Life, Liberty, And…
A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:
Sintendo
Chapter Twelve: The Ballad of Marco Toni
Social Welfare Agency, Italy; 1100 hours, August 12, 2005
(Narrator: Percvial)
Some would call the feeling I felt toward Marco a negative one. After all, seemingly from nowhere, he burst into my office a few days ago and demanded that I sign release and custody papers for Angelica. I was certainly going to do so – without question, I would have – were it not for Chiefs Lorenzo and Draghi barging into the room, unannounced, growling at the top of their lungs and at each other's throats.
Draghi reminded me that I had no legal right to release a cyborg, since – in a technical sense – she was the property of the Social Welfare Agency. This was fact; the U.S. occupation of this facility as officially a hospital used for U.S. military personnel and any nearby emergency patients, not as a military base. Lorenzo was less mild than the bearded man, reminding Draghi that he had no right to interfere with the affairs of Section 2, which Angelica belong to. He stated that I, in fact, did have the power to release Angelica from the grip of Section 2, only if I get his approval. On top of all their bickering, Marco was in the process of shoving a pen into my hand and a sheet of paper under my nose, stating that these were real documents that he wanted my signature on.
With all the shouting, prodding, and near physical violence before me, I realized something.
Draghi was right because Angelica was the property of the Social Welfare Agency entirely, and not just Section 2. However, as of one month ago, all things related to the SWA belong to the U.S. Government. Since I was put in charge of the entire facility, due to my father's "absence", and the Army still deciding who will seat as the permanent C.O. of this place, I had all the legal authority to release anyone I wished.
What a great start for the career of a 27 year-old.
The feeling I had toward Marco was most definitely not a negative one, nor was it ever positive. Hell, I didn't know what to think. Releasing a cyborg into the world would result in unknown consequences; it's never been done before. However, I've seen the girl suffer while on our morning exercise; it's my personal opinion that she cannot handle anymore of this type of work.
I wandered the campus searching for my father. Surely he would know what to do, since he is well versed in the world of decision making.
Fortunately I didn't have to trek too far from my office; I spotted him resting underneath a tree as he read a book. Claes was nearby as well, tending to her garden.
The behavior that my father was showing toward Claes never really struck me as an odd one until Rei pointed it out a few days ago upon their return from her first mission. Apparently – as observed by my fiancée – Claes was receiving the same treatment as that of any of my sisters; that is, as spoiled as my father can possibly make them. Of course, now that I think about it, my father would treat any child that way. I, for one, can attest to that.
"Hey, dad," I said, "What are you up to?"
"Reading," he said, without taking his eyes away from the book, "A Wrinkle In Time. Claes says it's a good book."
"It is," I sat next to him, "Hey; mind if I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"What would you do if you were in my position?"
He laughed and set his book down, "I've been in your current position plenty of times, boy."
"Really? So what would you do?"
"Honestly?" He thought for a moment, "Honestly I would tell Marco to shut the hell up and get back in line. Hell, I would jail him for thinking such insane thoughts," after a moment's hesitation, he added, "I'd probably beat the crap out of him too."
I wasn't expecting to hear that type of response.
"So you wouldn't let them go?"
"No," he said with a puff of air, "Why? Were you going to?"
I left without a response.
My father's advice proved to be near useless to me. I say "near useless" because he spent the majority of his early Army years in the middle of minor conflicts around the world, while I sat in an office. A shame for me, really.
As much truth as his words held, I didn't agree with him. Sure Marco was a bit out of line for rushing into my office, but he had a good reason. We both knew that Angelica didn't have much time left (according to Dr. Bianchi's reports), so he probably wanted to—
"Wait," I said to myself, "Dr. Bianchi should know what's best for her."
Social Welfare Agency: Dr. Bianchi's Office, Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, August 12, 2005
As best as I could tell, Dr. Bianchi was not that much older than I; though some have reported to me that he is almost as old as my dad. Still, that didn't deter me from initiating a conversation with him as he ate his lunch in his office.
"The fact remains that we do not know how much longer she'll last in her current condition," He repeated information I already knew of, "If we keep her here, she'll be forced to continue working, and continued working equals more injuries which result in more use of the conditioning drug."
"And that's what's draining her life away?" I asked.
"Unfortunately, yes. It's almost like a necessary evil."
I thought for a moment, "Isn't there some way you can reverse her condition?"
Bianchi stood still; maybe I mentioned something I shouldn't have.
"Their bodies are semi-organic; a mixture of living tissue and carbon-fibers. To replace those, we would need an extreme amount of the rug, as well as donor tissue."
"Jesus," I sighed, "To save her life, we'd have to sacrifice another?"
"Not necessarily; we'd only have to use cadaver tissue, but – like I mentioned before – extended use of the drug may result in amnesia, paralysis, and even death. With the current technology we have at hand, it'll be a huge gamble for her to undergo that procedure. That is, until we can find a way to purge the drug from her system."
That was all I needed to hear. Marco would have to decide the rest.
Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room, Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, August 12, 2005
With all the highest authorities in the room, I began my deliberation.
"As you all know," I began, "Our fellow comrade here, Marco, has decided to retire from the Social Welfare Agency. Sadly, I wasn't able to spend much time working with Marco, but from what I hear, he's done one hell of a job. We're losing a good man, today; however, we all wish you the best of luck in your future."
