An Alternate Story of the Knight Sabers
2034 Year of the Tiger
Neo No Armour Against Fate (Section 1 of 5)
Domino Effect (Part 4 of 6)
by Shawn Hagen(1997;1999;2005)
Based on Characters and Situations created by Suzuki Toshimichi.
January 15th, Sunday, 9:32am
Domino smiled at the people around her as they exited the small conference room. She played them well, starting little rivalries with something as simple and innocent as a laugh. Rivalries that would grow in time and which she could take advantage of.
Mason's knowledge of politics and the sexaroid body were a deadly combination. She knew that she could climb the ladder to the top of the tower, regain the position that had been lost, in short order. It was her destiny.
So she played an elegant game with the people, her new co-workers-she had been from the moment she had first been introduced to them. They were simply rungs that would assist her in her climb, nothing more, nothing less.
"Odotte-kun," her section chief called as he ran up behind her. "While I am aware you have only recently come to Genom, I expect you to work as hard as anyone else. We at Genom expect nothing less."
"Of course bucho-san," she said respectfully, easily hiding the contempt that she felt for him. He had come after her instead of making her come to him. He did not understand power. He called morning meetings on Sunday, just to show he could. Contemptible.
"Good." He smiled at her and Domino smiled back, dismissing him from her thoughts even as she did so. He could easily be ignored; there were many others who would likely be useful tools.
As he turned and left her smile became colder. Turning she walked towards her small office, glad she had managed a position that gave her one.
Around her a number of people turned to watch her and talk about the woman who had come into their midst, as they would about any new worker. They had little else to do. The Sunday meeting had been called to discuss a number of things her section chief had considered very important. Most would be leaving soon, but Domino planned to stay.
She knew most of the people around her thought they knew the truth about her. A number of computer jockeys had already dug up her records and were circulating that information around. Ostensibly of Mason's "wunderkind", one he had snapped up into his private staff before she could come to Genom proper.
A very competent woman, definitely one to watch. Domino had overheard the rumours already. If only they truly knew what she was... She was still smiling at the thought as she entered her office.
She took a seat at her small desk and turned on her computer. She had been given a number of jobs to do and told that everything was to be done in a week's time. She brushed her hair back as she looked everything over.
It was completed in thirty minutes. She knew the company, she knew more than almost anyone who worked in The Tower. The work that had been given to her as a test was an insult to her abilities. She finished it quickly so she could begin to plot; she would send her section chief a complete report in a few days.
The top levels of The Tower would be hers in half a year at most, just below Quincy. After that she would be willing to wait. Patience was not only a virtue it was a survival requirement.
She pushed her chair back slightly and leaned back. The artificial calm her central processor usually imposed slid back slightly, her emotions suddenly sharper. She was afraid, but then again she knew she should be. Trying to keep her emotions sealed away was just as dangerous as letting them surface as they would. She had a fine line to walk.
Sylia should soon receive the job offer, she mused. Domino wondered if she would take it. If she decided not to, there were other options open to her, but she was certain that the Knight Sabers had the best chance of getting it for her without raising any dangerous questions.
Domino relaxed for several minutes, before the shrill of her phone brought her out of her thoughts. She sat up and reached forward to take the headset from its cradle.
"Moshi, moshi Odotte desu(hello, this is Odotte)," she said into the phone, glancing at the screen as it flickered on.
"Odotte-kun, the chairman would like to see you," a middle-aged woman with black hair and brown eyes told her. Quincy's new public secretary, Domino knew her from the files she had read. She wondered what had happened to the man who had held the position before.
"Me?" She was shamed by the fact her voice broke with nervousness. Her emotions were suddenly, almost violently, brought under control. She did not know why Quincy would want to see her but she could not convince herself it was good.
"Odotte-kun, I am aware you are new here so I will tell you that we do not call people up as a joke," she said sternly. "Take the elevators up to the two hundred and third floor, from there you will take the Sky Elevator to the Chairman's office. You have been cleared to use them. Enter your security card into the reader, the elevator will take you where you wish to go."
"I understand," Domino said, restraining her anger. How dare the woman talk to her like she was an idiot!
"Good. Do not keep the Chairman waiting." She cut the connection and left Domino staring at a blank screen.
Domino slammed the phone into its cradle and pushed her chair back so hard it banged into the wall as she stood. Anger was slipping pass the shield, but with it came fear.
Quincy wanted to see her. She was dead.
Calm down, she told herself. If Quincy really wanted me dead, there would be Boomers in this office right now. It's probably just a coincidence.
As she walked out of her small office, she wished that she had managed to convince herself of that. Soon she was in the elevator and Domino found herself wishing the elevators were slower, that her car would stop at every floor. They weren't and it didn't.
She stepped out on the two hundred and third floor and walked towards the Sky Elevators.
They were glass elevators that ran up the side of the Arcology, though only a few of the floors had entrances to them. There were few places in the city that offered such a view as the Sky elevators.
The doors slid open as she approached them, waiting for her. For a second she entertained the foolish thought of bolting, of running. She gave it up instantly. She had chose to come into Genom's embrace, for good or ill. There would be no running, not now.
She took her security card from her pocket and ran it through the card reader near the control panel. The doors closed, sealing her in. So smooth that she was not aware of the movement at first, the car began to ascend, to the heavens.
