Do you know what time it is? It's the best time of the day next to Beer:30, it's time for FLCL! I have really been meaning to get chapters out on a more frequent basis, but since I'm not in college anymore, I can't write during class when I'm supposed to be paying attention, or during the bus ride between campuses, or the vacations they gave us. I actually gotta go to work. But I suppose that makes doing this all that more precious, and hopefully that will show in this and future chapters; enjoy.
. . .
Have you ever noticed, whenever someone starts with 'It was just like any other day until…' then fill in the blank, it always turns out to be nothing like an ordinary day? For me, that day started off unlike any other day, and proceeded to go downhill from there. The first troubling event came in the form of an encrypted message; straight from Earth's Overwatch command post in D.C.
"What's it say?" George asked as the computer on my desk chugged along, sifting through the millions of junk files to find the actual message we'd been sent. With Medical Mechanica's attempts to peek into our networks, us being the GG, the GSPB, IIB and Overwatch, our cyber security had been given a serious shot in the arm. And, because I pestered the right people, I have an inkling on how it works.
So, encryption, at its core, is actually pretty simple. The sender creates a message, scrambles it, then the receiver unscrambles it and reads. It gets…a little more complicated from here on out. Programs to scramble/encrypt and unscramble/decrypt messages are called Keys. There are two types, Private and Public. One system that uses these Keys is called Symmetric, which is like you and a friend having a pair of those doo-dad rings you get outta Cracker Jack boxes. He uses his ring to make a message, and you use yours to read it; this's doable because you both have the same ring. BUT…if someone else gets the same ring, or steals one of yours and copies down the cipher, your system is screwed.
The system we use is called Private-Public Key, or at least a variation. Overwatch stations have a Private Key that's unique to us. It's on our computer, and our computer only, it doesn't exist anywhere else in the universe. Now, when a message is sent, the sender will use a Public Key. Wait, is this making any sense? Okay, think of it as…a box, within a box. A Public Key unlocks the first lid and allows you to drop in a message through a slot in the second box's lid. But, a Public Key cannot open the second box and actually read the message. Make sense? Sure, why not you say. Alrighty, movin' on. This means you can't figure out the Private Key with just the Public Key; even if you stare at it 'till your brain turns to mush.
Now, you're prob'bly gonna ask 'But, but Rig! But Rig! If you send something back to the Public Key, couldn't someone read that message?' Yes, they can. Have no fear though, we've thought of that. We only send one of two messages. One: Yes, we understand. Two: No, we do not understand. Good luck figgerin' out what we're talkin' about based on that! So the info I send isn't secure, but at least command knows for sure it's me and not some impostor.
All of this is done via a hashing algorithm, to create a hash value. Everyone who's someone knows algorithms are just instructions a computer follows to do a task…right? No? Well, sorry…and hey, now you know. Anyway, the algorithm takes a pre-agreed upon number, just one of infinite possibilities. It could be anything from zero, to literal infinity. Both the public and private key know it, kinda like a password. Then, the algorithm multiplies that number by another infinitely variable number; again zero to infinity. Simple right? Well, computers are good at lots of things, but really, really, really bad at guessin' at the factors of an infinitely huge number. A number that is two hundred and fifty six bits in length. That means a computer would have to go through two hundred and fifty six numbers, trying to figure out each one, one at a time; finding all the prime numbers that could make this one singular product. That would take millions of years to run it all. Well, unless you've got a quantum computer, and how many of those are just lyin' around? I mean, last time we checked, M-M didn't have one…but that doesn't mean they aren't trying, bless their little hearts. Then, after ALLLLL of that, that number is used to unlock and decrypt the message. However…
Yes, there's a however. However, in order to better screw with hackers, our encryption program itself, is encrypted; a key is needed to unlock the key, so to speak. The first round tells us which encryption key to use (out of an infinite selection) for figuring out the second one. Why? More secure of course, but it's also extremely satisfying to imagine a team of M-M tech-weenies ripping their hair out and gnashing their teeth while their heads build enough pressure to explode out of sheer frustration; Scanners style. Ahhh…always makes me smile. Anyway, got a little side-tracked, where was I? Uh, line?
(You were waiting for the computer to finish the decryption process…)
Ah. Thank you.
"It says…" I scanned the first few lines; seeing IMMEDIATE at the very top. That meant was of utmost importance. "Oh lord. She's just passed Saturn."
"She?" Tommy asked, sliding over on his chair to read as well. "Ohhhh…that one. When was this sent?" He checked the time stamp in the heading. "Huh, by now, she'll be reaching Jupiter…" Finished reading, he rolled his chair back to his deck, quietly singing "Now that she's back in the atmosphere, with drops of Jupiter in her hair…"
"I had a feeling Haruko Haruhara would be making an appearance, sooner or later." George said, twisting his ring 'round and 'round his finger. "When we first got our orders, I called up the head of the GSPB's cadet academy; old friend of mine. He remembered her, quite well."
"What'd he have to say?" I was still reading the rest of the message. Standard stuff really. A satellite has identified an enemy agent's vehicle signature, current tracking indicates an Earthbound trajectory, agent is a known threat, armed, dangerous and mentally unstable. Do not approach or attempt to apprehend, call for backup and maintain your distance. Nothin' outta the ordinary.
"That she was one of his most, ah, passionate, cadets; especially where Atomsk was concerned. She requested his pursuit as her first assignment, and second, and third, fourth…"
"So she's obsessed on a stalker level, got it." I recalled The Mabase Incident. She had been willing to sacrifice Earth to M-M for just a chance of getting a fight with Atomsk; it wouldn't have been a sure thing that she would even win. Unstable doesn't begin to cover it. "Do you think she's headed here, here?"
"We know she's headed here, here, Rig." Tommy said. "There's literally nothing else on this entire planet that could draw her in; least nothin' I can think of."
"What about N…nevermind. Okay, George, Tom, I'm trying to remember this section of the how-to manual…advice?" Since Haruko was tied to The Mabase Incident, she was thus tied to Naota, and that meant she was my problem to solve.
"Hmmm…" George and Tommy both slipped into thought, fiddling with their own N.O. detectors. "I really don't know Rig." Tommy admitted first. "We've never, at least the two of us, have never quite had a situation like this one. At least that I know of…George?"
