A/N: The lyrics are from "Whiskey and Me" from The Phantom Chords.
Young Offender, Part 72:
[Christmas Day 1983]
There was a long, three years of errands that the Black Ghost had the second generation cyborgs perform. It kept all of them busy, but not totally distracted from the things closest to their hearts. The four of them were currently enjoying a beach picnic on Ghost Island. Chang had laid out the food, and it was Junior who was so pleased to see Chang's efforts. His last real birthday gift had been four years ago. It was from the Codys, a colt named Starbuck.
Today, Junior's birthday gift was a corn and squash dish that wasn't traditionally Navajo, but the meal had a twist that cut his homesickness a little. Chang had made a real effort to imitate Navajo dishes. Junior did miss the Codys a great deal, and he was worrying more and more about his portion of the land remaining a ranch. More importantly, he worried over his tribe resisting the efforts to choose quick money and alcohol.
Junior said, "Thank you, Chang. It's delicious."
"Happy birthday! It's your time for a special treat. And I do try to make our time here a little more pleasant. At least they let me research recipes and experiment," Chang said, settling on the blanket beside his companions.
"Hey! Why don't you cook more English food?" GB demanded with a furrowed brow. Pyunma, Chang, and Junior gave him raised eyebrows with scowls. "Okay! Okay! I know! I just think you three make it up about English food sucking."
"No! It really does suck," Pyunma said in a serious tone as if confiding in a friend a painful truth.
"Alright!" GB said in defeat and ate Chang's twist on Navajo food. "This is fantastic! You really should try opening a restaurant again."
"It is my dream to have a restaurant again. I just don't know if the Party is still looking for me or if Hong Kong would be a welcoming place. Things are so uncertain, and it's been longer than I agreed to be here. I don't even remember my life outside of the Black Ghost anymore. It seems like this has been an eternity." Chang sighed and hung his head, his joy at making a friend a good birthday lunch was overshadowed by the prospect of never having a home again.
"Have you noticed we've been gradually cut off?" Pyunma asked his companions in lowered tones. "We aren't allowed television any longer."
"I know! I haven't read a newspaper in nine months," GB griped. "Even on missions, they're watching us. Ann, you know," GB said with a snide eye roll towards their "handler."
"She sleeps when she's here, so at least we don't have to deal with her all the time," Chang pointed out. "It's a problem. We were promised we could go to our homes by last year. I think we need to ask for a meeting."
"Yes, but Scar hasn't seen us over this last year," Pyunma said. "Plus, we haven't seen the first generation cyborgs in years. I wonder where they've disappeared to. We haven't received orders to stop hunting them."
"We deserve answers," Chang pointed out with a frown. Then his expression brightened. "Why not ask that Van Bogart fellow? He arranged for us all to come here. Maybe he can get word to Scar that we all have finished our contracts."
"And more," GB scoffed. "I want to see my daughter before she's at University."
"You're right. Van Bogart is going to meet us after our next mission in Egypt. We'll ask to have dinner with him and discuss when exactly they consider our contracts fulfilled. I mean..." Pyunma sighed and shook his head, "it looks like they've learned to use honey rather than vinegar after their experience with the first generation cyborgs. We're in the honey trap, I fear. It made us all a little more willing to stay here. We have more on the line that keeps us here right now. The first generations had nothing to lose when they left."
After that observation, they ate their meal in silence, each dragged into their thoughts and worries over their lives before encountering the Black Ghost.
"I'm so bored," Jet whispered as the people in the concert hall below their box seat settled in, themselves. He thought of all the other things he could be doing in Los Angeles. It was an exciting city, and it suited Jet's taste just fine.
"It's beyond my control," Ivan whispered back, rubbing at his left eye furiously.
Jet glared at Ivan and sighed. "Why do you saying that shit over and over?"
Ivan jolted and paled. That startled Jet; Ivan was never caught off guard anymore. It just seemed Ivan hadn't noticed the annoying habit he'd developed of late. Lights lowered in the concert hall before Jet could ask again.
A ballet, "Swan Lake," played before them. It was a special Christmas production most elites in California had paid dearly to attend. Jet knew in his life before forced cybornization he really wouldn't have had an opportunity seen such a thing. Still, he had other tastes. He only endured this for his beloved companions.
Francoise was in the troop. She was playing Odette/Odile, the lead roll. Albert was actually playing violin in the orchestra pit. Albert's repairs three years ago had allowed him more fine motor coordination so that he could once again take up the musical instrument he loved the most.
Jet admitted he still wasn't a fan of this high cultured stuff, but he usually went to the first performances to support Francoise and Albert. He no longer slept through them, and he had started following the plots. Was this stuff starting to make sense now? Grow on him even?! Maybe he had spent too long with Albert and Francoise. No doubt. And then a question hit him, how long would the four of them have to remain together?
He shifted in his seat and wished they sold snacks at these ballet things. Jet was startled out of his musings when Ivan suddenly started giggling. Jet tried to hush Ivan, but he wouldn't stop, and he was getting louder and louder.
