Bubblegum Avatar -
Prologue and Chapters 1 - 5
by C.A.Reed Jr.
Time line: B03-E10-R11-T
Location In timeline: GENOM Tower MegaTokyo,
Time: April, 2033AD
"For the crime of injuring me, a God," Largo was foaming, "I demand as atonement.....
your deaths!" His remaining arm swept up.
"No!" Sylia exclaimed. "Linna!!!!"
"Roger!" Linna replied, understanding perfectly, planting the legs of her motoroid
solidly into the rooftop. The massive particle cannon mounted on the frame swung to point
skyward. "Nene, you'll have to co-ordinate for me!"
"Okay!" Nene replied, unfolding her sensor array from her backpack. Two quick seconds of
scanning, and "Error correction, 0.06 degrees..."
Largo's arm swept down; a blue light twinkled in the sky, growing brighter with every
instant.
"FIRE!!!!!!!!" Nene and Linna yelled together, as the motoroid bucked and spat its own
bolt of coruscating energy into the night, hurling a challenge at the darkness shrouding the
orbital satellites from view. The two crackling energy beams shot past each other.
Far beyond the human range of sight, the orbiting beam satellite flared silently outwards
into an expanding cloud of dissipating flames and debris. The results of the first beam were,
however, much too visible for comfort to those watching; the beam struck the roof of the GENOM
tower, shredding the decking like cheap tinfoil, and it began tracking towards Largo instead of
the embattled Knight Sabers. Largo howled again in thwarted rage as the flaring energy beam
gouged a trench towards him, enveloping him in its hellish energy discharge. A fiery explosion
seemed to engulf him. Across the rooftop, the Knight Sabers relaxed slightly.
A burned and blackened form lurched out of the flames, staggering to stand regarding the
incredulous Sabers. Would nothing kill this bastard? Just what the hell was he??! Largo
shouldn't have been able to move at all; by all rights, he should have been dead. His skin was
a smoking, blistered rag just barely covering the ceramic-metal endoskeleton beneath, and smoke
and fluids of some kind were pouring out of holes in his torso. That alone would have put down
any other boomer they could think of.. Red eyes burned at them from the flames.
"Sylia Stingray....." he said in a low ominous tone. Sylia reared back in shock.
"How....how do you know my name?!?" she responded. Who the hell was this?!
"I know that you and I are two of a kind, because..." Largo's voice cut off as a particle
beam gun muzzle shoved itself out of his mouth. Priss tried to step in front of Sylia, but
SkyKnight stepped in front of both of them, and played his last ace.
What looked like a strange, double-barreled shotgun unfolded from its housing on his
right shoulder and bellowed, spitting twin projectiles at Largo's chest. At the same time, a
crashing report echoed from a nearby rooftop, and Largo's forehead was smashed in by a large
caliber bullet. He staggered back a step, then fell off the edge of the roof as the large slugs
from SkyKnight's shoulder gun provided the final nudge needed, tearing into Largo's torso and
knocking him off the peak of the GENOM pyramid. The ultraboomer with delusions of godhood fell
screaming into the abyss, and seconds later a massive detonation shook the air, sending flames
rocketing into the sky.
He was falling into the abyss.
His internal monitors were relaying the damage in cold lists that held no hope of rescue.
The damage was massive. Over seventy-five percent of his internal systems were off-line or
destroyed, and his mind cooly calculated that the impact of the fall would destroy the rest.
The last shots from that vulgar Skyknight had eliminated any chance of using his body's jump
jets to break his fall. The damage to his cranial processing units from the shot that had
struck his head was near total. Even if the fall wouldn't kill him, the damage to those vital
units was too great to repair before his system shut down for good.
No! He screamed to himself, his vocal systems off-line due to damage. I cannot die!
I AM A GOD!
The one known as Largo. Would you like another chance? asked a voice.
A spasm of panic gripped him. What? Who are you?
There is no time for that, said the voice. It was neither male nor female, and there
was no emotional tone. Do you want to avenge yourself?
YES! Largo shouted, part of him believing that he was slipping into madness. I want to
kill the Knight Sabers and that jawing fool, SkyKnight!
I cannot offer that, the voice continued. But I can offer you a place where there is no
SkyKnight to vex you, and the Knight Sabers to kill at your leisure. Do you agree?
What?
Do you agree? You have no more time.
YES! Anything you say!
Very well. Say good-bye to this world and hello to your new world.
A nimbus of light surrounded the falling figure and it vanished, just as there was a
massive detonation that shook the air, sending flames rocketing into the sky.
Time line: UNKNOWN
Location In timeline: UNKNOWN
Time: UNKNOWN
It's hard to describe nothing.
But that's what this place was nothing. It was more then a void, if nothingness could
be described that way. There was no light, no darkness, no warmth, no cold, nothing that could
be defined as being something.
But there was something in this nothingness. Actually, two somethings. Two intelligences
with no form, no substance of their own, but still somehow managed to exist.
[It cannot be!] the first intelligence stated. It didn't have vocal cords, or a brain to
use telepathy with, but it still managed to make itself understood. If one was able to hear and
visualize the mentality as a person, they would imagine a young male, full of the eagerness and
excitability of youth. [That cannot stand!]
{It will,} replied the second intelligence. A picture of this intellect as a human would
be along the lines of a learned elder. {We did not expect our opponent to use such a tactic.}
[But to bring the one call Largo into a parallel timeline of the one he was taken from?]
The first intelligence asked sharply. [To make him an Avatar?]
The second intellect somehow gave the impression of shrugging. {We have done such things
before. There is no rule preventing our opponent from doing the same thing.}
[But we never brought in an Avatar from one timeline into another one of similar
circumstances,] The first voice argued. [It will give our opponent's Avatar an tremendous
advantage over the local defenders.]
{True,} the second intelligence agreed. {The Knight Sabers will need help. So we must
send in an Avatar of our own.}
[Where do we get such a person? Do we use the one called SkyKnight?]
{No. He is not part of the timelines we oversee, and since we did not place him there, we
can not remove him. Even if we could remove him, his role is still crucial in that time stream,
and cannot be relocated. We must use someone else.}
[Who?]
{I have the perfect candidate.} With a thought, the second intelligence sent an image to
the first. {He is the best candidate that we can locate quickly.}
[But he is needed right where he is!] the first mentality said harshly. [His writing is
supporting one of the timelines we do not oversee! If we pull him from that task, we could
disrupt not only that line, but several nearby, forcing us to step in and weakening our efforts
somewhere else.]
{I am fully aware of that fact, but if what I have planned works out, then we can do
both.}
[I cannot argue at this point. Is he the right one for this mission?]
{Why not? He has full knowledge of the time stream in question, the intelligence to
adapt, and the eclectic learning to be useful.}
[What about physically? He isn't an active type.]
{Adjustments can be made.}
[How is he going to ally himself with the Knight Sabers from that time stream?]
{I will make the arrangements.}
[Will he agree to this?]
{Who said I was going to give him a choice?}
[I still don't like it.]
{We cannot interfere directly, but we cannot let this attempt go unchallenged. If we fail
here, this could trigger a new tactic that could cause untold complications throughout the time
streams.}
[Could we not search for a better candidate?]
{There is no time.}
[Will you handle the event yourself?]
{Yes. Watch....}
ShadowKnight Productions Presents:
A SI Fanfiction, not associated with SkyKnight Productions
Presents:
Still Another Story of Knight Sabers 2031
Bubblegum Avatar : Book 1 "Tin-sell City"
By C. A. Reed, Jr.(trboturtle@aol.com)
Disclaimers:
Bubble Gum Crisis and it's characters are copyrighted by Artmic Inc. and Youmex, Inc. I am
borrowing the characters for a while, with no intent of making money off of this.
SkyKnight is...I guess the correct term is a copyright.... of Bert Van Vliet At least it's
his character (and his fault!)....And this version of Largo is also from his creation......Much
of his C&C is in this too....did I mention he pre-read this?
The first scene of the prologue is directly from The Bubblegum Zone #3, by Bert Van Vliet, used
by his permission. If you're familiar with his work, you will recognize where my inspiration
for this series came from. If you haven't read his series, why are you hanging around here? Go
read that, then come back here. His series is located at http://www.jurai.net/~skyknght/bgzone/
and be ready to read A LOT.....
This is a Self-Insertion fic, which means that my Ego has over-ridden my common sense and has
forced my Muse to come up with this at gunpoint. I'm still working on my other BGC fics, but
this one sort of forced itself on me. Any other character, including me, appearing in this
story that don't fit into either above category is from me. I can be contacted at the Email
address above. C&C will be accepted, out-and-out flames will result in a Boomer or two being
sent after you, as soon as they get around to developing them.
"MegaTokyo the city of the future!"
GENOM Marketing slogan
"Hm, a company-owned town, rampaging boomers, and a wacked-out cyborg with delusions of
godhood. If this is the city of the future, I want the past...."
C.A. Reed, Jr. December 20th, 2031
Time line: C03-R03-A02-I37-G
Location In timeline: GENOM Tower, MegaTokyo,
Time: Winter, 2031AD
Brian J. Mason glared cooly at the team leader. "Are there ANY identifying marks on the
wreckage?"
While waiting for an answer, Manson looked past the man at the crater that had appeared
in the center of the secondary helicopter pad. A full team, both human and boomer, was swarming
around what had made the crater. Then was a light flurry of snow that made the top of GENOM
Tower a cold, wet place to be.
The Team Leader was several years younger, a full head taller and ten kilograms heavier
then Mason, but there was no doubt about who was in command. "No sir. We're have no luck in
trying to identify the model. It isn't a C-class, despite the remnants of skin we found on the
main chassis. And it even more sophisticated then the 33Cs."
Mason mood was grim, matching the cold winter night. Somebody would pay for this, and if
he could help it, that someone wouldn't be him A boomer or boomeriod had somehow managed to
slip through GENOM Tower's sensor net and landed on the tower's roof, if somewhat harder then
intended. From what he could see, it looked like the Boomer had been too badly damaged to move
from where it had landed.
"Then who?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes not leaving the somewhat humanoid figure
resting at the bottom of the crater. He had a strange sense of Deja vu, but didn't know from
what.
"We don't know right now sir."
Mason glared at him. "Then, what DO you know?"
"I don't think it was an normal boomer."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, it was in a battle of some sort. The damage is consistent with that. From the
amount and type of scoring, it must had been struck, or partially struck, by a particle beam."
"A particle beam?" A cold shiver went through him.
"Yes sir. Once more, the damage was done to it before it landed."
"What are you saying?"
The team leader looked worried. "This boomer was damaged in a battle before it struck the
helicopter pad. A battle that involved at least one firing of a particle beam."
Mason glanced up into the night sky. "One of the USSD satellites?" There were over two
hundred of them up there in orbit, a prize just beyond his -- and GENOM's -- reach..
"Without us noticing it? It's not possible sir."
"I want the remains taken to a secured lab and our best analysis team put on it right
now. I want to know what it is, where it came from, and who built it. I will take personal
charge of this incident. Understood?"
"Yes Sir!"
Mason turned and stalked away, intent of finding some warmth from the cold. But for some
reason, he didn't think his chill was from the night air....
Time line: C03-R03-A02-I37-G
Location In timeline: Near the Silky Doll lingerie store, MegaTokyo
Time: Winter, 2031AD
It was after midnight on a cold snowy night. The traffic, both car and pedestrian, was
light, as the snow was continuing to fall steadily.
One of the few cars out in this weather was a red, 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL. Actually, it
was a reproduction of the classic car - with all the regulations and technical advancements, it
would have been expensive, not to mention unwise, to drive the real thing. Never the less, it
was an elegant car at a time when cars were anything but.
