[this takes place during the previous chapter: Substitute For Love and focus' in Priss]
A new dawn broke on Tokyo city.
Light from the rising sun filtered into the dark trailer.
Priss Asagiri turned he head stiffly to the doorway.
The light was grainy. Particles of dust floating.
I've been awake all night.
Her mind was stuffy. Particles of sleep floating through it.
With a heave she rose from the couch. Blood rushed to her head and she wobbled. Her hand waved about, finally meeting the wall and she leaned on it until the sensation cleared. Her breathing was deep. She rubbed her face with her other hand. Smearing the salt of dry tears across her cheeks.
What a mess.
She went to the shower. The water was cold. Goosebumps quickly covered her skin. With a grit of teeth she stepped in and raised her head. The recycled water smelling of chlorine and rust struck hammer blows. Her heart jumped. She kept herself in the flow. Punishment.
Damp hair covered her forehead. She stepped from the shower and quickly wrapped a towel about her. It needed washing. She went outside into the sunlight that was peaking through the gaps of the city skyline.
It was good her trailer was in an east-west aligned road. Kept the sunlight for most of the day.
She entwined her fingers high above her head and stretched. Slowly the stiffness left her.
The rays of the sun warmed her skin. Warmer from the pollution that covered the city like a thick blanket.
It looked like being a good day. Not a cloud in the sky. No breeze either. She returned to the trailer, threw the towel onto a pile of unwashed laundry and returned to her bedroom at the end of the trailer, kicking a mug on the floor along the way. She paused at that. The mug. Who held it, last night.
Priss found herself leaning against the wall, head resting on the bare surface, her throat constricted and eyes moist.
Not meant to happen that way. Have another chance Saturday at the club. If she comes.
The singer looked at the pages on her bed.
We'll see.
Dressed she then made her self breakfast. Black coffee, strong; toast and scrambled eggs. With a piece of toast between her lips she carried the steaming coffee and eggs outside. Eating outside, one of life's small pleasures.
The sounds of the city came to ears as echoes along the concrete and glass valleys. The city she had spent her entire life in. Not once had she left it. Not even after the quake. Amidst the rubble and the reconstruction she stayed. What, outside, was there for her? Was it any different from what happened here? Only smaller or bigger? Then, what was outside of Japan?
The breakfast was quickly finished. She savoured the coffee, letting it work its magic on her senses and mind. The caffeine substitute ordering her body to inspection. It was the smell that she liked rather than the taste. When she had spare money she'd go into a coffee shop, a real one, not some franchise cafe, and breath in the aroma of the beans. And she would walk out, bag full of real coffee to last her for a few weeks of high living by her standards. She shared it with nobody, or rather she had nobody to share it with. She would have liked making a real cup of coffee for Linna last night. Grinding the beans to reach that perfect balance of granularity.
Next time.
The dishes went into a pile of other dirty dishes.
Back again outside. Motorcycle keys in her hand.
She turned around. Again.
No bike.
She scratched her head.
Where's my bike?
She walked around her trailer.
It's not at Nigels...
Panic. Get a grip.
Where was I last? Linna's. How did I get there? Don't know. Cab. Yesterday, called Nene.
She went back inside, picked up her phone. Probably not at work yet. The phone went into her jacket pocket.
Where was I before Linna's? In trouble. Remember goths, guy from Clockwork Orange. He'll need dental work. Place with rotting food on the floor. Club Rottern. Will it be there or stolen, or a pile of parts. Been a few days.
The orange ball of the sun slowly crept over the city skyline.
+++===+++
Priss took bus, rail, bus and bus again before walking another kilometer to stand before the alley that lead to Club Rottern. It had taken two hours. She was not amused.
Her bike was not there.
Reaching in she pulled her phone out and stabbed in the Nene's number.
It beeped and beeped. Her foot tapped the stained concrete asphalt.
She was redirected to voice mail after a typically excited Nene in record played "Hi! This is Nene Romanova's cell phone. I'm not able to answer right now, soooo," Priss winced, "leave your message and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can!"
How could someone hate somebody else just through listening to their recorded voice?
"Nene, it's Priss. Let me know what you have about my bike. OK?" she ended the call.
Nobody was around. Too early for anyone to be at the club. Too early in the week for the place to be open either.
She walked down the alley to the front. A heavy metal door covered it. She kept going down the alley, turned the corner. Another doorway. It felt familiar. She stared at it.
A shiver ran through her frame.
The alley was cold. No direct sunlight. She walked on. Past piles of refuse. Back out into the street.
Where to next?
It was a big city. Her bike could be anywhere.
She loved that bike. It was a part of her, an extension of her soul. When she rode and the air parted by her she felt as if she was flying, just a few feet above the ground. Racing along the streets without a care. The hum of the engine her pulse. The vibrations rising up and along her body like the waves of the sea washing over her.
