Look! On the FFML! It's a spam! No, it's a fic! No, it's... C&C MAN!
Bob Schroeck wrote on 3/12/2004, 5:20 PM:
>
> After five and a half years, the final chapter is here. Enjoy.
>
> -- Bob
And yea, verily, there was much rejoicing. MUCH rejoicing. And much
reading.
> The bridge of Sylia's nose creased with the faintest of frowns.
> "Less than two weeks ago, Colonel Sangnoir demanded that we not
> interfere in his... operations. I promised to respect that
> request." The frown was suddenly banished as a self-satisfied
> little smile played across Sylia's lips. "It's his operation.
> Let him handle it by himself, as he wanted."
>
> Linna stifled a chuckle. Nene didn't bother, and her laugh
> echoed in the momentarily silent room.
Ooooh, Doug, I *knew* you were buying trouble. The "fat-bottomed" song
was bad enough, but screwing with Sylia's mind? Karma's a bitch, buddy.
And I have to say you at least partially deserve this.
> "I can't believe this!" Lisa exclaimed. "Do you hate him that
> much?" She clenched her fists unconsciously, and the facets
> of the diamond bit into her palm.
>
> "Hate him?" Sylia looked genuinely surprised, then reflective.
> "No," she continued after a moment. "Not hate. But I have
> found him to be arrogant and irritating."
>
> "That's not enough to justify leaving him in GENOM's hands!"
"Okay, VERY arrogant and irritating."
> Sylia nodded slowly. "Now, if you had offered us precious
> metals, which I can't create in a nanotank, that would be another
> matter entirely. But stones like that one?" With hooded eyes
> and a smug little smile that was almost a smirk, she studied Lisa
> and gave a shake of her head. "Junk. Trash." She caught the
> girl's eyes with her own. "Ergo, no down payment. Ergo, no job."
>
> Lisa stood stock-still for a long moment, staring unbelievingly
> at Sylia.
>
> "So that's it?" she finally said. Her voice was soft, almost a
> whisper. "It's a worthless rock, so you'll leave him to GENOM's
> tender mercies?"
>
> Sylia inclined her head. "So it would seem."
Sylia, OTOH, is enjoying this just a *bit* too much.
> "I can't believe you," Lisa whispered. "I can't believe you!"
> she shouted, and whirled about. "Any of you! Don't you *care*?"
> Her fists were clenched again, and the diamond bit even more
> deeply into her flesh than before. "I thought you were heroes!
> Isn't that what you tried to convince me of when we first met,
> Nene?"
That's hitting below the belt, Lisa. Keep it up.
> Nene flinched and averted her eyes from Lisa's furious gaze. The
> blonde girl whirled once more and returned her attention to
> Sylia. "And you. When we first met, Sylia, you told me that the
> Knight Sabers existed to counter GENOM's excesses. Isn't *this*
> an excess? Was it all a lie, Sylia? You're willing to take
> fifty million to deliver a sexaroid to a death sentence, but you
> won't go out of your way to save a man's life?"
>
> In Nene's lap, Jennifer blanched, and looked up at the women
> around her. Priss laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Ouch. Poor Jen. But it had to be said.
> "Is money all that matters?" Lisa shrieked. She dropped the
> yellow envelope that she still held in one hand and hurled the
> diamond across the room. As it clattered to the floor, she
> started digging through the pockets of her coat. "I'll give you
> money!" She pulled out a fistful of credsticks and scattered
> them across the desk where an impassive Sylia sat. "There!" A
> bankcard and several credit cards followed. "That's my entire
> fucking life savings, everything I've saved from working the
> newspages, and every yen I've earned as your archivist. All
> yours! Every credit card I own, too -- run them up to their
> limits! I'll even throw in my cut from the job! Dammit, Sylia,
> he's my *friend*!" She dropped to her knees in the middle of the
> floor, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. "My friend," she
> repeated in a choked whisper.
Well, Syl, it's time for the Vorlon Question: Who are you? Really?
> * * *
>
> Somewhere in MegaTokyo. Friday, February 20, 2037, 4:45 PM
>
> "You *owe* him that much."
<snip>
> "You can call me Aquarius."
>
> "Oh, water boy..."
>
> "Can it."
>
> * * *
<snerk> I love it. Don't change a word.
> Unknown location, unknown time.
>
> I woke up with a headache and a lot of confusion. I'm annoyed to
> say that in the traditional, cliched manner, I didn't know where
> I was, and I couldn't remember the events that had gotten me
> here. It took me an unusually long time to claw my way out of
> the fog that filled my brain and left me feeling more than a
> little dopey. In the process, all I managed to figure out was
> that I wasn't in my apartment, nor in my workshop at IDEC,
> which left me wondering just where the hell I had gone to sleep
> the night before.
Daley: "Good Mooooorning, Doug-chan! You were wonderful..."
> It was hard to guess his age, but he was at least in his late
> fifties. Given the state of the art of medical technology in
> that here-and-now, though, that meant nothing. He could have
> been in his eighties. Or older. He had long, lank blond/silver
> hair down to his shoulders, with a pronounced widow's peak, and
> he clearly wasn't an office traditionalist, because he wore an
> open collar and a distinctly informal jacket. To be frank, he
> dressed like a pimp. What really disturbed me was that he looked
> hauntingly familiar. I couldn't put my finger on precisely
> *why*, but I was certain that I ought to know him.
Ooooh... I sense Great Revelations in the offing. Well, there *better*
be, since this is the last chapter.
Geez, *everybody* calls Quincy's wardrobe pimpish. They're tight, of
course, but still... how does a man in his position fail to have *any*
fashion sense?
> "So tell me. How are your teammates? Wetter Hexe? Psyche?
> Shockwave? Major Canis? Skitz? Dwimanor? Kat? Silverbolt?"
> He ticked them off one-by-one on his fingers. "Oh, let's not
> forget dear Shadowwalker," he added in a tone that was almost
> tender. "I trust they are all well?"
Ah! The Evil Mastermind Whom Knoweth Too Mucheth!
> I couldn't answer for a moment. Conceivably someone might have
> overheard some of those names, especially those of the simulacra
> I had summoned. But I had not spoken the rest in all the time I
> had been in MegaTokyo. I felt a sudden twist of uncertainty in
> the pit of my stomach. Despite this, of course, I had to brazen
> it out. "I haven't seen most of them in over three years, but
> when I was with them last, they were all okay, mostly. Psyche
> quit after some nasty business with a doppelganger that copied
> him. Shockwave left the team almost fourteen years ago on a
> medical discharge."
>
> The old man nodded. "Ah, yes. His accelerated aging problem.
> I'd almost forgotten about that. What about the others?
> Proteus, Crystal, Wildflyte? Broot, Sorciere, Phantasia? White
> Tiger? Papillon Rose? And that delightful little Welsh
> sorceress with the Stevie Nicks fixation? What was her
> codename? Ah, yes, Rhiannon." He stopped, and frowned in
> concentration, as if trying to dredge up more names from his
> memory. "Gods, it's been so long," he muttered.
Waaay Too Much. Mucheth.
> I stared at him. This was completely impossible. He had just
> run through a goodly portion of both Alpha and Beta's rosters, a
> list which stretched back to the early 1980s. I'd never even
> *met* Sorciere or Phantasia, let alone talked about them -- here
> *or* at home. There was no way in hell a native of this world
> could know that much. No way. He had to have come from
> Homeline. But who was he? He couldn't be Arcanum -- Arcanum was
> off-planet, not off-plane. At least that's what the evidence
> indicated. And dammit, he looked so familiar! Who the hell was
> he?
>
> I decided I had to keep him talking. The more I knew about him,
> I reasoned, the better a plan I could eventually weave. "Proteus
> left Warriors Beta and joined Alpha. The original Wildflyte's
> dead, but his brother or cousin or something accepted the mantle
> of champion for his people and took his place in Beta. Rose
> resigned and joined some theme team in Tokyo. Rhiannon's now a
> field commander, after helping establish Warriors Delta in
> the..."
>
> "...the Sinai Peninsula," he finished for me. "Yes, I remember
> the nights we spent planning the expansion campaign, but we never
> had enough free time to run it."
.....
<!>
No. No, it CAN'T be.
> "The what?" The suspense and my own confusion finally got to me.
> "Who *are* you?" I demanded.
>
> He bared his teeth in what I suppose was intended as a grin, but
> which looked more like the rictus of death. "My name is Quincy,
> James Douglas Quincy. As in Douglas Quincy Sangnoir. I am the
> chairman of GENOM and I am, to put it bluntly, your creator."
<boggle>
"But you can call me Bob."
Okay, show of hands: who *else* completely failed to see that coming?
C'mon, don't be shy.
Darn you, Bob, you and all your Arcanum hints, too!
> * * *
>
> Raven's Garage. Friday, February 20, 2037, 4:51 PM
>
> For an eternal, agonizing minute the room was silent save for
> Lisa's sobs. On all sides of her, the Sabers glanced at each
> other except for Sylia, who sat expressionlessly at her
> workstation.
>
> "Who is this man you're talking about?" Jennifer asked softly.
>
> Priss ran her fingers through the girl's golden hair. "A mouthy
> asshole who's done a few good things, and who's gotten in a
> couple hits at GENOM," she said softly.
"No, wait, that's *me.*"
C'mon, Priss -- pot, kettle, black much?
> "Oh," Jennifer replied, still not quite understanding.
>
> Linna glanced at Sylia, but the leader of the Sabers would not
> acknowledge her. She looked across the room at the other two
> Sabers. Priss scowled when Linna caught her eye, then nodded
> once, curtly. Nene nodded as well, the shame in her eyes as
> visible as the flush with which it rouged her cheeks. Linna
> nodded once to herself, glanced again at Sylia, and pushed
> herself off the wall. With two quick steps she reached the
> center of the room, and lay a hand on Lisa's shoulder.
>
> "We'll do it," she said quietly, and Sylia's head jerked up.
> Linna shot a look at Sylia that challenged the Saber leader to
> contradict her.
Ohhh, boy. Linna, the "good soldier," stages a mutiny. Now we'll see
if Sylia ever learned that old saying "never give an order you know
won't be obeyed."