"I'm drawing a blank too." George looked back at the message. "I will say this much, our best bet is to follow our orders; that's the easiest path."
"They forgot to add something." Tommy said as he made ready to leave. He had a full day ahead of him setting roof trusses with one of our mobile cranes, while recruiting for our network's southern section. "To keep her away from Naota. The last thing we need is for her to start throwin' monkey wrenches into everything we've, and you Rig, have done. That's what she does, stirs shit up. Mark my words, if she shows up here, she'll be nothing but trouble." Tommy made his prediction and it made me shiver; remember how I said he was a fortune teller?
"Very put Tom, and all too true as well." George agreed. "So Rig, when you're out and about, don't go off and try to handle her yourself. You don't have anything to prove; am I clear?"
"Crystal, George." I shut down the computer, making sure to close the encryption programs; rescrambling them. We also have an emergency shutdown program that'll…well, let's just say you don't wanna be within ten yards of the computer when it's done. "Don't be a hero, let it be someone else's problem."
"See y'all later, have fun playin' errand boy Rig!" Tommy waved goodbye before disappearing outside. He and our red mobile crane, nicknamed "Clifford" for its size, rumbled by, bound for Harrisburg. After saying my own good day to George, I walked outside to see Naota showing up for work; to him, another ordinary day. I wondered for a moment if I should tell him, warn him of what was headed his way; forgetting for a moment to consider how I could even begin to do that. But orders were orders, and errands were errands.
"Mornin' Rig!" He smiled, ready and willing to get right to work. "What's new with you?"
"The same to you! And nothin's really new." I lied with a straight face and winning grin. "Today's just like any other day…"
. . .
"Sir, the latest from the Intelligence Office." The Aide had trepidly entered The Head's office, disobeying orders not to disturb his boss. "I know you wished to be left alone, but this is of utmost importance."
"I would certainly hope so." The Head did not turn around in his chair, nor look up from his book. "Please be brief."
"A satellite, stationed near Earth in the Mars asteroid belt, intercepted a transmission from an Overwatch satellite. We are still unable to completely break Overwatch's encryption, but what we can read, it would appear that Haruko Haruhara is on course to Earth." The Head's hand stopped mid-turn of a page.
"How sure are we of this?"
"As of now, we can only read a quarter of the message, but it's our best lead yet."
"Very well, thank you for the update." The Head slowly resumed turning the page in his book and began the next page, still facing away from his assistant. "Is that all?"
"Oh, yes sir. Have you any tasks for me?"
"No, you are dismissed for the evening. I will expect you tomorrow morning as usual, before the daily brief." With his dismissal, The Aide closed The Head's office door and took his leave. The Head waited until he heard the door latch in place, then waited five minutes more. His countdown complete, his swiveled round in his chair and laid down his personal copy of "The Seven Pillars of Wisdom", by T.E. Lawrence; bookmarking the passages concerning the author's fights against the Turkish and the related tactics of guerrilla warfare. He took out a pen and sheet of paper from his desk, then jotted down an order. Finished, he paged the Intelligence Office, tasking them to send a Courier. Within a minute of him pushing the button, there was a knock at his door.
"Message for direct transmission, Receiver's eyes only, Immediate Status." He placed the once folded piece of paper into the Courier's open and waiting attache case; securely handcuffed to the Courier's wrist. With the message secure, the Courier snapped the case closed, the internals of the locking mechanism whirring as they reset. Now the only thing that could get the case open was the key in the Intelligence Office, or an act of God.
Medical Mechanica knew there were spies, agents of espionage, moles and saboteurs, in their ranks. They hadn't gotten to where they were without making some enemies; breaking a few eggs to make an omelet and all that. Not wanting to be rotted from within, Medical Mechanica had revamped their security; especially where communications was concerned. They quickly realized that any means of electronic communication could be intercepted and compromised, encryption Keys cracked or stolen. Spoken word could be recorded via bugs, taps or even brave eavesdroppers. The only secure method of communication was a message written on a piece of paper, read by no one except the author and intended recipient, and promptly destroyed after transmittal. Medical Mechanica's system was based entirely on this.
A Courier would collect an attache case from the Intelligence Office, secure the shackle to his right wrist and use his thumbprint to open and inspect the case, looking for defects or enemy devices. The computer on board had a set of instructions it followed, the first would be to lock once closed again, and second, to start a timer set by the Courier. The case would remain locked until the timer ran out. By then, the Courier would have reached his destination and use his thumb again to open it for the sender to inspect the case and place their message; written on a standard size paper, folded once in half. The next closing would arm a built-in bomb that would go off if the case was forced open. It would not necessarily kill any interceptor, but would destroy the message.
The Courier would report back to the Intelligence Office and present his case, still attached via handcuff, to a machine's slot. This massive machine, built into the wall, contained a bank of tens of thousands of keys, each unique to a unique case. In each case at the latch, was a tube the machine would draw out and read a code inscribed in a microstamp at the very bottom; invisible to the eye. You would only know it was there if you knew to look for it; and the builder of the machine kept their mouth shut. Once the code was read, the proper key would be selected and inserted into a slot in the tube. The tube would be returned to the case, then turned, unlocking the case. This system ensured determining which key to use practically impossible and, since the tube had to be in place to turn the key, picking the lock with any tool, was also impossible to do. During this entire time, until the key turned, the explosive was still active and any attempt to forcibly remove the case would result in detonation.
Lastly, with the case open, a set of claws would unfold the message, then remove it from the case. A scanner would transcribe the message into an encrypted code, also entering the destination and recipient into the computer; written down by the sender. This way, no one could know where the message was being sent or who was sending it. A temporary set of files, millions fake and one real, would be created and the Courier would be prompted for his personal code. The computer would have gotten the Courier's identification from the case's computer, and would terminate the entire process if a wrong number was entered. The Courier would enter his pin, chosen by and only known to him. Then, the message would be uploaded via hardline to the satellite and fired to its destination. Once the message had been sent, any data the computer had related to it from the entire process, was permanently deleted. The satellite's broadcast was the weakest link in the chain, but unavoidable. Completed with his mission, the Courier would insert his hand into the machine so the handcuff could be unlocked. The case would be sent via the machine back to the Intelligence Office's quartermaster. Meanwhile, the message would be released from the scanner into a shaft that lead straight to the building's incinerator. A complex system? Yes. Burdensome? Perhaps. But, since its inception, not a single Medical Mechanica transmission had been compromised, and they weren't about to willing allow that trend to reverse; not with so much at stake.
