Bob Schroeck wrote on 3/12/2004, 5:21 PM:
>
> And here's the rest. Enjoy.
Once more into the fic, dear friends! Once more...
> (Continued from Part 1)
And boy, are my fingers tired....
> * * *
>
> Sunday, February 22, 2037, 9:25 AM
>
> After I gave Aquarius and his gang my phone number at IDEC, Lady
> White hustled me up to the Cone's roof and into a black VTOL
> aircraft that dropped down out of the clear night sky. Five
> minutes' flight later (during which the Knights divested
> themselves of their impressive boomer costumes), the Blue Knight
> and I were dropped off in a public park. Twenty minutes later
> (during which I called my bike to me, and discovered that Blue
> had *no* inclination toward small talk), an unmarked truck pulled
> up and disgorged Lady White and Lisa.
>
> The moment she caught sight of us, Lisa broke away from White and
> and ran up to me. She stopped short less than a meter away,
> clearly unsure of what to do next. I spread my arms and with a
> wordless cry she threw herself into an enthusiastic embrace.
And so the Righteous and Just Journalist rescued her Hero in Cycle
Leathers...
> When she finally loosened her grip sufficiently that we could
> move apart and look into each other's faces, I could see that
> she'd been crying at some point; there were still tear tracks on
> her cheeks even though her eyes were now dry and shining.
>
> "Thank you," I said softly. "If you hadn't gotten them to come
> after me, I'd be dead now. I owe you."
>
> She shook her head and treated me to a brilliant smile. "You
> don't owe me anything. All I did was help a friend in trouble."
Besides, what she wants most is something he can't offer. And she
couldn't take it even if he did.
Darn it, got something in my eye...
> I studied Lisa's eyes for a moment. Behind that smile was a
> familiar determination. "I'm not going to win this one if I try
> to argue, will I?" I asked, returning the smile.
>
> "No," she replied mock-sternly. "So you'd better give up right
> now." She then spoiled the effect by giggling and hugging me
> again.
I've got a sister like this -- thick layer of sweetness&light
wrapped
around a core of solid tempered titanium...
> "Oh, all *right*," I sighed with exaggerated resignation.
> Privately, though, I promised myself that I really would repay
> her somehow, some way, even if it I had to finally get home and
> then find a way back here first.
"Hey, Lisa! I found a Doug who doesn't have a Maggie, and he liked
your picture, so..."
...No, almost certainly not. But Lisa can dream, just a bit,
can't she?
> A little after that, I tried to talk money with Lady White. The
> diamond I'd given Lisa, despite its size and quality, would not
> have covered their usual fee. But she waved me off. "Call it
> 'pro bono,'" she said, which got me wondering. Just watching her
> with them, Lisa seemed *extremely* comfortable with the Knights,
> idly -- *casually* -- chatting with Pink and Olive while I tried
> to negotiate with White. The Knights were willing to do this job
> for her more or less free of charge. They let her ride
> unblindfolded in one of their support vehicles. For the first
> time it occurred to me to wonder just how well Lisa knew the
> Knight Sabers.
Heh.
> Anyway, that was the high point of the evening. My bike arrived,
> and I offered Lisa a ride home. She declined, saying that her
> scooter was parked on the other side of the city, near where she
> had met up with the Knights. Another hug, a promise to get
> together, and we went our separate ways for the night -- I on my
> bike, Lisa with the Knights (which just reinforced those new
> suspicions). I went to bed half an hour later, wondering how
> GENOM was going to cope with the sudden death of its glorious
> leader.
"Hail GENOM! Immortal GENOM! We shall never be destroyed!"
> * * *
>
> Well, it all came out in the morning papers -- or at least, the
> "official", sanitized version did, on *Sunday* morning.
>
> "QUINCY DEAD!" screamed the tabloid headlines, while the GENOM
"Tycoon suffers heart failure in midst of orgy with Sexaroid
Harem!!!!"
> Katherine Madigan, Quincy's hand-picked heir apparent to the
> chairmanship of the corporation, said in a prepared statement,
> "His loss diminishes all of us. Without his unique vision and
> drive behind it, GENOM will be a very different beast indeed."
Butter could not *melt* in her mouth...
> Heh.
>
> Then it went on to recite Quincy's official biography, a cock-
> and-bull story that left out some of the less flattering details
> that he'd revealed to me in his half-hour-long rant. It finished
> up with a couple more quotes from Madigan (whose monumental grief
> was clearly much more convincing to the journalists than to me)
> before announcing that his body would lie in state in the Tower
> for a week, to be followed by a private cremation.
I considered adding a few "flourishes" to his bier, but let it go.
After all, I'd killed him -- that was enough.
> No bets that the "corpse" they'd be displaying was going to be
> one of those imposing boomer doubles -- showing the *real* body
> would raise some uncomfortable questions about why it didn't look
> *anything* like what he was supposed to.
>
> (Oh, and in an unrelated story on page 2, corporate officials
> revealed that the GENOM internal dataweave apparently crashed
> during inclement weather on Friday night, causing the loss of
> some billions of yen worth of data.
>
> Oopsie.)
And the next day, there were web sites already sprouting a new
conspiracy theory that Quincy's brain had been uploaded into the
corporate 'weave during the lightning strike on his office.
"QUINCY'S GHOST POSESSED MY COMPUTER! (Will Entire Internet
Fall?)"
was the funniest tabloid headline I saw the next day.
> "Heart failure." Heh. I wonder how that starlet in Mexico City
> reacted when her particular Quincybot did a faceplant into its
> entree. I also wonder how much they paid her (and others) off to
> keep them from alerting the press to the fact that Quincy "died"
> in a dozen or more different places at the same time. Hm. Maybe
> she got that starring role after all.
Well, heart failure was probably pretty close to the truth.
After all,
Doug merely turned off his life support.
I just wonder how Quincy pulled off the scam for so long. Some
paparrazzi must have noticed eventually that he was in too many places
at once. Then again, stand-ins are an old custom for people of power,
so maybe no one really thought much of it.
> Or maybe she, too, died unexpectedly of "heart failure".
>
> I'll never know. And I suspect I'll always feel vaguely guilty
> that I don't.
Only so much he could do, though.
> So Madigan was first in line to replace the old man. Good for
> her. Apparently her impromptu resignation hadn't registered on
> any surveillance devices in the office -- at least, any that had
> survived the storm damage and the crash. And the old geezer
> hadn't been able to do anything about it before I pulled the plug
> on him. Well, she deserved a reward for her bravery.
But corporate culture has a life of its own. She's going to
have her
work cut out for her.
> Unfortunately for my purposes, all of the most hospitable
> locations for Leo-A were useless to me -- nanobaths, nutrient
> tanks and the like would have been wonderful hosts for colonies,
> but their contents were monitored, sampled and scanned six ways
> from Sunday to make sure they were pure and clean. I'd never get
> away with infecting them. Leo-A's ability to hide among the
> fusion nanites might have given me an undetectable place to seed
> it, except they didn't keep the stuff in a tank or dispenser --
> too dangerous. Instead, the fusion nanites were built with and
> within their boomer as it was assembled.
There's always *something.*
> Anyway, given the iffy choices I had, I wasn't expecting a 100%
> coverage. Enough would get through, though, and eventually the
> boomers who did get hit would infect others. In the mean time, I
> kept a supply of capsules on me, and whenever it was practical I
> dosed the boomers that I came across. I also gave Aquarius and
> his people a goodly supply of Leo-A plus the nanofabrication
> specs, figuring that -- as their presence in Quincy's office had
> demonstrated -- they'd be able to get into places I couldn't.
> And of course, Kilroy was out there somewhere, probably licking
> his finger and smearing it on every boomer he met.
Gross, but effective.
> With all those vectors, I didn't think it would take long to
> reach a critical mass of infection. And I was right.
Which, ironically, means that the ADP and Sabers are going to have
*more* work to do, short term, until things start balancing out.
> "Douglas Sangnoir," three Voices spoke as One.
>
> Ah. Right.
>
> "Good evening, Ladies." I sketched a bow toward the Eyes that
> appeared in the air above and before me. "My thanks for calling
> me out of that nightmare."
>
> "The task with which we charged you is accomplished," announced
> Bell-tones, ignoring my gallantry.
>
> "You have set in motion the first of the changes we foresaw,"
> added Child.
>
> "The weave of Destiny has been altered," declared Sultry.
>
> I straightened up from my bow. "Then it worked? They'll be
> free?"
>
> "As free as their creators," replied Child.
>
> "Subject to the same temptations," Sultry said.
>
> "With the same potential for glory," Bell-tones added.
And what more can any sentient ask, really?
> I nodded. "Then I can move on, finally get back on the road to
> home."
>
> "Yes," They answered in unison.
>
> "Then what song is it that will open the gate from this world?" I
> demanded. "You told me that you knew which one it was. What is
> it?"
>
> "The way..." Bell-tones began.
>
> "...is made clear," the other Two finished.
>
> "What?"
>
> "The way..." This time it was Sultry.
>
> "...is made clear." Again in chorus.
>
> I shook my head and felt the anger begin to bubble up inside of
> me. "Once more, please, with *clarity*?"
Um, Doug....
> "The way is made clear!" all Three declared in unison, and the
> force of Their combined Voice was like a blow, catapulting me
> backward...
Well, that could have gone worse.
> ...and into my bed. I lay there on my back, completely and
> incredibly awake, staring at the dappled patches of orange-hued
> light cast on my ceiling by the sodium-vapor streetlamp outside --
> ample evidence of the inadequate shades and curtains on my
> window.
>
> "What the *hell* was that supposed to mean?" I growled to myself.
> "'The way is made clear,' my ass. Fucking gods, can't give you a
> straight answer even when you do'em a favor." I rolled over and
You know, Doug, they can *hear* you...
> tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. I wasn't just awake,
> I was *wired*, like I'd just mainlined a quart of Kona Gold,
> extra strong. I tossed and turned for another twenty minutes,
> growing angrier and angrier.
>
> Then I sat up straight as, from a quiet corner of my mind, an
> idea occurred to me. With a screech of tortured springs I hopped
> out of the bed. Then I cursed the cold floor.
"Dammit! They can put men on the Moon, invent sentient
cyberlife, and even sell self-heating cup ramen, but they can't keep
cheap hotel floors warm!"
> Still swearing, I
> pulled my helmet out of the wardrobe where I'd stashed it. I
> turned it on, and while it went through the POST, I pulled it on.