The elegance extended to the driver. She was young, but with the poise of a woman twice
her age. She look like a successful businesswoman, which she was. What she didn't look like was
a brilliant scientist and leader of a mercenary team known as the Knight Sabers. It was because
of this last item that she was out in this weather at all.
If Sylia Stingray had her choice, she would have stayed in tonight. However, the message
from Fargo changed those plans. While her contact thought of himself as a romantic, he knew her
well enough then to set up a meet for any other reason then business, especially on a night
like this.
But his information had been important, important enough to arrange the meeting.
Something had happen on top of GENOM Tower a couple of nights ago, something that sending the
huge multinational corporations scrambling around for answers. From what Fargo had been able to
gleam, a boomer of unknown design had slipped past the Tower's sensor net and crashed onto the
roof. Now, Brian Mason was heading up the investigation into trying to find where the Boomer
had come from and why it crashed onto GENOM Tower.
She turned onto a side street, using it as a shortcut back to the Lady633 building. As
she drove, she started analyzing this new data. The report of an unknown Boomer design was
disturbing. Her contacts inside GENOM told her that the newest Boomer designs, the C-class,
were in the final design phase, with production scheduled to start within six months. The
designs were armored, with strong offensive capability that could spell trouble for the ADP
should they have to face one that goes rogue. And knowing GENOM, she expected the first one to
go rogue before the end of winter.
Yet, the Boomer that landed on the tower's roof was suppose to be an superior design in
every way to the C-class. Its remains were being kept under tight security, but what little
leaked out worried Sylia. The design and materials indicated someone who had a lot of time and
money, someone that GENOM didn't know about. According to Fargo, Rumor had it that Quincy was
worried, and it took something serious to fluster the Chairman of GENOM.
Unconscious that her mind was drifting, she didn't see the figure staggered out of the
alleyway and into the street until it was too late. She hit her breaks hard, but the frozen
slush threw the car into a skid to the right. The left rear clipped the figure, flipping him
over the trunk and onto the roadway. The car slid for another ten meters before it struck a
snow-covered curb with enough force to make Sylia wince, but it stopped.
Even as she sorted through the sequence of events, she got out of the car and made her
way slowly over to the person she'd hit. The snow and the distance from the main roads meant
that there wouldn't be much traffic along this route tonight, let alone in the next couple of
minutes. The buildings that lined this street were business and office buildings, deserted and
dark at this time of night.
As she walked over to him, mindful of the slick surface she was walking on, she berated
herself for allow her attention to wander from getting home safely. The man was lying face-down
on the frozen slush, and for a second, Sylia thought he was dead. But, he groaned and started
moving slowly.
She reached him and knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked him.
He looked up at her, a dazed expression on his face. "What did you said?" he asked in
English, his voiced slurred and somewhat distance. She didn't smell any alcohol on him, but it
was still possible he had been drinking. She pegged his age at about twenty-three, though it
wasn't the best place to make estimates.
"Are you all right?" she asked again, this time in English. He was shorter then she was,
but clearly heavier, with short dark hair, brown eyes, a high forehead, a small nose and narrow
chin. He was dressed in a heavy overcoat, blue jeans, and boots. A grey-and-red backpack laid
on the ground next to him, one strap broken in the accident.
"I...don't know," he said slowly, using his arms to push himself up. "What...happened?"
"You walked out in front of me," Sylia said slowly.
The man blinked and looked around. "Where am I?" he asked. "This isn't Florida."
"You are an American?"
Before he could answer, the man's eyes closed and he slumped to the ground again,
muttering softly. Sylia stood. And turned towards her car. She'd have to call an ambulance for
him, and answer a lot of unwanted questions, but she didn't have a choice. As she took a step,
her foot hit the backpack, sending several books skittering across the frozen slush. She
glanced down, and her eyes focused on one of the books. As she did so, a coldness went through
her.
She reached down and pick it up, her mind not believing what she was seeing. The book
itself was large, but not very thick, with flexible covers. The cover was a picture of her in
some sort of model pose with both hands holding a pistol. Behind her, was a close up of her
hardsuit, with 'KNIGHT SABERS' written on the side of the helmet in English. At the top, the
title read 'BUBBLEGUM CRISIS BEFORE AND AFTER', also in English.
She turned the book over, scanning the pictures and words there, then opened the book and
skimmed the contents. She stopped at a certain page and gazed at the hardsuit drawing,
captioned 'Hardsuit Sylia Version-3'. She felt her heart race as she continued on through the
book. She stooped to pick up another book, this one called 'BUBBLEGUM CRISIS: MEGATOKYO 2033'.
This one had Priss on the cover, in her hardsuit, her visor raised, draped over a motorcycle,
with a Boomer behind her. Sylia quickly skimmed through this one, and she felt herself grow
even colder.
There was no way she could call the ambulance now. The man had enough information on her
and the other Knight Sabers to destroy their cover. She thought briefly of killing him, but she
rejected the idea. She needed to know what he knew. Besides, killing a person in cold blood
without a clear reason didn't set well with her.
She looked up, her face troubled. Making a decision, she picked up the back pack and
picked up everything that had spilled out of it. She walked back to her car and put the
backpack in it. She got in and started the engine. It caught cleanly.
She let the engine rev for several seconds before she slowly put the car into gear and
drove the car towards the unknown victim. She stopped next to him, got out and went over to
him. After turning him over, she quickly checked him over for obvious signs of injury. Just
them the man stirred. "What happened?" he muttered, again in English.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, also in English, as he didn't seem to be able to speak
Japanese.
Before she could stop him, he sat up, holding his had in his hands, his face a mask of
pain. "I hurt," he said through gritted teeth, "everywhere."
"Can you stand?"
It took him about half a minute to stand unsteadily on his feet, with Sylia's help. He
was still too dazed to do more then keep himself from being a dead weight, but She wasn't about
to take any chances. She quickly checked him for weapons with a palm-sized scanner. The scanner
bleeped a negative to either weapons or cyberware. Nodding to herself, she helped the man to
the car.
Time seemed to stretch, minutes feeling like hours. She continued looking up and down the
street for any late-night travelers, her unease growing at ever second. She helped him to the
car and into the passenger seat, where he promptly passed out again. She closed the door, took
one last look around for anything she might have missed, then got into the car herself. She
waited until she put the car in gear before she dial a number on her car phone.
Mackie answered on the second ring. "Yes?"
"Meet me in the garage with a gurney and the first aid kit," she said.
"Are you all right?"
"I am, but hit someone with the car and I'm brining him back."
"But why not call the "
"It's a bit involved. I'll explain when I get there."
Mackie expelled a deep breath. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."
"Just meet me, all right? I should be there in about five minutes."
"Five minutes." Mackie hung up.
Sylia glanced over at her unwanted passenger, then concentrated on driving. For once, she
was thankful for the poor conditions. It meant she didn't have to answer the multiple questions
that screamed for attention. She would have her answers soon enough, but she was sure she
wasn't going to like the answers....
Time line: UNKNOWN
Location In timeline: UNKNOWN
Time: UNKNOWN
[Wasn't that a bit extreme?] the first intelligence asked.
{What did you expect? Did you want him to knock on Sylia Stingray's door and said, 'I
want to join the Knight Sabers?'}
[She could have killed him. In fact, she still may.]
{She will not kill him for now.}
[She isn't going to trust him.]
{True. But I plan to take care of that.}
[How?]
{I'm going to ask the Knight Sabers to allow him to join them.}
[You're going to do WHAT?]
{You did not misunderstand me.}
[It is not a matter of misunderstanding you. It is a matter of not believing you.]
{Our opponent has taken certain liberties with the wording of the laws. I am doing the
same thing.}
[But we are suppose to follow the laws!]
{So are they.}
[How are you going to convince the Knight Sabers to this plan of yours?]
{Leave that to me.}
"I don't believe this stuff," said Mackie Stingray, looking up at his older sister.
"How?"
There was just the two of them sitting in Sylia's living room. Their 'guest' was strapped
to a bed in another part of the building, a sedative added to keep him under for several more
hours. He wasn't badly hurt, but Sylia wasn't going to take any chances until she had her
answers. At least she had ruled out the possibility that it was a Boomer. Whoever he was, he
was human, at least according to her medical scanners.
Sylia looked at the small pile of items on the table in front of her. Half a dozen books,
several disks, and other items sat there. Some of the writing was in English, some in Japanese,
but it all had a common theme: It all related to the Knight Sabers.
Not only related to the Knight Sabers it exposed them. Their identities, the Lady633,
Doc Raven's garage, the motoslaves, EVERYTHING that might hurt them was there. There were even
some things that had never been more then a concept in Sylia's mind, ideas that she had
discussed with no one. If GENOM had gotten a hold of these items, she had no doubt that they
all would have been dead within a week -- no, within a day.
She looked out the window. It was only a couple of hours before dawn, yet she didn't feel
like sleeping. There were too many questions she had no ready answer for. "What does this all
look like to you?"
"That's the weird thing," her brother replied, picking up a book with the word 'B-CLUB'
on the front. "Three of these books are written for some sort of role-playing game. And the
other stuff...." He waved a hand at all the items. "It's weird."
"Did you notice that the books talk about events that haven't happened to us yet?"
"Yep." Mackie didn't look happy. "It's creepy."
"I want you to check over the disks. A couple of them appear to be video disks of some
type. Find out what's on them."
Mackie didn't answer her. Sylia turned and looked at him. He was looking at something in
the book, a familiar half-smile, half-leer on his face. Sylia walked over and glanced down at
the page. She snatched the book away with one hand and rapped Mackie on the head with the
other. "Ow!" Mackie howled. "What did you do that for?"
"We have work to do."
Mackie rubbed his head. "I was just looking."
Sylia glanced at the open book in her hand. The drawings, while not actually indecent,
were highly suggestive. Drawings of her and the other three Knight Sabers in clothing that she
knew they had never worn, if lingerie could be considered clothing. Too many questions, she
thought.
"I said check out the disks, while I go look in on our guest."
"Sure." He stood. "Are you going to tell the others?"
"Not yet. Not until I have something to actually tell them."
"All right." Mackie scooped up several disk and walk out of the room. After several
seconds, Sylia also left.
The Medical section of the Knight Sabers headquarters was small, but well-equipped. From
the doorway, Sylia watched the unconscious man. They had removed the coat, leaving him in a
black sweater and blue jeans. As a precaution, heavy black straps secured him to the bed at the
ankles, thighs, waist, wrists and upper forearms. All in all, he was lucky. He could have
easily been killed, but beside a concussion and a lot of bruises, he'd managed to survive
intact.
But he was still a mystery. He wasn't carrying any ID or money, and there was nothing in
the backpack that gave any clue. She had already taken his fingerprints and was planning to
send them off to a contact in the national police force in the morning. Whoever he was, he
wasn't a bum: the clothes were too clean, he himself was clean shaven, and the backpack was
almost brand new. He didn't seem to know any of the Japanese language, and English seem to be
his native tongue. About the only thing she thought she knew about him was that he was an
American.
Beyond that, why did he have that stuff in his backpack? That question was a bigger worry
then his identity. Other questions peppered her mind -- why he happened to come out of that
alleyway, just as SHE was driving by? Why was the information written in such a strange
fashion? What exactly was going on here?
She wasn't sure how long she stood there, mulling over the situation. It wasn't until her
thoughts were interrupted by Mackie that she broke of her preoccupation. "Sis?" he asked, his
tone alerted her something was wrong.
She looked at him, aware that he'd come into the room with out noticing him until he
spoke. "What is it?"
Mackie shifted from foot to foot. "I found something I think you should see."
"What?" she asked, sounding exasperated.
Mackie looked even more uncomfortable. "I have to show you. I-it's kind of hard to
explain."