The sea. How many nights had she driven there and run into the water. She couldn't swim. Instead just ran along the water line or lay waiting for the tide. Staring up at the sky trying to catch a twinkle of a star, all but concealed by the haze. Thinking of nothing, or the future. It had been a while since her last visit. She needed to think again.
+++===+++
More trains and buses. Forking over small denominations. The cost slowly mounting up. Along the she stopped in for lunch. Pressed a button on a machine that spat out a ticket. Took the ticket to the counter and picked up the bowl of noodles. Standing around a bench with quick lunching office workers and students. They all paid each other no attention. Noodles washed down with a can of tea from a vending machine.
Nene rang. No sign of her bike. Keep looking. Priss kept the conversation short and to the point. She didn't want to get dragged into Nene yammering on about, anything. It was bad enough having to watch her try and fight, dismally. And losing the bet, all because of her.
Her face flushed.
Linna and the photo.
Priss never would have guessed it. Had she sent out some kind of signal that made Linna think she was interested in her? Romantically challenged she didn't know. She remembered Linna saying "You made me a Knight Sabre, you saved my life.". What had made her choose to bring Linna to Sylia?
Their first encounter. Linna had shown spirit then. It had been fun, pissing off a typical corporate slave. One who turned up at her club. Tracked her down, said she was going to be a Knight Sabre. All right lady, prove it. Here's your test, keep up with me. And she had.
It wasn't a full answer.
Why had she pointed to her temple when that rogue boomer had almost killed Linna, dangling on a fire escape.
Do I like her? Yes. That way? No... don't know. Never had a boyfriend, anything more than drunks or losers come up to her with an attitude. They quickly found the door. All the other members of the band were guys but that was different. There was no connection apart from the music.
Linna's mouth on her own, closed eyes that turned to terror when the opened and saw how she looked back, wide eyed.
Some fans had crushes on her. It was almost cute. Sign a t-shirt or CD, say a word and it made their day. Boys and girls. It was about the music wasn't it? She was no sex symbol that existed in the pop charts. Manufactured bands with dozens of song writers and mixers turning terrible voices in chart hits. Show a bit of belly or bust and you were made. Have a tear in the clothing at you were a rebel. Original out of a factory die.
Maybe they were really boomers? She liked that idea. Then she might kill some of them if they went rogue. Images of popstars at the end of her knuckle bombs.
A woman having a crush on her. Nothing to do with the music. When had it started? Why her? Why me?? It wasn't cute. It was scary.
Someone else's breath in her own throat. Sucked down into her lungs. Warm.
In this city millions of people kissed everyday. Lived in a state of companionship. Shared their lives.
Could I do that?
Have and raise children.
Could I do that?
Instinctively her mind rejected the nuclear family image that appeared. Words frothing out of the mouth of her teachers: "Grow up to be a good and understanding wife." Compliance in the world. She remembered vaguely, outside of Japan, America maybe, from a show; don't be compliant. Do it if its right for you, not because that's what they want you to be.
"Why am I thinking this?" her teeth clenched.
+++===+++
The sea.
Sunlight dancing off the waves to the horizon.
Large freighters idle.
The Genom tower.
Priss hopped off the bus. It was mid-afternoon, the sun high in the sky but soon to begin a lazy descent to plunge the city back into night. Not much traffic on the bay side road. She walked over to steps heading down to the waterline.
Hand on the rail she took each step slowly, watching over to the side juveniles playing basketball in an empty car park.
A biker gang by the looks of them. Around the edge of the playing field were a mix of cheap and some respectable bikes. One caught her eye. A large red bike. Reclining seat, the rider didn't actually ride it, more like sat in it. Automotive stickers covered its wheel guards. Pretty impressive.
Priss reached the end of the steps and headed over the bikers, intention of talking to the bikes owner.
An electric whine came from behind her. She turned and quickly leapt back avoiding a pair of bikes roll close by.
"Outta the way," laughed the lead rider.
"Jerks!" Priss shouted.
They turned into the car park giving her a good look at the bikes. The lead one was familiar. She quickened her pace.
+++===+++
Kaneda heard Yano's arrival. It wasn't hard when the biker rolled through the middle of the basketball game amid shouts and abuse. Finished cleaning the windshield he let the rag drop before turning around to have a look at the commotion.
Yano with a big grin was stopped in the middle of the game, which had stopped also, because everyone was crowded around him and the bike he was sitting on. A bike Kaneda didn't recognise.
"Hey Kaneda, what do you think of this?" Yano swept his arm along the length of the bike.
Kaneda tried to keep his face impassive, the air of coolness. Inside he was quite impressed, and wondered how Yano got his hands on such a machine. "Just because its red doesn't mean it can match mine," he joked.
They shook hands.
