Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake (1757-1827)

Bubble Gum Crisis
An Alternate Story of the Knight Sabers
2034 Year of the Tiger
Neo No Armour Against Fate (Section 4 of 5)
Fearful Symmetry (1 of 8)
by Shawn Hagen(1999;2005)

Based on situations and characters created by Suzuki Toshimichi.

Monday, March 20, 10:23am

"Get the suspension on this thing fixed ojisan," Priss said as the pick up truck hit a pothole.

"Hakase," Raven said without his usual vehemence. "And the suspension is fine. It's probably your hangover."

"If you say so," Priss said, knowing that he was right. The previous night had been rough. "So, how's he doing?"

"Better. He's still not completely over everything, but I think he is well over the worst part."

"And the girl?"

"Naomi-san is still in a rough area. Her psychologist says she is getting better, Gibson is not so sure."

"I can't believe that they arrested her," Priss said disgustedly. "The police are idiots."

"Fortunately they did not hold her very long."

"Yeah, I guess."

The conversation just died at that point. They rode in silence until they pulled up to an old, weathered building, marked as a garage. Raven steered the pick up truck into the small parking lot, putting it beside another pick up truck, almost equally as battered as his.

Priss removed her seat belt then opened the passenger door and climbed from the cab of the truck. "Kind of a rough area," she said, looking about the place. "How soon before Genom comes through here and starts tearing everything down?"

"About six months. Gibson plans to move then, if he has the funds," Raven told her as he climbed out of the truck.

"And if he doesn't?"

"Maybe he'll have to work for someone. Come on," he told her as he walked towards a side entrance.

Priss followed, but stopped just before entering the garage. She looked about the area. It was similar in ways to her new home. Soon the area around the factory would be cleared and houses, or condos, or apartment buildings would start going up. She again wondered what her eventual new neighbours were going to think of the old factory in their midst?

She shook her head and stepped inside of the garage. What did it matter what they might or might not think?

The interior of the garage was much what Priss would have expected, though not quite as cluttered as others she had been in. She noticed the boomers almost immediately. They were older models, most were of the mannequin type. They stood near various machines, all deactivated except for one which was working a metal lathe.

"His staff?" Priss asked Raven, indicating the boomers.

"In a way. They make a number of the parts he needs to restore and rebuild vehicles."

"Probably why he can work so cheap."

"Raven-sama," Gibson called, sounding a little surprised as he stepped from a back room. "I though you'd be by later."

Raven smiled. "She was in a rush," he told Gibson, looking over at Priss. "This is Priss Asagiri. Priss-san, this is Gibson."

"Pleased to meet you," Gibson said as he crossed the floor, extending his hand. He then noticed that his hand was dirty with oil and grime. "Sorry," he said, taking a rag from his pocket to wipe the hand off. He held it out again, mostly clean.

Priss took his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Yoroshiku," she said to him.

"So, you're the owner of the Cobra."

"I am, though I'm beginning to regret it."

"Pardon?"

"Just not a car person. I restored it for something to do."

Gibson looked a little confused, but shook it off. "Well, maybe once you get a look at it you will change your mind, and if you still aren't interested in it, I know a lot of people who would be interested in buying it from you."

"Like you said, let's see it first."

Gibson nodded. "This way," he told her, leading both Priss and Raven to the far end of the garage. There were three cars there, all three under car covers. Gibson walked to the one on the left and grasped the cover, giving it a good pull. "Ta dah!"

Priss did not recognise the car at first. She had a hard time matching the old, beat up car that had once rested on its rims in an old factory with the machine in front of her. All the dents had been hammered out, missing exterior parts replaced, new tires had been put on it, and it had been painted black. A high gloss black, like a mirror.

"How many coats of polish did you put on this thing?" Priss asked, taking a step closer.

"A few, but there is a corrosion resistant coat under the paint and a chip resistant sealant over it which makes all the difference. Let me pop the hood, then I'll tell you what I did." A few seconds later the hood was up, revealing the big engine. "It was in reasonable condition when I got it, I just had to recondition what was there. What was not there I had to build from scratch."

"Looks like you did a good job."

"Thanks," Gibson told her. "I used a lot of aluminium and ceramics, which they did not use or did not have back in the 1960s. The result is that the engine, the entire car, is a lot lighter than the original design. To make up for that I put some weights over the rear axle for better traction, and to keep it on the road. You are still about twenty percent lighter than the original Shelby was. You'll notice that in the acceleration and top speed."

"So it will go fast," Priss said, smiling slightly. It was beginning to sound better.

"What about the interior?" Raven asked. He had hung back and was looking into the car.

"Wood, ceramic and leather. I used a little plastic where I had to, but stayed away from it as much as possible. I pulled most of the interior out of the wreck of a Porsche and then used that as the basis for everything else I chose."

Raven nodded, impressed with the work done on the car.

"Looks good," Priss said. "I'm not saying I want to sell it right now, but if I did, how much do you think I could get?"

"Well, that would be hard to say really," Gibson admitted. "I'd say you'd make back what you paid me at least six or seven times over. And it could be a lot more than that, if we found someone who was really interested. Do you want me to start looking for a buyer?"

"Not yet," Priss said, "but you might keep it in mind, just in case I do decide to let it go. You'd get what, ten percent?"

"Between five and ten."

"Sounds fair," Priss said as she closed the hood. "Let me see what it can do before I make any decisions."

Gibson nodded and reached into the pockets of his overalls. He removed a set of keys and handed them to Priss.

"Thanks," she said as she took them.

"No problem."

Priss opened the car door, a little off put by the fact the driver's seat was on the left side, and climbed into the car.

"All the safety features are modern," Gibson told her as he leaned in. "And of course it meets or exceeds all the emission standards."