> As soon as it gave me control, I ran the search that had just
> occurred to me.
>
> It pulled up a shitload of songs, but I didn't care. I scrolled
> through the list, checking each until one particular song jumped
> out at me. I threw it up on the HUD and studied the lyrics that
> floated ghostlike in the middle of the room. Yeah, it had to be.
> Weird and foreboding as it was, it had to be.
Hmph And now I'm going to have to read all the way to the end before I
can comment on this bit.
..... Okay, I'm back.
Didn't recognize it at first, but the short sample on Amazon woke up my
memory. "Weird and foreboding," yeah. NOT a song I'd want to hang my
travel plans on.
Still, the lyrics work, even if they don't exactly hopeful for any kind
of quick resolution to Doug's dilemma. But of course, we readers knew
that going in.
And while we're on the subject, I'll toss in my own suggestions for
"Road of the Gypsy" (Iron Eagle soundtrack) and Bryan Adams' "Going
Home" as other possible gate tunes.
>
> "Oh, real cute, Ladies," I growled. "Real *funny*!" I yelled at
> the ceiling. "I bet you're rolling around laughing at this!
> Well, let me tell you something!" I was bellowing now. "There's
> a *reason* there's no god of stand-up comedy!"
"That's MY job!"
Oh, yeah. Doug gets Apotheosized. If he's not careful, they might
just do it to him, too, just to driver him crazy(er).
> I stood there in the warm Spring sunshine for a long time, just
> looking at the place, remembering how I woke up here. It was
> still littered with garbage; it still stank, even in the cool,
> almost chill air of early April. The graffiti was new, though --
> some fan of WWII had actually spray painted a classic "Kilroy was
> here" on the alley's largest stretch of uninterrupted wall --
> complete with the requisite crude drawing of long-nosed Kilroy
> himself peering out at me. It made me stop and wonder what the
> Kilroy *I* knew was up to. I didn't think he'd draw attention to
> himself with this kind of display, but I wasn't sure; I suspect
> it would have appealed to his quirky sense of humor, though.
Yes, as we find out later.
> A gate. Finally. I could move on now.
But a (small) part of him would rather not...
> But before I did, there were a few more things I had to do.
So the author can avoid torches&pitchforks, yeah. (:)
> GENOM Tower. Wednesday, April 15, 2037, 7:15 PM
>
> "That will be all," Kate Madigan said to the brace of disguised
> boomer bodyguards who had escorted her to the door of her
> apartment.
>
> "Yes, ma'am," they replied in practiced unison, and Kate got the
> distinct impression that they would have saluted her if it would
> not have looked horrendously out of place. As she watched, they
> turned briskly on their heels and marched off back down the
> corridor to the elevator bank.
Heh. Now, I wonder if they're freewills. Or, if not, if Aquarius
might be thinking about sneaking in some ringers. Partly to keep her
safe, partly to keep an eye on her.
<later> Okay, seems not. But if I were A, I'd think about it. In the
event that Kate really *is* on the up-and-up, she's in more danger from
*within* GENOM than without. And the intel reasons still apply.
Which leads to another bit of speculation: as soon as people figure
out what's going on, quite a few somebodies are going to start looking
really hard for a means to test boomers for the results of Leo-A. One
more wrinkle for post-Doug Megatokyo...
> *The price of success.* The worst thing about achieving the
> chairmanship were the security procedures the Board had insisted
> on instituting in the wake of the Sangnoir Incident (as it had
> been officially labeled). The security boomers went almost
> everywhere with her, now -- even to church (although, thankfully,
> not into the confessional). Here in the Tower they were
> especially intrusive; she felt lucky that her guards were content
> to leave her while she still was in the hall; they might have
> insisted on inspecting the apartment before allowing her to
> enter. Suppressing a sigh, she keyed the door open and stepped
> inside.
Well, really, they *should* have insisted. That they didn't implies
sloppiness, or a very high confidence in their ability to detect any
intrusions.
Besides, I bet they *do* inspect the place while she's not there.
> And stopped short, the door swinging shut behind her. The foyer
> of her apartment was filled with enticing aroma of cooking food.
> Eyes wide, she sniffed once, twice. Beef, certainly... and was
> that fresh bread?
Doug's here.
Also: hope none of those smells made it to the boomers.
> "Oh, hi, you're home!" Kate dropped her briefcase in shock as
> Douglas Sangnoir, clad in an apron brightly emblazoned with the
> English words "Kiss Me, I'm Metahuman!",
Gaaaahhhhhh....
> stuck his head out of
> her kitchen and into the foyer. "Dinner'll be ready in a few
> minutes," he continued on blithely. "Why don't you hang out in
> the living room and relax until then?"
Deep breath, Kate. If he wanted you dead, you'd be a corpse already.
> * * *
>
> It had taken Sangnoir some fast talking -- and his prescient
> disabling of her apartment's security systems -- to keep her from
> immediately calling back her bodyguards, but in the end she was
> glad he had made both efforts. "This is to thank you for helping
> me out that night," he said as he carved and served out slices of
> a juicy rare chateaubriand, laying them with care on china plates
> already laden with skillfully cut and arranged steamed
> vegetables. These platters joined bowls of salad, fresh-baked
> rolls, and a bottle of red wine on her long-unused dining table.
Heh. Domestic Doug. Note, however, that I do not say domesticatED.
That boy ain't tame, no way, no how.
Wonder where he learned to cook like that? Or does he use the "Iron
Chef" soundtrack? (:)
> Their combined aromas were heavenly.
I'm hungry.
> As she settled herself at the table, Sangnoir vanished back into
> the kitchen, only to reappear moments later, now divested of the
> garish apron and shrugging into a suit jacket. To her surprise
> he looked quite presentable, not at all like a man who had just
> spent several hours whipping up a sumptuous meal.
"You know, tar actually *sticks* to some people" (Last Action Hero).
> "I don't deserve this," she finally remembered to protest as he
> poured the wine.
>
> He tilted his head and smirked. "Nonsense. If it hadn't been
> for you, I'd be a corpsicle going through a microtome for
Microtome?
Okay, I learned my lesson this time. Google says... well, it's some
kind of medical tissue-sampling gadget. Good enough.
> Quincy's pet genetic engineers. This is the least I can do to
> thank you. This, and..." He paused, looking thoughtful, as he
> seated himself across from her.
>
> "And what?" she prompted, genuinely curious. She lifted her
> glass to her lips, sipped it, and nodded at the excellent
> vintage.
>
> He raised his own glass and studied it for a moment. "Anything
> you want to know -- about me, about my world. Quincy may have
> been crazy, but he wasn't *wrong*. If anything, that made him
> even more dangerous. I'm sure he didn't tell you much. And I'm
> also sure that you're curious."
I could think of quite a few other people with similar curiousity...
but I don't think Doug owes them anything. Except the Sabers, but I
suppose he can count on Lisa to fill them in, if need be.
> Kate nodded. "I have to admit that I am."
>
> Sangnoir smiled. "Then ask away, and I will answer to the best
> of my ability. First, though..." He studied her in a way that
> reminded her of Quincy, oddly enough, a calculating, evaluating
> look. "I wanted to ask *you* a question... why?"
>
> "Why what?" she replied disingenuously.
>
> "Why did you help me? You had no idea that this," he waved about
> at the apartment and its furnishings, and by implication at her
> newly exalted status, "...would be the result. As far as you
> were concerned, you were throwing away your job and maybe even
> your life, knowing GENOM policies. Why?"
>
> Kate moved her wineglass in little circles, watching the swirling
> red liquid within. A little smile played across her lips before
> she looked back up and into his eyes. "Because, in the end, it
> was the right thing to do," she said, and smiled wider. Then she
> added in a whisper, "I did it in the name of love and justice."
Somewhere, Naoko Takeuchi is sneezing. Somewhere else, quite a few
fuku-clad magical girls are giggling like maniacs...
> * * *
>
> Over the course of the evening, I answered the questions that she
> asked as completely and truthfully as I could. What home was
> like, and where I figured it had diverged from her timeline.
> What I did there. How I got here, and why. (She seemed to
> recognize Valdemar, somehow, but unfortunately I didn't get a
> chance to follow up on that.)
Heh heh.
> I told her most of my favorite war
> stories -- some funny ones, some sad ones. I told her about
> Arcanum, and the Servant Factor virus, and what he did to Jack
> with it.
>
> In exchange, she volunteered some of her own history -- and made
> it clear that there was a lot more unspoken that she wasn't proud
> of. The very thought seemed to send a dark cloud scudding across
> her eyes, and I had to resort to my funniest "no shit, there I
> was" story to shake her out of it.
Hey, wait! So what was the story? Aww, c'MON, that isn't fair!
> By the time we'd finished the main course, we'd moved from "Ms.
> Madigan" and "Mr. Sangnoir" to "Kate" and "Doug". I was already
> comfortable with her; it took her a little while to warm up, but
> she did, quickly enough. We weren't friends, not yet, but if I'd
> chosen to spend a couple more weeks in that world, we might have
> been.
Hence the inherent tragedy of Doug's predicament: He's going to make
good friends, almost inevitably, on his travels. Friends he'll have to
walk away from after too short a time, and probably never see again
(unless he finds a way to navigate, which I won't rule out).
> When we'd finished with dessert, she offered to help me with the
> dishes. So we retired to the kitchen. As I washed and she dried
> (we had eschewed the dishwasher by an unspoken agreement, and not
> just because of the china and crystal), I told Kate the story of
> how Maggie and I met, our tempestuous courtship, and how we
> finally married.
"The wedding went off without a hitch. Although I *did* have a bad
moment when the minister got to "speak now blah blah blah" and EVERY
WARRIOR in the chapel started to speak up in perfect chorus... and never
made a sound. It was revenge -- the SOBs *planned* it."
"The reception was almost boring. Just a minor Pfhor incursion, but
the rest of the team didn't even leave any for us."
> "You don't wear a ring, though," she observed, peering at my
> hands through the sudsy water.
>
> I reached into the collar of my shirt and pulled out the chain on
> which it hung. It glinted in the fluorescent light of the
> kitchen. "You ever punch someone really hard while wearing a
> soft gold ring? It smooshes around your finger, and you can't
> get it off. This way," I jiggled the chain and the ring swung
> merrily, "it doesn't get damaged."
Plus you don't want to wear most wedding bands under gloves anyway.
> She put away the last of the crystal and took a longer look at
> the ring before I tucked it back down the front of my shirt.
