Layer 001:
Good Morning, Esthar Bay


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Zell drifted up into consciousness slowly, staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse. He had managed to roll over onto one of the tarp-covered piles of fenced goods, and something was digging into the back of his skull in a most unpleasant manner. He quickly rolled back off, searching for the source of the constant noise.

After a few moments of searching, he came across a small, handheld audio codec. With a slight start, he wondered how long it had been going off. It could have been signaling all night and he would never have known--

He hit the SPEAK button. "Er. Hello?"

There was a moment's silence, a rustle, and then the sound of a very annoyed voice on the other end. "Good god, Zell, do you have any idea what time it is?"

Zell looked up. Judging by the light pouring in through the warehouse's slotted windows... he had no idea. "No. I, uh, overslept. Sorry."

"It's ten fifteen. I've been trying to reach you for the last half-hour! I was this close to sending Siobhan back to see if you were still alive."

"Sorry." Zell looked around, trying to wrestle up memories from a part of his brain that seemed more inclined to go on sleeping. "What's happening? Do you need me?"

"Well, I sure as hell didn't page you for the joy of conversation," the voice replied. "Yes, we need you. You're our mechanic, remember? You need to bring the IDA over here, as of twenty minutes ago. And hurry it up, will you?"

"The... IDA?"

"Wake up!" The voice was definitely irate now, and Zell was having trouble placing it. "Interfaced Data Assembly. It's the thing you almost got killed last night trying to get, remember? ...look. We're at the South Side Docks already, and in thirty minutes the Harpoon is going to be gone. So step on it!"

The codec shut off, and Zell rubbed the back of his head. His fingers came into unexpected contact with a bandage, and he jerked them away and winced. No wonder he had had trouble waking up--he probably shouldn't have gone to sleep at all, if he had a head wound there. Shaking off his confusion, he looked around for the IDA.

The object in question was a small computer drive with a number of cable ports--a few actually containing cables--and a disc slot with a tiny, recessed activation button. Zell located his pack--it was right next to his bed, easily accessible, just like they taught in Basic Procedure--and stuffed the IDA into it. Slinging it onto his back, he tightened the shoulder straps to be comfortable and headed out the door.

The light was overpowering for the first few moments, and he simply stood in the alley and waited while his eyes adjusted. The glare was everywhere, reflecting off the street and the whitewashed building walls. Off in the distance rose the translucent walls of Esthar buildings, casting long, colorful shadows in the morning light. (Industrial District,) Zell identified belatedly. (...oh! Yeah! We're supposed to break into the Harpoon and sabotage the engine. It's a SeeD mission. Right!)

Armed with his newfound recollection, Zell glanced around for the access road that would take him down to the maintenance houses by the Docks. Realizing he had come out the wrong door, he started around the building and tried to remember any other useful details that might have slipped his mind.

(...I'm here with Siobhan Sierra and Tanker Riles,) he thought. (Tanker is in charge, right? ...yeah, he outranks me.) His thoughts soured. (And hates me, I think.)

The access road was a pitiful affair, more a path of grit and grime between two warehousing systems than anything else. It was a straight shot down to the Docks, with no intersections or corners. Zell set out at a jog, noting again how this stretch of town seemed to be perpetually cloaked in shadow. (After we hit the Harpoon, we're supposed to get out of there. We'll meet up with the Kobayashi Maru, and it'll take us to a safe port farther north. We meet up with a SeeD transport there, and mission accomplished! Should be easy.)

A light touch to the bandage on his head reminded him of the rest.

(We have to watch out for the Desperados. They're... they're...) The answer was eluding him, and he didn't much like it. (....they're the ones who almost got me killed last night,) he told himself, and hoped that that would be enough for the moment. (Oh, well. Tanker will remind me.)

He was wondering what time it was, and it took him a few seconds to remember that he had been given a watch for this mission. Checking it, he read 10:21--twenty-four minutes until the Harpoon Left dock. In just shy of a half-hour he had to get there, get in, do his job, and get out.

He ran faster.

-

Neither of his teammates looked particularly pleased with him as he ran up, and Zell could hardly blame them. Tanker in particular was giving him a very nasty glare, and without any formalities the mission commander tossed him a maintenance worker's jumpsuit. "Get into that," he snapped. "Just put it on over your clothes, like Siob and I did. Desperado guards are crawling over the Harpoon like ants on honey, and we're sure as hell not going to get in any other way."

Tanker stared for a moment, then reached out and pulled the bandage from Zell's head. "Hey!"
Zell exclaimed as it tugged against the recent bruises.

