This is now chapter 18 in its entirety.
Chapter 19 will be combat. Part of chapter 20 will be as well.
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JINDAI GROUNDS
Souuske stood quiet against the turmoil, momentarily oblivious to the trials and tribulations that the students faced.
A veteran of difficult situations and complicated choices, he still felt especially cold inside, as if someone had poured liquid nitrogen down into his gullet. He hadn't forced Kaname to accept the necessities, to join him in a sacrifice no one at the school would ever know, much less appreciate.
It just felt as if he had.
There would be no 'thank you's.' There never were. Not in his line of work. But, while Kaname being Whispered was the magnet that drew Amalgam in, it was his actions that had led to the crowded field and the heated melee. Everyone there was nothing more than a sitting duck, ready to be caught in the crosshairs of the enemy Arm Slave.
Boys against girls would lead to cuts and bruises, smudged make-up and tarnished egos. Arm Slave against high school students would lead to a rain of bullets, a chorus of screams and final utterances, followed by a mourning nation and a crop of new grave markers. If he managed to engage the adversary on school grounds with Arbalest, he might be able to reduce the carnage, but he would not come close to preventing it. Friendly fire was unavoidable. So were friendly A.S. foot steps and collateral effects from clashing Lambda Drivers.
"I know what to do," Sousuke said, accessing a web page he had set up, filled with various apps. "But… I still have to be discreet…." He might be dressed as a rabbit; but, his actions could lead back to Sousuke Sagara… or to Kaname Chidori… if he were apprehended and the costume removed. He pushed on a button that had the image of a mushroom.
On the side of the school, beneath a plot that the Farming Club had planted a crop of strawberries and watermelons, a large phallic shape rose, looking somewhat like a mushroom. With a hiss of compressed gas, a large door slid open, and gibbous gray gas cloud wafted upwards. LED lights illuminated the inside of the cache. Riding his tank to the storage device… only one of a number hidden on the school grounds… he took a few moments to sort through the inventory.
"This will do." Thermobaric munitions are those munitions that, by design, produce more heat and overpressure than conventional explosives by exploding a vapor in the blast zone. Their main use initially was in airborne fuel-air explosive bombs. Whilst the United States has concentrated on airborne weapons, Russia has produced thermobaric weapons and warheads, from airborne bombs to rifle grenades. Thermobaric munitions work by initially dispersing an aerosol cloud of gas, liquid, or finely powdered explosive. The result is a plasma cloud that reaches temperatures of between 2,500 and 3000 degrees Celsius "The others are too unpredictable."
"Up!" Sousuke hefted a Russian RPO PDM-A Shmel-MX disposable rocket launcher to his shoulder, and crouching behind a refuge bin, he aimed at a grouping of large trees near the center rear of the sports field. "Now." He fired. The rocket shot out of the tube, and then burst into flight, leaving a sooty trail. "I trust its accuracy." There were also thermobaric warheads for the RPG-7 family of weapons, and a hand-held launcher for Soviet 42mm grenades. Those were too dangerous to use now, not that the launch of a rocket was low risk in itself.
A trio of large oaks were engulfed in a blazing cloud, immediately lighting up like towering matches, reminiscent of a scene from the original 'Rollerball' movie, but on a much grander scale. The explosion, and the rolling wave of head extended across a nearby street, painting homes and businesses in an eerie orange glow, and blowing a few windows in. Frightened pets took off in different directions. Passersby and people outdoors immediately fell to their knees. The students were no less effected. Some suffered second degree burns on exposed skins. Others were thrown a yard or three through the air. Some found themselves beset by temporary deafness, or intense watering of their eyes. Those closest to the blast had trouble breathing, their lungs filled with superheated air. Fortunjately, no one had had been in close proximity of the targets; if there had been, they would be dying now.
All thoughts of boys versus girls, or sports versus non-sports, vanished in that instant. Now, it was a matter of perceived survival. And, strangely enough, erstwhile foes became helpers and protectors. The Principal had arrived a minute earlier, carrying a megaphone. Thinking of the proper words to help stop the fracass, she immediately called out directions to evacuate the school yard. She was a true leader.
"Good," Sousuke said. He accessed another app, and watched a cursor plot Arbalest's incoming path. It was high up, chute deployed on the missile cannister. The winds were blowing it off course. "Shit!" It would land north of the school. While internal sensors would place it in the area best shielded from prying eyes, and prevent as much damage or injury as possible, there was no telling what the battlefield would look like, or what obstacles he might face. Yes, the school and students might be safer if he could control the encounter away from the high school, but the sports field had at least provided a space he could readily work with. He needed to move! He had to get to the ARX-7 before any witnesses might, and before Amalgam forces arrived.
"You!" A voice called out, startling Sousuke, who was usual difficult to surprise. "Rabbit!" He had been caught up in things, in a rush to save as many people as he could. That, and he was of course in Kaname's body. Someone had closed in without his realizing. "Just who are you. And what the fuck are you doing." It was Gloomy Bear. More specifically, it was Hiroshi Tachikawa in his Gloomy Bear get-up, exoskeleton and all. His vocoder was off, but his set-up still functioned.
"-" Sousuke had to find the right words, quickly. He had no chance of success fighting Gloomy now. The bear could strike with those frightening claws, sooner than he could bring any weapon into play. He would take a risk. "Fumo," he said, trying to imitate Bonta-kun's voice, so as not to give away 'his' own. "Fumo fumo fumoffu!" He punched out into space, imitating moves he had used in their gymnasium tussle.
"I'm listening," Hiroshi said. "Your explanation had better be good!" He looked over at the trees, blazing tapers now.
"I will not tell you who I am until I am sure I can trust you," Sousuke said. "Or whom I work for, unless I figure you are worth recruiting." He would act as if the man was trustworthy, with a good heart and a willingness to believe a difficult truth. "But I will tell you of the approaching danger." He gave a telegraphic description of the impending battle. Hiroshi's reply caught him off guard.
"How can I help," Hiroshi asked, flexing various powered joints, making certain he had full flexibility. His power cell was half full, and all hydraulics were green-lit. "I've had weapons training. I could-" He stopped. He stood silent a moment. And then said: "I know of other mascots who are ex-military, or ex-cop. A merc, too."
"All are welcome," Sousuke said, feeling like balking at his own words. But, he had no time to vet anyone, and any help he could get could prove useful, if only as a delay or distraction. He had no qualms moving people like checkers, if they willingly put themselves on his board. "If they are altruistic, this is a chance to satisfy their cravings. If they need monetary motivation, those who pay me will gladly pay them." He remembered Hiroshi's reaction to head host of the telethon job offer earlier that day. "And… if someone needs a good paying job… they will be given consideration… if they are suitable for our line of work"
"Wait here," Gloomy said, now in his mechanical voice, minus the 'Gloomy Gloomy' talk. "I will fetch all who are willing."
"Meet here," Sousuke countered. "I will appropriate transportation." As the huge pink bear ran off, wanting to cut-off mascots who were headed for shelter in the school, the young soldier ran back inside the vehicle room. "These will do." There were two Kubota RTV-X900 utility vehicles, both fueled. One was a shiny new arrival, the other rusty and about to be retired. There was also a large Iseki SXG22 lawn tractor and a utility trailer. He hooked one UTV to the other with a cable, and used the one to tow the other out to the rendezvous point.
Remarkably, Hiroshi was back with four mascots. There would have been a fifth, but he had removed his suit to take a piss inside a dugout. He would try to catch up; but, there was no time to waste. Arbalest would touch down soon, and the enemy could arrive any moment.
"The name is Kantaro Mori," one mascot said, a flat-nosed green pig with leaves forming a mane. It was Guribu, from Kagoshima, Japan. "I was Tokushusakusengun." By that he meant the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force's counter-terrorist unit. "Not to be a nag," said. "But what are we supposed to do, put on an act and get the bad guy to laugh himself to death? I can't seem to find-" He patted his costume with big fabric hands. "-My old FN Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle-" He patted some more. "-Or my favorite Type 01 LMAT fire-and-forget anti-tank missile."
"Good to meet you," Sousuke said, walking over to one of the 'Mushrooms'. "It is not a problem. Here." He removed and swung a weighty Javelin missile system, almost falling flat on 'his' furry face in the process. The mascot caught it with an 'Oomph!"
