Part 7: the Day the Music Died
Hong Kong SAR, PRC
March 13th, 2016
A moist, warm breeze caressed Biological Self-Destructive Weapon Unit C76251-S577's slim body, tickling the soles of her bare feet and swirling through her white hair as she descended through the open hatch in the carrier's underside. Opening her eyes to this new world, she found herself immersed in the first rays of a sun just clearing the distant horizon. Below her, the lights of a city were scattered among green hills. In front, beyond the rubble and half-submerged structures standing as solitary tributes to a shoreline left behind by some past rising tide, an ocean stretched off to infinity.
A great happiness swelled in S577's heart as she beheld the forms of hundreds of her sisters floating around her, emerging from the same ship as herself or from the others hovering over the city. Though she had never once in her brief life actually interacted with any of them, she felt an unshakable bond with each. Why was she here? Who had decided it? She neither knew nor cared. To S577, this was simply how it was supposed to be, was simply right. She existed for one single purpose and as soon as she had drifted a little lower she would joyfully fulfill it, releasing the power within herself as some of her distant sisters were beginning to do already.
Something streaked by at the far edge of her field of vision, a peripheral blur moving upwards at a steep angle. Its passage left an impression of heat and an acrid smell as a dull thump sounded overhead, propagating a rolling echo across the terrain underfoot. A wave of fear splashed over the girl.
''Don't do it!''
S577's head snapped up. The ship which had carried her here was damaged, smoke pouring from a twisted hole in the sheer white hull. As she watched, the great hatch began to close and the vessel started to move. The others close by were also staring at the spectacle, their serene expressions displaced by the same alarm S577 experienced. One on high, probably the last to leave the shelter of the carrier, was waving her arms. ''Don't!'' she cried again. ''You mustn't destroy yourselves!''
She didn't understand why she felt afraid, why the other was calling out or why she chose to obey, but obey she did.
''Why?'' C76239-D451 demanded. ''Why did you stop us?''
C76263-B303 didn't answer. Though it was her words which had snapped the thirty girls out of their induced reverie and guided them to this hiding place under the lush trees of a rocky hillside, she had since fallen into a numb silence. Everyone seemed at a loss regarding the next move.
S577 had at least found enough energy to scout the lay of the land. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she peered out at the destruction wrought by those who had failed to hear B303's warning. Columns of smoke were rising from a handful of points across the city, swirling an ominous black color in the midday sun. The girl somehow expected there to be a cacophony of frantic noise associated with the spectacle, not the dull murmur far away which she could hear now.
Then someone's stomach rumbled, emphasizing the futility of sitting and waiting for an outside initiative. ''We should move,'' S577 proclaimed. ''We have no food or shelter. If someone finds us, we might be attacked. We can't stay here.''
''Move where?'' D451 retorted despairingly. ''We don't know this place. We have no friends, no guides... We don't even have shoes! How can we survive?''
''It doesn't matter.'' S577 placed her hands on her bare hips. ''We'll find something or think of something. If we can't even try, what was the point of choosing to live?'' Once all eyes were on her, she jerked her head towards the shattered urbs. ''I'm going down there,'' the girl continued defiantly. ''You can come or stay as you like.''
In the end, B303 and fourteen of the others opted to follow S577's lead: just over half the total. The leader apparent, for her part, was starting to feel like a queen of all fools. She really had no idea where she was trying to go, nor what she would do when she arrived at whatever place that turned out to be. Perhaps, like B303 before her, she was waiting for somebody else to step in and make the next decision. Her feet were on fire from trekking over hot pavement and gravel in turn, and she was beginning to sweat despite her flimsy garment. Looking forward, she could see a row of wide rectangular structures which seemed to have escaped the morning's hundreds of explosions - the word 'warehouse' came into her mind, though she couldn't recall ever hearing it before. Like the language she spoke and the footsteps she took, that knowledge had somehow always been inside her.
''What do you think?'' she asked, looking back as B303 came to her side. ''I don't see any movement.''
''It's fine,'' the other panted desperately. ''Let's... go...''
