you don't even know my real name.
-Talking Heads 'Life During Wartime'
Bubble Gum Crisis
An Alternate Story of the Knight Sabers
2034 Year of the Tiger
Neo No Armour Against Fate (Section 2 of 5)
Flash Powder (Part 1 of 11)
by Shawn Hagen(1998;1999;2005)
Based on situations and characters created by Suzuki Toshimichi.
February 1st, 100 km North of Timmins, Ontario, Canada
It was a pleasant, soft chime. The sort of chime that seemed more suited to a clock made by Fabergé. Hamilton Davis found the chime to be at odds with the cell he was in.
The chime was a signal that he was supposed to sit in the chair in the middle of the room. He sat on the hard bunk, not moving.
"Mr. Davis," a voice, distorted by electronics, said. "Please sit."
Hamilton did not move for a time, being as defiant as he could be, but finally he got to his feet and walked to the chair. He stood by it for several seconds, staring at one of the cameras. Then he sat. He refused to make anything easy for them, but knew that if he pushed it too hard they would pump gas into the room to sedate him.
He heard the door open and then the click of heels on the concrete floor. She was walking towards him, she would stand just behind him. He had never seen her face. His relationship with her was with her voice and her scent. He had painted a picture of the woman in his mind, a romantic image. An image based on a dream girl he had developed in his adolescence. It embarrassed him a little when he thought about it.
"Mr. Davis," she said, in a soft soprano, "tell me who hired you."
He said nothing. He had done his best to remain silent through out all the interviews. Sometimes she could get something from him, but not often. He had refused to even give her his name, even though she knew it.
"Who hired you? It is all I need to know."
He kept his silence.
"Other members of your team have talked," she told him.
Hamilton said nothing. He doubted what she said, but it might be true. He knew the 'prisoners dilemma', as did his team. They all knew how to play it.
"What do you think of Greek Architecture?" she asked him.
Hamilton's mind raced as he considered the question. What it meant. One possibility came to him but he kept his composure. They could not know.
"Do you know this man?" she asked him. A picture of a man was displayed on the wall in front of him. Hamilton fought to keep his calm. It had to be a lucky guess. Maybe one of his team had talked.
"He is somewhat average looking isn't he?" she said, there was something critical in her voice. "He could stand to lose a little weight I think, just a little mind you. I think his eyes are his best feature. Take a moment to look at him, just to be sure."
For a moment Hamilton thought to deny knowing him, but after giving her silence for so long the denial would sound guilty.
"Perhaps this might help," she said.
The picture changed. The man stood in a well-lit room, surrounded by pieces of Greek artwork in glass cases.
"This was taken in the ROM(Royal Ontario Museum), January 26th of this year. I think he likes the Greek work," she said. "It is hard to be sure though. Do you recognise him now?"
Hamilton was sure his heartbeat was speeding up slightly. If they had sensors in the room, which he was sure they did, then they had some answers. Looking at the pictures, he was sure that they already had all the answers.
"How about this picture?"
A new picture was projected. The man sitting on a bench in the same room. Beside him was Hamilton. Several more pictures were shown, he and the man talking, then the man handing him something.
"We've been curious as to what he gave you," she said. "I think it is an envelope, but one of my colleagues thinks it is simply a piece of folded paper. Care to end our argument?"
Hamilton said nothing. It was part of his code that he did not betray a client.
The picture on the wall faded away. Behind he heard the sound of her heels as she walked away. The door opened and he turned, for the first time, looking back at her. He caught a flash of her profile and her long hair before the door closed.
Brown, he thought. He had thought it would be red. For some strange reason he was disappointed.
Hamilton slept, he ate, he used the basic sanitary features the cell came with, and he waited. He did not know how long he waited, by his meals he guessed he had only been there for two, maybe three days. It was hard to be sure though. It was easy to drug people, make them lose track of time. He had seen it done before.
When the next chime sounded he once again took his time before taking a seat. The door opened and he heard the sounds of heels clicking on the floor.
"I'm going to tell you a story Mr. Davis," she said. "It could be fact, it might be fiction. I want you to tell me what you know for certain to be a fact. There was a man," on the wall in front of him the picture she had shown him earlier appeared, "let's call him Mr. Y. Mr. Y worked for a rather large company." A new picture appeared, the man walking out of the lobby of some building. Another picture, no, the same picture, from a greater distance. More of the building was visible, Hamilton could see the Genom name, he recognised the building. It was in Vancouver.
"Mr. Y was a very good employee, he ensured his company stayed well ahead of all others. To do this he often hired teams of specialists; teams that had no connection to his company and so offered him complete deniability. Usually he would send these teams after the competition, to slow down their projects and or steal valuable resources."
Hamilton kept his calm, trying not to let any of the things that were going on inside him show on his face, or in his posture, or anywhere. That man could not have been Genom. They had checked him out thoroughly.
"Of course, in time, the other companies better protected themselves from that sort of thing," she continued. "Mr. Y looked at the new situation and knew that the old way of doing things had become too costly. He needed a new way to deal with the competitors. Being a clever man, and well appreciated by his company, he came up with a very clever plan.