Domino turned her attention to the city outside, letting herself be enraptured by the sight. At night it would be even more beautiful she decided.
She did not know that her thoughts were the same as another young woman who had ascended in the same elevator, one of her sisters in a way. It would not have made Domino feel better to know that, especially since that young woman had died hard in the same place Domino was going.
The elevator came to a halt a short time later. She turned towards the doors as they opened and stepped out into the hallway that led to Quincy's office. The hall was short, its only purpose to connect the elevator to the office doors.
Huge double doors, like those of a church, stood at the end of the hall. Flanking them was an honour guard of boomers. It did not matter to Domino that they were in human guise, that these boomers might easily be mistaken for humans. She knew what they were.
One of the doors opened slightly as she approached. Only slightly, almost as if was stating something about her. She stepped through.
Far across the room Quincy sat behind his desk, he was looking out the huge windows behind the desk, his back to her.
"Odotte-kun, come in," he said, his deep voice filling the office.
"Hai Shachou-sama," she replied as she walked towards the desk.
"Stop." He spun slowly in his chair, facing her. Domino stopped several meters from the desk. He locked gazes with her, holding her with the strength of that contact. Domino felt as if she was being taken apart, every thing about her being judged in that instant. She wondered if the Gaijin's God was like this. She managed to meet that gaze, to not turn away force of it, but it took every bit of artificial self-control her housekeeping computer could force on her.
Quincy was old-the records put him in his seventies-but he looked like a man in his prime. He was powerful, handsome, threatening, the ruler of Genom and perhaps the world. Domino wondered if she could truly deceive the man. She put the thought aside; after all, he was only a man, like any other. Perhaps that would help her.
"Come here," he said again, and she started walking before she was even aware of moving.
Domino allowed herself the luxury of thinking that she would survive the meeting, that Quincy really had no idea who she was, that he was just routinely checking up on one of Mason's operatives. She maintained that thought until the point she saw the files on Quincy's desk. That thought was torn away as her legs turned to water, and she almost fell. It was only some core of inner will that kept her from collapsing.
He had always liked files, as old fashioned as they were. They were a prop, something he could put on his desk for people to see, to make them nervous. They were working quite well that day.
There were a number, each with a name in neat black printing on the top. Brian J. Mason; Dr. Yoshiro Andrews; Cyberdroid, Prototype, Largo; Boomer, Endoskeleton Class, D; Sexaroid 33S, 3rd Gen, AA41C; Domino Odotte... Those were the ones that stood out amongst the others, even though she recognised all the names.
HE KNEW.
The thought was like a physical blow to Domino. He knew it all, he no doubt had always known. Nothing had been secret, ever. She was beginning to have trouble keeping her breathing under control. She tried to call up her housekeeping computer, to force control back on her body but even it seemed to be gripped by the fear. It was smarter than she had thought, Domino decided.
"Do you know why I have given so many second chances?" Quincy asked her.
Domino could not answer. That she was still on her feet was something that Domino felt an inordinate amount of pride in.
"People make mistakes." He placed his hands together, a hand wrapped over his fist, his elbows on the desk, his chin on the bipod he had formed. "I only care about the larger ones. If they are loyal or ambitious, mistakes do not sit well with them; the loyal ones feel they have let the company down and the ambitious ones fear for their own desires. Do you not agree?"
"Hai, Shachou," she kept her voice steady but there was a quaver in it she could not hide.
"When you give them a second chance they do their best to ensure that they do not make the same mistakes or any others. They become quite valuable to me, owing me a debt as they do. I'm sure you can understand the politics behind this?"
"Yes sir."
"I am loath to give third chances, but I will, on occasion. Please take these files and shred them," he told her.
Domino realised what he was saying, that she was not about to die. She gathered up the files and walked over to the shredder and dropped the files into it. It was all for atmosphere she knew. The real files were on computer and would not be destroyed. The shredding was symbolic, putting the past behind. She returned to his desk once she had finished.
"I have a project for you, one that will make use of your skills," he put a slight emphasis on 'skills' and Domino knew me meant Mason's skill. "I want you to continue your work concerning Knight-hakase. You will have other duties of course, I am putting you in charge of corporate acquisitions, but you are to give the Knight case all your attention for now. Wakaru?"
"Hai Shachou-san, wakarimasu wa yo(I understand)." She finally was beginning to feel back on stride, but that did not make her feel any better.
"I do not plan on giving any fourth chances. Wakaru?"
"Hai!" She swallowed heavily.
"I also want you to dismantle Mason's organisation, I want nothing left. Those who can be are to be returned to the Tower. Those who can't be should be encouraged to retire. I want Andrews-hakase in the tower by nightfall."
"Hai."
"And destroy all those tapes. If you leave a way out, you cheapen the Bushido code."
"Hai."
Quincy turned his chair and stared out the window. Domino stood in front of the desk, not moving, holding the disks in her hands, her hands in front of her. She said nothing.
A few minutes later Quincy smiled slightly.
"Go," he said, not looking at Domino.
"Hai. Thank you very much," she bowed deeply and turned, walking towards the doors through which she could escape, trying to keep from running. The door stood open for her, perhaps a little wider than before, she could not be sure. She stopped just at the threshold, turned and bowed once again, deeper than before.
"Odotte." Quincy called, just as she had straightened.
