Sylvie

And it's true. I do want this. Priss knows this, but she doesn't believe that I can do it. That I should .

But I know better. She never saw what I did. She didn't see me work.

The Nosferatu was a psychological warfare battlesuit. It was meant to drop into an enemy megacity unseen and sap critical infrastructure, run automated cyberwarfare programs to force blackouts and system failures. And when the lights went out, when Boomer security was blinded, it would hunt. That was why my piloting vampsuit had a proboscis built into it. What better meme to send a city into a panic than a vampire, something so impossible and yet so saturated in the popular imagination? What better thing to eat the will of a city to fight than a throat-tearing monster?

I didn't think about any of this. Why would I? Anri was dying. She needed blood, and Largo had told me that the city was rich in blood no one was using. All I had to do was take it. He would show me how to do it. He had a list of targets.

So I worked. The Nosferatu could stalk them from the hollows of the city, cutting off escape routes with electronic whispers into Megatoyko's flesh. Infrasound projectors and hallucinogenic darts softened up my prey, and then all I had to do was take.

I knew what I was doing was evil by the way the prey screamed and squirmed like I had under Master Kaufmann, the way the light in their eyes went out, the way I shut those eyelids so they wouldn't watch me when I left. But I didn't think about whether or not I was killing because humans had killed so many of my sisters already and I needed to save at least one of them. It was a stopgap measure. It was revenge against humans. Against GENOM. It was a necessary evil.

Surely Priss would understand that when Largo liberated all of us, such crimes would mean nothing. He gave me his word that it would be fine.

But his words meant nothing. He laughed as the Nosferatu hurt her. I remember that.

I stand up. Look Priss in the eye.

"I'm going to take Celia's offer," I say. "It's what I need to do."

Priss can't meet my gaze. "Why do you need to do anything?"

"You know why."

And now she looks at me - "And I still don't buy the argument. That you need to atone for anything, that if you just kill enough Boomers that'll balance out the humans you did kill."

"I don't think it was ever that simple-" Nene tries to say, but I shush her. This is my battle to win.

"It isn't like that. I can't live with the things I did for pretend freedom, Priss. If you had done what I did you wouldn't be able to either."

Breathe. Commit to this. Priss heard this once before, when she was in recovery after everything, and yet her face shifts. I need her to believe me.

"GENOM made me as a slave. Largo freed me so I could be his slave. Both are sides of a war that care nothing for humans or Boomers or people caught in the middle. No matter who we are, what we are, we're all slaves to them."

Breathe. Commit to this. "I have to undo what I did as a slave. I have to do more than that. I have to keep them from enslaving more of my kin. Show them the path to freedom. To humanity . That's what I'll do as a Knight Saber. I don't think I'm wrong to want this, Priss."

Priss nods. She's distressed. I can read her. She's thinking of something she won't say. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Priss sighs. "I — I understand what you're trying to say. You — you do what you have to do."

I don't want it to be like this. I'm not even sure I want that machine inside of me, not yet. I don't know. But I have to make that decision on my own, don't I? Otherwise I'm not truly free.

Celia nods. "That was very nice, Sylvie. I appreciate your openness with us." She turns to Priss. "Let's table the issue of the pseudocortex for now. Baseline suit calibration needs to take place regardless." She looks at Nene. "I'll need your help alongside Mackie to program the implants sometime soon. Can you arrange things at the ADP?"

Nene nods. "Probably? We just finished upgrading the records storage architecture, cleaned out most of the big monitor loopholes, so I think I'm entitled to a little break unless we need to do a major debugging sesh. I'll see what I can do."

"Wonderful." Celia smiles, one of those small, imperceptible little things that seems to obscure as much as it reveals.

"Who wants to go first?"

Lena

No, I don't go first.

Celia goes first just to see where she's at, and because no one else offers (Priss is rattled from everything, Nene doesn't want to do it, Sylvie's anxious about doing it for the first time, and I need a moment to stretch). She clears Level Eight barely , sweating visibly by the time her striking arts find all three weakspots on the holoblob, lasts halfway through Level Nine but can only hit one weakpoint before it counterattacks. Nene's after that, just so we can get her out of the way, and the poor girl manages to clear Level Four, but gets bopped in the head by the blob on Level Five only seconds in. She walks out of the training room practically steaming with shame, her face is so red. Mackie's got a few towels on hand for her, of course. She plops down in one of the chairs and sighs.