After taking one more look at their 'guest', Sylia followed Mackie to the computer room.
Mackie sat down in a chair. "These disks are in an outdated format," he said, pushing a couple
of buttons. "It's one that's been in disuse for about fifteen years. Fortunately, our computers
can read it."
"What is it?"
Mackie nodded to the large screen. "This."
The first thing Sylia saw was the words 'YOUMEX PRESENTS' flash up on the screen.
"I check," said Mackie, looking serious. "I can't find any record of such a company ever
existing."
Sylia didn't answer, but continued to watch the screen. The next thing that appeared was
a building, silhouetted against an amber sky. A small explosion happened in the building, then
another. As she watched the building being destroyed, Sylia realized she was some sort of
animated sequence. It wasn't until she saw "GENOM - GENOM REPAIR GROUP - 1' did she begin to
feel uneasy.
Mackie must have seen her look. "It gets worse," he said quietly.
The building finished collapsing, showing a huge building under construction behind it.
Then, it was suddenly nightfall. In the lower right hand corner of the screen, the words
'BUBBLEGUM CRISIS' appeared, but the words in the upper left were the ones that turned Sylia's
unease into dread.
MEGATOKYO, 2032
THE STORY OF KNIGHT SABERS
A collage of scenes followed, but Sylia's attention was now focused on the screen. Shots
of the Lady633 Building flashed by, then pictures of someone that looked a lot like Linna
leading an aerobics class and Priss polishing her bike. Sylia gripped the back of Mackie's
chair as she continued to watch in silence.
It didn't get any better. Sylia's jaw tighten as an exact duplicate of her voice was used
for a character that look very much like herself. In the back of her mind, she noticed the
words that appeared at the bottom of the screen, translating the spoken words into English.
Part of her wanted to turn away, to walk out of the room, but she continued to watch, frozen as
the impossible flash across the screen..
It was all there - Quincy, USSD, GENOM, Brian J. Mason, all the Knight Sabers, in and out
of their Hardsuits, her father's death, and the ADP. The Boomer designs were new, but when she
hard them called C-class Boomers, she shuddered. Most of the events hadn't happen, but they
could still happen, very easily. She watched the entire program in silence, struggling to keep
her expression cool. After the ending credits finished, Mackie stopped the disk.
For several long seconds, neither one of them spoke. Then, Sylia asked quietly "How many
of these shows are there?"
"Eight," Mackie replied somberly. "With another three under the title 'Bubblegum Crash.'"
His sister nodded slowly. "Do you have any ideas about what we've just seen?"
"No and it scares me. Do you know what it's like seeing a character with the same name,
looks like you, your personality, and even SOUNDS like you, doing things that you do, yet
involved in events that haven't happened?"
"You're not the only one. Have you look at any of the others yet?"
Mackie shook his head. "I was too wrapped up in this one to do more then take a cursory
glance at the rest."
Sylia placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do it in the morning. Our guest should be able to
explain most of this tomorrow."
"You hope."
"Shut it down. We're too tired to think straight. We'll get a good start in the morning."
"OK, Sis." Sylia turned and started to walk out of the room, but Mackie's question
stopped her. "Do we still keep the others in the dark?"
"We don't know that much more now then we did before."
"But they could be in danger."
Sylia looked back at him. "I don't think so." She held a hand to forestall an argument.
Let's get some sleep, then we'll figure out what to do next." She continued out of the room. As
she walked away, she could hear the silence grow as Mackie shut down most of the computer
system before he went to bed. That was where Sylia was going, but she doubted she'd get much
sleep before morning.
****
The lab was one of a number of places within GENOM Tower that were considered 'High-
security'. These labs were where GENOM did research that was deemed too sensitive or critical
to be farmed out to a subsidiary. Security on the sub-basement level was handled by BU-12
programmed to kill any intruder. Other Boomers handled any physical repairs and the floor's
computer system wasn't connected to the Tower's powerful mainframes Only ten people in the
entire tower had access to the lab, and six of them were currently in it.
Brian Mason stood, arms crossed, as he watched Doctor Ming and his three assistants as
they monitored the large clear cylinder set in the canter of the lab. In the cylinder was the
remains of the Boomer that had crashed onto GENOM's room three nights ago. The cylinder was
angled at about a forty-five degree angle relative to the floor and walls, and surrounded by
several pieces of equipment that inspected everything about the cyberdroid.
Mason scowled, but the man standing next to him seemed amused. "Patience, Mason. The good
Doctor knows what he doing."
Mason glanced over at him. "I hope he has better luck then I did, sir. None of my people
have found anything on this Boomer."
Quincy, the Chairman of GENOM, hadn't made his corporation the dominating power it was in
the world by making emotional decisions. He could be surprised, but he would recover quickly.
"Isn't it a magnificent design?" he asked.
Mason shrugged. "There's not enough left of it to tell," he said. He looked at the
remains in the cylinder. Both its legs were gone, the right one at the knee, the left one at
mid-thigh, The left arm was gone at the elbow, while the right was mostly intact. The head and
torso had taken multiple hits from weapons fire and explosions, including a large hole in the
center of the forehead.
"Oh, but there is," replied Quincy. "Doctor Ming is a well known expect in the area of
Boomer material design. He will tell us who built the design."
Just then, Ming walked over to the two executives. Short, stout, and bald would be the
quickest way to describe the doctor, but he wasn't an idiot. "Gentlemen," he said in a deep
voice, "It appears we have a puzzle."
"What sort of puzzle?" asked Quincy.
"To put it bluntly, sir, that Boomer is an impossibility."
"In what way?" asked Mason.
"Because GENOM designed and built that boomer."
Mason's frown. Quincy arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" the Chairman asked slowly.
"I am very sure. In face, if I didn't know any better, I would say that boomer is from
Project Lazarus."
"Impossible!" snarled Mason.
"Indeed," Quincy said softly.
"I just checked Project Lazarus. Everything is accounted for."
"Everything?" asked Mason harshly.
Ming gave him a cold look. "Everything. None of the shells have been moved in the last
week, nor are there any materials missing. None of my team have left the Tower in a month, and
there's been no outside contact with anyone in the same time period."
"Could have the work been done here?"
Ming shook his head. "It would have taken half a dozen people six months to build and
test one."
"That's not beyond the realm of possibility."
"With GENOM security agents part of my team? That's not including the fact that the labs
necessary for such a convert construction are accessible only at selected times, under boomer
guard. No, it wasn't a rogue operation using GENOM supplies and equipment."
"But you said GENOM built this boomer!" Mason glared at the Doctor, who ignored him
"I did."
"What proof do you have of such a claim?"
Ming shrugged. "The skeletal system for one. Our tests show it is the same metallurgic
make-up as the ones used in Lazarus. The muscular system is the same as the one we came up
with."
Mason pounced on this. "So this is from Lazarus?"
"No, it did not."
"But you just said "
"It would be impossible because we only completed the muscular system design two days
ago. It should be on you desk right now for your final approval." Mason stepped back, his
expression unreadable.
Quincy nodded slowly. "Any ideas where this boomer came from?"
"No sir."
"You realize that there will be a security investigation into Project Lazarus."
"Yes Sir, and I welcome it. The sooner we can remove any doubts about the project, the
better off we will be."
"Then, I suggest that we continue this discussion tomorrow morning." Quincy turned to
Mason. "Under the circumstances, I am placing Madigan in charge of the investigation. You will
render her any assistance she needs. Is that clear?"
Mason bowed his head. "I will comply Sir," he said meekly. Inside, he was seething. How
dare he put that bitch in charge of the investigation? Lazarus was his project, not hers.
Nodding in satisfaction, Quincy walked out of the of the lab. After giving Ming a cold
stare, Mason followed the chairman. The hall was wide, but looked crowded with the Chairman's
quartet of boomer bodyguards. Mason worked hard at keeping his face impassive. The last thing
he wanted to do was to alert the bodyguard of any possible ill intentions towards their patron.
The Chairman turned to Mason. "Do not attempt to block or interfere with Madigan's
investigation in any way."
"Sir?' asked Mason in surprise.
Quincy gave him a cold smile. "The answers are necessary if Lazarus is to go forwards
with minimum delay. This is not the time or place for corporate politics, or character
assassination. I will inform Madigan of the same when I give her the responsibility. I want
answers, not finger pointing. Is that clear?"
Mason nodded weakly. "Yes Sir."
"Very well. I will speak to you tomorrow. Be in my office at ten-thirty." Without waiting
for a response, Quincy walked away, the phalanx of boomers surrounding him in a mobile fortress
of steel alloy. Mason watched through half closed eyes, his growing anger at the chairman held
under tight check. He waited until the he was alone in the hall before he turn and walked in
the opposite direction. This investigation would upset his plan, but it was still early enough
so he could deactivate it without causing an alarm before Madigan and her team started. After a
period of time, the plan could be reactivated with a couple of keystrokes.
He would wait. It might take another six months, or another year for the plan could
unfold, but he could wait. In the meantime, he would do nothing that would cause suspicion and
watch for a chance. He allowed himself to smile a little. All too soon, Quincy would find out
that the enemy that succeeds is the one you don't expect....
Sylia sipped her coffee and looked at the morning paper. There was the possibility of
more snow during the day, so she was thinking whether or not to open the store.
There was a tap at the door. "Ready or not, Sis, here I come!"
Mackie walked in. He frowned when he noticed his sister was wearing a thick woolen robe
that wasn't part of the line the Silky Doll carried. "Anything on our guest in that paper?" he
asked.
"No. Anything in yours?"
He shook his head. "Not a peep. Do you want me to start on the rest of those disks after
breakfast?"
She looked at him. "I think it's time to ask our guest some questions."
"Er, are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Mackie glanced at his watch. "That last sedative should wear off in about an hour."
"Fine. That will give me enough time to get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To find out what he really knows."
He felt himself rise slowly out of the darkness of sleep.
He open his eyes slowly, but winced and shut them as the bright light stabbed him. "Who
turned on the lights?" he muttered, trying to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Feeling his arm
trapped, he grumbled something and tried to use his other arm to free it. When that arm refused
to respond, he tried to sit up. When that failed, he opened his eyes again and started at the
ceiling.
"You're awake," said a female voice off to his left. It sounded strange, like it was
being filtered through an electronic filter. He turned his head and saw a figure standing
there. He squinted, then closed his eyes again. "That's nice," he said, his voice rough. "Now
I'm dreaming about the Knight Sabers."
"This isn't a dream," the figure said.
He opened his eyes again and looked at her. A white hardsuit stood there, hands on hips
looking at him. He shrugged. "Now, my dreams are talking back to me."
The hardsuit walked over and stood next to him. "You are not dreaming," it said, slowly
and clearly, with only a trace of an accent. "Who are you?"
"Craig Alan Reed, Junior. Who are you?"
"I thought that would be obvious."
"You're the White Saber, AKA Sylia Stingray. You lead a team of four women in fighting
the evil corporation GENOM in MegaTokyo in the early 2030's." He frowned. "Or the early 2040's,
depending if you're from the OVAs or the TV series. Which version are you?"
The hardsuit stepped back, as if she was surprised. She said something in what he thought
was Japanese, but he didn't understand a word of it. "I have no idea what you're saying," he
said.
The hardsuit turned and stalked out of the room. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the
bright light and he took the chance to look around the room. It was an infirmary, with white
walls and ceiling that were reflecting the light. He looked down the bed he was lying on, and
noticed the heavy black straps securing him at the ankles, thighs, waist, wrists and upper
forearms. "Great. Just when I think I've figured out my subconscious, it throws me a curve...."
The hardsuit walked back in and dropped something on his chest. "Explain this," she said.