. . .
"What the hell is that?!" Naota jumped as my Bronco's radio chirped out the high-pitched buzzing of the Civil Alert System. "Is that the, Doomsday Alarm here; like if the Russians fire their nukes or something?!"
"It's the Civil Alert System, they could give the message that Russia's fired at us, but it's always just a test." I explained while waiting for the light to change. It had been a few days since we had received word Haruko was on her way. So far, she had yet to show up, and I was keeping my fingers crossed, rabbit's foot nearby and picking every four leaf clover I could find in hopes that she never would. "They use it for bad weather and the nuke plant, not nuclear missiles; nothin' to really worry about."
"We should probably listen anyway." He said, and had a good point. I turned up the volume to make sure I could hear every word.
"Attention. The following message is being transmitted at the request of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. A sizable meteorite is expected to impact the state of Pennsylvania within the hour. Estimates are that it will impact somewhere in the central region of Pennsylvania. This is an extremely dangerous and life threatening situation. Due to the very uncertain nature of this event, residents in the counties of Clearfield and Centre are advised to take the following actions. Follow the advice of local authorities on where to evacuate. Anyone in the affected areas is advised to be prepared for an earthquake. Impact on landing will cause an earthquake, which may be very strong in magnitude. After impact, follow the instructions of local authorities on any actions that may be required in your specific area. Stay tuned to media outlets for updates on this life-threatening situation. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" And once the last beep faded out, the radio went right back to Chubby Checker and Twistin' Again without missin' a beat.
"Soooo…now what?" Naota looked over at me, moon-eyed. "Do we find a shaft coal mine to hid in and wait for it to be over?"
"Pshhh…you've been visitin' too many of them apocalypse theory websites, haven't you?" I was ready to dismiss the broadcast as an anomaly, something that was out of my hands and not worth worrying about. Then Tommy came in over the CB.
"Rig, Naota! One of you two pick up!" He damn near hollered through the CB.
"Hey Tom, what's with the raised volume; the Russians invade or somethin'?" I tried to cover my growing unease, something had Tommy spooked.
"The meteorite, on the Civil Alert System? Are you deaf?" He obviously knew something I didn't, or he wouldn't have sounded so nervous. "The broadcast said it was headed for our neck of the woods."
"That it did." Stopped at another red light, Naota and I leaned out our windows, along with everyone else at the intersection, to scan the sky. "I don't see anything…have you heard from George or any of the guys at the shop?"
"Not yet, I'm sure you will soon though." And, Tommy's black magic proved true again as my phone started ringing. I worked it free of my pocket and, guess who? "I'll buzz you back Tom, gotta talk to George." I replaced the CB mike and pressed my phone's TALK. "You have reached Jeff Carson's phone, how might I direct your call?"
"You can direct it straight back home!" Okay, it's great to hear from you too George. Why yes, in fact my day is going just swimmingly, so kind and thoughtful of you to ask…sheesh.
"Oooookay…and what's the rush?"
"I just got off the phone with Griggs. That meteorite isn't what everyone thinks it is." We have to be careful with what we say over the phone, Big Brother's always listening. But I immediately caught the gist of what George was implying and felt like a bowlin' ball had dropped into my stomach. "And it looks like it'll be hitting very close to home."
"So what do you want me to do about it? I don't have a cannon to blow it outta the sky with." Mental note: Put that on my Christmas list before I forget.
"Just…just be there. Be there when it lands, you're the only one close enough. Tommy's on the wrong side of Clearfield with Josh right now, I'm stuck out in the Boonies with a broken tie-rod, and Canti, Johnny and Mike need to be minding, the shop." Minding, guarding, same difference.
"Okay, okay. Observe and report, understood." I acknowledged. "Anything else?"
"Don't do anything foolish." George cautioned. "Wait for Tom or I to get there first. If that isn't an option, well, use that noggin' of yours for more than a hat-rack."
"Rog'. See you on the other side." I hung up just as the light changed.
"What was that all about?" Naota asked as I approached the intersection, waiting to get out of the block of cars I was stuck in. "Sounded like the meteorite's headed a lot closer to us than I'd like it to."
"It is, and we're gonna go find it when it lands!" I broke free of traffic, made an illegal u-turn, got honked at, shifted to third, flipped them the bird and began the sprint for home. As I did, Beau put a fresh song out on his Beats Buffet; perfectly fitting for that day. Amazin' how he does that, ain't it?
. . .
Well, it came out of the sky, landed just a little south of Moline…
Jody fell out of his tractor, couldn' b'lieve what he seen.
Laid on the ground, shook an' fearin' for his life!
Then he ran all the way to town, screamin' 'It came out of the sky!'
It was all Naota could do to stay in his seat as Rig hurtled them home, racking up almost every moving violation Pennsylvania had to offer.
"Hey, slow down a little!" He begged as the Bronco caught air, ramping off an angled railroad crossing. "We haven't even seen the damn thing! It could be…" Naota trailed off as he found his vision dragged past Rig and out the driver side window. A black object, leaving a dirty, smoking streak across a cloudless sky, was barreling Earthward. Its course was parallel to theirs and headed dead-on for Osceola Mills. "Ohhh…kay. I stand corrected. I hope it doesn't land on anyone."
"You an' me both buddy." Rig agreed, tapping his tobacco tin and repacking his lip, running another red light in the process. "So whaddyah think it is?" He nodded at the burning object, inching ever closer to impact.
"A…rock? I dunno, your guess's good as mine." He shrugged, leaning forward to better track the meteorite. It appeared that they were actually going to beat, whatever it was, to its crash site; but it would only be by a matter of seconds at best.