"I'm Yoshinobu Saitou," another Mascot said. It was Black Bancho, a streetwise squid from Itoigawa City with black shades and a cool black outfit. "I moonlight with the Hiroshima Hostage Rescue Team." He looked over at Guribu. "Do you happen to have another… Oomph!" Sousuke was a head of the game. He had swung another Javelin before the other man even finished speaking.
"Do you have another," a third mascot asked. It was Kitanyan, the fashionable cat mascot for Jujo Ginza shopping arcade in Shinagawa, Tokyo, sporting a fancy white heart-emblazoned tennis visor, a blue neck bell, and a red purse. "Names Soemu Tomioka "I've worked with Unity Resources." That was an Australian owned mercenary group managed by veterans from Australia, the U.S. and Great Britain. "I helped evacuate private oil companies from crisis zones in Bahrain."
"Sorry but that's a negative" Sousuke said. Pushing another icon caused another penile shape to extrude from the grass-covered ground. He extracted a well-worn RPG 30 and tossed it to the cat. The tandem shaped charge rocket, 105mm, launched after a precursor round that was fired to decoy active protection systems on armored vehicles. "I hope that will do." He felt relieved when the mascot actor said "Niiii-iii-ii-ice."
"You gotta be shitting me," the fourth volunteer said in disbelief. "Our leader is a giant white rabbit." He spat. "Fuck me." That actor was wearing a costume of Retsuko, the eponymous character the Japanese anime musical comedy franchise Aggretsuko, who facing constant frustration every day from pushy superiors and annoying co-workers, lets out her emotions by going to a karaoke bar every night and singing death metal. The red panda wore a kimono and carried a large fan.
"Uh, buddy," Soemu said. "This coming from a guy dressed up as a girlie red panda? Really?!"
"Hell," the mascot said with a laugh. "That's right. This is all too funny. After today, though, I could sure use a good laugh." He rubbed his huge mascots hands together, before tossing them off and to the grass. "And a sizeable pay off." When asked his name, he apologized and said "Tamon Suzuki. I was cashiered from the Amphibious Rapid Deployment Brigade." That unit was designed to conduct amphibious operations and to recover any Japanese islands taken by an adversary. "I kinda accidentally slept with the commander's girlfriend."
"Ten times," Kanataro clarified. "Or so I've been told." He ducked when Sousuke tossed another RPG 30.
"Doesn't matter," Sousuke remarked, switching to Mao mode automatically. "We're here to fight, not to fuck like bunnies." He took an aggressive stance. Well, as aggressive as he could in the floppy and over-sized rabbit costume. "Although, we might get fucked up the ass, if you goons don't play things close to the vest." That had everyone's attention. "There is no weapon effective against the machine we will face under most circumstances," he informed the crew. He was not going to explain what a Lambda Driver was in any detail. There wasn't time. "But, if vulnerabilities surface, there will be chances to do damage. Luck is an excellent co-pilot. An overconfident or poorly informed enemy may provide desirous opportunities. It will be best to stay secluded, when we reach our fight zone. I will command you when I board my Arm Slave."
"Funny," the big squid mascot said. "I almost thought that I heard the Bunny say 'Arm Slave'." Yoshinobu cradled his new toy.
"I don't find that so amazing after that!" Soemu said, pointing at one of the 'mushrooms,' and then adding "You know, a giant pecker filled with weapons. You don't see that every day"
"Hah! I do!" Tamon huffed. "That's nothing. My schlong is a WMD!" He struck a cringeworthy pose.
"Too much information," Kantaro remarked in a sour voice.
"You can joke on the way over," Sousuke said, telling the men to mount up, two to a UTV. He would use the same steed he had been using. Gloomy could run faster than anyone there could drive. "You should all know. I am not a rabbit. In fact, I'm a Specialist!"
"Goomy Gloomy!" There was a pause. He had accidentally switched the vocoder on while dialing in an adjacent function. "Sorry. I mean: which way, chief?" Gloomy had reached inside one of the storage cannisters on his own. With powered arms, he was able to schlep the Command & launcher unit and munitions for a Spike ATGM system. The missiles had the new Penetration-Blast-Fragmentation warhead.
"That way!" Sousuke pointed, looking at the locater app. He began rolling at top speed, not concerned if he ran the battery down. Getting there was everything. He wouldn't be taking the same ride back, if he succeeded. He wouldn't need it, if he failed.
"Let's move, mascots!" That was Soemu who had taken the wheel of the newer UTV, with Kantaro perched on the back flatbed. "Breaker breaker, this is Pretty Kitty. We have us a convoy!"
If anyone saw that procession, a rabbit on a small tank leading two UTVs carrying suited mascots, flanked by a roaming and leaping razor-clawed pink bear, they would question there sanity, or blame the light shining in their eyes. The onlookers might question why the men were still suited. The answer was simple, though the reasoning a bit askew. They wanted anonymity, when dealing with an organization that held grudges. They also didn't want to take the time needed to disrobe. As it turned out, two people did notice. One… Kyouko… began walking in their direction against the current of running students, her camera at the ready. She was grabbed by the collar, and hauled along by Maya. The other… Shinji… walked onward, no one coming to his rescue.
"Shit!" A loud voice called out. "Double fuck, with a cherry on top!" Those harsh words came from Sousei-jin, mascot of Kagoshima prefecture, a large read alien sausage with antennae on his head. "Sure! Don't wait for the guy who doesn't have a cute animal suit!" Arabiki Fukuoka, a used car salesman who once worked for the Tokyo Metropolitan police until he got into a titanic smack down with Wakana, looked at Shinji and said: "What you lookin' at, four eyes."
"Did you want to go with them?" Shinji asked, nonplussed. "Me too!" He made his warrior face. As best he could. "Instead of bitching, would you like to find a way?" He was not brave. Not even in his dreams. But, through the zoom lens on his camera, he saw the chute, and surmised that there might be an A.S. in the missile section. He would do anything to see another A.S. in real action. He had been moved to tears seeing that M9 in Khanka.
"You do that, and I'll make you an honorary sausage!" Arabiki said. There were numerous people in the Prefecture who would sell their mother for that honor.
"I'll do it," Shinji said, before running. "If you don't make me a sausage!" He headed for the vehicle room, and upon arriving, fired up the Iseki and said: "Get on!" He'd never driven anything in his life, not even a bicycle or a go-cart. How hard could it be? "We're off!" He backed the trailer hard into a wall, knocking the giant sausage to his 'ass'. "Ooops. I guess 'R' is for reverse.
"Holy Hell," the alien sausage said. "Why did I have to get a nerd Uber?" He had to balance like a surfer, when Shinji put things in top gear and took off abruptly. "You go, four eyes. You go." When they began driving past one of the mushrooms, which had failed to close when a weapons strap got stuck in the door, and the system opened back up automatically, he shouted "STOP." Was that a weapon he caught sight of? More than one?
Dismounting, he ran and picked up a trusty old Carl Gustaf recoilless rifle, an 84 mm man-portable reusable anti-tank weapon produced by Saab Bofors Dynamics. Hw was able to scrounge two rounds in a haversack. Then, about to turn away, he noticed something else. Someone had left a rocket launcher on the ground. It was the Russian RPO-A Shmel.
"I know what that is," Shinji said, perking up. He dismounted and ran to find a rocket for the reload. "Now… something for me…." He almost wet himself with excitement.
"What teenager should be playing with guns?" Arabiki asked, unaware of the irony that was Sgt. Sousuke Sagara. He placed the large weapon on the trailer next to the recoilless rifle. "But… as an honorary sausage… I will still give you this." He grabbed a Colt M1911, just a moment before the capsule closed under Sousuke's distant command, burying itself beneath the soil in a corkscrew motion.
"Mannn-nn-n." Shinji wasn't happy, but life wasn't always fair. He was still part of a military operation of a sort, and beggars can't be choosers. "Hi Ho Silver!. Awaaaa-aaa-aa-ay…." No. The tractor wasn't silver. It was green. And no, the companion was a big meat product, not a Comanche or Potawatomi Indian. But, in his mind, the boy was a hero, one who watched too many old American black-and-white TV shows. "It would be cool if I had a mask." That was pushing it, to put it mildly.
"Some ladies like that," Arabiki noted. "But I doubt it will do you much good. You look like a stick puppet with glasses. You need to start drinking protein shakes and hitting the gym." He worked out regularly. It wasn't easy wearing a giant costume, hours on end.
"I think I'm allergic to the gym," Shinji replied. But, that would have to change if he ever wanted to try out for the Japan Self-Defense Forces.