"He went to a group of specialists, a well trained group that had done work for his company before. He crafted a new identity for himself, so they would not know who he was." The picture of Hamilton and the man sitting in the museum was put on the wall again. "He did not tell them what company he was from, but he left a few clues that this group would follow, and in finding out who he worked for would think themselves very clever. He hired them to go and steal property from another company.
"The information he gave them on the target was as false as his background, but this group did not know that. It looked good to them. They walked right into a trap. Had this company they were attacking not been keeping an eye on Mr. Y, they suspected he was up to something you see, then they might have killed most or all of these specialists as Mr. Y had hoped they would.
"What would have then happened is much what you would expect. The company would have checked this team, interrogated any survivors, and, based on what they would find they would think that this other company, the one that the group thought Mr. Y belonged to, had attacked them. Of course, things like that cannot go unanswered, so there would have been a counter-strike.
"From that counter-strike others would follow. Strike and counter-strike, quiet little wars. Mr. Y would be pleased by that because it would mean his company's enemies were fighting each other, wasting time and money in that. His company would benefit.
"Very clever, isn't it Mr. Davis?"
Hamilton said nothing.
He listened as she walked away, then he heard the door open and close. Then there was silence.
"Mr. Davis," the distorted voice said.
Hamilton was lying on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He did not answer.
"Mr. Davis, open cupboard number three."
He did not get up for almost a minute, then he rose, and walked across his cell. There were several cupboards mounted on the wall. Some were locked, some were not. He had found food, cigarettes, a video game, and other things in the unlocked cupboards. Number three had been locked the last time he checked it. He was not sure how long ago that had been.
He stood in front of the cupboard for a time, then opened it. At first he thought that there was nothing inside, then he saw something at the back. He reached in and removed it. It was a blindfold.
"Mr. Davis, please put the blindfold on."
Hamilton stretched it out in both hands, looking down at it for almost a minute. As he lifted it up he told himself if they wanted to kill him they did not have to go to any great lengths to do so. He covered his eyes with the material then tied it close. It was a wide band with a dense weave and there was no way he could arrange it so that he might see.
He heard the door open behind him. The footfalls that he heard were those of a boot, not the click of heels. He was disappointed.
"Mr. Davis," someone said, the voice sound male. "Please take my arm."
Hamilton reached out, feeling around for the arm that he was offered. He touched it, then reached out to grasp it. The material under his fingers was smooth and thin and it fit loose around the arm he had taken.
"Come with me," the person said, then directed Hamilton out of the cell.
They walked along the corridors, took an elevator up, and then entered a room that sounded large to Hamilton. The air was cold, and fresh, though it was mixed with the exhaust of vehicles.
He was led down a short flight of stairs, then helped into what he assumed was a car. Once he was seated he heard the door slam shut. To left he heard a door open, the car shifted as someone got in, then the door slammed. A few seconds later the car started up.
"Don't take the blindfold off Mr. Davis. Just relax. You have nothing to worry about," the man told him. The car began to move.
Hamilton reached around for his seat belt then put it on. Settling back in the seat he tired to relax.
The stopping of the car woke Hamilton. He sat up, looking around for a moment before he remembered the blindfold.
"Please wait Mr. Davis," his escort told him, "do not take the blindfold off." He got out of the car.
Hamilton felt the car move as the trunk was open. A few seconds later it was slammed shut. He wondered what had just been taken out.
His door opened. "Please, step out of the car Mr. Davis."
Hamilton undid his seat belt and got out. The air was cold, and his feet crunched in snow. He could hear the sound of other vehicles, the sound of talking but he could not make out much.
"Please do not try to remove your blindfold for at least a minute Mr. Davis. Goodbye."
He heard the sound of the man walking away, his feet breaking through the snow. The car door opened, the car door closed. He could hear similar sounds in the distance. A moment later the car was moving away.
Hamilton reached up and pulled off his blindfold. He turned and watched as the taillights of the car he had been in faded as it drove off along a snow covered road. There were other cars as well, all driving away.
He turned to look around. There were four other people around him, the closest about ten meters away. He knew who they were, and while he could not see them, he knew they all wore blindfolds.
Lying in the snow was his pack, his parka covering it.
"Hamilton?" someone called.
He looked up. It was Jasmine. She was walking towards him.
"Jas." He nodded, then walked over to his pack. Pulling the parka off he saw his battle rifle lying atop of it. He put the parka on.
"What happened?"
"They let us go," Tony called. "I can't believe they let us go."
"Where are we?" Rebecca asked, looking around, and up at the stars.
"Just a moment," Keith called as he rummaged through his pack. No one else said anything. After a few seconds Keith had removed something from his pack. "Well, assuming they didn't mess with this, we're just outside of the city of Burlington, we're still in Canuck land, and it will be eleven thirty six local time in twenty one seconds."
Hamilton removed his rifle from the side of the pack and looked it over. Everything was as it should be, though the magazine was empty. He began taking the weapon apart.
"What are we going to do?" Jasmine asked.
"Walk into town, get a hotel room."
Jasmine nodded.
"What do you mean walk into town and get a room." Tony grabbed his pack and ran towards Hamilton. "We were set up. Are we just going to take this lying down?" he demanded.
Hamilton did not say anything. Had they told the others what they had told him? Had they told them more? Had any of his team talked? Until he had more answers he was not going to volunteer any information. Maybe this was all a set up.