> Sylia's brow furrowed for a moment, then she sighed. "Very
> well," she finally responded in a tone of resignation. "Very
> well." She slowly and elaborately retrieved a cigarette, set
> it to her lips, and lit it with her gold lighter. "Are you
> certain that it is GENOM who has him?"
Apparently she did. It's nice to see that Sylia *can* get past her
personal issues, when pushed.
> Moments after she had begun considering the problem, Sylia's eyes
> regained focus and she lifted them to meet Lisa's. "I believe
> that Quincy has personally arranged for this."
>
> "Oh, just great," Nene growled. "You do realize that after the
> last couple weeks, he'd probably rather stay with Quincy than go
> with us? We aren't going to do any good if he won't leave."
Nah. Quincy's fun and all, but never underestimate the appeal of Girls
With Guns.
> Sylia frowned at this. "A very good point, Nene. Lisa, did he
> give you any kind of recognition code that we could use?"
>
> Lisa bit her lip. "Not really, he..." At the back of her mind,
> an alien memory slowly, unthreateningly blossomed and laid itself
> open for her examination. "Wait a moment." Closing her eyes,
> she mentally paged through the information suddenly available to
> her, and found what she was looking for. She nodded to herself,
> then opened her eyes again to find Sylia studying her intently.
> "Tell him '<three alpha blue>'. That's all, '<three alpha
> blue>'."
That little memory trip just keeps coming in handy, don't it?
> "My *what?*" I blurted.
>
> Okay, so the old guy was nuts. I added that to the tactical,
> and he still confused me.
>
> But one thing was certain. He knew too much. Things no one in
> this universe could possibly know.
Cue Rod Serling!
> In any case, I still had to keep him talking, both to figure out
> what the hell he meant by that comment, and to give my field as
> much time as possible to work on my restraints. It was a
> distant, unlikely hope, to be absolutely honest, but it was the
> only one I had at the moment. I doubted that my field would
> actually hit upon the right combination of random factors
> necessary to free me from the manacles -- not in any decent
> amount of time, anyway.
>
> Quincy gave me the grin of a shark that had just smelled blood.
> "I wouldn't trust in your field to free you if I were you." The
> surprise I felt on hearing that, right on the heels of my own
> thoughts along those lines, must have shown on my face, because
> he just smiled wider. Damn! Was the old man a telepath?
Nooo, I don't think so. Just someone who knows you waay too well.
> He chuckled -- a basso rumble that was more threatening than
> reassuring -- and continued. "No, I'm not a telepath, my dear
> Douglas. I just know precisely how you think. No, those
> manacles are made from a very durable alloy, with a bare minimum
> of moving parts and no electronics whatsoever. There's very
> little for your field to disrupt, even if you were to try to push
> it."
Someone who knows *all* your abilities and limits.
> "I've piqued your curiosity," he said, still smiling. "Perhaps
> the worst torture I could subject you to would be to leave you
> wondering. But I won't do that."
If he did, there'd be a mob marching on his office with pitchforks and
torches. But, Bob's office or Quincy's? Ohh, I got a headache....
> "Thank heaven for small favors," I muttered.
>
> Quincy unsteepled his hands and sat back into his chair. Half of
> him seemed to vanish into its shadowed depths. Silently, Madigan
> glided over to stand just behind his right shoulder. *Lap dog or
> lackey?* I wondered. She was supposed to be an executive vice
> president or something, but she acted more like a gofer. Her
> well-suppressed nervousness seemed extremely out of character for
> what I knew of her, too. I wondered briefly if there was
> something there I could exploit.
>
> Quincy waited until she was in position, then smiled again at me.
> "Let me tell you a little story, Douglas," he said.
>
> "<Here we are now,>" I burbled with false lightheartedness.
> "<Entertain us.>"
>
> "<Indeed,>" he replied, also in English. "<We always were fond
> of Kurt Cobain's work, weren't we?>" Madigan looked confused --
> whether because she didn't speak the language, or because the
> reference escaped her, I didn't know.
Always preferred Weird Al's version, myself.
And now I have an image of Doug's powers running on Weird Al songs.
The only question is, why didn't I think of it sooner?
(doing an organ transplant within the runtime of "Like a Surgeon" would
be difficult even for Doug, though...)
> "I was a mediocre student at best -- not for lack of ability, but
> because I rarely applied myself to a task unless it excited and
> interested me. I coasted through my classes, excelling at the
> few that challenged and engaged me and surviving the rest with
> the bare minimum of effort needed for a passing grade. And I
> spent almost all my free time with a small group of friends who
> shared my extracurricular interests." He closed his eyes, smiled
> fondly and sighed, then opened them again. "Lee and Elizabeth,
> Quinn and Maeve, Jacqueline, Mike, Lynn and Ursula." His eyes
> grew soft and distant for a moment. "Ah, Ursula."
Bob, you naughty boy! Does Peggy know about this?
> "Yes, yes," I growled with a mixture of mock and real impatience.
> "Can we speed this up? 'Skysaber Conquers The World' is on TV
> tonight, and I don't want to miss it." Behind the old man's
> shoulder, Madigan quirked a quick grin, then banished it
> immediately when she noticed that I was looking at her.
Hey, Bert! Your public is STILL waiting.
> Quincy acknowledged my attempt at humor with just about as much
> gentility as I had used to acknowledge his earlier. "Ah, but we
> are at the heart of story, Douglas. The interests I shared with
> my friends included roleplaying games. Superhero roleplaying
> games." He looked at me expectantly.
"heart of story"? Do you mean "heart of THE story"?
> Well, I knew about roleplaying games. They were like "Cowboys
> and Indians" with rules to settle the inevitable "bang you're
> dead" disputes. There'd been a big gaming crowd among the
> engineering students when I was in college, mostly doing heroic
> fantasy stuff. I never had the time or inclination myself (not
> with my attention evenly split between my studies and suppressing
> my metagift), but I'd walked by a game in the student center
> every once in a while.
>
> Waitaminnit. *Superhero* games?
NOW the nickel drops. FINALLY.
> The old man nodded and did the shark-grin thing at me again. "You
> begin to understand. We all had our favorite characters. Lee
> was Skitz and Major Canis. Elizabeth played Wetter Hexe. Maeve
> played Kat. Her little sister Jacqueline, freshly back from her
> year of foreign exchange study in China, was Ai Zhao Min. Quinn,
> Dwimanor. Ursula was both Shadowwalker and Silverbolt. And I..."
> He paused, clearly savoring the moment. "Oh, yes... *I* was
> Looney Toons."
BTW, Bob? There's some lunatic in a motorcycle helmet leaning over my
shoulder, reading this. He says he wants to have a few words with you...
> * * *
>
> Raven's Garage. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:15 PM
>
> Priss knelt on the bare concrete of the VTOL's pad. "Okay, you
> stay with Lisa, all right?" she shouted over the idling engines
> of the Knight Wing. The blue plastic of her disguise creaked as
> she held out her arms. Jennifer hesitated a moment, then threw
> herself into the hug.
Heh. They're getting into this mother/daughter thing in a big way,
already.
> As the doors at the top of the shaft slid closed again, Lisa
> took a moment to study the girl at her side, only to discover
> Jennifer doing the same. They exchanged looks for a few
> moments.
>
> "So..." the journalist finally began.
>
> "So..." the child-boomer echoed.
"Auntie Lisa, tell me a stowwy."
> There was a pause, just long enough for Lisa to start fidgeting.
> "I'm sorry about what I said in there. About them delivering
> you to... well, you know," she murmured.
>
> Jennifer watched her with large, solemn eyes. "It's okay. You
> hadn't even noticed that I was in the room, and even if you had,
> you couldn't have known that I was the sexaroid."
>
> Lisa winced. "Still, I'm sorry."
>
> Jennifer nodded. "Apology accepted." Then her entire demeanor
> changed, shifting almost visibly from miniature adult to genuine
> child. "You know," she said almost breathlessly, "I met Grampa
> Raven, an' I got to talk to Leon, who's gonna be my daddy, an'
> they warned me 'bout Uncle Mackie, an' of course I know what
> *they* do, but nobody told me 'bout *you*."
Gotta be weird, having an adult brain in a child's body like that.
"Warned her" about Uncle Mackie? Oh, c'mon, Mackie's not THAT big a
perv. Wouldn't stop the girls from besmirching his reputation, though...
> Caught off-balance by the complete transformation of Jennifer's
> manner, Lisa stared for a moment and then laughed. "Well, I'm
> the Sabers' archivist."
>
> "You're like their librarian?" The girl's eyes were wide but
> filled with a knowing playfulness.
Okay, so it's an act. But she had her childhood stolen from her -- let
her get as much back as she can.
> Lisa nodded. "Sort of. I make permanent records out of the
> information in their mission recorders, so they can study them
> later." She led the girl out the door and into the hall, pausing
> only to flip the ready room light switch with her free hand.
>
> "Is that hard?"
>
> "Not really." Lisa's voice continued to echo back up the hallway
> as the pair went deeper into the headquarters complex behind
> Raven's Garage. The overhead lights cast long shadows back
> behind them into the ready room. "I also try to get unbiased
> stories about them into the newspages. That's harder."
>
> "Really?"
>
> "You better believe it."
"For one thing, none of the tabloids are willing to believe that
"Bubblegum Pink" was a complete fabrication..."
> * * *
>
> Somewhere in MegaTokyo. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:17 PM
>
> "Okay, we've got a fix on him."
>
> "Where?"
>
> "Quincy's office, of course."
>
> "Of course. Never an easy job, huh?"
>
> "We weren't made to do the easy jobs, you know that."
>
> "Yeah, yeah, tell me about it."
>
> "Gemini's setting us up with security passes. If the intel we
> have on him is any good at all, he'll figure out some way to
> raise hell. When he does, we'll be the squad sent up when
> Quincy or Madigan yells for help."
>
> "That assumes we can get into the Tower at all."
>
> "Gemini's got that covered, too."
>
> "Does he, now."
Under other circumstances, I might mention the missing "?", but I can
"hear" the effect you're going for, here.
> "Thank GENOM for that. He's got their top-of-the-line electronic
> warfare suite in his greasy little hands and is using it for more
> than a few things that would violate the end-user licensing
> agreement if GENOM knew about them."