"Maybe…or, or…it could be an alien?" Rig glanced over at Naota, that strange Carson sheen blazing furiously in his eyes. "Just 'magine the possibilities. Maybe it's that old friend of yours, what's-her-face?"
"That's not funny. Don't even joke about that." Naota ordered.
"Tch! No sense of humor…" Rig chuckled, shaking his head and shifting to overdrive.
Well a crowd gathered 'round and a scientist said it was marsh gas…
Spiro came and made a speech 'bout raisin' the Mars Tax…
The Vatican said "Woe, the Lord has come!"
Hollywood rushed out an epic film, and Ronnie the Popular said it was a Communist Plot!
They made it back to G&R central with time to spare, more or less, in one piece; and through a miracle, no police chasing them. Rig didn't leave off the gas by even a hair, but instead skidded through the shop's gravel lot in a hard left, then doubled down on the throttle, showering the front of the shop with pebbles and dust; all the while the Bronco's radio antennae bounced to and fro like Pluto's tail. The Boneyard whipped by in a rusty blur as they headed for the runway. The meteorite was coming out of the east, perfectly lined up for landing.
"Man alive! Lookee there, here she come, here she come!" Rig slammed on the brake, bringing the Bronco to a shale-crunching halt. "This'll be ah good-un, just you wait!"
"Aren't we a little close?" Naota wondered aloud, the meteorite looming ever closer. With its current flight path, it would pass right over their heads, by how much he had no idea but it would still be too close. But now that he had a better look, the meteorite was actually much smaller than he'd originally thought. Most of its perceived size was attributed to the fire at its front, the friction of coming into the atmosphere at such drastic speed, and the inky trail of smoke it left behind. And now that he seriously studied it, the object had an ominously familiar shape.
Oh the newspapers came and made Jody a national hero...
Walter and Eric said they'd put him on a network T.V. show...
The White House said, "Put the thing in the Blue Room."
The Vatican said, "Boy, it belongs in Rome."
And Jody said, "It's mine, but you can have it for seventeen million!"
With a thunderous, roaring howl, the meteorite passed over, shaking the Bronco with its whirlwind.
"I know they say cool guys never watch explosions, but…" Rig interrupted their self-imposed silence. "If my math's right, this'll be a huge one!" He exclaimed, holding up his pocket notebook, covered in hasty scribbles.
"What's all that? Are you doing math, now?!"
"Simple math that is, for figgerin' out impact crater size. Projectile's 'bout two-ish meters 'cross, prob'bly weighs 'round three hundred pounds, so with a volume of roughly four meters cubed, comin' at a speed of…"
"Skip ahead a bit please."
"We outta get a crater about sixty feet across." He predicted with a confidence filled smile.
"Well shut up and watch 'cause it's…HOLY SHIT!" Half a mile down the runway, an explosion kicked up a cloud of dirt and rock, the echoing BOOOOooooommmmm! Caught up a split second later, shaking the truck again. Without waiting for the dust to settle or rocks to stop falling, Rig put the Bronco in gear and rushed forward through a haze of brown and grey. They stopped just shy of the crater's edge, a smoldering, gaping gash in the ground; much larger than Rig's estimated sixty feet.
"Looks like your math was a little off. That's sixty yards, not sixty feet."
"Huh. Must've figgered the density wrong." Rig spat tobacco, both of them standing at the rim with their thumbs hooked into their belts, trying to see anything in the fog of dust; all while the Bronco's radio still played in the background.
Ooohhh, it came out of the sky, just ah little south of Moline!
Jody fell out of his tractor, couldn' b'lieve what he'd seen.
Laid on the ground, ah shakin' an' fearin' for his life!
Then he ran all the way to town, screamin' "It came out of the sky!"*
. . .
Now you're prob'bly thinkin', 'Hey Rig. Uhmmm…why in the hell are you going to investigate the crash site of a potential rogue agent…with Naota in tow? Seems a little counterproductive, if you ask me.'
Don't worry 'bout it none, I'm very good at pretending to know what I'm doing. In all seriousness though, I didn't spend the past month and a half teachin' the guy how to play Cat's Cradle. He would be fine, provided with a running head start of course. I also had my everyday carry GP100 strapped to my belt and hidden under my shirt. I prayed every time I put that gun on I would never have to use it.
"Looks safe enough, for government work anyway." I started down, sliding over shards of loose shale. "Let's see what we can find, if anything. You know, before the cops show up and quarantine the place."
"Sounds like a plan, right behind you." The crater wasn't a perfect bowl and it was relatively shallow. Because of the angle it had been formed at, most of the dirt was piled up on the opposite side. Halfway in we started hearing signs of life. Careful now Rig, carefully towards the Unknown you go…
. . .
First, there was a long, drawn out, wailing groan. There was no mistaking it, something that organic sounding. Next Naota heard a frantic scrabbling, pieces of shale clacking together as someone, or something, ahead of them desperately searched for some precious item.
"Shit! Shit! Shitshitshitshitshitshit! Damn it where is, ouch! Shit that hurts! Where is it?! Where is it?! It's gotta be here somewhere! Not now, not now of all times! Where is it?! DAMNNN IT!"
"Hello?!" Rig called, scanning side to side for the source of the voice. "Who's out there, can you hear me? Are you okay?"
"Does it sound like I'm okay?!" A figure, on their hands and knees, began to take shape. The more the newcomer spoke, the more irritatingly familiar their voice sounded. Why did it feel this known on his ears, and why did it send a prickle up his neck, standing his hair on edge? "Quit standing around like a pair of Bumpkins and help me look!"
Now, with the distance closed and dust settling, Rig and Naota could clearly see Earth's newest visitor. A woman in her early twenties, bubblegum pink hair getting in her bright yellow eyes as she dug with frayed leather gloved hands around a blackened and broken Vespa. Pieces of it were scattered across the crater's bottom, but most of it, charred black as the inside of a coal stove, was half-buried in the dirt. Most prominent was the guitar slung across the woman's back, a double-necked fusion of a Gibson Flying-V and EB-0. Realizing how close he and Rig had gotten, the woman stopped searching and stood, giving Naota a puzzled stare; like she was wracking her brain to recognize him and who he was.
"Naota? Is that really you?" She almost whispered, like she was afraid of the answer.