"I can't believe that Genom would set us up," Jasmine said. "We've worked for them before, gave them good service. It doesn't make sense."
"Of course it makes sense," Tony said. "We know too much. They needed some sacrificial lambs, they chose us. This Mr. Y gets what he wants, and Genom gets rid of people who could have proven a problem. This is exactly the sort of thing they would do."
Hamilton opened his pack and put the pieces of his rifle into it. He found his pistol in the top pouch. They magazines with it were all full. He shoved one into the pistol, pulled back the action, released it, and then checked to make sure the weapon was on safe. He looked around as he shoved the pistol into the back of his jeans' waistband.
"So what do we do?" Rebecca asked as she walked towards the others, dragging her pack through the snow.
"Show them they can't treat us like pawns in their world-wide chess game," Tony told her.
"Sounds dangerous," Keith said, walking past Tony.
"They can't get away with this!"
Hamilton pulled his pack on and began walking along the road.
"Where are you going?" Tony yelled.
"Into town, to get a hotel room," Hamilton told him.
"What about long term?" Jasmine asked as she ran up to him, getting her pack on as she ran.
"I don't know about long term."
"They set us up to die!" Tony said as he ran after him. He got in front of him, walking backwards. "We can't let them get away with that. It's a matter of honour."
"We can't afford to have honour," Hamilton answered. Tony was his team's hot head, and he expected that from him. Deep down he agreed with the man, but he wasn't about to go off half cocked just because he was angry.
"Bullshit!" Tony snapped.
"What are we supposed to do?" Keith asked, his long stride allowing him to catch up at a fast walk. "Take out Genom?"
"Just hurt them, enough so they will realise that there are some people they don't jerk around like that."
"Is that what they told you?" Hamilton asked.
"They didn't tell me anything, beyond the fact they knew who hired us, and that we had been set up."
"Why did they let us go?" Jasmine asked.
"No value in killing us," Keith said. "We didn't have time to see anything of importance, we have no information of value. Maybe they want to hire us?"
"Maybe they have hired us already," Hamilton said.
"If they want us to go after Genom, I'm amenable to that," Tony told him.
"How do we know it was Genom?"
"This is exactly what they would do. It smells of them. We've set up tail chasers for the bastards before, you know this is one of their ops."
"Guys, wait up!" Rebecca called from behind them. They turned to see the petite brunette dragging her pack after them, trying to catch up.
They all stopped and waited for her to catch up.
"All that Growth Restraint you did back in the twenties not seeming like such a good idea?" Keith asked good-naturedly.
"Stuff it," she snapped at him.
"If you were as young as you looked I'd wash your mouth out," he told her as he picked up her pack. He easily handled both of the packs.
Hamilton started walking again.
"You said he was with Aberdeen," Tony said, looking at Rebecca.
"All the files said he was. I hacked their system, found him in a really secure space."
"How secure?" Hamilton asked.
"Incredibly secure. It was in a hidden file, fortunately I've seen things like that before so it wasn't a problem."
"If you were a legit operator on that system, would it still have been hidden?"
"Damn straight," she told him.
"Genom knows you pretty well don't they?"
"Fairly well," she admitted.
"So, if they dumped a well hidden file on Aberdeen's computer, they'd have reason to believe that you would find it?"
"I guess."
"See," Tony said, a victory cry.
"It doesn't prove anything," Hamilton told them.
"But it is interesting," Keith said.
"It raises some interesting questions," Hamilton said.
"I say we hit them hard, teach them a lesson," Tony almost shouted.
"We'll talk about it, later," Hamilton said, the tone of his voice saying the conversation was over for the time being.
February 5th, Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Spectators were kept back by police who stood by the barricades and, to a lesser extent, the heat. The flames rose high into the air, the harsh light chasing away the darkness. A tower of smoke, streaked with sparks, rose into the air. Ash was beginning to fall, small flecks of carbonised material falling on the heads and shoulders of the people who watched.
There was a cheering off to the side as the crowd saw a fire boomer exit the flames, carrying two survivors. It gave them over to the paramedics, then turned and walked back into the blaze. The powerful cooling units mounted on the boomer pushed the fire back for a moment, forming a sphere of safety around it, then, as it went deeper, the flames closed in behind it, blocking it from the view of the crowd.
Some distance away was parked an armoured truck. It was up on Younge Street's sidewalk, blocking pedestrian traffic. Two members of the city's police were there to deal with any complaints.
From inside the truck Roger Ota watched the fire on a set of screens. He watched through the eyes of boomers, allowing him to see the interior of the structure as it burnt. He watched through the lenses of a number of camera crews, giving him an excellent view of the exterior. From those views he already knew that the building was beyond salvaging. It would have to be torn down and rebuilt from the foundations up.
He managed to find some positive aspects to the fire. The fire boomers were performing excellently. Sales of the fire boomers always went up after such a blaze. Rebuilding would also provide a chance to showcase some new, Genom construction products.
Roger did not dwell on the positive too much; he was still too tied up in the negative. It had taken Genom some time to make inroads into Canada. After the country had managed to cut its oppressive ties to America it had been incredibly paranoid about letting any other foreign power exert too much power within the country. Genom counted as such a power.
The Genom Centre-once the Eaton Centre-had become a showcase for Genom's products. Its many shops were full of things Genom made, from boomers to NAVIs, cars to clothes. The attack on the Centre had been a direct affront to Genom, an insult, and a challenge.