Somehow I misdoubt me that "Gemini" *has* and end-user license.
> "He'd better get it right. If I get thoroughly perforated just
> walking into the Tower, I swear I will keep myself going by force
> of will long enough to throttle Gemini and spit in his face."
>
> "You'll have to get in line."
>
> "Oh, thanks. I thought you were the confident one."
>
> "I am. I'm also a realist."
>
> "Riiiight."
<snicker>
> "Anyway, as soon as he's done, we're moving out. Get yourself
> together and meet me at the door in ten minutes."
>
> "Yes, *sir*!"
>
> "Smartass."
Oh, Doug, Doug, Doug. What have you unleashed? Humanity isn't ready
for a wave of smartass, sarcastic bioroids....
> * * *
>
> GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:20 PM
>
> "I put a great deal of effort into creating you," Quincy said
> with obvious relish. "Not just your powers but your personality,
> your motives, your parents... Peter William Sangnoir, Senior
> Vice President in charge of Development for Monumental Studios;
> Jessamyn Lorraine Sangnoir, former Olympic equestrian and
> somewhat flighty socialite. Your history... you are not the
> *only* one who knows the cause of the Great Hollywood Wildfire of
> 1978."
>
> I found myself scowling at the reference, and the memories it
> evoked. I'd been sixteen years old, and my metagifts had begun
> to manifest. After several weeks of increasingly weird shit that
> had had my panicked parents on the verge of calling an exorcist,
> I'd reached a point where I thought I understood what was going
> on. Using a transistor radio tuned to a classical station, I was
> able to achieve a measure of control. The worst of the weird
> shit stopped happening, Mom and Dad calmed down, and the whole
> thing was deliberately forgotten.
>
> But having figured things out that far, I decided it was time to
> experiment. So one day, I drove up into the Hollywood Hills with
> a battery-powered cassette player and a box of tapes.
>
> The first song I tried started one of the most destructive
> wildfires seen in Los Angeles County during the entire 20th
> century.
Gotta wonder which song. And if he ever used it again.
> I tried to put it out, but only made it worse; in the end I lost
> the player and tapes to the flames, and had to run for my life.
> I wasn't hurt, and no one ever connected the fire to me, but a
> lot of folks lost their homes, several dozen people had to be
> hospitalized, and one firefighter had a fatal heart attack while
> working the blaze.
>
> I didn't try to use my metatalent again until I was 24.
And it sounds like he never told anyone about it. Not even Maggie?
> "<Thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject,>" I
> growled, annoyed but not so annoyed that I couldn't pull out an
> appropriate movie quote. "<While you're at it, why don't you
> give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it?>"
>
> The bastard laughed, actually laughed. "As ever, the soul of
> wit. Borrowed wit, at any rate, but that's how I made you."
Sorry, Doug, your creator is a geek. (:)
> I grimaced. "Let's cut to the chase, Clyde. Why am I here,
> in these oh-so-lovely accommodations?"
>
> He shook his head, a sadistic kind of amusement gleaming in his
> eyes. "In good time, my dear Douglas, in good time. My story
> has barely begun." He settled back into his chair, and as he did
> so, I shot another glance at Madigan. She was looking down at
> her boss with undisguised curiosity on her face; evidently Quincy
> hadn't shared any of this bizarre fantasy with her before now,
> and she seemed as intrigued as I tried not to look.
Heh. Yeah.
> Quincy hooded his eyes, but kept watch on me from under the half-
> lowered lids. "College was a kind of golden age for me, Douglas,
> and all because of my friends, and our game. Ah, the times we
> had together! The adventures, the excitement! The camaraderie
> in the face of the enemy! And what enemies!" He leaned forward
> and gave me a conspiratorial look. "But you know them all
> already, of course. Lee and Elizabeth were positively gifted
> when it came to designing them. Their greatest success was, of
> course, Arcanum." He shook his head. "Lee could play him so
> well -- such unrelenting, untouchable evil."
>
> He paused, and I surprised myself by not taking the opportunity
> to make a smartass comment. His story was just so totally
> feather-plucking insane that all I could do was listen in semi-
> stunned amazement. Yeah, with all the available timelines spread
> across the face of the multiverse, just about every throw of the
> quantum dice should be found, if you searched long enough. But
> the odds of me finding this kind of warped image of home? I
> couldn't even begin to figure it.
Yeah, but *is* this just a reflection? Or *is* there some kind of
causal relationship? I bet *that* question is gonna keep Doug up, nights.
> Quincy ended his pause with a surprisingly heartfelt sigh. "I
> even found love, of a sort. Lynn at first, but she was flighty,
> and we soon parted. Then Ursula joined the game..." He laughed.
> "Cool, exotic Ursula. She intimidated me so much that I never
> said a word to her, just admired her from a distance." He
> laughed again. "I still do."
So now we know the truth. It was *Mrs* Shroeck who kept Bob from
embarking on a plan of world domination. Instead, he writes fiction
about his various interdimensional alter egos. (:)
> He shook his head with a fond smile that vanished when he looked
> back at me. "Yes, it was a golden age. But as you know, every
> golden age ends. We graduated. We moved on. Quinn and Maeve
> got married; Lee and Elizabeth broke up. The game survived for a
> few months, then petered out as one and then another of my
> friends moved away or lost interest." He made a wry "what can
> you do?" gesture. "The curse of growing up."
>
> There. Again. Something in the way he had moved. Familiar.
> Damnably familiar. And just beyond my reach.
<evil smirk> Try looking in a mirror, Doug?
> "Without the game, I had nothing -- nothing but my comics, my
> collection of science fiction, and my endless racks of unused
> rulebooks. No friends, no social life, no ambition. And no
> career. I had approached the job market the same way I had
> approached my classes -- with ambivalence for anything that
> didn't interest me one hundred percent." He gave me another
> bared-teeth rictus of a smile again. "I was *not* in high
> demand." Madigan's eyes widened. Apparently this didn't jive
> with the official biography.
Sudden, ugly thought -- just what *happened* to all of Quincy's old
school friends and fellow gamers? The people who might have given the
lie to his reconstructed history?
> "The simple truth is that I was not a... practical... person
> then. I was a boy in a man's body, obsessed with my fantasies
> and fictions and ignoring the real world. As I grew more and
> more alone, I neglected my training and my potential, living hand
> to mouth on the income from one fast-food job after another,
> because the worlds of the games I had played and the books and
> stories I read were far more important to me. I *burned* to make
> the dull, painful, 'real' world more like the romantic, exciting
> places about which I read and in which I gamed. If only there
> were really superheroes! How glorious and exciting life would
> be!" His eyes seemed to blaze with an almost religious fervor
> for a moment; then they dulled. "But I knew that it would never
> happen, and that fact weighed me down and held me back out of
> full participation in the real world."
>
> His voice dropped to a near-whisper whose burning intensity
> carried it to me as clearly as his laughter and his shouts.
> "Until I had an epiphany. I remembered something from a comic
> book that I had read years before. A superhuman named 'Ultraa'
> chose to move from his home in the 'real' world to a supposedly
> 'fictional' one in another dimension. He'd done this because he
> had come to understand that his very presence was a catalyst --
> he was that Earth's first superhuman, and if he stayed, others
> would appear, and inevitably devastate his beloved foster
> homeworld with their conflicts. To spare it that fate, he
> relocated himself to an Earth already filled with other
> superhumans.
Uh oh. Doug? Lisa? "We Didn't Start the Fire"? I think you *did*.
> "And so one morning I awoke, and there was the plan, laid out
> before me. The mirroring forces of action and reaction are a
> fundamental law of the universe. There was no reason for
> superhumans -- no, super*heroes* -- to exist in the real world.
> But what if I *made* a reason? What if I built myself up into a
> proper supervillain, so that action/reaction was forced to spawn
> heroes in order to balance and oppose me? It was so blindingly
> obvious. Not easy, not at all, but *so* obvious...
Okay. This has to be THE single most unique root motivation for any
supervillain I've ever come across.
What's truly nervewracking is that I actually find myself sympathizing,
to a certain extent.
(Un?)Fortunately, I'm too lazy to become a supervillain...
> "So I cast away all that I had been, and embarked upon my great
> game. I took as my model the campaign world's greatest villain:
> Arcanum, the industrialist and real estate tycoon Gideon Manley,
> who cloaked his nefarious activities in his very public
> respectability..."
So the Arcanum hints weren't just red herrings.
> I blinked, then groaned. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," I
> muttered. I meant that on two levels -- one for Quincy's
> incredibly screwball plan, and the other because I had to land in
> another universe and listen to a madman rant to finally,
> definitively learn that Arcanum and Gideon Manley really were the
> same person! I think Madigan must have felt something much the
Heh heh. Notice how Doug is no longer questioning Quincy's veracity?
> same (well, at least the first part), because I'd seen the look
> that was dawning in her eyes all too often -- in the eyes of a
> metavillain or costumed extremist's hired muscle. It was an
> expression that clearly said, "what kind of lunatic am I working
> for?", and usually preceded a sudden surrender.
Quincy MUST have read the Evil Overlord List at some point. But he's
forgotten a few things.
Or... has he? (Uh oh).
> Unaware that his right-hand woman was apparently re-evaluating
> her opinion of his sanity, Quincy raised an eyebrow at my
> reaction. Then he snorted. "Believe it, my dear Douglas, for
> the first fruits of my decades of labor have already appeared.
> You've met them, you've fought at their sides." That shark-smile
> was back.
>
> It didn't take me any time to figure out what he was getting at.
> "The Knight Sabers," I said flatly.
>
> Quincy nodded, smug satisfaction filling his face. "The first
> proof that I was correct, that I was finally accomplishing my
> goal. They rose up to strike me -- and GENOM -- down. They
> fail, of course," he added matter-of-factly, "but I see to it
> through my subordinates that they have sufficient challenges to
> keep them interested and active. Even if they are nothing more
> than 'mechanics', as Lee would have put it, their very existence
> helps accelerate the change to the paradigm under which this
> world operates. Yes, Madigan," he added without stopping and
> without looking back over his shoulder, and Madigan's eyebrows
> shot up like rockets, "that is why I have never allowed you to
> destroy the Knight Sabers."