"C'mere," Tanker snapped. "I'm going to wrap up the side of your face. There's no way in hell we're going to get in there without a dozen people seeing us at bare minimum, and we don't need anyone identifying that tattoo of yours." He snorted derisively. "Not that this will be much less conspicuous, but at least we can try to throw them a bit."

Siobhan rolled her eyes as Tanker re-bound Zell's head, cinching the bandage a bit tighter than was necessary out of sheer spite. "The Harpoon uses an integrated computer system in its engines," she said. "The computer pretty much runs everything. I'll take the IDA--I know how to use it. Zell, your job is to make sure the engine still starts when we're done. We want it to take them until they reach the ocean and try to activate the impulse drivers to figure out that something's wrong."

Tanker gave a cruel grin. "And by then," he said, "they'll be surrounded by Esthar gunboats with no way to get out on conventional power. I wish I could watch."

Siobhan watched critically as Zell wormed his way into the jumpsuit, then glanced down at the Harpoon. "What a wreck," she said. "I can't believe that thing even moves, much less supports an impulse drive. It has more seams than a tailor's workroom."

"They're called upgrades," Tanker said. "Trust me, babes, that's the toughest ship in the docks. And we're gonna be the ones taking it down."

Siobhan rolled her eyes again. "Get off it," she said. "And stop grinning like a maniac. You're a maintenance official, just out of some lowest-level college, and the only work you can find is taking odd jobs for outlaws at prices below your worth. Keep that in mind."

Tanker shrugged. "Let's go," he said, barely giving Zell time to zip up the back of the jumpsuit and stand. "We have thirteen minutes at the absolute max. And I'm the leader--let me do the talking."

"That'll be a disaster," Siobhan muttered. Casting a glance at Zell, she held out her hand. "Gimme your pack," she ordered flatly. Zell nodded and handed it over. Sierra was not, as a rule, someone you wanted to take issue with.

"The IDA's on top," Zell said unhelpfully.

"I'll find it."

Tanker was motioning them to follow him, and Siobhan slipped the pack on over one shoulder and did so. Zell trailed after them, trying his best to look like a maintenance officer and feeling like an idiot with half of his face covered in bandages.

(The Desperados were soldiers,) he realized, coming into sight of the Harpoon's main hatch. (Deserters. So that's what Esthar wants with them.)

Tanker walked up to the first one, putting on a look of resentful boredom. "We're the maintenance officers you called," he said. "We're here to look at the engine room."

"About time," one of the guards said. "We won't hold back our schedule for you. Get in."

"What's with his face?" the other guard asked, motioning to Zell's bandage suspiciously.

Tanker glanced back. "That's why we were late," he said. "Someone decided that it would be funny to rig a generator to explode. He went in to look at it, a few sparks flew where they shouldn't have and that happened. We got him wrapped up as fast as we could."

The soldier cast his companion a look, and motioned them in. "Don't be long," he said. "The engine room is down the center hall, down the hatch, and the entry in on the right. It's hard to miss."

Tanker nodder, stepping past the man as if he had walked into Estharan sea vessels every midmorning of his life. Zell and Siobhan followed, Siobhan checking her watch and Zell acting as normal as he could.

The ship was swarming with Desperados, all bustling about in preparation to depart. Most of them paid no attention to the SeeDs, occupied as they were by some other task of importance. The lower level and the engine room were pretty much deserted--a soldier was in the engine room checking a few of the readouts, but he vacated the premises by way of acknowledging their presence. Tanker strode into the center of the room, taking everything in. "Go to it," he said.

Zell stared at the massive contraption, with absolutely no idea what was expected of him. "Uh, what?"

Siobhan gave him an odd look, shaking her head. "We need to talk to you about that head of yours," she said. "Disconnect the engine ignition from the impulse drive and reconnect it to the main system. But I suppose you don't know how to do that, do you?"

Zell had the feeling that he was really, really blowing it on this mission. "I'll figure it out," he said, cracking his knuckles and sliding under what looked to be the main apparatus. Once he was actually looking at the pistons and gears, he could usually figure out what went where.

...usually.

"Well, you're the mechanic," Tanker snickered. "Mechanize."

Zell stared at the mess of parts under the engine's routing system. It was obvious that the thing had been taken apart or added on to several times--and also obvious that whoever had done the additions and modifications had only a basic sense of mechanics. This shouldn't be too difficult, assuming that whatever amateur had put it together hadn't screwed everything up royally.

"Hey, I have a tool belt somewhere?" he asked. Tanker grabbed his pack, rifling through it and sending the belt skimming under the machine to Zell.

"Keep that handy," he said. "You forget about anything else?"