S577 slipped an arm across B303's shoulders, lending support as the group returned to walking. ''Almost there,'' she encouraged. ''At least we can rest in the shade.'' Her companion nodded, and together the duo made a final scramble to the building at the row's end. The overhanging edge of the roof afforded ample respite from the sun, though not from the humid wind.
''This is better,'' one tired girl sighed after a minute or two, looking around curiously. ''What are these used for?''
''Storage,'' another guessed. ''Maybe there's food inside?''
''Wouldn't it have to be kept cold? This wall doesn't feel cold.''
A new noise alerted S577. ''Quiet,'' she called softly, dropping into a wary crouch. Somewhere on the far side of the building, a mixture of grinding, clanking and sputtering was growing louder. As the girl mentally cringed at the prospect of trying to retreat unseen, the sounds suddenly cut out.
''Metford,'' a voice called over the rattling of a large door in motion, ''get everyone inside and tell them I'll be back with more as soon as I can.'' The speaker was a man, the language English. ''Keep a low profile. We'll bring up whatever supplies we can scrounge as soon as the trucks are dug out. Got it?''
''Yes, I understand. Good luck.''
''You too.'' The mechanical noises resumed. S577 had barely enough time to realize they were coming closer before the vehicle rattled into view: a compact yellow-brown object which defied immediate classification, pulling a two-wheeled trailer behind it. The single wheel at the front with handlebars and a headlight attached was consistent with something called a 'motorcycle' but the linked tracks under the main body looked like components from a 'tank'. The contraption had a slogan, MY OTHER RIDE IS A PANZERKAMPFWAGEN, stenciled in black along its side. Its operator was a large, heavyset man in a many-pocketed vest, a short-sleeve shirt and green pants with even more pockets, who appeared slightly less startled by the abrupt encounter than the girl herself.
The machine lurched to a stop, its engine dying with a cough. ''What happened?'' the one called Metford inquired from out of view. ''Is something wrong?''
S577 silently gave the driver a pleading look, holding her hands up to show her inhostility. He gazed back at her with an unreadable expression through large goggles, strapped below a black metal helmet with a flared rim around the sides and back. The part of his face that she could see bore prominent scars, as did his hairy forearms. When he lifted his right hand to adjust the helmet, she also saw that the tip of his ring finger was missing. ''Nothing's wrong,'' he replied gruffly. ''Fumbled the clutch, that's all.''
That he had not immediately given away their presence gave S577 hope. Keeping her hands up, she slowly walked towards the stranger. ''Uh...'' What should I say? How can I persuade this forime to help us?
The man saved her the trouble. ''Well?'' he demanded in an undertone. ''What's your excuse?''
She understood the words but not the context. ''What..?''
''I was filling out paperwork, minding my own business, and then stuff started exploding. That's my excuse. What's yours?''
''I... We... didn't want to die.''
''Uh-huh.'' The driver nodded skeptically. ''So what do you want?''
''We want... I mean, we need...'' S577's stomach gurgled, prompting an embarrassed blush. ''Please, can you help us?''
The other pursed his lips. ''I'm not a philanthropist,'' he muttered. ''I don't run an orphanage or a foster home, either.''
''But...''
The helmeted one raised a hand. ''Now, if you wanted to help us dig survivors out of the rubble, then we might be able to work something out. You interested?''
''Er, I... That is, I should ask the others...''
''Hurry up. I need to get back to the rescue team.''
S577 retraced her steps at three times the speed. ''He says he can help us if we help him,'' she announced. ''Should we accept?''
The majority expression was of cautious optimism. ''Can we trust him?'' one of the girls asked furtively.
''I don't know,'' S577 conceded, ''but what else can we do?'' It took a few seconds more to secure an uneasy consensus, and then she walked back to the man on the tank-cycle. ''We accept,'' she told him nervously.
''Okay,'' he grunted, motioning over his shoulder. ''Everybody in.''
S577 watched as the others boarded the trailer, then climbed onto the seat at the back of the motorized unit itself. B303 sat beside her, gripping the side handrail tightly. ''Excuse me,'' the former began, ''there are some others who stayed behind...''
''How many?''
''Ah, fourteen... Up there a little ways.'' She pointed. ''Could you..?''
The driver shrugged. ''Haven't got space for 'em... I'll make a pickup after my next run, okay?''