"Hai, Shachou-sama."
"Do not dirty Genom's name."
"Hai."
"Go."
She stepped backwards into the hall, the door closing in front of her.
She has potential neither Mason nor Largo had, Quincy thought, looking out over his city. Hopefully she would realise it and not go the way of her predecessors.
Inside the elevator Domino tried to get control of herself. The worst thing possible had just happened, but she had come out of it alive and, in a way, with the Chairman's blessings. She supposed that should feel good about that accomplishment, but she could not. Quincy had known everything. Suddenly a core part of her had been roughly, even violently shaken and now nothing was the same.
Fear gripped her, and she was suddenly unsure who she was, unsure of why she was there. She did not want it. Then something clamped down on all that and her doubts-for the most part-went away.
As the elevator came close to two hundred and third floor she tried to look relaxed and happy, but she knew that the smile on her face would look as fake to others as it felt to her. She gave up on it after a moment.
Few people came out of the Chairman's office looking happy; most came out looking like Domino knew she looked. On the other hand some never came out and were never talked about. Better to be one of the beaten than one of the disappeared.
Domino knew that her trip to Quincy's office would circulate around the Tower soon enough. Fortunately it was Sunday, which would slow the rumour mill. By tomorrow everyone in her office would know about her trip to Quincy's office. There was no such thing as rumour control in the Tower; rumours were part of the office politics that went on within the corporate fortress that was Genom. She knew she should probably be thinking about how to best use them for her own gain but she couldn't. There were too many other things that were taking up her thoughts.
As she entered the office area she spotted her section chief-the only person remaining down there-but she ignored him. Even knowing that he would expect to know why she had been called to the Chairman's office, he did not matter any more. In a short time they would know the truth. She had just been catapulted above them all.
She would now either hold her place at the top, or she would be dead. Or worse.
Those were her only options now, Quincy had given her a third chance and now she had to show him that she was worthy of it.
Domino went into her office and sealed herself in by jamming a chair under the doorknob. There were no locks and she wanted privacy.
The game continued on and Domino knew that she could win it. Cleverness and patience were the only requirements.
Reaching down she picked up her briefcase and opened it. She took out her NAVI and activated the scrambler before tapping in the number. Then she waited until it was picked up on the other end.
"Moshi, moshi," Domino said quickly, "D-san, there have been a few changes in our plans." She said.
"Hai Domino-sama?"
"Quincy knows almost everything, we are now working for him."
"Are you in danger?" D asked, her basic programming coming to the fore.
"Yes, but it is the same old danger. Everything is balanced on knife's edge. We will do our best to survive."
"I understand."
"Good. Start dismantling the organisation, get Andrews-hakase into a car and over to the tower. Reassign everyone you can, retire the rest. All stores to be returned to Genom, we'll keep the money and destroy those tapes of Mason and Largo. I'll expect a report by eighteen hundred hours."
"Hai Domino-sama."
"No mistakes, I want everyone who has to be retired, retired before those who are to be transferred know that they are going elsewhere."
"Of course," D said. Domino wondered if she heard a little indignation in that voice. If so she could hardly blame D. The boomer had handled a number of assassinations and was a consummate professional.
"Good." Domino cut the connection.
She flipped her NAVI closed and the got up from her chair. Moving around she took a seat on her desk. Looking over at the clock on the wall she was surprised at how early it was. Things in the Tower often happened fast. Those who did not react in time were doomed.
Smiling as her confidence began to return, Domino returned to her seat. She had a lot of things to do in the next few hours. One of which was finding out where her new office was going to be.
Nene walked out of the exam centre of Tokyo University. She skipped down a few steps of the main staircase then sat down heavily. Around her was a crowd of the others who had written the exam. Most of them were students-in their uniforms-but there were others, a wide spread of ages.
"I'm tired," she said softly, pulling her coat tight against the wind.
She had just written the first half of the Central Exam. She'd write the next part tomorrow. Her standings from the exam would determine which universities she could write the Juken for. It was hard work, but she was not worried. She had known all the answers. Getting them down had been hard, but she could handle that.
Nene got to her feet and started down the stairs again. She wanted to get home, into a hot bath, do a little studying, then get some sleep.
Priss sat on her bike, sidesaddle, watching the crowd of people walking by. Young men in suits, young women wearing kimonos. It was Adult's Day. A celebration of coming to age. She had watched it before, looking on those that celebrated it with disdain. She had come to age without any of the fancy celebration.
She had turned twenty after the last celebration. She could have, had she wished, joined in any of the celebrations the city ran for orphans of the quake. She watched a young woman go by, laughing and smiling, beside her an older woman, her mother probably.
It was incredibly stupid, Priss thought angrily. The holiday was pointless. Who cared? A lot of people obviously. The disdain she had once felt was gone. Something else was there. Something close to jealousy.
Her mind went to the dangerous area of 'what might have been' for a moment before Priss forced it away and reached for her helmet. She had things to do a rehearsal to get to. That was what mattered. Not some stupid holiday.
She could not really convince herself of that though.
It was dark. That did not surprise Sylia; Fargo had a thing for dark places. It smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol and there was a musty undertone as well.
She leaned against the pool table in the rear of the deserted pool hall, chalking up her cue. The light fixture overhead put the table in an island of light, the only one lit in the large room. It made the shadows around them all the deeper.