"Nope!" Grabbing a flashlight, Zell took a closer look at the apparatus, following everything along to guess what it did. The engine was off at the moment, which was a good thing--under no circumstances would Zell want to be working on something like this while it was up and running.

"I'm giving you both seven minutes to figure all of this out," Tanker said. "We want to be on the safe side. We could go a bit over that, but go too long and we'll be hopping off and swimming back to shore."

Within a minute of close inspection, Zell was fairly certain that he had identified the main engine and the prototype impulse drive, and was checking the ignition systems on each. The Estharan ship engine wasn't totally different than the engine of a SeeD transport--which was lucky, considering the way most Estharan systems worked.

Holding the flashlight in his mouth, Zell grabbed one of the multiuse tools from the belt and set to work rearranging the components to his satisfaction.

"Hey," Siobhan said, interrupting his concentration. "Tanker. I need this panel open. Come help me."

There was the sound of footsteps, and Tanker spoke up. "Zell. We need a screwdriver, or a little crowbar, or something. Got one of those in that belt of yours?"

"Mmph," Zell said through a mouthful of flashlight. Putting one of his tools down on his chest, he fumbled for something in the belt and tossed it out from under the machine. There was a soft clang as it hit the opposite wall, and Tanker cursed softly as he retrieved it.

"Nice throw."

Zell went back to work, but his immediate concentration was broken by the creaking of a panel being pulled from its resting place. There was the sound of cables being moved around and something electrical booting up, and the panel was placed back. "Shoddy job," Siobhan muttered, "but not that obvious. Best we can do for now. Zell! Need help, down there?"

Zell managed a noise that sounded like an "Uh-uh," squinting to see one of the smaller components. He was having a bit of trouble moving things around in such cramped quarters, but he had a feeling that Siobhan wouldn't know what was what in the jumble of mechanical odds and ends he was confronting.

"Well, hurry up with it," Tanker snapped. "Siob's already done. We're waiting on you."

"Tanker?" Siobhan spoke up.

"Yeah?"

There was a rustle, and a few footsteps. "Never mind. What time do you have?"

"Ten forty."

"Five minutes, give or take. We've got time."

Zell snapped a small something into a larger something else, hoping that that was the right connection. When the Estharans made a prototype of anything, there was usually only a slim chance that it would be compatible with anything else--the market was practically inundated with connectors, adapters, interfacers, and all manner of things designed to make machines work together no matter what. It would be nearly impossible to recognize all of them on sight--but Zell was doing a pretty good job of muddling through things on his own, especially given the time (and space) constraints he had to work with.

There was something reassuring about the way everything was fitting together in the engine--something that gave him an added bit of reassurance that he wasn't just going insane. That information was welcome, after the trials of the morning.

Machines were, to Zell's mind, really, really cool. It was awesome to see how everything fit together, making something big and powerful--how tiny things like screws and capacitors and wires and gears could turn into something that could do so much more than what any of the individual parts could do. And when they were running, everything looked so complicated--things turning against each other, moving about or back and forth, bending in certain places to do certain things, but all working together in a way that was really complicated, but still... understandable. Knowing about them felt like knowing the secrets of the universe---like being able to see every cause and effect in one of Lauten's Advanced Tactics quizzes.

And, of course, with machines--unlike most aspects of life--there was usually a quick and dirty way to get through things.

He punched the underside of the engine once to make sure everything was connected, and slid out from under it. "All done," he said. "Let's go!"

Tanker turned, heading out as fast as he could without making it look as if he was trying his best to get the hell away. Stopping for a moment to inform the guards at the door that "It was mostly all right. A few loose screws, but we caught 'em," he lead them out of the Harpoon and into the sunlight of the Bay's southern docks. He waited until they were out of the Desperados' line-of-sight and earshot before turning and giving his team a savage grin. "Mission accomplished. The Kobayashi Maru will be here by Two. 'til then, we're on standby." He stretched, giving a broad wink to Siobhan. "You know what that means?"

Siobhan looked as if she couldn't care less if she was dead. "It means we wait for the ship."

"It means shore leave, babes! Rendezvous back here at one thirty, to be safe. Until then, do whatever. I'm heading into town. Wanna come with?"

Siobhan's lip curled. "No."

Tanker shrugged. "Right-o. Oh, and ditch the threads. Don't need anyone recognizing us. Siob, c'mon. Town is fu-un...."

Siobhan didn't dignify that with a response.

Tanker shrugged again. "Right. Well, have fun." He cast a glance at Zell. "And you can... go punch something. Or something."

Tanker wandered off, and Zell decided to try his luck at commandeering the conversation--such as it was. "Geez, what's his problem?"

Siobhan gave him a look. "Huh. We really do need to talk about that head of yours."

