. The other
boomer tried to grab them, and lost a hand for its troubles.
Priss braced herself and put three railgun needles into
the chest of one of her adversaries, which fell and did not
rise. Her steady, immobile firing stance gave them perfect
targeting solutions, which allowed them to score two glancing
hits. The headshot just tore off one of her helmet antenna and
left a smoldering path in the paint at its base. Her shoulder
had at least a first-degree burn, though - hurt like hell.
Sylia spun to the left, easily dodging the beams
directed at her, then deployed her arm blades while feinting
to the right and lunging forward to impale her attacker
through the neck before slicing down into its chest and
pulling loose.
Nene was so panicked at being shot at that she jerked
back, falling flat on her butt and making the laser beam that
would have killed her scorch harmlessly over her head.
Sylia turned, then charged her palm cannon and put two
shots into the head of the one nearest her. Its companion
turned and reached out with a brutal backhand that sent her
flying down the hall.
Priss lunged toward her remaining target, switching
weapons as she did so. She struck out with one leg, catching
the boomer in the ankle and sending it crashing to the floor.
This let her jump on top of its chest and place the auto
cannon at such an angle on its throat that the rounds would
ricochet around inside its braincase.
Linna charged her knuckle bomber and lunged under the
boomer's guard, unloading into the 'bellybutton' and tearing
it completely in two.
The single forlorn survivor of the boomer group was
simultaneously bombed and ventilated mere moments later.
Priss turned her head to look at Nene, who was still
sitting where she had fallen. /Does widdle hacker-schnookums
need a hand up?/ she oozed tauntingly.
The one thereby offended glared. Or, rather, Priss
thought that she was glaring- her posture spoke of a glare,
but the visor made it hard to tell. /Look, Mrs. Gorilla, if
those two that nailed you had been paying a little more
attention, we'd be ankle deep in flash-fried meat with blue
garnish. And _who_,/ she was standing by then, and leaned
forward into the taller woman's 'face', /Do you think you
have to thank for that distraction?/
/A sugared cream-puff?/
/Ladies,/ Sylia interrupted quellingly, /we have
business./
The two glared for a moment, before chorusing, /Right!/
Nene quickly moved down the hallway until she came to
the room that she was looking for. She ducked inside and ran
up to the main computer terminal.
Sylia appeared in the door, /Is this it, Nene?/
/Uh-huh!/ she answered breathlessly, /I think so./
Nene worked feverishly for several minutes before
finding the data that she was looking for. [Okay,] she
thought, [design summaries, cost assessments, _market_
assessments; lab locations, _lab locations_, WHERE ARE THE
LAB LOCATIONS?!]
/THERE!/ she said, /lets go I got it!/
Guard boomer 34897-CRS-23 was reading when the alert
went out and interrupted him. Previous experience left only
one conclusion. <This... Is going to hurt,> he thought.
When the Knight Sabers sprinted up to his post, he had
barely begun his attack before he crashed to the ground, all
control runs severed.
* * * * * * * *
It was very cold, and very quiet. The drydock bay was
too large to be reheated more than absolutely necessary, so
the chill of the surrounding vacuum leaked in uncombated by
roaring heater vents.
Nam gazed sightlessly into the glaring overhead
floodlights, ignoring the spiderweb of shadow thrown across
the floor by the gantries around the massive ETOG shuttle.
<What could be keeping the others? They should be here
by now!> she thought.
Her heart leapt to her throat as rapid syncopated
percussion reached her ears... Several people, running
together but out of step.
She tightened her grip on the black, alien bulk of the
assault rifle, licking her lips nervously. The footfalls were
coming from either her friends, or a party of guards, coming
to stop her. <I won't go back,> she swore mentally. <Never!>
"NAM! Start the preflight! They're onto us!" Sylvie's
voice shouted, echoing through the long halls and cavernous
bay.
"Already ready! How'd it happen?" Nam replied, starting
towards the shuttle.
"Bastards Newman and Austerlitz weren't sick," Meg
snarled over her shoulder as she pounded past. "came in just
when we were ready."