Light applause erupted, mostly from agents of Section 1. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Marco's emotionless face.
"Additionally," I cleared my throat, "And most unfortunately, he's also decided that he wants his ward, Angelica, to retire as well… as his own child."
A round of murmurs rose from the small crowd, again, mostly from the lips of Section 1 agents.
"Being the head of administration, along with the consent of Comissioner Maria-Petrice, and the agreement of Dr. Bianchi, Dr. Masi and his surgical team; I have agreed to grant Marco his wish—"
I was interrupted by a wave of chatter, which was quickly halted by my friend, Jean.
"If I may continue," I cleared my throat once more. I faced Marco, "Know this: Dr. Bianchi has constantly reminded you of the disastrous side-effects that may occur during and after the process. Do you wish to risk Angelica's life?"
He answered without a second's hesitation; no doubt was detected in his voice, his posture proud as a lion, "She'll make it. I know she will."
Social Welfare Agency, Rome, Italy; 1500 hours, August 18, 2005
The day of Angelica's "Surgery" came faster than anyone who knew of the procedure noticed, most notably Marco. He appeared as though he slipped through a wrinkle in time; his face aged several dozen years before the eyes of those close to him, especially Angelica.
"Marco?" She asked from her bright white hospital bed, "Are you all right?"
Marco held a thin cylinder between his lips; something that did not belong in a medical facility – though it was not lit, "I'm fine." He said with a raspy voice.
He, of course, was saving face – his peers were gathered in the same room and he didn't want to show any weakness on his person. The cyborgs – crowded around the V.I.P. of the day – were none too savvy on Marco's body language, but the elder members of the room read him like a book.
"Maybe we should step outside and give that thing a spin," the ever charismatic Bradley pointed at the cigarette in Marco's fingers, "Come on." He urged.
Marco refused, "I'm staying here."
Without warning, a team of pair of uniformed nurses entered the room, announcing that it was time for the procedure to begin. It was then that Marco pulled off an act that nobody in the room ever expected the normally gruff man to do.
"Good luck." Marco said to Angelica as he kissed her forehead.
Turin, Italy; 1300 hours, November 24, 2005
The crisp fall air gave an aura of peace and tranquility as the hell within Bradley's SUV rode in the passenger seat. Claes laid back, not known to Bradley whether she was napping or not. He reminisced about the months prior to today; with more than a half dozen successful missions under her belt, she was already an effective member of the agency. Though he was always available for assistance via radio, he was never called upon by her.
This week's destination, however, was not to end in violence, but instead was a visit to an old friend.
Parking in the lot that belonged to an apartment structure, Bradley prodded the girl until she woke.
"Yo," he casually said, "We're here." He tossed a rather large, wrapped package into her arms.
Navigating the confines of the building, they reached their destination located at the top most floor of the complex. Gently knocking on the natural colored door using the supplied brass knocker, they awaited a response.
After a brief pause, the door slowly creaked open; from behind a familiar face, and a shaggy unfamiliar one that accompanied it.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"Hello, Angelica," Bradley said warmly, "Is Marco here?"
The girl stared at him with quizzical eyes.
"You remember me, right?"
The girl shook her head and called into the room behind her, "Papa! There's someone at the door for you."
"Papa?" Bradley and Claes shared the same thoughts and reaction.
Marco appeared from within the room, "Ah! General! Claes! What a pleasant surprise!" he ushered them inside, treating them as honored guests and having the girl retrieve their coats.
"It's been a while, Marco," Bradley said as he sat in an offered armchair, "You don't call, you don't write…"
Marco laughed, "I've just been too busy with other things."
"I heard you spend your time as a columnist for several publications. How's that been treating you?"
"It's great; keeps the bills paid. But enough of me, what brings you and Claes up here? I'm sure you didn't spend a few hours drive just to say 'hi' did you?"
Bradley signaled for Claes to present the gold wrapped package to Marco, "It's Thanksgiving where I come from, so I brought a little something to celebrate."
"Thanksgiving? And what's this?" Marco carefully unwrapped the box, "A… turkey?"
"Smoked Turkey from Massachusetts in the U.S.," Bradley proudly said, "Thanksgiving is a holiday where we spend an evening with friends and family to remember the year and giving thanks to whatever we cherish the most. I thought it would be appropriate to come here and share the holiday with you guys."
"I see," Marco smiled, and called to the girl, "Angéla, can you prepare this in the kitchen?"
"Wow a turkey?" she exclaimed, "I've never had turkey before! Come on, Perro; let's cook it!"
Bradley watched with a smile as he saw the young girl take the package and disappear into the back room; a large Golden retriever guarded her along the way. He then signaled for Claes to assist the girl.
"Angéla?" Bradley asked, once the trio was out of sight.
"I felt that it suited her better than 'Angelica'," He laughed, then whispered, "Returning her name and her life as well, you see? Besides, why should I take away the name of such an angel?"
"I suppose," Bradley smiled, "But… what's all this 'Papa' business?"
Marco laughed again, "The day we left the agency, she began calling me that. Who am I to stop her? What else would I be to her?"
Bradley shared the laughter, "Dammit Marco, if Jose were to hear this, I wouldn't know what to do."