"Where are the Children?" Gendo asked.
"We can't find them, or Capt. Katsuragi," Maya said. "It's possible that they've been trapped by the black out."
"Possible, or confirmed?" Fuyutsuki asked.
"Sir, we have no way of confirming," Maya said helplessly. "This is about as close to a complete systems failure as we can get."
"They aren't here, and that's the crux of it," Gendo said, "And what's more, we may not be able to launch any of our Evas in a timely manner, nor can we ensure they'll be powered once they move."
"Ours can."
Eyes turned toward Maj. Ennis, who had appeared on the bridge as if by magic. "We're currently completing a backup command station in the observation deck near the hanger. And we have power for Grendel."
"Power?" Fuyutsuki asked, surprised.
"I've been told the emergency batteries are on line, with two minutes of time for combat. Emergency charges in the launch gantry are on-line, too."
"Can we guarantee that two minutes is all that's needed to defeat the Angel?" Fuyutsuki queried.
"No, but what choice do we have? We can't coordinate external forces without power, and what's more, do we want to risk sending them against an Angel? Two minutes with a weakened Eva is better than no response at all."
"The Pilot?" Maya asked, too surprised to remember her rank. Ennis didn't seem to notice.
"Capt. Merritt is on rout to the hanger right now," Ennis said, waggling a radio in his hand.
Gendo closed his eyes. When you were in the debtors pocket, you were in his power. Giving in now would make the Americans necessary, and from there, no telling where they could curl their claws in next. But…what choice did he have? Events had conspired against him.
"Fine," he conceded, "Inform your crew that we…will need their assistance."
The Plug Suit Samson utilized was over-layered and armored, partially for defense of the Pilot should he eject, but also to protect the more fragile sympathetic wiring inside the suit necessary to slave Grendel to the Pilot's movements. The Japanese models were far more durable, so the American one had to make a payoff, somewhere. This meant that, unlike the Japanese suits, the American suit was not one-size fits all. It had to be tailored to Samson, due to the armor plating. It also meant it took longer to gear up.
"Now, remember, you only have 1 minute 53 seconds of power. All start up systems and tertiary computer systems won't be drawing on the main emergency cells, so you can still begin the initialization sequence without drawing on the main cells," Merritt was saying. She stood across from him in the locker room, lighting his movements with a flashlight. He showed no shame in her presence as he disrobed and donned the Plug Suit. The interior felt slick to the touch, the strange sensation of the internal membrane puckering against his skin. With practiced motions, he zipped up the rear, and attached the clam-shell chest piece. "Do you have any questions?"
"None come to mind," he said mechanically, retrieving the Interface Helmet from the locker. Two long cables trailed from the single-piece, black helm. With it's glossy finish, it had the unnerving look of a single eye when worn.
"Good. Let's get moving, then," Merritt said. The two of them exited the locker room, and were escorted down the tunnel to the loading bay. The Plug to Grendel was waiting, with a crew to manually crank the Plug into place. Samson was assisted into the Plug, two technicians entering with him to begin attaching the various wires and connections needed to pilot Grendel. One assisted Samson into the helmet, then attached the two wires to a pair hanging and waiting. Until the LCL filled the space, the tangle of wires would be constricting and problematic. Samson reclined, hanging free in the wires and watching the technicians exit. The hatch sealed, leaving him in darkness. He heard the slosh of liquid, and LCL began to flow past his legs, filling at a rapid pace. In a very short span of time, the entirety of the Plug was filled. He felt the Plug move as the ground crew began to crank it into the Grendel's Port. It felt like hours until the Plug stopped moving, an a small hum seemed to fill the air. The LCL seemed to take a new form, liquid and gaseous at the same time. He drifted inside the wires, feeling them recede away as current and pressure began to move him into an optimal position. Lights began to flicker in the space, and an orange glow encompassed him. The HUD within his helmet winked on, and he watched as more computers flickered on one by one.
It was then that a numbing sensation crawled over his skull as the Integration Helmet linked to the behemoth around him. Any moment, the link would be made, and the conversation would begin, as always. It was wearying, but inevitable, and sure as sure, a quiet, meek voice called to him from the darkness.
Is it time?
No, he began, in irritation, It's not time. Stop asking, it will never BE time.