"Murphy's Law," Lou jeered, reaching out and grabbing
onto the gantry railing.
Meg smiled, a little, and ferally. "Newman got away, but
I don't think that he'll make it."
Sylvie shifted her grip on Anri. "He had a knife with him."
"I'm sorry..." the quiet one said, leaning on the railing
of the gantry to the shuttle's hatch and pulling herself up. "I
didn't think he'd keep it all the time."
"I told you to stay clear," Lou reproved the wounded girl
from the top of the stairs.
Anri half smiled though her pain. "You'd rather be dead?"
Sylvie glanced over her shoulder at the now-locked door.
"We will be, if we don't move."
"Huh?" Nam blinked. Even if Security were already alerted,
they should have several minutes still, while the JackBoot
Brigade worked around her viruses.
Meg checked the safety on the spare rifle that Nam had
pilfered using her clearance as a Station Security sysop. Off.
Good. "Dobermans."
The lavender-haired girl could feel her eyes widen.
Meg smiled, grimly. "We saw two. Had to ditch the car a
ways back... I think we managed to ram it into one of them."
Anri panted out, through gritted teeth, "It'll be back."
Sylvie said, "But not in time to stop us. And we managed
to override the pressure doors behind us. The other one will be
a while."
A snarl of static echoed momentarily off the walls of the
giant drydock, and then Lou's voice came over the shuttle's
loudspeakers. "Preflight complete. She's ready; get on board!"
Nam took a deep breath and smiled. "Free."
* * * * * * * *
The shuttle shuddered slightly as the first breathy
tendrils of air brushed against the its hull as it arced towards
Honshu.
Meg looked over to her left at the first jolt. "You really
think this'll work?"
Sylvie smiled. "Trust me." Her left thumb toggled the
intercom switch built into the control yoke. "Jettison now, Lou."
/Right!/
Aft of the cargo bay, quarter-ton brackets clunked and
opened, making the massive shuttle twitch in its flight as the
booster section came free from the main hull. It rolled slightly,
then braked heavily under the influence of its reprogrammed
onboard computer.
Deep in the most protected corner of its blocky shape, a
jury-rigged transmitter came to life, telling the universe at
large that its host was something it was not: an escaping ETOG
shuttle.
Meanwhile, the real shuttle shuddered and burrowed deeper
into the earth's atmosphere, its telltale transponder song hidden
under the interference of reentry.
* * * * * * * *
The schematic on the projector screen showed a thin, gaunt
looking boomer. Its right arm matched the rest of it, but the
left forearm was a curved, scythe-like blade that was almost as
long as the boomer was tall. The head resembled a human skull,
except for the prominent fangs.
"This," Nene said, "is the BUC-69-LCX, generally called the
Reaper. It's eight feet tall and weighs about 950 pounds. Strength,
speed and agility are all slightly higher that that of our suits,
and its armor is significantly better. The forearms are composed
of solid blocks of polymorphic metal, similar to that used in
fusion boomers. They can take any of a number of forms, the most
common of which are shown on the right and left arms of the unit
in the schematic. It's fully flight capable, with the thruster
units in the calves and shoulders. The mouth weapon is a high
powered cutting laser. Are there any questions on this one?"
Linna and Priss shook their heads 'no' from where they were
lounging in a recliner and on the couch, respectively. Sylia did
the same from where she sat by her computer.
"Thank you Nene, now what about the other prototype?" Sylia
said.
"Okay!" Nene said, bringing up a new schematic. "This type
is the Dragon, which is officially the BU-78-HCSX. It's
quadripedal and _huge_, weighing in at nearly sixty tons! It's
heavily armored, and even more heavily armed. The mouth weapon is
an array of plasma accelerators; it literally spits fire. Kind of
an appropriate weapon choice, huh? There are missiles arranged in
pop out launchers along the length and breadth of the back, AND
the tail ends in a monomolecular blade!"
"So we have to get all the development data on these,
probably after first fighting our way through the prototypes and
demonstration units, and then destroy the labs COMPLETELY?!"