Comments of appraisal came from all round.
Kaneda ran his hand along the body, "So, where'd you get it?"
"It just kinda fell into my lap. A gift from God." a rakish grin accompanied the reply.
There was commotion at the outside of the group. Kaneda looked up, someone was pushing their way through.
"Move it or lose it kid," a woman's voice. Rough. Sounded angry too.
Priss pushed two gawkers away from her and was in the circle. Instantly she knew that this was her bike. Her eyes went to the rider. He was going to pay.
"C'mon lady, I wasn't going to hit you." Yano said.
"Doesn't look like that is what she's here about," Kaneda stepped around the bike to be in front of Priss.
Picking up on his lead the others reassembled themselves and put on airs.
"That's my bike," Priss pointed.
"What, you're crazy!" from Yano.
Kanada couldn't help but scowling. A fine little miss to end the day.
Priss stepped towards the bike. Kaneda stepped up to her. She looked at him with icy eyes, "Back off."
Kaneda was a little shocked. But he couldn't back down. Even if the bike was hers, she couldn't just turn up and demand it and expect compliance. He was the leader and was going to keep it that way.
"And I'm just suppose to believe that? Some woman comes walking in off the street,"
There was an intake of breath by the crowd when Priss wrapped her hand around the front of Kaneda's shirt and pushed him away into the catching arms of his gang.
Yano got off the bike in a flash, blood rising, went at Priss, "Bitch!" armed pulled back for a punch.
He went down blood spurting from his nose.
Priss rubbed her knuckles, lips drawn back over her gums, exposing her teeth.
OK, she's tough. But gotta do something. Kaneda shook off the hands holding him. Fists balled but cautiously he approached Priss by the bike.
Causally she took out the keys, paused. The ignition was busted. Only way to get it to run without the keys.
"You're gonna pay for damaging my bike," her voice was low but carried to them all.
"Whatcha got there, some key? Think that proves anything?" he pulled out his own keys and jangled them. The gang laughed with a trace of nervousness.
Priss ignored the jibe. Her bike looked in okay condition besides the ignition. Nigel could fix that quickly. Such a weight, loss, was gone from her shoulders. Now all she had to do was to get out.
She started the engine without the key. The crowd stepped back.
One of the things that was different about her bike was that it had a vidphone built into it. She turned it on and quick-dialed Nene.
A hand forcefully rested on her arm when Nene's face came onto the screen.
"Priss! Uh? Who's that?" Nene tried looking around the flat screen to get a better view of Kaneda who saw the Police Uniform.
"Found my bike, just letting you know."
"Hey wai..."
The screen went blank. No doubt a fuming Nene at the other end.
Priss looked down at the hand on her arm, up to the face connected to it, "Mind removing your hand?" her tone was suggestive of hurt being inflicted.
"So you're a cop?" he straightened up and crossed his arms.
"No."
A sigh of relief.
Priss was about to mount the bike.
"Don't think that you are going anywhere lady,"
"Gonna stop me?"
"There's enough of us and your friends'll be to late."
Which was right. Not that she wouldn't put a good fight and send plenty of them along to the hospital or morgue with her. "So who's first? End up like your pal there," she motioned with a jerk of the head to Yano holding a rag over his nose.
There were no individuals brave enough. If anything happened it'd be a group effort. Kaneda sighed, it was up to him again.
"There's no need for violence. I've got a better idea- a race."
If Priss was capable of raising just one eyebrow she would have. Because she couldn't however she disliked people who could.
"A race?" she looked over to the other red bike. It was bigger than hers. Sleek.
Kaneda followed her eyes and grinned, "Sure. You win and you get to go with your bike, if you lose. Well," she shrugged, "you can go but the bike stays with us and you don't bring in the cops."
"That doesn't sound fair."
Kaneda shrugged again.
Then Priss saw something that could make it fairer.
"But not motorcycles."
"What?"
She pointed to some bicycles, owned by the younger gang members.
"A bicycle?"
"Its a bike. Don't you know how?"
"I know how! You're on."
The crowd followed them over to the bicycles. They both pulled out a BMX equivalent.
"The route is; onto the bayroad, cross it.."
Someone gasped, "Cross the road?"
"Afraid of a little oncoming traffic?"
"Keep going..."
Priss laid out the rest of the race track. Probably about a kilometer in distance. Some of the gang were assigned to mark it. Excitedly they went off to their positions.
One of the girls, who must have been a flirt, pulled off her bra and stood by the car park exit, "When I drop this you go!" she waved her bra in the air.
Priss and Kaneda took no notice of her antics as they settled themselves onto the bikes, leaning over the handlebar and ready to kick off.
"Why not your knickers?" laughter. The girl poked out her tongue and became serious.
"On your marks."
Everyone fell silent and turned their attention to the bra, orange, hanging limp in the girls hand.