Jet dragged Ivan out of the box seating and into the hallway, hoping like anything neither Francoise or Albert had noticed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jet demanded as Ivan sunk onto the plush carpet and now was in full scale laughter.
Ivan finally settled down enough to gasp and breath out in English, "It's beyond my control!" Then in Russian he kept chanting something over and over. Jet didn't know Russian, still, but he figured it was the same phrase.
Jet crouched down by Ivan cautiously, well aware the emaciated appearing teen could beat him to a bloody pulp if he really wanted. Jet couldn't worry about that now. There was something wrong with Ivan, like the time before they went to Australia. He was out of control of his emotions all of the sudden.
"Pull it together, Ivan Whiskey! I'm taking you home. Got it? Just don't throw me in any large bodies of water," Jet said, getting Ivan to his feet and hustling him out of the concert hall.
As they got closer and closer to their group's apartment, Ivan started to spook Jet more. The kid was now speaking nothing but Russian, but he'd burst out in fits of singing. The lyrics, "Sunday I went looking and I found her in the park, I took out my revolver and I shot her in the heart, She said she wanted freedom I guess I set her free, yeah, Now Monday's coming 'round and I'm alone it's just whiskey and me!"
"That isn't even a fucking song!" Jet said, getting Ivan to his room, and started peeling him out of his formal suit when they got to the apartment.
Ivan fixed him with a stern expression as he laid his head on Jet's shoulder. Jet froze at the strange behavior and made Ivan sit up. He met Ivan's mismatched eyes after a few still moments. The left, amber eye was glowing brightly as a trail of blood trickled down his nose.
"It'll be a song one day. I know... I heard it," Ivan said, getting the eeriest smile on his face, "because it's beyond my control! I see it now! It does hurt! Just like Auntie Katarina said!"
"Listen! Your aunt was one whisker shy of a whole cat! That doesn't need to be you," Jet said, starting to get a little frightened, now. He and Albert had discussed all sorts of plans if Ivan started getting mentally ill, but now Jet just couldn't remember any of those plans. Ivan's well-being sent Jet into a panic. The kid had put his neck on the line for Jet and so many people, everyone on Earth, if all be told. Jet ground his teeth and vowed this mental illness wouldn't happen!
"I have to hide this from the other two. They'll send you back to Sicily and put you on ice again. Listen! Work with me, Ivan Whiskey, so we can fix you. Okay?"
"Sunrise early morning I've never been so tired, Stayed awake all through the night, got something on my mind, I had a friend I loved she said that she loved me, But Monday's coming 'round and I'm alone it's just whiskey and me," Ivan sang in a trance state. His amber, left eye was glowing brighter and brighter.
"Aw shit. I ain't going to hide this from Al and Frannie. Come on and lay down. Maybe Sicily is a good idea," Jet said, getting Ivan tucked into his unused bed. It struck Jet that Ivan hadn't slept in several years. He hoped a little rest would snap Ivan out of it.
"This is delicious. Have some," Van Bogart offered the second generation cyborgs seated around his table in the Egyptian cafe. It was a dish of mashed fava beans and bread. Hot tea was offered, too, but the cyborgs remained silent. "Come on! Out with it! You were the ones who called this meeting."
"Yes! We did! You promised us each that we'd be free to go back home and live our lives after serving the Black Ghost for two years. It's now been three, going on four. None of us have heard from our homes lately. We want to have some time to ourselves so that we can go visit our homes. We also want to know a certain date when our contracts are up. It's very plain and simple," Pyunma said for the group.
"Oh come on now! Did any of you really believe me? You must have believed me to volunteer to have your bodies mutilated for some land, or freedom, or even family. All of your were dupes! Don't you understand?" Van Bogart confirmed with something close to glee in Pyunma's guess.
Pyunma felt sick to his stomach. All those years ago, he wished they had ran off with the first generation cyborgs when they had the chance. Now things had gotten out of hand for them and the first generation cyborgs were nowhere to be found. And Van Bogart reminded them of why they needed to stay loyal to the Black Ghost.
"You, 005, I fought to get your part of the land safe from Kevin Cody. I got the ranch legally established in your name, and I only hired Navajos. If you suddenly decide to leave earlier than the Black Ghost planned, I'd make sure there would be a lot of destitute Navajos.
"Do you really want your people going back to alcohol and giving tourists cheep thrills? You wanted them to have good, honest work like what Old Man Cody gave to you. I'll make sure it dries up and something worse than whiskey gets into your community. It's called heroin. Just try me," Van Bogart said with a sinister sneer.
"Stop threatening him," Chang snapped.
Van Bogart whipped out paper's from his shirt pocket and tossed it on the candle in the middle of the table. "That was your exoneration papers. You're now, once again, a criminal against the Party. You'll be taken back to work on the Party's farmland, once again," Van Bogart said. The papers were now ash.
Chang looked up and shouted, "You can't do that! I have abilities now! I can escape."
"None of you can escape. You see, we learned from the first generation cyborgs. This time we embedded kill switches in all of you. Your cyborg enhancements will cease to work if we activate a remote signal."