While Shinji was arranging a ride for his mascot companion, Sousuke and his platoon had been passing across the large tennis court area, with its eight courts, heading out through a large opening in the tall chain-link boundary wall at the north side of the school grounds. They hit the squeaky-clean concrete street at high speed, treads and tires making a satisfying noise, as they got good purchase. People walking the sidewalks stopped and gawked, mouths agape. Some wondered if there was a parade they hadn't read about. Others wondered if there had been a mass escape from the nearest loony bin.
"There," Soemu called out pointing. "What's that?" He'd seen a glint of light in the sky.
"Let's see," Hiroshi replied, toggling a switch, engaging Gloomy's zoom-vision. "There's a large white chute, suspending a silver payload. The sun is reflecting from it."
"That will be my partner," Sousuke said, as he sped by two and three-story family homes and the occasional veterinary hospital and dentist's office. Luckily, that side street saw little traffic at that time of day. He noticed as one slack-jawed staring child lost a balloon, which floated up over the school yard. A pair of dogs pulled their leashes loose from owners' limp hands, intent on running as fast in the opposite direction as they could. A third dog began chasing after the rear UTV, intent on getting himself a mouthful of mascot ass. The sound of screeching car brakes filled dog owners with a sense of uneasiness. Their dogs must have reached the main thoroughfare.
"This way." After traversing three blocks, Sousuke motioned with one arm, turning his ride left, driving down a small sunken path, which led between whitewashed walls. Thosde walls bordered the Kosaiji Buddhist temple and cemetery in that Wakahacho neighborhood..
"Well, this is convenient." Yoshinobu quipped. "If things go wrong, they won't have to ship us too far to have a service."
"Cram it up your cram hole," Tamon snorted. "That kind of talk is bad fucking luck!" What a freaking turnabout. That morning, shoving all of his mascot gear into his undersized car, he had thought that this would be another boring day.
"It's coming down there!" Kantaro noted. He knew that neighborhood, having grown up a few miles away as a young child. "The Toho Gakuen Daigaku campus area. The closest building is the Toho Elelemntary School. Across the street is an English language school. Next to that is the Chofu Shiritsu Children'sNursey. We're just a hop a skip and a jump away from the Tohojoshichugakko Koto School grounds. There is also a school of Drama and Music a block over." He pointed northeast.
Sousuke braked to a halt. The pathway blind-ended, with a wall to climb over and a small copse of ancient trees just beyond that. He motioned for one of the UTVs to park parallel to the wall, so they could hop over the wall easily, so to speak. The detachable equipment box was used as another step in the impromptu step ladder. The ground shuddered slightly, and the sound of crumbling concrete and breaking glass could be heard. The Arbalest had landed! Luckily, at this time of day, every building except the houses and apartments should be empty, with a skeleton crew at most.
A monk sweeping the graveyard came to look in the direction of the noise. He couldn't see the cause through the trees. He did, however, watch as a large white rabbit and four mascots jumped over the wall, pulling heavy items in sacks or attached to ropes. Were those weapons? No. How could they be? He rubbed his eyes… said a simple prayer… and got back to work.
"Not again!" Rushing out between the trees, Sousuke immediately saw a problem. As had happened the time that he had rushed to board the ARX-7 before his fight with Takuma Kugayama and the Behemoth, the capsule had rolled to cover the latch that opened it. This time, he did not have a grenade. He didn't want to risk damaging things with a round from the Carl Gustav or one of the ATGMs. "The latch is covered!"
"Let's see what I can do," Hiroshi said, launching Gloomy Bear like a spritely pink grasshopper. He landed in a cool anime pose, right next to his target, just missing a jungle gym set, one of a number of playsets dotting the exercise area, including swings, see-saws, and a four-square court. One of the nearby chalk drawings was that of a teddy bear, which looked nothing like Gloomy. "There's a big read arrow." The latch must be somewhere in that direction. He dialed up the strongest artificial muscle function, and hunkered down behind the capsule. Then, just barely, he was able to move things.
"That's good there," the sharp-eyed Kantaro called out. "I guess I'm beginning to believe the Rabbit. If that's not Alice or the March Hare hiding inside, then I'm thinking there might be an A.S. after all." He felt a strong gust of wind push him to one side, the pressure in their little neck of the woods seeming to dip a bit, momentarily.
Flocks of crows flew up from the trees, forming a spreading black cloud of birds and falling feathers. Sousuke was not one to be superstitious, but it had him thinking a supernatural thought none the same. "The Morrigan," he said out loud, unintentionally. That figure had come up in his reading, when he first embarked on the TDD-1.
The Morrígan is a figure from Irish mythology, sometimes referred to as queen of phantoms in modern Ireland. She is mainly associated with war and fate, especially with foretelling doom, death, or victory in battle. In that role, she often appears as a crow. She incites warriors to battle and can help bring about victory over their enemies. The Morrígan encourages warriors to do brave deeds… strikes fear into their enemies… and is portrayed washing the bloodstained clothes of those fated to die.
"Crap," Soemu said, the only other one who knew that myth. Hr pointed to a series of wash lines, where childrens' in-school uniforms were hung out to dry. The school colors obviously included red, as a number of dark red-colored shirts were attached to the line with clothing pins. "One… two…." He began counting the shirts. He was superstitious. "This could signal the end of us all… I really don't feel like tying myself to that gym-set with my intestines."
The Morrígan had an ambiguous relationship with the great Irish hero Cú Chulainn, at one point foretelling a coming battle in which he will be killed. Later in the story, mortally wounded, Cúchulainn tied himself to a standing stone with his own entrails so he could die upright, and it was only when a crow landed on his shoulder that his enemies believed he was finally dead.
Soiusuke knew that the Morrigan was listed among the Tuatha Dé Danann, as one of the daughters of Ernmas, granddaughter of Nuada. There were a few rare accounts where she would join in the battle itself as a warrior and show her favoritism in a more direct manner. Today would be a good day for that! The Tuatha Dé Danann were a supernatural race in Irish mythology, thought to represent the main deities of pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland.
They were said to dwell in the Otherworld, but interact with humans and the human world.. Their traditional rivals are the Fomorians, who seem to represent the harmful or destructive powers of nature, and who the Tuath Dé defeat in the Battle of Mag Tuired. As a matter of mere coincidence, the clouds overhead were getting thicker and grayer, and strong winds blew across the graveyards and into the Elementary schools recreation quadrangle.
"Well, shit!" Tamon said sourly. "Aren't will all just darling rays of sunshine." Rays of sunshine were quite visibly absent, at that moment, with the exception of one stray slant of light, which illuminated a chalk drawing where a red panda seemed to be getting hugged by an orange creature of some sort. Hugged, or crushed lifeless. "Peachy! Now my imagination is wandering."
A loud hissing sound filled the area, drowning out traffic noises and a distant rumble of thunder. Sousuke had pulled on the latch, opening the capsule. He climbed up unto Arbalest… or at least tried to. For a few moments, he could not get sufficient traction with his oversized rabbit feet, and looked a bit comical in his efforts. The mascots chuckled, and wished out loud that they had a pack of smokes, a beer, or a good corned beef sandwich. Finally, the young operative opened the cockpit and slid in, large floppy ears and all.
First, Souisuke turned on all systems except Al, leaving the A.I. in slumber mode. He nudged up a switch that activated external speakers. "Listen up! You're here for gold… or glory… good works… whatever. There will be plenty of that all to go around, if you survive. To do that, when you break cover, you must keep on the move… keep clever. You must also keep out from under my feet." He paused. "I will not be looking out for you. I will be preoccupied. Remember, the enemy A.S. has a force shield. So do I. Do not be struck by either one. When the adversary's shield is down, aim for joints or damaged structures."
"Force shields, schmorce fields," Tamon griped. "Do you believe any of that stuff? I'll just wait my time… sneak up behind the enemy bastard… and give him a king-sized kancho he will never fucking forget."
"I have heard word of such things," Kantaro remarked. "I will be keeping my distance and biding my time. I recommend you do the same. That we all do the same."
Forgetting to turn off the external link, Sousuke switched the A.I. on. Preoccupied, leading a small group of unknowns, he also didn't think about keeping Al's 'eyes' inside the cockpit turned off, too. So, as the marvelous mechanical mind ran a check on all systems and body structures, it simultaneously ran down the security checklist.