Craig looked down at the book. The angle wasn't the best, but he could see it was the
Bubblegum Crisis EX source book. He looked up at her. "Don't look at me, I didn't write it."
"This isn't the time to be playing stupid." A hint of anger was now in her voice.
"What do you want to know?"
"Where did you get this from?"
"I bought it."
"Where?"
"The Hobby Works in Laurel, Maryland."
"In America?"
"Where else is Maryland? Unless they move it without telling me-"
"This isn't the time to be funny!"
Craig shook his head. "What are you getting excited about? It's just a book."
The hardsuit picked up a cylinder from a tray next to the bed. "I do not have time for
you foolishness." With a quick motion, she pulled up his sleeve and pressed the tube to his
forearm.
"What did you just do?" He asked.
The hardsuit replaced the tube on the tray. "Something that will make you more
cooperative."
Craig sighed. "My subconscious has gone of the deep end."
"It will take a couple of minutes for the drug to affect you. I'll be back then."
"Don't hurry on my account."
The hardsuit turned and walked out of the room. Craig closed his eyes and began chanting,
"It's time to wake up, it's time to wake up, it's time to wake up...."
Three hours later, Sylia sat in her apartment, sipping coffee, smoking cigarettes, and
feeling frustrated. The interrogation hadn't gone well. In fact, it raised more questions then
it answered.
She now knew the following about her guest: his name was Craig Reed, he was an American,
and beside an odd word or two, couldn't speak Japanese. However, everything else he told her
didn't make any sense. He claimed to be in his mid thirties, though he looked like he was in
his early twenties. Under the serum, he declared that it was early September in the year 2000.
It was when she started asking him about the material in his backpack that things started
becoming strange. The material was from an anime series called "Bubblegum Crisis," a fictional
series about four women fighting against a large corporation. The fact that one of those
'fictional characters' was questioning him didn't seem strange to him, as he kept muttering
that he was dreaming.
While she was interrogating their visitor, Mackie continued looking over the material on
the disks. Besides the anime episodes, there were a couple of music albums. There was a number
of songs that sounded like Priss and her band, but Mackie wasn't the only one who was shocked
at hearing someone that sounded like Sylia singing. Sylia knew that wasn't her singing had
never been part of her life - but it was still unnerving. There were even songs with Linna and
Nene sound-alikes, so close to the real Nene and Linna that Sylia doubted that she could tell
the difference if she didn't know they didn't sing.
There were also a directory made up of text files of something called fanfiction. In its
own way, it was even more disturbing. There were a couple of hundred stories, some short, some
long, and some that even had their own directory. But they all were about the Knight Sabers.
After skimming over half a dozen of the stories, Sylia had retreated to her apartment and now
sat thinking.
Instead of becoming clearer, the situation had become even more confused and strange.
There was enough information in that backpack to kill each of them several times over. If this
was a trick by GENOM, it was elaborate and at the same time bizarre. Was this a sign of a
twisted mind somewhere inside the conglomerate?
Or was it what it appeared to be, a man dropped into this time or place? Neither
possibility made real sense, but she didn't see a third option. She was now convinced that the
material was meant to fall into her hands, but why?
A knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts. Sighing, she placed her coffee cup on
the table and went to the door. A glance through the peephole showed a familiar face. Sighing,
Sylia opened the door.
Priss, dressed in her biker leathers, stomped in. "About time," the singer muttered.
"It's cold out there,"
"What brings you by on a day like this?" asked Sylia.
"I need some cash from the last job we had." Priss had her 'I'm a brooding artist, don't
ask me any questions' look.
"What for?"
"I'm a bit short of cash right now."
"Today?"
"Yes. I want to by enough food for several more days. The weather people say there's
another big snowstorm moving in over night."
"Very well," Sylia led Priss into the living room. "Have a seat. It'll take me a couple
of minutes to make the deposit into your account." She walked over to a desk in the corner of
the room, where her computer sat.
"Fine by me." Priss glanced at the filled ashtray on the table next to the coffee cup.
"Something wrong?"
"What?"
"Is something wrong?"
"What makes you say that?"
Priss pointed at the ashtray. "When you're worried, you start smoking."
"Something has come up," the leader of the Sabers said.
"What? Another job?"
"No."
"GENOM found out our secret identities?"
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean. 'Not exactly'?" Priss glared at her leader.
Sylia hesitated for a moment. "Have you ever heard of a song called 'Konya Wa
Hurricane'?"
Priss looked surprised. "What does that have to do with GENOM?"
"Nothing. But it has to do with the problem I'm thinking about."
"How did you know about the song?"
"You've heard of it then?"
"Heard of it?" The singer snorted. "Hell, I wrote it. But there's no way you could have
heard of it."
"What if I told you that I have heard it?"
"That's impossible. We aren't going to start publicly playing it until next week." Priss
gave Sylia a suspicious look. "You haven't been bugging my trailer, have you?"
"It's not as simple as that."
"What isn't as simple as that?"
"Maybe I can explain better then Miss Stingray," said another voice.
Both Sylia and Priss spun towards the voice. Sitting in chair opposite the couch was a
man. He was past middle age, thin without being frail, with a white goatee and clear blue eyes.
He was dressed impeccably in a brown suit with an open-neck shirt and a panama hat, completely
ill-suited for the weather outside.
He also hadn't been sitting there three seconds before.
Priss was halfway into her pistol draw when the man said, "Please desist in your actions,
Miss Asagiri," the man said calmly. "I mean neither you or Miss Stingray any harm."
Sylia grabbed Priss' arm before the singer finished her pistol draw. After several
seconds of resisting, Priss stopped struggling. "Who are you?" Sylia asked.
The man smiled. "You may call me Ishmael. As to why I'm here...." He waved a hand towards
the couch. Sylia's eyes widen as she saw her prisoner sitting there, looking as confused as she
felt. "He is the reason why I am here."
"Who the hell is he?" Priss snarled, her hand digging for the pistol again. "Who the hell
are you?"
Ishmael sighed. "Allow me to demonstrate." Priss stopped in confusion as she no longer
felt her pistol in its holster.
"Please sit down, Miss Asagiri," Ishmael said pleasantly, Priss' pistol sitting in the
palm of his hand. He ejected the ammo clip from the pistol and place both items on the table in
front of him. "I doubt that Miss Stingray wants bullet holes in her wall." Giving the man a
hard stare, Priss flopped into a chair across the table from Craig. Sylia remained standing.
"What's going on?" asked Craig, looking confused.
"I have come to explain some things," said Ishmael. "But, first, I think some
introductions are in order. Miss Stingray, Miss Asagiri, this is Mr. Craig Reed. He is here
because I brought him here. Mr. Reed, this is Miss Sylia Stingray and Miss Priss Asagiri, one
half of the vigilante team known as the Knight Sabers."
"Fine," snapped Craig, looking hard at him. "In that case, who are you?"
The other man smiled. "You can call me Ishmael."
"What are you?" asked Sylia. "I don't think you're human."
"Ah, that is a very good question. You are correct that I am not a human."
Craig eyes narrowed. "You look familiar. How we met?"
"No, but I took a form you might recognize. Think of the opening scenes of 'The Ribos
Operation'."
Craig groaned."My subconscious is now running crossovers."
"Not exactly. I took a form that represented my role and that you would recognize. And
this isn't a dream."
"What do you mean this isn't a dream?"
"You are here." Ishmael waved a hand around him. "All of this is real." He motioned to
the other two. "They are real people, as are Linna Yamazaki, Nene Romanova, Leon McNichol,
Quincy, and everyone else who lives in this city."
"The Boomers?" asked Craig weakly.
Ishmael nodded. Craig sunk low into the sofa, looking shocked.
"What the Hell is going on?" snarled Priss.
"I will explain." Ishmael leaned back. "Mr. Reed recognizes me as a character called The
White Guardian from a science fiction TV series from the last half of the last century. My role
is very similar to that character's."
"Which is?"
"My purpose is to fight for Light, Order and Goodness against those who serve the other
side."
"The other side being Darkness, Chaos, and Evil?" asked Sylia.
"It's more complex then that, but essentially, yes." Ishmael steepled his fingers. "The
two sides are locked in an eternal war, spanning Galaxies, timelines, and dimensions in an
almost infinite number. We observe and manipulate beings to counter our opponents' observations
and manipulations of other beings. This time and place is just one battlefield."
"So, what are you, a God?" snarled Priss.
Ishmael shook his head. "That would be careless of me to claim so. Some might mistaken me
for such a being, but not from any fault of my own."
Sylia folded her arms. "What brings you here?"
"First, a question to Mr. Reed. Do you know someone named Bert Van Vliet?"
Craig looked up. "Hm?"
"I asked if you know someone named Bert Van Vliet?"
Craig frowned. "We've traded Emails, but I've never met him."
"And you are familiar with the series he's written called 'The Bubblegum Zone'?"
"Yes." There was suspicion in his voice now.
"What would you say that in one Universe, those stories are true?"
"I'd want to know what drugs you've been using."
Ishmael looked amused. "I am telling you the truth. There is a dimension in which a man
named Bert Van Vliet was transported from his time and place and landed in MegaTokyo where he
joined the Knight Sabers."
"What?" This came from both Craig and Priss. Sylia's eyes narrowed but stayed silent.
Ishmael looked undisturbed by the reaction he'd received.
Craig recovered first. "But I know the Bert I've talked to isn't in MegaTokyo!"
"I never said the Bert you know was the one transported. Are you cognizant of Robert A
Heinlein's 'World as Myth' idea?"
"I think so. I haven't read his stuff in a while."
"What theory is that?" asked Sylia.
Craig looked over at her. "Every fictional story ever written has happened for real, in
another universe or dimension."
"A simplification, but generally accurate." Ishmael looked at Sylia. "To Mr. Reed, this
city and you two are part of an anime series called 'Bubblegum Crisis.' There are a number of
dimensions that are similar to this one. In the case of Mr. Van Vliet, he is currently
operating with the Knight Sabers in another dimension, calling himself SkyKnight and having the
time of his life."
"So what does this have to do with me?" asked Craig, turning to look at Ishmael.
"Do you remember what happened to Largo in the third story of the Bubblegum Zone series?"
"He got blasted off the GENOM Tower rooftop and ended up as very small pieces."
"No, he did not."
"Huh?"
"Who's Largo?" asked Sylia.
"A Super Boomer with delusions of grandeur," replied Craig quickly. "What does that have
to do with me?"
"The Largo from SkyKnight's dimension is here in this one."
"You mean that Largo the would-be Boomer God, the one who got pummeled by the Knight
Sabers and SkyKnight and was last seen falling off a man-made mountain is alive and here?"
"He is." Ishmael leaned forward. "I'm afraid my opponent played a bit fast and lose with
the rules we operate under."
"You have rules?" asked Priss with a smirk.
"Oh yes," replied Ishmael gravely. With the powers we possess, we can not confront each
other face to face. The results would be catastrophic and neither side would win. So we are
limited to influencing events to tip the fight in out favor."
"What rules did the Black Guardian bend to bring Largo here?" asked Craig.
"Black Guardian?" Ishmael shrugged. "A good a name as any. To answer your question, we do
not usually allow people to cross from one set of dimensional points to another. A few, like
Mr. Van Vliet, slipped into their new situations without the assistance of either side."
"How's that possible?"
"This isn't a time for an explanation that would involved quantum physics, dimensional
eddies, and multi-universe theories. Let us just say that a few people slipped through the
dimensional cracks and leave it at that."
"Oh."
"Anyway, by the time the people are discovered, they have become part of the timeline,
and thus cannot be removed. A few others are voluntary transferred from one point to another,
when they had skills we thought were necessary. We call these people Avatars."
