MEANWHILE IN ITALY
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Author's note: These next couple of chapters tie in directly with my previous writing in "And the Adventure Continues", notably chapters 09 and 10 of that story. While the main plot arc is carried there rather than here, I hope this will make an interesting alternate perspective.
Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara, MP5 for Brian, ChaosKin640 for Melanie and Nina, and Officer_Charon for his original SRT personnel.
CH13 - Strangers From a Strange Land (Part 03)
Standing beneath warm down lights at the lecture theatre's raised back, Doctor Fernando Bianchi watched the SWA's assembled personnel file out, their human tide rolling quickly away in a rush to head the queue for arms. Technically he did not have to be at the briefing, but if he wasn't overly busy then it never hurt to get a warning as to what the medical staff might expect in the coming hours, and of course observing a large group like this was a rare opportunity; one useful to his own work.
On the floor below, Jethro and Monique stopped by Jean Croce, and he noted adult and cyborg heads alike turning furtively as they passed, expressions split to varying degrees between curiosity, awe, longing and distaste. Highly visible outside influences were rare on the SWA campus, and with their presence, he would have to start bringing the girls for interviews again.
Though some of those would be more than just an exercise in building data, and satiating his own curiosity.
Thoughts darkening behind an impassive face, Bianchi turned his attention to where Olivetti remained seated with his cyborg. There was one of his concerns, and as the pair finally rose to leave, he trailed out in their wake with the stragglers.
Unfortunately, that time spent waiting had also been enough for Jean to pack up and make his own departure, forcing the doctor to quicken his pace through double doors and over the car park's icy expanse, finally catching the field commander halfway to his own vehicle.
"Jean, a moment?"
The head handler stopped mid-stride, turning back to his addressor. Taking in who it was, he looked down at the small blonde girl beside him, passing over the stack of papers he held. "Put these in the boot Rico, then wait by the car."
"Yes, Jean."
As she trotted off toward a long, low Mercedes coupe, her master turned back to Bianchi. "Make it quick."
The doctor took a deep breath, allowing cold air to fill his lungs. "I was wondering why Raych has been assigned to a backup slot?"
That earned him a dark look. "Doctor, how I decide to utilise my resources is my concern, not yours."
"But the mental wellbeing of those personnel is," retorted the psychologist. "I'm sure you've read my report on the Olivetti's cyborg."
"I have, which is why I'm wasting the Manfredi fratello in a van rather than on the street, to keep an eye on both. They're a solid, dependable pair should Raych need to fret."
"Right now what Raych needs is to feel like she's making a contribution like her peers, not sitting on the sidelines."
That got a moment's pause, but the words which followed were ice.
"Then what would you prefer I do? Leave her in the dorm while everyone else deploys? Because that is the other option: I can't put her on the street safely, and I'm not about to risk this operation, nor the people involved in it, just because you're feeling sorry for one cyborg. Have a good day, doctor."
Back against canvas sound deadening, Raych tried to line up the next rifle round with steel magazine lips, fighting against the van's swaying, bouncing progress. The task had been impossible to undertake as the first part of their journey wound its way through country lanes, but now things seemed smoother. Still, something which would have been so simple in Danilo's car was, in the windowless gloom here, taking all her concentration.
Pausing for a moment, she looked at the pouch-riddled vest laying on seat fabric beside her. Adult gear, she had been given adult equipment, the same that her handler would be using. Was being given that a sign? A sign she was finally considered worthy to work with him? Finally able to help him properly? And Marisa had talked to Monty, and that had apparently gone well too... maybe this meant everything would be alright now.
The round finally went home, and she picked up another to begin the process anew.
Lifting brass and steel from a plastic bag wedged between her feet, she glanced at the girl seated opposite her. At least now she could put one more face to a name, though a face currently nose deep in a book, framed by short, dark hair.
Chiara, another one of the first generation girls, one of the girls she was supposed to be replacing. One of the girls she was supposed to be better than... but also one who seemed prepared and ready to go, and calm, not fumbling around like Raych was. How did the other girl manage to remain so calm? Was she not concerned about being stuck out on the sidelines? Or was she just resigned to her fate? Did she not wish to be of use to her handler? Was her handler not ashamed to be here?