Priss nodded. Gibson had moved in close enough for her to see the tiny scars around his eyes. She had heard he had lost them during the incident with the Griffon. She suspected his eyes were cybernetic replacements, though they might be organic. That would have been expensive, however. "Does it beep if I take it over one hundred kilometres?"

Gibson smiled. "I didn't think you'd want that option."

"You thought right."

"Good stereo though."

"Finally, something important," Priss said to him, smiling. She then closed the door and put her seat belt on. Gibson stepped back as she started up the car. The engine roared to life, shaking the entire car. It might not have been a bike, but it had promise, Priss thought.

Raven had moved toward the garage door controls and opened one of the doors to the street. Priss put the car into first and let up on the clutch. She did not have much experience with cars, but she figured she'd make do. The car moved forward with a slight jolt, and the engine rumbled as if it were about to stall, but Priss gave it a little gas and that smoothed out. Carefully she drove the car across the garage floor, out the door, and onto the road.

She waved once out the open window, then sped off.

Raven closed the door. Gibson came up beside him. "She does not seem the car type."

"No, she isn't." He turned and looked towards the other covered cars. "What are they?"

"One is a THP chase car, the other is a '07 Ferrari roadster that someone from Genom had me rebuild."

"The THP giving you trouble?"

Gibson shrugged his shoulders. "I can't blame them for being angry at me. They have cause. If all they do is come in here and give me a hard time and expect me to fix their cars for next to nothing, I'll consider myself lucky."

Raven nodded and said nothing.


The door to the loading bay rolled up, the chains clanking disharmoniously over the runners. The black Shelby Cobra pulled into the factory, up a ramp Priss had put in, and onto the main factory floor. Priss slowed the car down and stopped it within an area she had marked off with rubber bumpers. Her parking lot.

A few seconds later the car was shut off and Priss was out of it, slamming the door. The sound echoed in the large space. She looked at the car again, appreciating the beauty of it, and wondering again why she had bothered.

She turned away from the car and walked across the wide floor, the concrete grey and cold, to the stairs at the far end of the factory. She passed her new bike, a custom model that Raven-Hakase and Mackie had built for her. She had been saving up for it before her sudden windfall, so did not feel she had spent too much. Her old bike was parked beside it.

She used to have so little space that she could not have afforded to hold onto anything more than one bike. Now space was the least of her worries. She wondered if she would become a packrat.

Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the metal stairs, filling the empty space of her home. She reached the door at the top of the stairs and unlocked it, then deactivated the security system. She had lived without any more security than the lock on her trailer for a long timethough she had had a number of anti-eavesdropping devicesand all the electronic gadgets made her feel like she was a prisoner.

It was all too much really, but she had let herself be talked into it by the contractor and architect. Both of them had sounded like they knew what they were talking about. Kano had also sounded knowledgeable about it and then there was Sylia who, when asked about security systems, had talked for a long time.

If it wasn't for the fact she had paid so much for them she might just leave the systems deactivated.

She kicked her shoes off in the genkan then stepped up onto the wooden floor, pushing her feet into the slippers waiting there. She had moved into her new place three days before, leaving the Romanova home as suddenly as she had come to live there.

There was not much furniture in the living area yet, she had not been up to buying any beyond the absolute bare necessities. The one major piece of furniture she did own was a black, baby grand piano that Sylia had given her. Not that she had informed Priss of that at the time. She had discovered Sylia's generous gift by banging up against it in the dark the night before.

She looked around at all the empty space about her. She was going to have to get some furniture. Maybe when the next royalty check from the soundtrack came in. She had already received one. Quite generous really. At least she had managed to get Miako's prints framed and up on the wall. They looked nice enough.

Priss sighed and started walking towards her bathing room. She wanted to take a long shower, maybe get a few hours sleep before heading off to see her agent. She and Miako had been up late, celebrating something or other, and then there was the sex.

Stopping on the way to the bathroom she looked in at the piano that dominated her living room. Entering, she took a seat at the bench and pushed the cover up revealing the keys. She ran through the scales twice to loosen her fingers up then played a few simple tunes. It was relaxing and reminded her of better times. She had learned to play the piano before the quake and the problems it had brought.

Priss finally stopped and put the cover over the keys when the edges of her vision grew blurry.

She stopped before the mirror in the hallway and looked at herself. The whites of her eyes were shot through with red, her hair was a mess. She unzipped her jacket, the white blouse she wore was stained yellow down the front with beer. It had been one of those nights.

Pulling at the buttons roughly Priss walked to the bathroom. She took the blouse off and dropped it in a wicker hamper beside the doorway. She turned the shower on and let it run while she finished undressing.

A minute later she stepped under the hot spray, the water feeling wonderful as it splashed across her.


Priss was wearing a pair of wayfarers, faded jeans, a black sweater, and a long coat that looked like leather but was not. She walked into her agent's office, took off her sunglasses, and headed right for the secretary's desk.

"Yamamichi-san wants to see me," she told the woman.

"Please wait a moment Asagiri-san," the secretary said, picking up her phone. She tapped one of the buttons on it then waited until it was picked up. "Asagiri-san is here to see you." She listened for a moment then nodded and cradled the phone. "She will see you right now."

"Thanks," Priss said, heading for the door of Keiko's office.

A moment before she got there it opened and Keiko Yamamichi herded a young man from her office. "I'm sure everything will be just fine Taro-kun, we just will have to work at it. Now, why don't you go see Martens-san and I'm sure you can come to an agreement on the club dates. If there are any problems just get in touch with Mari-kun and she will help smooth them out. Ja." She waved and smiled at the young man who was looking a little confused. "Asagiri-san, so nice to see you, please come in." She gently took Priss' arm and led her into her office, then closed the door.

Keiko was shorter than average but had a body builder's figure, her clothing tight on her. She had black hair, cut very short and spiked, her eyes were brown. It was unlikely anyone would call her pretty.