Priss said "We never get the EASY jobs, do we?"
"Maybe," Linna said, smiling, "but for thirty-one million
apiece, I don't mind."
"Hmph." Priss tried to hold the glare, but the prospect of
that much money made it hard.
"Where are the labs, Nene?" Sylia asked.
"I don't know yet," she answered, "Everything we managed to
get from GPCC was encrypted, just at different levels. This
relatively general data was intended for potential customers,
while more exact data, and the location of the labs, is under a
high-level code that I haven't been able to crack yet. Worse,
each set of data has a different encryption, which means that
this will take a while."
"How long until you've found the first one?"
"No more than a few days."
* * * * * * * *
The helicopter was quite simple in appearance, a ring with a
broad bladed rotor in the center, cockpit and fuselage attached to
the centerline and curving both above and below the rotor,
stabilizer fins attached to the sides of the ring.
"It's ridiculous I tell ya! We haven't had any sleep all
night," snarled the large man sprawled across one of the benches
in the cargo compartment.
"Well come over to my place, Leon, and I'll make a new man
out of you," replied the thin red headed man slouched on the other
side of the cabin.
"Not now, Honey," Leon said, "I've got a headache."
"You _always_ have a headache. How am I supposed to get any
payoff for all my hard work if you keep playing _that_ sort of game?"
"That's _your_ beef, Daley. I've got bigger fish to fry."
"Two of 'em."
Leon's face split in a goofy grin. "Oooohh yeaaahhh..." He
paused a moment. "Four. Her legs are nice too."
Moments later the craft sat down in a large clearing, next to
a large, delta-winged shuttle, of the type used for orbital supply
runs. It had been wrecked, one side of the cargo bay torn completely
open. It looked like some gigantic predator had mauled it, deep
slashes covering its hull, vital components spilling out on to the
ground.
"Man, what coulda done this?" Leon asked, on seeing it for the
first time.
"We don't know," said Lieutenant Carlson, the officer in charge
of the scene, "The registration numbers indicate that this was stolen
from Genaros about a week ago, but SDPC was pretty closed-lipped about
what it was carrying."
"No chance for us then," said Daley, glumly.
"I dunno," Leon said, "whatever stole this shuttle obviously
didn't want it to be used again."
"Not really sir," said Carlson, shaking his head, "those slashes
are pretty precisely targeted to take out every transmitter on the
thing, even the emergency transponders. It's more likely that they
simply didn't want it to be found."
"Considering how eager SDPC is to find those responsible, and
how eager they are to get rid of us, it's a pretty safe bet that it's
something underhanded."
"No bet," said Daley, glancing at the wreckage.
* * * * * * * *
The office was huge and high ceilinged, seeming, except for
the decor, more like a medieval grand hall than a modern place of
business. The doors were almost six feet wide each, and tall enough
to seem narrow. At the opposite end of the room, a large, plain
desk sat in front of a set of bay windows whose dimensions matched
those of the doors.
A soft bell rang through the room. "Ms. Madigan to see you,
Mr. Quincy."
"Send her in."
The doors swung open ponderously, with no apparent prompting.
A young, attractive looking woman in a simple business dress walked
in, coming to a stop six feet away from the desk, then bowing to
the man behind it.
"You asked for a report on the attack at GPCC, sir?" she
asked.
"Yes." The deep rumble was flat, unvarying.
"Almost all of the security boomers were destroyed, though
the human guards were simply knocked unconscious. Both their
testimony and the security footage indicate that the Knight Sabers
were responsible. We don't know what they were after, they used a
virus to destroy the archives," she said crisply.
"I see. And how long will it be before security is back at
full strength?" Bland, monotone, almost boring.
"Several months, sir."
"And this cannot be bettered?" Yet, somehow, slightly
menacing.
"Not without preempting product deliveries, sir," she said
apologetically.
"I see. Put all remaining forces on the priority sectors.
Only when they are fully guarded may you place incoming units on
the other
areas." And completely in command.
