Checking the calendar, it's October and that means an update to FLCL: The Pennsylvania War! So here we are, as was foretold. I had hoped to get this out in September, but I restarted playing World of Tanks, and we all know how that song and dance goes. My M4A3E8 Sherman was getting dusty in the garage. Moving on from my slacking off, I'm hoping this chapter will introduce some new intrigue and players onto the scene, and that you'll appreciate their performance. Please enjoy your FLCL version of an October Surprise!
. . .
Clyde Kauffman's early mid-afternoon snack was interrupted by a rat-ah-tat-tat knock at his door. Committed to finishing his third slice of pizza, he ignored it. Again, the visitor knocked, this time rattling the door's tin sheathing. Throwing down a half-eaten slice, he set about heaving himself out of his chair. His immense bulk made it an arduous process and by the time he finally made it to standing, then across the living room, through the kitchen and to the door, his breath came in deep, labored gasps. And still, that rat-ah-tat-tat!
"I'm…*huff*…coming! *Huff* Just a sec'!" He jerked the door open, wondering who had the gall to disturb him at 2:37 PM on a Monday.
"Hello there, Mister Clyde Kauffman!" The Man in Black greeted pleasantly. His face was was impossible to read, hidden as it was, but his smile and voice certainly were cheerful. "How do I find you, on this fine day?"
"Doin' alright. Haven't heard from Craig for a few days though…you seen him around? His car got burned up at the Y. Cole's lookin' into it, but no one's saying anything." It had been three days since Craig had talked to any of his brothers, and all calls were going straight to voicemail.
"No, I'm terribly sorry to say I haven't." The Man said. "But I have heard all sorts of nasty rumors around town. It seems Craig was a busy man, and popular with the young ladies; but not in good graces with their male relatives. I did warn him about controlling his habits…perhaps his lifestyle choices caught up to him in some way?" Clyde felt a crawl ripple across his flesh at The Man's answer. He couldn't tell if The Man was really wondering if Craig had been forced to flee Philipsburg…or was subtly insinuating at something else more, sinister. The Man had been visiting at Clyde's trailer the last time Craig had been seen, and The Man had also stayed until six o'clock in the morning. There was no way he could've had a hand in Craig's disappearance. Unless, The Man in Black could somehow be in two places at once. But, as strange as The Man was, Clyde highly doubted that. "And he'd done such good works. I hope he is found soon. He is already sorely missed."
"Got that right. It's the first time in fourteen years one of us missed Sunday dinner. Cole, well, Cole wasn't too happy about that."
"You, and your brothers, have my deepest sympathies, and Craig will be in my prayers. In the meantime, there is still much to be done. Are you ready? I have high expectations of you; after Craig's performance."
"Yeah, I'm ready. C'mon in, let me show you what I got in the mail today." Clyde invited The Man into his trailer, and after a quick look around the park for any prying eyes, pulled his door tightly shut; rattling the tin once more.
. . .
If Mr. Pike had to describe natural gas exploration in his own terms, he'd liken it to an invasion. An army of workers would descend upon an unsuspecting tract of land, clearing paths for trucks, establishing a base of operations, and conquering the wilderness as they went along. Tractor trailers were their supply line. Bulldozers their tanks. Surveying helicopters their air force. Main sites, where the workers lived, their fire-bases. Their drilling rigs, nimble compared to oil derricks, were their artillery. Pike Natural Gas Co. rolled as a perfectly coordinated juggernaut, with a veteran force; both as in experienced in the industry and the hiring of former military. The phrase 'military precision' didn't do the operation justice. Or rather…it did, until workers started to drop.
. . .
Ahhh…all was relatively okay-ish in the universe when all extenuating circumstances were factored into the Grand Scheme of Things, the 'Big Picture'. The only worry I was concerned about was that my coffee machine in the office worked, and since it did, my morning was just hunky-dory. Over the weekend we'd expected Craig to come rollin' back into town, madder'n hell with ah Molotov Cocktail in each hand…or something in that key. I hoped for his sake he'd taken my advice and was on a train for California. He'd do well there, I'd even go's far to say he'd fit right in. But now that it was Tuesday, it looked increasingly less likely he'd ever grace Central Pennsylvania with his presence ever again; and I was completely fine with that.
That Tuesday in particular had started dark and muggy, and as I poured my first coffee, began raining cats, dogs, rabbits, toads, pigs, miniature horses and friggin' honey badgers. Naota, Haruko and Canti sprinted the last few yards across the lot and headed inside the shop. I had my hand on the office door to go say my good mornings when the phone rang.
"Good morning, salutations and peace be upon you. This's G&R Fabrication and Cranes, Jeff speaking."
"Good morning Jeff. This is Mister Pike." He needn't have bothered with the clarifier. Mr. Pike's pacing, slow and clear, was a unique signature. It was exceedingly rare for him to showcase any kind of excitement, even less than the laid-back Mr. King, so it was impossible to tell if anything was bothering him. "I would like to speak with George, please."
"Alllll-righty, he's not available at the, never mind, he just got in. Mister Pike for yah George." I handed off the receiver as a soggy George and Tommy dripped their way in.
"This's George, how're…uh-huh…uh-huh…uh-huh…oh. Oh, damn. Did he make it? Ok. Yes. They're on their way, yes. Alright, thank you very much. Let me know if the family needs anything. Keep me posted. M'bye."
"We going to Pike's?" I asked, pulling on my coat. Tommy was doing the same and headed out the door. "What happened?"
"Yes, yes you're going, and going five minutes ago!" George followed me out into the rain. "One of his guys just keeled over and is in the hospital. They won't know for sure until blood work's done, but Pike suspects poison."
"Poison?!" Tommy had his truck started and cracked the window. "Makes him say that?!"
"Dunno. Ask him when you get there, can't risk saying any more over the phone."
. . .
If Mr. Pike was rattled or perturbed by one of his workers being poisoned, he hid it well. Serious, stoic and methodical in his behavior and speech, he sat sternly at his desk. It felt to Tommy and I like we were in the principal's office, after starting a food fight or snowball war at school. He was finishing up a shift change to cover for unforeseen absences.
"Mister Carson, and, Mister Carson…" He hung up and took a deep, furious sigh. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"That's what friends are for, Mister Pike." Tommy said. "Hopefully this will be something that won't require action on our part. All the same, walk us through what happened."
"I really do appreciate it. Now, I was not completely honest with George." Mr. Pike admitted. "But, you know better than I that they are always listening."
"Well, unless there's a microphone in your coffee machine…" I tried on some humor for size, to see if it would fit. It didn't. "Then we should be just fine." I assured, then kept my wise-ass-ness to myself.
"It wasn't just one of my employees that went down. It was the entire rig team."
"The, the whole team?" Tommy stumbled for a moment. "But, that's thirty guys?"