Priss had let her old agent go, knowing he would steal her blind if she let him. It had not mattered before when she was making so little money, but that was changing. She had needed a better, more honest agent, and Keiko had come highly recommended.

"Who was he?" Priss asked as she took a seat.

"Comedian, lot of talent, but tends to upset most of the club owners he works for. Would you like some coffee, or tea, or something?"

"No, I'm fine," Priss said. A few hours of sleep and she was fine. There was not much left to show the previous night's indulgences.

"Okay, well, let's begin. Vision's newest album is doing fairly well." She walked over to her desk and took a seat behind it. "All of the work on it has been well received, including the song covers she did. In fact one of your songs is at about 97 on the top 100 charts in North America. Pretty good for a Japanese song, though I personally don't expect it to go much higher. The Soundtrack sales are also doing very well. Their relationship with the movie has helped a lot. One is at 90 and the other at 83, though I expect both will drop out of the top one hundred in a short time. That seems to be the nature of these things."

"So why did you want to see me?" Priss asked. "I doubt you called me here just to tell me that."

"No, but I like keeping you up on things. There are several other bands that are planning on covering your work, you can expect more royalty checks in the near future."

"My bank will be happy to hear that."

"While that is good we have also had some other interesting offers. Ever heard of "Implosive Connection" or "Daviers 3"?"

"IC is a British group, they are pretty big," Priss said, which was the extent of her knowledge.

"Daviers 3 is a French group, big in Europe but not well known anywhere outside of there. Both these groups want to be the first to record a new song, something you haven't played anywhere. They don't want to do a cover."

"No," Priss said. "I will not write a song and just give it away, no matter how much they might pay. I'll be the first person to do any of my songs."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Okay, your call," Keiko said.

"Anything else?" Priss asked.

"No, that is it I guess. Oh, feel like playing a formal gig? The American Ambassador's daughter is having a 17th birthday party and they want a local band."

"No," Priss got to her feet.

"Your choice of course, but I think it might be fun, and there is the possibility of useful contacts."

"Maybe, but I'll still pass."


At another time, in another, simpler life, Sylia had loved Manota's. Countless times her Father and Mother had taken her, and later Mackie as well, out to eat there. They had been well known by the owner and staff, But that had been a long time before. The restaurant had been destroyed in the quake, and the owner died with it.

Still, it had been enough of a landmark that someone had built a new one close to the original site and hired many of the original staff. The manager still remembered the Stingray family fondly and both Sylia and Mackie could always count on a table being found for them, as well as excellent and friendly service. Mackie visited more often to flirt with the waitresses.

"Do you miss Tou-san?" Sylia asked as she stared at her menu, trying to decide what to order.

"Pardon?" Mackie looked up from his menu, surprised by the question.

"I was just wondering, what with being here," she told him.

"I don't remember this place very well," he told her. "but yes, I still miss him, and Kaa-san. I don't think I will ever stop missing them."

"Would you like to say something at the banquet then?"

"Yes."

Sylia was going to ask him what that was when they were interrupted by the waitress. They placed their orders and then Mackie got up to go to the washroom and Sylia thought it likely he would spend some time talking to some of the waitresses.

They were halfway through their main courses when Sylia brought up the earlier topic of conversation.

"What will you say at the banquet?" she asked him.

Mackie was silent for a time. He lay his hashi across the rim of his soup bowl and sat back in his chair.

"That I love him, that walking through this city, a city that might still be ruins if not for the boomers, makes me proud that he is my father, that seeing the names of all the wounded and dead officers on the wall of the ADP building makes me angry. That's about all."

"It is more than enough. It says it all."

"What will you say nee-san?"

"Perhaps something similar to what you will say," she smiled at Mackie.

"So is that why you wanted to have this dinner, to get ideas for your speech?" he smiled back at her as he reached for his hashi.

"That and I thought it might be nice to spend some time with my sukebe otouto(younger brother) in a place where he couldn't plant his cameras," she said.

"I don't know what you mean," Mackie told her, feigning innocence.

Their conversation was light and teasing and anyone listening could have easily mistaken them for just another, normal brother and sister.


Later Sylia sat at the old, scarred desk, leaning back in the chair, looking down at her palmtop computer. Mackie's words had inspired her, given her something to think on, had let her finally sit down and write her speech.

Maybe it was not what Bestar-san had wanted. It was not what Genom would want. It was not even what she had thought she wanted, but it would suffice.

"Save on hard drive as 'speech1', copy to removable as 'speech1', exit, sleep mode," she said. A moment later the screen winked out as the computer went into its rest mode.

It would have been nice to go after Genom in such a public arena. That was not practical. For all she knew about Genom she could only prove, at best, a quarter of it and it was unlikely she would ever live to testify. Or perhaps she would. Genom's lawyers were incredible. When they could they preferred to simply destroy witnesses in the courtroom rather than killing them outright. It preserved the clean public image Genom so desired.

She had come to realise there was very little she could do to hurt Genom. They were just too big. Too powerful. It was not a new thought but now it was coupled with another. Genom itself balanced out the bad they did. She had truly looked at the figures for Genom's charitable donations and had been surprised at how large they really were. While it was part of tax write offs and public relations, that did not change the billions of yen ended up benefiting charitable organisations world wide.

Genom could credit itself with saving thousands, no, tens of thousands each year.

It was a sobering thought. Sylia cared little for it.

She had also realised that it had been some time since she had last challenged Genom directly. The number of boomer incidents had dropped off markedly in the last year. Perhaps Genom had finished working out all the bugs in their product, or maybe they no longer needed to test the boomers any longer.

There were still a few boomer incidents, older models, mostly construction and services units, ones whose owners could not afford to replace or upgrade. Maybe some were arranged, to justify the continued existence of the ADP, and to keep the officers sharp. After all, Sylia thought, the ADP were some of the best-trained boomer combatants in the world. If Genom ever needed someone to help them test a new security boomer, the ADP were the best choice.