But…I'm so…please let it be…
SHUT UP!
Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry the voice pleaded, recognizing his presence at last.
Stop apologizing. We have a threat, he said.
A…threat? An Angel? Are…are we going to fight?
Of course we are. It's what we're built for, he sneered in his mind.
But…are we…um…
Stop stuttering! He lashed out, and the presence receded a bit, cowering before him. He bit his tongue, and thought soothing images. Calm down, now. You're with me. Have I ever failed you before?
No, no…
Don't you trust me? I'll take care of you. I always take care of you. Don't I?
Y..yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Good. Begin the start-up sequence.
Sequence…initialized, the voice replied reluctantly. It was then that he felt his limbs…grow. His legs stiffen. It was then that he became Grendel…
Cooper popped his knuckles, watching the start-up reflected on his monitors. Four had been set up, one next to the other, cabling trailing from the portable units. A wireless link up, running from the same generators, would allow for communication with Grendel at all times. "We're about ready, sir," Zeel called over the radio.
"Roger, Zeely, get your people clear of the hanger and we'll send Grendel up." Up to what, he didn't know. They were getting verbal communications on where the Angel was moving, but that was precious little information. He updated it as he could, but he would have to rely on Grendel's sensors to feed information to his console. "This is going to be interesting," he mumbled, his hand dancing over the keyboard. "Fourth Child, are you ready?"
"Initialization beginning at pace," the boy said, almost sleepy. "I'd say ten more seconds, and we're linked."
"Good. Remember, limited time to take down the target," he warned.
"Limited time, no problem," Samson said. No problem, of course, Cooper grinned, watching the systems of Grendel light green, green, green on his monitor. "Five seconds…three…ernh…" Samson grunted as the sympathetic resonance was total. Unlike Units-00 through 02, there was no percentage field necessary to fill for a Pilot synchronization, as the entire process was more or less 'forced.' Watching the Eva shudder, Cooper wondered if it wasn't painful for it. It was certainly uncomfortable on the Pilot. "Complete," Samson sighed, almost dreamily. "Launch when ready."
"Is the hanger clear?" Cooper asked into his portable radio.
"We're clear. Launch when ready," Zeel called. Cooper leaned over and slapped an emergency panel placed next to his console. The room shuddered as the emergency charges blew, and slowly, Grendel began to rise. It's speed gradually increased, until it disappeared through the roof. As it rose, the hatch charges blew, allowing the doors to open under their own weight. Soon, Grendel was zipping through them, as fast as the pneumatics would have pushed it. Grendel rose, and the room in front of Cooper filled with smoke and flame.
Samson felt the heat from the charges, the rush of movement. He was heading up, faster and faster, and his stomach twisted at the sensation. Did he feel fear? No…no, but he did feel anticipation. Longing. Excitement. Hunger. Light suddenly blinded him, and he felt a free-floating sensation as Grendel rose a hundred and fifty feet into the air on momentum.
"Emergency batteries on line," Cooper snapped, "Power beginning at 1 minute, 53 seconds. Do you see the target?"
The countdown timer appeared in the corner of Samson's vision, and he braced his legs, allowing Grendel to collapse and land in a combat crouch. He turned his head left, and then right. To his surprise and pleasure, the Angel was remarkably close. It looked like a daddy-long legs, with a hulking triangular body in the center of four spindly legs. It seemed unaware of the threat that had arrived, trundling along on a course parallel to Grendel. Samson scrolled through his weapons, and giggled to himself. "Everything all right?" Cooper asked.
"The Itsy-Bitsy spider, went up the water-spout," Samson mumbled, "Down came the pain, and tore the spider out." Hmm…Daisy-Cutters would be a good choice.
"What on earth are you muttering about, Pilot?" Cooper grumbled. Samson ignored him, bringing up the Daisy-Cutters.
"Out came the fun, and we had more of the same…" The targeting reticle locked on. "And the Itsy-Bitsy spider learned about the pain." Samson willed it, and one-hundred Daisy-Cutter grenades launched from the forward shoulder pads, great, sweeping arcs of white smoke trailing towards the beast. At one hundred meters, point-blank range, they cut and dimpled the green hide of the Angel with sub-munitions, each one carrying twenty smaller rocket-propelled armor-piercing explosives. Two thousand explosions pock-marked the surface, and a crack formed down the hide. The beast bellowed, and red LCL began to seep through the cracks. It stumbled from the assault.