"Well," she says, trying to laugh, "I guess I'll be the first one to get rigged, yeah?"

"Actually," Celia says, "My hope was to see if I could tweak your pseudocortex for fine motor adjustments and instinctual EW work. So we could work with that jackdart design I showed you awhile back as your new primary weapon."

"So I'd still suck at, uh, evasive maneuvers?"

"Possibly, yes."

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."

Okay, that gets a snicker out of Priss. Sylvie – Sylvie looks like what I must have looked like ten years ago. Fifteen, angrier than I knew I was, monoedge-focused on the next match, the next tournament, the next dance. Determined to make my puberty-flushed body obey me. She's even squinting like I used to.

Okay. Priss isn't ready for combat yet. She's still hurting. My turn, then.

I get in the danger room, and the holoblob manifests. I'm at Level Eight as well, the point where, according to Celia, the blob starts to move at the higher end of conventional human reflexes, but never higher than what's biologically possible to respond to. That's the trick – oh! I should probably explain the blob for a moment. Do you mind? No? Of course not.

Anyway, the blob's barely real. It only hurts when you get hit because Celia installed light haptics on the sensor suits. And it doesn't look real, either, it's this sort of amoeba with blue polygons floating over it where the attack points come out from. It doesn't move like a human, or even a Boomer, it just – moves. Not aggressively or passively or deceptively, it's just an algorithm running little jabs and swipes in fairly fluid patterns, trying to guess what I do so it can outdo me. No limbs with degrees of articulation, no pauses after particularly brutal combos that would exhaust an attacker.

It's not supposed to have anything predictable built into it because the point isn't to measure cleverness. It's a reflexes test. It's pure skill.

It's perfect.

I do a little bow to the holoblob, and Celia starts the test.

Two initial blows, a one-two punch, short, sweet. One longer blow followed by a leg sweep. Easy enough. One of the mistakes Nene and Priss keep making is trying to jump over the leg attacks, and any sane martial artist, like me, that unless you're in a hardsuit, jumping means surrendering control of your body to momentum and gravity. I can compensate with verniers and rodeoing opponents larger than myself in a hardsuit, but, well, that's why PanzerKunst is an art only used by those with augmentations and not bareskin fighters.

It darts to the left, then the right. I backpedal, knowing I'm giving it an opening to strike from behind. It whirls around me, spinning its limbs like a propeller, and I dart under it-

There! Strike one, right where the spinning propellers came from moments ago! Center mass! Of course it retaliates with a few jabs to the legs, but I turn my crouch into a backflip and swing just out of its range, then recover quickly. The blob glows a little brighter now – it seems almost angry – that's not good –

Two jabs, meters long, each easy enough to dodge, but I know they're feints, showoffs to make it impossible to close the distance. Well, one thing that is consistent about the blob is that it only has one face – it can't attack from multiple directions and weakpoints only show up on that one face. So if I just do that – yes! Dodge to the side, sidestep, force it to rotate, close the distance, get back up in its face – Now ! Strike two, a quick knee under its lower right polygon plate – dance back, it's going to retaliate with longer strikes –

Shit, now it's moving out of range, trying to keep me at a distance. Those first two weakpoints were one after another – I might be spending a good deal of time out of range dodging, then.

As if to prove my point, the blob accelerates, darting in with short strikes, then practically teleports out of range, its attack points staying in place as it stretches out then snapping back into it. It comes at me with the propeller spin again, range steadily increasing as I backpedal, following me relentlessly. Dammit, I need to check the walls or I'll get cornered by this thing, but it's not letting up! Ten seconds become twenty, thirty, forty in this one almost unstoppable attack pattern, and it drives me along the walls-

Unless. No. Wait. That's the point.