And maybe the incidents were just an occasional aberration in an earlier boomer model. Genom held all the cards and it was so hard to tell.

Standing, she picked up her palmtop and walked towards the door. Before leaving she drew the curtains over the family portrait.


Tuesday, March 21st, 09:15

The sight of the musicians when they had come in had let the dancers know that they were about to start something. Since the end of the last performance they had been practising, working on several dance styles and learning from mistakes they had made in the last performance, mistakes that Kikuchi-sensei told them they had made.

For the last half-hour they had been warming up, letting the soft music the musicians were playing influence that they were doing. Andrea had been sitting in the front row, just watching her dancers. Finally she looked over at the musicians and signalled them to stop.

With the music ending the dancers all turned towards Andrea, knowing that things were about to begin. Linna knew she was not alone in looking forward to it.

Andrea got to her feet and looked her dancers over. "Today we start in on our new production. Being of a religious bent," she smiled at them, "I have decided that we're going to do the some interpretations of the tales from the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, put them together in a nice form. Foley-san."

"Hai Kikuchi-sensei," Miki Foley said, stepping forward.

"Ready to be graceful?"

"Hai sensei!"

"You had better be. To you goes the part of the Sun goddess herself, Amaterasu-Opo-Mikami. I want to be impressed."

"Hai sensei."

"Namura-san."

"Hai!" Mako called out.

"Right eye, the night, Tukuyomi-No-Mikoto. Up to it?"

"Hai sensei."

"Good." Andrea looked at her notes and shook her head. "Yamazaki-san."

"Hai," Linna said, a little surprised. Andrea called out parts in order of their importance.

"I need a warrior for this, so I'm giving you a chance. Storms, Takepaya-Susanowo-No-Mikoto."

Linna was still surprised, but managed to stumble over a, "Hai."

"Now, as for the rest of you," Andrea began, then started giving out the rest of the parts.


Lunch came late, not that any of the dancers were surprised. They were going to be working very hard for the next few days, getting all the basics down, after that things would calm down a little. Just a little.

Linna was seated with Miki and Mako, a bento(lunch) box in her lap, talking about their parts. The three of them would start things off, and things would keep coming back to the three of them throughout the performance.

"There is a lot of dialogue in this," Linna said as she placed her hashi(chop sticks) across the top of her bento box.

"It's not like a play," Miki told her.

"I know, but the last performance had no words at all."

"Sometimes you just got to talk," Mako said, smiling at Linna.

"Isn't it enough that I have to get all the steps right, now I have to remember these lines." Linna had picked up the pages of the outline that Andrea had given all the dancers and gave them a shake.

"Don't worry," Mako told her, "you'll be fine."

"She just chose me for this because I know how to fight."

"Well, that is what she would say," Miki told her.

"Pardon?" Linna asked.

"She is not the one to come out and tell you that she thinks you're good enough. Kikuchi-sensei is conservative with her praise. The fact she gave you this part means you are good enough for it."

Linna said nothing for a moment, then picked up her hashi and scooped a bit of rice from the bento box. "I hope so," she said before putting the rice into her mouth.


Linna was feeling very tired when she arrived home. Her muscles were burning a little from overwork, though it was not too bad. She knew that by morning she'd be fine. That would be useful, as morning would be bringing more work.

She was a little amazed at how hard Kikuchi-sensei worked her leads. Linna had not noticed it when she had been dancing one of the junior parts, probably because she felt like she was being worked hard then. How naïve of her.

Kicking her shoes off in the genkan, she stepped up into her apartment and tread across the floor to her kitchen. In the refrigerator she found a bottle of orange juice and the remains of a salad she had made the night before. Good enough, Linna decided, not wanting to deal with anything more complicated.

She ate the salad from the bowl it had been in, taking drinks from the bottle to wash it down, eating it right at the counter. Once finished she put the bowl in the sink, ran warm water into it until it was full, then shifted the tap about so she could rinse out the juice bottle before she put it in the recycling bin.

Dinner finished, she walked into the living room and collapsed on the couch. She just wanted to go to sleep, but it was too early. She shifted about and reached down for a book that Devon had given her. He had presented the battered, old book to her a few days before when they had eaten dinner together. She was beginning to like the old man, more and more. He was such a charming individual.

The book was a collection of photographs and essays relating to dance. Everything from the Russian ballet to kids dancing on street corners. It was interesting and Linna could see how it had led to Devon's love of dance, as a spectator.

As a dancer, Linna found the book a little lacking.


Tuesday nights in March were not the best time for Shibuya, but even so the area was busy enough. Predominantly it was young people who filled the area; that was standard for Shibuya. The older generation often found the trendy area to be a little confusing.

Akiko and Rebecca sat in a coffee shop, looking out onto the dark streets. Across from them they could see the bronze statue of Hachiko which was a popular meeting place. As a result they were able to watch people easily enough, which was the point. Akiko liked watching people. She liked sitting at a table, in a café, unarmed but for a hot cup of coffee, just watching people go about their lives.

Rebecca liked sitting at the table, drinking lukewarm milk-tea, and watching Akiko. It was interesting, watching the boomer who had spent most of her existence in stasis because she had what amounted to a fatal defect. She was at once an innocent, who could take a thrill watching a couple kiss, and yet she had likely killed more people then even Jasmine.

Thinking of Jasmine reminded her of the others, Hamilton, Tony and Keith. She still missed them, though it was strange. She thought it should hurt more. Then again it might be just like Domino had told her, she was not Rebecca Lin. Rebecca Lin was dead, killed by an assassin, and the person who sat at that table was someone else. Something else.

"Do you think it's true Becky-chan?"

"Pardon?" Rebecca looked up at Akiko.