"Identify yourself," Al said. "This vehicle does not permit hijackers or joy rides. You have ten seconds before I release a paralytic gas."
"It's me, pal." Sousuke said. Those words should remind the A.I. of one person only, the only person who could have keyed in the start code. And, having heard Kaname's voice aboard the submarine, he should be clued into the situation.
"Any human can refer to itself as 'me'." Al said. "If you are indeed human. Name. Rank. ID number. Five seconds."
"Sousuke Sagara," Sousuke said, getting angry. "Sergeant of Mithril. Identification number B-3128."
"Those identifiers match," Al admitted in his synthesized voice. "However, there are obvious incongruities. I see a large white rabbit. You are not a pooka… I am not Elwood P. Dowd… and this is not a scene from the movie 'Harvey'." That was a film that Sousuke was unfamiliar with. "I hear a woman's voice. The sonic structure matches that of Kaname Chidori. But voices can be duplicated. If your mind is indeed that of the Sergeant, tell me something that only he and I would know."
"There is no time for this," Sousuke claimed. "I need you to focus on the outside world. There could be sign of a parachute at any moment. Or, if the enemy landed off grid, he could be rushing towards us now." When the A.I. kept systems on stand-by and weapons locked, without saying another word, each passing second felt like an eternity. "Fine! You have told me that you would rather be a Trans-Am. One time, Kurz Weber said we should agree, but put your core in a P.T. Cruiser or a Pontiac Aztec. You said that you'd rather be put in a Jacuzzi or a toaster oven."
"Correct!" Al replied, booting up all remaining functions. "No land movement detected. No falling objects register on my scans, or on high resolution satellite images." He was linked to data collection hubs on Da Danaan. "I have accessed weather satellites. There are no disturbances to the jet stream,or higher atmospheric levels to give notice of an approaching stealth craft."
"If those satellites are not under Amalgam control or influence," Sousuke mused. He moved the A.S. out of its transport capsule, turned about, and removed some weaponry that had been placed on internal racks. He tossed a few large Claymore mine analogs on the ground, accidentally flattening one see-saw. He removed a long string of grenades, looking like an enormous green necklace or string of egg-shaped prayer beads, large enough to adorn a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He wrapped them around Arbalest's waist like a belt. After thinking for a moment, he also placed a brace of small thermobaric charge launchers around one wrist. He could see the long black snake of smoke rising high in the sky above Jindai High. He paused, listening. A message came in from Da Danaan. Cruise missile were on the way. He would have control of the terminal path of each missile, unless he chose to slave them to Al.
"I have been researching human relations," Al said independently. "One thing that appears to strengthen bonds is humor. I am certain that Sgt. Major Mao and Sgt. Weber will find images of the rabbit suit to be funny. Commander Mardukas and Lt. Commander Kalinin probably will not. Captain Testarossa may find it… cute. I still need a better understanding of that word, as well as 'kawaii'. If you could-"
"Denied!" Sousuke said sharply. He removed the rabbit head and tossed it aside. "You will not show anyone pictures of me. This is a combat situation. Those pictures will be classified." That wasn't true. But, that lie might save him a lot of grief.
"Understood," Al said. Sousuke thought that would be the end of its verbosity. He was mistaken. The A.I. began singing, precisely mimicking a song that it had 'heard' on the internet. Sousuke had mistakenly mentioned 'Google' to the machine once upon a time.
Here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hopping' down the bunny trail,
Hippity, hoppity,
Easter's on its way.
Bringing' every girl and boy Baskets full of Easter joy,
Things to make your Easter bright and gay.
He's got jellybeans for Tommy,
Colored eggs for sister Sue,
There's an orchid for your Mommy
And an Easter bonnet, too.
Oh! here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hopping' down the bunny trail,
Hippity hoppity,
Happy Easter day.
"Cease that!" Sousuke was aghast. Why would a machine find such a song , number one; why would it bother to sing it, number two?
Marvin Engelberger, a Mithril Robotics engineer, was working at the forefront of human-machine relationships, and had made a number of programming changes to Al, wanting to temporarily test a number of titillating theorems, not concerned that any of the changes would adversely affect pilot competency or battle readiness. In his view, machines were moving away from the role of passive objects into the position of active subjects. Donning a mantle of machine-centered thinking, he wanted to discover how to better understand artificial intelligences and promote an equal relationship with humans, without either domination or isolation. His current concepts focused on three main topics: Respect… Communication… and Trust.
On the subject of respect, an A.I. should be thought to have its own independent needs, viewpoints, and intentions. On the subject of communication, a machine should learn to help in decision making, and conversations should help shape its behavior. And, on the subject of trust, the robot should expect fairness, a sense of security, and explanations when appropriate.
The engineer may have put undo emphasis on the communications end of things.
"If you do not find that humorous," Al began. "Then I will reference the other perceived comical situation." He began singing again, this time his voice indistinguishable from that of Helen Reddy:
I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an' pretend
'Cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again
Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong
(Strong)
I am invincible
(Invincible)
I am woman
"I am not a woman!" Sousuke regretted losing his temper, but the A.I. was like a buzzing fly that he could not swat. "And the circumstance you are referring to is Top Secret. If you divulge secrets, you are a traitor. Are you a traitor, soldier?" That ought to work. But, better to be safe. He new a slur that the A.I. would take the robot equivalent of offense at. "With that singing, you are beginning to remind me of Bumble Bee from the 'Transformer' movies.
"There is no need for insults, Sergeant." Al quickly replied. "I was merely attempting to further the rectification of the problem you referenced in Hong Kong."
"Duly noted," Sousuke said, somewhat surprised that the A.I. would keep records of their prior poor relationship, or truly have any real understanding of the significance of the turnaround. He began plotting possible paths of movement in the surrounding area… best sites of cover… fire angles… and the like… even though he knew that no plan survives contact with the enemy.
"Question," Al said in his deadpan voice. "You said that there is no longer a problem. What is the opposite of a problem?" He pondered the various entries on thesauruses and dictionaries. "Advantage? Agreement? Blessing? Peace? Benefit? Compatibility?"
"Now is not the time for this," Sousuke said. He was wondering if this combat encounter would have any surprises. No, not from the opposition standpoint, but from 'his' own. Were any of his actions today the result of influence of Kaname's habits or tendencies that might still linger in her brain? Would his reflexes and decisions be influenced as well?
"I suppose that some things may not be polar," Al remarked. "Like there is no anti-rabbit or anti-woman." It pondered a moment, lights blinking on and off on one panel. "Perhaps the correct answer is 'no problem' or 'absense of a problem."
"Or solution," Sousuke said. That answer had come out of the blue, but carried with it a hint of finality, and hopefully machine silence. "The opposite of problem is solution."
"That makes sense," Al said. "Solutions are good. If they do not find a solution for the Top Secret situation, then I will adjust, to keep our relationship intact." That last sentence was said in a woman's voice.
"What are you doing, Al?!" Souske asked, teeth grinding.
"You call me pal," Al replied, in the feminine voice. "If things remain as they are, I suspect I will then need to be a gal-pal, will I not, to keep things equivalent. I can ask the engineers to add the pony-tail like structures that some Codarls have. They could also paint my finger tops like fingernails. Also-"
"No!' Sousduke bit off. "No!" He clenched 'his' fists. "And most definitely not!" His exasperation led to a slip of the tongue. "What is it with robot brains. You are giving me as much trouble as Al Junior!"
"I have a son?" The A.I. spoke in a male voice again. A number of panels lit up, all bulbs glowing. "He was causing trouble? Perhaps I should speak to him. Accessing. Understood. A father in his role is charged with the responsibility of fostering a drive for success within the man he would call his son. A father is also charged with the responsibility of teaching his son priorities that will promote success as well as the tools to succeed and be proud and live in as well as live through that success. Father and son should exist independently and function interdependently at the same time. Learning from one another and growing through their own individual lives. But, when fathers are disengaged from their children's lives, the results are nothing short of disastrous, along a number of dimensions. Diminished self-concept and compromised physical and emotional security. Behavioral problems. Truancy and poor academic performance. Delinquency and youth crime, including violent crime. Promiscuity and teen pregnancy. Drug and alcohol abuse. Homelessness. Exploitation and abuse. Physical health problems. Mental health disorders. Trouble in relationships. Early death. When this combat is complete, I should-"
"Shut up!" Sousuke shouted, cringing at 'his' voice, having been shouted down himself with that voice on numerous occasions. "Pay attention to the sensors!"