Fargo ran a hand through his dark blonde, almost light brown, hair. He took his cigarette from the ashtray on the edge of the table.
"Break?"
"Why not?" Sylia placed the chalk to the side and walked around the table, looking at the neat, triangular arrangement of balls. She lined up her shot and then the stick moved smoothly through her hands, striking the cue ball. The ball rolled across the table, losing a little of its inertia to friction, before striking the other balls, scattering them. Nothing went in.
"Do you ever see this game as model for the laws of thermodynamics?" she asked Fargo.
"Not really." He tossed his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it. Rolling down the sleeves of his jacket and shirt, he then took the excessively wrinkled, dark jacket off and threw it onto the chair where Sylia had neatly hung her own jacket.
The sleeves of his shirt hung loosely, the buttons undone. Sylia watched as he took a cue from the rack on the wall.
"One ball, corner pocket," he told her, striking the cue ball, sinking the one ball. "So are you interested in the job?"
"I'm still thinking about it."
"It pays very well."
"I know."
"They need an answer soon. Bank off the eight ball, into the two, into the side pocket," he said as he struck the cue ball. The cue ball struck the two, which rolled across the table, stopping at the lip of the pocket.
"Do they sound desperate? Nine, corner pocket." The clacking of the cue ball hitting the nine followed, then the soft thump as the ball went in the pocket.
"Not really. They are considering some other people."
"Why don't they go with any of the others? This is not our sort of job."
"The target is a bit of a mystery. Who knows what it has in the way of security? They want someone who can get what they want and get out if things go bad. You're the best."
"Is that the only reason?" Sylia asked as she looked over the table.
"The only reason there can be. Someone wants some information and they are willing to pay for it."
"Tower?"
"Maybe. I don't think so though. Not quite."
Sylia nodded. "Bank the two, into the four, into the twelve banked into the corner pocket," Sylia began to line up her shot.
"Not a chance," Fargo studied the table. He picked up a tumbler of amber liquid from the side of the table. Sylia noticed he never actually drank from it.
"Care to bet?" Sylia asked, a slight smile on her face, almost daring.
"I try to be more careful with my money then to throw it away."
Sylia leaned over the table, the stick striking the cue ball. The two hit the side, rebounded into the four which completely missed the twelve.
"You could have made some easy money," Sylia told him.
Fargo shook his head as he examined the table.
"What do you think they want?"
"They are probably curious as hell at to what is going on," Fargo said.
"And curious as to whether there might be a fortune to be made here?"
"Maybe something like that. Four ball, corner pocket," he said, easily making the shot.
"Where is the money coming from?"
"Bank in Switzerland. The account was set up eight months ago. Someone dumped a hundred million yen into it but has not touched it since. That was all I could find out. Three ball, side pocket," he said, sinking that ball as well.
"I'll take it."
"When are you going to do it?"
"A day or two."
"Okay, I'll let them know," he said, then began to clear the table. He went for simple, clean shots. His style was not fancy, but once he got control of the table he did not often lose it.
"Not bad," Sylia took her jacket from the back of the chair.
"Products of a wasted youth."
"I'll let you know as soon as I have it," she said as she put on her jacket.
"Perhaps we can celebrate over dinner when you do?" He smiled at her.
"Perhaps not," Sylia took her Ray Bans from her handbag and put them on.
"Payment?"
"Standard procedure. See if you can get fifty percent more out of them. I'd like to see if they are desperate." Sylia turned away and walked away from the table, heading towards the rectangle of bright light that was the exit.
Fargo pulled on his jacket and rolled up the sleeves, watching as Sylia disappeared.
Later, Sylia looked over the information that Fargo had supplied her with. Little was known about Sharon Knight's current work, though the assumption was that it Aphros Industries' new control system
Sylia doubted it. Her previous visit and what little information she had been able to uncover pointed in other directions. She was just not sure what that direction was. It was time to get someone inside.
Nene of course.
How to get her in though?
There was all that open space around the building, and using the Sky Carrier was out of the question. She called up some plans of the area, looking over the information there. There was a possibility, but it seemed something of a long-shot. Still, it was worth trying.
Nene and Linna would be able to do the job. No, not Linna, she had the dance audition. Priss then. Priss was actually a slightly better choice for the mission, although her rash behaviour could lead to problems. It was a chance she would have to take.
They could go in tomorrow, she decided, after the Sky Carrier had been moved.
Sylia put the information aside and turned her attention to other work.
D held the two data cartridges in her hand. On one, in her neat handwriting, was written "Largo". On the other was 'Mason'.
She opened the heat lock to the incinerator, which had been running almost non-stop since she had received the call from Domino. After placing the Largo data cartridge into the lock, she sealed the door and dumped the cartridge into the flames.
Not much was left of the operation she had helped build and had then maintained by herself after Mason's death. It had been a hard task, at times made harder by her own and other's mistakes.
The equipment had been carted off, except for a few of the bigger pieces, like the incinerator.
The staff had been either reassigned or terminated-the bodies were in the incinerator with everything else Genom wanted destroyed.
All that was left for her to do was to wait for a number of reports to come back to her so she could be sure everyone who was supposed to be dead was dead.
That and destroy the last data cartridge.