"Yes sir," she said, turning to leave.
"Miss Madigan."
"Yes sir?"
"What of project twenty five oh one?"
"The network will be in place in three months, and the primary
program blocks are already in place."
"I see. You may leave."
"Yes sir."
* * * * * * * *
It was odd, that she noticed the sound. The smell made her
want to retch, and the world was painted in vivid neon shades, but
still she most noticed the scuff of feet, the mutter of quiet,
unheeded conversation, the strains of a radio-Simon and Garfunkel,
she noticed.
The predawn chill produced heavy condensation on the layer
upon layer of advertisements overhanging both sides of the narrow
streets.
She pulled her jacket a little tighter against the cold and damp,
catching a momentary glimpse of her reflection in a car window -
short, dark hair, too-beautiful face, and a figure that stood out
beneath even the bulky jacket.
"Heyyyy... You lookin' fo' somebody in pa'ticula'?"
She turned to her left, bringing the speaker into easy view.
About what she had expected, big, tough looking, young but not too
young... High enough on the pecking order to approach the
bombshell walking through their turf. He stank of grease, dirt,
leather and male arousal.
She felt a faint flush, and let the jacket fall loose -
suddenly, the night was a little warmer. Behind her eyes, she
raged and screamed at the nameless who had brought her into the
world so...
But her lips smiled, and said, "Well, not anymore..."
And when, a few minutes later, she returned the way she had
come with a brick red stain on her jacket and a flush on her cheeks,
no one dared disturb the sounds of the busy silence.
* * * * * * * *
Another office, smaller than the first and lacking the
first's lush decoration, creating instead a bare, Spartan appearance.
The back wall was almost entirely window, looking out over a
beautiful coastline. Before the windows rested a desk, behind which
sat a large man with sharp, craggy features. In the back right
corner of the room was a single potted plant, and opposite it, in
the front left corner, a tall, handsome man with white hair leaned
against the wall.
The first man spoke to a monitor on one side of his desk.
"You'd better fix this new mess," he snarled. "Before it can pile
on top of the rest of your blunders."
/I-I understand. I've b-begun cleanup already, but I c-c-can't
be sure of anything at the moment, with only these l-limited
resources-/ stuttered the man on the screen, fear ruining his usual
careful delivery.
"This has _nothing_ to do with me or my people," Flint said.
The phrase 'No, I won't help' was not spoken-it didn't need to be.
/Y-yessir. I am considering the worst case scenario, rest
assured./
"DO THAT!" he said harshly, cutting the connection.
"It would seem," put in the man in the corner, amusedly, "that
at least for now, Kaufman is following our orders."
"He'd better," Flint growled, "The D.D. is as illegal as it is
valuable. If the A.D. Police or the Tower become aware of its
existence, we'll have to cut our ties with SDPC."
The other flipped a coin, spoke, meditatively, "You think so?"
and caught it. "On the other hand" thoughtfuly, <flip> "it might be"
speculatively, <catch> "more expedient to cut some" whimsically,
<flip> "other strings as well." <catch> Menacingly: "Yours, perhaps."
"The Tower and the A.D. Police will be investigating this"
Flint threatened right back, "but I know what those girls want,
which gives _me_ the edge. Even so, shielding you is risky, Largo,
and you can be sure I'll bring you down with me."
Largo laughed, and dropped the crumpled mass that had once
been a coin.
* * * * * * * *
This room was large and open with many desks arranged evenly
all over it. One corner had been walled off into a separate office,
in which there was a single desk. Behind it sat a short, balding,
black man with snow-white hair, wearing a police uniform.
"Considering the origin of that shuttle, there's a strong
possibility that the answers to this puzzle are on Genaros. That
being said I want you to go upstairs and look into the matter, see
if you can identify the cargo."
The man he was speaking to was standing right in front of him,
but it was the one kicked back in the desk on the other side of the
dividing wall who answered.
"And if we know what it was, then we know why someone would
want to steal it," said Inspector Leon McNichol meditatively.