"Do you think that story is true, about Hachiko-chan?"

Rebecca turned to look out the windows, towards the bronze statue of the dog. "It could be. A dog could be that loyal, refusing to accept its master is dead, waiting day after day for their master to come home. Yes, it probably is true."

"A boomer can be that loyal."

"What?"

"A boomer can be that loyal, refusing to stop serving even if their master was dead."

"Is that a strength or a weakness?"

Akiko took a drink of her coffee then lowered the cup. "What do you think?"

Rebecca was a little taken aback by the question. "I don't know. What if loyalty is misplaced?"

"I'm not sure that matters. You have to believe in something. I believe in Domino-sama."

"Maybe that is only because she has given you what you really want. It's easy to be loyal to someone like that. Even when you know better."

"I don't think it is ever easy to be loyal. To be truly loyal. It's easy to say you are, but until you have been tested, until," Akiko looked over at the statue of Hachiko, "until you have waited for ten years, your whole life, you cannot truly say you are loyal."

"So until you've been tested you don't know who you are?"

Akiko thought about that, then nodded.

"Have you been tested Kiki-san?"

"No."

"But you want to be tested?"

Akiko nodded. "I want to know who I am before I die." She smiled sadly. "I don't have much time do I?"

"Don't talk like that," Rebecca said angrily. "You are too morbid."

"It is only the truth. I accepted..." Akiko began, but stopped suddenly. The coffee cup in her left hand began to shake. She stared at her hand, as if trying to force it to stop, but it kept shaking. Coffee began to splash over the rim, raining down on the white tablecloth. She reached out with her other hand, grasped the cup which she forced down onto the tabletop.

Taking her fingers from the cup she moved her hand into her lap where she could hide it, and hold it tight. A twitch began by her left eye and her entire arm began to tremble so much that it shook her whole body.

Rebecca watched. It was not the first such seizure she had seen, and not even close to the worse. She knew there was nothing she could do to help, but sitting there, just watching, always made her feel terrible. She just wanted Akiko to be fine.

After almost a minute the tremors stopped. Akiko carefully lifted her left hand and flexed her fingers, just making sure that it was indeed over.

"Let's go to Seibu Becky-chan," Akiko said, reaching into her purse for her debit card. "I want to buy that new backpack I was looking at, and maybe a new stuffed animal for my bed."

"Hai Kiki-san," Rebecca said, happy enough that they were going to ignore the problem. It was not as if they could do anything.

Akiko stopped at the cashier and ran her debit card through the reader, paying for their drinks. The price was ludicrous of course, but Akiko was not surprised. It was Shibuya after all.

The two of them stepped out into the cool air, pulling their jackets closer to them as they walked to the crosswalk. When the lights changed they ran across the street, then followed the sidewalk to one of the entrances to the enormous Seibu department store.

They could have been sisters, out for a little fun. At the moment that was how they both felt.


Wednesday, March 22nd, 11:13

The back of an AD Police communications APC was, Nene was surprised to note, rather nice. It was private, there was lots of room and it did not move much when the people inside did.

Kaoru was seated upon one of the chairs, Nene was seated sideways upon his lap. She had both her arms around his neck. He had one hand on her back and the other had started on her right knee.

The kissing, which had started out rather light, had progressively grown heavier. Kaoru was feeling a little overwhelmed. The scent of Nene's shampoo in her hair, the floral cologne she wore with the underlying hint of talcum powder, the way she felt, it was almost maddening.

Nene herself was feeling similar. Everything about Kaoru was making her feel very, very aroused.

Kaoru had slid his hand up Nene's leg, until it was resting between her legs. Nene had not stopped him, just had kissed him harder. His fingers were gently tracing over the damp cotton of her panties, the lightest of touches. Nene was moaning quietly as she kissed Kaoru, not quite sure what was happening, but liking it.

Kaoru started to increase his pressure with his fingers, his touch no longer so light.

That was when Nene tensed, closing her legs.

Kaoru quickly put his hand back on her knee, realising he had just tried to go farther than he should have.

Nene suddenly felt very childish. What did she think was going to happen? "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Don't be sorry," he told her, putting both arms around her, pulling her tight against him. "Let this go as fast as you want. I can wait." That was true enough, but Kaoru was wishing that Nene had not stopped it. He really was hoping for things to go farther. Still, better things go slow than not at all. And he certainly enjoyed what he and Nene could do.

"You're so nice," Nene said, kissing him.

"I try my best," he told her, kissing her back.


It was nearly noon when Nene returned to her office space. She had said goodbye to Kaoru a few minutes before, agreeing to a dinner date with him later. She sat down at her desk and looked things over. Leon had not left her any messages, so she had no new work.

Well, that was not entirely true. If she had no other work to do then Leon wanted her to just look into things, to find out what she could discover. Well, Nene thought as she got to her feet, she could do that, and combine it with other things.

As Nene grabbed her purse she thought about how much she liked working for Leon. Before, when she was working with communications, she had to sneak around a lot. With Leon, she just made sure all her work was done, then disappeared. As long as things got done Leon did not mind.

A short time later Nene was in her tiny police car, heading out to Akihabara.


Priss leaned up against a wall, watching the crowd of people wander by. She had spent some of the morning wandering about various stores, asking questions about computer systems. Nene had suggested that she do so, to get a feel for what she might want. It made sense, mostly.

"Priss-san," she heard Nene call.

Priss turned towards the voice. Nene was walking through the crowd, wearing her ADP uniform, waving at Priss. Priss pushed off the wall, taking a few steps towards the other woman. A moment later Nene was standing close to her.

"Good afternoon," Nene said brightly.

Priss nodded. "Thanks for coming."

"I'm always willing to help with this sort of stuff," Nene said. "Come on."

"Shouldn't you be working?" Priss asked, just to make conversation.