"Do not be concerned, Sergeant." Al replied helpfully. "I can multi-task."
"Grrrr-rrr-rr-r." Sousuke knew that he should not let Al get to him. He had trouble enough dealing with him on his own. But, this felt worse than usual. He blamed 'The Kaname effect.'
"They sound like an old married couple, don't they?" Soemu spoke to Kantaro.
"And this is the guy… I mean girl…. who's going to lead us in battle?" Tamon spat. He had more than a few misogynistic characteristics. "Well fuck me. I better get double pay for this."
"Gloomy!" Hiroshi felt a protective instinct swell up within him, thinking of his ailing daughter again. He would have given his best for any soldier. But for a girl, he would take whatever risks were necessary to keep her safe.
"Sergeant!" Al's voice was somehow more intense. "I have a reading of note. It is not a slowly descending object. Rather, something large is moving with a quick rate of descent."
"What is it, Al." Sousuke asked. Tensing up. The time was here. The only question was what was the foe? That, and who might the pilot be?
"Unknown." Al replied.
"Come on Al, I need you to do better than that!" Sousuke re-checked the status of all weapons. If he knew the nature of the threat, he could better decide where to stand and which weapon to begin with.
"Unknown." Al replied again.
"Is it an aircraft?" Sousuke asked. "A drone?" He swore under his breath. It didn't sound like a cruise missile or larger bodied rocket. It would have struck already. "I need to know, Al."
"Unknown." Al said for the third time.
"Just my luck," Sousuke said. But, it was par for the course. How many times had he been surprised or caught off guard by enemy forces? He was certain of one thing, however, without knowing the truth of the matter. The machine would no doubt have a Lambda Driver. If Amalgam expected the ARX-7 to be in operation, that capacity would be a must. But, if there was only one machine, how powerful might it be? Anyone in that organization should have record of what he did against Gates and the others.
"I expect your luck to be good, Sergeant." The A.I. opined. "In some cultures, the foot of a rabbit is carried as an amulet believed to bring good luck. This belief is held by individuals in a great number of places around the world, including Europe, China, Africa, and North and South America. In variations of this superstition, the donor rabbit must possess certain attributes, have been killed in a particular place, killed by a particular method, or by a person possessing particular attributes… for example, by a cross-eyed man."
"That-" Sousuke couldn't get a word in yet.
"The belief in North American folklore may originate in the system of folk magic known as 'hoodoo'," Al noted. "First, not any foot from a rabbit will do: it is the left hind foot of a rabbit that is useful as a charm. Second, not any left hind foot of a rabbit will do; the rabbit must have been shot or otherwise captured in a cemetery. Third, at least according to some sources, not any left hind foot of a rabbit shot in a cemetery will do: the phase of the moon is also important. Some authorities say that the rabbit must be taken in the full moon, while others hold instead that the rabbit must be taken in the new moon. Some sources say instead that the rabbit must be taken on a Friday, or a rainy Friday, or Friday the 13th. Some sources say that the rabbit should be shot with a silver bullet, while others say that the foot must be cut off while the rabbit is still alive."
"It doesn't really-" Sousuke thought about shutting down the A.I.s vocals; but, that would not serve in battle. Al's loquaciousness would cease upon the moment of conflict. Wouldn't it?
"The various rituals suggested by the sources, though they differ widely one from another, share a common element of the uncanny, and the reverse of what is considered good-omened and auspicious," Al continued. "A rabbit is an animal into which shapeshifting witches such as Isobel Gowdie claimed to be able to transform themselves. Witches were said to be active at the times of the full and new moons. These widely varying circumstances may share a common thread of suggestion that the true lucky rabbit's foot is actually cut from a shapeshifted witch."
"Who believes in witches these days," Sousuke said sternly. "Besides, you have overlooked one important consideration. Anyone depending on the rabbit's foot should remember it didn't work for the rabbit. Right?"
"-" There was background noise, but no vocal response. At least, not at first. "In the future, you might consider a four-leaf clover. And a horse shoe. Or a lucky charm of some sort. I see. That might prove helpful. I understand that there is a brand of breakfast cereal named Lucky Charms. Also-"
"Hey pal," Sousuke said. While the A.I. could happily multi-task, doing its tasks and chores as well or better than a human, Sousuke found his mind growing distressed and distracted. That was different from usual. Again. But, there might be a way to shift the machines secondary, tertiary, or lower level computing to a different subject. "Question. Do androids dream of electric sheep?"
Al was silent for a while, checking its own memory units, and accessing Google and other search engines.
Sousuke's annoyance vanished in the air. The radar was picking up an object over Jindai High. Al was sounding a warning. Partially obscured by the crown of the tallest tress, he caught a glimpse of something. Something orange. Something growing larger by the moment.
It was on a collision course.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
THE SKY OVER TOKYO
Soaring high above Tokyo, the orange A.S. was secure between the prongs at the nose of the plan 1102-Chazaqiel, like a newborn kitten carried gently in the mouth of its mother.
Sitting in the Venom-derivative… which its builders had christened Temeluchus… Miyamoto Bokuden sat in growing excitement, his level of maturity commensurate with his age, not with the gravitas attached to the bearer of a mineral name in Amalgam.
A secret he kept to himself, he hated the name of his craft, just as he hated the skulking sycophant scientists and egomaniacal engineers who built it, and the wealthy family members who had financed it. He called his craft Lucas II, which was not simply a shortening, but also an homage to one of the few men who had actually made a positive difference in his life. But, he did appreciate the characteristics of the Christian demon namesake.
Temeluchus is the leader of the tartaruchi, the keepers of Tartarus... of Hell. He had been viewed as the chief angel of torment, according to the extracanonical 'Apocalypse of Paul'. In addition to being described as 'a merciless angel, all fire,' he has the surprising designation as a caretaking angel set over children at birth or during infancy.
That was another coincidence.
"To be honest," the Whispered said to himself, "I don't hate the bitch as much as I hate my family." He shrugged, seething at the memory of his shaming at the hands of Ayame Chidori. Those he hated most were still useful to him, in one way or another. The one thing that they had taught him well, was that people were of practical use, to be discarded when spent or no longer of value. "But… I can get my revenge on her…." He had reasons why he had to tolerate his closest relatives.
There was a recurring dream he had, one that had God rendering judgment on his uncle, the most powerful man in the family, and one of the unofficial policy makers of Amalgam. In that, the words of the text took on a life of their own:
Yet again I looked upon the river of fire, and I saw there an old man who was being dragged along, immersed up to the knees. And Temeluchus came with a great fork of fire with which he pierced the entrails of that old man.
"She is convenient," the pilot mused, thinking of a long line of women who had insulted him or ignored him, women he had been unable to 'thank' in a suitable manner. "She will do." Ayame Chidori could be used as a scapegoat, a totem, a changeling. The sins of all those other whores and witches could be placed on her head. In one quick act, he could relieve years of pent up hatred and climb another rung on the ladder of manhood. "She will do nicely." There was another dream he had on more than one occasion, one that would now serve his newest tormentor:
I looked and I saw a woman upon a spit of fire, and beasts tearing at her, and she was not suffered to say: Lord, have mercy on me. And I saw the angel of torments Temeluchus laying most fierce torments upon her saying: Acknowledge the Son of God. For it was told you before, but when the scriptures of God were read to you, you paid no attention: where the judgment of God is just, for your evil doings have taken hold of you, and brought you into these torments.
The wonderful sounds of Classical music no longer filled the cockpit. Mr. Magnesium had accessed iTunes and switched over to a particular song, one that peaked at number two on the UK Singles Charts... topped the charts in six other countries, including Australia, Ireland, and the United States... and was voted No. 2 on VH1's 40 Greatest One-Hit Wonders of the '90s:
I'm too sexy for my love
Too sexy for my love
Love's going to leave me
I'm too sexy for my shirt
Too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts
And I'm too sexy for Milan
Too sexy for Milan
New York, and Japan
I'm too sexy for your party
Too sexy for your party
No way I'm disco dancing
'Cause I'm a model, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah, on the catwalk
On the catwalk, yeah
I shake my little tush on the catwalk
The Whispered boy began brimming over with a sense of injustice, bubbling up with dark gaseous urges of vengeance and retribution. He had been mocked as a model. His very soul was stained. His mentor's memory was tarnished. What a joy it would be, to wipe that smug look off of Ayame Chidori's face, by wiping that face off of her skull! He considered himself a stone-cold killer in everything that he did. It was no coincidence, that everyone who initially put the crosshairs on him eventually ended up a target. And, his targets didn't usually make it away unscathed.