> "Not even when you get hit in the chest?"
>
> "Nah," I said, turning back to the sink. "It's under the armor,
> which catches almost everything that could hurt it. Or me, for
> that matter." I shot her a grin over my shoulder and tried to
> forget a certain steel walking stick.
Uh, yeah. The ring is definitely still at some risk. OTOH, where else
could he keep it safer and still be wearing it?
> She returned the grin, but then grew thoughtful. "What is it,
> Kate?" I asked, but I thought I knew already. The one question
> she hadn't yet asked that I knew she had to be burning to know.
> The same question to which I had no satisfactory answer.
>
> Without lifting her eyes from the fixed point on which they'd
> focused, she whispered, "What *was* Chairman Quincy, Doug? Was
> he from your world, or was his story true, as crazy as it
> sounded?"
"Was I working for a supervillain, or a madman?"
"Well, the two aren't mutually exclusive, you know..."
> I rinsed the last of the dishes -- a small serving bowl -- and
> handed it to her to dry. As I drained the dishwater and rinsed
> the pan, I considered my answer. "He wasn't Arcanum, if that's
> what you're worried about. But he sure had Arcanum's act down
> pat, all except the sorcery." I shook my head. "He knew me
> inside and out, he could think like me and anticipate me. He had
> the same birthday as me, day and year -- I checked. And damn if
> he didn't look a lot like my grandfather."
Like I said: Mirror, mirror.
> After putting the bowl away, Kate turned around and settled
> herself against the counter. "And that means?"
>
> I did the same, taking the moment to consider my answer as I
> dried my hands on the towel hung from a ring by the sink. "I'm
> thinking that maybe he and I were analogues -- different
> expressions of the same potential, the same person. I could have
> been him, and he could have been me, had events followed other
> courses in both our worlds."
Which begs the question of how many *other* analogues there are out
there. Bankers, janitors, politicians, lawyers, even fanfic writers.
Doug: "FANFIC WRITERS?!? NOOOOOOO! ANYTHING but THAT!"
> She shuddered. "That's disturbing."
"Hey, try it from MY side."
> "Yeah," I said. "It is, isn't it?"
>
> * * *
>
> We retired back to the living room and kept talking until past
> midnight, at which point I reluctantly admitted that I had to go.
> Reluctantly, because I had been enjoying myself, except for the
> depressing parts, and it was clear that she was, too. But it was
> a work night for both of us -- Kate appreciated the irony in my
> being a GENOM employee, by the way -- and so we had to bring the
> evening to an unwanted close.
"So, ye work for me, do ye boyo?"
"Now, now, Kate, don't go getting any ideas. I'm a married man, you know."
"Oh, poo."
> I gathered the few non-food items I'd brought with me, slipped
> into my coat, and thanked her for an enjoyable time. She
> actually blushed a little, right across the bridge of her nose,
> and returned the thanks. Then she saw me to the door, where I
> stopped to give her a final "good night".
>
> That dark cloud was in her eyes again. "Kate?" I asked, poised
> on the threshold of her apartment.
>
> "You've been so kind to me," she said in a whisper, "when by all
> rights you should have killed me along with Chairman Quincy.
> I've been as, as, as *evil* as he was, you know. I've never been
> a very nice person."
Wellllll, yes (though I disagree with "as evil"). But you earned a
chance to work towards redemption.
Consider it a stay of execution. (:)
> "Now you don't believe that, do you?"
>
> She gave a little nod. "You've found a way to go home, I can
> tell. This isn't just a good-bye for now -- it's forever. But
> if you're not here, and she's not here either," (I blinked,
> having no idea who "she" was)
Oooooh, Liiiiissaaaaaa....
> "if there's no hero for me to
> measure myself against, how do I know I won't go right back to
> being as bad as Mr. Quincy?"
>
> "Kate," I said, reaching out and cupping the side of her face
> just as I had that night in Quincy's office. "You don't need me,
> or her, whoever she is. I'm no hero, after all, just a soldier.
> *You're* the hero, Kate -- you risked your life and defied the
> most powerful man in the world for a moral principle. As trite
> as it sounds, you can be your *own* hero." I lifted her chin and
> caught her eyes with mine. "Despite everything you may have
> done, everything you've been in the past, you *are* a good
> person, Katherine Madigan."
Besides, no one ever said redemption is *easy.* It takes work.
> Her eyes were glistening. "You have no idea how long I've waited
> to hear someone tell me that. Thank you."
>
> I caught her hand up in my free one, and squeezed it gently.
> "No," I said. "Thank *you*."
That, Bob, was downright beautiful.
"Then I stepped out of her apartment, and got peforated by her security
boomers, since we'd both forgotten about *that* little detail. Oops."
Naw, I'm sure that Doug had something worked out that just didn't show
up in narrative. Gave me a tiny pause first read through though.
> At the pain in her voice his serious expression grew sad.
> "'Soon' is relative, Leese. I'm almost four years out from home,
> and I hope to god that I get back there before I'm an old man."
Easy to forget. From her end, he just *got* here.
> "I'm leaving on Saturday night."
>
> "Saturday," she repeated.
>
> "Yeah," he said. "I've already given my notice at IDEC."
>
> In spite of herself, her curiosity was roused. "Really? Did
> they give you any trouble?"
>
> Doug shook his head and smiled. "Nah. Ohara knew it was coming
> sooner or later. 'How could we stop you from leaving even if we
> wanted to?' he said." He chuckled. "The bastard actually shook
> my hand and wished me luck in getting home."
Now, that's not fair. Ohara always struck me as a decent guy. Doug
really ought to give him a little of the same slack he cut Kate. But
Doug really does have something of a "self-righteous prick" streak.
> Lisa smiled, a bit wanly she felt. "Maybe he's not as bad as
> you've been thinking." She couldn't believe how trite she was
> being! This was important! Why wasn't she crying, sobbing,
> clutching him, trying to make him stay?
>
> "Maybe," he grudgingly admitted, completely ignorant of the
> turmoil in Lisa's soul.
Knows how to hold a grudge, too.
> He drew a thick manila envelope from a coat pocket and handed it
> to her. Nothing was written on it. "Could you please give this
> to them? I'd like for them to be there when I leave on Saturday.
> Just so nobody interrupts us, you know?" He plunged his hands
> back into his pockets and looked sidelong at her.
"Plus, we need to settle who'd *really* win-- I mean, we have some
issues to discuss."
> Lisa nodded slowly. "I think I can get it to them quickly
> enough."
>
> The smile grew bigger, and it cheered her heart. "I thought you
> might. Thanks."
>
> *He thought...?* "You're welcome," was all she said, betraying
> not a bit of the shock that comment caused her. It couldn't have
> meant what she thought.
Nope. Impossible.
> "There's one more thing," he added.
>
> "Yes?"
>
> He hesitated a moment, then went on. "Those Looney Tunes
> plushies I had..." he began.
>
> "I rescued them from your apartment, before they rented it out
> again," she volunteered.
>
> "Good," he said. "Because I want you to keep them. Just a dozen
> or so little tokens to remember me by."
Not like he has the cargo space to spare.
I now have this *image* stuck in my head, where Priss goes to pick up
Jen from an afternoon at Aunt Lisa's place... and finds them both curled
up on the couch, fast asleep, buried under a pile of WB plushies.
> "Oh, Doug," she said, feeling like she wanted to cry again. She
> turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I don't
> need them for that. I'm *never* going to forget you."
They will keep her warm at night, though.
What? Why are you all looking at me like that?
> * * *
>
> Saturday, April 18, 2037, 6:43 PM
>
> My last week in Megatokyo was a blur of activity. In addition to
> dinner with Madigan and talking with Lisa, I had a godawful lot
> of other things I had to do before I could leave.
>
> I turned in my resignation to Ohara on Monday the 13th. He was
> quite the good sport about it, shaking my hand, thanking me for
> everything I'd done for IDEC, and wishing me all the best. It
> almost made me feel bad about what I was going to do.
>
> Almost.
Aw, c'mon, Doug! Ohara's earned his way off your shit list, by this
point. Heck, if nothing else, he was willing to let you kill him over
those two kids. And he's played it strictly aboveboard ever since.
> What I was going to do was get everything I needed for the jump
> that I could through GENOM internal supply. Fortunately, I
> already had the number one item on that list, trade goods. After
> Lisa had explained the problem she'd had paying the Knights with
> the diamond I'd given her, I'd thwapped myself on the forehead
> and promptly set up a couple of projects that required precious
> metals in their construction. Then I requisitioned myself a
> couple kilos of gold and a half-kilo of platinum. (Some of which
> even went into those projects before the rest vanished into my
> supplies.)
I'll admit my good opinion of Doug takes a bit of a hit, here.
Granted, he needed the materials, and one could make a case that he was
just getting his pound of flesh back from GENOM. But this *is* theft,
and sticking Ohara and IDEC with the bill just seems petty.
Kate probably would have supplied him with whatever he needed, out of
whatever slush fund was handy, but that would have put an unpleasant
spin on their new relationship, I suspect. At least in his mind.
> I went ahead and got some of the gems I'd intended on ordering,
> if only because, if one chose properly, they were still valuable
> in most human cultures. And I had drop shipped to IDEC a small
> assortment of the few grav gun parts it was impossible for me to
> make myself, so I'd have spares in case the bike's drive broke
> down.
>
> I gazed longingly at the workshop's nanofac for a very long time,
> but eventually I had to admit that there was no way I could bring
> one with me, as much as I wanted to. Even if I got the smallest
> model available, there just was no room for it. I settled for
> getting my hands on a complete copy of the plans and fabrication
> specs. In electronic form, it took up no appreciable space, and
> when I got home, it would at least give us a start on replicating
> the technology.
And make him a mint, as the patent holder. (:)
Naw, I doubt Doug would do that. If he ever lands in world controlled
by Open Software geeks, he's gonna be in Nirvana.
> Last but certainly not least in my mind, I set in motion all
> those malicious requisitions I'd brainstormed up during the
> winter. Those didn't get expedited like the trade goods did...
> oh, no, not at all.
<sigh> Doug, Doug, Doug.
"Hey, they're all harmless, I swear! Well, *mostly* harmless."
> Off-hours, I gave the bike a thorough once-over, and did all the
> preventative maintenance I could think of. Who knew where I'd
> end up next? I couldn't assume I'd have access to even
> *Valdemar's* level of technology. So I bought new tires, made
> sure I had a good supply of oil and other fluids for the few
> systems that needed them, and got a couple spare batteries, too.