Raych glanced at the man in question, sitting beside his charge, also reading, though in his case loose papers rather than a bound book. He did not look angry, or even disappointed...
Maybe this was normal for a generation one.
But then again Rico, Henrietta and Triela were all out on the street.
Whatever the reason for her presence, Chiara was ready, and Raych was not, and even if the other girl really were here as some form of punishment she, Raych, was still inferior to her by that count.
The thought sent her gaze automatically up the van's length. Danilo was ready as well, but he had distanced himself from her, eyes closed and hands folded across his lap. Maybe, just maybe, he would not have noticed how slow she was... but Danilo would know, wouldn't he? She really was useless...
Maybe things were not better after all. Maybe it would be for the best if she were re-conditioned.
There was a clatter as the magazine fell from limp fingers, spewing cartridges as it bounced off the vibrating floor, and she dove after it, scrabbling for the spinning, glistening, shards as they avoided her grasp.
Stupid. Stupid!
She had just about retrieved the last one when there was the sound of someone stepping up behind her.
"Get up C. Raych, back in your seat."
She froze, turning slowly to find Danilo hanging onto a bar suspended along the roof.
"Now."
Jumping clumsily back to her position, the girl hung her head. She had messed up, again, and in front of another fratello, again. She was going to be re-conditioned, wasn't she?
"Give those here."
"Yes, Danilo."
"Now sit still, and don't touch anything."
"Yes, Danilo."
Taking the magazine and loose rounds, her handler returned to his own perch to begin the process she had so struggled with.
He was fast, very fast.
Finishing with an ease she could never manage, he dragged the rest of her equipment toward himself and, slotting the loaded mag into one of the vest's pouches, picked up the next to continue with his task.
She had failed him, he was doing something she should have been able to do for herself, and been able to do faster, her handler was having to make up for her failure. That was humiliating, humiliating for him... she glanced again at the girl reading across from her. Chiara had not needed Mr. Manfredi to make up for her, she could not have, not and be so calm right now.
Apparently feeling eyes on her, the younger cyborg looked up, locking gazes briefly with a blank stare, before returning to her page as Raych turned away hurriedly. Nothing, nothing to hint at how the other thought of her, or that helped her own knowledge either. Chiara could not be that important though, Triela had never spoken of her, she had never joined them in Triela's room. She had not seen her at Christmas…
But the others at Christmas had been friendly, maybe she should just…
"C. Raych, come here."
"Yes, Danilo."
The unfamiliar voice intruding on her thoughts, Chiara glanced up from the book again, thumb moving automatically to mark her place on its page. Position safely held, she watched the larger girl opposite stand, hand grasping for purchase on the rail above as the van slowed, rolling with the turn… they must be leaving the autostrada... to move toward her handler.
If they were off the motorway, they could not be far from Rome. That was good: it would be nice to stop, then she could read without the book swaying around before her. It was a good book too, one Gaetano had passed on, about angels and daemons and possibly the end of the world, though the authors kept its words light and easy to process. If they were not called to action, she may even be able to finish it today.
For now however, curiosity needed to be satiated, and she instead peered over the volume's upper edge, watching as Mr. Olivetti outfitted her new teammate. The other's black parka jacket and loose top were removed to leave just a similarly hued shirt beneath, before being replaced by a plate carrier and tactical vest which the man set about adjusting. Gaetano had used to do that for her, hadn't he? She thought he had. These days she could gear up herself of course, with just a final check by her handler... though those checks seemed to be taking longer and longer for him to do of late.
Now the vest and armour were being removed again.
Mr. Olivetti's movements were not like Gaetano's though. They were faster, rougher, more businesslike... like someone working on an inanimate object. She wasn't sure about this man, and he was difficult to gauge from the other girls too: no-one had openly criticised him in the dorm... but she had not heard anything nice said either.
He reached out again, fitting a high-mounted paddle holster to Raych's right hip, in which was secured a dark grey pistol.
Yes, "fitting" was a good word for it, a mechanical word, one without care associated with it.