She looked down at it. One of Mason's safety nets. Quincy had ensured that there were no more safety nets left. Domino would walk the razor's edge path she had set herself on with no margin for error.
D looked at the thermometer on the heat lock. The temperature in the chamber had dropped to safe levels. She pulled open the door and looked in, then put the data cartridge in the chamber. She almost closed the door but instead left it open and took the cartridge out.
Slowly she reached down and picked up her briefcase and just as slowly she put the cartridge into it. Setting the case aside, D straightened, then leaned against the wall.
In an hour she would activate the grinders in the incinerator. Anything not burnt to ash would be ground to dust. It all would be dumped into the tunnels below the building.
Genom liked things to be as tidy as possible. No messy, loose threads that would have to be dealt with later.
The elevator doors opened up to the basement. Sharon stepped out, looking around the mostly empty room. Her boomers stood, motionless, as they had the last time she had visited.
She walked across the floor, her heels loud in the otherwise silent room. She moved to stand in front of one of the construction boomers. She reached out and put her hand on its chest, feeling the hardness beneath her fingers. She smiled, trailing her fingers along its chest for a moment as she walked down the line of boomers.
She stopped in front of one of the C-class boomer, staring up at it.
While working for MRAStech she had attempted to reverse engineer some of Katsuhito's work, but had had little luck. She had managed, almost by mistake, to find a way to cut the boomers from the control of the OMS.
The Over Mind System was Genom's dirty little secret, kept hidden and buried deeply within the AI chip. A difficult system to work around-removing it from a boomer caused damage to the AI chip, and as a result, the units suffered a fifteen to forty percent drop in function afterwards.
Still, they were free from Genom's influence, and that was something.
"You are so beautiful," she told the boomer she faced, reaching up to touch its jaw. "So beautiful."
She pulled her skirt around her waist and then moved forward, moving the boomer's right leg between her legs. She pressed herself against its thigh, letting out a small gasp.
Reaching up, she put her hands on the boomer's shoulders and pulled herself up. "I always dreamed of you," she told the boomer. "I always wanted to create life." She lowered herself, the boomer's thigh sliding between her legs. "Katsuhito got there first though."
She continued moving herself up and down, making small, gasping sounds every few seconds.
"I'm not angry at Katsuhito," she told the boomer as she let herself down, giving her arms a few moments of rest. She used her legs to rock back and forth on the boomer's thigh. "Perhaps a little jealous, but I'm also glad for him. He was very good at what he did. If any of us deserved to create you, it was he. Still, where did it leave me to go?"
The boomer, of course, did not answer. Sharon did not expect and answer. She had begun pulling herself up again. "Dumb AIs for MRAStech?" she snorted dismissively, then moaned softly. "It's so pointless, so anti-climatic," Sharon said, with some close to disgust in her tone. "It would be like asking someone to work on a chemical rocket after faster than light travel had already been achieved. It might be useful and even necessary, but it is not glamorous!" she almost yelled, the yell becoming a loud gasp as the sensations became a little too much for her.
For several minutes she continued to grind herself against the boomer's thigh, not saying anything, just making inarticulate sounds of pleasure.
Finally, her arms too tired to continue for a time, she let herself slide down the leg until her feet rested firmly on the ground. She leaned forward, placing her cheek on the cold, metal chest of her immobile lover.
"I wanted to be remembered for doing something great," she said softly, almost sadly. "That can't be though. I suppose I'll have to be remembered for something terrible."
January 16th, Monday, 12:19pm
Priss ran the bone pick over the strings of the samisen in her lap, listening to the music she produced with the long necked, three stringed instrument. She tried another variation, then a third. Placing the pick on her knee she leaned over and marked a few notes down on the paper by her foot.
She reached out and played the same notes out on her keyboard. Pleased, she returned her attention to the samisen.
She slowly plucked at the strings, getting a feel for the instrument, remembering old lessons. Her guitar rested in its stand less than a meter from her but she left it there.
When she had learned how to play the guitar she had been going through a lot of rough times, hard times. Whenever she picked one up she was reminded of all that. Her music became hard and angry. She head learned to play the samisen during a better part of her life.
The thought made her look at one of two pictures sitting on top of her computer screen. Both photos and their frames had been packed away with a number of other things, including a few books on law that Priss had-she liked to be able to read the legalese of contracts. She had pulled the books out because she was sure she would need them if Oshiro got back to her. The pictures she had taken out last night after she had gotten home.
One picture was in a tarnished silver frame; the edges of the photo had been damaged by water that had seeped in.
In it a thin, attractive woman with long brown hair and brown eyes sat on a stool, a samisen in her lap. A child, she looked to be around four or five, was attempting to climb into the woman's lap. She was looking down at the girl, a warm smile on her face and in her eyes.
Priss still wasn't sure why she had wanted to be in her mother's lap that day. It was either a desire to learn how her mother made the beautiful sounds or jealousy of the instrument. Perhaps it was a little of both.
The pick dropped from Priss' fingers. It had been a long time since the pictures had last seen light. They always brought back too many memories, too strong for Priss. She would pack them away once again in a futile attempt to forget.
Her mother had been a traditional woman, old fashioned really. Priss had always felt that there was something defiant behind that, some testimony to her mother's true strength. She knew it had something to do with her maternal grandfather-whom she had never met and was fairly sure was dead, from things her mother had told her-but Priss never found out exactly what.