Someone had just made a very big mistake and Roger swore vengeance.
"Sir?" Nancy Jared said as she entered the armoured car. "Am I interrupting?"
"No." He turned away from the screen. "What do you have for me?"
"We've pulled the files from the security system. I think we have found what you wanted." She removed her parka
"Tell me."
"My people are still working on the security system. Someone hit us with a powerful virus at the same time the fire started. Of course they are connected."
"Of course," Roger said sarcastically.
"We know how the fire was set."
"How?"
"Several rockets loaded with powerful incendiary charges were used. They were fired into the Centre from a number of different points, setting several different fires that quickly spread."
"How could they have done that? The walls and glass of the building are armoured to prevent this from happening."
"I think I know, but until I can examine the security records I don't want to say."
"How long?"
"Three or four hours."
"The people who did this are escaping," he said.
"We have people watching the airports, the train station, the bus stations, looking for any of the well known mercenaries."
"Get me the information as soon as you can. I need to know who ordered this."
"Yes sir." She got to her feet. "I'll have it for you as soon as possible."
Roger nodded, looking back at the screens and the fire.
Nancy put on her parka and left the truck.
Hours later, when the city's investigators were just beginning to shift through the still hot embers, Roger was finding out what happened.
"We've found out who did this, how, and who hired them," Nancy said as she removed a disk cartridge from the computer. She slotted two MMSDs into the cartridge then pushed then cartridge back into the computer.
"We went through all the computer records and found several people that are in our records, of course some of these people were just shopping. We cross referenced all the people and matched them by known teams. This is Hamilton Davis." The computer, voice activated, put a picture of Hamilton on the screen. "He's got a very good record, and he's worked for Genom in the past. He always gives his best. We trace out his paths through the Centre and we see he spent time in three of the sites that were hit by missiles.
"Next, Tony Siprian." The computer shifted images. The man was holding a pad of paper in his hand. "Type A personality. Known to have worked with Davis for the last six years. Spent most of his time outside the Centre, looking in, drawing pictures." The image shifted, showing one of his pictures. It was very good. "It was likely he was the primary shooter. He could have followed this path." A map appeared of the exterior of the Centre, a red line tracing out on the route. "He would have been able to fire four of the missiles in a little less than a minute."
"Keith Otton, tech specialist. Did a quick walk through, we assume it was just to figure out how well everything would burn. I suspect he built the warheads in question. May have also done some firing.
"Jasmine Byron who presents herself as somewhat vapid is the team's assassin. She scouted out several other spaces that the rockets hit.
"Rebecca Lin, she's twenty five by the way, not that you could tell. She is a computer expert who has worked for Genom in the past. She put the virus in our computer. She also was seen around the Centre almost constantly. She put on a school uniform and blended in with the many other students who come to the Centre to hang out. I think we should put some sort of control on them in the future," Nancy said.
"It would make us seem draconian. It never does to upset future customers," Roger told her.
"Yes sir. Miss Lin and several of her friends, or flunkies, engaged in several games of squirt gun tag. They were very conscientious about it mind you, they never hit another customer, which is why they did not get kicked out right away. They did hit the walls a few times, and the outside windows."
"The same windows that the rockets came through?" he asked.
"Exactly. We suspect it was a crude nanotech of some sort, to weaken the windows a little. The rockets also had a nose mounted secondary missile. This missile launched after the primary missiles launch and hit the windows something like point zero one seconds before the main rocket. The micro missiles broke the weakened windows, the rockets passed through unimpeded, and the fires were set."
"That's everything?"
"The basics."
"Where are they?" Roger asked, his tone demanding.
"Gone. We have people looking for them, but they have likely gone to ground. We did manage to trace some of Mr. Davis' and the other's funds before they cleaned them. We don't know where they went, but we know where their most recent funds came from."
"Where?"
"Traced back to Aberdeen Industrial."
"Under the benevolent protection of Hou Bang." Roger shook his head and smiled slightly.
"They are."
"Thank you."
"Sir, may I ask what you are going to do?"
"I'm going to make them realise the magnitude of their error. You may go now."
"Yes sir," she said.
February 6th, Tacoma, Washington, America
A piece of charred wood crunched under Maggie Ray's foot. Around her were the blackened, skeletal remains of several warehouses.
"How much damage?" she asked, turning towards the man beside her.
"Current estimates put the damage total at thirty million dollars," Mike Bernard told her.
"Will we be able to meet our contracts?"
"Not for three weeks, at least. Estimated loss will be..."
"About forty million dollars."
"Yes."
"Damn. We'll need some help if we are to survive." She shook her head. "How did it start?"
"It looks like an accident. It was an electrical fire. It started near a chemical storage area. Within two minutes of the fire starting we had our first explosion."
"Was it an accident?"
"No." He reached into her jacket and removed a clear plastic bag.
"What is this?" Maggie took the bag from Mike, holding it up. In the bag was what looked like a piece of burnt metal.
"The remains of a centimetre long robot, often called a 'fire bug'."
"You found this where the fire broke out?"
"Yes."
"Where's the rest of it?"
"Gone. They burn very well. My people went in while the fire was still burning, it was the only reason we found anything."
"These fire bugs, common?" She handed the bag back to him.
