Chapter Six-Alcohol and the People Who Love It General Klementi Ivan’ch Virdelko stared across the table at his guest, Colonel Alan Kitao, with a slightly bewildered look. Both men had at one point been prominent figures in the government of Megacity 5 (which had at one point been New York) until the Hunters took over the military, anyway. Now they were mostly political figures, even though politics didn’t factor much into world policy when the Mavericks were involved. A random tidbit: the fact that Virdelko had the name of a Russian and that Kitao had both American and Oriental names didn’t necessarily mean they were fully Russian or American or Oriental. Over the years, inter racial marriages had become so commonplace that the concept of “race” had started to cease to exist. All humans were multiracial nowadays, and those who weren’t had a bad rap because of some extremist groups of these “Purebreds” who clung to violent views on race and discrimination. “What do you mean,” Virdelko said in a horse, weak voice, “they have the list?” “I mean,” Kitao repeated, “They have the list. Our sources have checked. Someone tapped into the top-secret files and downloaded a copy of the list. Whoever it was covered their tracks really damn well, but they couldn’t erase the history from our programs. We don’t know who it is, of course, but we know that it happened.” Virdelko sank back in his chair, forced to face the worst-case scenario. “So they know all of us who are involved now. Great.” “It explains Thornton’s murder,” Kitao pointed out unnecessarily, “And it indicates that they won’t stop there. These guys are bloodthirsty as Jack the Ripper.” “Thank you for that nugget of joy,” Virdelko chastised, “Now what do you suggest we do about it?” “Why,” Kitao said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “We get the hell out of here, and wait for the Hunters to take these madmen out!” “Oh, that’s nice. What if word gets out among the Hunters? Can you imagine what they’d think if they knew?” “We don’t have to tell them anything about it,” Kitao insisted, “We just have to tell them that a crack team of Mavericks is on the loose, and they’re really friggin dangerous.” “They’ve got Sigma to worry about,” Virdelko snapped, still slightly overwhelmed, “Do you really think they’ll care more about some random Mavericks than they will about HIM?” “We can’t handle this on our own, Klementi!” Kitao burst out, finally losing his composure, “We’ll all be murdered, just like Thornton! Think of your goddamn family! What’s to stop these guys from killing them, too? They could kill them, those innocents, just to get at us!” He stopped, letting a heavy silence hang in the small conference room for a few endless seconds. Then he drew a breath and continued, slightly more in control than he had been. “Besides, we’ll have to tell them anyway, some time.” “What are you talking about?” “Come on, Klementi…these guys are bloodthirsty maniacs as of now. Do you really think they’ll stop with us?” Virdelko propped his elbows op on the table and rested his chin in his hands, staring through the table. “Go on.” “Yeah,” Kitao nodded, falling into a daze himself, “They’re highly trained, highly knowledgeable, and extremely pissed. They’re probably integrated into Sigma’s current army, meaning they have Maverick heavy weaponry at their disposal.” Kitao took a deep breath and finally said it, said what both had been afraid to say. “They may well try to kill all the humans in the city.” It might seem like an obvious statement, but remember, these people lived in a time where a maniac Reploid was always promising to eliminate every human in the world, but never did it. Besides, lately Sigma’s efforts had been uncoordinated and had focused more on his hatred towards X and Zero than humans. The Mavericks Kitao and Virdelko were discussing, however, were different. “We don’t know that,” Virdelko said immediately, trying to maintain a hold on the situation, “We don’t know their motives.” “Whatever,” Kitao said with a shrug, “I still say we need to leave Megacity 5. Fast.” Virdelko closed his eyes, lost in thought. He didn’t want to run away. He really, really didn’t want to admit he was terrified of these people. Most of all, he really didn’t want to run away and then, if the Mavericks did destroy all the humans in Megacity 5, have to live with himself for letting those people die. Because these guys were his responsibility. He’d created them, and now he had to destroy them. It was his duty. Kitao wanted to leave because of fear. So did Virdelko, but he had another reason to help prod him