"Just as a final note before you leave," said the Chief, "_Try_
not to step on _too_ many toes, okay?"
"Can't be done," said Leon, "whatever warrants the kind of
equipment that they hit that shuttle with is at the very least
classified top secret."
Daley just grinned at their perpetual back-and-forth.
* * * * * * * *
"You look worried, sir," she said, walking up to his desk.
"Huh? Oh, hi, Nene. Yeah, there's been a series of murders in
the rougher parts of town."
"You mean the vampire murders that the newspapers have been
screaming about?" she asked.
"Uh-huh," Leon said mirthlessly.
"But why would we be worried about that? We have enough
trouble with boomer crimes," she said.
"Exactly. The Forensics people think that the culprit is a
33-S boomer," he answered.
"A _boomer_?! What kind of boomer drinks blood?!"
"A sexaroid. They were designed to be as human as possible,
right down to an artificial circulatory system with synthetic
blood plasma. If they can't get any of that, they can use the real
thing, and their blood supply needs regular replenishment."
The redhead turned green. "Oh god! That's horrible!"
"Uh huh. But they weren't banned until it was discovered that
they could link to advanced weapons systems."
Nene was puzzled, "Why would that matter? Any military boomer
can do that."
"Yep. But that was the story."
She knew him well enough to understand that. "So what was the
real reason?"
"Sexaroids, remember? The ultimate bedroom toy. Designed to
be human in every way possible..." He trailed off. "Too human,
mentally. If they'd stayed around, people might have started
wondering about the morality of using boomers."
"So _Genom_ had them outlawed? That's a switch."
"Uh huh."
* * * * * * * *
Two young women, one with short black hair and the other with
long blonde hair, walked into a dark room a hundred feet by a
hundred feet by fifty feet. The room had a bar on one wall, a stage
on the opposite one, and booths and tables along the other two. Long
balconies over the tables overlooked the central dance floor. On
the stage a band played, but between the rumble of conversation and
the shriek of feedback, the only things that could be determined
about them was that 1) they were loud and 2) their act involved
laserlights.
Sylvie looked over the room, then, having spied what she was
looking for, dragged Lou over to one particular booth.
"Hi, Priss," she said, "who are your friends?"
"Huh? OH!" said the woman sitting on the left side of the
booth, then, pointing at the woman across from her, "This is Linna,"
and then to the girl behind her, "and this is Nene."
"Hii!" chorused the two in question, giving their best smiles.
"Pleased to meet you," Sylvie said warmly, while Lou just gave
a shy smile, looking like she wanted to bolt at any moment. She did
_not_ like large groups.
"C'mon," Priss said to her, scooting over, "we got room, sit
down, loosen up, have FUN, for goodness sake."
Lou glanced at Sylvie, then took a seat, to be followed a
moment later.
"HEY! WAITER!" Priss shouted at the room in general, "BEER!"
* * * * * * * *
Two hours later, Hot Legs was half-empty, the band gone and
the populace quieted. Linna had left early, saying something about
tickets and blood alcohol levels. Priss was slumped against the
table, midway between 'tipsy' and 'unconscious,' while mumbling
half formed comments at Sylvie, who was trying to keep track of
both her words and the conversation between Lou and Nene, which
effort she was failing badly at.
For their part, the two girls were still bright eyed and
bushy tailed, delving deep into the mysteries of hardware/software
interaction with a boundless enthusiasm and energy that had Sylvie,
(who, it must be said, was a bit under the weather herself)
completely baffled.
They were still going half an hour later, when Nene stretched,
yawned, and fell asleep, right in the middle of a sentence.
Lou was on the verge of panic at the thought of her new
friend's apparent death when Sylvie roused enough to say, "
S'allright. She's just asleep..." before falling back into slumber.
Lou spent the rest of the night getting the various sleepers
to their respective homes.
* * * * * * * *
Two motorcycles streaked over the highway, weaving and dodging
and generally making things difficult for the honest commuters trying
to reach the grocery store.
When they turned onto an access road, everyone else on the
highway heaved a collective sigh of relief.