As John DeLancie once said of his role as Q: "We [villains] are the
grit that makes the oyster produce pearls."
> Security Force Holding Bay 2, GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20,
> 2037, 5:25 PM
>
> "My god, we did it."
>
> "Keep your voice down; say something like that loud enough and
> you'll screw everything up."
>
> "I just can't believe we actually made it in. If we make it out
> alive, I'm buying Gemini a case of... ah, geeze, something. I
> dunno. When he figures out what he likes, I'll get him a case of
> it."
>
> "Right."
>
> "Geeze, will you look at all the stiffs?"
>
> "Power-down *is* energy efficient, you know. GENOM's not so big
> that it doesn't have to save a little here and there."
>
> "Yeah, I guess. It's gotta cost'em on response time, though.
> The suits out at the door can't leave their posts, except in a
> major emergency, and these goons gotta power-up first before they
> can go."
Professionals. They can never stop critiquing.
> "Don't complain. It's what's got us in here as first response,
> after all."
>
> "Yeah, yeah. Tell me about it. So how long until our boy does
> his thing?"
>
> "You expect *him* to keep to a schedule? Intel says 'random' is
> as good a word for him as any. He'll happen when he happens, and
> not before."
>
> "Fuck. I shoulda brought a book."
baen.com, my good man -- er, boom-- er, fellow sentient?
> * * *
>
> GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:20 PM
>
> *Who is the more insane?* Madigan wondered silently. *The
> Chairman, for his story, or Sangnoir, for apparently believing
> it?*
*Or me, for following this fruitcake for so long?*
> Even more disturbing was the implication that the Chairman
> knew the identities of the Knight Sabers, and had withheld that
> information from her. *He's been playing me,* she realized.
> *I'm just another tool. Not a valued associate, or even a
> trusted underling. A tool!*
That's gotta hurt. On the one hand, she shouldn't be surprised. On
the other, we all want to think *we're* the special one...
> From where he sat, manacled into the antique leather-upholstered
> chair that was reserved for the most exalted of Mr. Quincy's
> guests, Sangnoir snorted. "If your source material is anything
> like the stuff I'm familiar with, you probably ought to know that
> you're just setting yourself up for a humiliating defeat. It
> *is* the oldest cliche in the book, after all."
Something tells me Quincy isn't quite that foolish.
> "'<Before I kill you, Mr. Bond...>'?" the Chairman laughed.
>
> "Yeah," Sangnoir replied smugly. "Exactly."
>
> "Ah, but you see, my dear Douglas, I am not following the
> conventions of popular fiction and films, but of our gameworld,
> of *your* homeworld." The tone in the Chairman's voice was all
> too familiar to her. She had heard it hundreds of times,
> standing here in this office at his side -- the refined,
> disguised gloat of the winner over the loser. "I am following
> the conventions of *Arcanum*. Arcanum, whom you never captured.
> Arcanum, whose true identity you could never prove, not even to
> your own satisfaction. Arcanum, who thumbed his nose at the UN
> and the governments of the world, then left Earth entirely to
> found his own empire, never once having been caught, captured or
> arrested. Arcanum, whom you never truly defeated, only delayed
> and inconvenienced." He paused for effect. "I am observing
> *his* forms.*
>
> This was madness, utter madness.
Yes... but it's also downright *brilliant,* in a twisty sort of way.
> A thunderous frown flashed across her face, followed by a
> calculating, assessing look that seemed to instantly analyze me
> inside and out. I don't know what she was looking for; I don't
> know if she found it. All I know is that a steel shutter slammed
> down over her features almost as soon as I had seen her evaluate
> me, and once again Madigan was the perfect corporate functionary.
Ahhh... could Q have overlooked something? Not so much that Kate
*might* turn on him, but how *efective* she might be at it?
I wonder just how deeply layered his contingency plans *are*?
> He smiled at me, nastily. "Ah, yes. That was one thing the
> scientists of Warriors' World never knew -- the origins of
> superhumanity. The Seeders, my dear, dear Douglas, were the
> alien symbiotes long ago absorbed into the genetic code of
> mankind, responsible for both human intelligence *and* super-
> powers in your world. My people will extract it from your DNA."
> His eyes raked me again. "While samples could be taken without
> harm to you -- and in fact have, already -- I'm afraid that, all
> sentimentality aside, you are just too dangerous to leave free.
> Or even alive. A cryogenic chamber has been prepared for your
> body, though, so that an abundant supply of your genetic
> potential will be available for future research."
Well, *that's* right out of the EOL.
> Right. I suppose I should have foreseen that. I guessed that
> meant we were in the endgame. "Then what?"
Yeah, but you've never fought a supervillain who's *read* the EOL, have
you?
> "And then..." He smiled coldly. "Lee and Elizabeth never knew
> what they wrought when they created Arcanum and his methods. I
> have spent the last forty-five years working toward the day when
> I would hold in my hand my own version of the Servant Factor
> virus. The gift of super-powers and preprogrammed obedience to
> me, both in one convenient, infectious package." His eyes bored
> into mine. "After all, what good would it be to create true
> superhumans, if I do not control them all?"
Waitaminnit. I thought he wanted to create superHEROES. Or has he
just gotten too deep into his chosen role....?
> "And then GENOM will be unstoppable?" I asked, putting as much of
> a sarcastic edge to my words as I could. "Predictable. And
> boring."
>
> Quincy laughed. "You must be joking! Look around you! GENOM
> already *is* unstoppable. I own this world, Douglas. I *own* it
> utterly -- what Arcanum could never do, the goal he abandoned
> along with the Earth when he fled the paltry forces of the
> Warriors, *I* have accomplished. It is *mine* to do with as I
> please. Now..." He bared his teeth in a rictus of a smile.
> "Now it is time to play with what I own."
Yep. He's started believing his own propaganda.
> I'd been willing to cut him some slack, crazy old coot that he
> was, until he just up and laid his plans out on the table.
> Another Servant Factor virus? In the hands of *this* whack job?
> At loose in a world with no one who could oppose its creations?
Well, it *would* spur the creation of even *more* superheroes...
> No way.
>
> No way in hell.
>
> I felt that same, familiar rage that had driven me to beat Pink
> ignite behind my eyes, but I clamped down on it, controlled it,
> banked it. As long as I was stuck in that chair, without my
> helmet -- and with those four bodyguard boomers around me --
> there was nothing I could do with it. But that didn't mean I
> couldn't plan.
>
> Quincy continued ranting -- gods help me, he sounded like he'd
> been rehearsing for this moment for the last fifty years. He'd
> do this, he'd do that, he'd do some other damned thing.
Well, of course. Q knows he shouldn't be doing the "villain speech,"
but this is the first time he's ever been able to tell someone who would
*understand.*
Unfortunately, Doug understands all too well.
> Oh, he had worked himself up to a right proper lather. "You are
> *nothing*!" he actually growled at me. "You are a fictional
> construct with which I can do as I *please*!"
Yep. He's lost it.
> I snorted at this. "Hey, buddy, I'm no more fictional than *you*
> are!"
>
> Quivering with anger, he gripped the edge of his desk and pushed
> himself slowly to his feet. "I created you!" he bellowed. "You
> are mine to dispose of! If I have to, I will kill you myself,
> and have you dissected, cloned, analyzed and gene-sequenced until
> I finally *know* how to duplicate your powers!" He raised his
> cane over his head and shook it, as if he intended to beat me to
> death right then and there. "I just wish I'd gotten my hands on
> that little Sailor Senshi-wannabe!" he trumpeted. "Having *two*
> samples would have made finding the Seeder genes child's play!"
Oooooh, boy. Doug's powers *work* in Megatokyo, hence there's no
ironclad reason that no one else could have metagifts. Maybe the BGC
world just never got a "push."
Until now. Oh, Lisa, I think your kids will be interesting....
> Off to my right, I heard a gasp from Madigan. Then, in a moment
> of pregnant calm, the sound of rustling fabric reached my ears.
Yeah, Kate. You finally have someone you actually care about in
Quincy's line of fire.
Which side *are* you on?
> "Mister Chairman?" Madigan said a second after that, her voice
> equal parts ice and steel. It was the first time I had actually
> heard her speak, and she had a pleasant, almost musical lilt to
> her Japanese. To my surprise I identified it as an Irish accent.
Gotta wonder what that would sound like.
> Startled by the interruption, we both turned to look at her. In
> one hand she held, of all things, a cell phone. The fingers of
> her other hand were dancing over its keypad.
>
> "Mister Chairman?" she repeated as she looked back up at him, an
> expression of utter loathing upon her face. "In recent weeks, I
> have noticed a growing disparity between GENOM's values and my
> own." Still holding his cane over his head, Quincy returned her
> loathing with a mix of anger and puzzlement. "After a great deal
> of consideration and soul-searching," she continued, "I have come
> to the conclusion that my current position and the direction in
> which I wish to take my life are no longer compatible. In short,
> Mr. Chairman," she drew in a deep breath, "I *quit*!"
>
> And with that, she gave the keypad a final, vicious punch.
Most people would've just sent a letter.
> * * *
>
> Security Force Holding Bay 2, GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20,
> 2037, 5:26 PM
>
> "Bingo!"
>
> "They made the call?"
>
> "Emergency deadman alert -- all four security boomers just went
> down at the same time. The system considers that 'suspicious'."
>
> "Naaah, you think?"
>
> "Smartass. Okay, move it, ladies, move it! We got a VIP to
> pick up!"
And with the Sabers en route as well... oooh, this is gonna get messy.
> * * *
>
> Over Downtown MegaTokyo. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:26 PM
>
> Sylia leaned into the cockpit, the visor of her helmet open
> and raised. "What's our ETA?" she asked.
>
> Raven glanced at the control panel, then back out the windshield
> of Knight Wing. "No successful radar contacts and no radio
> challenges yet -- call it about two minutes."
>
> "Wind conditions?"
>
> He harrumphed. "Still calm. So we're still a go for dropping
> you on the balcony outside Quincy's office." He spared a moment
> from flying the craft to shoot her a concerned look. "You sure
> he's going to be there?"
>
> The Sabers' leader gave him a little half-smile. "Not entirely,
> no. But if we're wrong, we're at least in the right spot to
> find out the correct location."