down the Run Away path: he couldn’t stop these guys if he was dead, and here he was a sitting duck. “All right,” he said, finally, and proceeded to deliver a line that somewhat confused Kitao. “We’ll leave the city. But we’re not gonna run away.” Nesting in a bar down in one of the more unpleasant parts of Megacity 5 were two Reploids happily drinking themselves into oblivion. Sort of. They had developed somewhat of an immunity to alcohol after their thirty thousandth beers. At the same time, however, they were prime sources of information, though they didn’t really know it. Pierre the skunk turned to ask the bartender for another drink, and spoke in a voice that was surprisingly not heavily accented French, but rather a gruff, rude voice. He looked like an elegant French painter, skunk style, but talked like Blackbeard. An equal contradiction was his eternal pal, Ludwig. Ludwig was a big gorilla Reploid whose arms pulsated with unbelievable amounts of synthetic muscle, but he was not a dumb brute. Rather he was a dumb pacifist. Actually, the easiest way to describe both would be: Not Rocket Scientists. Pierre downed half his fresh glass in a single gulp and swung his furry head around to glare at the bartender. “This beer…it tastes like rat piss!” The bartender narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Dude,” drawled Ludwig, “You like, always say that.” “I know!” Pierre replied with a heavy nod, polishing off the rest of the beer afterwards. “You know why? Cause it tastes like rat piss!” “Dude, then like…why do you drink it?” Pierre had to think about that one. He thought and thought, and finally developed a primitive notion of a solution. Pierre’s problem solving skills weren’t exactly paramount, you see, but he was pretty proud of this one. “Bartender!” he beckoned, “I want some more!” The bartender started to comply, and Pierre pasted a triumphant grin on his face. “Whoaaaa,” Ludwig said in a reverent tone, amazed at how brilliant Pierre was. You had to admire those skunks. The bartender filled the glass, muttering obscenities under his breath. Try as he might, he just could not get rid of these two. Actually, he didn’t mind the gorilla, but the skunk was just plain annoying. The bartender never had figured out why someone would build a skunk Reploid. His only guess was, a bad joke. The bartender returned the glass to the skunk and tried to sidle off before the vile derelict could comment on the alcohol’s flavor, but of course he didn’t make it. “This STILL tastes like rat piss!” Pierre bellowed, “What the hell is your problem, you shit monkey?!” “Ha ha!” Ludwig laughed, automatically. He thought “shit monkey” was hilarious. The bartender pretended to ignore the skunk, but was in fact thinking of the best limbs to rip off of the vulgar Reploid. “My GOD!” Pierre continued ranting, “This rat piss didn’t come from a normal rat, either.” Ludwig leaned forward to hear better, because Pierre was generally right about these sort of things. “This came from a…a…a super king kamayamaya rat! It came from the biggest, most diseased, leprous rat in all of the world!” He whirled to face the bartender, who was washing mugs. “Hey! What kind of rats do you have crawling around here, anyway?!” The bartender continued washing, thinking how funny it would be if Pierre’s head would just randomly explode. For a while, it was quiet, and when Pierre realized that he sprang into action. Pierre could never let there be quietness in a room. He was the bane of librarians everywhere. “Bloody, bleemin’ filth…I can’t STAND this stuff anymore!” With that, he hurled the empty mug at the doorway, where it shattered, bits and pieces of the glass drizzling down on the alabaster plated shoulders of Archer, the leader of Unit 5, Maverick Hunters, who had just walked through the doorway. “Nice to see you, too…” Archer said in a slightly unnerved tone. “Archer!!!” Ludwig exclaimed, springing to his feet in a bulky dark blur, “Look, Pierre! It’s Archer!” Ludwig even pointed at Archer, so Pierre would not miss him. Ludwig always went the extra mile. “By the waters of Babylon, it IS ye!” Pierre leapt to his feet and strode over to Archer, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet. He shook the Hunter’s hand enthusiastically. Ludwig, not wanting to be outdone, followed his friend and shook Archer’s other hand enthusiastically, very enthusiastically. This made Archer nervous, because whenever big old Ludwig shook his hand, Archer was afraid he’d forget to let go and rip Archer’s arm out of its socket when he pulled away. “Sorry about the glass,” Pierre