"No."
"Who uses them?"
"There are roughly twelve arsonists in the world who make use of these devices. One of them, a 'Carlos Bitter', was in the area. Intelligence suggests Mr. Bitter has worked for Genom in the past."
"Why would Genom attack us?"
"I don't know."
"It does not make sense. None of the contracts we are going to lose would be of any particular interest to Genom."
"Private matter?"
"Doesn't fit." She stopped by one of the burnt out buildings and bent down and picked up a twisted piece of blackened metal.
"And yet it looks possible."
"Can we take any of this information to the authorities?"
"No. It is mostly conjecture. Any half decent lawyer would tear it apart."
"Mike, I don't want to start something with Genom without reason."
"If we do nothing, it might give them reason for other attacks. Maybe that was the point of this, to see if we are willing to react."
"You sound paranoid."
"It's part of my job."
Maggie looked at the metal in her hand, then dropped it. "Investigate this. I don't want you hitting Genom until you are sure they ordered this."
"I'll get on it. I should know in twelve hours."
MegaTokyo, 10km East of the Tower, Red Castle Executive Condos.
February 9th, Thursday, 6:00am
The alarm sounded softly, the music classical rock, the Beatles this week. Reaching out from under the covers, green eyes still closed, Domino brushed her hand against the snooze bar, quieting the music for a time. Withdrawing her arm back under the warmth of the covers she curled up, drifting back into sleep and a dream.
Several minutes later 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' began to play once again.
Domino threw the covers back, shivering slightly in the cooler air, then got out of her bed. She reached down and turned her alarm off. As she made her way to the bathroom door she unbuttoned her night-shirt, slipped it off her shoulders, then let it fall to the floor, leaving it in her wake.
She started the water flowing for the shower, setting the temperature, before relieving herself.
The warm water of the shower was washing over her a few moments later, soaking her long black hair. She picked up the shampoo from a small shelf in the shower cubicle and began to lather up her hair.
She cut the shower shorter that she would have liked, made a promise to cut her hair to a more manageable length, not for the first time, and grabbed a towel. She would never cut her hair though. Long hair gave her a certain air of arrogance, of aristocracy. Short hair was practical, for those who were concerned with time. She wanted people to think that she was completely in control, to the point where she could take the time to care of long hair. Fortunately she did not need much sleep.
Half an hour later Domino walked from her bathroom, a towel wrapped around her. She knelt down and picked up the night-shirt with one hand, the other was holding her towel shut, stood up and walked over to her closet.
After dropping the night-shirt, then the towel, into the laundry hamper she began to look through the clothes hanging in the large space of her closet.
Taking a dark blue skirt suit from the closet she crossed the room to a chest of drawers, laying the suit on a chair as she passed. With a few moments of searching she had her lingerie picked out, then walked over to the chair where her suit was, and began to get dressed.
She left the jacket off, leaving it hanging on the back of the chair as she left her room.
Entering the kitchen Domino pulled an apron off a hook by the door and put it on. She turned the stove on and began removing the things she needed from the cupboards around her.
She worked quickly, efficiently, preparing the small meal.
Eating quickly, she finished her meagre breakfast then began to prepare a smaller dish.
Rice, a few segments of a mandarin orange to offset the rice, a small flower picked from the nasturtium near the sink, it worked well.
After that she washed her hands and rinsed her mouth out.
Filling a shot glass to the brim with sake, she reached up to place it on the kamidana on the wall.
She stepped back and clapped her hands together then bowed her head in prayer, calling on Inari. After a few moments she raised her head, her prayer finished.
After filling another tumbler full of sake she took it and the small bowl of rice then exited the kitchen. Her Bustudan had a small room to itself just off the entry hall. She knelt in front of it, placed the plate and the glass on the floor then smoothed out her apron.
Opening the black, lacquered cabinet revealed the three Ihai, the memorial tablets for her dead ancestors. One for Katsuhito Stingray, another for Brian Mason and the third for Largo. Of course none of their names were on the tablets. Instead, on the tablets were their kaimyo, their posthumous names.
With care she placed the plate of food and the glass in front of the altar. She lit a stick of incense and placed it in front of the altar as well.
Domino did not feel herself particularly religious though she occasionally wrestled with the concept of the soul, or the spirit, or even her karma. Still she was not one to rebuff possible help so she called on Inari for protection and she made sure her 'ancestors' would never have reason to cause her problems. She always offered plenty of sake to keep them drunk and happy. And if not happy, well, unable to do anything.
The Bustudan and Kamidana also served as camouflage; they gave her a history of sorts. She had filled her apartment with similar objects; computer generated pictures of a childhood that had never existed, favourite toys she had never played with and momentoes from a life she had never lived. All camouflage.
She extinguished the stick of incense then got to her feet. After bowing slightly, a hint of a smile playing on her face, she turned and walked from the room.
She went into the kitchen to clean up the last of the mess, then took her apron off and hung it up.
Returning to her bedroom Domino went through her closet, removing her shoulder holster. She slipped into it as she crossed to her bed, reached under her pillow and pulled out a 9mm pistol. After making sure the weapon was safe, she slid the pistol into the holster. Grabbing the jacket, she walked over to her mirror.