"Get set,"
The racers grit their teeth.
"GO!" the bra dropped.
+++===+++
Peddling furiously the racers tore up the disabled access ramp onto the footpath along the bay road causing pedestrians to scatter.
The wind in her hair Priss edged onto the road and looked back. Traffic on both sides, crossing it almost at the horizontal was going to be difficult.
Excitement filling her heart she yelled out and sharply turned the handlebars. Onto the road across incoming traffic she rode.
"Crazy!" Kaneda's shout was drowned out amid the horns as he followed suit with as much speed as he could muster to cross the road as quickly as possible before he became roadkill.
Priss dared not look back. Through three more lanes she weaved without slowing. Cars swung away almost into collisions. They rushed by as blurs.
Then she was across and heading for the bikers who marked the route.
Kaneda kept going down the middle of the road timing his turn. Chicken was one of his favoured gang games. But then he was in a heavier machine and so was the other guy, not a bicycle verus cars or trucks. He saw the opening, two lanes with the cars staggered and he cornered.
Priss watched Kaneda out of the corner of her eye and was impressed at the guys skill and daring. He must be some biker. She slowed to take the corner off the bay road, into a two lane street that at her previous speed would have had her crash into a wall. As she came out of the corner she pumped her legs to regain speed.
Kaneda flashed through the lanes directly into the street. Not needing to slow down and giving it all his worth he flashed ahead of Priss.
The bikers jumped and hooted as the races passed them by.
+++===+++
More turns, side streets, circling back and then under the bay road onto a footpath that ran along the waterline.
Kaneda still kept his lead of two bike lengths. He was standing up to give his legs more push, the bicycle swaying from side to side as each leg pushed down on its peddle in turn.
Hair streaming out behind her Priss kept her pace. All she could see was the path and the rider in front of her.
Sweat covered both the riders. Shirts clinging to their front as the speed pushed them back, the air cooling.
They rounded a corner and the car pack came into view.
Head bowed Priss raised herself up like Kaneda and called on her reserves.
Through sweat stung eyes Kaneda saw the car park. His lungs heaved and legs burned. Can't stop, keep going. Focus. He gulped at the air.
Priss was making distance, closing the gap. She figured he wouldn't be as fit as she was, unable to cope with a high pace lengthy race. Blood pounding in her ears her front tyre reached his back and she inched further.
Handlebars, waving brown hair came into his peripheral vision. Shit! She was on top of him. Her eyes staring directly ahead not noticing him at all. Good plan, forget her, just ride.
The gang had already returned to the car park and waited by the entrance screaming for Kaneda to win.
"It's going to be close!"
"I can't watch!"
Closer they came, off the footpath onto the road.
Last legs. Neck and neck.
Wheels a blur. Loose stones skipping along the road.
Almost there. One final turn and into the car park and it was all over.
The corner came.
Kaneda on the outside turned tightly and early hoping to cut Priss off. His back tyre slipped on loose stones and the bike went down. As he fell and skidded sideways he reached out and caught the sleeve of Priss' jacket.
Her eyes opened wide.
She too fell, was pulled down.
Both their bodies tumbled along the road, limbs, knees, elbows striking the hard surface repeatedly.
Motion spent they lay sprawled on the road. The gang broke ranks and ran towards them.
Dazed Priss pushed herself up onto her knees. Her pants and jacket was torn. Cuts were on her hands. Her head felt okay.
"Are you all right?" faces circled around her.
She stood up. It wasn't over yet.
"Holy shit, she's still going!" someone exclaimed.
Those around Kaneda pulled at him, "Get up man, she's going to win!"
The gang leader groaned. He hurt. Everywhere.
"Look, she's got up, she's ... she's picked up her bike!" almost hysterical.
And so Priss had. Behind her she dragged the twisted object towards the car park. I'm going .. to get my bike.
Kaneda couldn't believe it. Where did people get drive like that?
"Get off me!" he yelled.
Thinking that he was going to still try and win the gang did so. They changed their opinion when Kaneda vomited.
Priss let go of the she crossed over into the car park. Gang faces were dismayed. She walked over to her bike.
"Think I'd give up on you?" she asked, "Now take me home." and she mounted.
The engine came to life.
The gangers parted for her when she exited. She stopped near the crowd around Kaneda. They all turned to look at her.
Wiping the spittle from his mouth Kaneda got up and with a limp took a few steps before others propped him up.
"You look like shit." she said.
"You don't look so bad yourself."
Was that a compliment?
"Next time motorcycles." he added.
"Any time." she smiled.
+++ 30 +++
Priss just can't help but get into trouble can she? Decided to make the bikers from Akira as a kind of homage. Fit the bill. Did Genom really use an earth quake bomb or was the quake caused by Tetsuo evolving?