"I am," Nene said. "I'm looking into illegally recycled boomer parts."

Priss smiled slightly, wondering if that was the truth or just a way for Nene to justify what she was doing. Well, it did not really matter. It was Nene's job, and one she was leaving soon.

Nene led her off the main street, into the many small streets that made up the Electric Town.

"Have you decided what you want?" Nene asked.

"I've got an idea," Priss said as she pulled a small note pad from her jacket pocket. She flipped through several pages until she came to the one she wanted then tore that one out and handed it to Nene.

Nene slowed her walking as she read over the information there. "This is no problem. I know a specialist place that can give us a good deal on the microphones and some of the other recording gear. We'll work on the main system now."

"In this one case, you are the expert," Priss said, putting her hands behind her head as she walked.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Either that or a statement on your sad life."

"You are so kind," Nene said sarcastically.

"I try."

Nene shook her head and continued on towards where Johnson's shop was. As usual it looked like the place was out of business, and the door stuck, forcing her to give it a good yank before it opened.

She stepped in, moving towards the counter.

Priss had stepped inside but stopped on the threshold of the shop, looking about. The place did not look much like the computer stores she had already been in. There were no shiny, new systems sitting out on display shelves, no racks of cables and printer cartridges, just boxes staked on boxes and faded posters for pornographic computer games.

Priss stepped forward and let the door close behind her. It might not look like much, but Priss recognised the feel of the store. She had felt it in places where musical instruments were built and repaired, and places where motorcycles were tweaked and tuned for greater performance.

"'lo Romanova-san," Johnson said from behind the counter. He was looking down at the circuit board he was working with. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Priss-san, she's looking for a computer system."

"Skater?"

"No," Nene told him.

He looked up at Nene, then over at Priss. "What are you looking for?"

Priss stepped forward. "I'm setting up a recording studio. I want to record everything on digital format, be able to work with it, multi-track kind of stuff."

"So storage space and processing power are the big deal, memory as well just so you can get everything running at the same time."

"Why processing power?"

"You can never have too much processing power," he told her. "And a lot of the better software for this sort of stuff wants your computer to be fast."

"Maybe we should go for more than one processor," Nene said. "That way you could have a processor dedicated to each task."

"Yeah, that could work," Johnson said.

"What do you have that might work?" Nene asked him. Priss moved to the side, willing to let Nene take over for this part. It was why she had asked her for help in the beginning.

"I got the standard stuff, but you would not be here if you wanted standard. I got a bunch of CPUs that were pulled off a US sub. Nice stuff."

"Why do you have them?" Nene asked.

"Uncontrolled military spending. They chuck perfectly good stuff. I have a contact who gets it for me."

"Have you tweaked them yet?"

He nodded. "Increased the clock speed, they'll need a special cooling system of course."

"Of course. What else?"

"I have a handful of prototypes of the next generation processors out of Chiba, don't ask how."

"I would like to know," Nene told him. "Okay, how reliable are they?"

"Pretty reliable."

"Pretty?"

"They are still prototypes."

"Can I get two of the sub ones, and two of the prototypes and one of those old Raven Eights you keep around?"

"Oh, that is very good," Johnson said, nodding.

"What is?" Priss asked, deciding she had to ask a few questions.

"Romanova here is going to set you up with four processors in your machine, which will give you all the power you need. The thing is she is putting in a fifth to monitor the two prototypes, just to fix things if they screw up. It will keep your operation smooth."

Priss nodded, fairly certain she understood what he was speaking about.

"Okay," Johnson said. "I can set you up with a smart-board that will handle what you need. Now for storage I have two hard drives I got from NASA, their big ones."

"Space probe quality?"

"Yes," he told her, smiling. "They came from the cancelled solar probe, so they'll be tough."

"You have two?"

"Yes."

"I'll take them both."

"This machine will not need that much storage space."

"One is for me."

"Of course."

"Let's talk memory," Nene told him.

And so it went. Priss kept up with the conversation for the most part, but had to ask questions occasionally to keep everything straight.

"Do you want to do any visual work?" Johnson asked Priss after he and Nene had finished planning out the core system.

"I did not give it any thought," Priss told him.

"I've got some software from ILM and Pixar that is very nice. Your system will handle it well."

"How legal is this software?" Nene asked suspiciously.

"Don't take it into North America," he told her.

"That kind of legal. Oh well."

Priss thought about the offer. "I'll take it."

"Good choice. Are you going to need to set up sub-systems?"

"You are," Nene told her.

"She's the expert."

"How many?" Johnson asked Nene.

"I think six will handle everything."

"I got some cheap boxes I can give you for it. They are nothing much, but they'll just be slaves to the main unit anyway, right?"

Nene nodded.

"I think we got everything then."

"I think so. Priss-san?"

"Sounds like you covered everything," Priss told her.

"I can have this all put together for you by tomorrow night. Want it delivered?"

"That would be great," Priss told him, reaching into her jacket. "This has my address on it," she explained, handing him one of her visiting cards.

He took it, looked it over, and then placed it down on the counter in front of him. "It won't be a problem. Now, Romanova-san, I got something you've been waiting for."

"What?" Then Nene's eyes widened. "You got me those Israelis!"

"I promised you I would."

"I was getting worried."

"Sometimes I may be slow, but I always deliver." He turned on his chair and opened one on the locked cabinets behind him. A minute later he placed an aluminium sided briefcase on the counter."

Nene stepped forward and opened the case. Inside, resting within custom cut foam blocks, were two of the Israeli G-33 motherboards. "Oh my," Nene said.

Priss moved up looking over Nene's shoulder. She did not see anything special, but assumed from the way Nene was acting that she should be impressed. "Something special I take it."

"Yes, very much so," Johnson said.