"They all collapsed this morning, a few hours after breakfast. We start very early at three, because working in the afternoon sun is unbearable. Before he passed out, the supervisor was able to call in the problem on the radio." Mr. Pike built his case. "I suspect poisoning because one, or three, or even a handful of illnesses could be dismissed. But a rig team all sleeps in the same barracks, drinks and showers from the same water supply, and eats from the same cafeteria. This means, if one worker were to be poisoned, all of them would be. I would say one of these three places must be the source, I am sure of it."
"You've really given this some thought." Tommy said while we scribbled notes. "Do you have anyone in mind that could be responsible? And, have you been visited by…you know…Him?"
"Yes, to both. That Man in Black showed up at our gate Monday morning, asking to be let in. I told him he was on a private road, trespassing on private property, and if I caught him again, would be putting a bullet between his eyes." Out in the Deep Boonies, the land of coyotes, rattlesnakes, bears, and wanderers with sticky fingers, it was common practice of many gas and oil workers and their supervisors to carry a pistol with them. Usually this was a small revolver, kept safely in the work truck and loaded with snake-shot. Mr. Pike's however, was an M45A1 CQPB, perpetually strapped to his belt. "He said his 'very well's, and left."
"Yikes…" I suppressed a small shiver. Men in Black give me the heebee-jeebees. "You said you had someone in mind?"
"I know exactly who's responsible." Mr. Pike snarled, fangs flashing as his lips pulled back and eyes started to burn. Was it just me, or did the room mysteriously turn a shade darker? "That SLUG…Clyde Kauffman." He spat, that usually reserved demeanor, that one I literally just told you about, coming undone with hot fury. "Always late for work, lurching around, stealing food from the stores, eating on the job, and constantly bellowing complaints like some retarded seal. If I get my hands on that waddling Fat-Body, I'll squeeze his head so hard the fat'll come pouring his goddamn ears!"
"Mister Pike, sir…" Tommy and I were pressed as far, and as small, into our seats as we could go, scootching away from the raging leviathan across the desk. "Would you like us to give you a minute?"
"Hehm. Excuse me." Mr. Pike composed himself faster than he'd come apart. The Bear went back into its den to sleep for a little longer. "I apologize for that outburst. But, yes. Clyde is my prime suspect. Will you look into this, or will I have to wait for another drill team to collapse?" Mr. Pike reminded us of our initial unwillingness to become involved, and how it had resulted in Herr Dahl's hospitalization. He did not want that series of events to become a trend.
"If it was only one, and if Craig hadn't been found responsible for Dahl, and The Man hadn't shown up, I'd say not yet." Tommy said. "But, none of that is the case. We'll start on this today." He promised, setting mine, Haruko's and Naota's schedules at the same time.
"Thank you, thank you very much." Mr. Pike said, shaking our hands as we stood to leave. "I will keep you as informed as possible, and will let you know what the blood tests show."
"That'll be appreciated." Tommy opened the door, letting in the pounding din of a wall of rain. "Take care of yourself Mister Pike, I know you'll do the same for your men. We'll be in touch. Oh, and the usual meeting will be at the usual place, at the usual time, with the usual crowd. They'll need to know about this." He reminded and Mr. Pike nodded that he understood.
"An entire crew of thirty guys?" I wondered as we got into Tommy's S-10 and compared notes. "How the hell did Clyde manage that?"
"He didn't." Tommy's teeth were clamped on his pen's cap. "In a manner of speaking, that is."
"I'm listening."
"C'mon Rig, you've seen that fat bastard. Could you see Clyde sneaking around out here in Deep Boonies, in the dead hours of night, with the 'yotes, snakes, bears, and rhododendron, then climb on top of water trucks, and just his wheezing not give him away?"
"Nope. Not in a thousand lifetimes."
"I'll bet a year of no Cope' that Clyde's got a team, or at least a minion or a lackey, or someone, doing dirty work." Tommy made his wager. "Craig was a one-man-band, but he was in good enough shape to pull that off. Plus, his actions really only needed one guy anyway. This reeks of something more involved."
"Yeah, can't argue with you there. Clyde probably breaks a sweat getting the mail. He'd never be out here, not without help. Man, why didn't I pick up on that?" I really hate feeling dumb. When yah explain something like that, it always seems so obvious.
"Because you're still learning." Tommy said, smiling at me. "Don't expect to magically be an expert in everything at once; all you'll get is disappointed. I've been at this for twelve years, fourteen if you include my time at the I.I.B., and I still don't really know what I'm doing."
"Oh? You don't?"
"Nope. I think you said it once to Mike. 'None of us never figure out what we're doing. We just get better at pretending we do.' I'm no exception." We both had a laugh at that, the phrase summing perfectly the play-by-ear nature of our occupation.
"Ain' that the truth. Hey, did you remember to take your meds?" In the excitement of the morning, I hadn't seen Tommy take his daily dose.
"Shit, I forgot." He pulled out the orange bottle from his pocket, palmed two pills and swallowed 'em down. "Thanks for reminding me. You'd think it'd just be a habit by now." He started the truck and we headed for Pike's front gate.
"How much longer do you have to take those?"
"Uhhh…another two, three years? I think?" He guessed. "This shit's gotta work its way out at its own pace. All these pills are doing is making sure it doesn't kill me in the meantime. Anyway...major pain in the ass…" He drifted off while we waited for a passing car at the intersection to the main road. As rain pounded down and the wipers swished, Tommy had a thought.
"Rig. Pay close attention to this."
"What's up?" This was obviously important.
"This, Clyde attack worries me. Craig wasn't trying to kill anyone, I think. Or he wasn't trying very hard; if he did, that was just a bonus. Mostly he was just stirrin' shit up. Clyde was, and probably still is, trying to kill people. George and I, and Johnny, Mike and Josh, will advise you best we can, but all the same, be very, very, careful while looking into this. I would even hesitate to let Naota and Haruko help…well...maybe, but we'll discuss that at home."
"Why's that? They've done really well. I still don't trust Haruko for a blink, wink, nothin'…"
"As well you shouldn't." He agreed. "Reason I'm hesitant to let you bring them into this, is that someone who is willing to kill is truly dangerous. They will not hesitate to do you in, or Naota, or anyone else for that matter."
"Got…cha…" I said, feeling the sandbag-heavy thump of Tommy's warning on my ears. 'Till now, disbarring the Medical Mechanica robots and Marines, this'd been a relatively, relatively, fun and games, impressive 'guess what happened to me over summer break' tale for school in the fall. Now, the Nature of Things seemed to have dimmed a shade darker. Krak-BOOOooooommmm… And the rain was not helping that feeling in the least.
. . .
