Angel blinked, and the bright light vanished from her eyes. She was standing in the middle of one of Paradigm City's busiest streets, with no clear memory of what she was doing there, while dozens of other equally confused figures milled around her. Why? Had there been another 'Event'? She closed her eyes and tried to remember . . . . the elderly Gordon Rosewater shouting something at her, holding up a book. She remembered feeling like she wanted to die, like everything she'd ever believed was nothing but a lie. But she couldn't die – not yet. There was something she'd had to do, something only she could accomplish. And though she couldn't remember exactly what it was, she somehow knew she'd accomplished it. And much to her surprise, for the first time in weeks, she felt good about herself. She felt proud again.
She also felt the cold of the city pavement rising up through the tattered stockings that covered her shoeless feet. And there were welts throbbing on her back – something would have to be done about those. The cool, practical part of her personality reasserted itself, and she opened her eyes once more, surveying the city chaos in a calculated manner. Perhaps in the midst of it, she had a chance to sneak back to her apartment and collect her belongings without the police catching her. She didn't know what she'd do after that, but it was a start anyhow . . . .
[-]
Roger Smith rubbed his tired eyes and struggled, for just a second, to remember where he was. But he knew. The pilot chamber of Big O was as familiar to him as his own home. Big O had been badly damaged in the battle with Big Fau, and its interior still sloshed with water from the near-fatal plummet into the harbor. Dorothy stood by Roger's side, still connected directly to Big O's control mechanisms, and they both surveyed the havoc caused by the final confrontation with Big Fau. Paradigm City itself appeared miraculously undamaged except for the single, mammoth blast zone created by Big O's ultimate `final stage' weapon. Alex Rosewater and his monstrosity had vanished. A few shattered pieces of Big Fau lay here and there on the scorched ground, but nothing else remained of the notorious 'Third Big.'
Nothing left to do now but head for home, and not a moment too soon. There wasn't a single part of Roger that didn't ache from the pummeling he'd taken. He still felt half-drowned, dizzy, and he suddenly realized he hadn't slept since before Beck's drones had kidnapped Dorothy. He steered Big O back toward the mansion, needing her help to do so. He wanted to stay awake, wanted to tell her things he never had before now that he had her back. But as the black megadeus settled into its underground docking station, the exertions of the past week slammed into him like one of Big Fau's fists. Darkness claimed him.
[-]
Dan Dastun couldn't believe he was still alive. He shouldn't be. Seconds before the blinding flash of light, destruction had rained down on his position. With his tank demolished he couldn't possibly have escaped. And yet here he stood, completely unharmed – and his tank intact too! What the hell? To his relief, he'd seen the black megadeus emerge from the harbor and win the big battle. Roger must've survived his plunge – and saved the day as usual. But how the black megadeus could undo damage, Dastun didn't understand at all. Because Dastun could've sworn the whole damn city was in ruins but now nothing appeared destroyed except Big Fau. The head of Paradigm City's military police took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his bald, battle-scarred scalp. Had he gotten a concussion? No. Damned if he could figure it out! Damned if he had time to figure it out – not right now! He and his squad had a job to do, and judging by the confusion of the citizens milling in the streets like a drunk theatre crowd, they'd damn well better do it.
[-]
Beck laughed hysterically and pinched himself at his good fortune. Alex Rosewater was gone, gone for good – and along with him the threat of instant execution. Better still, Beck breathed a free man. Free to get away, that is. From the look of things, the police had their hands too full calming and directing the stinking, stupid masses even to notice him. He rubbed his hands together with glee, certain that everything was going according to plan, if he could just figure out what the plan was. Paradigm City spread out before him, like a gleaming tree full of fruit just waiting to be plucked. He'd get his share. Oh, yes – he would. And he'd settle a few scores, all in good time. The Greatest Villain in Paradigm City laughed again, and took off dreaming of secret hideouts and robberies yet unborn.
[-]
"Oh, my!" Norman Berg's one good eye widened with alarm as the elevator doors opened to reveal Dorothy carrying an unconscious Master Roger in her thin but super-strong arms. At first, the sight of his employer's unmoving body made him fear the worst had happened. But as he looked closer, he could see Master Roger was still breathing and did not appear bloodied – at least not too much. Roger was covered with small cuts and bigger bruises, and with his clothing dripping filthy salt water he looked a mess.
"Norman," Dorothy said in her usual calm android voice, "Roger is very tired. I think we should put him to bed."
The butler nodded and followed her as she carried Roger to his room. Although Dorothy's physical abilities were remarkable, it seemed to Norman that she was staggering slightly herself by the time they reached their destination. Quickly, the butler got out some towels and spread them on the bed so that she could put Roger down without soaking the sheets. In silence, and without the slightest hesitation or modesty, Dorothy removed Roger's wet clothes, dried him off, and with Norman's assistance, salved the megadeus pilot's cuts and abrasions. Roger never even stirred as they dressed him in a pair of black pajamas and covered him with a blanket. But little sooner had the task been completed when, to the butler's alarm, Dorothy began to stagger again.
"Are you all right?" he asked, rushing to prop her up as she almost fell over.
She paused, as if to consider the question.
"I think I am very tired too," she answered a moment later. "I need to go offline."
Norman, barely able to support the android's weight, let alone help her to her own room, lowered her onto the opposite side of the bed from Roger only seconds before her system shut down. He knew Dorothy 'slept' in this fashion, but never did he recall it coming on her so suddenly. Unfortunately, he didn't have the strength by himself to put her in something more comfortable than the scuba bodysuit she was still wearing, even if the gentleman's gentleman could have brought himself to do so. Although he realized she didn't feel cold the way a human would, he put a blanket over her and propped her head up on a pillow before walking out of the room and turning out the light.