Domino pulled her jacket on in front of the full-length mirror, and made sure that the weapon did not show. She smiled at her reflection, nodded, then turned and walked from her room.
In her living room an open briefcase lay on the oak kotatsu. She knelt down in front of it and removed her computer from the briefcase. A plastic sheet rolled out from the rectangular box, the material stiffening, forming a screen. Another sheet of plastic, ninety degrees to the first, rolled out, forming a keyboard.
Domino entered several passwords, connecting to the Genom ExecNet. A few more passwords and she was able to download the information on the last series of attacks.
Corporation security and warfare was not her department, but Genom appreciated personal initiative. It was also wise to keep up on things during a war.
It had all started with an attack on the Genom Centre in Toronto by Aberdeen Heavy Industries, part of Hou Bang. Roger Ota had retaliated, understandable, though perhaps a bit hasty. That should have ended it, but for some reason Aberdeen was acting very strangely. The attack on the Genom Centre was pointless to begin with, but they had attacked one of Genom's space factories at Lagrange Point 5.
The damage to the factory had been costly, and annoying. Genom had responded by completely shutting down a Kyuusei Research Base in Antarctica.
There had been several more minor blow-ups, and the battle had taken a new turn. Ota had been assassinated several hours before. Domino sighed, the pattern that followed predictable. Maggie Ray had been killed shortly after as well as several of her security people. It was beginning to get nasty.
Domino shut off her computer, watching as the screen and keyboard rolled back into place. The war could get expensive, if it did not stop soon. She did not understand what Hou Bang hoped to achieve by pushing the conflict.
She put the computer away then closed her briefcase. Getting to her feet, she picked the case up from the table, then walked towards the front door.
Stepping down into the entry well, she slid her feet into a set of black pumps with two-inch heels. Not her favourite foot wear but there were certain images one had to maintain. She took her long coat from the coat rack and pulled it on over her suit, it hung down to her ankles.
After opening her door she walked out into the hallway then closed and locked it behind her. On her key chain was a small remote. Placing her thumb over the scanner on it activated the apartment's security measures, extras D had added beyond those supplied by the management. She had added a few as well. After all, it was bad policy to trust anyone completely.
The elevator took her down into the parking garage where her car was waiting-a dark blue sedan, with protection equivalent to a light armoured vehicle and a C class boomer as her chauffeur.
He stood by the car, holding the door open for her.
Domino was stepping out of the elevator, her foot hovering over the threshold, when she heard the sound of screeching tires. She turned her head towards the sound, still balanced on one foot. The boomer was also looking towards the sound. Coming down the entry ramp, very quickly, was a gloss black, military style jeep.
She might have continued to stand there for a second, still trying to decide what was happening, but the cold part of her mind snapped down, sealing all emotion, and confusion as well, away.
When the jeep came to the bottom of the ramp it turned sharply so it was pointing towards Domino's car. There was a flash from the jeep. Domino's driver was just beginning to swell up slightly, about to tear free of its human disguise, when a beam of focused light burnt through the boomer, then through her car, before continuing on to burn into the wall of the garage.
As the boomer was exploding Domino was diving out of the elevator, using the flash to hide herself. She rolled, releasing her briefcase, and came to a stop behind one of the other cars in the garage. Her pistol was in her hands. The sounds of the alarms reached her as the echoing from the blast faded. Above her the sprinklers came on.
It would be twenty to thirty seconds before the building's security boomers reached the garage. She was not sure if the lightweight security models could stand up to whoever it was. There were also two Bu-12Bs in the building, but they could not be released without the security manager's okay. That would take at least a minute. A minute was too long.
Domino listened to the sound of the jeep screeching to a halt. They would be looking around now, trying to find her. Had they seen her move away from the elevator? Probably not, but it would not take them long to realise what she had done. Then they would have to get out of the jeep to search for her.
There was a click, then another, possibly two-the doors of the jeep opening. She stood, turning towards the jeep, pistol held out in front of her, two handed firing stance. One of the occupants was still half way in the jeep; he had an SMG in his hand. She fired, two shots, both of them hitting him in the head. He jerked, then slumped down, still half way in the jeep.
The driver and the other occupant, both on the opposite side of the jeep to her, brought their weapons around and opened up on her.
Domino ran, her shoes slipping on the wet concrete. She felt six rounds hit her-she could feel each hit, precisely gauge the force of the rounds. Four of them were stopped by the ballistic weave of her coat, dimpling the material, and bruising-in some cases tearing-the flesh underneath, but not penetrating.
Two slid through the weave, ripping into her right shoulder, one passing through, the other impacting on the bone. She leapt, covering the last of the distance, landing behind her own car. She could feel her blood running down her arm. The limb was frozen. Her housekeeping computer reported serious, but correctable damage and was doing what it could to stop the blood flow and bypass the damaged nerve relays.
Domino shifted the pistol into her left hand and stood up, firing as soon as she cleared the cover the car afforded her. Of the two assassins, one had moved out from behind the car, moving around to flank her. She had a relaxed bearing, as if she did not expect her wounded quarry to be getting up-she had probably fired the armour piercing rounds, Domino decided. The other one, the driver, was crouched down, still using his jeep as cover.
Domino shot the driver through the open doors of his jeep, putting three roughs into his neck. The woman jerked to a stop, bringing her weapon up. Domino shot her twice in the head while the driver was still crumpling beside the jeep.