Onto the other hip went a two slot magazine carrier to accompany the firearm, a Steyr M9 perhaps and, behind it, a handheld radio. That last Mr. Olivetti fussed over for a second, before his cyborg crouched so he could press its accompanying earpiece home. Very few words seemed to pass between the two, and most of what traffic there was travelled only one direction. Now though, the handler said something else, keying his own radio's transmit button, to which Raych nodded.
Comms check.
Releasing the set he spoke again, and his cyborg's shoulders drooped, dejected... apparently her default setting. Picking up her belongings, the girl moved back down the van to sit once more before Chiara, slowly pulling back on her casual clothes.
Seemingly that was the end of the show, and the generation one's attention started to shift back toward where her thumb still underlined the last words she had read.
She never reached them however, as a tentative voice wavered from across the van.
"Umm..."
Looking up, she found Raych staring across at her.
"Umm... I am, Raych."
Why did she need to say that? Of course she was Raych.
There was a pause as the girl's expression, fixed somewhere between hope and terror, registered. Apparently she wanted to talk.
"Chiara."
"Umm, hello, Chiara... umm, what are you reading?"
Turning the paperback novel over in her hands, Chiara held the cover up for inspection.
"Oh... is it, good?"
"Yes..." she should probably say something else, "...I like these authors."
Now the elder cyborg's eyes dropped down to stare at her hands, dry washing themselves in her lap. "Is that why... is that why you are happy to sit here and read, rather than be out on the street with everyone else?"
The short haired girl's brow furrowed: she wasn't quite sure she understood the question.
"It's a way to pass the time, I guess."
"But... are you not worried? I mean, are you not worried that you are not, umm, not being of use to your handler... here?"
"No."
"But, we are not helping, not doing anything here." The voice was stronger now, more emphatic.
Realising she would not be returning to its story for a bit, Chiara folded the book closed into her lap. "We are doing something: we're waiting. Right now, that is our assigned task. Gaetano does as Jean asks him to do, and I do as Gaetano wants me to do. What difference does it make if I do that walking on the street or sitting here?"
"But, that means we're the..." she glanced toward her handler, "... backup."
"Somebody must be."
"But I do not want to be," the words would have been a wail, were they not stifled for cyborg hearing only, "I want to be useful, I cannot be useful to Danilo here, I want to fight for him, I've... I have never been able to, and being here just feels like... like I have been put here for not being able to fight well enough."
"Then you had best hope that we are called into action."
"But what if we are not?"
That was met with a shrug. "Be ready. You're a fighter you said?"
The other girl nodded. "Danilo says we are an assault and combat fratello."
"That is why you're here then: a pure fighter has nothing to offer Mr. Croce on the street today, and not everyone can be Triela, Petra or Monty. You're here because you can fight, not because you cannot."
Across from her, Raych's face looked slightly more hopeful. Not a lot, but a little of the dejection which had swamped it before lifted.
"And are you a fighter? Is that why you are here?"
"Gaetano and I can be," Chiara shrugged again, "we are today. Cyborgs have no control over what role we are assigned on a mission, but our job is to carry out that mission as best as we can. If you want to be 'useful', do just that."
"But, if I am a fighter, just sitting here..."
"Then be ready to fight, as ready as you can be..." she paused as the van stopped, engine note changing as it reversed, nose swinging wide before pulling into line again. There was another pause, then a final jerk as it shuffled forward into its final position, "...looks like we're here."
"Here?"
Chiara's eyebrows went up slightly at that, had she not been listening at the briefing? Not that it was normal for cyborgs to attend, but...
"Esquilino, the western edge of Rome's old city."
As if to confirm her earlier statement, Massamilano's tinny voice again issued from the cab's speaker.
"Zero Alpha, Topo Duo. We're in position, over."
There was only a moment's delay.
"Topo Duo, Zero Alpha, Roger that."
"Topo Duo, out."
As the radio clicked off, the commando's head appeared briefly through thick blackout curtains again. "Might as well make yourselves comfortable people, I'll leave the speaker on for your entertainment."
He disappeared again.
Now the elder girl was again staring at her hands, gun out of its holster to be turned over and over by stubby fingers, the dejected look back on her face. A longing glance lingering on the book still nestled in her own lap, Chiara gave an internal sigh.