"Ye…" His mouth had gone bone dry breathing in all the dust and his voice cracked. After wetting it, he spoke clearly. "Yes Haruko, it's me."
. . .
Remember earlier when I said 'things started out bad and went downhill from there'? Well, we were nearing the bottom of the hill with Haruko's crash-landing. We had hoped she would land somewhere far and away; like Borneo or The Land of the Lost Xanadu, and go bother the people there. It certainly would've made my life easier. But there she was, Vespa, guitar, N.O. bracelet and all. My orders were to NOT approach her, yet found myself within arm's reach of her; easy pistol range. That was no comfort.
'Think, think, think! Think you stupid moron!' I screamed inside my useless head, feeling slight panic taking root. My brain chose that exact moment to remember the details of The Mabase Incident, how Haruko had decimated, single-handedly, Amaro's strike team, shot up a New York sized city block in the process, fuckin' flew around on that Rickenbacker bass like a psychopathic Tinker Bell (and in a Playboy Bunny suit no less) and then went toe-to-toe with a Naota that had absorbed Atomsk's power…thanks a whole lot brain.
'Okay, okay. Settle, think.' I forced my mind into order, watching Naota and Haruko make eyes at each other. The events of Mabase kept bubbling up, and I had to take great care to not let my hand wander to my revolver. But, despite my fear's best efforts, an idea came to me. It was sure to get me in trouble, but it was worth a try at least. Now, time to put on my bravest face, and welcome Earth's latest visitor.
. . .
"Well don' just stand there! Introduce us Naota!" Rig broke in, elbowing Naota out of a daze. "You two seem to know each other?"
"Oh, oh right. Rig, this's Haruko Haruhara, formerly of the Galactic Space Patrol Brotherhood, and the maker of my N.O. portal. Remember her now?"
"Uh-huh. I do recall a story or two you may've mentioned." Rig said, sucking up and spitting out a large dallop of tobacco juice; charming as always.
"And Haruko, this's Jeff, Rig, Carson. He's my supervisor at work and my neighbor."
"Haruko, pleasure." Haruko said, holding out her hand, steady and level.
"All mine, I'm sure." Rig smiled and shook her hand, then quickly withdrew it before she could see its slight tremor. That didn't escape Naota. He had known his friend long enough to know when Rig was nervous; which wasn't often. To be fair, he had not painted the rosiest of portraits for Rig when he talked about Haruko…and she had just smashed a sixty yard wide crater in his family's runway and seemed relatively unscathed…those might be contributing factors. He couldn't think about it too much though, more important things were at hand.
"So what're you doing back here?" He asked, planting his boots in a wide, aggressive stance and crossing his arms. "Didn't cause enough trouble last time so you're back to finish the job?"
"Uhmmm…" Haruko put her hand to her chin and leaned to the side, as if she were actually giving his question serious thought. "Yep! That's about right! So if you could help me find the Gundam module for my bike, I'd be most thankful; I'm kinda in a bit of a rush. You can start looking over there."
"You've got some nerve, you know that?!" She hadn't been on the planet a full five minutes and was already trying to boss them around. "Like we'd help you, not after what happened four years ago! Right Rig?! Rig?! Uh…Rig? Where the hell…" Naota turned around, expecting Rig to be right behind him to back him up. The Pennsylvanian had vanished.
"Over here!" Rig called out from behind Haruko. He was squatted on his haunches next to the Vespa, staring at the engine. "Mizz…Haruko, right? Mizz Haruko, I ain't seen an engine quite like this'n here; an' I've seen quite a few."
"Well it's like yours truly, one of a kind." Haruko sauntered over to Rig, ignoring Naota, and crouched next to Rig. "What about you, wanna help me look for my Gundam module? I'm sure you could find it no problem, maybe even help me fix my bike?" Naota knew this trick a mile away. She was sweet talking Rig, roping him into helping her. And, at the same time, was getting under Naota's skin.
"It'd be a little plastic-y, robot-lookin' thing, wouldn' it?" Rig asked, fiddling with something on the engine.
"Yes! Exactly, how'd you…oh."
"Found it over at the edge of the crater." Rig handed over the snapped in half and slightly melted Gundam toy, the part that made Haruko's Vespa what it was. Now, with it broken… "Hey, what's this doo-hickey here?"
"No don't touch that!" Haruko warned a moment too late. BAH-WHOOOOOFFF! A small fireball erupted from the Vespa's exhaust, shoving Haruko sideways and throwing Rig ten feet back; eliciting a string of curses from both.
"Sunova bitch woman! What in tha blazes hell bumblefuck was that?!" Rig staggered to his feet, shirt and hair singed and hat askew.
"You dumb inbred hick! What were you thinking?! That was the emergency afterburner you jackass!" Haruko nearly screamed back, fists balled in rage. "You just blew the last of my fuel, you retarded redneck!"
"Well s'cuse me for tryin' to help!" Rig half-apologized, saying the words but completely lacking sincerity. He busied himself with resetting his hat on his head and wiping the Vespa's exhaust soot from his face.
"Grrrr…why I outta…" With her face going from pink, to crimson, to scarlet, to fire engine hopping mad red, Naota decided it was time to step in.
"Hey, he said he was sorry, let it go." He stood between Rig and Haruko, and was pleasantly surprised to find he was a hair taller than her now; not to mention stronger built after a month and a half of working out. The reversal flooded him with confidence, and just a tad bit of cockiness. "Now, if you ask nicely, I'm sure we could help you bring your bike to the shop and we can all take a look at it."
"Wow, look at you Naota, acting all grown up. What happened to that sweet, little boy I once knew?" She asked with a simpering smile and batted eyelashes.
"He doesn't work here anymore; do you want help or not?" He asked, not about to be pulled in by that pair of big, sad, yellow eyes.
"…Fine." The smile disappeared in a blink to be replaced with a scowl. "Would you, be so kind, as to assist me? Happy now?"
"It's a start. Hey Rig, do you still have that logging chain in the truck?"
"I'll get it, be right back." Rig started back up the crater, muttering to himself. "Of course you can use my truck to pull your bike out…of course, you can use my family's shop to fix it…right after you fix this ding-danged, asteroid-sized, goddamn crater you made in my family's runway…"
"Did you say something?" Haruko asked, no doubt hearing every grumbled word.