Ishmael's gaze bore into Craig. "But, we do not move people from one dimension to a
similar one. There is too much of a chance of personal issues interfering with their purpose. A
situation like that could cause more problems then it would solve."
"But not in the case of this Largo," said Sylia.
"His personal issues are the reason why he was brought here. Largo lost to the Knight
Sabers. Those events that caused his destruction there have not happened here yet. He has
knowledge of the future, a hatred of the Knight Sabers and an obsession of you, Miss Stingray,
that borders on the maniacal."
"And what are those issues this Largo has?" asked Priss, looking like she want nothing
more then to toss Ishmael out the window without bothering to open first.
"Beside the long and painful deaths of the Knight Sabers?" He shrugged. "The usual stuff
- world domination, being worship as a god, the destruction of the human race, and so on."
"So why am I here?" asked Craig, an ugliness in his tone of voice that hadn't been there
before. "Why not borrow SkyKnight from his own timeline and let him take on this Bozo?"
"We cannot. His presence is needed where he is. You, on the other hand, share some of the
same qualities as Mr. Van Vliet and were more available."
"What qualities? I'm not an engineer!"
"No one is asking you to be."
"I'm also not a military or intelligence type! What qualities?"
"First you have some knowledge of Military History and tactics."
"Reading 'The Art of War' and some other books several times doesn't qualify me as an
expert!"
Ishmael brushed the objection away. "Then, there's your familiarity with this dimension
and the people in it."
"So is any reasonably fanatical Otaku."
"You've had some martial arts training."
"I never did get my Black Belt."
"You have above average intelligence, and a willingness to learn."
"Only when I have to."
Ishmael chuckled. "I think you'll find sufficient reasons to learn. You also have a
strong sense of what's right and wrong, but you're willing to blur the line at times."
"I don't call that a virtue."
"You're also a pessimist and a worrier who does not take things at face value."
"They've already have a moody brooding type," replied Craig, pointing a thumb at Priss.
The singer glared daggers back at him.
Sylia watched the exchange quietly until now. "What do you want from me?"
Ishmael leaned back. "Largo's presence here and now has cause a shift in the balance of
power towards the other side. Fortunately, he is currently too damaged to take direct action
against you. However, that will not last, and with his future knowledge, he can eliminate the
mistakes he made last time. Since I cannot remove Largo from this time and place, I needed
someone to balance him. Mr. Reed is my Avatar in this case."
"You picked him?" asked Priss, pointed to Craig.
"Hey, I'm not happy about it either!" Craig snapped back.
Sylia unfolded her arms and looked Ishmael in the eye. "You want him to join the Knight
Sabers." It wasn't a question.
"I do."
"This idiot?" snarled Priss. "Him in a hardsuit?"
Craig's anger erupted. "I don't think I could do any worse then you!"
"What do you know?"
"You're an accident waiting to happen!"
"And you'll get yourself killed and us along with you!"
Craig stood. "Listen, Priscilla." the singer flinched at her real name. "I don't want to
be here, all right?"
"Then why don't you go home?"
"I would like nothing better, but it's a bit too bloody far to walk, don't you think?"
Priss motioned towards Ishmael "You believe this nut and his crazy story?"
"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"
"I believe him," said Sylia quietly. Priss and Craig stared at her. She ignored them and
gave the Guardian a cool stare. "The items in the backpack was your doing, correct?"
Ishmael nodded. "I needed something to get your attention. Would you have listened to me
if I hadn't given you proof of my claims?"
"No."
"What stuff?" asked Craig.
"She'll explain it later," said Ishmael. "Now, about the arrangements "
"You're not seriously considering this!" yelled Priss.
"I can't afford another member," said Sylia cooly.
"I assure you that money is not an object," replied Ishmael. "In fact, you should check
the bank account you have in the First Bank of Hong Kong, the one you use for Knight Sabers
business. I think you will find a large deposit has been made into it the last...." He glanced
at a pocket watch that appeared in his hand. "....three minutes."
Sylia frowned. Then, she slowly walked over to the computer and accessed the amount. The
screen darken for a moment, then flashed up:
Account number: 777-8822-9955-4P
Amount in account as of 9:24am, Dec. 17, 2031: $ 5,458,466.64
Deposits
White Guardian Security Corp.
Houston, Texas, USA 12:28pm, Dec. 17, 2031: $ 100,000,000.00
New Total: $ 105,458,466.64
Thank you and have a nice day.
She stared at the screen. After several minutes, she looked at Ishmael again. "I'm
impressed," she said, keeping her voice steady. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Priss
watching her suspiciously.
"I hope it shows that I am serious about this."
"Don't I have any say in this?" asked Craig angrily.
Ishmael shook his head. "As a matter of fact, you do not. The Avatar must be in place now
in order to be prepared for the confrontation." He gave a small smile. "But I doubt you'll
complain much about the pay."
"What pay?"
Ishmael held up an empty hand. A flash of light, and there was suddenly a small book in
the hand. He tossed it over to Craig. "An account book," Ishmael said mildly as Craig looked at
the book in his lap, then back him. "Open it, it is in English."
Craig did so, his glare never leaving The other man. After a few seconds, his eyes
drifted down to the book. His eyes feel on the amount in the account and he nearly choked. "Is
this US dollars?" he asked weakly.
"It is. It's only fair after all. The job will not be easy, and while we aren't allowed
to do some things, we try and compensate those we chose in other ways. In this case, money.
You'll find that there will be a modest amount added to that account each month."
"Define 'modest.'"
"About one percent of the current account balance."
Craig made some more strangling noises. "That's all well and good," he said after about
fifteen seconds, "but I thought you didn't draft people for this things, but went looking for
volunteers."
"Usually, we don't draft people like yourself. But this is a crisis situation, so I am
forced to use whatever I have available. If I had more time, I would have done things
differently. But there is no time."
"What do you mean there's no time?" Craig roared, standing up, the bank book forgotten.
The object of his ire didn't seem upset or worried at the threat. "I will not send you
back. This attempt by my opposite guardian must be countered here and now, and I have chosen
you for that role. I cannot find anyone else in time."
"Well, screw your opponent, because I'm not staying!" He held up the bank book. "Even for
this type of money!"
"I'm afraid you will stay until this crisis has been resolved. In any case "
It was at this point that Craig threw the bank book at Ishmael and dove over the table,
intent on grabbing the man by the throat. The bank book whizzed by Ishmael's head, but the
expression on his face looked somewhat resigned. He sat there as Craig reached out to grab him.
Instead of his hands closing around flesh, Craig's hands found nothing but air. Before he
realized that his hands had passed through Ishmael's neck with no resistance, he slammed into
the back of the chair hard enough to knock it over onto it's back. Craig made it only a little
further before he smashed into the carpet, face first.
Ishmael looked over his shoulder at the man he'd chosen to be his Avatar. The fact that
his chair had been knocked over didn't seem to phase him in the least, as he continue to sit
where he had been, only with nothing holding him up.
"It's a fucking hologram of some sort!" Priss yelled, looking around for a possible
source of the projector.
"Oh dear," replied Ishmael quietly as he continued to watch Craig shake off the effects
of the fall. "I didn't think his temper was that bad....." He shrugged, then turned to look at
Priss. "Miss Asagiri, I am most certainly not a hologram." He stood up, picked up Priss' pistol
and ammo clip and haded them back to the singer. "It's just that physical violence is not one
of my favorite pastimes. While trying to strangle me may have some soothing qualities for Mr.
Reed's current emotional state, that is all it would have been effective for."
Ishmael left Priss staring at her pistol and strode over to Sylia, who had watched the
entire event in silence. "The amount in the account is yours whether or not you agree to take
Mr. Reed under your wing."
Sylia gaze was unyielding. "Suppose I do agree to this. What do you want me to do with
him?" Over Ishmael's shoulder, Sylia could see Priss reload her pistol, then start to move
towards them stealthily. Craig was back on his feet, though he wasn't steady.
"Train him to be a front-line member of the Sabers. Integrate him into your team. Largo
will be expecting only four Knight Sabers, not five. Use that as an advantage."
"What do I get out of it?"
"There'll be an additional fifty million deposited to the same account every two months.
If he manages to survive and, in your view, he is a member of the team after six months, there
will be a deposit of two hundred million made to the account. If he survives a year, another
two hundred million."
"And if he doesn't survive six months or a year?"
Ishmael gave her a level, serious look. "In that case, Miss Stingray, you and the other
Knight Sabers, not to mention most of this city's population, are liable to be dead, or wish
you were, because Largo would have won."
"Why should I trust you? You could be a plant from GENOM."
"I could be," conceded the Guardian. "But you know GENOM very well. Do they have the
technology to do this?" He closed his eyes and Priss disappeared. One split second, she was
there, aiming her pistol at Ishmael's head and moving for a clean shot, the next she was gone.
"Where is she?" Sylia asked, her voice cold with fury.
Ishmael pointed to the window. "She is all right. I just decided she needed to cool off
some."
Sylia moved towards the window, angling herself so she could keep an eye on the strange
man. When she reached the window, she looked down at the street below. "I don't see her."
"Oh?" Ishmael's voice came from right next to her. Startled, she turned to look at him.
He ignored the stare and looked out the window. "I know I translocated her....There!" He
pointed.
Sylia looked again. The street had been cleared of snow, resulting in the snowdrifts that
divided street from sidewalk. The snowstorms had been heavy the last several days, so the
drifts varied in height from a meter and an half to two meters and twice this in width. Where
Ishmael was pointing, a part of a drift started moving. A red-and-brown clad arm broke free,
followed by the head and other arm. Priss shook herself free, looked around, then looked up.
Even from this distance, Sylia could see the long strings of curses the singer was shouting as
she finished digging her way out of the snowdrift.
"Oh dear," Ishmael sighed. "I had meant to locate her on top of the drift, not in it." He
looked closer. "She seems all right though. Extraordinary vocabulary for such a young woman."
"That was...impressive," Sylia said finally.
"But not convincing?"
"Not completely."
Ishmael turned to look at Craig, who had finally recovered from the dive and was stalking
towards them. "You go-"
Ishmael shrugged and Craig stopped in mid-stride and mid-rant, frozen in place like a
picture. Ishmael walked over to the immobilized man, then turned to looked at Sylia. "Does this
convince you?"
The leader of the Knight Sabers moved towards the living statue. "What did you do to
him?" she asked.
"I froze his personal timeline," Ishmael replied. "He does not see or hear anything we
do, which is just as well. I do have some final things to say before I release Mr. Reed here
and Miss Asagiri comes storming in looking for my head."
"I never said I'm willing to take him."
"I think you will take him. He knows too much to let him go, yet you're not as ruthless
as to kill him out of hand for something he has no control over. That would make you as bad as
GENOM, and while your methods are hard, you are not a cruel person."
Sylia took a deep breath. Ishmael was right, but she wouldn't let him know that. "What
else do you want to tell me?"
"The first is that while Mr. Reed has some suitable characteristics for this job, he is
not prepared to function in this time and place. We regressed him to his early twenties,
removed a few physical imperfections, and made him more physically fit then he was, but he
isn't a superman by any stretch of the imagination. Beyond what he seen and heard in the
animated episodes and read in the source books, he knows nothing about the here and now. He
needs to fit in, including speaking the Japanese language." He held up a hand to forestall
Sylia's coming question. "I thought for everyone concerned that we appear to be speaking the
same language, so I allowed you to think you were. But as soon as I leave, Mr. Reed will only
be able to speak English, very bad Spanish, and a smattering of even worse Korean. Please be
aware of that."
"Very well." replied Sylia stiffly.