"The original design comes from America," Nene said. "They called them Enigma Boards, built them for code cracking. Each one has one hundred and forty four tiny sub-processors; linked parallel, able to do a huge amount of mathematical calculations. Still takes a long time to break the code, but they say once you put one of these things on it, it is only a matter of time."

"Of course that time might be a few decades," Johnson added.

"With a hot operator making the right moves, it could be done in days, maybe hours."

"You said they were Israelis?"

"The design was sold to Canada, they altered it and put it in their jet fighters, controlled all their fire and forget missiles, took care of ECM and ECCM, and stuff like that. They used all the processors to improve the craft's performance.

"Israel got their hands on the Canadian design, probably stole it, and reworked it back to a code breaker."

"And they are easier to get than either the American or Canadian versions," Johnson added. "Not that easy though, which brings up an unpleasant topic."

Nene closed the briefcase and reached into her purse, brining out her debit card. "Same price we agreed on?" she asked as she ran the card through the reader on the counter.

"Have I ever raised the price after the fact?"

"No, and that is why I love you," Nene said, smiling as she punched in the authorisation code.


Nene was anxious for the workday to end. She filled out a report on illegal recycling of boomer parts-Johnson being an illegal recycler himself knew a lot about what was going on and was not adverse to giving her the names of idiots-and tried to keep busy, but she just wanted to get home, to her computer. She had even cancelled her dinner date with Kaoru. Dinner, kissing and heavy petting might be fun, but her computer came first.

When the day ended she rushed out of the ADP building, not even taking time to say goodnight to anyone.

Arriving at home she had told her father she would be skipping dinner, and then ran up to her room.

Once inside she closed and locked the door, actually locked it. Probably the first time she had used that lock since coming to live in that house. She wanted privacy, undisturbed privacy. She had work to do.

"Hello Neko," Nene called out to the cat lying on her bed. She tossed to the briefcase with the motherboards onto her bed, near the cat. Neko did not even flinch. Nene smiled as she grabbed the cat up in her hands and spun about. "I've finally got it," she said to her cat. The cat's only response was a 'meow'.

Nene smiled and moved to her bookshelf. "Stay up here," she told the cat as she placed it on the top of the shelf. Neko yawned then laid down, staring down at Nene with unabashed curiosity.

That done, Nene began to strip off her clothing until she was only in her panties, then put on a chemise-slip. It was one way to decrease the possibility of static electricity causing damage, and the work always made her feel overly warm.

Nene crossed the room to her desk and took a seat at her keyboard. Her fingers tapped keys, first entering the various access codes and passwords-which included a voice printthen bringing up the operations menus. She reached out and tapped the screen, right over the 'shutdown' button.

For a moment nothing happened, then the computer asked, 'are you certain?' Nene tapped the screen again, 'yes'. Then the screen went blank for a moment, then, on black screen, white letters wrote out, 'Please Enter Shut Down Code'. Nene did so.

There were two other shut down codes afterwards, an emergency power shut down and a final code that backed up everything new since the last back up onto the back up mem-cards. Finally Nene took a key from her desk drawer and pushed it into a lock in the computer tower. With a turn of the key the computer shut down.

It was the first time since she had moved into the house that the computer was completely shut down. The silence in the room seemed odd, almost ominous. Nene shook her head at such thoughts and got to her feet, walking to her closet.

Within the closet, along with clothing, bags, and boxes, were a large number of aluminium sided briefcases. Quite a few of them. She began bringing them out and placing them on the bed, a number of the boxes she carelessly tossed in the general direction of her computer. There were a few more of the briefcases under the bed as well. Once all of them were up on her bed Nene went back to her closet, removing a tool kit and a grounding box.

She placed the tool kit by her computer and then took the grounding box over to one of the rooms wall sockets and plugged it in. There was a long grounding ribbon attached to the box, meant to be looped around the wrist, but Nene fastened it around her ankle instead. She did not like anything interfering with her hands when she worked.

Ready, she walked over to her desk, knelt down, and began removing the cables from the main tower. Once it was free, she pulled the tower out from under the desk and went to work.

Not long afterwards she had the casing open and was beginning to remove some of the components. Each one either was carefully placed to the side, or wrapped in blue plastic and packed away in one of the boxes. Most of the various parts ended up in boxes.

Finally she had cleaned out a space for the new systemshe was going to keep her old system there as a local network server, for multitasking and as a backup system. Nene got to her feet, sighed, and then went to her bed and grasped the briefcase she had received earlier that day.

She went back to the computer and knelt down, opening the briefcase. From her tool kit she pulled an anti-static pad and laid it on the carpet. She then carefully removed one of the new motherboards from the protective foam and placed it on the pad.

That done, Nene carefully removed three of the sub-processors, cutting them free and putting them to the side. From the few things she had set aside earlier Nene picked out her two, boomer AI chips. With a cold bonder and a lot of care she bonded them into the motherboard, slaving the sub-processors to the more powerful AI chips.

The third spot she filled with a Raven Eight processor. While hopelessly slow compared to modern processors, Johnson had taught her that they were one of the most stable processors in existence. He had taught Nene to use them to monitor other parts of the system.

While such work would have been impossible twenty years ago, the smart-boards had been designed for such mix and matching work. An attempt to stave off obsolescence for as long as possible.

Nene looked her work over, checking it with a palmtop, then carefully placed it into her tower, setting it right before clamping it in place. She sat back and wiped a little perspiration from her forehead. That was the basics taken care of.

She took another case from her bed then returned to the computer. In the case were the tubes that formed the cooling net. She began to carefully wrap the AI chips with the tubing, as well as making sure it came into contact with the sub-processors. Once she had the computer running, coolant would be run through the net to keep everything from overheating.

A necessary precaution as the system had the potential to run very hot. Nene had never had a computer melt-down on her, and was hoping to avoid such a thing.