"Huh?"

Siobhan unzipped the jumpsuit, stepping out of it. She was thin, but solidly built--loose black pants and a green tank top suggesting that she was some kind of martial artist. She certainly didn't look as if she was accustomed to carrying a weapon around, at least. "Do you remember anything about last night?" she asked.

Zell shook his head. "Not really."

"Do you remember anything about this mission?"

Zell thought. "Kinda," he said. "Tanker's in charge, and we were supposed to sabotage the Harpoon. It's a Desperado ship, and they're deserters from the Army, which is why Esthar wants us to get rid of them. So we had to get the IDA, which did something, and...."

"All right, all right," Siobhan said, motioning him to shut up. "First off, the Desperados aren't deserters. Try 'mutineers.' They stole the Harpoon, which is a prototype impulse submarine. This town in a safe haven for crooks and the like--the Government can't touch it. So they hired us to sabotage the Harpoon, so that they could catch her on the open seas."

Zell nodded. "Okay."

"The IDA fakes readouts. We set it to fake a diagnostic readout, so that the impulse engine would show up as still online even after you disconnected it. That's why we needed it."

Zell nodded. "Okay...."

"We had to retrieve it from a Desperado group on the mainland a bit north of here last night. Tanker and I were busy making sure that the Desperados hired us as their maintenance officers instead of anyone else, but you said that you could handle it. Well, you got it, but there was a bit of a scuffle--that's what you reported last night, at least. You killed both assailants, but one of them clocked you on the back of the head with some kind of 'magical thing.' It KO'd your GFs inside your skull, and scrambled all of your paramagic. It's not like I was around to examine you, but I'd bet a gil to a gold brick that all of the paramagical signals running through your brain are scrambling your memory. Once we get you back to Garden and unjunction you, everything should sort itself out. Until then, just ask questions and play the rest by ear."

That seemed like a good enough plan to Zell. "...hey, what's up with Tanker?"

"Tanker?" Siobhan snorted. "He was born on the wrong side of the bed. Ignore him."

"Why's he in charge?"

"Because he has seniority, and because he's familiar with the area."

"Oh."

"Take off the jumpsuit."

Zell looked down, and realized that he had forgotten to get out of his disguise. Pulling it off, he undid the bandage around his face as well. "...where are we supposed to put these?"

Siobhan looked around. "Well, we're in a warehouse district; one of these places is bound to have a maintenance closet. We'll hide them there. Or would could hide them under these crates here." She knocked a knuckle against the wooden slats of one of the crates in question. Grabbing Zell's jumpsuit, she stuffed it along with hers underneath the crate, into the soft sand beneath. Standing up, she stretched lithely and cast an eye down toward the docks. "I'm hungry," she announced. "Let's go get some cheap, unhealthy food at a disreputable establishment in the bad part of town. No visit to the South Side Docks is complete without it."

Zell had the feeling he was missing something. "What?"

Siobhan gave him a tired look. "Just follow me."

-

If the grime, dirt and general disrepair of South Side didn't convince one of its less-than-optimal character, the frequent sideways glances and constant air of distrust the inhabitants displayed probably would.

At first Zell thought Siobhan was leading him down all the back alleyways to get to wherever they were going, but after seeing one of the back alleys, he decided that he had been wrong. South Side was not an inviting place--and what Siobhan had said about getting food at a disreputable establishment was beginning to make sense. In this town, it would be impossible to find a reputable one.

And as for the 'bad part' of town....

As far as Zell could tell, there wasn't a good part.

Siobhan apparently wasn't much of a conversationalist, and Zell wasn't sure how much he was annoying her with his memory problems. So--for the moment, at least--he opted to stare at the town as he passed through it, and try to figure out anything he might or might not need to know that way. Siobhan seemed to know where she was going, so he didn't need to know his way around the place--which was a good thing, considering the way that the streets were laid down in a casually haphazard manner, half-intersections and blind corners accenting a crisscross of roads that gave the impression that whoever had designed the city--if there had actually been a rational design behind it--hadn't had a protractor and had just chosen a different angle for each intersection hoping that one day he would hit upon the lucky ninety degrees. Some of the streets gave the impression that he hadn't had a ruler, either--they meandered, crooked or winding, around mass-produced buildings and shoddy lean-tos.

It was really, really hard to believe that anyone actually lived here.

Finally, he asked the question he had been wanting to ask since they had left the docks. "What it up with this place?"