She stood still for a moment, not moving. The water from the sprinklers continued to rain down on her. Blood ran down the fingers of her right hand, dripping onto the garage floor, immediately diluted and lost in the water.
None of her would be assassins moved. It was all surprisingly peaceful. Then the security boomers showed up.
Domino dropped her pistol to her side and waited for the two boomers to verify she was supposed to be here and the three dead people were not. One moved towards the bodies, the other moved towards her.
It stopped three meters away. "Odotte, Domino," it said in a flat voice, staring at her with its dead eyes. "Commands?"
"Ensure assailants are dead, use this gun," she told it as she tossed her pistol to the boomer. It caught it, and then threw it over to its partner in one, smooth movement. The other boomer caught the weapon without looking up. A second later she heard the loud retort of the gun as the other boomer administered the coup de grace to one of the assassins.
"Completed," the boomer told her.
Domino looked over at her driver. The flames went out even as she watched. "Give me a security status and tell me if the police are coming," she said.
"Status is now all clear, no other suspects in area. Police will arrive in two minutes."
"I was never here," Domino told it as she walked towards her briefcase. "The person who killed these men was an unknown, non-Genom employee." Manslaughter, no matter that it was in self-defence, would likely get her arrested and possession of a handgun was also convictable. Only the police and criminals carried guns in Japan; it made it easy to decide whom to arrest.
"Understood," the boomer said.
"Give me back my weapon."
The boomer that had used it threw it across the room. She caught it out of the air, took a moment to be sure that it was indeed hers, then put it back in the shoulder holster.
Domino put the boomers from her mind, they would do as she had said. The police might not believe it, but already security tapes were being edited to match the story she had just created. Domino grabbed her briefcase and began walking towards the back of the garage.
"You are wounded," the boomer informed her.
"Unimportant," Domino told it, walking away.
Parked in between a 2032 Ferrari GT and a Griffon was Domino's Nissan Fairlady 240GZ. She had liberated it from the Genom executive motor pool-much to the motor pool's supervisor's dismay-as her private vehicle. She did not use it often due to the fact she preferred to have a chauffeur drive her...and the car attracted otaku like a magnet. As she approached the car she removed the small remote she had used earlier from her pocket, pointed it at the car, and pressed another sequence of buttons. There was a click as the doors unlocked and then the engine roared to life.
She pulled the door open, tossed her briefcase onto the passenger's seat, then climbed in. Reaching across her body with her left hand, she pulled the door close.
She put the car into gear and drove out of the building, shifting her hand from the gearshift to the steering wheel. The two security boomers stood where she had left them, waiting for the police, or the building's security manager. She drove by them, turned up the ramp, and left the garage. She shifted her hand between the wheel and the gearshift again, putting the car into second as she drove onto the street.
It was going to be a long drive, she thought. In the distance she could hear the sound of approaching sirens.
San Francisco, February 8, 9:00pm
Reika put her computer aside and rubbed at her eyes.
"Here," Kou said, handing her a cup of coffee.
"Thanks." Reika smiled at him.
"What are you working on?" he asked, taking a seat across from her.
"Trying to decide on what songs to put on the album, and trying to figure out what is happening. What is Genom doing?"
"Corporate war," he told her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means they are trying to destroy us. We have no other option but to try to destroy them, hope that they will realise that the cost is too high and stop this."
"It's a pretty quiet war."
Kou laughed softly. "If you want to survive the war one thing you cannot do is let the general public know what is going on. It is why we cloak all our attacks in the guise of accidents. It is why we make allow people to think attacks on us are accidents."
Reika reached over and picked up her computer. She looked through the information again. "How can we afford to take these losses?"
"We can't, but neither can Genom. We're both in real danger of being hit by a third party that will take advantage our shared weakness."
"What if we offer Genom a truce?"
"Will they take it?"
"Why shouldn't they?"
"They hit Aberdeen for some reason, there was something they wanted very bad and going after Aberdeen was a way to get it. That happens every now and then. We responded, to show them we will, and that should have been it...but it was not. They want this fight."
"It doesn't make sense."
"It must, to Genom."
Reika shook her head and turned her attention back to her computer.
"How is the labour dispute going?" Kou asked her after a few minutes.
"Well enough," she said, not looking up from the computer. "We've been coming on very hard during negotiations for the past week, the union is about to have a fit." She looked up, smiling slightly. "We'll give into some of their demands in a few days, it should allow us to wrap up the whole thing within a week."
"You sound like you are on top of the situation."
"I try."
"What about the tour?"
"That is going to be a bigger problem. I'm not sure we will have the album released in time, and I'll have to complete the work on the new GD-42 plant before I can request the leave of absence."
"You don't have to do this," Kou said.
"Yes I do. I made a promise."
"You don't have to do it by yourself."
Reika stared at him angrily for a moment, then the hard line of her mouth softened. "Thank you, but I need to know if I can do this."
There was more that Kou wanted to say, but he held it back. It could be said later. "You should call it a night."
Reika looked as if she might refuse, then nodded and began packing up. Kou waited until she had everything ready then escorted her from her office. They took the elevator down to the lobby of the Kyuusei Plaza, and then walked from the building.