The rest of the work just took time, offering her few problems. She had to lay down the core tracks on the NASA hard-drive, as it was completely blank. A minor inconvenience for the huge amount of storage space she was getting, and the hardiness of the system.

She had been collecting the parts to build her system, her katana, for some time. Everything was cutting edge. She had just been waiting for the motherboard with which to put it all together.

Four hours after starting Nene was finished, and she had to go to the bathroom. She put on a robe and took a break long enough to relieve herself and get something to drink, then she was back in her room.

Her room was a bit of a mess, with empty briefcases scattered about, as well as various wrapping media. She'd clean it up later.

Nene went back to her computer and hooked the cooling unit up to the tubes. It was a simple set up, but it worked. She just had to fill the unit with a cooling medium. She used baby oil, Johnson used vodka, she thought Sylia's main computer used some synthetic coolant. They all did the same thing, however.

She started the unit running, letting it purge the tubes of air and begin to cool the oil down. While that was happening Nene plugged her various peripherals back into the computer. Once done she began to bring the system to life, for the first time.

Her primary monitor began to flicker, after a moment information began to scroll across it. Nene picked up a good luck charm and held it tight as she watched. "Oh Pasocon-sama, be kind to your favoured miko," she said softly, her eyes focused on the screen.

She held her breath during the pauses, she let it out when the information began to once again flow across the screen, she smiled when everything was as it should be. And finally the initial boot-up was complete. Everything looked good.

Nene pulled her chair up and took a seat, pulling the keyboard from the desk and putting it across her knees. She did not take her eyes from the screen as she typed, pulling information off the mem-cards, rebuilding the software side of her computer.

She reached down for a box of mini MMSDs. She began to slot the small cards into the reader; a rod shaped device on her desk. As each one was pushed home, the information on it was read. Once all were slotted in she turned back to her keyboard and began installing the new software.

She was putting things on the new machine that her old machine could not have run, home brewed programs she had written to her own specifications. It was going to be a very hot machine.

A smile crept onto Nene's face as she worked.


Cultural Notes: What follows is a very abbreviated explanation of Japan's creation legend. If you wish a more detailed explanation I suggest that you read the Kojiki.

The two deities, Izanagi and Izanami are sent to solidify the lands, which they did, creating the island of Onogoro, where they brought forth the many Kami. Izanami eventually dies when she gives birth to the god of fire.

Izanagi goes down into the land of the dead (Yomi) to meet his spouse, Izanami. When he sees her rotting corpse. He freaks and leaves Yomi, with Izanami following. He blocks off the way into the land of the dead with a boulder.

Izanami, very angry, tells Izanagi that she will kill one thousand people every day in his lands. Izanagi replies with that he will ensure one thousand five hundred people are born each day.

That done, Izanagi goes to purify himself in the river (Tati-Bana?) where during his purification rituals he gives birth to, creates, a number of other Kami. The last and three most noble were Amaterasu Opo Mikami (Sun goddess) from his left eye; Tukuyomi No Mikoto (god of Night/Moon) from his right eye; and from his nose Takepaya Susanowo No Mikoto (god of the ocean/storm.

Susano, not happy with his Divine Trust weeps and howls until Izanagi comes and ask him what is wrong. Susano tells him that he wants to go to the land of his mother, Nenokata Sukuni. Izanagi becomes enraged and banishes Susano. Susano refuses to accept his banishment and goes to see his sister, Amaterasu.

Amaterasu and Susano have a child bearing/creating contest which entails chewing up each other's raiment and spitting it out. At the end Susano has obtained female offspring and claims victory. He rages with victory, destroying the ridges between rice paddies, defecating in the halls and other things. Amaterasu refuses to act and would not reprove him.

Then he flayed a horse and threw it into Amaterasu's room. This was too much for the sun goddess who goes and shuts herself in a cave, plunging the world into darkness.

The rest of the Kami get together and throw a celebration and trick Amaterasu out of the cave, which they then seal off the cave with a siri-kume rope. Then they expel Susano from the lands and he goes off to slay monsters elsewhere and Amaterasu helps to found the Japanese Empire.

Speed Alarms - In a number of Japanese cars are beepers that go off if the car is taken above 80km/h, sometimes 100km/h. They are basically an annoying safety feature. As most roads in Japan are limited to 50km/h and the expressways at 80km/h the alarm limits are set at a decent level.

Of note is that you can do about 80km'h on the roads marked 50 without too much worry about police, though on those curvy, mountain roads, you had better be a decent driver if you are going to drive over 50. On the expressways you can hit about 120 without any major worries. But that was just me. I take no responsibility for any traffic tickets you receive.

Tech Notes: Priss's car is a restored Ford Shelby Cobra 427, designed by Carroll Shelby to defeat the Ferraris in the 1965 FIA Championship. Carroll Shelby would recognise the car on the outside, but once he got behind the wheel he would notice a large number of differences.
Being lighter gives it a boost in both top speed and acceleration. The car is still somewhat ungainly when it comes to quick changes of direction, but Gibson did manage to make some improvement in that area as well.

How the car ended up in the factory is a bit of a mystery. Its last, registered owner was a Japanese man in Aomori who died in 2024. The car was not part of his estate at that point. Before that it was owned by a Chinese man in Hong Kong. That owner had actually built the car from the wrecks of 2 Cobra 427s. One of those wrecks came from Chicago in the late part of the previous century and was reputed to have been part of the Chicago PD.

Priss' car has no special features, beyond those mentioned above and a really nice stereo.

Restored Cobra 427
Handling: 3/8
Speed: 230
Acceleration: 12
Body: 4
Amour: 0
Signature: 3
Autonav: 0
Pilot: -
Sensor: -
Cargo: 6 Load: 50

Seating: 2 bucket seats Cost: NA

"Smoke and mist are like looking at a spring mountain. After the rain is like viewing a clear day. There is a weakness in perfect clarity"
-Japanese Proverb