explained, releasing Archer’s hand and glaring towards the bartender, “He serves rat piss in this bar.” The bartender had decided that Pierre’s head exploding was too good for him. Now he had moved on to just the skunk’s nose randomly bursting into flames. “Yeah!” Ludwig added. He was still shaking Archer’s hand, even though Pierre had already let go and sat down. “Can I have my hand back?” Archer asked calmly. He was used to this. Every time, Pierre talked about rat piss, and Ludwig forgot to give him back his hand. “Oh!” Ludwig exclaimed, letting go. “Sorry about that!” He pointed at a free chair in the middle of where he and Pierre sat. “Look, it’s a chair! You can sit in it.” “Thank you,” Archer said politely, taking a seat,  “How are you, gentlemen?” “All your base are belong to us,” Pierre said automatically. Archer stared. He still didn’t get that. “Ha ha!” Ludwig laughed. He thought that was hilarious. “Right…” The Hunter looked to Pierre. He got most of his information from Pierre, not surprisingly. “I guess you know why I’m here.” “Of course!” Pierre nodded, “I got lots to tell ya! But first…hey, bartender! Bring me some more!” The bartender grumbled and started for the beer machine, almost stepping on a rat that was skittering by. He stopped and chewed on an idea, then decided, what the hell. He grabbed the rat, whisked up a beer mug, and went into a back room. “What do you want to know, Archer?” Ludwig asked enthusiastically. “And do you got the stuff?” Pierre said, insinuatingly. “Of course, I got the stuff…” Archer insisted, “I know how it goes.” “Good,” Pierre reminded him anyway, “It’s hard to come by, the stuff is. Aye, it’s bleedin’ impossible nowadays. But it’s so worth it when we get it.” He dreamily plugged one nostril and snorted through the other, imagining he was making use of the stuff. “Ah, yes, the stuff.” “Bestest powder in the world,” Ludwig agreed. “I got the best source,” Archer insisted, “We never run out at the HQ.” Both drunkards dreamed briefly about a place with that much of the stuff. “Anyhow,” Archer snapped them out of it, “The reason I’m here is about the death of that guy, Thornton.” “Ah yeah, Thornton,” Pierre nodded as he grabbed the mug from the bartender, who retreated rather quickly to the safety of Behind The Bar, though no one noticed. “I figured you’d want somethin’ on that shit monkey.” “Ha ha!” Ludwig laughed. But he felt stupid because the other two looked at him in annoyance, so he kept quiet. “Yeah, so,” Archer continued, “Any suspicious characters running around, any leads you might know of…?” “Yes, in fact,” Pierre said, taking a good swig. “THIS TASTES LIKE RAT PISS!” he bellowed, “CAN’T YOU TAKE A HINT?! YOUR BEER SUCKS!” The bartender had to go into the back room, because he was howling with laughter. Pierre scrunched up his nose in confusion. He stared at the drink, but didn’t get it, so he just continued talking. “Anyhow, you got any suspects in particular, Archie?” Archer groaned inwardly. He hated that name. “Not really.” “There was this guy,” Ludwig offered helpfully, not able to stay quiet after all, “And he had these lips, and they were moving!” “What Ludwig wants to say,” Pierre clarified warily, “Is that there was a guy talking.” “To another person!” Ludwig added with extreme enthusiasm. “Is that so,” Archer said quietly, already feeling a migraine coming on. “Why were they suspicious to you?” “Cause,” Pierre said simply, “They were just schlepping through the alley, aye. And they were whispering and talking like conspirators, in true shit monkey fashion.” Archer didn’t know why whispering made them eligible for shit monkey status, but he nodded anyway. Ludwig was trying hard not to laugh. “One of these guys,” Pierre continued, “Was like a jungle commando. I call him GI Joe, because he had the whole camouflage thing going. The other was a short blue Reploid I see in town a lot. I think he’s got somethin’ to do with that Seraph company. Anyhow, they’re just yakking, and I hear the words ‘list’ and ‘hacker’. That sound helpful?” Archer didn’t know. No one had told him about the list hacked from the computer networks of Hunter HQ. If they had, lots of things might have changed here and now, but they didn’t. “I don’t like hackers,” Ludwig said, shaking his big head. Archer looked at him as if waiting to hear a reason why Ludwig didn’t like hackers. Ludwig stared in total confusion. “Also,” Pierre mused, “For even more of ‘the stuff’ I can give you some even better information.” “Deal,” Archer said instantly. The stuff was easy for him to come by, because he had contact with a whole network