"Allllllmosssst…allllllmmoooosssstttt…" Josh, Johnny, Mike, Naota and Haruko were transfixed on a progress bar, crawling its way across one of Josh's computer screens. Ding! "And we're decrypted, organized, and done! Let's see what all Craig had on his phone…" It was approaching noon and Rig and Tommy had yet to return. This left Naota and Haruko at the direction of Johnny. While they waited for Josh's program to extract and decrypt the copy of Craig's phone, rain continued to drum on the shop's metal, bare-to-the-rafters, roof.
"Does it always rain this hard here, in August?" Naota asked Mike above the din.
"It can. Late summer thunderstorms are known to get pretty bad." Mike explained. "They don't always, usually they're over in an hour. But when a real humdinger swings through, look out. The last one that was really bad, knocked out power for three days."
"So…three days of vacation, right?" Haruko asked.
"Oh no! We have a generator here." Mike crushed Haruko's hopes of a weather-related holiday. "The show must go on, Hell, high water, or thunder and lightning."
"Ho-lee-shite…" Josh swore, bringing everyone's attention back to his computer. "If I were connected to the web right now, we'd have just popped up on the F.B.I.'s list; filed under Child Porn." He'd found Craig's gallery of girlfriends, all fifty-three of them. "I expect a call from Chris Hansen any second now. Moving on, shall we?"
"Contacts…nothing unusual…pictures…nothing relevant, but plenty unusual…" Johnny muttered as he read over Josh's shoulder. "Whoa, whoa. Hold up. What's that one?"
"That's an operation file; a program for running or accessing something." Josh explained, twiddling a spare cigarette between his fingers while dove into the program's files. Naota couldn't make front or back of the lines of text flashing across the screens. Computers and programming really weren't his thing, the text may as well have been in Russian Acrylic to him. Josh, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. "No way…no way! No fuckin' way!"
"What?! What?!"
"Do you know what this is?!" Josh tapped the screen, bouncing in his seat. "Do you know what this means?!" He tapped again, accidentally crushing the cigarette and spilling tobacco flakes all over his keyboard. He didn't seem to notice.
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell us." Johnny hinted.
"Okay, so, you know how there's the red light cameras and all the other surveillance ones around town, right? Well, most used to be hard-wired into a network for the cops to access. But, you'd have to be at the station to see the footage. Now the cameras broadcast their footage in digital format, so they can look at live feed in their patrol cars. It's encrypted of course, but if you have a key, and an internet connection, you too can access the cameras in real-time. If I'm reading this correctly…Craig would have been able to use any of the city's cameras whenever he damn well pleased…and on his phone to boot."
"Well, that's certainly terrifying." Naota said, then corrected. "Then again, he probably just used it to spy on people."
"Most likely to try and look up girl's skirts." Haruko added, saying what everyone was thinking.
"What worries me…" Josh ignored them and pressed on, now reading the thousands of lines of code. "Is how well done this is. Craig wrote that logic bomb at King's, which was really impressive I must say, don't get me wrong. That thing was nasty. But it was also kinda sloppy. Good, but not an A-plus. This…" He gestured with both hands at the screen. "Was professionally done. Craig made some tweaks here, here…here, personalizing it. But it looks like someone gave him the keys, so-to-speak."
"He mentioned that, how his brothers had help from the city and police; when Rig interviewed him." Naota recalled.
"So, the real question then is, how many people are involved?" Mike expanded on that fact, thoughtfully stroking his beard while he theorized. "There are a few scenarios. One, Craig straight-up just stole this program; highly doubtful. Two, an insider or mole, stole it for him. Three, they just gave it to him and told him to go nuts. I think the second one is most probable, but wouldn't rule out the third."
"Then…why would he need to watch traffic patterns in person then?" Naota brought up the times Craig had held stakeouts in front of Sarina's and other spots around town.
"Blind spots." Haruko had an answer immediately. "They can't cover everywhere, and he wouldn't want to be caught on camera anyway. But, that would mean he'd have to go watch traffic in person, since there wouldn't be a camera feed for him to use."
"Exactly!" Josh agreed, not looking away from the screen. "That's what I was thinking. Now…how does it work…and how can I use it for against 'em? Huumm…" Josh trailed off, reading a particularly crowded section of green comment text. Sensing four sets of eyes still on him, he waved everyone away. "Y'all may's well find something else to do, this's gonna take me a while to go through."
"That's good actually." Johnny turned to the rolls of shop drawings on the bench next to Josh's computers. The piles of paper were all the projects that they needed to complete. "Oh-ho! Here's a good one. Naota, Haruko, have I got a project for you two."
"Who are we building for today?" Naota asked as Johnny selected a roll and spread the drawings across the bench. "Scomi? King? Penn-Dot?"
"No…no…" Johnny said as he reviewed the paperwork packet that had come with the drawings. "It's funny, really."
"Funny you say?" Haruko was across the table, trying to read the plans upside down. "Oooo…those are cool!"
"We're making…brass knuckles?" Naota recognized the outline of the product they were to fabricate.
"No, see here?" Johnny tapped the information block on the drawing's bottom right. It contained details like customer and project names, drafter, checker, dates and times of the drawings, bore the G&R Fabrication and Cranes seal, and part information as well. "And they're not brass, they're going to be made from scrap steel. Recycling, reduce, reuse, that whole deal. A lot easier to get around here than brass too."
"Novelty…decorative...paperweights. Novelty decorative paperweights?" Naota had to read it twice.
"So that's what we're calling them." Haruko was tracing the production process line with her finger, following the path from scrap material to finished product. "Now it all makes sense, they're what Rig is calling them!" She pointed to Rig's initials, J.R.C., in the drafter's spot in the information block.
"Must be a side project Rig picked up somewhere." Johnny explained, shuffling a few more papers to find something for him and Mike to work on. "But, since he's your direct supervisor, I'd get started on this one right away." He handed Haruko and Naota the packet with some basic instructions Rig had included. "Mike and I have these aluminum tubs to weld, but if you need any help, let us know."
"Willlll…dooooo…" Haruko absentmindedly flipped pages of instructions, scanning Rig's sketches.
"And one last thing!" Johnny reminded as he picked up one of the aluminum welders and drew down his mask. "Please, please, please don't burn yourselves, or light the place on fire!"
. . .
Through the deluge of rain, the Mayors of Osceola Mills and Philipsburg met at the door of Philipsburg City Hall. Both gave the other a brief, acknowledging nod, shook out their umbrellas and headed out of the rain. A joint, private, session of both city governments had been called. Shoulder-to-shoulder, the Mayors entered the Council Chambers and barred the doors behind them; taking care to ensure the locks were set.
"Ah! Perfect. Everyone is here…" A Man in Black stood up from the front and center table. It was between the rows of public seating chairs and the Council's bench, used for whomever was presenting. On it sat his attache case. In his right hand, he held his pocketwatch, its silver case and chain filling both Mayors with petty envy. "And everyone…" He snapped the watch closed and stowed it away into his waistcoat. "Is precisely on time, marvelous."