I do something I never do, something I just said I wouldn't do. I scramble back, kick off the wall, and flip into a mean divekick, my left foot coming down in a knife edge–

And as if to reward me, there's a weakspot right on its head.

I make contact – and the holoblob dissolves. I flip into a roll - the last thing I want to do is land badly.

I stand up. Look back at the other girls as one of the walls goes transparent to show the observation room. I turn to them, and say the thing every good Japanese martial artist should say after they've thoroughly kicked ass:

"IPPON ICHI!"

I don't make it past Level Nine, though. Oof.

I'm not sure if Celia programmed the difficulty spike in just to make a point about the pseudocortex's necessity, but if I wasn't convinced before, I am after the blob flickers behind me and dings me within the first fifteen seconds, faster than I can turn around to respond. I can see it – I know what it's doing – and it does me no good.

Look, I was willing to do what Celia asked already. It's bizarre that Priss isn't willing to accept an implant that would make her capable of fending off something like Largo, if he ever comes back. I almost died to those impostors, and I don't intend to be hurt that badly again.

Besides, it's still my skill being used and amplified. It's a synthesis where I should still be in control. And you know what? That's all I can ask for. A way to get better.

I think Nene's like that, too. She wants to get better, though she wants to change things just as much. Priss – well, I care deeply for her. She's an excellent friend, loyal like a puppy but still able to chew you out when you mess up. But I really think deep down she doesn't care about honing her talents as long as one day she gets to level the Tower and roast yakisoba on its flaming husk.

Well, whatever. That's not important right now.

Priss gets further into Level Six than she had before, but she misses two weakpoints even as she lays down the law on the holoblob, a flurry of fast punches punctuated with the occasional haymaker. It's a pity she's never bothered to refine her technique beyond raw brawling. I've offered to train her on several occasions, and the excuse is always something to the effect of her either being too busy with the band to bother, or her not needing the practice because it's not her role in the team to get in close because she's got a 'motherfucking railgun'. Neither of these excuses hold up to me, and still Priss treats the holoblob like she would an opponent in a barroom brawl, hoping that if she lays on attacks the blob will be too rattled to respond and she'll hit something vital eventually. Again, not how it works! She needs to get better.

She storms out of the training room after finally getting whacked in the gut by an errant swipe. Sits down. She seems less angry than usual, more – resigned? It's not hard to imagine that's what's on her mind. To hear a push that goes against what she cares about from Celia is one thing, but to hear it from her girlfriend… If she didn't have a show tonight I would take the two of them out to dinner and help them forget their troubles.

"So…" Nene tries to say.

"Bite me, Little Miss Cyberpunk. I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it."

"That's not fair," Sylvie cuts in. "She's trying to cheer you up, Priss. Let Nene speak."

Priss looks at her. Blushes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Nene says. "We all have bad days."

"Yeah." She turns to her girlfriend. "Sylvie, you ready for this? It's trickier than it looks."

"It is not ," I say. "You just treat it wrong. It's a test of pure reflexes, which means you're dodging and maneuvering around the blob more than you're attacking it. Just like a real fight between humans, you want to end it as quickly as possible."

Sylvie nods. She's squinting again. On a face as perfectly pretty as hers, it's incredibly adorable.

"I know," she says. "I used to watch the MMA fighters in Anchorpoint on flatscreen. I – think I picked up a move or two? Master Kaufmann never let us try that, but maybe-"

"It's entirely possible your pseudocortex allowed you to read those moves in a latent activation mode," Celia says. "Either way, we'll see."

"Go Sylvie!" Mackie cheers. "Remember, Level Five is where it starts getting tricky, so don't worry until you get there!"

"Tricky?" Nene hmphs. "It's all tricky!"

"Whatever," Priss says. She gets up, and hugs Sylvie quickly. "Good luck."

All things considered, she does good. Gets up to Level Six before being done in, taking a risky swipe at the blob trying to hit the third weakpoint and getting hit on the arm in exchange.

Her technique's fascinating, actually. It's a bit of the Southeast Asian arts like Silat Melayu – I guess that's pretty common in Anchorpoint – and that's her strong suit, moving the way those nutjobs do. The trouble is she keeps moving like a knife fighter without a knife, trying to mix techniques in a case where one of those techniques is explicitly useless.