"What do you mean?" GB demanded with an angry fist pounded on the table.
Van Bogart snickered and said, "You fools! If any of you leave us, we'll trigger a switch in your bodies. You see, we decided to make you vulnerable, unlike the first generation cyborgs. The minute you get out of line we'll activate a kill switch which will destroy all of the electronics in your body. That will effectively kill each of you after a few days."
"Better being dead than being slaves," Pyunma snarled.
"Oh? Would your sisters think so?" Pyunma shivered and shook his head. Van Bogart said, "You know, if any of you decide to renege on our agreements, we'll have to extract compensation."
"What do you mean by that?" Junior spoke up, frowning deeply.
"It means that I take your land back and give it over to Kevin Cody. He's still interested in building that resort. Maybe some of your tribe can go back to that lurid Wild West show," Van Bogart said with a sneer.
"That's a nasty threat," Chang said in Junior's defense.
Van Bogart then turned a low boiling irritation at the Chinese man. "And do you want to go back to that squalor I found you in? I can put you back there. The Party can change its mind and consider you a threat again. And don't think you're escaping with your gift. It can be neutralized temporarily. You'll be trapped with no escape except for suicide, once again."
Van Bogart seemed on a roll. He turned to GB, but the actor held up his hand and glared. "I know you'll threaten Rose and Sophie. Don't bother. I understand, and I'll stay put for now."
"Good," Van Bogart said with an approving gloat. He then turned to Pyunma. "I hope you understand that your sisters and fellow countrymen could take your place."
"I understand," Pyunma answered through gritted teeth.
"Good. And to let you know, we now go by the 'hand of one is the hand of all' policy. If one of you disobeys, then it's considered all of you disobeying. All of you suffer the consequence. Keep that in mind."
The second generation cyborgs just nodded slightly. Van Bogart flashed them a smile, lofted a bowl, and said, "Are you sure you don't want any? It's very delicious."
The second generation cyborgs excused themselves and went back to their hotel room. None of them said much of anything. All of them wished they would have ran off with the first generation cyborgs when they had had a chance.
"So what's wrong with him?" Albert asked, pouring Dr. Gilmore a fresh coffee. This scene was becoming all too familiar for Albert's comfort. It was him, Francoise, and Jet sitting in a parlor, always waiting long hours to hear about Ivan's latest medical condition. This time seemed different, though.
Gilmore flopped down on the sofa and took the coffee with a nod of gratitude. Albert, once again, couldn't do anything but marvel at how Gilmore was slowing up compared to a little over twenty years ago.
"It seems his brain is undergoing a change. A slow one, but something is changing," Gilmore said. "If only his father were alive..."
"Bite your tongue, old man! The world is a lot better off without that psycho," Jet snarled and then finished his coffee. "Anyway! Get him fixed up so we can keep doing what we're doing."
"It's not that easy," Gilmore replied in a tart tone with a scowl. "It's a psychological problem and I have no experience with that."
"So what do we need to do?" Albert asked before Jet would get too mouthy. The German cyborg was still determined to get Ivan into a stable place where he could enjoy what life he did have. That had never changed over the years.
"I'll call Kozumi and Kaminari in the morning. I'll even put in a call to Dressler. I have Ivan heavily sedated for now." Gilmore slumped further on the sofa. "He's totally incoherent."
"I know. He kept saying strange shit before I got him to lay down,"Jet said. "He kept saying things were beyond his control, whatever that means."
"Well, it is what his aunt used to howl as she ran around smashing up Ghost Island before Erika had her committed," Gilmore shared.
Francoise had been totally quiet until now. She said something softly in French that no one caught. That was until a clattering the the hallway shocked everyone.
"Francoise, the dream is over. I'll not live like this any more," Ivan replied in French as he stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway. He shocked everyone; he was dressed in a robe and held a long butcher knife to his throat. Everyone sprang up but froze when Ivan drew a trickle of blood running to his collar bone to stain the robe collar.
"No! Ivan! No!" Francoise screamed as Jet held her back from the horror.
"Okay, Ivan. You have our attention. What do you need?" Albert asked in a calm tone that didn't betray his panic. He moved towards the Russian cyborg as Ivan's right, the blue, eye started to glow. Albert had noticed a pattern, and he hoped he was absolutely correct on this gambit.
Ivan's attention was distracted by Jet, suddenly. The New Yorker had jumped up and rushed at him.
Ivan threw Jet back with his telekinesis, but Albert shot with his hand at the plaster above Ivan's head. Ivan crumpled as part of the ceiling fell on his head. The blue haze around the apartment failed and fade away. Everyone sank onto the furniture with relief around the apartment.
"Well, he fell for it just like his mother," Albert muttered as he rose slowly. He walked over to Ivan's unconscious form. Jet, Francoise, and Gilmore all walked over and surrounded Ivan.
"Now what?" Jet asked barely above a whisper.
"I'll sedate him in a higher dose and call Kozumi, Kaminari, and Dressler. I'll tell them to hurry," Gilmore confirmed. "I know they wanted to see California."
To be continued.