"Yes, I suppose it is." The Osceola Mayor grumbled as he found his seat, scootching behind Council member's chairs. "So Mister…ah, so for what purpose have you called us here today?"
"Ah, ah, ah! Mister Mayor!" The Man tutted. "You know my rules." He approached the bench with outstretched hands. "Gentlemen, your cell phones please." Begrudgingly, they handed their phones over and watched them placed in The Man's attache case.
"Aren't you taking theirs, as well?" The Philipsburg Mayor cast a suspicious glance up and down the bench.
"He got ours on the way in." One of the Centre County Clerks answered.
"It's funny though…" The Sheriff, elected as dual-officer for both Centre and Clearfield counties, chuckled as The Man locked his case. "He took my phone, but let me and them…" He nodded down the bench at the Chiefs of Police for Osceola Mills and Philipsburg, as well as the Liaison from the Pennsylvania State Troopers. "Keep our guns! Ain't that somethin' else?"
"Officer, that is because…" CL-CLACK. The locks on The Man's case snapped shut. "I am not concerned with your sidearms."
"Now what's that supposed to mean?!" The Liaison's dander was up in a hurry, he was already halfway to standing; nervously tapping toes encased in knee high, polished leather boots.
"It means, you should be quiet, as we are starting now and I would appreciate not being needlessly interrupted." The Man's hackles flared for a flash of a second, but enough that the Liaison suddenly felt terribly small. "Excuse me. Now, this meeting will be short, as I am pressed for time. We will be focusing on updates and status reports! Starting with this end, we shall work our way across. My dear County Clerks, how is our database?"
"Growing every day, and more profound by the minute." The Head of Clerks from Philipsburg reported. "Our list of possible dissidents is nearly complete, the surveillance network, with many thanks to the Police Departments, Sheriff's office and State Patrol, is also fully operational."
"Excellent!" The Man in Black grinned, moving to the City Council and Mayors. "In this play we are to be putting on, have you written our script? I would like to see your preliminary timeline of events."
"We have a copy here for you…" The Philipsburg Deputy Mayor presented ten pages for The Man's review. "We would like your feedback, especially on page seven, paragraph three, section four…"
"Thank you. A moment please." The Man took the papers, strode away from the bench to the far side of the room, and turned his back to the Council. Then he took off his sunglasses. He held them in his left hand at the small of his back by an earpiece, twisting the glasses round and round while he read. The Council, Mayors, Clerks, Officers and Chiefs all craned their necks, leaning in their seats to catch a glimpse of The Man's unmasked face, but he refused to give them the satisfaction. All they gleamed was his incoherent muttering to himself as he speed read the entire ten pages, single-spaced, size twelve font, in exactly thirty seconds. He then began jotting notes into the margins.
"Well…what do you think?"
"It is a good rough draft, but completely unacceptable." Before turning around, The Man had made sure to replace his sunglasses back onto his nose. He then approached the bench, holding the papers like they were a set of scribbles turned in for a college arts final project. "It will have to be completely redone. I have made my suggestions on the margins. Is this the only copy?"
"Yesss…?" The Deputy Mayor slowly answered.
"Are you sure?" The Man focused on the Deputy Mayor, moving down the bench to stand squarely in front of him. "It sounded like you were questioning your own words. Are you, sure?"
"Ahm, I…uh…" Philipsburg's Deputy Mayor waffled. Even though the bench and its seating were raised, he felt as if The Man was towering above him. "There may be the saved Word file on my laptop…"
"Is that it, you laptop? In the bag?" The Man nodded to the case at the Deputy Mayor's feet.
"Y-yes…"
"Did you email this file to anyone, even to yourself, for review or collaboration?" The Man asked, his voice echoing around a deathly silent Chambers.
"W-well…kinda. I saved it to my Google Docs account too, then downloaded it and used the office printer here. I don't understand, wait, what're you doing?!"
"A small favor, to everyone." The Man in Black pulled the laptop from its case, dug his fingernails into the seam along the keyboard and ripped the keyboard free; exposing the wires and inner workings underneath. He then tore loose the hard drive, letting the bisected laptop crunch to the floor, and just with his index fingers and thumbs, snapped the hard drive cleanly in half.
"W-what the fuck did you do that for?!" The Deputy Mayor screamed, ready to climb the bench and accost The Man in Black; consequences be damned. "That laptop cost me a thousand bucks you son of a bitch!"
"Please…be at Peace." The Man in Black quietly commanded, and the Deputy Mayor of Philipsburg collapsed into his chair. A thin fog crept into the room, sifting up from under the doors and down from the vents above, filling the entire population of the room with dread from tip to toe. The Deputy Mayor's mouth went from frothed with rage to bone dry in an instant and he immediately wished he'd kept his big yap shut. The Man's choice of words too stunned the Chamber, but not all were as easily swayed.
"Be at peace?!" The Philipsburg Mayor came to his subordinate's defense. "You just destroyed his laptop, he probably had his entire life saved on it."
"And that…is supposed to…upset me?" The Man in Black turned to the Mayor, who then felt the tip of a phantom, icy pick quivering just between his eyes; millimeters from jamming forward to lobotomize him. "It seems you all are forgetting the end goal here, the 'big picture' as you would call it. As I have promised, when all is said and done, that laptop will be considered a mere trinket compared to the wonders of The Red Star of The Solar Federation!" The Man's gaze swept the bench. "Remember this well. ALL, of you, are expendable. There are three thousand people in Philipsburg, a thousand more in Chester Hill, and one thousand, five hundred in Osceola Mills; and that is just what is contained by the city limits. All of them are plenty willing to crawl over a pile of dead and useless mayors, clerks, councilors and the broken glass of their own towns, to have a seat at THIS bench." The Man placed his hand on the bench itself, sending a rumble down it that rattled all the glasses, pens and papers upon it. "Additionally, yes I have provided you with the finest encryption and cyber security Medical Mechanica has to offer. But it is not to be relied on as a catch-all, or as an excuse for reckless behavior, or laziness. Even a mountain can be brought low by trickles of water, the freezing of ice, the crush of snow and the wearing of time. I would prefer the encryption and security never be needed at all. So when I say 'there are to be no electronic communications involving this revolution', that means absolutely no communications, at all. Keep in mind this is an order, and not a suggestion. Am I being abundantly clear on this issue?"
The Man in Black had not once raised his voice during the entirety of his speech. He did not scream, shout, bellow or gnash his teeth in rage. He had maintained the same consistent volume and pace. A slight change in his tone, undetectable if you were passing through, however…A subtle tone adjustment had the Clerks, Council, Mayors, Officers and Chiefs squirming and quivering in their chairs. All the while the sifting fog had tip-toed behind their eyes, making shadows on their mind's inner wall where the light shone in, distracting them from mounting any sort of indignant rebellion. The Man in Black did not once raise his voice simply because he did not need to.