Gentle hands and a warm smile, her most basic and strongest memories of her mother.
The other picture was in a wooden frame, cracked, a little burn scorching on it, though the photo itself-of three people-was untouched.
Her mother, not looking much different from the other photo, except for the nicer clothes; her father had been of average height-only a little taller than his wife-and athletic looking, although at the time the picture had been taken he had began to put on a little extra weight. He had short black hair with a few traces of grey, brown eyes and a handsome face suited for smiling.
A ten-year-old Prisila, in her elementary school uniform, between them. Her mother had a hand resting on her shoulder, as if to keep her still for the photograph.
Priss tore her eyes away from the photos, staring down at the samisen instead. Not the same one her mother had owned. That one had been lost in the quake, like so many other things. Hers had been rescued from a junk shop two years before.
Taking up her pick she began to play once again, working out the tune of a song she was thinking about.
The past is gone, Priss told herself sternly. They're dead and there is nothing to be done about it.
Dark thoughts such as those were not at all conducive to Priss' attempt at composition. When the phone finally rang she was glad for the distraction.
She placed the instrument aside and crawled over to her phone and picked up the handset. The screen remained blank, Priss could hear nothing over the line, then there was three clicks followed by the sound of the connection being cut. Priss cradled the handset and got to her feet.
From one of the pockets of a jacket draped over her bike she removed a set of keys, a phone card-marked with a seascape-and a small box. She grabbed her shoes on the way out, then locked the door behind her. Taking a seat on the steps, she began to pull on her sneakers.
Getting up, she set off across the broken asphalt, between the pillars of junked cars. She noticed one of the Genom reclamation signs, a new one to replace to one defaced by the residents. She wondered, and not for the first time, when they would come back to complete the work they had started with Akiko's building.
Priss stopped in her tracks, trying to get control back. She should know better than to think of the dead, it was a dangerous thing for her. A downward spiral straight into depression.
Pulling her jacket tight around her, she started walking again, managing to turn her mind to Sho, a safer thing for her to think about. She hoped he was happy, or as happy as he could be. Don't let him make the stupid mistakes I made, Priss offered up the silent prayer to whichever of the kami that might dwell in such a place.
She walked along the roads, passing by phones without looking at them. Most of them were older models and of little use to her. It took her several minutes to reach a newer one.
Stepping into the booth she pushed her phonecard in and dialled the number. When it was answered she pushed her bug scanner into the socket at the bottom of the phone and waited for the steady green light that indicated a clean line. The bug scanner was a bit of a pain to use, she almost envied Nene and the others their NAVIs, but it was too much a Genom product for her taste. Wasn't she about to become a Genom product, though? She shook her head, not wanting to answer that question.
She tapped the nine key twice then listened to the message. She hung up the phone and removed her card and the bug scanner after it was done.
I hope this will be intense, Priss thought, walking back towards her trailer. She really needed something to focus her mind on and combat always worked best.
Nene came out of the testing centre feeling happy. It was over. Well, that wasn't quite true. The central exam was over. Once she got the results the next part started. The entrance examinations for the universities. Which universities would depend on her placement on the test. Nene was not worried about that. She had little doubt that she would be writing at the best.
Her NAVI began to vibrate in her pocket. She had wisely turned off the ringer before sitting down to write the test. She pulled it out of her coat pocket and flipped it open. Someone had sent her ADP account e-mail, tagged with a high priority marker. When she opened the message-having a little trouble with the tiny keypad-she found nothing. Empty file.
As she walked along she tap-chose a scrambler pattern then tapped in a number. A few seconds later a recorded message was playing giving her a time and a place.
Nene closed up the NAVI and slipped it back into her pocket. It looked like she was not going to be able to go home and sleep until tomorrow after all.
Linna lifted her leg until it was pointing straight up. She held the position for a few seconds, then slowly lowered it. She repeated the stretch with the opposite leg.
Her eyes were locked on the stage where a woman a bit younger than her was moving through a routine. It, like the two before it and Linna's own, were nearly identical in many ways. Linna realised she would not be doing anything new.
To make matters worse they were better than her; their movements had a more practised and precise look to them.
"I'm going to make a fool of myself," Linna said quietly as she dropped down into the splits.
Running seemed like a good idea. Working as an aerobics instructor was not that bad of a job; it still paid fairly well after all.
No! she thought angrily. Succeed or fail I won't run. It's time to start following my dream again.
Her decision made her feel secure and confident for all of two minutes when another young woman took the stage and danced beautifully. Yep, Linna thought, not a chance.
She didn't run though, just continued to stretch, making sure she would be in the best form possible when her turn came.
Then her name was called. Linna walked out of the wings, almost as if she was in a trance-her eyes unfocused-onto the stage. Out in front only a few of the chairs were occupied, her judges. She waited for her music to start.
If only this were a grading, Linna thought, I could be sure of that. Fighting is something I have been getting practice at.
A thought came to her, but Linna pushed it away. When came again, persistent, she considered it in those moments before the music began. What the hell, she decided; she could do worse and there was some precedent for it as well.
When the music started she did not begin the dance routine she had worked out over the past several days. She began a kata, mixing forms, letting the forms mix with the music, running on pure instincts.