The air was cool, cool enough to chase the less pleasant scents of the city away. Reika pulled her coat around herself, enjoying the warmth. Kou walked beside her, ever alert, as they crossed the open space in front of the building.
There were a small number of people around, some other late night workers, and a few pedestrians. They were nearing their car when Kou spotted two men cutting across the open plaza towards them.
"Trouble," he said softly so only Reika would hear. He lengthened his pace, hoping to reach the car before the men reached him.
"Miss Chang," one of them called. "May we talk to you?"
Kou moved, putting himself in front of Reika. "What is it?"
"Are you Miss Chang?" the other one sneered.
The first one held up his hand to silence the other. "We're with the paper, we just have a few questions for Miss Chang."
Behind Kou, Reika moved slightly so she could see the two men. They looked harmless enough, their hands were in the open, their open wind breakers blowing in the wind.
"She is not giving any interviews," Kou told them.
"Just a few things off the record," the man tried.
They were probably harmless, but they were wasting her and Kou's time. Just a distraction from what was really important. Neither she nor Kou needed that.
Just a distraction?
"She does not want to talk to you," Kou said.
Reika looked around, trying to give the movement a feel of boredom and not worry. There was a woman walking towards her. She had paused when Reika had looked around. Movement attracts attention, Kou had told her. Stop moving if you don't want to be seen.
Using her body to cover the action from the woman behind her, and Kou's body to cover it from the two men in front, she reached into her coat, and then into jacket, placing her hand on the revolver she carried.
"Listen, I can write this either way, but wouldn't you rather I had the facts?"
Reika turned, directly facing the woman behind her. The woman started. Behind her she could sense things happening, the men trying to see what she was doing, perhaps reacting to it, Kou reacting to them.
The woman's hand went into her coat, Reika removed her revolver, the weapon sliding easily from the holster. She used her thumb to cover the hammer so it would not get caught in the material of her jacket.
"Don't move!" she heard Kou shout. Was he talking to her or the men?
Reika had her revolver out and pointed at the woman. She had something clear of her coat, but Reika was not sure what it was. A gun? A small camera? It could be anything; it might even be a pen. Maybe the woman had recognised her as Vision and just wanted an autograph. She cocked the hammer back with her thumb.
In her mind she could hear Kou urging her to shoot, or maybe it was his actual voice. What was in that woman's hands?
There was a gun shot, loud, from behind her. Someone pushed her hard, knocking her aside. Another gunshot echoed throughout the plaza. Reika fell to the ground, but she still had her pistol pointed towards the woman.
It had to be a gun, Reika thought, but still did not fire. Someone stepped over her, Kou. She kept the pistol pointed on the woman, shifting her aim slightly to avoid Kou's leg, then she fired.
Reika watched as the woman jerked back as the round hit her-she did not fall, however. Reika fired again. The woman still did not fall. Armoured clothing, Reika realised. She shifted her point of aim up, towards the woman's head, then froze. It was a killing shot.
The woman fired. Above Reika, Kou stumbled forward. He had been hit. Reika fired. The woman fell back, a spray of blood in her wake.
She lay on the ground, breathing deeply, the pistol still held out in front of her.
"It's over," Kou said.
Reika looked up for the first time. Kou stood above her, his pistol in his hand. Reika got to her feet and looked around. People were running from the plaza, security was just coming out of the building. On the ground in front of her one man lay unmoving, the other on his knees, trying to stem the blood flow from a ruined hand and wrist.
"Are you all right?" she asked Kou.
"Maybe a broken rib," he told her, sounding unconcerned. "The jacket stopped the round."
"Miss Chang," one of the security guards came to a stop beside her. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Reika said, feeling detached from things. Her knees were scrapped bloody from hitting the ground, but it hardly seemed to matter.
"Come on," Kou said, taking her arm. "Check the area out, and the car," Kou ordered as he led Reika back towards the building.
"Shouldn't we wait for the police?" Reika asked.
"If at all possible we will avoid letting the police know what happened. It is better for all concerned that way."
Reika said nothing. She looked at the revolver in her hand, and then put it away.
Tech Notes:
Domino's car - Domino's car is a Nissan Fairlady 240ZG, a rather old, classic car. The Genom Motorpool has a number of old cars, and new, available to those who need them. An executive at Domino's status can, of course, requisition such vehicles.
The car has been modified slightly. The windows are bullet-proof, the high performance tires are as well, and a fine, kevlar mesh covers the interior of the car's body, offering protection against small arms. The security system on the car is cutting edge and is able to detect tampering, such as car bombs or tracers.
The car has an interesting history, having once been part of the Tokyo Police force. They modified the car in a number of ways, including a speaker and flashing light that could pop up from under the bonnet. Those modifications remain, though the car has been painted black.
With its big, S20 2400cc engine, its primary strength are speed and manoeuvrability. It runs from fights, if they happen.
Shadowrun(r) Stats Handling: 3/7 Speed: 200 Acceleration: 10 Body: 4 Armour: 4 Signature: 3 Autonav: 0 Pilot-
Sensor-
Cargo: 5 Load: 50
"One cannot accomplish things simply with cleverness. One must take a broad view. It won't due to make rash judgements concerning good and evil. However, one should not be sluggish. It is said that one is not truly a samurai if he doesn't make his decisions quickly and right through to completion"
- Yamamoto Tsunetomo