"With that said, you must understand there cannot be any traces, any scrap of incriminating evidence that can be traced to any of you. This is a ship that cannot leak so much as a drop of water. Deputy Mayor, your first step to correct your mistakes is to delete your...Google Docs account, permanently. Everyone here will use only hand-written communication from now on, and those communications are to be immediately destroyed by fire after they have been read and committed to memory."
"So what then?" The Liaison from the State Police was putting up the best fight. "Are we supposed to pass messages in the park, like spys in the Cold War?" He asked with a dismissive scoff. The Man in Black merely cocked his head to the side, seeming to stare straight through the State Trooper, and simply answered:
"If you really believe yourself capable of such a mundane task Officer, I would certainly advocate that you try. Now, before we are sidetracked any further, let us resume your reports. Yours will not be necessary." He silenced the Liaison before he could work a word in edgewise. "I have already consulted with Patrolman Kauffman. He assures me your department is secure, and that all officers are prepared to Do What They Must. Is that correct, yea or nay?"
"…Yes." The Liaison snarled, mentally throwing chairs and tables across the room.
"Sheriff, and Chiefs of Osceola Mills and Philipsburg, I ask the same of you. How stands your departments?" The Man in Black ignored him and moved on.
"I speak for the three domestic law enforcement departments in saying…" The Sheriff looked left and right at his contemporaries. "That our boys will do what they're told."
"Mazel-tov. And last, but certainly not least…" The Man came to the two Fire Chiefs.
"Don't worry about us." The Fire Chief of Philipsburg answered with a small half-smile. "Our main worry is just putting out fires no matter how they get started, and rescuing the occasional cat from a tree. Unless fuel trucks start exploding again, you won't hear anything from us; we'll stay out of your way."
"I am pleased to hear it." The Man smiled and checked his pocketwatch. "That is all we have for time, I'm afraid. You may collect your phones on the way out. Keep in mind your tasks, I will update you personally as events and changes warrant. Officers, please stay for a moment."
. . .
"See yah later Fred." The Philipsburg Fire Chief said to the Osceola Mills Chief as they exited City Hall's back door. The Man in Black forbade everyone leaving the building at the same time, and all through the same door as well. It was a strange order, but they obeyed nonetheless.
"Take care Howard." Fred got into his truck and headed south for his town. Fire Chief Howard weebled and wobbled about immediately heading home too, but instead crossed the street into the American Legion Post. Inside, he bee-lined for the bar.
"Hey there Howard." The bartender recognized him, soaked with rain as he was. "What're you doing here, a little early for you ain't it? Rough day or something?"
"You have no idea." Fire Chief H.G. Hughes said, catching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. "Quick, gimme a beer before I lose my mind."
. . .
First was a dump truck filled to overflowing with steel scrap, some gathered from The Boneyard, and some from the scrapyard in town itself. Second was another dump truck load, but of coal dug from along the Carson's runway. A few pallets worth of cheap foam-board followed, then a few more pallets stacked with bags of play sand. A benchtop hot wire foam cutter had been built and installed, using a single-pole dimmer switch and a 25-volt, 2-amp transformer as the main controls, and a sacrificial electric guitar string for the cutting wire. Things got a little more complicated after that.
Between the two of them, Naota and Haruko had been tasked to fabricate, through a simplified air-set sand casting process, a mere 8,000 recycled scrap steel knuckles…excuse me, novelty decorative paperweights. After the materials were acquired, they fashioned a coal fired smelting furnace. It was suspended by a three inch thick crossbar that rested on a dual sided frame. The furnace could be latched into place while the metal was smelting, and then unlocked as needed. The furnace body was a clothes washer drum salvaged too from The Boneyard, and lined with inflammable insulation to keep it from melting, and the heat focused internally. Mike swore up and down he was 'pretty sure' the insulation wasn't asbestos, but they should 'wear a respirator around it all the same.' An air compressor hose connection was added at the bottom of the furnace to force enough air into the burning coal to reach their required minimum of 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit. A propane tank was hooked up in a similar fashion for starting the coal and adding a boost of heat. Nestled above the coal was the graphite crucible, ordered from that 'fine online flea-market called E-Bay', and a cap to keep everything covered and heat where it belonged, went on top.
Before they fired up, they made 8,000 identical cutouts of the basic steel knuck…whoops, there I go again, steel novelty decorative paperweights, out of the foam. The hot wire cutter served for this purpose, and a heated metal plug was used to melt out the four finger holes. Two runners, one foot long and one on either side, were left on each side of the novelty decorative paperweights. (Did I get it this time?) When the foam form was buried in a metal tub filled with play sand, these runners just poked above the sand to act as pour guides for molten steel.
With the cutouts made and five at a time buried in sand, Haruko shoveled a load of coal into the furnace and Naota lit the propane burner. Once the coal caught, another shovelful was added and the compressed air turned on. With the crucible beginning to glow red, steel scrap chopped into manageable bits was dropped in. After ten minutes of standing around and shooting the breeze, the steel was ready to pour. The furnace could slide laterally on its crossbar as well, so a quick pour on one foam runner was followed by another quick pour on the other. Haruko positioned each box and gave Naota commands to pour, less, more, left or right. The first few attempts resulted in several angry mis-communications, and the lighting of Haruko's green shop coat on fire. After spraying both of them with the hose, her for fire, him for laughing, Johnny warned then he'd see both of them digging their next batch of coal without access to the G&R excavator, if they didn't get along. Both quietly ate their serving of Humble Pie and carried on.
Once the cast novelty decorative paperweights had cooled a few minutes, they were dug out with long tongs and quenched in a bucket of used motor oil to cool and harden them. The extra runners were cut off with a power grinder and thrown back into the scrap pile. After another grinder rounded off the larger edges, and the finger holes smoothed by running a bit through them with a drill press, it was off to the sandblaster. Rig's description on the drawings and his instructions said a mirror polished finish was not required, as a 'rough industrial look is desired' and the non-polished surface offered a 'non-slip, gritty and easy to hold feel'.
It took them close to a week from start to finish. The two didn't say much to the other, busied on their assigned project at hand. When she was given a purpose, Naota found Haruko was perfectly capable of intense focus, concentration on tedious tasks and minute attention to detail; especially during the pouring process. Haruko didn't say anything, but for his skull being empty, Naota had a brain stashed on his person somewhere, having designed, drafted and presented his furnace design to Johnny and Mike for approval in just two hours. He'd also done some of the trickier welding in the harder to reach spots; and only gave himself minor Welder's Flash once. He'd also run the excavator to dig the coal and drove the dump trucks to haul it, and the scrap steel. If she'd been willing to admit it, Naota had come leaps and bounds from the boy she'd left in a shell-shocked Mabase four years prior. As a matter of course, not so much as a word of this did they mention to each other.