''...All right.''
''Fine.'' The engine roared to life and the vehicle lurched forwards, turning in a wide arc towards the heart of the ruined city.
''Stop!''
The man applied his brakes more gently this time. ''Now what?'' he complained, twisting in his seat. ''You getting motion sick, or... Oh.'' A new column of smoke was climbing into the sky, its origin the hillside where the other girls had remained. ''Looks like your friends had second thoughts.''
''No!'' B303 cried. ''We all promised each other we wouldn't!''
''Huh...'' The man in the helmet frowned. ''And what's this now? Arume coming down from on high?''
It was true: a sleek white craft was zooming towards the remaining girls and their guide, skimming low over the roofs of the few buildings which yet stood. ''Arume,'' S577 repeated. ''They... Could the Arume have killed them?''
''Looks like we're gonna find out,'' the stranger observed grimly, cutting his engine as the ship circled and descended. ''No way this Kettenkrad can outrun that thing... Everyone keep cool, got it?''
The white ship settled onto spindly struts, parking side-on so that the street straight ahead was blocked. A hatch at the rear opened and eight figures emerged. They were huge compared to S577 and her sisters, yet the tank-cycle's driver looked as if he could tower over any of them. Each wore a blue uniform with a flower emblem on the arms, a thick gray vest and a belt with a row of snap-fastened pouches. Their faces were hidden behind air filters and helmets with tinted visors, their gloved hands burdened by black weapons. From her perch at the tail of the vehicle, S577 saw the driver's shoulders tense up.
One of the soldiers, his seniority evidenced by the extra bars under his arm insignia, directed the rest with a quick chain of hand signals. ''You!'' he barked aloud. ''Out of the vehicle!''
''Wait,'' the driver commanded under his breath, catching B303 half-disembarked. ''I don't recognize your outfit,'' he went on, raising his voice. ''What business d'you have stoppin' people on the road, eh?''
The soldier leader made another signal. His men advanced on the unmoving machine, raising their guns to their shoulders. S577's feeling of dread grew, a paralyzing fear matching it step for step. ''Get out,'' the leader repeated. ''Now.''
''Yeah, yeah,'' the driver grumbled, lifting himself onto the tank-cycle's side and swinging a leg over. ''Just let me put my brace on...'' He started to reach for the metal rod with attached straps which lay against his seat, only to be seized by two of the soldiers and dragged bodily from the machine. ''Ow!'' he cried as the helmet and goggles were yanked off. His hair was blond, his left eye blue. The other was gone, nothing but a pit of scar tissue. ''Leggo, dammit!''
The soldiers ignored his discomfort. ''Search him,'' the leader ordered, then turned to the girls. ''All of you, out.'' He waved towards the cracked sidewalk on the left. ''Stand over there.''
S577 didn't see any options beside complying. She moved in silence, watching out of the corner of her eye as the stranger was held up by a pair of soldiers and briskly patted down by a third. ''He's clean,'' the last reported.
The leader stepped in front of the driver. ''Identify yourself.''
''Name's Higgins,'' the man spat. ''Edsel Higgins. I work for the Biv brothers.''
''Who?''
''The Roy G and Irving Biv Import-Export Company,'' Higgins sighed. ''Look, I ain't got time for this crap, okay? We got a lotta hurt people, buried people, and they need help. How 'bout you knock off the bad-cop routine and - oof!''
''You speak when spoken to,'' the commander hissed, withdrawing his fist from Higgins' gut. ''Do you understand me?''
Higgins simply glared at him.
''What happened to your face?''
''I was once a salesman of electric blenders,'' the one-eyed man said evenly. ''They gave me a defective unit for a product demo.''
The leader dropped that line of interrogation. ''Where did you pick up the gosta?''
''The what?''
''The girls.'' S577 could imagine the leader's teeth grinding behind his mask. ''Where did you find them?''
''Uptown a-ways. They offered to help with the rescue.''
''Cut the bullshit!'' the leader shouted, punching Higgins again. ''Where are your friends?''
''Huh..?''
A third punch left the man slumped and wheezing in the soldiers' grasp, an acrid puddle of his stomach's contents on the ground. ''Stop it!'' B303 cried. ''He hasn't done anything!''