"What is wrong?"
There was a pause before the other answered. "Well, you said to be ready... but I was not ready, was I? Danilo needed to help me."
She had forgotten that.
"Anticipating what will be needed takes practice."
"Then, how were you ready so quickly? How were Monty and Mr. Pagani ready so quickly?"
"Gaetano thought we might be deploying quickly, so we brought everything needed from the dorm before hand, that way we had only to visit the armoury."
"Danilo said we should wait for, for the 'hunters' to go first."
Chiara paused again. Dorm gossip aside, she had heard her handler voice opinions regarding Mr. Olivetti that would suggest the man may be less than correct, but criticising another cyborg's handler in front of her would be out of line.
"How Mr. Olivetti wants to do things is up to him, Gaetano likes to go early."
"But Danilo said to wait." The elder girl was hanging on doggedly. "Kara was at the dorm too."
"Mr. Pagani and Monty went direct to the armoury though, like us, yes?"
"Umm... yes, they did."
"See? Kara may have been at the dorm, but two of three did not need to be, and they were ready fastest."
Raych looked like she was about to say something else, but the speaker crackled again, a different voice emerging from it.
"Zero Alpha, Monza..."
"Who is..?" Previous conversation seemingly forgotten, the generation two's voice was a whisper.
"Monza is the Pagani fratello."
"...we're in position, got a good view over to Trinità dei Monti."
"Roger that Monza. Is Magny-Cours still with you?"
"That's Monty," put in Chiara, for the benefit of the girl across from her.
"She has her own call sign?"
"No, but Mr. Blacker isn't with her today."
"Negative."
"Alright. Keep a sharp eye on things, but be ready to move if we need you to."
"Will do. Monza, out."
"Will do. Monza, out."
Hearing Michele's pronouncement, Danilo's brow furrowed. If the Blacker cyborg were not with Pagani, then where was she? Had she been handed off to another fratello already? It was confusing enough that she remained on her own call sign, not to mention she apparently was also keyed in to the command radio net, rather than taking her orders through whichever handler she happened to be with. That was stupid: not only did it mean the filter a handler provided was removed, but on a big operation like this, the last thing they needed was more radio traffic.
The speaker crackled again. "Magny-Cours, Zero Alpha. Over."
There was a pause.
"Magny-Cours, Zero Alpha. Over."
Internally, Danilo sighed: and this was why comms should be going through the handlers. Let the cyborgs focus on being cyborgs, don't try to make them manage anything else.
"Zero Alpha, Monza." Michele's voice cut over the airwaves again. "Don't bother, she's left her radio in the car."
And that was exactly what he had been talking about.
"Shit. On purpose?"
"Probably."
"Fine... someone will have to call her. Zero Alpha, out."
Farther down the van, Gaetano watched from behind briefing packet copy as his opposite number's brow furrowed again at the field commander's final, somewhat testy, words. Given the general state of opinion and rumour floating around the SWA about the man, he had a rough idea what may be causing that confusion. For similar reasons, he also had a rough idea why he, Gaetano, had been placed here in the van, rather than out on the street where he and Chiara would probably have been of more use.
Reaching across himself to tap his cyborg's shoulder, the handler leaned down closer to her ear. "I'm going to go have a word with Mr. Olivetti. Stay here."
"Yes Gaetano."
"Good girl."
Shuffling toward the Transit's cab, he was brought face to face with Danilo.
"Mind if I smoke?"
There was a pause as the other glanced up, turning on him a hard look. "Yes, I do. It's bad for the cyborgs."
"Worth a shot." Reaching into his trench-coat, Gaetano instead produced a blister pack of nicotine gum, extracting two pieces to chew on. "These are a ratty substitute, but they'll plug the gap until I can step out."
"You're trying to quit?"
"No, but smoking up the van can make others fractious."
"I take it then you've done this before."
"Plenty of times: with the SWA, with the Polizia. You?"
Danilo shrugged. "A little, I spent more time in RHIBs with the Guardia than in vans though."
"So I take it this isn't exactly your shtick. Your cyborg certainly doesn't seem to want to be here."
There was the twitch.
