A Story of the Knight Sabers
The Knight Sabers are owned by Suzuki Toshimichi and are used here without permission
by Shawn Hagen(2005)
The ready room was quiet but for the beeps and chimes of various pieces of monitoring equipment. The hardsuits, opened, were being prepped and checked. The four women did not speak, they did not look at one another, and they seemed intently focused on the small tasks in front of them.
Priss loaded a slim magazine of darts into a slot on her suit's powerarm. A soft beep told her that one of the darts had been slid into the railgun, ready to go. She then took several more magazines and locked them into storage points in her suit.
The two blades were extended from the arms of Sylia's suit, and she was examining them in great detail. Running a small scanner over the edge of the blades that would pick up the smallest defect in the weapons. The scanner was silent, not that Sylia expected otherwise.
A small computer in her hands, Linna extended and then retracted the ribbons from her helmet, making certain that they would play out when needed. The sound of the ribbons was a soft, silk-like hiss, almost loud in the room.
Nene sat on a bench, laptop balanced on her knees, staring at the screen. She lifted her head, looking at the others, shifting her gaze to each woman for the first time in several minutes. "I don't like this job," she said.
It was as if her words had released something. The other Knight Sabers relaxed slightly.
"I don't think that any of us like this job," Sylia said. "Yet it is something that has to be done."
"It's not like we are causing it or anything," Linna told Nene. "We're," she paused, "observers of it."
"Just symbolic of all the crap." Priss snapped the last magazine into place, giving the suit a slap as she did so. "We don't gotta be there, but it would suck if we weren't."
"What if we weren't there?" Linna asked, something hopeful in her voice.
"The weight of causality is too great," Sylia told her. "It is beyond stopping."
"I suppose. You'd think we could do more."
"Considering that they hired us, yeah, you'd think that," Priss said. "But we're nothing special, not really. Just got the number right."
"Four," Sylia said softly. "A bad number."
"Bullshit," Priss told her. "Not like you to get superstitious."
"After yesterday I am reconsidering things."
"What was he like?" Linna asked.
"Nice suit, good teeth."
"Handsome?"
"In a classical sense."
"Probably poor as well, in a material sense," Linna said, then sighed. "At least we're getting good contacts out of this."
Nene looked at all three of them, and then said, "I was talking more about being Pestilence."
Sylia looked a little surprised at that. Linna frowned and ran her hands down her sides, over the tight material of her inner suit. Priss just shrugged her shoulders and then said, "Look at it this way, the viruses that're going to cause the most problems are going to be computer."
"I suppose that is true," Nene said. She looked, well not relieved, but as if some weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
Sylia stepped into her suit and pulled it up around her. She reached for her helmet. "Let's go. It is going to be a long night."
The other three Knight Sabers were soon in their armour as well, sealing their helmets. They looked at Sylia and raised their visors.
"Ready," Priss said.
"Everything is good here," Linna told her.
"I'm good," Nene followed.
Sylia nodded and put her helmet on. "Let's go," she almost whispered.
Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but as they filed out of the room it looked as if Sylia's suit had become paler; the weapons on Priss' suit more menacing; that Linna's suit constricted her tighter; that the dark colours in Nene's suit took on an unwholesome aspect. It might have been a trick of the light, but it was not.
Soon they were astride their motoslaves, the engines of the big bikes rumbling deeply, and then raising in pitch until they were like the screams of horses. It was almost as if the Knight Sabers were holding the bikes back. And then Sylia's bike leapt forward, followed closely by Priss', then Linna's, and Nene's not far behind.
They shot up the ramp, Nene's tires leaving dirty, black marks on the white concrete, and out into the dark night.
As they sped along the dark, ruined streets, Priss thought about the meaning of the word Knight, and how it had always had some connection to horses. She suspected that the prophets had got it part right, and would not have known what to make of motorcycles anyway.
Then she put those thoughts from her mind and followed after her leader as they raced towards the end.