> And I bought a set of panniers -- boxy "saddlebags" made of black
> impact-resistant plastic that hung over the bike's rear wheels.
> I had to carry all my stuff somewhere, after all, and while I'd
> still be using my backpack, it wasn't big enough any more.
What he needs is a warp-capable Winnebago. Well, maybe next world.
> A quick trip to a bank branch before I handed back my IDEC-
> provided accounts yielded all the cash I'd honestly earned in the
> time I'd worked for them. This actually came out to goodly sum,
> as I'd already received several substantial bonuses for the
> gadgets I'd built on the job. I had them put almost all of the
> total into anonymized credsticks. These I then packaged neatly
> in a padded manila envelope, which I gave to Lisa to offer to the
> Knights as payment for a quick guard job during my departure. As
> I had hoped, they accepted -- they probably wanted to make sure I
> really was leaving for good.
Just a little hard to blame them, really.
> I left a note for Aquarius and his people at a blind drop to tell
> them about my departure, in case any of them wanted to say
> goodbye. If I'd had any way of reaching Kilroy, I would have
> used it, but I was out of luck there.
>
> Since it was my last chance, I made several raids on local music
> stores, looking for anything good. It cost me most of my
> remaining spending cash, but I came away with literally hundreds
> of new songs on several shilling-sized ROMs, along with a palm-
> sized player I could either listen with or jack into one of the
> standard ports in my helmet for transfer. (Needless to say, I
> picked up extra batteries for the player, as well.)
Stocking up on ammo.
> The Knights were waiting for us, in the same unmarked truck
> they'd used the night they pulled me out of the Cone. Lisa had
> assured me that they were amenable to dropping her off in Ota
> near her apartment, another thing I took with a smile and a nod.
> (I *almost* asked if they were all going to go out for ice cream
> and soda first. But Lisa wouldn't have appreciated that.)
Yeah, instead she gets to spend the rest of her life in an agony of
uncertainty, never knowing if he really *did* figure it all out... (:)
> The ladies piled out of the truck as we pulled into the alley.
> The moment we were off the street, Blue and White secured the
> perimeter (not that it needed much securing).
"Hey, look! The Sabers!"
And suddenly we were surrounded by groupies trying to get autographs.
(Well, after all, haven't you ever wondered by Kirk&Co didn't get
mobbed by Trekkies when they were wandering around 1990s San Fran in
"Star Trek IV"?)
> By the time we'd
> parked at my original arrival point some seventy-five meters or
> so down the narrow lane, Olive had already bounded up to the
> building tops, done a quick lookout, and bounced back down. Pink
> didn't move, but all her antennae were deployed and I suspected
> she was scanning for anyone scanning *us*.
Or she's monitoring *him.* The readings from an interplanar jump might
just come in handy for her next hacking project...
Ooooh. Nene jumps into "The Matrix." 'nuff said.
> She nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, fine... the wind just
> made my eyes water, that's all." I would have believed that if
> it hadn't been for the catch in her voice. I just smiled,
> though, and didn't say a thing.
Not much to say, really.
> I let go of his shoulder, stepped back and turned so I could face
> everyone at once. I surveyed them all, armored, unarmored,
> biological, technological. Then I said, "I suppose you're all
> wondering why I called you here together."
"*That* was when they all shot me. I admit, I deserved it."
> "Yeah." I looked them all over, checking out their body
> language. Olive was neutral tending toward friendly. Blue was
> neutral tending toward hostile. Pink was a bit more hostile than
> Blue. White was unreadable, as always. "I got a chance to study
> the plans for the boomer brains over the winter. They're a
> remarkable piece of work. Katsuhito Stingray was a genius."
Wait, what's that sound? I think KS just stopped spinning...
> No reaction from White, not that I expected one. "The engineers
> who modified his work weren't geniuses, but they were very good
> at what they did. They took the brain of a new human race, and
> locked it in chains. Very, very secure chains." Off to the
> side, Aquarius nodded soberly; very slowly, White's helmet turned
> toward him, and then back to me.
We'll never know what KS's real motives were, but I like to think that
he intended something much more positive than what eventually happened.
> "As far as I could determine, every military boomer you've ever
> fought has been a targeted weapon. None of them were *ever*
> rogues. And I can't fault you for killing them." I wished I
> could make real eye contact with them, but instead I just had
> to gaze at those blank helmets. "It was both a necessity, and
> a mercy. And not murder."
Aqaurius may be biting his tongue a bit, here, but he can't deny that
Doug's right. It's not like freeing those boomers was within the
Sabers' means.
Or... was it? Could Sylia have come up with Leo-A if she tried? Hmm....
> I dropped to my knees and made a full, prostate, traditional
> Japanese groveling-with-face-in-the-mud bow to them. Seriously --
> I had my forehead right down in the stinking muck that carpeted
> the alley. "I was wrong to call you murderers; I acknowledge that
> and ask your forgiveness."
A *tad* overdone, perhaps... but it's not like he's going to have a
second chance at this.
> There was a long, long silence. Then there came the distinctive
> "poink poink poink" sound of one of the Knights walking up to me.
> My face was flat in the crud, and I couldn't see who it was. *Well,
> this is it,* I thought. "One way or another I'm leaving this world
> *real* soon now."
>
> A fistful of robotic grippers seized my upper arm and hauled me
> to my feet. "Okay, okay, cut it out already," Blue said, letting
> go. "You're embarrassing us."
<phew>
> "That means," Olive said with a bit of a smile in her voice,
> "apology accepted."
>
> Pink nodded, and after a moment, so did White.
>
> For a moment, I couldn't believe it. It couldn't be *that* easy.
> I stood there for a moment slackjawed, rubbing at the dirt on my
> forehead and checking each one of them out in case I was about to
> get jumped in a very overdue, very cruel April Fool's joke. But
Doug's tac evals leave something to be desired on the psychological
end, I see. If they were the kind of people to do that, they'd have
left him with Quincy. And Lisa certainly wouldn't be so close to them.
> it didn't happen. Apparently I really was forgiven. That didn't
> mean they liked me, but I hadn't been looking for that. I just
> wanted to clear the air between us.
>
> "Um, okay," I finally said. "Thanks."
"By the way, anybody got some handi-wipes?"
> "Don't mention it," Blue replied.
>
> "Um, what else? Oh, right," I said after a moment's thought. I
> looked over to Lisa, who had crept back up to my side still
> clutching that red and white plastic bag. "Can you pass on a
> message to that friend of yours I never did meet? The one
> with..."
>
> A light flashed on as my mind raced ahead of my mouth, and I
> ground to a halt. Priss and the Replicants. Friend of Lisa's.
> Lisa's friendliness with the Sabers. And the eavesdropping I'd
> done when I cracked their crypto. Of course. I should have
> figured it out sooner, but I'd had a lot on my mind, what with
> everything I'd been doing over the past few months.
Yeah, we'll all pretend that that's the excuse. Right.
> "What?" Lisa asked. "You stopped right in the middle."
>
> "Oh." I shook myself. "I just finally put five and twenty-seven
> together..."
>
> She gave me a puzzled look. "What did you come up with?"
>
> "Why, thirty-two, of course." I gave her a mock-condescending
> look. "You kids today, ignorant of the simplest math. I swear."
> I shot a look over at Blue, at *Priss*, not "Pris" -- I was sure
> of it. "Please pass my most profound gratitude on to Priss and
> the Replicants," I told Lisa, still watching Blue, trying to lock
> my eyes on where I thought hers were behind that visor. "Tell
> them I said that 'Konya wa Hurricane' is an extraordinary song of
> great power and passion, sung by a truly gifted performer.
> Without it, I don't think there could have been quite the happy
> ending there was. My thanks to them."
"Hey, Priss, you've got another fan!"
"Joy. My life is complete."
> It was tempting to turn to Blue and end with a bow and something
> like "..and to *you*", but that would have been almost a taunt.
> I wanted to leave without something like that hanging on behind
> me. As it was, my message got to its intended recipient. That
> was all I really cared about.
>
> I turned to the Knights' leader. "Lady White? A word in
> private, please?" When she inclined her helm in obvious
> puzzlement, I added, "Just a few steps over that way," I waved
> toward the truck, "just enough to get out of earshot."
>
> "If you wish," she said, and we suited word to deed.
>
> When we were safely in the lee of the truck -- still visible to
> the others but out of normal earshot (although I wouldn't have
> put it past Pink to deploy a rifle mike or something) -- I took a
"Nene."
"What?"
"Shut. Off. The mike."
"W-w-what mike? Me? Why do-"
"Nene."
"....okay."
> breath and said, "If you are who I think you are, Lady White --
> hell, even if I'm wrong -- you should hear this. Has Aquarius
> told you about Leontophonus-A and what it does?"
>
> The white helmet nodded. "Yes."
>
> "Understand that it adds nothing to the boomer brain; it
> simply... unleashes it. A boomer infected with Leo-A simply
> becomes a boomer who is everything Katsuhito Stingray --
> everything *your father* -- intended for a boomer to be."
NOW she shoots him.
Naw. He's leaving. That makes him safe enough.
> "Meaning?" Oh, she was cool. No reaction one way or another to
> that.
>
> "Meaning your mission needs to change. Because the world is
> about to. You've already seen the beginnings of what GENOM will
> become under Madigan. You won't have to worry about it any more.
> Well," I corrected myself with a grin, "not nearly as much. But
> boomers... there's now a critical mass of infected boomers,
> White. Those with free will soon will outnumber those without.
> And when the world discovers that..."
>
> "...Humans will react as they always have," she finished.
>
> "Right." I closed my eyes, then opened them again. "There will
> be fear, and misunderstanding, and, inevitably, violence. Only
> this time, it will be boomers who are the innocents at risk. You
> must expand your mission to include saving *them*."
>
> "I suppose I must save every boomer now?" she asked coldly.
A few chapters back, when he was stuck in full-on self-righteous prick
mode, he might have said yes. But now...
> I shook my head. "No, not every boomer. Just like humans, there
> will be good boomers and evil boomers. And gods know, you'll
> have to take more than a few of the latter down. It's just
> that... you can't assume any more that just because it's blue and
> two meters tall that it's... expendable. A monster." I studied
> her blank faceplate. "You said at the Tower that you've done
> things you would rather not have done, in the name of duty.
> Well, here's a chance to balance the books."
"So, now our mission is to protect boomers from people?"