of dealers. “Okay. There’s this guy…” “A BIG guy!” Ludwig interjected. “A guy who used to work for the Seraph Corporation before they laid him off…” “Almost as big as ME!” Ludwig insisted. “A guy who was in another bar lately, and let slip that he was really nervous about some meeting in the 12th district quarry tonight…” “All right, all right, he was BIGGER than me!” Ludwig conceded. “A guy called Grizzly Slash.” Archer almost sprang out of his seat. He DID know about Grizzly Slash’s connections to the Hunters in revealing the location of Sigma’s base, and if Grizzly was worried about meeting someone…could it be the people he’d ratted out? That would make HIM nervous, Archer reflected. “Now!” Pierre said, in what could be considered businesslike, “Lets have the stuff.” Archer glanced around to make sure no one was looking, and retrieved the sacred powder, which was helpfully encased in sticks so they could be snorted with ease. He laid them down in front of the two informants, who gazed in absolute reverence. So perfect. So gorgeous. And in fun fruit flavors. “Pixie Stiiiiicks,” they chanted in unison, snatching up their shares. Archer shook his head, as per course. He didn’t know who had began the ritual of snorting Pixie Sticks, but the more he thought about it, he didn’t really want to. “Ah, Pixie Sticks never did go good with beer,” Pierre said, polishing off the mug so he could get down to business. “MY GOD, this tastes like rat piss!” “I’ve always wanted to know,” Archer said thoughtfully, “How would you know that?” “I…” Pierre had to think about that one. Once again, his problem solving skills came through. “It’s just a SAYING, you know, like the cow jumps over the moon. I’ve never drunk real rat piss.” “Is that a fact…?” said the bartender. He couldn’t help himself. Pierre looked from the bartender to what was left of his drink, and he got it. He leapt to his feet and shrieked bloody murder, throwing the glass at the bartender, who was already moving for his double barrel shotgun. Archer knew a crisis when he saw it, and promptly got the hell out of Dodge, followed closely by Ludwig, who was still offering helpful information about how big Grizzly Slash was, and finally by Pierre, who mainly just didn’t want to get shot. “It tasted BETTER THAN YOUR REAL BEER!” the skunk bellowed as the door slammed in his face. At a slightly more respectable bar, Unit 0 was having a considerably better time. The bartender at Heaven’s Gates, whose name was Vornozeh, knew these Hunters well, because some were his best customers, namely Sol, Delates, and Zero himself, though Zero had been a little secluded lately. Now, however, the whole lot was very upbeat, while amazingly not totally smashed. Sol and Delates were busy planning some practical joke in the corner of the bar, and Zero himself was speaking to Vornozeh. The rest of the Unit carried on in somewhat restrained fashion, knowing that they were still on duty tomorrow morning. “We need something interesting,” Zero was saying, “Something that’ll really get to them.” He was referring to the “newbies”, those who would be inaugurated into his Unit. Unit 0 was famous for its hazing rituals. “Sol and Delates can’t figure anything out for once.” “You’re kidding,” Vornozeh said in some surprise, though you’d only know it if you’d talked to him for many years, as Zero had. Everything Vornozeh said generally came out in the same strange tone…thoughtful, yet disinterested at the same time. “There’s got to be SOMETHING they haven’t done. High wire across the central courtyard?” Zero shook his head. “Cain read off a list of things he’d shove up my ass if I pulled anything like that, after what happened to the guy in Unit 12.” “That guy was a pansy, anyway,” Vorno said. “Hmm, how about the Burlap Episode?” He referred to a famous incident in Hunter folklore. A Hunter named Burlap had organized a group of hazers who stole all the clothing from the newbies’ rooms, and the newbies had been forced to prowl around the headquarters at night to get them back, while still naked. Cain had demoted Burlap to a janitor after that, and while Zero doubted the scientist would do the same to him, he wasn’t dumb enough to test Cain’s wrath like that. “I think not,” Zero shook his head, “I like breathing.” “Heh heh heh, well, at least you’ve got your mood back. I was getting worried about ya for a while.” He shook his finger at the crimson Reploid. “It’s not HEALTHY to wallow in a bottomless pit of angst and self loathing. Just ask Sol.” “I HEARD THAT,” Sol called from across the room. “What are you gonna do?” Vornozeh asked with