She was no longer on the stage; she was on some rooftop in the city, involved in a deadly ballet with a boomer.
She was in an alleyway behind her high school, convincing three unruly gentlemen that her best friend was not interested in any type of romantic liaison with them.
She was in an abandoned factory, close quarters combat with one of the razor dolls, avenging Irene.
Dance, ritual combat, was there that big of a difference? Linna wondered, punctuating four hard notes in the music with a front snap kick, each one higher than the last. She had started martial arts to augment her dance, after all. She spun around, keeping the movement tight, moving her hands in a complex block. It felt good and she knew that is looked good.
And then it was over.
Linna Stood on the stage, feet together, her left hand, spread out over her right, in front of her. She let her hands slide to her side then bowed. She turned and walked off the stage.
Everyone in the wings was looking at her. The next woman's name had to be called three times before she went out on stage. Linna did not care. She had given the best she could and on that stage had found her love for the art once again.
If she failed it would break her heart but it would not break her. She would continue.
It took about forty more minutes for all the dancers to audition. Linna spent ten minutes warming down then went to watch.
Once the auditions were done it was another ten minutes before two women began circulating through the crowd of dancers, handing each one an envelope.
The envelopes either contained the date and time of the next audition or they held a letter of reference to another dance company in the city.
Anyone that Kikuchi-sensei gave an audition to had promise, so they said. Her letters of reference were quite valuable.
Linna wanted another audition. She wanted to be with the best.
A letter was presented to Linna, she took it. The woman who had given it to her hurried off before Linna could even thank her.
She looked around the room. Some of the women had looks of joy and relief, others looked sad. Linna stared down at the envelope, the desire to open it at war with the desire to leave it sealed.
She finally tore it open and removed the folded paper inside. She unfolded it.
'October 9th, two in the afternoon' was typed on the top of the paper, four days hence. Below it were instructions on picking up the videodisk that contained the dance routine Kikuchi-sama wanted them to learn.
Below it, written in neat characters was,
"Yamazaki-kun, combat and dance share many similarities, and you have caught my attention. I hope your dancing skills alone are as sharp as they are when you combine them with combat.
Good luck.
Kikuchi Andrea."
Linna smiled as she carefully folded the precious piece of paper up and placed it in her gym bag.
She walked towards the theatre manager's office where the video disc was waiting for her. There were others there, all waiting for their copies.
Linna was no longer worried about them, or at least not as much as she had been. They would all have the same time to practice the routine and Linna was sure that in four days she could learn it as well as any of them.
Once she had the disk Linna found a quiet corner and pulled out her NAVI. While she was going to need all the practice she could get, she could spare a few hours and wanted to celebrate.
She got Nene's answering message telling her that she was busy for the entire day and asked her to leave a message, or if it was important to use the emergency number. Linna left a short message then cut the connection. She called Priss next but got another message. Both of them were obviously busy.
She thought that odd. Looking down at the NAVI she tapped in Sylia number.
"Moshi. Moshi, Stingray residence," she heard Mackie say.
"Mackie-kun, This is Linna. Is Sylia-san there?"
"Hai, but she's a little busy."
"Mackie-kun, is something happening tonight?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Yes."
"I didn't know."
"Neesan figured you were too busy. It's nothing special."
"I see. Well, if you get the chance, tell everyone I got the second audition."
"Congratulations," Mackie said.
"I'll talk to you later," she said, then cut the connection. Sylia had left her out, she thought, leaning back against a wall. She once again wondered if she could be both a professional dancer and a mercenary vigilante, although it seemed like an odd combination. Was Sylia's decision not to include her an answer of sorts to that question? Would she find herself left out of more and more jobs? Did she care if that happened?
Linna shook her head and pushed herself away from the wall, turning her attention back to her NAVI. She would worry about what might happen later, for now she wanted to celebrate. If Nene and Priss were busy, she had other friends who she could call. She would celebrate getting into the troupe with Priss and Nene. That would be the achievement she wanted them around her for.
Nene sat down on the floor, putting her feet into her running shoes. As she was lacing them up the lace for the right one snapped as she was pulling it tight.
She suppressed a curse and spent a minute unlacing and relacing the shoe so she had enough string to tie it off.
Standing, she grabbed her purse then headed out the door.
"I'm off," she called, pushing the door closed behind her.
She walked quickly down the path to the sidewalk and headed towards the bus stop two blocks away.
They were not meeting at LADYS633 but at the old factory where the Sky Carrier was currently housed. It was a bit too far for Nene to want to ride on her scooter so she had called to arrange a ride.
Unfortunately neither Sylia nor Linna, the people she would usually get a ride with, were going to be there, and that had left a rather unpleasant-in Nene's opinion-alternative.
She did not have to wait long. Barely a minute after she had reached the bus stop Priss pulled up on her motorcycle. She pushed the face shield of her helmet up.
"Come on," Priss said, reaching behind her to unlock a spare helmet.
Nene approached the bike, and Priss handed her the helmet. Donning it, she swung a leg over the bike, grabbing Priss' shoulder to pull herself up and on.
"Here." Priss handed her a thin cable with a jack on it. Nene looked at the cable, followed it back with her eyes to where it was plugged into Priss' helmet then realised what it was.
As she pushed the jack into her own helmet, Priss closed her face plate. Priss gunned the engine to give Nene a moment of warning before dropping the clutch.