"Hey Priss," Sylvie said.
"Yeah?"
"What's that?"
The singer turned, following her friend's gaze. "Oh, that?
That's the GPCC, the place where GENOM does all its boomer work."
"Oh." <If there's anything that can get rid of our blood
dependency, it'll be there.> Even if they deserved it, what she
had been doing was still murder.
* * * * * * * *
Nene Romanova was mad.
Specifically, she was mad at her supervisor, who had apparently
decided that a complete review of every case the ADP had ever had was
necessary. Nene wouldn't have minded so much if the review hadn't been
urgent-and the supervisor in question hadn't also decided that SHE was
the only worker who could be spared to work on it.
She was NOT in the mood to get killed.
Still, the decryption program had come up with a location, and
if they waited too long then the research site might be moved.
"Sylia? I've got a site."
"Good. How far?"
"Right here in town. It's in the canyons."
* * * * * * * *
"HEY, LEON! DALEY ON THREE!"
The aforementioned kicked his feet down from the desk, slamming
forward and picking up the line in one smooth motion.
"I'm here."
"Hey, handsome," Daley said, "I finally managed to ID that
shuttle's cargo."
"So what was it?"
"A next generation battlemover called the D.D., fully equipped
prototype, complete with ammo, blueprints and self destruct."
"So what's the big deal?" Leon asked casually.
"The big deal is that aside from being one of the best armed
pieces of equipment on the market, this thing is absolutely
revolutionary. It's nearly as strong for it's size as a boomer is,
and at twenty-five feet tall, that's no small thing."
"Ouch."
"Uh huh. And, on top of that, it's got the J-1 battle computer,
one of the most advanced solid state AIs around. THAT is the really
bad news about this. It's designed to take over if the pilot is
injured or killed...and to detonate the self destruct if it runs out
of power while in control."
"So?" Leon said, "We'll just have to scrape fried 'bot off the
street. Nothing new about that."
"Leon, the self destruct is an neutron bomb."
* * * * * * * *
In theory, it should have been easy to sneak into the datarooms
and get what she needed. Since the Knight Saber attack, most areas of
the GPCC had been very lightly guarded, with a very low proportion of
boomers. Just her luck to run into one of them.
For his part, Crash had just been listening to one of his music
files when he ran into her. Running into a sexaroid was unusual.
Unusual things usually ended with him experiencing much pain. He
encountered a lot of unusual things.
He winced mentally, then, speaking politely: "I'm sorry miss,
could you please come with me?"
She pulled a revolver and smiled, "I'd rather not," before
firing six shots and bolting.
He shifted modes, freeing his weapons and spattering psuedoskin
all over the walls, and pursued, bouncing off the wall when the
corridor turned sharply, then slamming through one of the exterior
panels after Sylvie dived through a window.
The roar of an unmuffled internal combustion engine attracted
his attention to the gate where, sure enough, the sexaroid was
zipping out onto the highway on a motorcycle.
* * * * * * * *
The chopper pilot was a brave, competent worker. Nevertheless,
the thought of the official displeasure that leaving without
authorization would bring down on him had him squirming in his seat.
"Are you sure this is a good idea Leon? I mean, leaving
without flight authorization..."
"Don't _worry_ about it, just _do_ it."
"But on whose authority?"
"Mine," Leon said.
The blades spun up, the chopper wafted upwards then slid
forward into the open air near the ADP Building's roof.
/Attention! Running firefight moving west on Route 237!/
"Your heard the man," Leon said, "_Move it_!"
"Don't teach me my job," the pilot shot back, wounded pride
sharpening his voice.
And it quickly became apparent that whatever else you said
about him, the pilot did know his job. He crossed the business
district at maximum velocity and below roof level, saving the time
that it would take to climb to a sane altitude. One minute later
they were over the combat, observing the streaks of light that
marked a plasma weapon.
* * * * * * * *
It should have been an easy shot. Hit a mid-sized target at
medium range, while accounting for its dodging in one dimension,
relative to firing point.