"No, I'm perfectly happy to be here, and C. Raych is just going to have to learn to like it."
"Then why the foul expression?"
That did not garner an immediate response, at least not verbally. Instead, his opposite number's expression darkened further still, the man evaluating him from behind angry eyes. Finally, he seemed to give a mental shrug.
"I would like to know precisely what the fuck Blacker thinks he's doing."
"You don't like him?"
No response again, and the elder handler paused for a moment, before producing a tissue to wrap his gum in, pocketing the package for later use or disposal. "You know what? That's doing me no good at all."
Banging on the partition between rear and driver's compartments, Gaetano leaned close to the curtain. "Hey Espo, what's it look like out there?"
"Like Lombardi's sex life: flat and empty."
"Fuck off."
The ex-policeman snorted under his breath at that. "I'm stepping out for a smoke, yell if you need us... come on Olivetti, bit of fresh air might do you good."
Giving his girl an order to stay put, the senior man peered quickly through a peep hole at the world beyond, before pushing one rear door partly open to step out between the van's bumper and that of the car squeezed in behind it into fresh, cold air. Waiting for his companion to join him, he sealed the vehicle again, before sidling away down the high walled street, turning his trench's collar up against an icy breeze.
It was a narrow stretch of tarmac, cast in frigid shadow by the edifice of buildings on either side, and lined with cars of a less-than-prestige nature, amongst which Paulo Lombardi had squeezed their van. Long experience on the beat however quickly found him the sheltered alcove, formed by a courtyard entry archway, and he huddled back against stonework and iron gates. Making space for his companion, the elder man dug in a pocket to extract a battered packet of cigarettes, knocking one free so he could grip the orange-wrapped filter in his mouth as Danilo joined him.
"I take it you don't want one."
The other man shook his head, glancing around as he did so. "You realise you're risking our cover doing this."
"Not likely. There're that many police, press and spooks out looking for this sniper crackpot I doubt you'll even see an upstanding citizen today, and anyone with half a brain will have realised similarly. So long as we don't drag the girls out, no-one'll pick us from the Polizia, from the Caribineiri, from AISI, from Mussolini's left butt-cheek." Cupping hands around a stuttering match, he put the flame to his cigarette's tip, breathing deep before letting the smoke out in a long sigh. "That's better... So what was your gripe about Blacker?"
"His attitude's a danger, and his treatment of his cyborg doubly so. These girls are weapons," Danilo's voice was hard, "they're for carrying out orders, and they're tied to a handler for a reason... not something everyone apparently likes hearing."
"Go on."
"Handlers are assigned cyborgs to make up for the latter's lack of experience, to make the judgment calls and decide how to best undertake whatever mission a fratello is given. The cyborg's role is to carry out their will, not argue, we can't expect them to be able to make those calls themselves at their age: it's unfair on the cyborg and dangerous for the Agency as a whole." The man took a breath. "For that matter, if a cyborg is going to be as effective as possible, she needs to learn what to expect from her handler, and as part of that she shouldn't be expected to try and work with more than one in case she's confused by conflicting demands."
"Baggianate. If that was how it worked we'd keep each girl locked away in solitary, but we don't, unless I missed a memo." Gaetano glanced toward the van, where his own charge remained. "They're more flexible, and can learn more flexibly, than I think you realise too, and giving them only one information source is an artificial way to teach. If they're going to learn to make their own judgements, just mimicking one person is not going to give them much to pull from."
That drew a derisive snort. "Making their own judgements is exactly what they shouldn't be doing. Besides, just which part of their lives isn't artificial? They've got what, seven years?"
"Three." The word was flat.
"Three then, for the old model... They're not human, and exactly how much ability to judge a situation for themselves can they acquire in that time? I would say not much, if any, so it's better they don't try at all. Even if they could, they would be nearing the end of their lifespan by the time it became reliable... so mimicking their handler, being more ready for what he instructs, is exactly what they need to learn to do."
The elder handler took another draw on his cigarette. Chiara was probably nose deep in her book again if he knew her at all: they weren't the smart titles Claes read, but she loved those stories. 'Old' model was she now huh? That was true enough, but not inferior either as Danilo seemed to be implying, and she had learned from him, could anticipate what he wanted...