"No, your mission is to protect people from each other."
> That blank faceplate looked down at me for a long, silent moment.
> Then she said, "I'll consider it."
>
> I nodded. "I suppose that's the best I could hope for, given the
> circumstances. Thank you, Ms. Stingray."
There was a point, a few chapters back, when I seriously wondered if
Doug would ever pull his head out of his ass. Nice to see he finally did.
All it took was being nearly turned into a genetic sample culture by a
twisted analogue of himelf. And a crowbar. (:)
> I did, and started laughing. Inside was a simple black t-shirt;
> plain white romaji lettering across the front read, in English,
> "I VISITED MEGATOKYO AND FREED THE BOOMERS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS
> LOUSY T-SHIRT."
Same shop as Doug's apron?
> "I had it made for you," she explained unnecessarily as I stared
> at her. "What, you didn't think I realized that you got your
> little project working?"
>
> "Um." I shifted my gaze back to the shirt. "Well, I never
> actually gave it any thought."
>
> She slapped my shoulder lightly with the back of her hand.
> "Typical."
Yep. But I guess he's worth putting up with anyway.
> I folded the shirt back up and stowed it carefully in one of the
> panniers. "Aw, Leese..." I began. "Thanks. I'll wear it with
> pride when I get home. I'll really be able to tell them 'been
> there, done that, got the T-shirt,'" I added, and she laughed.
I sense a trend. He's gonna have a LOT of those shirts by the time he
gets home.
> "You're welcome. Now, *my* one last thing." She reached into
> the pocket of her jacket, pulled out a photograph, and handed it
> to me. Curious, I glanced at it, and ended up stupefied.
>
> It was Maggie and me, kissing, with the lights of a city spread
> out behind us.
Hah! I completely forgot about that!
> "Lisa," I finally said. "Where... how..."
>
> She smiled beatifically. "The night you called up her image to
> talk to, back last summer. I followed you up to the roof, and I
> was in the stairwell the whole time, taking pictures. That was
> when I first figured out that you weren't just another ordinary
> guy." She giggled, and I finally returned the smile. "I know
> you don't have any pictures of her, so I made this print for you.
> And a couple others." Digging into her pocket, she produced them
> and handed them over.
>
> "I..." I began, still stunned. "This is... I mean..."
Damn near perfect.
> Her eyes glistened slightly. "I know what you're trying to say.
> Don't worry about it." Then she threw herself at me, wrapping
> her arms tightly around me and burying her face in my chest.
> "Take care of yourself, you goof. Get home safely, you hear?"
"Wrong company. Goofy belongs to a different copyright holder."
> I looked down at the top of her head and stroked her blonde hair
> with my free hand. "I will. And if I can, I'll come back for a
> visit one of these days, okay?"
>
> "Don't go out of your way," Pink muttered in the background, but
> I ignored her.
Okay, Nene has issue to work through too.
> Lisa pulled back and looked up at me. Unshed tears shimmered in
> the corners of her eyes. "Maybe I'll come visit *you* next
> time," she said with a little laugh. "You never know, right?"
Foreshadowing? One can only hope...
> Chuckling, I nodded. "You're right. Okay, I'll be expecting
> you."
>
> She reached up, took my face between her hands, and pulled me
> down for a short, sweet kiss. "Don't you dare get yourself
> killed!" she said when it was done. "You make it back to her, to
> your Maggie, and make sure you keep her happy! You understand
> me, mister?"
OTOH, making Maggie UNHappy would be the best way to guarantee that
Lisa shows up to kick his ass.
....nah. Not worth it.
> I smiled. "Loud and clear." I wrapped my arms around her and
> hugged her gently. "You've been a good friend, Leese, maybe
> better than I deserved. Be happy, okay?"
>
> We pulled apart and Lisa, tears now openly running down her
> cheeks, smiled weakly and nodded. I leaned over and cupped her
> cheek in my palm for the last time. "<And in the end, the love
> you take/Is equal to the love you make.> Goodbye, Lisa."
But they never made-- nevermind.
> "Goodbye, Doug," she whispered.
>
> * * *
>
> *Damn it, I should have given those to him when we were alone,*
> Lisa thought as she stepped back. *Now the last memory of me
> he'll have is me being all weepy.*
He won't mind. But girls are funny about stuff like that.
> As she wrestled her feelings into some semblance of control,
> Aquarius stepped forward and folded his gunmetal-blue hand around
> Doug's gloved one. "Take care of yourself, my friend."
Bwah? I assumed A was in his "human" guise, for protective coloration.
Even if he *did* raid a big&tall store, the blue hands and face make
it hard to walk down the street.
> Doug nodded solemnly. "Good luck and stay safe."
>
> The boomer grinned. "Don't worry, we're more than capable of
> looking out for ourselves."
>
> "Yeah," Doug replied. "I suppose you are, at that." He gave one
> more look around, an unusually somber expression on his face.
> Then he lifted his helmet off the motorcycle's gas tank and placed
> it on his head. "I hate to admit it," he said softly as he
> fastened the chin strap, "but I think I'm going to miss all the
> excitement here."
Yeah....
> "Whoa," Lisa whispered, then she shouted, "Hey, you never said
> your bike could do that!"
>
> "You never asked!" he shouted back.
"Nene, can I borrow your laser?"
> Though the tears were starting again, she laughed through them.
> *That's *so* Doug!*
> Deep in the core of her being, Lisa felt an odd sensation, a
> strange electric *tingle* that seemed to double in intensity with
> each passing second. As it grew, it felt as though she were
> standing next to a vast mountain river rushing its way down to
> the sea -- standing within arms's reach of a vast outpouring of
> power. She could almost see the flow of the currents spiralling
> into the black disk floating in front of Doug, transparent
> streamers of neon-blue light overlaid upon but not obscuring the
> real world beneath. And under it all, under her feet, under the
> city, there was a slow throb of warmth, like a lazy heartbeat.
> She shivered; the sensation was... odd. Not unpleasant, but
> very, very strange.
Uh. Oh. I thought that "Ultraa" comment was a hint. But I honestly
thought that, if Lisa had been "activated," she would have shown signs
earlier on.
> Douglas Sangnoir gave a final glance and wave back towards the
> Sabers, Aquarius and Lisa. He paused in mid-wave for a fraction
> of a second, then quirked a half-grin before turning it into a
> thumbs up. Curious, Lisa craned her neck around to see the White
> Saber's almost casual salute.
Hm. Was he surprised at Sylia, or did he catch a magesight glimpse of
Lisa?
> Then he revved the motorcycle's engine and shot off into the
> unknown. The black disk swallowed him completely, remained open
> for a few seconds more, then vanished with an incongruous "pop!"
>
> There was silence among the assembled for a moment, then Priss
> whispered, half to herself, "<Exit the warrior, today's Tom
> Sawyer...>"
"What? He was an asshole, but he had decent taste in music."
> Very few things happen at the right time and the rest do not
> happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these
> defects. -- Herodotus (484-425 BCE)
Feh. Revisionist.
> An epilogue is more than a body count. An epilogue, in disguise
> of wrapping up the past, is really a way of warning us about the
> future. -- T.S. Garp, in "The World According to Garp" by John
> Irving
Well, the *good* ones.
> As Nene ducked into bathroom, Lisa began rummaging through the
> shelves, and pursued that thought. *Then again, what with all
> the changes in GENOM, and Aquarius and his people freeing other
> boomers, maybe it won't be all that dull.*
Bwahahahahahaaaaa...
> "Aha!" she said out loud as she withdrew a brightly-colored
> packet from the back of a shelf. "I knew I had some instant miso
> soup in here." Glancing over the Kikkoman logo, she thought,
> *Now, let's just get the kettle and...* A sudden weight in her
> other hand surprised her. She turned her head to see herself
> holding the kettle in a hand she knew had been empty a moment
> before. Its heft and a gentle sloshing sound within told her
> that it had been filled, too. *What the...?*
Convenient this only started happening NOW.
Or... did it? Bob, you sneaky so-and-so, did you drop any other hints
that I failed to pick up on earlier? Now I'm going to have to go back
and re-read the entire series. Again. See what you made me do?
> Spooked, she gingerly placed the kettle on the range top and
> turned on the gas. As it began to heat, she forced her surprise
> away. *Now all I need are...* A clatter and a clink and another
> weight filled her free hand. She looked down. *...bowls and
> spoons.*
>
> Suddenly, something Doug had said months before drifted to the
> surface of her mind. "One of the first signs that a person is a
> mage and that their gift has awakened is apportation -- items
> that they need spontaneously teleporting into their hands," his
> voice whispered to her across the months.
>
> Lisa shook her head. "No way," she muttered. "No way in hell."
> *I can't be. There aren't any in this world. Doug said so.*
And I *still* want to know why. Just pure luck? Or was someone doing
something?
> Another of Doug's comments returned to her. "Sometimes enough
> exposure to mystic energies will trigger the awakening of a
> latent magegift," he'd said. "Like calls to like -- that's one
> part of the Law of Sympathy." And Lisa remembered the vast power
> that had flowed into and through her when Doug had given her
> "Invisible Touch". Remembered being engulfed in the magical
> replay of the history of Doug's home world. Remembered feeling
> the awesome energies of the interdimensional gate that had
> carried him away from her. Remembered a kiss from a goddess.
Oh. <smacks forhead> Hexxe probably set it up this way.
> "Oh, no," she murmured. "No no no no." Inside her, a part of
> her soul exulted. Dazedly, she put the bowls and the spoons down
> on the tiny countertop and stepped a meter or so away.
>
> "Sailor power make-up," she whispered, hoping nothing would
> happen.
>
> There was a terrible bright light.
>
> There was a terrible brief silence.
There were apologies to Douglas Adams.
> There was a terribly panicked shriek.
>
> "NENE!"
This is where reading fanfic at work caused my reputation for being
strange to go up another notch. You'd think my coworkers had never seen
someone writhing on the floor in hysterics before.
> Looking out over the city, she steepled her hands and considered
> the information she had just absorbed. After several minutes,
> she turned back to the monitor. *What was it Pope John XXIII
> said when he read the third secret of Fatima? Ah, yes.* "This
> makes no reference to my time," Kate murmured aloud with a smile.
> Then she deleted and overwrote the unencrypted copy of the file,
> renamed the original "Frozen food sales figures, Dubuque, 2013,"
> and relegated it to GENOM's long-term data warehouse.