Careful, Sylia, you're starting to sound like a comic-book superheroine.
> Raven laughed, a quick hacking that almost sounded more like a
> cough. "Fair enough. I'll be waiting at 5,000 meters. Just
> yell if you need me."
>
> She nodded. "We will." She reached up to the visor. "Time to
> get ready for the drop, then."
>
> "Yeah," he said, his eyes on the Tower ahead as she turned toward
> the back of the aircraft. "Sylia?"
>
> She turned back. "Yes?"
>
> "Be careful. All of you."
>
> Even though he couldn't see it, she smiled. "Aren't we always?"
> Then she turned and rejoined the other Sabers.
Well, no, but we'll let that pass.
> * * *
>
> GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:27 PM
>
> "M-m-m-madigan!" Quincy ground out even as his body began to
> seize up. "Wha-wha-what is the m-m-meaning..." His voice
> spooled down to the low rumble of a "hung" sound generator. At
> the same moment, he froze in place with his cane still raised
> above his head, its end jinking in all directions with the
> shuddering of his body.
Well, heck.
> "I should have known," she muttered to herself as she knelt
> behind an astonished Sangnoir. *Yet another boomer double. I
> wonder if I've *ever* seen the real Quincy,* she mused as she
> laid the magnetic keystick along the edge of his manacles. Their
> one moving part clicked and they obediently popped open.
Wait -- didn't Q say those cuffs had NO electronics? I could see some
sort of magnetically-actuated mechanical tumblers, but wouldn't a purely
mechanical locking system be more Tune-proof?
> Sangnoir leapt from the chair, spinning in place and staring at
> the paralyzed bodyguard boomers. "How... oof!" he grunted as she
> roughly swept his helmet off the credenza and into his stomach.
> Reflexively he wrapped his arms around it.
Tee hee. Dunno why, but that made me giggle.
> As I put the helmet computer back in combat mode, I heard the
> elevator doors open, then close. Good, Madigan was away; I could
> now cut loose. I turned to face Quincy, who stood there shaking
> and growling with rage. Beside me I heard a sizzle and a pop,
> and the acrid odor of scorched electronics reached my nostrils; I
> turned to my left to see her cell phone on the credenza, wisps of
> smoke wafting out from around its buttons as the finished surface
> under it slowly scorched.
>
> At the same moment, Quincy came out of his state of apoplectic
> paralysis at his assistant's defection and bellowed, "Madigan!"
> at a volume that should have been well beyond the ability of
> normal human lungs. Behind me, I could hear the boomer
> bodyguards waking up, too.
"apoplectic paralysis"? What, is Doug BLIND? He completely missed...
oh, good grief. Of course, Doug *has* demonstrated that Huge Blind
Spots are one of his secondary metagifts, but usually only in areas
where's he being a self-righteous prick.
> Inside my helmet, I smiled.
>
> "She bailed on you, dude," I announced, openly laughing at the
> old man as he gaped at me. "I think she got a better offer." I
Yeah, like her soul back.
> I dropped into a ready stance and yelled, "<System! 'Konya wa
> Hurricane'! Play!>"
Hah!
> Then I opened myself up to the node.
"This one's gonna be BIG!"
> * * *
>
> Over Downtown MegaTokyo. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:29 PM
>
> "Sylia," Raven announced with deceptive casualness, "we now have
> a bit of a complication."
>
> "What is it, Doctor?" Sylia replied as she stepped through the
> cockpit door. "A radio chall... Dear god."
>
> "Huh? What is it?" Priss asked from directly behind her. Sylia
> slipped into the empty co-pilot's seat, allowing the Blue Saber
> to get a clear view out the cabin's windows. "Holy shit."
What, Priss, you don't recognize your own handiwork? (:)
> * * *
>
> Air Traffic Control Center, MegaTokyo International Airport.
> Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:29 PM
<snip>
> "This is MegaTokyo Air Traffic Control with an emergency alert
> for all aircraft in the Kanto region," he said in calm,
> professional tones. "An anomalous weather condition has formed
> over downtown MegaTokyo..."
When the ATC talkers start sounding nervous, it's time for pilots to
worry. When they start sounding Very Calm, it's time to start praying...
> Sylia, still in the co-pilot's seat, shook her head, still not
> quite believing that she was seeing exactly what the announcement
> had described: a monstrous black funnel cloud, silhouetted
> against the fading February twilight. It was easily as large as
> GENOM Tower, and sat perched atop the immense building, giving
> the impression of a gargantuan black hourglass. Flashes of
> lightning flickered continously inside it, illuminating the
> roiling, spinning clouds from within with their actinic light.
> The rumble of the distant thunder was audible even over the
> Wing's engines. "Dear god," she repeated. "Can he be doing
> *that?*"
>
> "You have to ask?" came Priss' voice at her ear. She turned
> slightly to see the other woman now crouching at her shoulder and
> sharing the view. "He's there. It's there. It's weird." Priss
> shook her head. "It all adds up for me."
Somewhere, a LOT of Doug's friends nodding in sympathy.
> From her perch at the cockpit door, Nene snickered. "This ought
> to be right up your alley, Priss."
>
> The Blue Saber looked back and shot her a mock-baneful look.
> "Why?"
>
> Nene's grin threatened to split her face open. "'Cause there's a
> hurricane tonight." She began to giggle. Priss growled and took
> a half-hearted swipe at her.
<snerk
> Linna was leaning against the other side of the door. "You
> know," she said thoughtfully, "he *does* have a copy of 'Konya wa
> Hurricane' available to him. Remember? I wouldn't be surprised
> if..." She trailed off as Priss growled again, this time without
> any trace of humor. Linna smiled placatingly. "Hey, look at it
> as a tribute to your songwriting. If it wasn't a really good
> song, could he do that with it?"
She'll see it that way, eventually. Say, in about fifty years or so.
> He snorted. "I'll need it." As the first drops of rain began to
> strike the Knight Wing's windows, he chuckled and addressed the
> empty cabin. "You know, when I was an undergrad," he murmured in
> an oddly contemplative tone, "I envisioned spending my declining
> years comfortably ensconced in some university somewhere,
> enjoying the benefits of a tenured professorship, maybe even as
> an emeritus." He snorted to himself. "Instead, I find myself
> flying an illegal aircraft into a hurricane for a band of 20-
> something mercenaries. Shows what little *I* know."
C'mon, Pops, you know you love it.
> The hell with worrying about permanent burnout. The hell with
> the chance I might get addicted to that much power. I *needed*
> the node at that moment like I'd never needed it before in all
> the months I'd been in that damned city.
Well, except maybe when the kids got killed. But he didn't really need
the *node* that night, strictly speaking.
> Besides, it was good
> practice -- who knows when I might need to channel that much
> power again?
Well, there's this multi-megatonne nuke in the basement rigged to a
"Sampson" trigger....
> I threw what little caution I possessed almost literally to the
> wind, and linked the node directly to the hurricane with myself
> as the conduit. Then, with a flick of a mental switch, I turned
> my attention instantly back to matters at hand. I concentrated
> for a moment -- this was a fair bit harder than Hexe made it
> look...
She's a goddess. Of course she makes it look easy.
> I turned back to face two meters' worth of speechless senior
> citizen. The old man knew how to hold his ground, I'll give him
> that much -- the wind didn't even budge him, and he was still
> standing just as tall as he had before all hell'd broken loose.
Oh, Doug, you're in TROUBLE....
> "Now, Mister James Douglas fucking Quincy," I bellowed over the
> howl of the wind, "we have a little matter of 'playing with what
> you own' to discuss." Without my intervention, the storm outside
> punctuated that with another burst of wind and a cascade of
> lighting that struck just outside the shattered window. A sheet
> of bright white light washed over us as the explosion of the
> nearby thunder rocked the room.
>
> "Do we now?" Quincy bellowed back and grinned ferally at me, as
> if he knew something I didn't. Despite myself, I was more than a
> little impressed -- here I am pulling a goddamned hurricane into
> his office, and he's *confident* about facing off with me.
> Either he was on some serious drugs, or he had a card or two up
> his sleeve that I couldn't foresee. I took a mental step back
> and tried to run a tactical on him again. No dice. What the
> hell was I missing?
<groan>
> I didn't get a chance to figure it out because at that moment,
> the old man reached out and swatted his desk aside like it was
> made of cardboard. As it flipped end-over-end and smashed into
> the wall, Quincy hurled himself at me, cane over his head like a
> sword ready to swing. If I'd had the time to be stunned, I would
> have been -- he was seventy if he was a day and he was moving at
> least as fast as me. And he wanted the genetic coding for
> metatalents? He should check his *own* DNA!
<snerk>
> Unless he was 'borged like those punks I met the day I arrived.
> That would explain a thing or two...
Closer...
> I twisted out of way just in time to avoid a vicious overhand
> swing of that cane. It whistled past my head and smashed through
> the heavy wood-and-leather chair into which I'd been manacled.
> *Okay,* I thought as I turned my twist into a spin to land a
> backfist near his kidneys, *steel cane. Been there, done that.*
>
> My fist glanced off his ribs with a dull thud, like he was
> wearing armor under that pimp suit. Yeah, a cyborg. Definitely.
Close, but no cigar.
> He laughed at me, and, still spinning, I followed through with a
> high, sweeping kick that hit him midway up the back and knocked
> him to his knees. *Damn.* I danced back to get out of cane-
> range. *Cyborg or not, that should've tossed the old geezer
> across the room! What the hell's going on here?*
>
> A peal of thunder shook the room again as the wind continued to
> howl around us. I had no problems keeping on my feet, but only
> because the wind was mine; I couldn't figure out why it hadn't
> slammed Quincy into a wall yet, though.
>
> "Not bad, boy," Quincy rumbled, and he turned his head to bare
> his teeth at me again. "Ever since I figured out that you were
> really you, I've been looking forward to this." The awful grin
> turned into a snarl. "And when I've dealt with you, I'll take
> care of that traitor Madigan!" With that, he sprung at me,
> twisting in mid-step to turn the sidewise lurch into a straight-
> on lunge, cane-tip first.
>
> I was already dodging left, but my field caught the tip of the
> cane and forced it violently to the right. The unexpected
To *Doug's* right, correct?