"NO!" Rig shot back before disappearing over the crater's edge. With him temporarily gone, Haruko returned her attention to Naota.
"Sooo…what's new? Nice buzz cuzz, when'd you get the haircut?" Her gaze flitted up and down his height, like she was sizing him up for a potential fight.
"Not too much, I obviously don't live in Japan anymore."
"Yeah, where exactly is here anyway? Looks a little more…rural, than Mabase." She stood on top of a larger rock to peep out of the crater, seeing ridgeline and ridgeline of forest.
"Look out below!" Rig warned, then tossed down a length of chain with a heavy hook on the end. "Hook that onto something and lemme know when you're ready for me to pull!"
"All set!" After wrapping and securing the chain around the Vespa's engine housing, Naota gave Rig the go-ahead. With a roar from the Bronco's V-8, the clunk of a chain being pulled taunt, and the nails on a chalkboard screech of metal on shale, the Vespa popped free of the ground. He and Haruko each grabbed a handlebar, righting the scooter so it wouldn't be dragged through the crater.
"Hey." As they eased the Vespa up the slope, shoulder to shouler, Haruko playfully bumped his hip with hers. "It's nice to see you again." Caught off guard, he felt his face turn the slightest shades of red. Giggling, she leaned in, nose to nose, to whisper: "Hee-hee. Gotcha."
. . .
Naota and Haruko rode in the Bronco's jump seats back to the shop, making sure the Vespa didn't slip and slide around during the drive. We'd picked up as many pieces as we would ever find, and would come back later to pick the area over again. I watched the pair in my rear view mirror, especially the pink-haired one. They seemed to be getting' along okay, even with Naota lookin' like he'd been force fed a lemon. Haruko's mouth was movin' like the flapper feathers over a duck's ass; her file had failed to mention that she never shut up. Naota appeared sufficiently annoyed; like he'd been stuck babysitting some irritating younger cousin. While they chatted, I sent a quick text to Tommy and George:
Naota has a visitor from out of town, an old friend. Will entertain shop, U should meet them; very interesting.
They buzzed back just as I stopped outside the shop's main doors. Both messages were to the same effect:
Sounds like fun, would love to meet them. Stuck in traffic, home ASAP.
That meant, for the next few hours, I was on my own. All the horror stories of Haruko's misdeeds were on repeat in my head; thirty I.I.B. agents wiped out…And here was me, Johnny, Mike, Canti and Naota. If she took a loony fit, we were screwed. But at the same time, I had to find a way to keep here there. We couldn't have her just wander off and do Christ knows what.
"Rig! We heard the explosion, are you guys okay?!" Mike and Johnny rushed out of the shop, followed closely by Canti.
"Yo! Canti, long time, no see!" Haruko noticed him right off the bat, kinda hard not to I suppose. "Still hangin' out with Naota huh?" Canti politely waved, then gave Naota a look, tilting his head to the side as if he was asking 'Seriously? What's she doing here?' Naota must've understood Canti somehow as he just shrugged and followed her into the shop.
"We're fine, the runway ain't though." I told Johnny and Mike, nodding over at Haruko. "Somebody, made a hole in it big 'nough to hide a coal truck."
"Ohhhh…George's not gonna be happy with that." Johnny understated the obvious. "So, what do we do in the meantime until he or Tommy get back?" He looked over my shoulder, watching Naota and Canti unload the Vespa, supervised by Haruko.
"Keep her here. That's all I got, any ideas?"
"Hmmm…Johnny, the 'Clueless Mechanic' routine?" Mike suggested. "You remember. The 'I ain't never seen no en-gine like this'n here, no-where, no-how' schitck?"
"Oh yeah…that could work." Johnny agreed, then turned to me. "Don't worry Rig, we'll keep her here 'till Kingdom Come." The Clueless Mechanic is a stalling technique, you've no doubt experienced it while getting anything worked on. The mechanic can't find the problem, then can never find the right tool, and all the while taking numerous coffee, bathroom, cigarette, dip, fresh air and union mandated breaks. Unfortunately for us, Haruko wasn't that patient, or stupid.
"Y'know, this would go a whole lot faster if you'd just let me do it." She said, elbowing her way between Mike and Johnny. She was also not appreciating the barrage of questions being asked of her: her treks through space, the GSPB, what life on other planets was like, how the inner workings of her Vespa ticked and so on.
"Well there's a thing about you doing the work yourself, with our tools and equipment." Naota said, watching Haruko with intense scrutiny. He certainly trusted her only as far as he could throw her. "See?"
"You gotta be kidding me." She sighed, lookin' up at the sign Naota'd pointed out, hanging from the rafters. It was the labor rates for the shop, and she had already racked up and hour and a half's worth. Our rates are as follows:
Labor in this shop will be assessed at the following rates. These are non-negotiable and final:
-$45.00 / hour – Basic
-$55.00 / hour – If you watch us work
-$65.00 / hour – If you tried to work on it yourself first
-$75.00 / hour – If you tried to work on it yourself first, and don't tell us (We WILL know!)
-$85.00 / hour – If you insist on "helping"
-$100.00 / hour – If you offer us "advice" on how to do our job
"We take cash or money orders only; none of that plastic stuff." Naota added. "And checks, don't make me laugh."
"Then you're SOL 'cause I don't have any money." She put the tools down and looked like she was makin' ready to leave. No, no, no! Don't leave! Dammit Naota, why'd you have to mention her paying for parts and labor?! Why, why, why you doofus?!
"Uhm, hey, hold up a second." I had been holding my idea back as a last resort, and this was the time to use it, if ever. George was gonna crucify me for it, but I thought it had a chance of succeeding. It was based on the story Naota told me about how Haruko had hired herself out to a rival baseball team to help pay the electric bill. She was willing to work for extra money to finance her goals, and with the severe structural damage her bike had sustained (weeks worth of repairs), her now empty gas tank and broken Gundam module, she would need some quick cash.
"What?" Mercifully for me, she actually stopped just shy of the door.