"Maybe the first generation, but I'm assured by the wonks yours of the second variety is more flexible, and has more time."
"They're still just a development of the same technology, and even the doctors and engineers say they're incremental rather than revolutionary. Rome wasn't built in a day, and they're not going to make them a match for a human's thinking overnight."
"I think you're underselling them, the human part."
"I think not. I've been at this a month and a half now, and C. Raych can barely tie her shoes without written instructions... which makes me again wonder what Blacker is doing sending his out with another fratello and now, as far as I can tell, she's not even with them anymore. What if she fouls up and blows her cover? Where does that leave the rest of us? Where does it leave the SWA? Fucked is where."
So, he had been correct then. The man had his head so far up his arse he couldn't see out.
"Depends on which cyborg you're talking about, and everything you hear says Monty's switched on as they come, particularly on spook matters."
"A cyborg is a cyborg: they need direction and guidance. Besides, her handler was talking to her all through the briefing. Even if she could have picked something up, she was given no chance to, which means Jean has now deployed a cyborg with no-one to direct her and no understanding of the mission."
Removing the dwindling cigarette from his mouth, Gaetano took a moment to study its glowing tip. Olivetti was as narrow-minded and opinionated as he had been lead to believe, and was likely in for a shock come report writing time, so he might as well start hurting his world view a bit now.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that, scuttlebutt has it that the Blackers spent last night cooped up with Priscilla's crowd..."
"Great, so she's tired to boot."
"...so Monty probably knows more about what's going on than either of us mushrooms do."
Immediate retort already blown, what had been said finally seemed to register with the other handler, and he glanced around at the street again. "Bullshit. They wouldn't let a cyborg in there, there's too much sensitive material floating around, too much risk of her saying the wrong thing to someone later."
"You're aware the Blackers are spooks by trade aren't you? Read their reports... they're basically the Agency's best seller."
"I've read a couple."
"Then you'll know they're not exactly strangers to pulling intelligence material apart themselves..."
Blank expression. No, Danilo had not read any reports or, at least, he'd not read them in depth. A narrow mind, verging on tunnel vision, but had it been a lack of time, or just a disinterest in anything which may disagree with him, that put him off?
"...both Blackers are useful there." Now he grinned. "Besides, our resident spooks like having a cyborg to call their own. The only person liable to kick them out would be Jean, and even he would be pushing shit uphill finding reason to."
"And she has official clearance to see what's there?"
"No," the word was accompanied by a derisive snort, "no-one's going to clear a cyborg for that officially: but she's Monty Blacker. For many, that's all the clearance she needs."
Still no response, and Gaetano's expression became serious once more. "If you actually pegged your eyes open for a moment and looked around, Olivetti, you'd probably find the cyborgs are not nearly as single-tracked as you believe them, nor the SWA as ruled by paper and policy. Monty does her job well, and since she does, people will let her keep doing it."
The cigarette was done now and, taking one last drag, he dropped what remained on the ground, grinding it out with the sole of a shoe, then glanced again at the black-clad man with him. "Look on the bright side: if she's in with the spooks, you'll probably get to bed well before she does tonight."
Leaning closer to the computer monitor, Danilo hammered another sentence out on his keyboard, before glancing again across the high-ceilinged handlers' office. He hadn't known initially what Gaetano meant by him 'being in bed before Monty' tonight, but now he did. Farther over, viewed between dangling conduits, sat the girl... cyborg, he corrected himself... insolently perched at the desk across from Pagani, typing away at a laptop computer, a red Ethernet cable plugged into its back.
Red, the secure network.
Despite night having fallen, the place was still busy as individuals ground out their respective reports for the day but, beyond a few curious glances, no-one seemed to even bat and eyelid at her presence. What the hell was wrong with these people? Manfredi's opinions be damned, you couldn't expect a cyborg to do a handler's work.
For that matter, where was her handler anyway? Maybe she had been let into intelligence central, but there had still been someone to keep an eye on her.
Well, if no-one else would, he would.