"There's no AT Field detected. Repeat, no AT Field detected," Cooper called, and Grendel sprinted forward. Samson could see that, and his blood-lust was rising. He was practically drooling.
Cutitcutitcutitcutit…Samson grinned feral, saliva flecking the interior of the helmet. You don't reload bayonets. As he thought that phrase, the Integrated Multitool flicked up into Grendel's left hand. Essentially a much longer Progressive Knife, it was intended for multiple uses, like a true combat knife for a foot soldier. It was called Tickler by the ground crews. It was, for all intents and purposes, a bayonet…longer than a knife, shorter than a machete.
What's the purpose of the bayonet? Something, somewhere asked the question, and Samson screamed with glee as he launched into the air and stabbed down on the dying creature.
"To kill, kill, kill, kill, kill…" he chanted, cutting into the Angel, seeking it's core. The thing squealed and bucked under him. If he was himself, he would have wondered why it didn't fight back. Why this battle had been so easy…but he wasn't himself. He was cutting, and there was no end.
"The Ninth Angel has been defeated," the radio said. As if one cue, the power came back up, and the screens showed MAGI's sigil as it began rebooting. Convenient. Gendo hardly believed in convenient, not did he believe in coincidence. It seemed that the power failure had been timed to coincide with the Angel's arrival. A plot by the Americans? No. They had no way of knowing when and how the Angels would appear. Others might, however. Gendo scowled, pondering the implications, but it was difficult to pin them down. All he knew was that the Americans had killed an Angel, in the midst of a shockingly weak moment for Nerv.
He listened to the background of radio chatter as Nerv personnel began the clean-up procedures and backtracking, to determine the cause of the blackout. He would be eager to see what they're findings would be, but in the meantime, he would have to deal with Maj. Ennis. And, by default, the new role of the Americans in Nerv's policies.
In one of the briefing rooms, the lights kicked on. Three children hardly noticed, asleep and lost in dark dreams. Somehow, the three had coalesced together, and were asleep in a pile. Their movement had been unconscious, and part of that strange instinct that drove humans to seek warmth when there was none, companionship where it was lacking. When they awoke, they would stare at each other in surprise, or shame, or confusion. If they felt that at all. In the meantime, they slept. There was no warmth to be found from it, for they were alone. They were always alone.
An elevator opened, summoned by a technician hoping to move to another level to check on the power lines there. It opened, and he was about to enter when Misato walked out, her expression flat and her hair frazzled and dripping. She was in her undergarments, and her clothes were clumped in a pile under one arm. Without giving the tech so much as a glance, she stormed away, with what little dignity she could muster. The man glanced in, and saw Kaji standing there in his boxers, his clothes under an arm as well. His hair was just as much a mess, and he looked exhausted.
"Which floor?" he asked the tech.
"Good performance," Gendo mumbled, "If a bit…enthusiastic."
"Isn't that a good thing? To be eager to close with and destroy the enemy?" Ennis asked, but he silently fumed. Samson was back to his…normal self, calm, cool, and confident, but the Pilot logs demonstrated slips. Major slips. Kill, kill, kill, indeed…
"I am glad…to see the American Eva is now up and working," Gendo finally conceded. "And we do have to…thank you for saving us. With the power failure, our staff was divided, trapped, unable to quickly get to where they needed. You and you're team…their close proximity to each other…was a benefit." The man was drawing out his words, but he was making an effort, for what it was worth.
Ennis shrugged. "It is what it is, and as you no doubt know, this Angel demonstrated significant weaknesses compared to others. I don't know why it didn't project an AT Field, but it was hardly a challenge for Grendel. Hardly a challenge for anyone, in fact…I imagine the JSSDF could have taken it down with conventional weaponry."
"Possibly," Gendo mused. He had wondered about that, himself. The Ninth Angel had hardly been a threat, if not for the power failure. That in itself was odd...unless...
Could the power failure have been intended to compound the Angel? The Dead Sea Scrolls...he knew of what was within, but it was possible he had not seen all of them. Could there be something within indicating more about the Angels than their simple arrivals.