The smug and vain young man who had originally played that song from Right Said Fred while Miyamoto took his turn on the runway at the last modelling walk off, had laughed at his fine joke, and much of the crowd chortled and chuckled with him. The next day, he had been found in a roadside gutter barely alive, and many of the other comical crowd had found their way to various clinics and hospital Emergency Rooms.
Yes, he had a temper. And yes, he was a bit thin-skinned. But, with thy early life that he had led, a good many folk would understand why. And, it was only partly by accident that he ended up at Amalgam, as one of the youngest A.S. pilots ever, along with the snooty Leonard Testarossa, whose precociousness and primping creeped a lot of people out. Not that a single person dared let that on. How he wished that he could mess that Bishōnen up big time.
"Well, the stuck-up jerk told me not to touch Kaname Chidori," Mr. Magnesium said. "He didn't say anything about Ayame now, did he?" By hurting Kaname Chidori that way, would he hurt Leonard? If no, then no loss. If yes, how splendid! Of course, he was already treading on dangerous ground, seeing that Mr. Silver had pronounced that Jindai High should be left intact. He would need to think up a good excuse for any deaths and destruction! Not to mention, he had sort of killed the pilot that had been sent out in Lucas, without his permission, a distraction that wasn't really necessary. Did someone in Amalgam doubt his skills at undercover work? Idiots! "Of course. I erroneously heard that Arbalest was going to show up from that coward who refused to pilot dear Lucas to the school. I had to return to face Sagara, not to kill anyone in particular! I was willing to risk my life, to destroy the only Lambda Driver Mithril has. What a selfless guy I am!" He truly did wish that the ARX-7 would show up; but, Sagara was nowhere to be seen.
I'm too sexy for my car
Too sexy for my car
Too sexy by far
And I'm too sexy for my hat
Too sexy for my hat
What do you think about that?
'Cause I'm a model, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah, on the catwalk
On the catwalk, yeah
I shake my little tush on the catwalk
Too sexy for my
Too sexy for my
Too sexy for my
'Cause I'm a model, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah, on the catwalk
On the catwalk
Yeah, I shake my little tush on the catwalk
Too sexy for my cat
Too sexy for my cat
"Poor pussy," Miyamoto couldn't help singing that line. "Poor pussy caaa-aa-at." The song may bring back black memories; but, the way that part was sung was just sooo-oo-o cool. He wondered how many people in history have denied the fact that they sing those lines too. Well, they were not as self assured as he was!
I'm too sexy for my love
Too sexy for my love
Love's going to leave me
And I'm too sexy for this song.
The pilot pushed a lever upward preparing for his dramatic descent. No. He was not like the majority of air-dropped A.S. jockeys. He was not going to float down on a stodgy parachute, all practical and passé.
"Transformation commencing," the voice of Lucas' A.I. reported. "Wing set extending." Small bays had opened at the nose of the Bat. Poles holding dense and somewhat pliable composites extended outward, lining up well fashioned shaped component as at either side of the A.S., before metallic manipulators did their work. "Applying explosive bolts." The next step in the procedure attached the structures to the Arm Slave. "Transformation complete. Awaiting drop command."
"I'm too sexy, indeed." Miyamoto checked the view on external cameras, both on the Bat and on Lucas, after looking at his reflection on a mirror black material attached to the back of one of his gloves. The large composite add-ons, in toto, had taken on the form of the world's largest wingsuit, giving the A.S. enough lift capacity to descend rapidly, under complete control, with a wide field of maneuverability, and great range. "Me and my batsuit." That was one name wingsuit aficionados gave their suits, which had firstbeen called birdsuits, and later squirrel suits, from their resemblance to flying squirrels' wing membranes.
His set-up did include a parachute. But, unlike those used by wing-suiters, his was merely a means to produce sufficient drag for landing, before the chute was detached, like the chute at the rear of the X-15 and Thrust SSC, the first car to break the sound barrier..
"Hah!" He laughed at and image that came to mind. One of the things he had come to love about Modeling was the groupies. "They always say that they will do anything for me… and they often do…." Unlike many youths his age, he was very much a sexual animal, and had begun his explorations at a relatively early age. "I know that these ladies will, too." He flicked a number of small toggle switches, each situated underneath green-glowing crystal lenses. A select number of Drop-Pods were now set to 'go,' and would descend from the Bat via chutes whenever he pushed a large red button.
Each designated pod held a pair of Arm Slaves: not the large pilot-driven types that most people think of, hearing that name. Rather, they held something akin to the Plan-1211 Alastors, whose name came from Christian demonology, referring to a possessing entity likened to Nemesis. The name Alastor was also used as a generic term for a class of evil spirits. The reason for the similarity was simple. Branch family members were involved in the manufacture of the plan 1211s. He had spies swipe those plans and paid manufacturers to create his own version. The Groupies, as he called them, bore a sleek hourglass figure, and their smooth featureless faces were topped by various female hairdo shapes fashioned from the hardest of metals. They did not wear the drab and disgusting garb of the Alastors. Instead, some were clad in long sweeping gowns, while others wore schoolgirl blouses and skirts… halter tops and cut-offs… or scanty lingerie.
"Let's see…." Miyamoto wrinkled up his forehead while debating which protocol to enact. He could set the Groupies on 'hunter-killer,' having them attack any living thing they came across. He could fine tune that function, selecting for age, sex, height, mode of dress, whatever. He could set them on 'perimeter control,' which would have them form a perimeter around his playground, keeping police and arriving JSDF personnel at bay, leaving him uninterrupted. He could simply switch things over to 'Lucas' choice,' where the similarly named A.I. would assess for threats and control the semi-autonomous robots itself. Or, among the other remaining choices, he could simply have them shadow his craft, awaiting further orders. "Decisions… decisions…." Not wanting to spare even a single brain cell from his projected rampage, he gave the A.I. full control for now.
"Lucas," he said. "Give me access to ground mapping radars and satellite links." The Bat's sweeping route had about come to its end. He would detach soon, as the mother craft went on to fly a predetermined path, waiting at his beck and call. "Why-" The long distance scan showed a large number of persons outside of Jindai High, moving in large groups against one another. But, as he watched grainy images, that changed. "How-" The persons now seemed to be moving in one direction, like a huge herd of wildebeests. "Curiouser and curiouser." He frowned, eyes narrowing. He felt his temper flare. What if he couldn't find Ayame specifically? "No problem. I will just kill them all, and let God sort her out. And, if she should live? I will leave word that the deaths are all because of her." That would hurt, would it not? Maybe the girl would kill herself in shame, or to make the psychological pain stop.
"Thirty seconds to drop," Lucas called out. "With your agreement, pods will release when you do."
Miyamoto licked his lips. "Sounds good." This was the stuff of dreams for him. It would be the stuff of nightmares fore the students and teachers, and anyone else foolish enough to wander upon the scene of devastation. "Lucas. Panel three. Enlarge." He was referring to one of the viewscreens showing the airspace over Tokyo. "Enlarge again, fivefold." The feed was from one of a set of small four-rotor airborne drones that had been secreted around the school earlier in the day. The image was unmistakable. It was a large chute suspending a transport cannister, no doubt released when the outer panels of a submarine or land-launched missiles were blown off. He knew his guess must be a reality. "Arbalest." Speak of the Devil, and he appears!
"Ten seconds to drop," the A.I. noted.
"Shit," Mr. Magnesium swore. The arrival of Arbalest did not discomfort him. It simply meant that he had a choice to make. He could go on his murderous mission, and then face the wrath of an avenging Mithril A.S.; or, he could destroy the ARX-7, and then return to commit his nefarious deed. Or, if the fight took place at the school, that would be reason enough to explain collateral damage. "Logic says…." If he took on the enemy A.S. first, many of the victims would get away, no longer potential victims. Was that acceptable? "Fuck no!" His flaring temper was in the catbird seat, for now. So what if turning his attention away from the Mithril Arm Slave might put him at a disadvantage!
His past life called out for justice.
All of the iniquities, suffered against the front of wealth and privilege. The denials. The losses. The tragic disappearance. That all called out for blood.
What could better supply that blood, than the death of his most recent tormentor?!