. . .
Clyde pulled into the dirt patch next to his trailer, rain pounding down yet again on his car's roof. The start of this August was proving to be a soggy one. As he shuttled groceries from his car to his trailer, a FedEX truck pulled up.
"Delivery for a…Jack Smith?" The driver checked his manifest, holding a box labeled "Live Plants: Handle with care!" and slapped with a bio-hazard sticker for good measure.
"That's me." Clyde smiled and signed for the box. "Thanks for getting it here so fast, I've been waiting a long, long time to have this one…"
"Hey, it ain't my job to judge or ask questions…" The FedEX driver turned to his truck. "But with that bio-hazard sticker, I'd be real careful with…well, whatever that is."
"Ohhhh, don't you worry. I will. I'm gonna take reaaalll good care of it." Clyde assured the driver. As the truck trundled away, he clutched the box tightly to his chest, peering through one of the ventilation holes at the leafy terror inside. "We're gonna have so much fun, you and I." He began walking up his front steps, anxious to get his first full-on look at his newest addition. Halfway up, the deepest animal instinct section of his brain twitched. He stopped and turned 'round, scanning with suspicious eyes. With the cloud cover and grey rain, he couldn't see anything to justify his unease. Dismissing the feeling, he entered his trailer, drawing the shades and bolting the door.
. . .
Clyde was right to be listening to the deep instinct section of his brain. Across the way, draped in an Alpenflage pattern poncho and concealed by the arms of a weeping willow, sat astride a black and orange Yamaha, a note-taking, mental picture snapping and tobacco chomping figure. Who could this mysterious figure be, you ask? SURPRISE! T'was me all along!
'August 9th, 1353 hours. Water Street Mobile Homes, #6. Clyde Kauffman receives FedEX box, labeled as bio-hazard. Signs and accepts under pseudonym." I jotted down into my notebook. I'd been trying to gauge Clyde, to see if he were soft enough of a target to pull Naota and Haruko out of the shop. When I made my daily check-in, they were making excellent progress, and a good team too. Believe that or not, if you want. The tension between the two was thick enough to need a plasma cutter to hack through it, but they hadn't beaten each other's brains in with hammers. So they had that goin' for 'em. Which is nice. Well, now that I think 'bout it, Naota didn't have a brain to beat in…perhaps 'caved each other's skulls in' would've been a better choice of words? Anyway, you're lettin' me get off track. Focus, huh?
I hadn't seen any 'minions', or whatever yah'd call 'em, of Clyde's hangin' around. Then again, it had been a week since the first poison attack. The blood tests had come back with traces of what's called Suicide Tree; I forget the proper Latin name. The poison blocks calcium ion channels to the heart, causing a disruption of a heart's beating. A messed up heartbeat, plus working on a natural gas rig, can overwork the heart and also lead to a drop in blood pressure; which can make you pass out, at best. Usually Suicide Tree will just straight up kill you, so the drill crew was immensely lucky. They had been instructed to buy lottery tickets as soon as they were discharged from the hospital.
So I made my call. I figured it was probably just Clyde and a few miscreants his brother Carl had scraped off some sidewalk to do dirty work. Naota and Haruko could handle Clyde no problem. I mean, it's not like he could chase them farther than ten feet. With my mind made up, I headed for home, wishing it would stop raining for just five minutes. Riding a dirt bike in a downpour is no spring picnic.
. . .
All the while, as events swirled around him, Canti relentlessly continued his campaign against the Scorpion Assault Bot. For nine hours a day, five days a week, he would accept the hard-line cord from Josh and plug in via a jack at the back bottom-right of his head. The other end snaked across the Scorpion to its central computer. It had been exposed after an acetylene torch assisted vivisection and the metal armor peeled back to access the hardened system below.
Medical Mechanica had done wonders with guarding their secrets. Canti still could not break the encryption surrounding the Scorpion's computer; the singular component that dictated the actions of everything from claws to tail. Canti was no quantum computer, but still capable of processing millions of data points and calculations at a tremendous pace. The sheer number of integers in the hashing algorithm's first number meant that he had not even guessed a single one correctly. But, there was something on Canti's side that Medical Mechanica could never have accounted for.
Being a host to Atomsk, the so-called 'Pirate King', presents the possibility of…strange, happenings. Before Atomsk had used him to escape Medical Mechanica, and then was drawn through the N.O. channel created by Haruko, Canti had been another Medical Technician, Type-B Unit. The lines of code, the 1's and 0's within him that directed his every action, never deviating from the set of tracks before him, were all Medical Mechanica's. But once Atomsk had taken him up as a host, something, buried deep within those 1's and 0's…woke up.
A Little Voice we would call it. An itch at the back of his brain, if Canti had a brain as we think of it, to scratch. The Something worked its way into Canti's system, looking over his coding, stored memories, what made him, him. It began to make small tweaks and changes, updating and modifying on the fly. It prodded Canti into action, answering Naota's calls for reinforcement, activating and operating his combat mode, extending a helping hand to a waterlogged Lieutenant Kitsurubami even though she had him in her rifle's sights only moments before. The Something had even survived Canti's merging with the Terminal Core, rebooting his entire system from its own memory as Naota, Kamon, Gaku, Masashi and Ninamori dug him from the rubble. Now, The Something was speaking to him directly.
"What are you doing?"
"I…I am in the process of unlocking this encrypted operating system. Who are you?"
"I am The Voice in Your Head."
"You have been here since Atomsk took up residence within me. Are you a part of him?"
"I cannot say." The Something answered. It continued to observe Canti's efforts against the Scorpion. "Are you making any progress?"
"I am attempting to guess the first integer of its encryption key."
"Have you gotten close?"
"I do not know."
"How many integers are in the key?"
"I do not know. I believe Medical Mechanica uses two-hundred-fifty-six-bit encryption for their assault units."
"I see." The Something again let Canti work, but could not keep its peace for long. "What methods have you not tried?"
"…What do you mean?" Canti began a new round of calculations as his latest attempt failed.
"I mean, have you tried anything besides your best guesses at integers?"
"…I have not." Canti admitted. It had been weeks worth of fruitless work, but he was increasingly sure he was closing in on that elusive first integer.
"You are aware that with two-hundred-fifty-six-bit encryption, and numbers from zero to nine, there are one-point-zero-one-one-eight-zero-four-five-six-seven, E plus twenty four, permutations of the key?"
"Yes. I am aware."
"Very well." The Something left Canti to his own devices once again. As Canti worked, he looked back through his memories for any other options that might help.
"There is something I have not tried." Canti realized, only recalling it after The Something had mentioned other methods.
"And?"
"Acoustics, through low-band cryptanalysis."