a superior laugh, “You can’t touch me, copper. I’m union.” Sol shook his head, laughing, and went back to plotting ways to terrorize newbies. “I’ll be fine,” Zero said with a chuckle at the union crack, “I just spent too much time around the workplace.” He grinned wickedly, spreading his arms out to include the whole bar. “Needed to come home for a bit.” Vornozeh let out a laugh, which was fairly odd for him, and poured a drink for himself and Zero. “So how’s X doing? I haven’t heard from the little guy in ages.” “X is odd,” Zero said with a frown. “He loves peacetime, and claims he wants to enjoy it to the fullest. But he never goes to a bar during peacetime. No, it takes a war to get that boy in here, and that’s the worst time…” He broke into laughter, and Vornozeh with him. On X’s last visit, during the fourth war, he’d had one too many vodka gimlets, and a decorative nutcracker that Vornozeh had set out for Christmas suddenly transformed, right before X’s eyes, into Magma Dragoon. To this day, X claimed that Magma Dragoon was in that bar, and that he was beating the crap out of Dragoon, not a helpless little nutcracker doll. Even after Vornozeh had sent the blue hero a bill for the broken doll, X insisted he was in the right. Zero wished alcohol would delude HIM like that. He’d have SO much fun. “Oi…” Vornozeh muttered when he got a hold of himself, “Those were the days…back when everybody was a soldier, and not a politician.” Zero understood. Lately, in the dwelling peace, people had been up for trying to restore governments, economies, and trying to “return things to normal”, and lots of humans and Reploids had fallen under that spell, creating small factions within the Hunter organization. “It’s a shame,” Zero agreed, “But the politicians are nothing without the soldiers, and we still have plenty of those.” Vornozeh nodded. “Keep as many as you can. When the soldiers are around, there’s your normalcy. When only the politicians are left…there’s your war.” THIS PROGRAM HAS PERFORMED AN ILLEGAL OPERATION AND WILL BE SHUT DOWN. IF THE PROBLEM PERSISTS, CONTACT YOUR PROGRAM VENDOR. Douglas bellowed obscenities. He hated computers. He really, really, really hated them. Machines he liked, mechas he liked, big guns and weapons of mass destruction, all those he liked. Computers he hated. This was ironic because computers played a big part in everything else he created, but that didn’t stop him from hating them. He really didn’t understand what was so illegal about whatever operation the computer was performing. Was there some Computer Constitution floating around there that he didn’t know about? Or was it a conspiracy? Yeah, that was it. A conspiracy to piss off Reploids like him and force them into insanity and hatred towards humans, who had created computers. Douglas let out a short bark of a laugh and rebooted his program; he’d found the origin of the Maverick Virus. “Douglas!” said Archer as he entered the lab, “I need you to check up on something for me!” “I’m busy,” Douglas said simply, not in a good mood. “It’s about Sigma,” Archer insisted. Douglas frowned. He was working on Sigma, too, and he didn’t want to be distracted. But he didn’t really mind Archer, and the guy usually had a good reason for what he did. “Fine. What’s the deal?” “I need you to use the satellite program. Focus it on the 12th district quarry and the area around it.” “All right,” Douglas said, doing so. “Mind telling me why I’m doing this?” “I think there’s gonna be some Maverick activity there soon,” Archer explained, “I’ve placed my Unit on alert.” Douglas understood. He didn’t know why Archer thought there would be Maverick activity, but if they managed to catch a Maverick they could learn valuable information about Sigma’s plans. “All right, 12th district quarry…I detect a bunch of humans, probably the workers. They’re leaving, probably because the workday is ending. Big surprise.” “What Reploids?” Archer persisted. “One,” Douglas confirmed, zooming in. “He’s not doing anything, really. Maybe he’s the night shift? Hell if I know-hey…that looks kinda like…” “Grizzly Slash?” Archer finished. Douglas gave him a How-The-Hell look, and looked back at the screen to confirm it. “Yeah, Grizzly Slash. How’d you know?” Archer inhaled deeply; Pierre had been right. Now who was Grizzly going to meet? Why the hell was he so suspicious, anyway? Arms dealers like Grizzly met with Mavericks all the time. Hell, he knew it was more than that. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but he knew. Something was gonna happen there. Something big. And it would happen very soon.