The officer turned away from Higgins, raising a hand to the radio on the front of his vest. ''I think this is our man,'' S577 heard him mutter. ''Should we bring him in? ...All right.'' He turned back to his troops. ''Get rid of him. We'll burn the tractor.''
S577 wasn't the only girl baring her teeth as Higgins was unceremoniously thrown against the side of the tank-cycle and left to slide down onto the pavement. These soldiers who worked for the Arume were beating up the defenseless forime merely for helping the girls: the knowledge filled her with rage, helpless as she was.
''Hey fascists,'' Higgins coughed, somehow cracking a grin despite his predicament. ''You gonna shoot the kids too?''
The soldiers ignored him.
''Do I get any famous last words?''
How can he find this funny? S577 thought incredulously. He's about to die! Watching the soldiers take aim, she gritted her teeth and sucked in a deep breath. ''Hey!'' she shouted, and broke into a low run up the street. It was better for them to be distracted and kill her, who had barely lived at all, then a forime who must have family and friends who would miss him, wasn't it?
Behind her came a defiant yell from Higgins: ''Shoot straight, you bastards! Don't make a mess of it!''
The crash of gunfire failed to materialize. S577 started to look back, promptly tripped and went tumbling, scraping her knees, palms and elbows. Raising her head, she spotted one of the soldiers slumped on the ground and the others all looking in the opposite direction. ''Sniper!'' the commander yelled, hostile condescension giving way to alarm. ''It's a fucking sniper! Get down!''
Higgins was on the move, clawing his way up the side of the tank-cycle. Once he was upright, leaning against its hull, he reached down and picked up a long cloth-wrapped object from next to the driver seat. The soldiers' leader, down on his knees now, twisted towards him. ''You..!''
Zup-p-p!
The girl could hear the bullet's impact this time, could see the commander's body jolt as it punched into him. Higgins threw the ragged cloth to the wind, revealing a long weapon of gray metal and brown wood. ''Squall astern, poltroons!'' In a flash, the butt was against his left shoulder and the muzzle aimed squarely at the nearest soldier. ''Hoo-ah!''
A feeling of savage glee surged through S577's petite frame as the big man released a long burst, ripping through one prostrate enemy after another as a stream of little golden tubes tumbled through the air beside him. The Arume ship began to rise, retracting its landing gear while the one-eyed gunner pulled an angular box out of his weapon's underside, snatched another one from some hidden place beside his machine's seat and slapped it into place. As the ship's nose swung towards him, he aimed carefully and emptied his second magazine in an arc across its windshield. Sparks flew, then chips and shards of broken plastiglass.
The craft continued to rise and pivot slowly, drifting off to the right at the same time. After a few moments the living bomb realized it must be out of control. Tearing her vivid eyes away from the spectacle, she observed a group of armed forime coming up the street towards Higgins and the tank-cycle. The one in front was a short-haired woman in green-brown camouflage clothes, as tall as Higgins and definitely related to him. Following her were two men with large backpacks, one carrying a fat tube on his shoulder. ''Nice job with the Vintorez, KK,'' Higgins said to the woman. ''And you brought the Carl G along... Go ahead, Ruslan.''
The man with the tube nodded and turned to face the spinning Arume ship, revealing that the object had a conical section at its rear. ''Stand clear,'' he called in an accented voice. ''Firing!''
Foomp!
...Kaboom!
In the aftermath of the explosion, with the white craft returning to ground in small pieces, S577 heard Higgins quietly singing as he reloaded. ''Ah don't need no teenage queen!'' Sha-click! ''All Ah need's mah M-Fourteen!'' Schick-chak! ''...Okay, back to work.'' So saying, he placed the weapon across the tank-cycle's seat and retrieved his leg brace. ''I wonder where the sky eyes found this lot,'' he mused. ''Don't they know Hell has a special place reserved for sellouts and collaborators?''
S577 looked down at the white blood oozing from her sundry lacerations. A shadow fell over her: when she lifted her head, the one called KK was standing right beside. ''Hold still,'' the latter said softly, sliding muscular arms around the girl's back and under her knees. Gently lifting the frail body, she reversed her course. ''That was pretty brave of you, you know that?''