Siobhan cast a glance over her shoulder. "It's South Side," she said, as if that explained everything. "Right out of effective taxation range of the Estharan bureaucracy. People come here to live if they don't care too much about the law. Sure, they employ their own Marshals--but the Marshals don't do much more than make sure important people don't get killed and sell protection services to the highest bidder. It's as close as you can really get to a total anarchy. No one runs this place--unless you consider the people in charge of the utilities as major city powers. No laws, no taxes... you give a guess what sort of people that attracts."

"So... South Side is basically an outlaw town, right?"

"Right." That seemed to end the conversation on Siobhan's part, and Zell went back to being amazed at the sheer volume of grunge that could fit into a single city street.

After a few moments, Siobhan lead him into another building development and to a long, low building with a flickering neon sign that read JOES. The E looked as if it had burned out a very long time ago--but, then again, replacing neon letters was probably not as high a priority in this town as it might have been in other places.

A Marshal stood at the door--recognizable by his red jacket and the black swooping eagle emblazoned on its breast pocket. He gave them each a disinterested look as they stepped inside.

Zell glanced around, something tugging at his memory. "We were here yesterday, weren't we?"

"Five points in the memory game," Siobhan confirmed. "Rumor has it that it's the only decent place to eat here. If you can call this place decent."

There was no line at the orders counter, due to the time still being slightly before the lunch hour. Siobhan gave the menu only a cursory glance before placing her order.

"Burger and fries. And a bottled water."

The cashier keyed the order in, and glanced at Zell. "...hotdog," Zell decided. "And... water."

"Bottled," Siobhan corrected for him.

The cashier rang it up, glancing back to the kitchen. Siobhan paid quietly, accepting the paper bag as the man handed it to her. She turned and found a booth to sit in--one positioned near enough to the door to be able to slip out easily, but far enough away that they had some warning time if anyone came in. "You don't trust tap water in this place," she said. "...well, I don't."

"...yeah," Zell said. "I remember."

Siobhan dug her food out of the bag, wrinkling her nose. "So, how much do you remember?"

Zell scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "I kinda remember all about the mission," he said. "I don't remember yesterday, and I'm kinda fuzzy on stuff before that."

"'Stuff before that?' I'm assuming you didn't forget your entire life up to this point?"

"What? No... just about a week or something. Maybe a bit less. What day is it?"

"Friday."

"So, less than a week. I remember that counselor guy!"

Siobhan raised an eyebrow. "Maynard Manning, PHD? Lucky you. That's something I would be trying to forget."

"He was really boring," Zell agreed.

"Boring? the man was insane. All psychologists probably are. And he probably couldn't tell a GF from a Grendel. The seminar wasn't much more than a bad way to waste three hours."

"No kidding." Zell grinned, took a bite out of his hotdog, and grimaced. "This this tastes awful," he complained.

Siobhan raised an eyebrow at him, looking pretty amused. "Really?"

"Yeah." Zell put the hotdog down, glancing up at her. "It's really... what?"

"You said the exact same thing last night," Siobhan said. "It's kinda funny to see you make the same mistake twice."

Zell stared at her for a moment, then grinned sheepishly. "This is really weird," he said.

Siobhan gave him a very, very understated smile. "You know," she said, "you're kinda cute when you're oblivious."

Zell blinked, and then found himself grinning involuntarily. "Uh..." he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Th-thanks." (I think.)

"Zell?"

"Yeah?"

Siobhan raised an eyebrow. "You're grinning like a Geezard. Stop it."

Zell colored slightly. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Zell motioned to Siobhan's as-yet-unopened food, not-so-expertly changing the subject. "Is the burger good?"

She glanced down at the burger, unwrapped it, and took a bite. "Dry as old socks, and not too much flavor to it," she said. "But I've had worse. I'm not going to be picky. Not here, anyway. I'm just glad it's not laced with--what's that?"

Zell glanced around. "What?"

"Tanker." Siobhan stuffed her food back into the bag, getting up. "C'mon. Outside."

Zell barely had time to feed his hotdog to the nearest trash can before Siobhan was out the door, and he followed her as fast as he could. Tanker spun around as she came up behind him, wiping his palms on his jeans. "Siob!" he said, managing to sound worried and arrogant at the same time. "I was looking for you."

"No kidding." Siob took in Tanker's face--sweaty and flushed, as if he had just been running. "What's going on?"

"The Kobayashi Maru came into port early--which is a damn good thing. We've got to get out of here."

"What? Why?"

"The Harpoon just blew up leaving the harbor. We've been ID'd as the maintenance workers, and the landbound Desperados are after us."

(...it blew up?!)

"Great. After us like what? For questioning, or--"

Tanker's jacket slipped down off his right shoulder, revealing an oozing wound. Tanker inclined his head slightly. "Like hell, for questioning. They're out for revenge."