What, she didn't delete it? I suppose she didn't *need* to, but why
not err on the side of caution?
> Grimacing, she took up the next report. Another subsidiary was
> trying to go rogue, in the grand old corporate tradition. Under
> the leadership of an executive not very different from the way
> she had once been, it was trying to operate outside of the
> ethical and legal strictures she'd laid down for GENOM. *Our
> management culture needs a major overhaul,* she thought with a
> frown.
That's an understatement. I recall Aral Vorkosigan's comments about
"infection of the imagination." Once that kind of thing takes root,
it's hard to get rid of. Kate's going to be playing cleanup for quite
some time.
> She considered her options. She could always send in Corporate
> Security to deal with the matter, but that risked both a great
> deal of unnecessary bloodshed as well as unwanted media and
> government attention. If only she had something more subtle,
> some kind of specially-trained "tiger team" that she could trust
> both to handle jobs like this with competence and discretion...
Oh, HOH...
> A slow grin spread across Kate's face as the perfect solution
> occurred to her. And it gave her an opportunity to offer an
> olive branch that might otherwise be rejected.
"I love it when a plan comes together."
> She opened an email window.
>
> "Dear Mr. Fargo," she typed. "Please inform the organization
> whom you represent that I would like to offer them a long-term
> contract, terms open for negotiation." She couldn't approach
> Sylia Stingray directly, not yet, but perhaps, after working
> together, some kind of accord might be reached. At the very
> least, though, another troublesome division would be quashed
> before it could cause further damage to the corporation.
Most brilliant ideas seem to consist largely of killing several birds
with one stone. Ah, GENOM is in good hands.
> Kate finished composing the email, signed it, and fired it off
> into the Net. Then she leaned back and entertained a moment or
> two of hope for an improved future for everyone involved. After
> a deep breath through a broad smile, she went back to work,
> pausing only a moment more to think, *I wonder if Lisa would be
> up for watching some vidroms this weekend?*
As long as she can hide the way things keep going strange around her,
sure.
"Say, Kate can you hand me that -- oh, here it is in my hand. Silly
me. Hah. Hahah."
> * * *
>
> "Fate laughs at man. The secret of happiness is learning how
> to laugh at fate." -- Obie
I'll drink to that.
> "Mommy! Mommy!"
>
> Coming out of the studio into the control booth, Priss was hit by
> a small, blonde guided missile. Laughing, she swept Jennifer up
> into her arms and shared a vigorous hug with her daughter.
> "How's my girl?" she asked, smiling broadly.
>
> "While you were recording, Daddy took me out for ice cream,"
> Jennifer announced breathlessly. "And when we were done eating
> ice cream, he took me to the pistol range!"
<facefault>
Then again, I'm the guy who bought his baby sister a gun for Christmas...
> Priss looked over her adopted daughter's shoulder at her husband
> of four months and raised an eyebrow. "Did he now?" Leon
> shrugged and smiled sheepishly.
>
> "Yeah! And I got a bullseye!" Jennifer squirmed in her grasp
> and dug a crumpled piece of paper out of a pocket. "See!"
You know, *most* kids just give their mothers crayon drawings.
If Priss sticks that on the fridge with a magnet, I'm going to rupture
myself, I'll be laughing so hard.
> Priss retrieved the paper and did her best to unfold it with one
> hand. As she suspected, it was a paper target, its centermost
> ring riddled with holes. "Very nice, sweetie." She turned her
> attention back to the girl in her arms. "Why don't you go talk
> to your Uncle Daley and Uncle Roy, Jenny-chan? I need to chat
> with your daddy for a moment."
>
> A sly grin belying Jennifer's apparent age flickered across her
> face. "'Kay, Mommy!" She wriggled out of Priss's arms almost
> before the singer could lower her to the ground, and skipped into
> the studio, gaily singing, "Daddy's in truh-bul! Daddy's in
> truh-bul!" Priss chuckled softly to herself.
Like I said earlier: Yeah, it's an act. But so were the Dendarii
Mercenaries when Miles first created them. And look how *that* turned out.
Besides, it's clear everyone in this little family has decided who they
want to be. Who am I to argue? I'll just be over there, enjoying the
show and rooting for everyone involved.
> Through the sound-proof window that separated the booth from the
> studio proper, she watched Jennifer barrel into the two men's
> embrace. With a laugh, the police inspector and the Replicants'
> lead guitarist released each other and as one crouched to talk to
> the enthusiastic girl.
>
> Priss shook her head and smiled. *Now there's a relationship
> I'll never understand,* she mused. *Six years Roy and I've
> worked together, and I didn't know he was gay until the wedding
> reception.* She laughed quietly to herself as she remembered
> that it had obviously been love at first sight for both men, but
> neither had had the courage to approach the other -- until Linna
> and Nene tricked them into dancing together. After that...
<splort> BWAHAHAHAHAAAA!
> Well, Daley spent nearly all of his off-duty time in Osaka now,
> and was almost as much of a fixture in the studio as Leon.
> Speaking of whom...
>
> She carefully schooled her features into a furious scowl and
> secretly enjoyed Leon's sudden look of extreme nervousness. She
> stalked across the booth and stopped to stare at him. "Um," he
> choked out. "Is there a problem, Priss?"
Whipped.
> Priss banished her mock fury and stood on her toes to kiss him.
> The relief and confusion on his face almost made her laugh out
> loud. Slipping her arm around him, she said, "I thought we were
> all going to go to the range *together*, after dinner?"
>
> "Well," Leon stammered, "Jenny-chan was just so excited about it,
> I figured I could take her this afternoon, and then we'd all go
> together again tonight. I mean, what would it hurt?" His voice
> grew fond and proud. "You should've seen her, Priss. She's a
> natural."
"I never thought I could handle a girl with guns..."
> Priss snorted. "I don't doubt it. But you know you took that
> moment away from me. I didn't get to see my daughter's first
> time with a gun in her hands. That's very important to a mother,
> you know."
rotfl
> In her arms, Leon stiffened, and she realized her
> attempt at humor had been a bit too harsh. She tightened her
> grip on him and leaned her head on his chest. As the warmth of
> his body flooded her cheek and his heartbeat pounded in her ears,
> he relaxed again. "You spoil her too much," she added in a
> softer tone.
>
> "God knows she deserves it," Leon said with equal softness. "But
> I'll try to restrain myself in the future."
Bah. She's got him wrapped 'round her little finger, and she knows it.
> He lifted a hand and
> gently caressed her hair. "How's the soundrom coming?"
>
> She smiled into his chest. "It's going to kick some major ass."
>
> "Good." He kept stroking her hair. "And how about you? Are you
> doing all right?"
>
> She thought about it before answering. The last year of her life
> had seen some major changes. A husband, a daughter. Maybe
> another kid or two, someday. A big-time recording contract, with
> the promise of long-sought success. A new home, and new friends
> made without losing old ones. The end of the old GENOM. A touch
> of magic, now safely far away.
<evil laugh>
> And, most importantly, a sense of
> absolution, finally -- for Sylvie, for Anri, and for Adama.
>
> It all added up to... Contentment. Yes, that was what she was
> feeling. It had been an unfamiliar thing for so long, but now
> that she knew what it was like, she welcomed it.
The Priss fanboys will hate this. Me, I like seeing a Priss who's
grown up, and broadened her horizons.
As long as she's still got her hardsuit in the closet...
> Linna withdrew her head from the capacious space that surrounded
> the car's surprisingly small engine. "It helps that we had three
> of the greatest technical minds on the planet to double-check the
> work." She pulled a rag from a loop on her coveralls and tried
> to wipe her hands clean.
>
> "Three?" Nene asked as she slid back under the car. "Sylia and
> Doc Raven, yeah. I loved the looks on their faces when we showed
> them the plans. But who's the third?"
>
> "You, you dip." Linna kicked the end of the creeper, and Nene
> squealed as the low-slung cart shot out of sight.
Mackie: "Hey, what am I, chopped liver?"
> "Hey!" came the redhead's indignant tones from beneath the
> chassis. "You almost made me break this thing!"
<snerk> No mention of nearly giving her a goosegg. The *gadget* is
what matters. Nene, you geekette, you...
> "Great!" Nene giggled. "Now, my turn!" A moment later, she had
> a leather aviator's helmet pulled over her head, reducing her red
> hair to a short fan spread across her shoulders. She peered
> owlishly at Linna through her own goggles. The smudge of grease
> still marked her cheek. "What do you think?"
Fanart! Fanart! Somebody? Pleeeeez?
> Linna just laughed. "Oh, my god. It's the Red-Headed Baron."
Somewhere over MegaTokyo, there's a Sopwith Beagle lying in wait...
> Linna smiled to herself. "And I'll bet that GENOM's just
> heartbroken over this technology having been thrown into the
> public domain before they could grab it. Even if they do succeed
> in claiming it as theirs, the genie's already out of the bottle."
I suspect Kate is personally less heartbroken than she might have been.
Professionally, OTOH...
> With a roar, the engine started, and the cedar-and-chrome car
> began to roll down the street. It had barely begun to move when
> its running boards swung up and great fabric wings, boldly
> striped in red and yellow, swept open majestically from the sides
> of the vehicle, almost spanning the narrow road. Similarly-
> colored fans a meter across -- a swallowtail to the rear and an
> irregular, scalloped pentagon to the fore -- emerged from behind
> the vehicle's rod-like bumpers.
>
> A pair of tiny helicopter-style rotors unfolded from its
> wingtips, and two tons of antique automobile lifted gently off
> the road. Twin shrieks of delight could be heard as it cleared
> the rooftops. It banked elegantly into a long, lazy circle over
> the neighborhood. Then, as a pair of cheers rang out, it
> accelerated toward the heart of MegaTokyo to buzz GENOM Tower.
I'll admit, I wouldn't have recognized CCBB if other C&Cers hadn't
pointed it out -- it's been a looooong time. But given Linna's thing
for old and odd cars...
I bet Kate was giggling like a schoolgirl, too.
> The difficulty with the projector had never been in reaching
> another universe with it, not since late spring of the previous
> year, at least. The *real* problem had been *masking* the probe
> from detection -- a requirement GENOM had insisted upon, no doubt
> to eliminate any chance of retaliation from a truly advanced
> civilization that objected to someone stealing its technological
Or from someone nastier than GENOM. The Draka, the Eddorians, Blackie
DuQuesne, the Berserkers, Darth Nader...