"And there's one last thing. The items in Mr. Reed's backpack? Pay close attention to the
animated episodes and the role-playing books. If not for this Largo's appearance, the episodes
show what would have happened to you and your fellow Sabers in the near future. Viewing them in
detail might allow you to head off any possible problems. The text files supply a wide variety
of possible outcomes and scenarios. Just remember that all have occurred somewhere else, and
you should be aware of them." He gave her a sad smile. "Knowledge of the future is a dangerous
thing - be care of what you try and effect, or you may end up causing more harm then good."
He reached out and took one of Sylia's hands. She noted that his hands were solid and
warm. "I must leave you now" Ishmael said quietly. "I wish you and the rest of your team good
luck in the near future I think you will need all the help you can get." He kissed the back
of her hand, released it, and stepped back.
"What about him?" she asked, motioning towards the still frozen Craig.
"He will be free five seconds after I leave. Good-bye." With that, Ishmael vanished.
Sylia was still standing there when Craig started moving again '-ddam jackass! I am going
to" he stopped suddenly and started looking around. "Where did he go?"
"He left," replied Sylia in English.
Craig staggered in disbelief. "He can't!"
"He did."
"What the hell am I suppose to do now?"
"Sit down and see if we can figure out some things." There was someone hammering at
Sylia's front door. "That'll be Priss. She's already angry, so I suggest you say nothing until
she calms down."
As she walked to the door, the slight stirring of a headache made itself known to her. It
began to get worse as she opened the door and let a wet and furious Priss storm into the
apartment. Some days, it doesn't pay to know the answers....
It was mid afternoon. The snow that threatened the city hadn't begun to fall, but it was
only a matter of time. The menace did have the effect of keeping traffic to a minimum, limited
construction work and forced a large number of stores to remain closed.
The Silky Doll was one of those stores that had remained closed for the day, though the
weather played a secondary role in the owner's decision. The real reason had also demanded that
she call for an emergency meeting of the Knight Sabers. Linna and Nene had arrived an hour
after Sylia's telephone call and all four of them, along with Mackie, were now staring at their
newest member.
He was slumped in a chair, both hands wrapped around a cup of tea, looking off into
space. An air of shock, anger and sadness hung around him like a cloak. The introduction had
been made in an air of tension, that coming mostly from Priss. The tautness had dissipated
some, but enough hung in the air to make matters uncomfortable.
"What are we going to do with him?" asked Linna in Japanese. She and Nene had listened as
Sylia explained what had happened, and the dancer was now apprehensive. "He could be a plant of
some type."
"I don't think he is a plant," replied Sylia.
"He looks kind of lonely," said Nene sadly.
Priss tapped the redhead on the top of her head. "Wake up, baka! He isn't a homeless
puppy."
Nene turned to glare at her. "I know! It's just that I feel sorry for him."
Linna sighed. "Are you sure he isn't a spy of some sort?"
Sylia sipped some tea. "If Ishmael wanted to destroy us, there is nothing we could have
done about it. He know each of us and he showed some abilities I cannot explain in a rational
manner."
Mackie motioned to the disinterested guest and asked, "Are you sure he can't understand
us?"
"According to Ishmael, he can speak only English, bad Spanish and worse Korean."
"And you believe that twerp?" snarled Priss.
Sylia glanced at the singer. "That 'twerp' translocated you from this apartment into a
snowbank seven stories down with just a thought."
Priss glanced down at the borrowed sweatsuit she was wearing. "Don't remind me. If I ever
get hold of that "
"You'll have to wait in line. I think our guest has a stronger claim, assuming Ishmael
allows that to happen. But, somehow, I doubt that will transpire anytime soon."
"GENOM might have "
"No." Sylia took another sip. "Something like a matter transporter is beyond any
technology currently available."
"What about this 'time freeze' Ishmael used on him?' asked Mackie, motioning towards
Craig again. "Could that have been faked?"
"Ishmael froze him literally in mid-stride. There was no way he could have maintained his
balance if he had been faking it."
"We're avoiding the question," snapped Priss. "What are we going to do with him?"
"We keep him."
"What?" Priss shouted, shooting to her feet. "That's stupid!" Everyone, included Craig,
looked at her.
"Possibly," replied Sylia. '"But I think keeping him outweighs any other actions."
"What other actions?" asked Linna.
"We could kill him."
"You're not serious!" shrieked Nene, standing up.
Sylia shook her head. "You're right," she said. "Killing him without a good reason would
make us as bad as GENOM. But he knows too much about us to simply allow him to leave. So
keeping him is the only real option."
"What do we do with him?" asked Nene, sitting down again.
Sylia looked at her brother. "I think you can use an extra hand with Hardsuit
maintenance."
Mackie frowned. "Are you sure, Sis?"
"Very . If he is a spy, we can keep him an eye on him. Meanwhile, we will try and find
out as much as we can about him. Nene, I was going to use another contact to run his
fingerprints, but under the circumstances, I want you to do it."
Nene perked up. "Right!"
"Linna, Ishmael mentioned that he has some martial arts training. I want you to find out
what type and how much. If he is a plant, he may try and hide his level of skill. Be aware of
that."
Linna nodded. Priss glared at Sylia. "What do you want me to do?"
"I'll give you a choice you can either follow him, or teach him to speak Japanese."
Priss shot a distrustful look at Craig, who had gone back to staring into space. "I'll
follow him," she said flatly.
"So, it is left to me to teach him to speak Japanese," said Sylia.
"I still don't like it."
Sylia shrugged. "I'm not asking you to. For now, consider him a member of the Knight
Sabers unless he proves otherwise."
"Where is he going to stay?" asked Linna.
"Mackie, go prepare the guest room. Make sure the phone in there is tapped, just in
case."
"Right." He stood. "I'll go do that right now."
As Mackie left, Nene glanced at her watch. "I have to get going I'm on late shift
tonight." She sighed. "I hate working when it's cold and snowy!"
Look at the bright side," said Linna, "At least you're inside. Think of the poor guys who
have to patrol tonight."
"The central heating at ADP headquarters is on the fritz again." The redhead looked
unhappy. "I'll spend half the shift freezing, the other half in a steam bath!"
"I think you'll survive," remarked Priss with a smirk.
Linna stood up. "I'll drive you home, Nene. Do you need a ride into work?"
Nene nodded glumly. "I just hope it's a quiet night," she muttered.
As the two of them started towards the door, Sylia said suddenly, "Priss, why don't you
go and see if Mackie needs any help?"
The singer frowned, but then noticed Sylia's eyes shift to Craig. "Sure." She strolled
off towards the guest room.
Sylia stood up and followed the departing pair to the front door. After handing Nene a
set of Craig's fingerprints, she let them out. When she came back into the living room, she
found Craig where she had left him, still staring off into space. After several more seconds,
he looked at her. "Well?" he asked.
"Mackie's opening up the guest room," replied Sylia in English. "You can stay here for
the time being."
"So you're not going to shoot me right away?"
"What makes you think I would do that?"
"Some people where I come from think you're somewhat cold-blooded." He gave her a sad
smile. "I'm not one of them."
She forced herself to smile. "You realize that it's a bit hard to accept that you're from
another time and place."
"Think how I feel. Don't take this the wrong way, but MegaTokyo wasn't high on my places
to see."
Sylia hesitated for a heartbeat, then shook her head. "This isn't your fault."
He got up slowly and walked over to the window, the mug of tea still gripped in her
hands. "It's Ishmael's fault," he said quietly, the smile fading. "However, since the weasel
isn't around to vent my frustration on...." he trailed off and stared out the window.
"You had no idea how you got here?"
"Nope. One moment, I staring up at the stars from my back yard, the next, I'm staggering
out of and alley where I was nailed by some yahoo with a red...." He trailed off again and
looked at her. "That was you, right?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry, but "
"Don't apologize for something you didn't do. It's my fault." He sighed. "Murphy strikes
again."
Sylia frowned. "Who?"
"Murphy, as in the guy who came up with Murphy's Law: What can go wrong will go wrong."
He looked out the window. "Sometimes I think I've a living poster boy for that guy."
"You seem to be taking this calmly."
"Only because I haven't stop to think about it When I do, I'll be a basket case quicker
then a used Yugo."
Sylia frowned, trying to think of what a Yugo was. "Did you leave anyone behind?"
"Mostly family. A few friends. No one else important." He sipped from his mug. "I was
between jobs, trying to establish myself in a new career in a new state and...." He stopped. "I
won't bore you with my dull life, because there isn't anything to say."
"You can stay here as long as you like."
Craig shrugged. "At least until Nene can confirm or deny my existence."
Sylia looked at him curiously. "Do you expect Nene to find something?"
"I don't know." He turned away from the window. ""Deep thinking regarding parallel
dimensions isn't something I've done a lot of. Did I, or do I exist here? And if so, do I want
to know?"
"I can't answer that."
"I don't expect you to." He took a deep breath. "I suppose I should apologize to you for
dropping in unannounced like I did."
"As I said, that is not your fault."
"So...." He drained the last of the tea from the mug and looked at her again. "How are we
going to do this?"
"With you joining the Knight Sabers?"
Craig nodded. "I'm not ready for action like that."
"I didn't think you were. We'll start you off with helping Mackie and Doctor Raven with
the hardsuit maintenance and we'll go from there. Once you're comfortable with that, we'll
start the combat training."
"That's fine." He looked down at himself. "Looks like Ishmael decided to do some altering
before he dropped me off."
"In what way?"
He pointed to his eyes. "I can see you perfectly."
"So?"
"I've worn glasses for over twenty-five years, but I don't seem to need them any more."
He waved a hand indicating his body. "I've also appear to have lost forty pounds somewhere
between home and here."
"Pounds?"
"About twenty kilograms, to use the metric system." He shrugged. "I never was real
comfortable with metric."
"That's been the world standard for decades!"
"Not where I come from. We still used miles, pounds, quarts and Fahrenheit."
"Even the Americans finally converted over to the metric system about 2010."
Craig shrugged. "Like I said, I'm from out of town."
Sylia shook her head slowly. "What skills do you have?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Let's see. Some computer skills that are probably outdated, some little used martial
arts skills, half remembered readings from military history and an abrasive personality. That,
I think, covers the highlights."
"I see."
"Maybe shooting me would be easier."
The leader of the Knight Sabers gave him a cold stare. "Don't even joke about that," she
said in a quiet, yet hard, tone of voice.
Craig's grin faded to a look of discomfort. "I forgot to mention the occasional bouts of
foot in mouth. I shouldn't have said that, and I am sorry."
Sylia sighed. "Apology accepted. Why did Ishmael choose you?"
Craig walked towards the chair again and carefully sat down "That is a question I have no
answer for." he looked up at her. "I could think of a lot better people for this role, most
them having a clue when it comes to warfare. The closest I've ever gotten to combat is reading
about it."
"You don't think I chose the others purely for their combat experience, do you?" Sylia
sat down and looked him over carefully.
"I don't think so."
She leaned back and continued to watch him. "Each member brings necessary skills to the
team. All we need to do is find out what your skills are."
Craig leaned forward and folded his hands. "Do you have tests I can take to find out what
these skills are?"
Sylia nodded. "I think I can arrange something."
"That'll be fine. I need to do something more then sit around like some misplaced
soothsayer waiting for Bert's Largo to show up so we can kill each other like civilized
people." He stood and started pacing behind his chair. "What am I going to do now? I stuck
heaven knows where, by a refugee from an episode of Dr. Who! Waiting for a superboomer with
delusions of glory so I can take him out like some TV cowboy! Do I get a say in this? No! I
mean...."
Sylia let him ramble on, watching him pace and analyzing his movement and body mass. She
judged his height to be about seven cementers shorter then herself, but with a frame that
carried a lot more weight, not all of it fat. He moved smoothly, but she noticed his feet were
turned out when he stepped, the sure sign of a person who wasn't a sprinter or fast runner. His
hands and arms were in constant motion, punctuating his statements.