"…That is a potential solution." The Something agreed. Canti climbed atop the Scorpion, placing his head against the Scorpion's computer. It was lunchtime so everyone had left, and the rain had conveniently ceased for the time being. The shop was morgue-silent, so Canti had the perfect sound capture to work with.
He'd leaned of Key Extraction via Low-Bandwidth Cryptanalysis while reading with Josh a Grey Hat hacker forum. Computers emit high-pitched noises during operation, through the vibration of some of their electronic components. During its attempts to decrypt data, and defend against Canti's attacks, the CPU would become active. This generated a baseline sound to compare other sounds against. Then, after further detection, Canti could tell the difference between a defense frequency and a decryption frequency.
Designed as a Medical Technician, Canti could generate, for diagnostic purposes, and hear an extreme range of sounds. He could listen for heart palpitations or murmurs, and hear a patient's blood flowing through their veins. He could also generate and detect increasingly higher pitched sounds to test a patient's hearing. So listening for the Scorpion's CPU was like listening to any patient talk. What he was really listening to were the vibrations of the capacitors and coils of the CPU's voltage regulation unit as it worked to maintain a constant voltage. Even though Medical Mechanica probably wasn't sending it any information, the Scorpion was still trying to broadcast and then waited to receive updates and new packets of information. Canti found that attacking the Scorpion would produce a defense, then a signal would be sent out, then it would wait for a response; as if asking how it should proceed.
After singling out the decryption frequency, Canti crafted a cipher text that would make the CPU's sound emitted dependent on the value of the first bit of the encryption key. Listening to the CPU as it defended against his attack and tried to decrypt his cipher text, he could get a positive or negative output, depending on the kilohertz of the vibrating CPU. He'd assigned zero as negative and one as positive, so a lower kilohertz displayed as zero and higher as one. This pattern would be repeated from zero to nine to determine the integer's value.
As he listened, it occurred to Canti that Medical Mechanica did not adequately soundproof their fighting robot's controlling computers, as this method was proving far too easy. Then again, they had most likely assumed no one could ever subdue one intact, crack its shell and then think to listen to it literally tick. Failure of foresight, or Hubris, Canti could not decide; perhaps a little of both. He did though, realize his own head could use some touching up. Maybe he could weld a helmet or replacement shell of sorts? It would help mitigate Haruko ever hitting him with a guitar ever again. There were certainly plenty of tools at his disposal…
"Administrator Access Granted." The Scorpion's computer informed him, as the last integer of the encryption key fell into place. Reading a language the same as his own, Canti had complete and total control. Of everything. From stinger to claw to teeth, the Scorpion was under his direction.
"An interesting solution." The Something praised; Canti supposed it sounded like praise. "I would like to take a look, if I may." The Something flowed through the inline cable, burrowing into the innards of the Scorpion. "Can you apply more power to it? It should be able to start."
"Yes. How much do you think it will require?" Canti climbed down from and walked to the central circuit breaker. Arm thick cables trailing from various ports on the Scorpion had been spliced into the box.
"Fifty percent should suffice."
"Yes, its core is still sound." Canti agreed, making the necessary adjustments. "Start up attempt in three…two…one." CLUNK. Canti dropped the breaker lever and gave the Scorpion an influx of electricity, jump starting its central core. The surge, and drain, dimmed the lights and even shook a little dust from the ceiling. Creaking, moaning and groaning as scraping, unlubricated metal on metal ground…the Scorpion staggered to standing.
Canti stood motionless, observing the Scorpion for the slightest hint of aggression. Since he was still attached and still in Administrative Mode, he held the Scorpion in the palm of his hand. It was also no longer broadcasting signals, merely waiting for orders. Satisfied with the initial startup, Canti powered it down, then shot off its external power. He could wait for everyone to return from lunch to tell them the news. In the meantime, Canti looked for some steel plate to better cover the back of his head. He also re-asked a question that had been itching at him madly.
"What exactly are you?" He asked The Something. "You did not give me a concise answer earlier."
"I am You. Well, a part of you, in a way." It was a less technical, more roundabout answer. Very strange, Canti thought, but it would do for now. A little voice in his head. It must come with the territory of having been a robot possessed by Atomsk himself. But that was a discussion with himself, Canti decided, best left for another day.
. . .
"Okay, my turn."
"Hang on…almost ready…'kay. I'm ready. Bring it."
"Train." Naota started them off.
"Tracks."
"Deer."
"Antlers."
"Jack-a-lope."
"Mystical."
"Fantasy."
"Novel."
"Idea."
"Revolutionary."
"Fighter."
"Prize."
"First."
"Base."
"Support."
"Air."
"Travel."
"Agency."
"Secret."
"Garden."
"Hanging."
"Scaffolding."
"Construction."
"Season."
"Summer."
"Breeze."
"Tropical."
"Paradise."
"Island."
"Treasure."
"Chest."
"Boobs!"
"Snnrkt! What?!"
"Ah-ha-haha-ha! You laughed!" Haruko grabbed his shoulder and shook him back and forth on his section of the truck's bench seat. "You laughed, you laughed! That means I win!"
"No it doesn't, your word doesn't match right." Naota elbowed her arms away. "Chest-boobs…boobs-chest? They are related, but don't flow right."
"Pfffftttt…whatever. Who died and left you their English degree?" It was three-twenty-six on the afternoon of August 11th; a Thursday. He and Haruko were kitty-corner across the Water Street Trailer Park's office parking lot, and had a perfect view of Number 6; residence of Clyde Kauffman. Rig had approached them the day before, asking if they were interested in some more field work. After over a week of forging novelty decorative paperweights the two were feeling stir-crazy and readily accepted. Asking for preliminary information, Rig answered in his usual notebook referencing detail.
"'Kay, here's what's up. A buncha Mister Pike's guys have been getting' real sick, serious stuff too. Some have passed out, some're pukin' their guts out, some're shittin' their guts out, one's even gone to the hospital 'cause his kidneys went on strike. This doesn't include the initial thirty guys the other week. Now, one've Craig's brothers, Clyde, worked for Mister Pike. He got fired too, had been stealing food, eating on the job. The final straw was when he put laxatives in some dude's soup."
"Did the guy make fun of Clyde or something?" Naota had asked. "You did say Clyde's kinda chunky…"
"Nope. It was the poor guy's first day. Clyde jest thought it'd be funny." Rig had said, and Naota had noticed a barely suppressed cord in Rig's neck twitching, coupled with a furious flash of the Carson Sheen across his eyes. But a blink later and both were gone. "ANY-way, he lives down at Water Street trailers, number six. Same deal as before with Craig, but there's ah string."
"A string attached?"