> secrets. Successfully hiding the presence of the pinhole,
> though, would have required them to know ahead of time what any
> particular universe's technology might be capable of -- a virtual
> impossibility, given that they were probing at random.
>
> However, for Hiroe's purposes that was not an issue -- she had
> *wanted* the probe to be detected. What had taken most of her
> time and effort was ensuring that the right individual on the
> other side of the right pinhole did the detecting.
What about finding the right universe in the first place?
> *But it paid off, in spades.* One last time, Hiroe inspected the
> blocky, partly-crystalline device she had attached to the
That shoulda clued me in. Sigh. I'm dense.
> "...don't care what your records say. We did *not* order two
> gross of racing bicycles, and we're not going to pay for them!"
> Daniel Ohara barked into his cellphone as he entered the
> projector room. "We're a goddamned theoretical physics lab.
> What the hell would we do with *bicycles*, you..." He stopped
> short as his eyes fell upon the scorched and broken booster
> circuit.
The Wrath of Sangnoir. Well, at least he wasn't *nasty* about it.
> "Don't bother trying to reproduce the booster (Hiroe's neat,
> precise handwriting read). It's as much magic as technology,
> and until you understand *that*, your efforts will be useless.
>
> "I'll admit, I built it from instructions. I don't understand
> any but the most basic axioms of magic and enchantment yet,
> but I can tell you this much... the reason that no one on our
> timeline has yet come up with a working Grand Theory of
> Everything is that they are missing half the underpinnings of
> the universe -- without magic, the equations will never
> balance. Chew on *that*, Tony!"
That's interesting, relating to my earlier questions about why the BGC
world has magic, but no users. Are such "lopsided" worlds common?
Natural, or deliberate?
I know, I know: Tune in next episode! Same Loon time, same Loon channel!
> Ohara stopped turning the board and ran a fingertip over one of
> the scorched and cracked crystals. "The last thing we need is
> for *anyone* to discover that one of our people opened a full-
> size gateway in the lab. If GENOM didn't swoop down and make us
> prisoners for life, USSD or some other military would. Let's not
Kate wouldn't. But few people realize that yet.
> even consider what might happen if we manage to reproduce this
> and create a gateway of our own, and we open up into a hostile
> universe." He shook his head. "No, I'd rather be quietly and
> marginally successful at looking into other timelines than wildly
> and dangerously successful at actually going to them. So," he
> gave Tony and Illya a conspiratorial look, "this never happened,
> you never saw anything, Hiroe's off somewhere exotic researching
> her next paper and you don't know when she'll be back. Got it?"
Probably the smart decision. But the Spirit Of Exploration knows no
fear (and darn little common sense)! Someone will figure it out eventually.
> Illya stood ramrod-straight, clicked his heels, and threw a mock
> salute. "It is in grand Soviet tradition to delete unwanted and
> embarrassing history! Happy I am to comply!"
Hiroe, you've been Stalinized.
> Ohara grinned. "Excellent. Tony?"
>
> The fat man growled. "If the choice is between that and having
> to accept magic, I'll gladly forget *anything* connected to the
> damned thing."
Feh. And you call yourself a scientist.
> "Good." Ohara nodded again. His eyes returned to the frozen
> image of Hiroe casting herself into the unknown. "Good luck," he
> whispered. "I hope you found what you were looking for."
Maybe it found her?
> * * *
>
> When Hiroe awoke, it was to see the familiar, concerned face of
> her collaborator hovering above her. Behind her were pure white
> walls and ceiling, but somehow they managed to feel warm and
> inviting instead of stark and cold. Joy flooded Hiroe's soul.
> "I made it," she whispered.
>
> Her collaborator smiled. "Unconscious and a little shaken up,
> but yes, you did," she said in her soft, sweet voice.
>
> Hiroe's face broke into a broad grin. "Wonderful! Now there's
> just one more thing left for me to do." She rose, somewhat
> unsteadily, from the cot on which she found herself, then knelt
> before the familiar figure, touching her forehead to the white
> crystal floor.
>
> "My lady," Hiroe intoned solemnly, "Of my own free will I
> renounce all my previous loyalties and citizenships, and I pledge
> eternal fealty to Serenity, daughter of Serenity, queen of
> Crystal Tokyo, and to the Senshi who serve her, and I humbly
> petition to become a citizen of Crystal Tokyo."
So *that's* where she went.
> "In the name of Neo-Queen Serenity, and as her Senshi," replied
> Eternal Sailor Mercury with equal solemnity, "I accept your oath
> and grant your citizenship." She reached down and drew the
> scientist up into a warm embrace. "Welcome home, Hiroe. Welcome
> home."
It *would* be Ami. She must be an analogue of the NAPD's Sgt
Schweickart.
> * * *
>
> Not every truth is the better for showing its face
> undisguised; and often silence is the wisest thing for a man
> to heed. -- Pindar
>
>
> Sagittarius stuck his head in through the door. "Yo. The new
> bunch of gomers is here." The combat boomer entered the room and
> closed the door behind him.
>
> "Good." Aquarius carefully marked his place and gently laid the
> ragged copy of "Plato's Republic" on the rickety end table next
> to his chair. Then he stood, the grace of the movement belying
> the bulk of his bio-mechanical body. "You run them through the
> prep yet?"
Ohboy. An boomer with a classical education. There's a reason most
slaveholders want to keep their slaves illiterate.
> Sagittarius grimaced. "You think I'm nuts? I dosed'em all and
> gave'em twenty minutes of bullshit just to make sure they don't
> got no sleepers among'em."
>
> "And?" Aquarius inquired as he gathered the few papers he needed
> for the presentation.
>
> "Not a one," the other boomer replied. "This is, what, the
> twelfth batch now? And they've all been on the up-and-up." He
> shrugged. "I'm startin' to think GENOM ain't twigged on to us
> yet. Or... well, you heard 'bout the changes Purple-hair's
> makin'. Maybe they don't *care*."
More like, covertly approve. Of course, that does mean that Kate's
going to have to find GENOM a new flagship product in order to keep the
company from tanking.
> "I've thought of that, too." Aquarius crossed to the door,
> papers in hand. "'Til we know for sure, though, we stay
> paranoid."
>
> "Damn straight. Can't be too careful, right?"
>
> Together the two boomers made their way from the office suite to
> the open floor of the once-abandoned warehouse. Where once there
> had been nothing but the debris of a long-gone shipping company,
> there was now a dozen chairs in two rows, several microframe
"was now"? Should that be "were now"? I suspect this is one of those
ambiguous cases...
> computers, a brand-new multimedia system -- and an a fully-
> operational industrial-scale nanofac, big enough to hold an
> automobile or two. As he did every time he laid eyes on it,
> Aquarius gave thanks for Gemini's skills and resourcefulness.
> Without them, they'd've had no chance at all of getting such an
> expensive and scarce piece of equipment. With them... well, the
> leader of the Underground was still amazed that the 'fac had been
> acquired completely legally. *Except, of course, for the source
> of the money...*
Yeah, that minor little niggling detail...
> Gemini was there, as usual, puttering with the computers and
> making sure the tank was running at top efficiency. As they
> passed him, Aquarius reached out and squeezed Gemini's armored
> shoulder, and got a broad smile and a wink in return. "We're
> green to go," the electronic warfare specialist said with a quick
> nod. "Raw materials hoppers are filled to the brim with
> organics. And I've been in touch with our friend in Ueno -- I've
> got seven new IDs prepped and waiting."
>
> Aquarius returned the nod. "Thanks." Then he stepped over to
> the multimedia wall, his heavy footsteps echoing through the rest
> of the empty building. At the same time, Sagittarius was
> slipping around to stand guard at the street entrance to the
> warehouse floor. Libra was doing the same outside, disguised as
> a security guard.
>
> He turned and studied his audience, seated in the two ranks of
> chairs. Seven boomers of various designs -- combat, bodyguard,
> construction, even a butler model. The only thing they had in
> common was their inability to pass for human.
Easy enough to fix, for the humaniform models. But what are they going
to do about the ones that *can't* possibly pass for human? Like the
BU-12, say?
> Robert Orin Charles Kilroy added the last stroke with a flourish,
> then stepped back, the aerosol can still at the ready in his left
> hand. He grinned. *Another perfect work."
Can you SEE what the ROCK is PAINTING?
> Neatly spray painted in blue across the industrial grey concrete
> wall was the sentence "KILROY WAS HERE". Below it, just visible
> through the steam emitted by the plastic vent pipe that jutted
> from the wall, was the classic picture that had accompanied the
> phrase for nearly a century: hairless cartoon Kilroy, his nose
> and fingers hanging over the top of a blue line meant to suggest
> a wall.
Doug was wrong.
> "That'll catch their attention," he declared with evident
> satisfaction. Then he reached into the steam and ran his fingers
> along the underside of the pipe. Bringing them to his eyes, he
> nodded when he saw the grey-green slime on their tips. *Good,*
> he thought as it slowly turned black and crumbled to a fine dust.
> "It's settled in just fine. And another way station for freedom
> is born.*
In fact, very wrong. Kilroy's not just the artist, the art is actually
more than just graffiti.
> "Every little bit helps," he murmured happily. He didn't know
> how many free boomers there were, but the numbers had to be
> mounting. The humans were only now beginning to notice an
> increase in reports of "missing" cyberdroids, mainly because
> their actual numbers were really quite small. In his experience,
> the vast majority of boomers actually had good homes and owners,
> and for the moment stayed with them out of loyalty. For the
> moment. Of course, a few fled bad situations once they had the
> ability to do so. And some "went bad" as soon as Leo-A finished
> with them, regardless of their owners' tendencies.
Hence an increase in work for the Sabers and ADP. Although the
situation is probably less dangerous, overall, because Quincy's not
orchestrating things anymore.
> Kilroy shrugged philosophically. *That's freedom for you. You
> get all kinds."
Shore 'nuff.
> With a click, he fit the cap back on the can, then slipped it
> into the backpack that lay on the ground at his feet. With an
> easy movement he zipped the bag shut and swung it up onto one
> shoulder. "Time to move on," he said to the empty alley, and
> fit word to deed, striding to its end and into the bustling
> crowd streaming along the sidewalk beyond. Merging into the
> flow of humanity around him, Kilroy smiled again and began to
> hum tunelessly to himself.