He wasn't in perfect shape, she noted to herself, but he could be worked into good
physical condition with little problem. Mentally, she wasn't as sure. His rambling was more
nerves than anything else, but she could sense the anger he still had, along with other
emotions that would flash to the surface for a second before melting away again. She decided to
try something.
"One of the first things you will need to lean is to speak and read Japanese," she said
suddenly.
He stopped and look at her. "Huh?"
"I said, you need to lean Japanese."
"That's what I thought you said. Why?"
Sylia stood. "Most people in the city can speak both English and Japanese," she ex-
plained. "The English because of all the international business that is transacted here, and
the Japanese for obvious reasons. It's easier to blend into the city's population if you can
speak both."
"While any non-native would stand out?"
She nodded. "The less attention you call to yourself, the better."
"I don't know," he replied. "I mean, I have enough problems with English."
"As long as you speak passable Japanese, you should be all right."
"As long as 'passable' is defined loosely," muttered Craig.
"We'll see." Sylia glanced at her watch. "I think Mackie and Priss have had enough time
to get the room ready. I'll show you where it is."
"Thank you. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow, we start your training. Tonight, you can have dinner with
Mackie and myself. There are some other things we need to discuss."
"You're the Boss."
She gave him a small smile. "There is one thing I do need to ask."
"What?"
"Why is the anime series from your dimension involving the Sabers called 'Bubblegum
Crisis'?"
The entity that had called itself Ishmael had returned to its place of nothingness. The
other entity was waiting for its return.
[You are breaking the rules!]
{What rules?} asked Ishmael. {He has no special powers or extra knowledge beyond what he
was already aware of. He is going to have to work and train hard in order to be the victor.}
[But the money!]
{What of it? We are allowed to support our Avatars by any means other then direct trans-
fer of power, or direct involvement in combat. The money is the best support I can give him in
this world and has the benefit of helping the other members of the team.}
[What about Largo?]
{He is starting his own rebuilding, but he will not be ready for some time.}
[So, it is a race then?]
{No. More like a time of building for both sides} Ishmael changed the subject. {Did you
manage to shield the Avatar's insertion from our opponent?}
[Not completely,] the other intelligence replied. [It knows we have placed someone into
the dimension, but who and exactly where it does not know.] There was fierce pride in its
words.
{To hide it completely from our opponent was too great a hope, but you have done well to
shield our Avatar's identity.}
[It will be looking for him.]
{It does not have the resources yet. When Largo is repaired, then it will have what it
needs. Until then, We have the advantage.}
[What do we do now?]
{We watch and wait.}
Brian J. Mason, special assistant to the Chairman of GENOM, was a careful man. He was
also cold-blooded, ambitious, and arrogant, but no one mention those anywhere near him, not if
they wanted to continue working for the conglomerate. His lack of anything resembling a sense
of humor was well know, as was his habit of eliminating people who he believed might pose a
threat to his position.
As a matter of course, Mason preferred to do things himself, in part to make sure the job
was done right, but mostly because he was a hands-on type of person. He had always found a
solution to any problem that popped up, making him invaluable to the Chairman. Over the years
he had handled problems ranging from motorcycle punks trying to blackmail GENOM to misguided
scientists who allowed ethics to stand in the way of progress. Mason's record of success was
clean and without blemish.
Until now.
Mason stared at the damaged Boomer as it sat in the cylinder, immersed in a fluid that
preserved further damage to its systems. He hated unknown factors, and this damaged boomer was
a unknown factor.
There was a couple of technicians monitoring the boomer, but they avoided the executive
with the cold, flat eyes and the scowl that promised dire retribution if disturbed.
He had retreated to the lab to avoid Madigan's investigation, confident in his knowledge
that this was one of the few places in the tower when she couldn't enter. Madigan had started
early in the day, and she soon made it clear that Mason's presence was an obstacle that was
going to be removed, one way or the other. Mason, knowing she wouldn't find anything,
retreated to the lab.
But the lab presented its own problems. The first was the boomer itself. Mason had
mentally began to think of it as a superboomer, for even with its damage, it was clearly a
superior design to the current models out in the field. If Doctor Ming's report was correct, it
was even exceed the most optimistic expectations of the Lazarus designs.
But who built it? Ming was sure it had been GENOM, but that was impossible. To build such
a complex cyberdroid, the builders needed expensive equipment and parts parts that were
manufactured in only a few plants, all controlled by GENOM. He had already dispatched teams to
check the plants, but they had reported all parts were accounted for. Similar teams had been
sent to the handful of boomer manufacturing plants that could possibly do such work had
reported no evidence of the superboomer being built there.
Could someone at either the development center or production control center have built
this? Unlikely, according to Ming, as some of the superboomer's design was too advanced for
anyone to work out without knowledge from Project Lazarus knowledge that wasn't even
completely developed yet.
Mason's scowl deepened. Despite the fact the superboomer was inactive, he felt it
laughing at him, mocking his efforts to solve its origin. He stared at it, trying to will it to
tell him everything he wanted to know. But the superboomer stayed silent.
Snorting in disgust, he checked his watch. He had spent enough time in here for now. He
should probably appear again, to annoy Madigan if for no other reason. Annoyed people could
make mistakes, especially if they were given the right stimulant.
Without so much as a glance to the duty technicians, he strode to the door. As he reach
it, someone said, #Mason#
"What?" he snarled, turning to give the closest technician a glare.
The man looked at him puzzled. "I didn't say anything to you, sir," he replied, his thin
reedy voice sounding nothing like the one that had called Mason's name.
The executive turn his stare at the other technician, who was on the other side of the
chamber, too far away for the low voice Mason had heard. After switching his gaze back and
forward between the two several times, he turned and stalked out of the lab without saying
another word. The two technicians looked at each other before they both shrugged and went back
to their monitoring.
Had either one of them looked at the superboomer closely, they might have noticed a faint
gleam in its eyes that wasn't a reflection of the light in the lab....
After showing Craig to the guest room, Sylia had Mackie guide him around the Knight Saber
headquarters. Craig, a serious expression on his face, had kept his comments to a bare minimum,
but she could see he was impressed. After the tour, they returned to the living room, where
Sylia excused herself and went into the kitchen. Soon there was the sounds of pans and utensils
coming from the kitchen.
"She's cooks?" asked Craig, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the sounds.
"Yes," replied Mackie, flopping down in a chair. "It's the closest thing she has to a
hobby."
"Oh." Craig sat on the couch, but he kept looking over his shoulder. "I never thought of
her as a...cook."
"She took over the household chores after Mother died, and with father working "
"I think I understand. I don't want to go stomping around into family business."
Mackie shrugged. "According to Sylia, you're now part of the family."
Craig smiled. "In that case, just consider me the crazy cousin."
"What did you do to Priss? She was pissed at you for some reason."
"Besides show up alive and breathing?" He shrugged and gave Mackie a grin. "I think
calling her Priscilla ruined any chance at romance between us."
Mackie looked perplexed for a second before he caught on. "You took a chance there. She
hates being called Priscilla."
"I should apologize, but she isn't the flower and candy type." Craig leaned forward.
"Tell me something," he said in a lower tone of voice. "Why don't you go to school?"
Mackie leaned forward himself and replied, "Sylia taught me at home and I already passed
the college entrance exams. I'd thought I'd take a couple of years off first and help Sis."
"Ah." Craig settled back into the sofa. "Family loyalty. I can understand that."
"Do you have a brother or sister?"
"Actually, I have one of each, both younger then me. We don't see each other much, but we
stay in contact." Craig's face suddenly changed to sadness. "We did stay in contact."
The conversation after that became disjointed. Craig withdrew into himself and Mackie,
seeing the change didn't press. Sylia's calling Mackie to help her set the table finished the
conversation for the time being.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Sensing Craig's mood, both Sylia and Mackie kept the
discussion light and nonthreatening. Craig responded to questions directed at him, but
otherwise ate in silence. Despite Sylia's insistence that he didn't need to assist, Craig
carried the dishes into the kitchen and helped clean up.
They returned to the living room, where Sylia turned to Mackie. "Go get the backpack.
It's time." Mackie nodded and left, but not before giving Craig a worried look.
"What backpack?" asked Craig as he sat down.
"When I met you, you were wearing a backpack with some items that concern me. It's time
we discuss them."
"Fine by me."
"I had another reason for sending Mackie for the backpack." She leaned back. "Why don't
you tell me your impressions about the other members of the team?"
"Who do you want me to start with?"
"Priss."
Craig grimaced. "You're not going to tell her what I say, will you?"
"This is between you and me only."
"All right. If I had to use three words to describe her, I'd use tough, stubborn, and
angry. Doesn't back down from a fight, and she's relentless when she's in one. She sure as hell
doesn't like me."
"She doesn't like anyone."
"Oh, she likes a few people, mostly you and the other Sabers. She'll lay down her life
for any of you. On the other hand, I'm the 'new guy', which she interprets as 'possible threat
who will die painfully and horribly at the first hint of treachery.' I don't think her trip out
to the snowbank via 'Ish air' improved her disposition towards me any."
"She'll come around. What about Linna?"
"Normal."
Sylia raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"
"She's a perfectly normal woman with a normal set of hobbies - boyfriends, martial arts,
aerobics, and going hand-to-hand against Boomers." He gave her a silly smile. She sighed.
Craig continued in a more serious tone. "Linna isn't driven by the same things you and
Priss are. She's trying to live a normal life, despite her part time job."
Sylia nodded. "She will be the one helping you brush up on your hand to hand combat
skills."
"I suspected she was going to be the one. Priss would take too much enjoyment in hurting
me, fighting isn't Nene's forte, and you're too busy."
"Speaking of Nene, how would you describe her?"
"The idealist of the group."
"Some would say she's naive."
"What's wrong with being naive?" Craig shrugged. "But she isn't stupid, and frankly she's
the one member of the team I don't want pissed off at me."
Sylia looked surprised. "Oh?"
"Sure. The worse the rest of you can do is kill me outright. Nene can make me look like
the worse criminal since Al Capone, a deranged superboomer, or cut me off from all financial
accounts I may have, all without having to do more then hit a few computer keys. She can't kill
me directly, but she can make it hurt on so many levels...."
The leader of the Knight Sabers nodded. "Are you scared of us?"
"No, but I have a real healthy respect for you and the others. It may not appear that way
at times, but I do respect you I have to."
"You wouldn't have a problem with taking orders from me?"
"Why should I?"
"Some men might have a problem taking orders from a woman."
"The only problem I would have with taking orders from a woman is if the woman in
question is an incompetent jackass with delusions of intelligence. The same holds for any man,
and believe me, I've worked with some real idiots, both men and women. From what I know about
you, you are neither incompetent, or have delusion of intelligence. You don't need me to tell
you what to do."
"You're not trying to patronize me, are you?"
Craig shook his head. "Me? I don't know what the hell I'm doing, you do. Now, I do have
ideas that I will throw out from time to time, but you have the final say."
Sylia's expression was unreadable. "We'll leave that for now. What is your impression of
Mackie?"
"The kid needs to get out more."
"Meaning?"
Craig smirked. "Meaning that he's living a life most red-blooded guys would give their
right arm for. He tinkers with incredible machines, hangs out with four beautiful women, and
occasionally gets to blow things up."
A flicker of surprise crossed Sylia's face before she recovered. "That's a novel way of
looking at it."
"We male neanderthals are such an easy group to please most of the time." Craig leaned
forward. "If you want me to, I'll try and curb his voyeurism."
"What's to prevent you from taking his place as a peeping tom?" asked Sylia in a measured
tone.