"I'd like to help you out, especially since I bled off the last of your fuel. How's about you work here for a bit?" My offer got several responses.
"NO!" From Naota. Obviously he was not thrilled about the idea.
"Really?" From Haruko, smiling through her disbelief.
"Heh?" From Johnny and Mike, both wondering what the hell I was doing.
"Yes, Naota." I said, waiting for Haruko to answer.
"No. I distinctly said no." He got off his stool and crossed his arms.
"And I distinctly heard you. But it's not your decision to make, so sit down. Now, Mizz Haruko, you've traveled many a weary mile to reach our little planet, I'm sure. Naota told me you're looking for some cat named, ahm…Adam, Atticus…Atomsk! Right?"
"He told you right." She now put down her Vespa's kickstand and leaned against the door frame. "What 'bout it?"
"So, why don't you take some time to get your bearings, rest up and refit? Fix your bike and earn some cash for any expenses you might run into on your, ah, hunt, for lack of a better word. Whattah yah say?"
. . .
The gears in Haruko's head whirred and clicked along, considering Rig's offer. Crash landing just three quarters of a mile from Naota's new home had certainly not been part of her plan; yet there he was. But her Vespa's engine had given out with the sudden jarring of entering the atmosphere at much too high of a clip, and with it went most of her influence over its speed and direction too. Normally it would have been able to handle the impact against the planet's shield, but four years of little to no maintenance and running the engine too hot, too long, had pushed her faithful steed to its breaking point. She had done the only thing within her control: held on and braced for impact. It was just her luck that she had managed to wrangle her machine in the general direction of the first runway shaped section of ground she could find. The plan had been to get planet-side in the general vicinity of Atomsk, track him down…then a lumbering question mark popped up, followed by profit? But four years of running to Atomsk and away from Medical Mechanica, the I.I.B., G.S.P.B and the G.G., was burning her out.
Chronic exhaustion didn't begin to cover how she felt, even before slamming into Earth face-first. Every joint of hers ached, her back strained from untold time hunched over the handlebars, her feet smarted from being stuck in her tall-heeled boots, her stomach twisted in knife-stab knots as it was empty more often than it was even half full…and now her pride and joy was totaled. A reprieve would be more than welcome, a chance to gather her strength. Getting some solid meals in her belly, sleeping on a real bed with real sheets, and replenishing her long empty wallet were also oh so tempting. Atomsk was in the area, so she knew she didn't have to immediately dash off again; she could afford to wait.
Another draw to her was Naota's friend, this…Rig. He had kept his distance from her, but watched her the entire time just out of the edge of her vision. His handshake back at the crater had been a crushing vice, like he was trying to intimidate her, or compensate for his own fear. Either way, something about the way he carried himself struck Haruko as familiar. It was the same way former Overwatch agents she had met acted. They would appear to onlooker's average and unsuspecting, friendly, charming and smile pleasantly when they spoke to you. But there was a sharpness to them, an awareness of everything and everyone happening around them, observing their surroundings, looking for threats, weaknesses, opportunities, information and whatever else they could gather; and constantly just one shade below full alert. Even his eyes were brimming with a sheen that betrayed his wolf in sheep's clothing demeanor. Lastly was the heavy metal carbiner dangling from his left hip's belt loop, swinging with his stride. Such an odd thing to be wearing as a mere accessory; her curiosity was piqued. That carabiner and its owner were something to look out for, and maybe just worth sticking around. Then Rig added the final, irresistible cherry on top of it all.
"Hey, if anythin', think of it as a chance to catch up with and pester Naota; and get paid for it."
"Well why didn't you just say so from the get-go?" She cackled, watching Naota groan and roll his eyes. "Sign me up."
. . .
"Can, can I talk to you for a moment Rig?" Naota asked as he, Haruko and I exited the shop floor and headed for the office.
"Sure, what's up? In here Mizz Haruko." I opened the door and let her in.
"Can I talk to you, in private?" Oh, I see how it is. I was planning on having this talk later than sooner, but okay fine, sooner it is; since Naota seemed so insistent.
"Ssssure. Go on an' sit down Haruko, make yerself at home. We'll be right back." I closed the door on her and led Naota off to the side of the shop, where our small depot of trailers sits. I plopped down on a low-boy and took out my tobacco tin, preparing for whatever complaints Naota had to voice takes a full lip. "S'up Nao'?" I asked, lip sufficiently packed.
"Are you stoned?!" He didn't take a seat, but elected to stand and pace angrily 'bout. "Is that even tobacco you're chewing? You must be stoned!"
"Only thang I'm high on is life man, what of it?" I chewed hard and spit. "Just get whatever it is out in the open, what's buggin' you?"
"Did you not listen to any of the stories I told you about her?" He pointed back at the office. "How she's absolutely nuts, a psychopath, manipulative as can be, and nearly destroyed Earth?! Did you somehow manage to forget all of that?!"
"Oh quite the contrary. I remember it all." I pulled my pocket notebook from my shirt and flipped through it. "Your description of a Mizz Haruko Haruhara: Five-six, slim build, yellow eyes, pink hair, banana yeller Vespa scooter, carries a double-necked guitar, disavowed from the G.S.P.B., created your N.O. channel, attempted the same on your Dad, nearly killing him, provoked you to bring out M-M bots, decimated an I.I.B. squad, allowed M-M to activate their plant, which would've destroyed the planet, and…" I saved le piece de resistance for last. "Twisted, played and toyed with and broke your heart. Did I miss anything?"
"…No, that, yeah, that pretty much sums her up. Did you really write all that down?" He asked as I folded and put the notebook away.
"That, and then some. But yes, I know who she is based on what you've told me. And to be honest, I'm amazed you're so calm man; I'm freakin' out with her bein' here." And that was the honest truth folks.
"Okay, then why're you offering her a job?" He asked slowly, trying to guess at my reasons.
"To keep her here, at least until Tommy or George get back. I mean, would it be wise to just let her go, to flounce off into the countryside to rampage around unchecked?"
"Of course not, but shouldn't we just, I dunno, call the cops or something?"