One thing was certain: C. Raych would not be hearing about her presence here, the last thing he needed was her getting hold of another handler's poorly conceived ideas. It had been bad enough in the van, listening to fratelli get moved around on this girl's whim, and he eventually had asked the speaker be turned off. The two SRT men complied, but he had also seen Gaetano re-tune his own cyborg's radio to the command channel. That was the other man's lookout though; he would be getting them to leave it off again tomorrow... or maybe he would be lucky and Blacker would show the small amount of sense required to accompany his charge this time.
If he could say something he would, he would have loved to, but C. Raych had destroyed that option for him as well. As it was, all he could do now was try and mitigate the damage caused by the stupidity of others.
Across the room, Monty leaned back in her chair, stretching, before peering around the space, and Danilo's eyes snapped quickly to the half-page of words before him. He didn't really have much more to say: nothing had happened for him, all the action had taken place around the damned Blacker girl... cyborg... and the man opposite her, but like hell he was going to be first out of the office.
From the corner of his eye he now saw her stand, white dress and boots still neat as they had been that morning, picked out against the office's artificial twilight by a glowing desk lamp. Saying something to Pagani, the girl turned on her heel toward the room's espresso machine.
For that matter, if what Gaetano said were true, then whatever he wrote was liable to wind up on her desk at some point. In that case, he may as well use the time here productively. Starting at the top of his document, Danilo began to read through again, checking for errors, he was not going to leave anything that would let her feel his superior.
Hopefully someone else would leave in time for him to eat before debrief.
Trailing into the lecture theatre behind her handler, Raych followed him to the same seats they had occupied that morning, eyes fixed on the ground. She felt tired, she had done nothing today, but she still felt tired. Was that normal? Or was it just another fault with her? Lifting her gaze, she looked around the room. No, everyone looked tired... but they had reason to be, they had done something today, she had just sat in the van.
Chiara said there was reason to be in the van though, that she was a fighter, and that her place was to wait until others needed her help. If that were the case, she didn't know if she wanted to be a fighter: she wanted to be with the others, to help them, to be active, not just wait. She had heard them on the radio all day, moving from street to street, working hard, Monty apparently without her handler, and Kara moving to back her up... at least, she had heard it until the speaker had gone dead.
But, why had Kara gone to back Monty up? She was the backup wasn't she? Should not that have been her job? She wanted to help, to be involved... she wanted to know what happened.
From down the front came the click of a door closing, and Mr. Croce once more leaned against his lectern, Raych feeling a chill run down her as his eyes ran across the room. Even so, she crept forward on her seat to better hear his words.
"Well, I'm sure you've all heard the news by now, but for those living under rocks: the press's 'Roman Sniper' struck again, this time on Capitoline Hill... and got away, again. In other words: we. Failed."
There was a pause, and the girl's shoulders sunk.
"Needless to say, the politicians are not happy," his voice snapped her back to the present, "in part because failure's damaging their public perception, and in part because tomorrow is this barstard's deadline for sending his political message public, and who knows what trouble that will stir up. People are frightened already, and I doubt the Government wants to give them a direction in which to vent it."
The man took a sip of his coffee mug, then stood a little more erect, and Raych found herself leaning in farther. "The one bright patch in all this is that il Campidoglio was one of the sites we were able to pick out as potential targets, thanks to the efforts of Hilshire and Mr. Blacker here... Unfortunately, there was no-one around to make good on that."
Raych swallowed. Had that been directed at her? She was supposed to be a fighter after all, had she been meant to make good on that? Was she supposed to have been there? She didn't know, the van' speaker had been broken... but Danilo would have known wouldn't he? He would have told her, she glanced at Danilo, of course he would...
Mr. Croce, however, was still talking. "Whatever rumours you may have heard about our sudden withdrawal, let me put them to rest now: the sniper isn't meant for Rome. The sniper is meant for us."
A hand went up. "What do you mean by 'us'?"
"By 'us' Brian, I mean us: the Social Welfare Agency." The field commander paused, and a deathly silence filled the sudden void. When he started talking again, the voice was hard. "This afternoon, Monique identified a Padan spy near Piazza di Spagna, one of the potential target areas for today's shooting we had been able to isolate. He has just spent the rest of the evening in an interrogation cell with Nina..."