> lateral force caught Quincy by surprise; he overbalanced and
> tumbled into the credenza, smashing it into kindling.
>
> I was too far away to get in any kind of a good hit before Quincy
> got back to his feet, so I spent the moment's respite
> concentrating, reaching mentally up into the storm for another
> nearby field of growing potential. It took a moment to find it,
> and a moment more to tell it that the best place to ground out
> was right... over... there. It agreed, and filled the room with
> blinding light and an earth-shattering detonation. But Quincy
> was already on the move; he and the lightning bolt slid past each
> other like two cars on opposite sides of a two-way street.
>
> I instinctively flinched as the lightning smashed its way into
> the room. Even with years of experience throwing lightning, I
> couldn't help myself -- the bolts I was drawing down now out of
> the hurricane overhead were orders of magnitude more powerful
> than anything I'd ever tried to handle before, made even more so
> by the mana that flowed out of the node and pumped the storm to
> ever-higher levels of violence. All the discipline I'd drilled
> myself in, all my training not to lose my focus, all my years of
> experience at Hexe's side, did no good in the face of this level
> of power. Only my helmet's sound-proofing saved my hearing, and
> only the polarizers in my goggles saved my vision. Even so, I
> still flinched.
>
> And at that moment, someone hammered a railroad spike through my
> chest.
Oh, crap.
> "Will do. You should have an easier time picking us up; if he
> *is* using 'Konya wa Hurricane,' Priss estimates that the storm
> should last no more than four more minutes."
I didn't think KwH was that long. But I don't have the soundtrack on
hand...
> GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:32 PM
>
> I coughed, and felt a warm, salty liquid bubbling in my throat.
>
> *Oh. Shit.*
"A sucking chest wound is life's way of telling you to slow down."
> I opened my eyes.
>
> The office was a mess. The paneling was a mass of charcoal; one
> wall was alight with fitful, spitting flames. The rug was
> scorched and smoldering. Smoke was everywhere, most of it of the
> acrid, burnt-plastic variety. There wasn't a single intact piece
> of furniture anywhere in sight. And right in the middle of my
> field of vision was Quincy. He stood a meter or so away from me,
> his soot-streaked face in a grimace of unholy glee, his arm
> extended toward my body. Toward my body? I looked down.
>
> His cane was stuck in a bloody-edged hole low on the right side
> of my chest. I could feel it running all the way through my
> body, neatly skewering me. *Into the field, through the polykev,
> between the ribs, nothing but lung...* I managed to joke to
I don't know what's maing me wince more, here; the wound, or the joke.
> myself even as I coughed again, splattering a blob of blood onto
> the chin and tongue switches, and out the front of my helmet.
> *C'mon, Sangnoir, concentrate! Don't go into shock!* Somewhere
> in the distance, The Replicants were still singing about tattered
> hearts and big cities.
>
> "Not much of a comedian now, are you, boy?" Quincy asked in a
> low, gravelly tone. "No quip, no clever quote? No, I suppose
> not."
"Hey, you should hear my internal monologue..."
> He reached out and dug the fingers of his left hand into
> the front panel of my uniform jacket, grabbing a handful of
> leather and lifting me up to his eye level.
>
> "I've been looking forward to this," he said again. "I *knew* it
> would come down to this -- you and I, one against the other. It
> was inevitable. It was *destiny*. So I had this unit designed
> just for the occasion. I had to sacrifice a few things, like
> internal weaponry, but I knew your abilities and limits. I knew
> exactly what you were capable of, and could convert it into real-
> world units. I knew how much armor I needed, how much strength,
> how fast I had to be. How to confound your tactical analyses.
> The only unknown was that damnable field of yours, and all I had
> to do about *that* was wait for the dice to roll in my favor."
For a one-v-one fight, Quincy has to be close to the single most deadly
opponent Doug's ever faced, just from that level of intel.
> "This... this unit?" I gasped. My right lung was filling with
> blood; soon it would spill over into the left, and that would be
> it for me. Unless he pulled the cane out, in which case I'd have
> a sucking chest wound, which would be even worse. "W-what...
> unit?" By sheer force of will I drove back the rising tide of
> shock and tried to focus. The chill, howling wind and the
> constant barrage of thunder outside didn't help.
>
> Quincy smirked. "This unit. This *body*. Built to best you,
> my dear Douglas."
>
> I blinked, and focused my mind enough to follow him. Of course.
> Of course.
Well, it's about DARNED TIME!
> After all the years that I've been doing them, a tactical
> evaluation is almost a zen thing for me -- a moment of zanshin
> when everything falls together and I *know* what an opponent is
> capable of, and what the best thing to do to him is. Trying to
> eval Quincy had been frustrating me -- even pegging him for a
> cyborg, he just wasn't ringing up a total that made sense. But
> that one little bit of information brought it all together for
> me. It hit me like a circus sledgehammer between the eyes. I
> forced my perceptions to shift gears, looked at Quincy with
> magesight -- and saw nothing. He had all the aura of a rock.
Or a hard place.
> "Puppet," I whispered, grabbing the hand that held my jacket with
> my own. Then, louder, "Puppet!" Desperately, I tried to gather
> my wits for one final attempt to concentrate. As Quincy pulled
> his cane out of my chest and readied it for another strike, I
> seized on the voice that rang on my ears and focused everything I
> could on her.
"Saint Priscilla of Asagiri, save us!" (:)
> "It was a pleasure finally meeting you," Quincy crooned. "Thank
> you for making my new world possible." He smiled nastily.
> "<Good-bye, Mr. Bond.>"
Now *that's* a cue if I ever heard one.
> I reached into the heart of the storm and pulled.
>
> Arclight shadows transformed the office into stark blacks and
> whites as the third and largest lightning bolt blasted its way
> into the office. It struck me full in the back. As I screamed
> it crawled along the surface of my body, then spiraled down my
> arm to where I gripped Quincy's hand with my own.
Smackin the badguy with a huge lightning bolt? Good Idea.
Using yourself as the conduit? Bad Idea.
Doing it with a sucking chest wound? Really Bad Idea.
> The lightning roared off my hand and down his arm, stripping both
> the cloth and the pseudoflesh off the robot that Quincy had
> passed off as himself. As blue-white electrical fire burned away
> the robot's human guise, its eyes widened and its mouth opened in
> a silent parody of my scream. At the same time, its joints
> spasmed and it dropped both the cane and me.
>
> I can't quite explain what happened next. I hadn't quite come
> out of magesight yet; I'm sure that had something to do with it.
> The loss of blood probably contributed to it as well, because I
> was definitely in an altered state of consciousness by the time I
> hit the floor. Then there was the blend of adrenaline,
> endorphins and gods know what else in what was left of my
> bloodstream at the time, too. Add to that the ability I have to
> remotely manipulate computer systems when I'm using an
> electrokinetic effect.
>
> And run it all through a lightning bolt powered by a hurricane
> that itself is being pumped by a node.
Ah, comic book physics. Gotta love it.
> Not that it mattered. There, on the edge of the Genom comm grid,
> I found myself face-to-face with the *real* Quincy.
"I am Quincy, the great and terrible. Er, pay no attention to that man
behind the comlink..."
> After a final shared nod, Priss reached for the bar and pushed
> the door open. One by one they stepped into the lobby, empty now
> of human habitation. Wind howled audibly around the closed doors
> of heavy wood that led to the chairman's office proper, carrying
> faint streamers of grey-black smoke through the cracks between
> and around them. The fusillade of thunder outside was audible
> through the doors, barely -- it was almost drowned out by the
> more immediate and much closer sound of massive, immediate and
> continuous electrical discharge that was almost deafening in its
> intensity.
Think I saw that scene in "Ghostbusters."
> "Shit," Priss murmured over the private link.
>
> Nene nodded slowly. "I'm picking up a really, really powerful
> electromagnetic field. It's not like any I've ever seen before,
> with all kinds of strange modulation."
"Looks like someone modulated an EEG onto a lightning bolt."
> The one to the far left slid open with a smooth mechanical
> rumble, and four combat boomers stepped out, stopped short, and
> stared at the Sabers.
Let's get ready to RUUUMMMBLLLLLLLLLE!
> "Aquarius..." one growled out of the side of its mouth. "I
> thought *we* wuz gonna be the *only* ones dispatched."
Oh, grife. A freewill Boomer with a Brokklyn accent?
> He couldn't afford to let any more of that surprise show than he
> already had, though. If these boomers suspected anything was
> amiss with them... Straightening, he barked, "We are the
> authorized security response team for this incident. Identify
> yourselves."
One *might* aruge that Boomers oughta communicate over datalinks rather
than verbally, but there's enough handwaves to make this a non-issue.
> As the other boomers looked among themselves, Aquarius heard
> Gemini murmur softly, "That's strange."
>
> "What is it?" he whispered.
>
> "Their IFF transponder numbers are in the master DB, but Tower
> control has no record of them. I'm not getting an OMS ping,
> either. And their field pattern is all wrong... they look more
> like... aw, shit."
Ohhh, boy.
> "What's that supposed to mean?"
>
> Before Gemini could respond, one of the other boomers finally
> answered. "We are a patrol/maintenance squad assigned to the
> Tower roof. We retreated inside when the storm began, and
> came down here when we realized the Chairman's office was
> under attack."
>
> "Bullshit!" Gemini hissed. "They're fakes! Damned good fakes,
> but still fakes!"
>
> "*What*?"
>
> "I think they're the Knight Sabers!"
"We're all gonna DIIIEEEEEE!"
> The sudden stiffening of the other four "boomers" revealed two
> things to Aquarius: one, Gemini hadn't been quiet enough, and
> two, he was probably right. Aquarius furiously sorted through
> his options, trying to find a course of action that would
> salvage as much of their goal as possible. A second later he
> nodded to himself and stepped forward.
>
> "You here to rescue him, or to kill him?" he demanded.
Whoah. This one's *fast* on the uptake. Gutsy, too, considering what
the KSs usually do to Boomers.
> The fake boomers looked at each other. "You are in error," the
> one who had spoken before announced at length.
>
> Aquarius suppressed a sigh. "If you're here to kill him," he
> declared flatly, "we're gonna stop you."