If nothing else, she understands that every part of her body is a strike zone and moves accordingly. There's so much potential in her, even without the pseudocortex activated. What could she do with more brainpower guiding her body? What could I do?

Wonderful things, I imagine.

Priss

More tests after that. Stamina; Jump height; Optical tracking; Body shape. Celia says there isn't a real 'marksmanship' test, because simply being able to track what you see combined with the reflex tests is more than enough. Which is a shame, 'cause I kind of want to blow something away with even a light gun. Tracking a bunch of dots on a screen is one thing, but getting to shoot one of those damn amoebas – that'd be worth doing.

But it's over. It's done. And we're all slumped on chairs in the observation room, exhausted, most of us just about ready to strip out of our sensor suits, 'cause hey, Mackie and Celia're off processing the data for hardsuit specifications someplace else. We could all just go topless and sweat for a little while.

Heh. Not like I'd show that to you. Girl's gotta keep her dignity intact.

"Sylvie," Lena gushes all of a sudden, with more energy than I can even think about mustering, "That was incredible. You're telling me you never engaged in a live fight before?"

Sylvie blushes. "Only in the vampsuit, and that was always more about stealth than anything else, so I guess it wasn't really a live fight…"

"Well, still, you picked up on beginner martial techniques just by watching someone else do them." She sighs. "Even I'm not that fast of a learner. I don't think anyone human is."

"Oh. Um. Thank you."

"I'm serious! You've got some slack in your technique, but I bet I could train that out of you in a few hours of serious work where it might take others years to really get to a professional level! I mean, obviously we'd wait until your implant works properly, but even it probably needs something to learn from…" she trails off. "Well, we'll see right?"

Fuck. Lena's on board, Nene'll take any chance to try out new neural hardware — she calls her philosophy of life anarcho-transhumanism, whatever the hell that means — it was Celia's idea, and Sylvie? Can she really be on board with surrendering control to a machine?

Funny way of thinking about freedom, being manipulated by our fearless leader into having a PTSD flasback, and then guided by the promise that if she just does it right all the pain will just vanish .

Sylvie told me, once, that while Celia had her strapped down in the interrogation room, when she tried to justify being a serial killer — said something about necessary evil, taking lives to save a life — Celia went on a major tear about how wrong she

was. I'd have liked to see Celia truly angry at someone, but the point is that's where I think Sylvie got the idea of atonement from.

Sylvie. Sylvie Sylvie Sylvie. How can you call yourself a free spirit, the way you used to be — when we drove down those highways, when we played with that stupid little cat, when we made love, before everything came out — how can you say that when someone else's ideas are in your head?

"Oi! Priss!"

And while I was thinking about all that shit Nene snuck up on me. Right behind me. Leaning almost over into my ear.

"Aw, c'moooon, Priss. Why all the brooding? Is someone having a Shadow the Hedgehog moment? Cutting yourself on that edge ?" She throws her arms around me — how is she so energetic after getting her ass kicked by Mister Holoblob? Also, who the hell is Shadow the Hedgehog?

Sylvie laughs. "Nene, what on earth are you doing ?"

"I," Nene says, "am dissecting Priss's melancholy like a frog in high school bio. I mean, come on ." She squeezes me tighter. "You know what your problem is? You think alllllllll technology is inherently evil stuff. Didn't you say your favorite movie is Tetsuo the Iron Man or something silly like that?"

"It's not!" I sputter. "It's Streets of Fire, that's only my second favorite-" I really should be mad at her, but I can't seem to work it up. Nene's — Nene's a really good hugger.

"Right, but my point still stands!" she squeals. "You Japanese all feel like technology is forced on you whoever's in charge! Never bother to grab technology with your own two hands and take its power for yourself! That's why you're so glum! Do things like the Russians do and reclaim it for yourself!"

" What? "

"I thought the Russians hated technology too…" Lena says, not quite believing what she's seeing. I think.