"What're we gonna tell them? Hey nine-one-one! I'd like to report a pink-haired alien on a yeller scooter that done crashed in my backyard. She's wanted by an otherworldly government you've never heard of because she tried to capture a space pirate and nearly destroyed Earth in the process. Could you send a unit out to pick her up? I tell you what, they'd send a unit out alright: to put us in straight-jackets and throw us in a padded room! Because the situation I just described sounds bat-shit crazy! I mean, I believe you, I really do. But dispatch sure's hell won't."
"So what's your master plan then? To just keep her here until she annoys me to an early grave? I say we show her the door and say good riddance."
"Again, at least until George or Tommy get back; which should be within the hour. I don't have a real plan, that's it. They'll know what to do, who to call. I mean, they're the adults right? They have to know. Just, trust me, to trust them, okay? He paced 'round some more, shootin' dirty glances back at the office. I could see he was none too pleased about her literally falling back into his life. But that was too bad, 'cause it had already happened, like it or not. His options were to bitch and moan, or deal with it. Mature and smart as he was, I bet on the latter.
"Fine. You're my supervisor anyway, not like it's my call to make; who you hire." He finally relented. "I don't like it, but I won't let it bother me, or make a big deal about it."
"That's the spirit, and what I needed to hear." I spat again, stretched and stood up from the trailer. "Now let's go get her paperwork started; George an' Tommy'll be home soon." We were almost to the office when my phone rang. "Y'ello? George, I was just…" George cut me off. He had a lot to say, and none of it was good.
. . .
"Yes…yes. I understand. I'll be there soon's I can." Rig had lingered by the door, talking to his Uncle on the phone. He came into the office, shutting the door and mumbling silently to himself. His face had turned a slight shade of pale and he was silent for a moment once he sat down; staring at the bookshelf behind Naota and Haruko.
"Uh…Rig?" Naota asked, searching for signs of life. "You okay?"
"What? Oh, yes. Perfectly, thank you." He smiled, then drifted off again for a moment. "Forgive me. I just received some troubling news, just work related, don' worry 'bout it."
"Nothing serious I hope?" Haruko inquired, lounged across the swivel chair she had chosen.
"No, just something with a work colleague. Now…" He reached into the desk and drew up the same papers Naota had signed. "These are your employment terms, everythin's spelled out. Any questions, ask now or forever cede your right to complain. Naota…" He paused to look, and force an obviously strained smile, at Naota before continuing. "Will be your supervisor. You will do as he says, go where he goes, unless explicitly directed otherwise. Clear?"
"As mud, sounds like fun." She made her marks and handed over the papers. Rig didn't review them all, just scanned for her initials before putting the papers away and heading for the door. "Where're you headed in such a hurry? Got a hot date waitin' for you?"
"In a way, yes. Sorry to cut out, but I really gotta go. Uh, welcome Mizz Haruko to the team and all that, Nao'll show you 'round and introduce you formally to everyone. It's five thirty now so work's over. George an' Tommy won't be back, I've gotta go meet them. So Naota, entertain your new coworker. See y'all…most likely, tomorrow. Later!" Rig picked up and started up his waiting Ought-Too and took off like a bat out of Hell; not even bothering with the goggles hanging from the handlebars or putting his kerchief over his face as was his habit. In a few seconds, an engine's roar, and a cloud of dust, he was gone.
"So what's there to do around here for fun?" Haruko asked, from somewhere behind him. Naota turned to see she was perched atop G&R's oldest bulldozer, an ancient D6, strumming the Flying-V portion of her guitar. "Looks like things are a bit slower around here, but I guess that's more your speed?"
"There's plenty to do, none just immediately come to mind." He said, taking his first serious look at her. It wasn't good. Simply put, she was a wreck. Dark purple bags hung heavily under sunken, bloodshot eyes. Her face was thinner, cheekbones and jawline sharper than he remembered, and her skin was beginning to turn a pale, sickly, ashen hue. Her clothes were the same style (he prayed not the exact same) as before, the black leather pants, white knee-high boots, red jacket and lemon chiffron scarf. But now they all hung loosely on her frame and were threadbare at best. The scarf was unraveling, the leather of her pants was cracking and the soles of her boots were beginning to peel away. As determined as he was to be angry at her for trespassing into his life, again, when he had been happily in the process of forgetting her, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Four years on the lam, running herself ragged in pursuit of what he thought to be a fever dream she'd never catch. All that time in the cold vastness of uncaring space, leaping after shadows of rumors in a seemingly self-destructive bid for unlimited power. Actually seeing her forced him to recognize all that she had been suffering, and his attitude towards her shifted by the smallest of degrees.
"You wanna go get something to eat?"
"Hmm?" Her ears pricked up and she looked away from the guitar. "Get something to eat? Is that what they here on Earth call…a date?"
"Siiiiiiggghhh…do you want something to eat, or not?" Four years, and nothing had changed.
"It's a date then! Where're we going Don Juan? Somewhere romantic, like Italian? Or maybe…are you listening?"
"No, I'm plotting how to murder Rig when he gets back." Natoa grumbled, still fuming how Rig had just dumped Haruko on him. Whatever Rig had been called away for, it had damn well better be extremely important. Someone had to be bleeding out, or there was a flood, an explosion at a mine, or something was very much on fire; a life and death matter.
. . .
Songs:
*It came out of the sky - Creedence Clearwater Revival
(I would put a * for Let's Twist again - Chubby Checker, but since I gave the song title and singer in the story, and didn't put in any lyrics, what's the point?)
Well, the cat's out of the bag, has run around the house, knocked over the lamp, peed on the rug and hisses every time you come near it. Or in simpler terms, Haruko is back. She may be tired and worn out, but her mind is as sharp as ever. How will that play out for Naota and Overwatch? You'll just have to wait 'till next time!
I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am, it's much more fun to write this time around; feels less like work and more like play. Hopefully that has shown thus far, and will continue to do so. I have a bunch of ideas and things I want to do with this tale, but as always, would greatly appreciate ideas of your own, questions, comments, concerns and so forth; right in that review box...or PM me. I sit at a computer 9-10 hours a day, I get to check my email often. I do read and respond to every review (if FF allows me to do so) and PM I get. You took the time to read my stuff, I can at the very least acknowledge that. Thank you again for reading, please let me know how I'm doing!