>
> "And if it's just who pays more," Gemini declared from behind
> him, "we can beat whatever price you got."
>
> "We can?" Sagittarius turned and demanded.
You can?
> "I've got a few code modules for economic warfare," Gemini
> explained blandly. "It'll be easy enough to crack some GENOM
> accounts for whatever we need."
Okay, you can.
> "Let me get this straight," one of the faux boomers said slowly
> and carefully. "If we are here to kill Sangnoir, you are ready
> to bribe us to let him go?"
>
> "Yeah, exactly," Aquarius replied.
>
> "And if we are here to rescue him?"
>
> Aquarius considered this, then shrugged. "I'd ask if you needed
> any help."
I can *hear* the gears stripping in the girls' heads all the way from
where I'm sitting.
> "Wait, wait," one of the other disguised Knight Sabers
> interjected. "I thought you said you were the security response
> team!"
>
> Aquarius smiled. "Best way I could think of to keep a *real*
> security team from walking in on us!"
And now there are pieces of Paradigm Clutch all over Intellection Highway.
> "Why should we believe you?" the first one demanded.
>
> Aquarius traded a quick glance at Gemini, and tried to feel for
> Sagittarius and Libra behind him. "You want hard proof? I don't
> have any," he admitted. "But let me tell you this. We didn't
> shoot when we figured out who you were just now. We're trying to
> cut a deal here -- and honestly, too." He carefully looked over
> the Sabers' apparent spokesperson. "We owe him, Saber. We owe
> him a life-debt, and we're going to pay it. So I'm asking again,
> what are you here to do?"
With a muffled quartet of "bang!" all four Sabers fell over.
"Geez, A, I think you made their heads explode."
> There was a long, long moment of silence, broken only by the
> continuing roar from behind the doors to Quincy's office. As the
> silence between them stretched out, Aquarius felt his myomers
> tensing in spite of himself. He risked a sidelong look at
> Sagittarius; the sharpshooter's fingers were visibly twitching.
> "Gemini?" he whispered.
>
> "There's a lot of encrypted radio traffic right now," came the
> returning whisper. "They're talking it over. Want me to
> crack it?"
>
> "No!" Aquarius hissed back.
*Good* decision. 'A' really is bright.
> Virtual Space. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:34 PM
Ah, a vacation in /dev/null. How relaxing.
> He looked vaguely familiar, and after a moment's concentration, I
> realized that he bore an odd and disconcerting resemblance to my
> late grandfather on my father's side. "What the..." I began,
> mainly to myself.
Again, Doug... look in a mirror.
> The figure on the bed opened his rheumy blue eyes and looked
> directly at me through the center screen. His mouth swung wide,
> and he made a rhythmic wheezing noise that I only belatedly
> identified as a laugh. "So..." he gasped out with a gap-toothed
> smile. "You've chased me down to my lair."
>
> "Who..." Then it clicked. "You!" It was Quincy's voice, only
> it wasn't. Where the Quincybot had had a deep, rich, resonant
> voice, the voice of a man in the prime of his life, this voice...
> was old. It possessed the shattered ruins of that deep, deep
> bass, but gone was the resonance, replaced with a noticeable
> quaver and a hoarse rasp -- it sounded *ancient*. The sardonic
> tone was still there, and the inhuman cool and confidence, but
> they were barely detectable under the weight of the years.
There's something oddly sad about seeign Quincy reduced to this.
> His head bounced jerkily as he tried to nod. "Close enough. Why
> remain trapped in a decaying body when I can be anywhere and
> everywhere, Douglas? I have dozens of boomer proxies all over
> the globe. Right now, at this very moment, I am in the North
> Sea, inspecting a research facility. I am in Chicago,
> negotiating with a former Gulf and Bradley subsidiary. I am in
> Mexico City, having dinner with a minor starlet with a blossoming
> career." Quincy started to laugh again, but ended up wheezing
> once more. In the background, the heart monitor increased the
> rate of its bleeping until he stopped. "She thinks she will
> sleep with me and thus gain a part in an upcoming GENOM-backed
> film. She is wrong.
Missing end quote mark. I've seen it done before, though -- is that
deliberate?
> "I am omnipresent, Douglas. Add to that the power I wield -- I
> all but control the planet now, economically, politically. An
> entire generation has grown up knowing GENOM to be the font from
> which all blessings flow.
>
> "I... am... a... god!"
Years ago: "Quincy! When someone asks you if you're a god, you say YES!"
> I stiffened at this, and my resolve returned. It was bad enough
> when the *gods* acted like gods.
>
> As he fought his way through another coughing spasm brought on by
> his grandiloquent pronouncement, I pondered my next step. I
> could not leave this man alive. Just the risk that he might
> recreate the Servant Factor virus alone more than justified any
> action I could take against him. But not only that, this man was
> responsible for untold misery and countless deaths, all in the
> name of trying to remake the world in the image of a game he had
> played sixty years earlier. And if he wasn't stopped, he'd just
> keep on going as he had.
It's twitchworthy, watching Doug set himself up as judge, jury, and
executioner like this. OTOH, he's right.
At what point does a person become so dangerous that killing them in
cold blood constitutes self-defense?
> Meanwhile, on the level above, Quincy had recovered his voice.
> He didn't seem to have noticed my inattention. "It's very kind
> of you to make this easier on me, too," he prattled. "After all,
> you're dying out in the physical world, unconscious and slowly
> bleeding to death. And nothing you can do here can change that."
Well, that much is true.
> At the video feeds' terminus was a crystalline program construct,
> running on a system isolated save for the peripherals it
> controlled and the one line of communication that both Quincy and
> I were using. It was some kind of commercial package for
> hospitals, and its "ease of use" interface had no doubt made it a
> trivial chore for my subconscious or whatever to connect to it.
> Using that connection, I bypassed its flimsy security, killed its
> ability to transmit patient alerts to its operator's console, and
> then began shutting down the devices connected to it. "Maybe
> not," I replied. "But I can make sure that you go with me."
I would have expected it to be better protected, but all those
firewalls Doug jumped over were probably the next best thing to
impenetrable by any mortal hacker.
> "What?" he gasped.
>
> "All those little toys keeping you alive?" I said. "Looks like I
> can control them from here. And I'm turning them all off." I
> toggled another system, and the semi-regular "bleep" of his heart
> monitor stopped.
>
> "Wait, wait! You... you can't *kill* me," Quincy wheezed.
> "You're a superhero. It's against the Code." That's the way he
> said it. You could hear the initial capital.
>
> I shook my head. "That's where you're wrong, old man. I'm not a
> superhero, whatever you think that is. And I've never heard of
> this code you're talking about. I'm just a soldier, a soldier
> with a duty. And that duty is to identify the enemy, engage him,
> and kill him." I paused for just a moment. "I'm a Warrior -- if
> you know me as well as you claim to, you should know that.
Maybe he did, once. But if so, he lost sight of it.
> "And you -- you and GENOM -- you're the enemy." I shut down the
> last of the IV pumps.
>
> "No! You can't! I created you! You can't possibly kill me!
> Without me you're nothing! You won't exist!"
>
> "I'm dying anyway, as you so kindly pointed out." I shut down
> the ventilator, and everything else that was left in the room.
> There wasn't much. "Ask me if I care."
>
> "But it's against the rules!" he croaked plaintively. Then his
> eyes flew wide open and his body spasmed in a massive seizure,
> arching up until only his head and feet touched the mattress on
> which he lay. As quickly as it had begun, the seizure ended, and
> he slammed back down onto the bed. "Against... the... rules..."
> he gasped out, and went limp.
>
> I counted to 30, then flipped the EKG back on.
>
> Flatline.
Sic transit gloria Quincy.
> I nodded to myself.
>
> "Tough shit, old man," I said as I shut the EKG off once more.
> "I cheat."
>
> * * *
>
> GENOM Tower. Friday, February 20, 2037, 5:36 PM
>
> It was the pain that told me I was back in the real world. That,
> and the sudden loss of clear vision. I didn't feel like I was
> bleeding any more, and I wondered if I had awakened only to
> experience death from blood loss.
>
> "It's amazing that he's still alive," a dark blur on the edge of
> my field of vision remarked in a relentlessly electronic voice.
> "By all rights, he *ought* to be dead."
>
> "Holding on by his fingernails, no doubt," said another.
"So, anybody want to open a pool on how much longer he hangs on?"
> I shook my head, or tried to, to clear my vision. It didn't
> help, and it betrayed my status to the dark, blobby forms above
> me.
>
> "Oh, god, he's awake!" the first one called out.
>
> A third figure thrust itself between the other two. I struggled
> to focus my uncooperative eyes; I raised a hand to rub them, to
> clear them physically, only to run into my helmet and goggles.
> Denied that, I tried to blink away the blur. Slowly, the three
> forms resolved themselves into bulbous blue shapes.
>
> "Boomers..." I rasped. "<Sys.. system... system...>"
>
> "Colonel Sangnoir," the new one snapped. "<Three alpha blue>.
> Can you hear me? <Three alpha blue>."
>
> I stumbled to a verbal halt. "Wha... what?"
>
> "<Three alpha blue>," it repeated.
>
> *A Warriors' recognition code?* I thought with bleary surprise.
> *Here?* I tried once more to peer through the haze over my eyes.
> "M-maggie?"
Ow. He IS in a bad way.
> "No," it replied softly. "We..."
>
> "H-hexe?"
>
> There was a moment of relative silence, broken only by a
> bizarre electronic giggle from the figure on the left. "No,"
> said the one in the middle a trifle sharply. "Colonel Sangnoir!
> You are critically wounded! What song do you use to heal
> yourself?"
>
> Oh. "Key...keycode th-three niner six <g-go>," I managed to
> grind out. "<S-s-system...>" I tried to say next, only to burst
> into a round of exquisitely painful coughing.
>
> "Three nine six five?" the figure on the right asked.
>
> "No," said the middle one. "The English word <go>." It reached
> down to the side of my helmet. As the spasm of coughs ended, I
> felt the scrape of the shield sliding up transmitted to my
> cheekbone, and then the four quick impacts. My ears were
> immediately filled with the trippy chorus-and-synthesizer lead-in
> to "I'm Alive". When the band proper kicked in a few seconds
> later, I started to feel *much* better.