Guard boomers are not noted for the accuracy of their fire,
and Crash was in rather poor condition. This explains why, after
two minutes of firing, he had yet to even scratch her.
But that didn't matter.
She was running out of road, the canyons were just ahead.
She could either stop or jump into them. He wasn't under the
illusion that the fall would kill her, but the bike wouldn't
survive it. She'd be able to hide, but she couldn't dodge as well
on foot. The tradeoff was worth it.
She hadn't slowed, that meant she was jumping.
Good.
* * * * * * * *
After both dots had vanished from the road and into the
canyon, Leon turned to the pilot and said, "Bring us into the
canyon. I'm going in."
"Should I notify headquarters?"
"Only if something happens to me."
The ADP used two different armor designs, both produced by
the same company. The K-11 was exactly what you would expect to
see in the hands of the police, small, cheap, and light. The K-12
had been acquired army surplus. At ten feet tall, twelve feet
wide and six feet thick, it was a very impressive piece of
equipment. Its angular, blocky armor looked just as brutal in ADP
blue and yellow as it had in Army olive drab. This is what Leon
McNichol was climbing into.
Another difference between the ADP's two units was that the
K-11 used a parachute to deploy from the air. The K-12 was so
heavy that acquiring parachutes that could handle it would be
prohibitively expensive for the underfunded ADP.
So, Leon armed the jump jets...and stepped out into space.
* * * * * * * *
The sexaroid couldn't be far; the bike was right here.
There was no WAY she could have escaped.
<UNFORTUNATELY,> Crash thought, <SHE APPARENTLY HAS.>
A loud screeching noise, like tortured metal, brought him
around to see what looked like a giant mechanical cross between
a gorilla and a panther heave itself out of a scrap pile.
He jerked around, then picked up the motorcycle and hurled
it at the mech, using the distraction to spin away from the mech
and kick his thrusters to maximum. This allowed him to dodge into
a niche in a pile of cars...just in time to be buried when Leon
McNichol used that same pile to break his K-12's fall.
<JUST WONDERFUL,> he thought <WELL, AT LEAST THAT MECH ISN'T
GOING TO KILL ME.>
/All guardian units, this is Control. Code Alpha: destroy all
intruders./
<_WHAT_?!>
* * * * * * * *
"I'm not gonna hurt ya," Leon said, "Just come outta there."
"I'm sorry, Inspector. I'm afraid I can't do that."
"You have to! Your mech has a neutron bomb for a self
destruct!" Leon was on the verge of panic.
"I know, I disabled it after I disconnected the battle
computer," the woman's reply was almost amused.
Leon heaved a sigh, 'Thank _god_' "What are you going to
do now?"
"I have the data I need to get rid of my blood dependency,
now all I need are the tools to make the necessary modifications,"
she sounded positively gleeful.
Flatvoiced. "You're the sexaroid." He did _not_ need this,
on top of everything else.
"Yes."
"Great. _Now_ what do I do?"
<<The Smashing Pumpkins, _Where Boys Fear to Tread_>>
She never got a chance to answer, because that was the moment
that the security forces of GENOM development center #159 chose to
attack.
Three BU-55 guard units and five BU-69 prototypes erupted
from the bunkers hidden in the walls of the canyon with a cascade
of energy beams and machinegun bullets.
Two of the 55s broke off to attack Leon, but the rest of the
boomers swarmed towards the battlemover.
* * * * * * * *
[Recommend slave mode,] the screen read.
</Begin./> she ordered.
* * * * * * * *
Inside the battlemovers cockpit, manacle like control units
attached themselves to Sylvie's arms, legs, and shoulders.
Outside, the change was more dramatic.
The battlemover reared back, its joints twisting and
realigning from those of a quadruped to an arrangement closer to
that of a human, while the limbs telescoped to a greater length,
turning it from a chunky beast to a bulky human form.
Undaunted, the foremost of the BU-69s launched itself into
the air, forearms warping and lengthening into huge scythe like
blades that it slashed at the D.D.'s sensor arrays.