When he had been born, he had been a means to an end, a necessary heir. His parents, Japanese who had impossibly bought stratospheric titles and well-manicured mansions in France and England, wanted nothing to do with him personally, simply wanting to make certain that he was never a reason for them to be seen as pariahs by their fellow gentry. They had left him in the care of an able manservant, Lucas Millepied, who watched over every aspect of his life, reporting back to the parents in general, but keeping many things in the realm of secrets. As such, he was raised in the open the way that a Lord should be raised, taught those things a Lord should be taught, and tutored in a Lord's responsibility. Freedom, bound by conformity. Opportunity, hamstrung by duty and appearances. But, in the shadows, he was shown and taught so much more. He was allowed to see, and to choose. As a child, he chose those things that pleased his tutor, as much as he chose those things which pleased himself. Indeed, the two things were essentially one. He never learned anything about the land of his birth, and felt no connection to its peoples.
The Arts. Thins to see, and things to do… himself… or with others whose class would be looked down upon by his parents. Ways to expand his mind and spirit beyond that of a mere nobleman, while enjoying many of the sports and spectacles that those bluebloods did. And so, he rode horses, hunting with hounds and growing adept at polo. He sat through operas. He walked through museums and cruised on yachts. But, beyond simply watching ballet, he became a participant in that style of dance. Through that crowd, he had also discovered an even greater love and talent, modeling. That and many other things that the child of a noble family should never partake in. One such thing was photography, behind the lens and in front of it, where he posed in a manner unbefitting a man of manners and etiquette, and snapped roll after roll of film on subjects that would make a woman of good breeding blush or fall faint.
Life had been wonderful, until the shit hit the fan. Lucas had been unfailingly discreet, and had taught him to be the same. But, a young man with raging hormones can sometimes lose his way, enraptured by the fairer sex. Something he had said, or something he had done, had led to wagging tongues. Those tongues had wagged too much, in just the wrong place, at just the wrong time. His secret life had been brought to light. He had been told that Lucas had quit his job, when he knew that the truth must be something else, something much darker, something steeped in blood and death.
He had been commanded to avoid ballet. He did not listen, no matter how many times the ugly men in rough clothing beat him, and how long he had been confined without food. He had especially been denied modelling, as a Lord should not go 'striding along like a gay pony, with his manhood practically hanging out.' Those words echoed the denouncement of ballet, and his defiance invited the same stick, so to speak. But that very defiance was his lightning rod. It was the reason that he had focused all of his energies on modelling henceforth, with that drive and his natural beauty catapulting him into the upper reaches of the profession.
What happened next, was still shrouded in mystery. What was certain, was that his youthful trust of women had led him astray. Full of himself, of his youth and beauty, he had been drinking and bragging with women of darker virtues after one show, somewhat tipsy after drinking with the other male models.
He had been shanghaied, and woke up in the jungles of a distant island.
He had been held for ransom, which his family had refused to pay. It was possible that he had been kidnapped for money. But, he couldn't be certain that his family hadn't arranged for the capture, to have him removed from their lives, or to teach him a lesson, to leave him begging to return to a proper life of nobility.
"I wouldn't be where I am today without those assholes," Miyamoto said, thinking back to those days on the island. The assholes he meant were his family. He had thought the rough captors to be assholes, too; but, they would become his real family, albeit for such a brief time. He wouldn't be the man that he was today… not yet an adult in some cultures, but a man just the same…if it wasn't for that kidnapping! He also wouldn't be seated at the controls of an Arm Slave, one which he had appropriated, when he returned to his previously disinterested family, a formidable tool, and a feather in his uncle's cap. His uncle allowed him his modelling, as long as he filled the family coffers, serving their benefactors in Amalgam.
He had been used as a servant on a mercenary base, that position being a fine joke to the scarred and smelly men who hated nobility. He had been intended to be a sex slave to the soldiers who rarely saw women, but had castrated one of them, and had shockingly won their protection as a result. They worked him at hard tasks; but, because of his dark spirit, they made him one of their own. One day, sent to clean a Venom of mud and vines… one of the treasured newer machines the group had been given by their bosses in Amalgam… he had snuck into the cockpit, put on a helmet, pretending to be a pilot like many other lads his age might have. What he hadn't expected, was to accidentally turn the A.S. on… and to inadvertently manipulate the Lambda Driver.
He had expected harsh punishment.
Instead, he was treated as a true treasure, and taught the ropes of brutal and beastial A.S. combat. In short time, he was able to best men who had been fighting since the first Arm Slaves had been created. He was able to best them singly, or when they came at him in small and large groups. He would have eventually led their company, if the ripe fruit had not been plucked from the branch by their benefactors. He was shown to be Whispered, something that he had never realized earlier. The organization having gotten word, he was appropriated by Amalgam. In the Whispered state, he provided his uncle with data regarding incredibly advanced pint-size nuclear reactors that could be daisy-chained in large numbers to power immense jet engines or provide motive force to undersea craft. The United States and Russia had tried to develop nuclear powered aircraft in the 50s and 60s, stopping because of cost, environmental concerns, and the birth of the ICBM. While Black Technology was prohibitively expensive, it did not have any drawbacks.
"There aren't many like me," the pilot said as Lucas called out "Dropping now!" He was Whispered. He was male. He was an ace Arm Slave pilot. He carried the name of one of the minerals that could form an amalgam with mercury. And he could relate to the Greek god Mercury, who besides being the god of eloquence, luck, and trickery, was also the guide of souls to the underworld.
He felt a slight shudder as the orange A.S. was released from its perch. He then felt a sharp free-fall sensation, as he kept the A.S. arms tight against its sides. Then, sweeping the arms out, he felt sudden resistance, and felt as if he were rising and not falling. The 'wings' had caught the air. He was on his way. "Not many at all."
The A.I. spoke again: "All drop pods released successfully. Chutes are all open."
He attempted not to think of Leonard. Instead, he focused his thoughts on another young soul who had gone through hell like himself, and had used his experience to make himself a monster at such a young age. Sousuke Sagara. He had wanted to see that boy at the school, had wanted to see a kindred spirit, even if he couldn't admit that truth. He wasn't looking for a friend, as he had no use for such things. Now… at that very instant… what he did want was a rival. A rival, and then a defeated opponent. A defeated opponent he could steal all hope from, crushing the life out of him, while breaking the hearts of his friends and his commanding officers.
"Choices… choices…"
He didn't have much time to chose. Speeding down on a trajectory that would take him to Jindai High School, he watched the images projected onto the cabin's screens. Rushing students. A huge towering pillar of fire and smoke. Mascots, most of whom were running for cover, but one who strangely enough was being towed by a tractor.
But, the thing that caught his attention most was something that he no longer saw. The chute was gone. The cannister must be down.
"Victory… or Vengeance…." He sniffed the cockpit air. A wondrous scent filled his nostrils. It came from automatic air fresheners, serving the purpose of the iconic pine trees hung from the rearview mirrors of passenger cars across the years. Did he want to shoot fish in a barrel, killing the Jindai bugs beneath him? Or did he want to land a big game fish, taking down the scar-faced Sergeant, no mere insect? His volatile personality had switched sides again. "Hmmm…." He sniffed again. "It smells like Victory."
He laughed aloud, fire in his eyes and heart. "Fuck logic!" He had changed his mind. Hatred would have to wait its turn.
He pulled back on the control stick, slaved to the outboard 'wings.' The glide path rose in azimuth, as he corrected the descent vector. He had a rough idea of what group of city blocks the Arbalest must have landed. He could steer his craft to the most minute degree when necessary, striking the adversary, before using a ballet dancer's grace to land the A.S. on its feet in a position of great advantage.
To some, his choice might seem suicidal. Hadn't Sgt. Sousuke Sagara made mincemeat of Mr. Kalium and his compadres, on that fateful day in Hong Kong? How could Mr. Magnesium hope to do any better? "Kalium is just Potassium…." And the reason that Potassium is written as 'K'. "Potassium is the second least dense metal after lithium. It is so soft that it can be easily cut with a knife." He conveniently forgot to remember the fact that pure polycrystalline magnesium, which tarnishes easily, is brittle and easily fractures along shear bands, and only becomes ductile when alloyed with small amount of other metals.
"Alert… alert… alert…."
Lucas' voice throbbed inside Miyamoto's helmet. The volume was higher than usual, because the detected threat was so great. "Satellite images show launch of multiple cruise missile from a site in the Phillipine Sea The missiles have a trajectory that will bring them to Tokyo."