"Ohhh, those are *good* drugs -- I mean, tunes."
> With this came an almost-immediate improvement in my sight, and I
> realized that, yes, three boomers were indeed hovering over me,
> and one had indeed given a Warriors rescue recognition code. I
> pondered this as the state of my physical well-being slowly
> improved.
>
> "Eeeww. That's just too creepy!" one of the boomers next to me
> declared.
Nene.
> "What is?" I asked, my voice still a bit raspy.
>
> The boomer shuddered. "The way all your blood just crawled off
> the carpet and back into your body." Its voice, paradoxically,
> sounded *way* too electronic to be a real boomer.
Ew. Hope it didn't bring along junk. That floor is pretty messy.
> "It's creepy?" I thought about it. "I suppose it would be,
> given how much I lost. Usually it's not terribly noticeable."
The fact that he *knows* this is mildly creepy.
> Hmm. I realized I *knew* those particular electronically-
> modified tones. I reached out and pawed weakly at the "boomer"'s
> arm. "Hey."
>
> "What?" the boomer yelped, jerking out of my flimsy grip.
>
> "What for you say you boomer when you got little pink armor like
> Saber, Saber?" I said in my best Tasmanian Devil voice. Which
> was helped considerably by how raspy my voice still was at that
> point.
Recognized her just by speech patterns, huh?
> "Bus-ted!" another voice -- far more natural-sounding -- sang out
> from across the room. I tried to sit up, looking around for its
> source, and realized that I was still in Quincy's wrecked office.
>
> "Amazing," said the boomer in the middle with what I now realized
> was the White Knight's -- *Sylia Stingray's*, some part of my
> mind reminded me -- voxmodded voice. "I know a doctor or two who
> would have paid a considerable sum for scans of that process.
> Are you up to moving now?"
>
> "In a few more seconds." I finally managed to wedge myself into
> a sitting position, and gave the disguised White Knight another
> thorough look-over. Either it was boomer-shaped armor, or a
> very well done shell that fit over their usual gear. "Lovely
> outfit," I said. "From the Quincy winter collection?"
>
> "Hardly," she responded, her voice cold and hard behind its
> electronic filter.
Aw, c'mon, Syl, that was *funny.* We *know* you have a sense of
humor... "Sweetling."
> Now that I was sitting up, a quick glance around the room
> revealed eight apparent combat boomers -- the four hovering near
> me, another four a few steps away. A glance at the floor
> confirmed that the four disguised boomers I'd deactivated were
> still where they'd fallen. I looked back at the Knights' leader
> and raised an eyebrow. "New recruits?" I asked.
>
> "No," said one of the further four, who crossed the room to
> come to my side. "Our goal and the Sabers' happened to be the
> same. We all just sort of ran into each other while working on
> it." He stuck out a blue hand the size of a dinner plate. "You
> and I met, sort of, this morning."
>
> "Huh?" Behind my goggles, I frowned. "How...?* Then it hit me.
> "You're the survivors!"
Mismatched "* around the 'how'
> The boomer nodded his head, the big smile on his biomechanical
> face an almost alien thing. "Most of'em. A couple decided to
> strike out on their own rather than get involved in rescuing
> you." The smile changed to a smirk. "Call me Aquarius."
>
> "Aquarius, huh? I wonder where *that* came from."
Gah! He's corrupted these poor innocent boomers! Doug, how COULD you?
>That got me a
> bigger grin. I grabbed his outstretched hand and pumped it.
> "Well, it's good to meet you, Aquarius. I am *so* glad that you
> guys are all right. I got *very* worried when you all started
> having seizures."
>
> He tilted his head and got a bemused look on his face. "Well,
> whatever you did to us *was* a little traumatic."
>
> "It was fuckin' painful, is what it was!" one of the other
> boomers opined rather loudly.
>
> "What did you do to them?" asked the disguised Knight whom I had
> guessed was Pink.
"Oh, just gave 'em a little '60s free love and peace. You know, Mary
Jane for biocybersynthetic lifeforms."
> By that point I could feel the reverberations up the channels of
> power that told me the song had done all it could for me. Which
> was, of course, pretty much everything -- my eyesight was clear
> again, my balance and strength were back. I shut off the
> playback, and as I hopped to my feet, I turned to her. "I gave
> them freedom of choice. Which reminds me..."
>
> I stepped over to the fallen bodyguards, shaking a few capsules
> out of my sleeve as I did. The four survivor boomers, apparently
> anticipating this, casually repositioned themselves so as to
> shield me from the Knights, who didn't realize what I was up to
Ah. Still a little tension in the air, I see.
> until I was done. As quickly as I could, I shoved a capsule into
> each bodyguard's mouth, and worked its jaw to break it. If what
> Kilroy had told me was accurate, that would be sufficient.
>
> I was standing up again, and the survivors were clearing out from
> around me, even as one of the Sabers demanded, "Hey, what are you
> doing?"
>
> Ignoring her, I looked down at the four bodyguards and murmured,
> "Go thou, and sin no more."
And you accused *Quincy* of having delusions of godhood? Bad Doug! No
eucharist!
> White was at my side in an instant. "What did you just do?"
>
> I gave the four boomers one last look, hoping they'd suffer less
> than the first batch; if Kilroy were any indication, they would.
> Only after that did I turn back to White. I would have waggled
> my eyebrows at her, were they not hidden by my helmet.
> "Flintstone multivitamins for boomers -- they're chewable!"
>
> That actually succeeded in getting a growl of frustration out of
> her, and I chuckled, not unkindly, at the evidence that she was
> indeed human. And that reminded me of something very important --
> two somethings, in fact. I reached out and laid a hand on her
> armored forearm before she could turn away in disgust at my
> antics. "By the way," I said softly, "I owe you a major apology,
> White."
Yeah, you do.
> "Oh?" The tone was suspicious, but not overtly hostile. Maybe
> I hadn't burned all my bridges with her yet.
One hopes. Sylia knows how to hold a grudge, but she's demonstrated
the ability to rise above it, too.
> "I'll have time for a more lengthy explanation later, but let's
> just say for now that I discovered a few things about the way
> that boomers work, and about much of your opposition over the
> years. Things that made it very clear that I was wrong to call
> you slave-hunters and murderers."
>
> The false boomer face stared at me for several seconds. "Yes,"
> she finally said. "Yes, you were. But, to be completely fair,"
> she added, a grudging tone in her electronically-distorted voice,
> "not completely so. There are incidents in our history,
> tragedies we wish we could change, terrible things that had to be
> done to save lives.
Missing end " again.
> "We are not gods, nor heroes, nor angels, Colonel. We are only
> mortal women, frail and alone, facing an utterly overwhelming
> foe." She paused, and her head sank from its usual proud
> carriage, and her voice, when she next spoke, was sad and bitter.
> "We do what needs doing, whether we like it or not. Duty drives
> us, Colonel, and it has taken us places we wish we'd never been.
> In that way, you and we are probably far more alike than you
> might think."
Oh, probably.
> I nodded slowly, wondering what to say in response to that.
> Unable to think of anything, I turned away from her and surveyed
> the remains of the office. "Before I forget," I finally said,
> rather lamely, "thank you for bailing me out. Given our past
> conflicts, I can't imagine what prompted you to show up in my
> moment of need."
>
> I then spotted the charred and slagged remains of the Quincybot,
> and before she could answer I had already picked my way through
> the debris to get to its side. One of the other Knights was
> already there, looking at it. White followed me over, gracefully
> stepping around and over the rubble.
>
> "Ah, well," she began as she made her way after me, a trace of a
> smile in her voice. "We were hired to rescue you," she continued
> as I knelt down next to the remains of the mechanical puppet.
> She performed a visible double take as she realized what the
> remains before us were. "Yet another boomer double for Quincy?"
> Even through the filtering, her voice betrayed incredulity.
"That means I *don't* have the whole set! Darn."
> I stopped in the midst of reaching for its head and turned my
> gaze back to her. "You were hired? By whom?" Before she could
> answer, memory blazed. "Of course! Lisa!" I blurted. "That's
> where you got that recognition code. She followed through,
> then."
>
> "Yes," White replied. "Yes, she did. She was... quite
> persuasive, in fact."
>
> "I'll bet," I said. "I guess I owe her, big time." I turned
Oh, Doug, you have NO idea.
> back to the destroyed Quincybot, and reached for its head. The
> remains of its metallic spine tried to follow as I lifted, then
> gave up and parted with a series of sullen pops and snaps. As it
> came free from the rest of the wreckage, I lifted the head up to
> study it. Optical fibers, their ends melted and charred, hung
> from the stub of its neck, along with various metallic doodads
> and the remains of its synthetic musculature. Most of its false
> skin was gone, but perversely, the slicked-back silver hair with
> its widow's peak was almost untouched.
>
> "You really messed it up," the Knight leaning over the remains
> said to me.
>
> "Yeah," I replied. "The old man said he'd had it built just to
> kick my ass with."
>
> "He's going to be quite upset that you destroyed it, then," White
> commented.
>
> "Nope." I stared into the bot's half-melted polymer eyes. "He's
> not going to be anything. Not in this world, at least, not any
> more." I looked at her levelly. "I killed him."
>
> "You what?"
"Hey! He was MINE!"
> I didn't answer, and instead turned my attention back to the
> disembodied head.
>
> "<I don't care if you're a champion,>"
>
> I spat at it.
>
> "<No one messes with me.
> I am ruthless in upholding
> What I know is right,
> Black or white,
> As you'll see.>"
Reference, please!
> I grabbed it by the hair, rose and walked over to the shattered
> panoramic window. For a moment I stood looking out over the
> light-dotted nighttime vista of MegaTokyo. Then I wound up and
> hurled the bot's head out over the city. I stood and watched it
> fall for as long as I could make it out in the streetlamp-lit
> darkness around the Tower.
>
> When I turned back, the Knights and the boomers were all staring
> at me. "What? The old man pissed me off." I looked over at the
Understatement, thy name is Sangnoir.
> leader of the Knights. "Well, White, if you're my ride, I think
> I'd like to go now."
>
> * * *
>
> (Continued in Part 2)
Yiii... C&C power... fading. Must... keep... going.....
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