Which, in turn, reached up with one arm, snagging the boomer
from the air in immense curved talons which promptly closed,
crushing the Reaper's torso in a spray of fluids and shattered
armor.
Leon spun awkwardly, raising his arms and triggering a burst
of cannonfire that caught one of the 55s in the chest, sending it
reeling to the ground, its primary systems a shredded mess.
* * * * * * * *
When the Knight Sabers arrived at the site of the lab, they
found a firefight already underway. Three Bu-69s and one BU-55
menaced a large humanoid mech, while a second 55 was charging an
ADP armored trooper.
/Nene, go assist the trooper. Priss, get the motoroid and
provide covering fire. Linna, with me./
/_Right_!/ they chorused.
Nene skittered down the slope, moving from one outthrust of
rock to another, while Sylia and Linna leapt high into the air
over the canyon, using their airborne position to pinpoint each
of their foes.
Priss fired three shots, tearing one of the 69s to shreds
and distracting the others so that Sylia and Linna landed
unmolested.
Nene activated her jammers, disorienting the 55 attacking
Leon and allowing him to get a grip on it and use the K-12's mass
to slam the boomer into the ground, shattering its fiber-optic
spine.
Linna landed and lunged to the right, retracting the guards
on her ribbons and tossing her head forward, sending them into the
boomer nearest her. One ribbon hit its shoulder, severing that arm,
while the second divided it in half, from skull to crotch.
Sylia used one of her swords to knock the 69's sweeping blade
aside and twisted forward, stabbing with the opposite blade, but
without effect as her thrust came up short.
Sylvie sent a mental command that riddled the air where one
of the remaining boomers had been with thirty-millimeter armor-
piercing rounds.
A 69 spun on its heel, slashing a sycthblade in an arc that
caught Linna in the upper arm, before being snagged by the D.D.
and tossed into the wall of the canyon hard enough to disable it.
Priss fired a single shot the whipped past the boomer that
had caught Sylia.
Sylia jerked backward at Linna's cry of pain, only to be
brought up short as the blade she had blocked seemed to melt and
ooze over her arm, while the other arm formed into a spike and
pulled back for a killing blow.
The 69 that Sylvie had shot at twisted in midair, opening
its mouth to release an almost invisible beam of energy that
melted a long scar into the D.D.'s shoulder, only to be destroyed
by her return volley of missiles.
Sylia brought her free arm up and fired a shot that blew
through the armor protecting her foe's CPU.
After she had freed her arm Leon said, "Thanks for the save
Knight Sabers, but what are you doing here?" as Priss landed her
moteroid on the floor of the canyon and moved to support Linna,
who was starting to slump to the ground in pain.
"We were in the area on business of our own," Sylia said,
/Linna, how do you feel?/
Her reply was clouded by pain, /I'll live. Where's the
target?/
Nene answered, /It's in the wall of the canyon,/ she
highlighted the appropriate spot on the group displays, /Over
there./
"Huh," Leon said, before turning towards the battlemover,
which was gone, "HEY!"
* * * * * * * *
The hotel room was small and shabby, located in a cheap
building in a bad part of town. It would have been small for
two people, with five it was positively stuffed.
Sylvie came in, brimming and bubbling with energy...
"I've got the disk! Lou, get out your-"
And stopped dead.
Meg was leaning against one wall, her face clotted purple
with sheer rage. She held the cast on her right arm against her
stomach with her left. The shuttle's landing had been very rough.
Lou was curled in a fetal position on one bed, sobbing. Of Anri
and Nam, there was no sign.
"What's wrong?"
Meg looked up, then said: "They're gone."
Sylvie swallowed a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach
and asked, "Who?"
Meg gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. "Who else? Anri
and Nam."
"What happened?"
"Lou and I went out to get groceries. When we got back,
they were gone. Lou hasn't stopped crying since."
Gone. They were gone. Her sisters... "Oh. I see."
<<Aerosmith, _Dream On_>>
END SIGNS AND PORTENTS
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