He blinked, filing the thought away. "Regardless," he said, "I admit that the Grendel Unit performed exceptionally well. Defeated the enemy with 42 seconds left. That's quite the testament to it's capability...as well as the skills of the Pilot."
"Speaking of Pilots, how are the Children?" Ennis asked. Was that true concern, or forced? It was hard to tell.
"Found in a briefing room, asleep. They were sealed in when the power went off. An unfortunate set-back," Gendo murmured.
"Unfortunate, but at least no one was hurt," Ennis said.
"Yes...quite fortunate, that," Gendo murmured. For what it was worth...
The table in the room was surrounded by the heads of the various intelligence agencies involved in the effort to infiltrate Nerv, including the Secretary of Defense, the Head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the President of the United States. All sat around the table as relative equals, but it was an inquisition all the same. Gunner Tate was glad his fat wasn't in the fryer this time.
Kafkutz was another story.
"What the hell is this?" the President asked, tapping the folder in front of him. Kafkutz looked bored, and Tate wondered how a man could be so calm at a time like this.
"He was enthusiastic," he reasoned.
"He was kill crazy," the President snapped. "Combined with his apparent slips in personality, along with the request for Dr. Sefka's presence in the operation. We've been inundated with multiple memorandums on why he shouldn't be there."
"We do have a medical staff leaving under a cover story, Mr. President," Kafkutz reasoned.
"That's not acceptable," the Chief-Executive snapped. "Let me be frank: this is an operation to gather information, from an organization that may or may not pose a threat to our nation. And while we're on the topic, let me be even more frank: the Japanese are our allies. We are not spying or conducting operations against them, but against Nerv and Seele. Would you like to tell me what happens if this boy happens to forget where he is when inside Grendel?"
"That won't happen," Kafkutz insisted, "He has several subconscious locks in place to prevent him from performing an action such as that. And the fact of the matter is, you wanted a Pilot candidate who would work to our advantage. This is it. It would be too difficult and too unrealistic to find a fourteen year old child outside of our black programs to fit the bill without an extensive and very-easy-to-spot operation. This is what we need, right there."
"I can't help feeling, though, that you've assigned a nuclear warhead to a mission where a spy drone is needed," the President insisted. "I don't want this to move sideways, do you understand? There is no collateral from this. Period."
"Understood, Mr. President," Kafkutz said.
"I don't like it, I still don't like it," the President complained. Secretary of Defense Irene Babbet and Tate sat in the side-room of the Oval Office with him, drinking tea.
"You did sign off on it, though, Mr. President," Tate said.
"I wish to hell I hadn't, but we're in too deep now to just cut and run," he grumbled. "The Deveraux Intiative…that's where we got this Samson boy, right?"
"Yeah. Orphans as soldiers. Before our time," Tate explained. "You can't just close and be rid of something like that. Even after closing all that down, you can't integrate children like that into society."
"It bothers me…that we don't know very much about it," the President sighed.
"What bothers me is that I've put feelers out for it, and nothing has come back," Babbet sighed. "What does it mean when the Secretary of Defense gets blackballed?"
"It means someone somewhere is doing their damnedest to hide something illegal from those who can do something about it," the President snapped. "Keep hitting away, okay?"
"Of course," she replied.
"And as for you," he said, looking at Tate, "I want you to be my direct line to Ennis. I know it's not in your purview, but…"
"I understand, Mr. President," the NSA said. "This whole thing is all sorts of strange. Is the CIA okay with that, though?"
"I spoke with the Director, and he's fine on it. He has other things on his plate, frankly," the President said. "That business in Germany…" Tate nodded. "Frankly, I'm surprised this hasn't become more of an issue."
"We have so many people and agencies involved in this, I'm surprised no one's leaked it by accident," Tate sighed. He sipped his tea, thinking it would be better with some Irish flavoring, but that was the stress talking. He was feeling more stress, each day, looking at Ennis's reports. This entire operation was hinging on the ability of a single child to behave like a child, and it looked like it was taking all of Capt. Merritt's effort to keep him acting like a human, much less a child. Something was going to cave somewhere…the question was when, and who it would rain on when it happened.