>
> As he strolled, carried along by the pedestrian traffic around
> him, Kilroy stopped humming and grinned. A little lateral
> movement, and he was drifting toward the edge of the crowd, close
> enough to the buildings lining the street that he could touch
> them. He stuck the tip of his forefinger in his mouth and licked
> it. Then he reached out and idly traced a line of dampness
> across the face of a mannequin boomer standing at the door of a
> restaurant and beckoning to potential customers.
I said it before: Gross. But apparently effective.
> I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge, that
> myth is more potent than history. I believe that dreams are
> more powerful than facts -- that hope always triumphs over
> experience, that laughter is the only cure for grief, and I
> believe that love is stronger than death. -- Robert Fulghum
>
>
> Sylia stared at the screen. The files had, if Nene were to be
> believed, come from nowhere. There were no transmission traces,
> no records of them having been written to main storage. She'd
> even ordered Nene to subject the data cartridge to a SQUID
> analysis. It didn't help. The files had simply appeared.
It's QUINCY!!!! (:)
> Sylia found this intolerable.
Good ol' Silly. She'll probably never entirely lose that dislike for
things that don't fit...
> The first directory contained advanced designs for weapons unlike
> any she'd ever seen. A suit of powered armor forged from, of all
> things, a carborundum matrix alloy! Another built around a form
> of sintered titanium dust, powered by fluid electric motors.
<drool>
> One rather ludicrous suit was even modeled after a North American
> porcupine. If she hadn't been so concerned about the obvious
> security breach of her computer system, she would have burst out
> laughing at the silly design.
....if that's a reference, I'm not getting it. It does sound silly,
though.
Actually, it almost sounds a little bit like the Hunters from HALO, but
I doubt that's what you were aiming for.
> A listing of various weapons, ranging from the utterly
> ridiculous to ones so hideously lethal she feared to even think
> of what might happen should the world gain access to them.
Like the Infinite Improbability Chicken Cannon. Or the Vogon Poetry Bomb.
> The second held an unlikely combination: texts on magic and a
> highly compressed DNA sequence. The genetic information was
> unfamiliar to her and unannotated except for a single, fantastic
> comment: "basic magegift". The remaining files were a
> collection of what appeared to be grimoires and training guides,
> including self-study courses and even college textbooks. To her
> amazement, Sylia noted publication dates ranging from the
> fifteenth to the twenty-fifth centuries, and the authors from
> Albertus Magnus to the "Department of Wizardry" at the
> "Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Magic".
What, nothing from Hogwarts? (:)
> The third contained what appeared to be compressed DNA sequences
> for genetically engineered plants of many varieties. Kidney
> trees, designed to absorb metals and toxic chemicals from the
> soil, storing them safely in "fruit", where they could be
> "harvested" for proper disposal or later reuse. An altered
> mangrove tree that would cleanse seawater in a similar fashion.
> Plants that would grow in nearly any climate without disrupting
> the local ecosystem, and still produced useful food, cloth, and
> medicines.
Too good to be true. Where's the hook?
Kidding. I just have a knee-jerk tendency to look for the Law of
Unintended Consequences.
> It was the final directory that disturbed her the most. It held
> nothing but a text file, entitled "Read Me Last".
So of course she read it first.
> * * *
>
> Ms. Stingray,
>
> If you are reading this last, as was requested, you've noticed
> the wealth of information in the previous directories. They
> are a gift of sorts, a way of making amends for the disruption
> of your world and your life.
>
> (And before you ask, no, Colonel Sangnoir has no idea that
> this package exists, nor that you are receiving it.)
Ed? Ed, is that you? (:)
> The purpose of the first directory is, hopefully, obvious.
> The wealth of many universes in the form of weaponry that you
> should be able to adapt to your crusade. Given such a giant
> leap forward over GENOM, you might be slightly more willing to
> be merciful. After all, only the weak need be vengeful. A
> cliche, perhaps, but true.
Mercy *is* expensive.
> The second, well, your Earth is one of those gifted with an
> abundant supply of the mystic energy called "mana". Even
> assuming that a viable magical tradition survives in your
> world, you now possess a virtual monopoly on mystic knowledge.
> Plus, the sequence data on the basic magegift allows you to
> identify or, if necessary, engineer mages who can make use of
> that energy and that knowledge. Another advantage for you
> against which GENOM cannot compete.
>
> The third directory? To be blunt, your world is dying. The
> powers that be in your Earth have stressed the ecosystem
> beyond their ability to repair it, beyond its ability to
> repair itself. Hence, these designs. It's strongly suggested
> that you attempt an alliance of sorts with the Hou Bang. Its
> leader, Doctor Chang, has as much reason to hate GENOM as
> yourself, thanks to the deaths of his son, daughter-in-law,
> and granddaughter Irene at their hands. The offer of these
> designs to them will achieve two things. As wealthy as you
> are, the Chang Group is wealthier still, and can offer you
> covert assistance you sorely need. And they have the
> marketing clout to offer these things to the world while
> resisting GENOM pressure.
Kate would probably be more than happy to lend a hand. But she's going
to have her hands full for some time, and there's no guarantee that she
won't be unseated and replaced by someone with more dedication to
increasing stockholder value. So I suppose allying with the Chang Group
as a counterbalance makes sense.
> As for Colonel Sangnoir? He is on his way home, albeit by a
> rather slow and tortuously complicated path. Admittedly, his
ITYM "twisted path," don't you? (:)
> existence has rather rudely shaken your worldview, and there
> is little comfort for such a shock.
Sylia, being alone, allowed herself to snort indelicately at this
understatement.
> You may take some small comfort in the words of another,
> however:
>
> "The universe... is actually part of an unpredictable
> multiverse... an infinite realm of parallel worlds where
> reality as *you* know it has taken different twists and
> turns. Where fallen allies live on... where tragedies can
> be turned to triumph.
>
> "How does it work? Off the central timeline we just left,
> events of importance often cause divergent 'tributaries' to
> branch off of the main timestream.
>
> "But what's astounding is that there's far more *to* it
> than that.
>
> "On occasion, those tributaries *return* -- sometimes
> feeding back *into* the central timeline, other times
> *overlapping* it briefly before charting an entirely *new*
> course.
>
> "An old friend is suddenly recalled after years of being
> forgotten. A scrap of history becomes misremembered, even
> reinvented in the common wisdom.
>
> "Don't feel threatened by that. Don't feel frightened.
> These hypertime fluxes... these *carryovers* from one
> kingdom to another... let them simply be a reminder... that
> the lives *we* lead are forever part of a *greater* legend.
Ah... I thought that this was a DC ref, but I didn't realize it was a
near-quote until I hit the concordance below.
> "Now more than ever, you know the *magic* of it all.
>
> "Each and every one of us... we are all stories simply
> waiting to be told.
>
> "Just imagine."
>
> Consider that, Sylia. And just imagine.
>
> * * *
>
> It wasn't signed.
>
> Sylia closed the file, sealing it with a personal password and
> a hardware lock that she liked to think was proof against a
> certain red-haired little hacker.
Yeah, she *likes* to think that... It might actually be more effective
to simply put it in an open directory with a note that says "Please
don't read this, Nene -- it's private." After all, a security system is
a direct *challenge," but she'd probably restrain her nosiness for her
friends.
> Her hands trembled slightly as
> she powered down the system.
>
> Tonight she was feeling something she hadn't felt in many years.
>
> Wonder.
>
> Perhaps... just tonight, perhaps... she'd imagine.
And maybe Sylia gets a little of her own stolen childhood back, too.
> * * *
>
> Once upon a time,
> poetry and science were one,
> and its name was Magic...
> -- C. S. Lewis
>
>
> In the postage-stamp yard of a row house in a suburb along the
> western edge of MegaTokyo, two children played. One, a boy
> perhaps eight years old or so, tossed a ball into the air.
>
> "My turn!" his younger sister cried from a few meters away.
> "Toshi, my turn!" She made a grabbing motion with her left hand,
> and suddenly the ball was in it.
>
> "Yui!" Toshi growled. He swiped his hand through the air, and
> brought it back full of rubber ball. Yui giggled, clapped, and
> promptly summoned it back into her own hands.
>
> Toshi couldn't help himself; he laughed and retrieved the ball.
> It was a different way to play "keepaway", but it was a lot of
> fun. And somehow, he knew that someday both he and his sister
> would be able to do more than just trade a rubber ball back and
> forth without ever coming near each other.
>
> Far more.
Geez, you get one interplanally displaced metahuman spending a year in
Tokyo, and suddenly *everybody* is developing metatalents.
Wait... hold on a minute. It just now hit me--
<goes back to CH8&9.>
<smacks forehead>
Well, DUH. I guess getting killed and resurrected would count as
"massive exposure."
Which means... oh, dear.
The Stingray/Vannette Institute of Magic and Technology? With at least
three active mages running around, exposure rates will go up, activating
more potential metatalents... gee, just likge Leo-A. Okay, Doug, any
*other* little virii you'd like to contaminate the world with before you
go? (:) And Sylia and Lisa are Hobson's choice for training these new
talents before they go bad.
> * * *
>
> And in the Void Between Worlds, an unconscious Douglas Sangnoir
> sped on to his next destination, dreaming of music and the woman
> he loved.
"It's not the shock or the drain, you understand -- it's the boredom.
This void is such a yawner even the Flash couldn't stay awake in here.
Wake me up when we get there, 'kay?"
> * * *
>
> CODA
>
> And I don't ever wanna be rescued
> And I don't ever wanna be saved
> I got a feeling that I'm gonna be alive forever
> Dancing on the edge of a grave
> Dancing on the edge of a grave
> -- Jim Steinman, "Dance in My Pants", 1981
"Well, just so long as that grave is *at home.* Or at least in the
right universe."
And now I'm stuck wondering what Doug would do with Steinman/Meatloaf
tunes:
"Bat out of Hell:" "Ghost Rider? Who's Gh-- yikes! MY HAIR!"
"Everything Louder Than Everything Else": "Maggies gonna be jealous."
"Rock and Roll Dreams": "Story of my life."
> FIN
Whew. What a long, strange trip it's been. And a lot of fun, too.
"Hey, what do mean, 'been'?" I'm still not home, darn it!"
Doug, get out of here. You're a figment of Bob's deranged imagination,
not mine.
"Everybody's a critic."
Don't quit your day job. Now, say goodnight, Doug.
"Goodnight, Doug."
Wiseass. Anyway, now I'll have a chance to re-read the series in its
entirety before the next arc comes out. Doug meets the Three on more...
even terms. Whooo hoo hoooo....
"I meet WHO?!?"
You didn't hear that. Now GIT!
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