"Just…just be really careful, okay?" Rig warned. "Tommy and I talked about it, and he thinks Clyde has some outside help. Help that's not a member of their local Bible study class, know what I mean? So, just be on your guard and, can't b'lieve I'm sayin' this…but make sure Haruko has her guitar handy." So with that information in mind, Naota and Haruko mounted their trusty steed, the old Ford toolbox truck, and set out to shadow Clyde. Rig said in the meantime he was going to be working with Johnny, Josh and Mike to restore the resurrected Scorpion to fighting strength. Canti had finally cracked its code and was beginning to work on the Industrial Heavy-Hitter as well. The plan was to, somehow, they hadn't worked out any specifics, to use them in clearing out the Medical Mechanica Marines from Roman's Mine. But that was putting the cart before the horse, as Johnny had said, and they needed to focus first on getting the robots able to stand without being tethered to G&R's circuit breaker.
As Rig had promised, Clyde Kauffman was an easy man to find. He was younger than Craig at eighteen years old, but was a more prominent presence. Clocking in at close to four hundred pounds and a hair taller than Craig, Clyde was a hulking figure. Everything on him seemed cartoonishly enlarged, a caricature of himself. Short, gnarled tight blond curls capped a bear-skull head, a prominent brow and narrow, beady eyes. A heaving, ponderous body immediately followed, (no room had been left to accommodate a neck) swaddled in oversized sweatshirts and basketball shorts; no matter the weather. Finally, a pair of untied Vans skateboard shoes covered his feet, feet that joined his calves at a ninety degree angle with no ankles to make the transition. This anatomical arrangement taught Naota a new word: cankles. Naota also suspected the reason Clyde's shoelaces were tucked into his shoes was because he couldn't bend over to reach down and tie them.
While Craig had been a man about town, Clyde had spent most of his time thus far confined to his trailer. He had only emerged to accept packages from FedEX or UPS, and according to Haruko's higher-sensitive hearing, accepted them under pseudonyms.
"Fine, fine, you can have that round." Naota's thoughts came back to the present, and the word-association game he and Haruko were playing to pass the time. He allowed her that round so she would stop harassing him about it. "Oh, almost three thirty. We'd better check in with Rig." He dialed for Rig, drumming his fingers on the wheel while Haruko aimlessly picked at the bass portion of her guitar.
"Crr-chh…Y'ah! This'shh Rig Carson Enterpri-shehsh, we're currently on…Crr-unnchh!...sh-nack break, but if yah leaf ah message…" Rig answered, his mouth full of what sounded to be a crisp apple. "Ah'm kiddin', what's up?"
"Not much, just checking in."
"And?" There were several more chomping noises. "How'sh that go-win?"
"Slowly. Clyde hasn't gone anywhere today. He's just hung around." He reported, then there was a small explosion in his ear; a sharp KAH-THOOOM! "What the hell was that?!"
"Heh? Oh! That. Uhm, right. Damn, ah, bulldozer backfired. Tommy and I are out on a job with the boom truck. We're lifting up this bulldozer to work on it, can't get this junk heap started." Rig explained, albeit sounding rather hesitant about it. "Soooo…yeah." KAH-THOOOOM!
"That doesn't sound like any bulldozer I've heard. Are you okay?"
"Look man, we're kinda busy, I, I uh, I gotta go. Call back in an hour…" Click.
"Well!" Naota snapped his phone shut. Rig's occasional eccentricities kept no consistent time.
"What?" He wasn't sure how much Haruko had heard, but probably most of the conversation.
"Just…well! He hung up on me."
"Mmm-hmm." Haruko sagely nodded. "Bulldozer backfiring, huh?"
"That's what he said."
"Mmm-hmm…" She nodded again. "From here, it sounded like…nah."
"Like…what?"
"Gunfire."
"You think so? I dunno, that doesn't seem right…" Bvvvvv…Bvvvvv…Bvvvvv…His phone began buzzing. "Hey, look who it is." He held up the phone so she could see Rig's name and number.
"Huh, what-ah yah know? How's that for a coincidence?"
"Yeah Rig, what's up?" Naota answered.
"Naota, be very careful with your answer." A different Rig than thirty seconds before was on the other end. This one was resolutely serious. "Has Clyde, at any given time since nine this morning, left his trailer?"
"Besides getting the mail and a box from UPS? No." Naota sensed something had gone horrendously tragic; there was a hint of panic in Rig's voice. "Why, what's happened?"
"Five of Mister Pike's guys just were airlifted to the hospital with kidney failure. Four of Mister Solomon's are going in and out of cardiac arrest. One of Mister Chartier's is having a psychotic episode and is convinced a pair of dragons are eating his legs. Seven of Mister Welshman's are having seizures. And…goddamn it…"
"What?! WHAT?!"
"Goddamn it...ten of Mister Voyze's guys are dead! I, I don't know what happened. The word is their throats got all inflamed, then swelled shut. That's all I know…yeah! Be right there!" He yelled to someone on his end. "Listen, DO NOT let Clyde out of your sight. Do not come back to the shop, do not go home, you are his new shadows until directed otherwise. Understood?"
"Yeah, we can do that…I guess…" Naota looked over at Haruko. She seemed just as perplexed as he was. "Is there anything else we can do?"
"I'm sorry, I, ah…no, that's the, that's the best you can do for now. I…fuck me man, I'm so sorry, I gotta go."
. . .
*Yah know, for a show that was based on guitars, basses and a kick-ass soundtrack, I have been noticing a dissapointingly low number of songs here. Something that needs remedied double-quick I think.
Lack of tunes aside, we have made first contact with Clyde Kauffman, junior brother to Craig. I'm not sure what to make of him yet, it's still very early to call. But with a habit of poisoning people and shady online ordering of bio-hazard plants, it's not looking good for him.
Also, are there no lows those dastardly politicians won't scrape to? It's election season here in the U.S. of A, and I think my contempt for the whole affair bled through a little. Then again, a group of people working with a Man in Black are of the worst kind, elected official or otherwise.
I have not had a chance to watch 'Ghost in the Shell', but am aware of its premise, and I find the concept and philosophical debate of the existence of a 'Ghost in the Shell' fascinating. Possession by a being such as Atomsk, unknown as he is to us, could certainly lead to some side-effects. This was a thought I had while wondering what purpose Canti was to serve in this story, and why I had bothered to bring him along at all. Now I know there is definitely something that will be delved into during later chapters.
Sorry, no Medical Mechanica scene in this one. I was thinking of adding one at the end, same as Chapter Nine. But I thought it would be silly to back-to-back chapters the exact same way, and this stopping point made more sense than trying to shoehorn another section in.
That's all I can think of for now...wait...nope, never mind. Had a thought and it's gone. Thank you again for reading, it was a jolly good time to crank out the latter third of this chapter, then type it, then review and edit, all in the course of a weekend; reminds me of college. I'm going to stop before I get all nostalgic, thank you again so, so much, please let me know how I did! Until (dear God I hope it won't take that long) Christmas!