Nene realised what was about to happen-it wasn't the first time she had ridden with the speed junkie-screamed, shaming herself, and threw her arms around Priss' waist a moment before the bike jerked forward.
Over the speakers in the helmet Nene could hear Priss laughing.
"That wasn't funny." Nene freed one hand from around Priss and pounded her fist against her back. Priss responded by gunning the engine and shifting the gears, forcing Nene to stop the assault in order to hang on for dear life. She hoped Priss' bike had ice-gripping tires.
They soon left the suburb behind, entering the city but that was only so Priss could get on one of the expressways.
Priss sped up when they hit the expressway, finally getting out of second gear. While they were moving a lot faster, Nene found the experience less scary than she had found driving in the city, at least all the traffic was moving in the same direction. While Priss constantly wove in between the other traffic, Nene found she could ignore it. She just hung on and leaned with Priss whenever necessary.
"So what do you think of this job?" Priss asked after a few minutes.
"Recon and data theft, nothing special." Nene told her.
"Yeah, it's too bad."
"Pardon?" Nene was sure she had not heard Priss right.
"Nothing important. Hold on." Priss twisted the accelerator and leaned to the left, sliding between two, slow moving transport trucks that were blocking the road.
Nene screamed.
Priss laughed.
If truck drivers swore, which seemed likely to Priss, neither Priss nor Nene could hear them and soon left them far behind.
"Why do you do that?" Nene demanded a moment later.
"Why not?" was Priss' only answer.
It had once been a factory of some sort, before the quake had cracked the foundations and rendered the building useless.
It was on the outskirts of the city on property that had been considered almost worthless with Genom concentrating their efforts on the central areas and property taxes being what they were. That was in the midst of changing though. As Priss had driven through the old industrial area she had seen several of the ever-present signs.
Sylia had bought it as a hangar for the Sky Carrier and for a tax loss. She had sold it for considerable profit but now was forced to find a new home for the Knight Saber's air support.
Priss pulled up to the imposing gates. The top of the gates, as well as the entire wall that surrounded the place, were covered by razor wire.
Nene took a set of keys from the pocket of her jacket and unlocked a small panel, set in the wall at chest level, beside the gate. She reached inside the space revealed and typed in a ten-digit code. With a jerk the gates began to open.
Priss waited until Nene had closed and locked the covering and put away her keys before driving through the gates. Once they had passed through the gates jerked to a halt and began to close.
She stopped just inside the gates and reached over to an intercom box on post.
"Hey, Mackie," She called into it. "Is it safe?"
"Everything is deactivated." Mackie's voice came over the intercom a moment later. "Come in."
Priss nodded, let out the clutch and drove towards a loading bay door twenty meters away. She went slowly, even with Mackie's assurances. They passed through the doors and were in the makeshift hanger. The Sky Carrier sat in the middle of the large room, its loading ramp open, revealing the large cargo bay. Priss could see the Silky Doll's van parked inside the craft.
She pulled up to the foot of the ramp and stopped, shutting her bike off.
Mackie walked down the ramp. He was covered in dirt and sweat, his clothes torn in a few places.
"So what's left?" Priss asked, guessing he had done most of the work already. She put her bike's kick stand down.
"We have to pull the spoilsport charges and all the surveillance equipment," he told them, walking down the ramp.
"Guess I'll take the surveillance gear." Nene pulled the cable from her helmet then took the helmet off.
"Since when did I get reassigned to D and D?" Priss took off her own helmet.
"Since you started carrying shaped charges in your hardsuit," Mackie suggested.
Priss placed her helmet on her bike's seat, smiled and gave Mackie the finger. She swung herself off the bike, grabbed the disposals bag from where it sat on the ramp and set off towards a ladder that would take her into the rafters.
"I already pulled the batteries for the detonators," Mackie called after her.
"I'll check them myself, no offence." Priss turned as she walked, ending up walking backwards so she could look at Mackie. Mackie nodded and Priss spun about so she was facing the ladder. She grabbed onto a run above her head as she reached the ladder and then began to climb.
"I'll go and pull the cameras and such," Nene told him as she picked up a tool kit and headed out of the factory.
Mackie turned back into the craft, deciding it was time to start the pre-flight checks. After making his way to the cockpit he took a seat in the pilot's chair. First he deactivated the security system, and then he began to power the systems up. The batteries fed power into everything and information started to scroll across the screens.
He nodded at the readouts; everything was as it should be. He initiated the start-up programs for the engines, and several other systems.
It was truly an amazing piece of military technology, carrying some of the best ECM and coms suites ever built. Canadian military tech, built by Aphros Industries-which made the night's mission somewhat ironic-several steps ahead of the competition. It still had military analysts scratching their collective heads in wonder.
He still did not know how Sylia had acquired it. She had just gone away for two days, telling him how to set up the factory and then had brought the aircraft in during the night.
He, Sylia, and Nene, mostly Nene and himself, had spent a week stripping the ECM, ECCM, and coms gear down, finding out how it all worked. They had even incorporated a number of the more unique ideas into Nene's new suit design.
It had rounded the team out; giving them much needed air support, and had already proved its worth on a few occasions.
He leaned back in the chair, all he could do now was wait for the computers to finish the pre-flight checks then double check after they were done.