There was another pause as collective winces went around the room.
"The Roman Sniper is bait, a ruse to pressure the government into deploying its trump card, the SWA, with the specific intention of beginning to identify our cyborgs and fratelli. Right now they're at the stage of photographing any man and girl pair that walks past..."
And who was 'Nina'?
Raych looked down at her hands. She didn't know what was going on, but it sounded serious, and somehow Monty had been involved. Mr. Croce didn't look happy though, no one did... was someone taking photos really that bad? It didn't sound bad. She would have to ask Kara, or Chiara: Chiara seemed like she knew a lot too. She had known what call sign was who, interpreting the scratching voices emerging from the van's speaker... and she had shown her how to tie her boots in a hurry if she needed to.
Monty had done something important though, as had Kara, all she had done was sit in a van. She was going to need to work hard if she was going to be able to replace the generation ones, or even keep up with her own sisters.
"...With the exception of Hilshire and Blacker, everyone is to be on the ground by zero eight hundred."
Mention of the two handlers jolted Raych back to reality. She had zoned out, again.
"Ferro has sent out revised information packets for you. Make sure to read them, then get some sleep; some of you have longer drives tomorrow than others. Dismissed."
There was a general rustling as people began to move, and Danilo glanced out across the room before turning to her. "Stay here, don't move."
"Yes, Danilo."
Rising, he squeezed past, out of their seating row to push his way down the steps toward where Mr. Manfredi and Chiara were making for the exit.
Distracted, Raych jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder.
"Sounds like you're going to have more company tomorrow."
Swinging around, she found Triela leaning over from the tier behind her.
"Umm, what?"
"I said it sounds like you're going to have more company tomorrow," the blonde girl cocked an eyebrow, "didn't you catch the assignments?"
"Umm..." Raych shook her head.
"Well they're bundling more fratelli into assault teams like yours, to keep them off the street and out of the public eye. 'Only those with extensive and proven covert or undercover experience', will be on foot Jean said, so you'll not be so alone."
It took a moment for that to digest. Was someone taking photos really so dangerous that her sisters could not deal with it? Or was it only some of them?
"Does that mean you will get to be on the street again though?"
"Sort of, Hilshire and I will keep working in with the police investigators."
"And Monty?"
That got a more puzzled expression. "I didn't hear her assigned a role... they might be holding her here."
Monty hadn't been given a role? Had she done something wrong? Surely she could not have, she thought she had...
"But... but didn't Monty do something really important today? Is she not good at... covert... work?"
"Very good, one of the best... if not the best." Triela shrugged. "Who knows, they might have decided not to risk her again, or she might have been held to work with the intelligence division instead."
Raych's eyes fell. Triela was undercover, working with the police on their investigation into the sniper... and Monty was apparently in demand everywhere. Kara would be counter-sniping again, probably Melanie and Soni too, and all she could do was sit in a van. Chiara had said that was what a fighter did on this sort of mission, but did that mean she was never going to do anything else?
"Chiara's had plenty of street experience too," the senior girl's words caused her to glance up, where she found the other studying her expression, "I'm actually surprised they put her in the van again... how are you two getting on?"
"Good, umm... good. She's really nice, and has been teaching me a lot too. I hope we work together tomorrow as well."
"I think I can safely say you'll be together once more." Now Triela smiled. "Glad to hear it's working out. Chiara's good, listen to what she has to say."
Raych's expression brightened as, down on the floor, Hilshire waved to his charge.
"Try not to think about any of it tonight though: get plenty to eat, and plenty of rest, it's probably going to be another long day tomorrow... and good luck."
With that, the senior cyborg was gone, trotting quickly down toward her handler.
So, Triela was surprised Chiara was in the van again with her. In that case: why was Chiara still in the van? And if she was that good, why had she never heard of her before? Was it somehow her own fault? She hoped she was not holding the younger girl back... but, if Chiara was good on the street, but in the van now, that meant there was still hope that she, Raych, would also be allowed to do something else one day.
There was hope.
"C. Raych!" Danilo's voice boomed up from below, causing those remaining to look his direction. "Here, now!"
Standing, she headed quickly for the floor in Triela's wake.