This kindness was beyond anything the girl had hoped for. ''I... I just thought it wasn't fair...''
Higgins stood up as KK returned. ''Put her here,'' he said, pointing to where he had sat. His voice had changed, turned more serious and less complaining. ''The first aid kit's under the seat.''
''Thanks.'' KK bent over and withdrew a small, dented box from some crevice. ''Where did you find this lot?''
''Up by the warehouses where I left Metford and company. They said there were more, but...'' The man shook his head. ''Looks like the rest got strafed.''
''Damn.'' KK knelt and applied a stinging spray to S577's knees. ''We're taking these ones with us?''
''Do they look like they can survive on their own?'' Higgins turned his head as B303 appeared at his elbow. ''Oh, hey. Is everyone else all right?''
The second girl nodded. ''Thank you for protecting us.''
''Don't thank me,'' the cyclops replied casually. ''I look after my crew, that's all.''
The two girls exchanged a bewildered look. ''Your... crew?'' S577 echoed.
Higgins put his hands on his hips. ''As I see it, your choice is simple: you can go on ineptly trying to make it on your own... or you can work for me.''
B303 frowned. ''You want us to sell blenders..?''
''Blenders?'' Higgins snorted as KK moved up to her patient's elbows. ''Never sold a blender in my life. Everything I told that jackass was bogus, understand?''
''Then... what would we be doing?''
''Engaging in the trade of secondhand and surplus conventional arms, the supply of spare parts, ammunition and servicing tools pursuant to the above, and the administration of support training and force instruction to assorted clients. Your work will not be risk-free, prestigious or well-paying, but you can travel to exotic locations and meet interesting people.'' The grin returned. ''And nobody will mess with you and get away with it.''
S577's first impulse was to refuse, to protest that the man didn't know what kind of trouble he proposed to invite upon himself, but she was beaten to the mark. ''I accept,'' B303 declared, holding her head high. ''I don't really understand what your work is, but I will learn!''
''That's one,'' said Higgins. ''Any other takers?''
S577 almost couldn't believe it: one by one, her siblings each raised a pale hand until she alone was left. ''I...'' She swallowed. ''Do you... know what you are doing?''
''I'm hiring gosta,'' Higgins said plainly. The bluntness of the statement convinced S577 that he'd known their identity perfectly well from the start. ''As long as you don't go 'boom' on us, what's the problem?''
''But the Arume... If they come after us again - ''
''That'll be their loss... Anyhow, we don't have all day. Make up your mind.'' He looked away. ''Ruslan, call Vinogradov and tell him to double-time the unloading. As soon as he's done, he's to sail for Hai Phong and get all the food and medical supplies he can... Cash up front, if that's what it takes.''
''Wow,'' KK murmured sarcastically, applying a bandage to S577's palm. ''And I thought we merchants of death were supposed to be selfish.''
''Yeah, well...'' Higgins scratched his ear. ''Wasn't it the Yakuza who took the initiative after the Kobe quake in '95?''
The woman raised an eyebrow. ''Sure you aren't just exploiting these kids' naivete?''
''I did tell them I'm not running a charity...''
''I'll do it.'' S577 looked the man straight in the eye, interrupting the banter. ''I'll work for you.''
The one who had identified himself as 'Edsel Higgins' nodded. ''All right, then... I'm Roland Schuhart. Together with my cousin Keiko here and some good friends, I run the Eto Delo group. What's your name?''
The gosta looked down at her feet. ''I don't have one... Just a number.''
''I'll give you temp names, then.'' Schuhart rubbed his chin. ''Let's see...''
''Think fast,'' Keiko prompted. ''The rescue crew can't wait forever.''
''Hmm...'' Schuhart's one eye wandered over to his rifle. ''Okay,'' he said, pointing to B303 and then S577. ''Harrington and Richardson. Think you can remember those?''
The girls nodded.
''Good.'' The gostas' new employer climbed back into his tank-cycle. ''All aboard,'' he called. ''The rest will get their names as soon as I think of some.'' He revved the engine dramatically. ''Let's roll!''