"Launch two full-sized drones for every missile," Miyamoto told the A.I. in a calm voice. The Mig-41 derivatives were armed with weaponry suited for downing slow-moving weapons as well as interceptor speed aircraft, and could be also used as kamikazes if necessary. "Destroy all incoming missiles, and keep watch for any additional launches. Protect this A.S. with highest priority; but, insure the safety of the Bat as well. We don't want to have to walk home."
To those in the know, the difference between Mithril and Amalgam pilots and machines painted a stark picture. Looking at things from the perspective of Amalgam, the situation was somewhat of an irritation. Even against hardware guaranteed to be far superior, members of the SRT would not yield. Mobilizing with experience and skill, elasticity and unpolished intuition, in the end the outclassed and outgunned Mithril stalwarts continued to resist. Finally they would find an opportunity and Amalgam Lambda Driver equipped opponents would succumb to a fatal counterattack.
That arose from a difference in skill.
The Lambda Driver equipped ASes of Amalgam required the operator to take medications prior to starting up the equipment. The fundamental principle of the Codarl's Lambda Driver was most probably the same as the Arbalest's; but, Sousuke Sagara… the only soldier Mithril had who could use the Lambda Driver…did not require any medication. Over time, Sagara and the Arbalest had exhibited a mental state which could not be reproduced by a medicine prescription. It was probably brought forth by the concentration and strong will Sagara had forged by living as a soldier from such a young age.
Although the Arbalest was unstable, it had an overwhelming strength in a complete situation. The Codarl type Arm Slaves exhibited stable functioning, but did not exhibit the instant strength of the Arbalest. To say it simply, the Codarl was a unit for exterminating ordinary ASes, whereas the Arbalest was designed to fight with an AS equipped with an Lambda Driver. Of course, there were Codarl/Venom derivatives that had broken the mold.
Mr. Magnesium had read the preliminary report that defined that theory about the two organizations, one written by Amalgam scientists and engineers. Everything they surmised was true, but only in the general sense. Temeluchus was a stable machine. He himself did not require medicines, perhaps thanks to the mental strength that he had obtained, living the life that he had. If anything, he was unstable; but he had overwhelming strength when the situation called for it. With the modifications made to his A.S., he might well be on more than an equal footing than the famous Sagara.
That was a possibility because his skill level was far above most of the Amalgam scum who had spent many years piloting Arm Slaves. He was a natural. A savant. All he lacked was experience in a major war, or a fight with a near peer.
The only Amalgam pilot with a clearly better machine was that arrogant bastard Leonard. But, all he had was a mechanical advantage. He was Whispered too, and that was a benefit in itself. But he didn't have a level of skill commensurate with his mechanical prowess, and he did not have the emotional strength needed to be the best. With his good looks, he could have been a model himself; but, he had mocked the modelling culture, and all who participated in it. Maybe some day he could take out his anger on that pretty boy prick, when he wasn't in his ridiculously overpowered Belial, and when he didn't have his own Groupies… the Arastols… around. Maybe he could find that Chidori girl… capture her alive… and use her as bait to lure Leonard into some kind of trap.
"Wishful thinking." Leonard was sneaky smart, and very cautious. He was also like a spider in a great web of information. Somehow, he knew everything going on in the long term. On the short term, he was no slouch. What did that bastard know that most other people didn't? What was his true advantage? No time to think about that now!
As Temeluchus sped over the Jindai High campus, the onboard systems scanned and mapped out the neighborhoods below it, presenting them at the top of the cockpit's H.U.D. One in particular quadrant was flashing, for good reason. Telescopic imaging depicted a lone white Arm Slave, one that had taken on a near mythic reputation in the eyes of other Amalgam soldiers.
Arbalest.
Yes, to the weaker souls, the ones whose wills had abandoned their hearts and loins and hid somewhere nearer their ass, Arbalest was the monster in their closets… the creature lurking in the shadows under their beds… the guy who starts scratching his long, razor-sharp nails on their windowpane the instant they draw the curtains and turn out the lights… the worst of the Things That Go Bump in the Night. Yes. It was the reason that the weak-willed pilots stay under the covers.
"The Bogeyman," Miyamoto Bokuden said with a smirk, now well within striking range. He would not bring up a weapon, not yet. In this first strike, all of Lucas would be the weapon. "To others, Sousuke Sagra is that creature." With precise control, he activated the Lambda Driver and formed dense pillars of force at the surface of the Arm Slave's clenched fists.
The Bogeyman is a mythical creature used by adults to frighten children into good behavior. It has no specific appearance… conceptions varying drastically by household and by culture… but is commonly depicted as a masculine or androgynous monster that punishes children for misbehavior. The beasts may target a specific act or general misbehavior, depending on what purpose needs serving, often based on a warning from the child's authority figure. The term 'Bogeyman' is also used as a non-specific personification or metonym for terror, much the same way 'Devil' is.
Almost every nation has its version of the mythical being. For example, In Latin countries such as Brazil, Portugal, Spain, and the countries of Spanish America, he is portrayed as a man with a sack on his back who carries naughty children away. And, as the dear Sergeant must know, in Afghanistan, The Madar-i-Al is a nocturnal hag that kills infants in their cribs and is invoked to frighten children into obedience.
"Ah!" Miyamoto's eyes widened. He remembered something apropos.
One creature, in the United States, had a name that invoked images of a hokey B-movie that he had watched with Lucas, back when his parents had demanded that he cease watching drivel of that sort, and where family spies could be anyone and anywhere. In America, that bogeyman's name was Rawhead. The movie had been 'Rawhead Rex.'
"I am close to invincible, like Rawhead," Mr. Magnesium opined. The monster in that movie arose from a field in rural Ireland, when three farmer were attempting to remove an ominous stone column from their farmland. A thunderstorm appeared out of nowhere… smoke poured from the ground… lightning struck the column… and the corny monster Rawhead Rex clawed its way out from the dirt. It went on a bloody rampage, and was stopped only after a pagan artefact filled with feminine force was removed from a church's altar. "Sagara, you have met your match. You may be the bogeyman; but I am the one they send to kill the bogeyman." In the monster film, only a woman could make the weapon work, and Sagara was no woman!
The Whispered pilot had skipped reading 'MacBeth,' when it came up on his required reading list. Lucas had smuggled in a number of foreign comic books and the newest video games, and he had substituted them for the Bard's work. Of the comics, his favorite ones were Batman and Superman. It was no coincidence, how he was now streaking downward in the Kryptonian's iconic pose. The batwings were just a happy bonus. He was also fond of 'Silent Hill: Downpour', and had defeated the Bogeyman many times in that game
"Maybe I can capture you," he thought, moments before impact. "I'll turn you into a Human Pig." He snorted. Once. Twice. "You and Ayame both." He had kept to his lessons, when it was time to read select stories from Chinese history.
Consort Qi, who died in 194 BC, was a consort of Emperor Gaozu, founder of the Han dynasty. She bore Emperor Gaozu a son Liu Ruyi, who was later installed as Prince of Zhao. Gaozu felt that the crown prince Liu Ying,his second son, was an unsuitable heir to his throne. He tried several times, fruitlessly, to replace Liu Ying with Liu Ruyi, but his desire was objected to by Liu Ying's mother Empress Lü Zhi. Because of this, Lü Zhi hated Qi deeply, and as the Empress Dowager later in her life, she had Concubine Qi's limbs chopped off; blinded her by gouging out her eyes; cut off her tongue; cut off her nose; cut off her ears; forced her to drink a potion that made her mute; made her dumb with toxins; locked her in a pigsty; and called her a Human Swine.
"You'll be like two pigs in a poke." To him, that meant something akin to 'two peas in a pod.'
But, he was mistaken. Very much so.
A 'pig in a poke' is a thing that is bought without first being inspected, and thus of unknown authenticity or quality. Starting in the nineteenth century, that idiom was explained as a confidence trick where a farmer would substitute a cat for a suckling pig when bringing it to market. When the buyer discovered the deception, he was said to 'let the cat out of the bag', that is, to learn of something unfortunate prematurely.
The haughty pilot's confidence may or may not have been be misplaced. Time would tell who would be left holding the bag.
"Truth… justice…" Miyamoto braced for impact. "…And the Amalgam way!"
Temeluchus sliced effortlessly through the crown of a cluster of venerable trees.
The impact was epic.