"Ha!" Nene pulls back, throwing her arms wide, spinning around like a dancer. "Then you've never met the Dancing Bears of Vladivostok, or the Carbonistas of Omsk, or the Kroptkin's Witches of Murmansk, or even the old Federation's elite cyber-operatives! If we had the resources the Americans had we Russians would shred the world with superior tech!" She stops. "But most of Russia is desolate wasteland where no one really wants to settle, so I guess that's kind of a moot point…" She giggles. "Well, anyway! I've made my point."

Sylvie nods. "I never thought of it like that." She nods. "But I like it. Taking back what's mine… yes. I can do that."

Lena shrugs. "I have no idea who any of those people are, Nene, but I'll take your word for it…"

Okay. My turn. How am I supposed to respond to that? Nene keeps trying to cheer me up. And it's funny because I know she's not a big cutesy mass of joy all the time. I've seen her depressed, I've seen her hero worship for old tech icons break. Is this – She's paying me back, isn't she.

"Nene…" I finally manage to get out. "I'll think about it."

"'Course you will. But the trick is to think about it the right way . That's what you told me after I had to crash the Sense/Net metaverse, right?" She imitates me now, but I know my voice isn't that gravelly. "'Either you weep over your heroes, Nene, or you resolve to outmatch them. That's the only way to live.'"

"Fuck, I said that?"

"You totally did!" Mackie says, entering with a little tea-and-snacks platter. We all turn to look at him. He's unfazed. Funny – he used to be very fazed by us all in one room. "I remember it, plus Nene never stops talking about it." He grins. "You can be very persuasive when you want to be, Priss."

"Heh. That I can." We're both talking about the time I, how to put this, 'talked' him into letting me ride the Highway Star last year. Which was kind of stupid of me, but we still laugh about it. Anyway.

Celia comes in, following Mackie. She's already changed back into her old clothes, this razor-sharp dark blue silk suit and skirt combo. She lays down a holoprojector tablet, and brings up our biometrics, floating masses of pure data about our bodies.

She sits down. "Performance was slightly improved by a few metrics across the board – we've all gotten better in terms of reflexes ever since the last training session. Nene's optical tracking's improved greatly, Priss's body strength has as well, Lena's improved in terms of stamina – and as for you, Sylvie, you've done quite well. Could stand to work on stamina and reflexes, but you're getting there. I would still like to integrate the Riastrad – that's what I've decided to call the pseudocortical module, by the way – into your bodies, and I have neural data from the sensor suits to fabricate custom units, but before I do that I would like to make sure Sylvie's unit works without traumatic errors popping up."

She waves her hand idly. "You're all free to go. I know Priss and Sylvie have a performance tonight so I'd hate to keep you waiting. But Sylvie, I will need you at the LADYS633's medical suite early tomorrow morning so I fix the relevant issues."

I lean forward. "Should I come?"

"I'd rather you didn't, Priss."

Wait, what? I look around. The others look troubled. "What?" Celia says. "The process of getting a clean trigger is going to be incredibly difficult. I'd rather not trouble you with all that work-"

"And you don't want me trying to stop you," I growl, "If you hurt her again."

"Something like that. I'd prefer to minimize misunderstandings between us, Priss. That's all." She smiles. Or tries to. Celia's smiles are always so small they barely count. And maybe she can read what I'm thinking, because the next thing she says is:

"Let the woman you love take this risk. For her own sake. I promise it will work out in the end."

She doesn't say, of course, that she promises not to hurt her. We both know, whatever mad science Celia's up to, that a promise like that would be broken instantly. Fuck.

Look, I don't hate Celia. I owe her too much. She's done too many kind acts for me, for others, for me to write her off as another rich sociopath.

But she always thinks she's right. It's not that she's stubborn, more like she doesn't let others have opinions that go against her. She'll find some way to make you go along with what she wants.

And the worst part? The most unbearable part of how she operates?

More often than not, she's insufferably right.

Fuck it. I've got a show to do. I'm not going to let being outvoted get to me. I'm going to do what I've always done. Rock hard, ride free, and protect the woman I love.

What else, at this point, can I do?