"Good night, Master Roger, Miss Dorothy," he said to the oblivious pair. "And welcome home."
[-]
"Miss Jenkins?" The doorman looked at Angel, in her tattered rags, with dismay. "Are you all right, ma'am? Were you caught in the riots downtown?"
Angel, aka Casseey Jenkins, swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and nodded. She knew she was taking a terrible risk coming here, but if Paradigm Corp or the police had her apartment under surveillance, the doorman at least gave no sign of it. She would just have to brazen her way through.
Like you do with everything, Angel, she told herself.
"They took my purse, my keys, Wilkins. Can you have someone let me in?"
The doorman immediately did as she asked, putting a call through to the dome condo complex's front desk. Seconds later, she found herself being whisked up to her sometimes-living quarters by a profusely sympathetic staffer. Surely it couldn't be this easy! But it was. Angel did her best to stifle a bitter laugh as she entered her familiar living quarters. If Paradigm Corp hadn't staked out her apartment, had all those miserable days spent living in the underground tunnels and alleyways been for nothing? Did she really have a chance to start over, as if the whole Union vs. Paradigm fiasco had never taken place? It was almost too good to be true – which meant it probably was. Best to take a quick shower, change clothes, allow herself just a few hours of the sleep she craved, and take off with as much as she could stuff into a few duffel bags before the military police had a chance to get back to old business.
She might not be a real angel, but she was a real survivor.
[-]
Roger Smith woke to the feel of sun – warm, noon-day sun – on his face, and the sound of . . . . silence? Eyes still closed he waited for the racket of Dorothy's piano music that always forced him out of bed. Then he remembered – Dorothy was dead, stripped of her memories and computer circuitry by Rosewater's thugs. He hadn't rescued her on time. A wave of despair blacker than any of his clothing came crashing down on him and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Dorothy was gone, and there'd be no more music in his life – ever. But then another memory intruded in his fuzzy brain – Dorothy pressing an oxygen mask to his face to save him from drowning. She was still alive! She had to be! She'd helped him fight the battle with Big Fau and - ? What had happened after that? He couldn't remember. But if she wasn't dead, where was she now? And where was he?
Almost fearfully, he opened his eyes and stared up at the bedroom ceiling he knew so well. He was back home at the mansion, even if he had no clear recollection of how he'd gotten here. He felt an unfamiliar weight on the bed next to him and looked over to see Dorothy offline, 'asleep' under a blanket. Roger wasn't sure how she'd gotten there and he didn't care, just as long as she was safe. The terrible gash in her forehead made by Rosewater's crew remained, and her normally brilliant red hair was matted with dried seawater. Half hidden by a pillow, a streak of machine oil smudged her left cheek. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life.
Still sore in every muscle, he couldn't resist the urge to reach over and touch her, as if to reassure himself that she was real, that she was there. As his hand gently brushed her face, her dark, intelligent eyes snapped open and she gazed at him, before suddenly noticing the brilliant sunlight.
"R. Dorothy Wayneright, you've overslept," he teased her, running his fingers through her hair.
"You are a louse, Roger Smith," she replied, but made no attempt to get up or move his hand away. Instead she reached out to him with a hand of her own, and slowly they found themselves drawing closer to each other as if by some unspoken command. For a moment time stood still, and their lips were only millimeters apart, when the sudden clatter of a tea cart startled them both into a bolt upright position.
"Excuse me, Master Roger, Miss Dorothy," Norman coughed. "I thought that in light of Master Roger's injuries, it would be better to serve breakfast in bed this morning. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."
[-]
"Miss Jenkins? Miss Jenkins!"
Angel cursed as she was awakened by a pounding on her door and in her head simultaneously. She had only meant to take a catnap, but instead she'd let herself slip into an eight-hour coma. She was probably as good as caught already. Slipping the loaded revolver out from under her pillow and calculating the odds of her being able to rappel out the bedroom window with her cash-and-clothing-stuffed duffel bag, she crouched waiting for the assault from the door. But no assault came.
"Miss Jenkins, you have an urgent phone call!"
Huh?
Before these words even had a chance to sink in, the knocking on the door was joined by a ringing of the phone on her desk. Not putting her gun down or taking her eyes off the entrance to her apartment for a minute, she picked up the receiver.
"Miss Jenkins?" The anxious voice of Paradigm Corp's senior executive secretary quavered on the other end of the line. "Thank heavens we've finally reached you, ma'am! You're needed here at headquarters urgently!"
Double huh?
"Are you sure it's me you're trying to reach?" Angel asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
"Yes," the secretary continued. "We're in the midst of an emergency, ma'am, and we really need all the assistance we can get. Mr. Rosewater has disappeared, and so have his senior assistants and most of the board of directors. We need you here right away! I can send a car around to pick you up now that you've been contacted. Paradigm is holding a special session to determine what procedures are to be taken. The Power Authority needs a representative. We'll be expecting you this afternoon – thank you!"
The phone clicked off, and Angel put down the receiver with her thoughts in turmoil. Could she really pick up the pieces with Paradigm? If Rosewater and the board were gone, and she was able to bury the notorious "Patricia Lovejoy" as well . . . . She'd still have to deal with the military police and the outstanding warrant for her arrest. But the police did whatever Paradigm Corp told them to, didn't they? Except for that one officer – Datsun? No, Dastun. He was nobody's fool. But he'd let her get away once, maybe he could be reasoned with . . . .
She'd do it. She'd go to Paradigm headquarters. Life was about taking chances, and Casseey Jenkins just might have a bit of life left in her after all . . . .
[-]