"Self-interest. Mackie's your brother, so the worse that will happen to him is he gets
bruised up and verbally abused. On the other hand, I don't have 'little brother immunity' and
given a choice of being used for target practice by the team, with hardsuits, or living in
complete ignorance, I take ignorance every time."
'I don't think even Priss would take it to that extreme."
"Maybe not, but I find an overactive imagination, couple with a healthy dose of self
survival can work just as well in keeping certain hormones under control." He put his hands
together, then stretched his arms over his head. "Do you want my impression of you?"
"It would be only fair."
"I can sum it up in one word brilliant." Watching Sylia's expression, he continued.
"You clearly inherited your father's skills and combined them with leadership and small unit
tactics to produce a well coordinated team."
"That's being patronizing," Sylia said flatly.
Craig's voice became serious and somewhat cold. "Is it patronizing to tell you I know you
can beat me if we were to go hand to hand right now? I am not in your league when it comes to
technical knowledge. I don't know about small leadership skills or fighting boomers, or even
which side of the street they drive on here. I have to rely on you and the others to get me
ready for this war with Largo. Ish seems to think I'm cut out for this role. I'm not so sure,
and if it's patronizing to say you're a person that can help me, then so be it."
Mackie hurried back into the room, carrying the backpack. "Here it is," he called out
hurriedly.
Craig frowned "That does look like my backpack."
Mackie gave Sylia the bag. She took it from him and unzipped it. "When I ran into you,
you were carrying this stuff." She reached in and withdrew several large books and handed them
over to Craig. After he took them, she pulled out several more books and some discs and held
them while Craig looked at the books in his hands.
His expression one of surprise as he saw what they were. "Oh boy," he whispered He
skimmed through the first three books and browsed the last two, then looked up at Sylia. "I
wasn't dreaming the bit in the lab and you in the hardsuit and --"
"You recognize them?" Sylia asked.
Craig nodded. "I have these three," he said holding, up the role playing books. "The
others I've heard of, but I've never seen physically seen them." He held up the B-CLUB. "I
maybe a fanatic, but I wasn't about to spend five hundred dollars for one of these."
Sylia nodded, then glanced up at Mackie. He nodded at the unasked question. Sylia stood.
"There was something else we wanted to show you, Mackie has it set up in the computer room, so
I suggest we go there."
Five minutes later, the three of them were in the computer room, staring at the large
screen in the center of the console. Mackie slid into the seat, and look up at his sister.
"Which one?" he asked.
Sylia looked at Craig. "Pick a number between one and eleven."
"Four."
Mackie typed a command on the keyboard. "Four it is."
The screen went dark, then the words 'YOUMEX PRESENTS' flashed upon the screen. Sylia saw
Craig tense, and a startled looked crossed his face. The scenes of a monster car wreaking havoc
among members of motorcycle gang were watched in silence, but Sylia watched Craig's expression
go from surprise to anger.
As the screen flashed up the words, 'REVENGE ROAD' flashed across the screen, Sylia heard
Craig hiss, "I don't believe it. That low-down, smiling piece of.... " the rest tailed off into
a series a curses involving Ishmael's parents, personal habits and his chemical make-up. After
that went on for a minute or so, the muttering changed into what was going to happen to Ishmael
if he came within range of Craig's hands or fist.
Sylia let it go on for another minute, then elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Shut up and
watch," she whispered in a firm tone. Craig grunted from the blow and gave her a baleful glare.
She returned it, with interest, and after about ten seconds, Craig looked back towards the
screen.
The rest of the episode passed without comment. As the last of the end credits died away,
Craig looked at Sylia. "You have all eight episodes?"
She nodded. "We also have three labeled, 'Bubblegum Crash.'"
"There isn't any labeled Bubblegum Crisis 2040, is there?"
Sylia frowned and looked at Mackie, who returned the look of puzzlement. "Is this
something we should know about?" she asked, looking at Craig cooly.
Craig shrugged. "Same basic concept, same character names, different character designs.
That Sylia is a one eighty in looks and personality to you. She's a couple of RAM chips short
of a full slot, if you take my meaning."
Sylia arched an eyebrow. "In the infirmary, you asked me if I was from the OVAs or the TV
series. You were wondering which version I was, correct?"
Craig nodded. "That Sylia was the most radical changed of the group, but the other Sabers
didn't escape either."
"In what way?' asked Mackie.
"Imagine Nene as a short-hair blond, Linna as a country girl, and you as a Boomer. About
the only one who escape with most of their personality intact was Priss."
Mackie blinked. "Me? A boomer?"
"Is Mason in it?" asked Sylia.
"Oh yea. Mason is a cold hearted bastard here and now, but that Mason is a real sick
puppy." Craig stopped at the look on Sylia's face. "Er, anyway," he continued hurriedly, waving
an arm in a random direction to emphasize his point, "don't worry about that series because
that's off in that direction somewhere. You've got all the OVA episodes, right?"
"What's OVA?" asked Mackie, a somewhat strange look on his face.
"Original video animation."
"We have all the...OVAs," replied Sylia.
"Then why am I here?" Craig stepped back and pointed at the screen "You have all the
knowledge that I have about...this time and place."
"There's something else you should see." Sylia gave Mackie a nod, and his fingers flashed
across the keyboard. The screen darken and a list of files appeared. "Do any of these look
familiar?" she asked.
Craig took one look and became pale again. "The fanfiction too?" he groaned.
"I take it you recognize these files?"
He nodded. "There's an archive that collects these stories." He pointed to one. "I was
writing that one. Now it'll never be finished." He pointed to a directory. "That's Bert's
stories. That's where Ish's Largo version comes from." His eyes narrowed slightly at the name
of one folder. "Sylia, can I speak to you alone for a moment?"
The leader of the Knight Sabers motioned to the door and they both stepped outside, Craig
waited until the door was closed before he asked in a low voice, "Has Mackie done anything with
those files yet?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
Craig looked uncomfortable. "I strongly suggest that you delete the folder marked
'lemons' before Mackie goes through it."
"Any particular reason why?"
"Because if anyone here, including you, read those stories, things could get...stain --
er, strained."
"In what way?"
"They're not the type of stories....They're rather, er...risque."
"In what way?"
"Er...." Craig's expression was one of discomfort mixed with embarrassment. "Let me put
it this way, if Mackie was to read them, he'd probably die from blood loss."
Sylia folded her arms. "I still don't understand."
"They're the type of stories he'd drool over, only more so. Remember what I said about
his voyeurism?"
A shocked look came over Sylia's face. "You are not serious," she breathed. "The Knight
Sabers?"
"Very." Craig began fidgeting. "I think the best thing that could happen is that those
stories end up missing."
"Have you read those stories?'
"I plead the fifth amendment to that question," he said quickly, looking even more
uncomfortable. "Can we go in and get rid of them now?"
Sylia nodded. "I'll go tell Mackie you need to talk to him out here alone. I will need at
least two minutes."
"I'll keep him busy. Just make sure you delete them all."
Sylia went back into the computer room. "Mackie," she said, "Craig wants to speak to you
alone for a moment."
Mackie frowned. "Sure." After he left the room, Sylia sat and started entering commands.
Half way through, she paused. After several seconds of though, she copied the files in the
'lemon' directory into a hidden directory, encrypted them, then locked the directory with a
password. Once that was done, she wiped the files from the directory on the screen, then leaned
back. She wasn't going to take solely his word on the directory's contents. She would look over
them later and make her own determination on the files contents.
She secured the computer then walked over to the door. She stopped and listen to the
conversation on the other side of the door, wanting to hear what was happening before she
showed herself.
"-- three years older then me!" Mackie was saying.
"Have you actually asked her?" Craig asked. "You like her, right?"
"Yes, but "
"And you two have a lot in common, right?"
"Yes, but "
"So why don't you ask her out?"
Sylia arched an eyebrow. What was Craig up to? Deciding that she had heard enough, she
opened the door and interrupted them. "I hope I'm not intruding," she said pleasantly.
The two of them gave her similar looks, that of a couple of kids caught by a teacher
doing something they shouldn't have been doing. Sylia gave them an expectant look."We're just
finishing up," Craig said in a strained voice. Mackie nodded enthusiastically.
"I see. In that case, Craig, can you point out which stories might have a bearing on our
current situation?"
"Sure," Craig said quickly. "Right now?"
"If you don't mind."
Sylia stepped aside, allowing the other two access to the computer room. They scurried
inside, still looking guilty. Sylia closed her eyes and sighed. This sense of frustration
wasn't new, but somehow she knew that she was going to become quite familiar with the feeling
over the next year or so, especially when dealing with their newest member....
****
The lab was almost in complete darkness, with only a few safety lights keeping the
chamber from being totally dark. Doctor Ming and the other technicians had already left for the
evening, which suited Mason just fine.
He had been standing there, in silence, for a full five minutes, staring at the damaged
boomer inside the cylinder. Something, he didn't know what, had drawn him back here tonight.
And that was enough to make him uncomfortable.
He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight, and while the Tower was far from
occupied, there was no one else within four floors of this level except for the guard boomers
outside the lab. He was alone with the superboomer.
He snarled, stifling the urge to take a heavy blunt object to the tube and its contents.
Its appearance reeked of a plot of some sort, but as to who it was aimed at and the purpose
behind it, he didn't know. And that was the thing that gnawed at him.
With a snort of disgust, he turned away and strode to the door. He had things to do. As
he'd expected, Madigan hadn't found anything wrong with Project Lazarus, but he wanted to make
sure that nothing would surface that might make her suspicious. Just a quick check of
#Mason.#
Startled, he spun, looking for the owner of the voice, but there was no one in sight.
"Who are you?" he growled. "Show yourself!"
There was a deep hollow chuckling. #I am right here,# the voice said. Part of Mason
recognized the male voice but couldn't place it. #I have been here since the day I landed on
the roof of GENOM Tower.#
"I find your attempt at a joke lacking in humor!" Mason half shouted, his eyes darting
around the chamber. "Now, show yourself!"
The voice sighed. #This is no joke, Mason. I am inside the tube right before you.#
Mason strode around the chamber, his eyes flickering from one spot to another. "You have
five seconds to come out!"
#Then you don't want to know what I know about your plan you privately call 'Rebirth'?#
A cold stab shot through Mason. "What are you taking about? I've never heard of this
'rebirth plan'!"
The voice sighed again. #The shell you were planning to use for this project of yours was
JFF dash one three one four. The shell will be damaged in a transport accident in about seven
hours. You will be forced to use shell JFF dash one three one six for your project.#
"I don't believe you!"
#It is true. I know you better then you know yourself. I know how you handled the
motorcycle punk that decided to try and blackmail GENOM. You should have taken out his
girlfriend, but you missed your chance.#
For the first time in a long time, Mason felt uneasy. "Who are you?"
#Remember Doctor Stingray? How you shot the fool twice in the head? The look of surprise
as he realized you were going to kill him? Then the explosion you arranged to cover up the
murder?#
"What slander is this?" Mason roared, "I "
#SHUT UP!#
There was silence in the chamber for several heartbeats before the voice continued, the
voice cold and hard. #I know of your ambitions to become chairman, but so does the Old Man. He
will dangle the possibility in front of you, but he will never give up his power willingly. I
can help you.#
"Why should you help me?"
#Because I can.#
"That isn't a reason."
#It isn't, but it will suffice for now. We have common goals and common enemies. We can
work together to gain what we want.#
Mason walked over to the cylinder and looked down at the superboomer. The panic that had
gripped him had faded, but he was too experienced to ignore it completely. "Suppose I agree to
this alliance," he said in a cool tone, "What do I get out of it?"
#The chairmanship of GENOM and the destruction of the Knight Sabers.#
"And what do you get out of this?"
#The destruction of the Knight Sabers. Beyond that, I cannot say.#
Mason mind worked frantically, weighting the options and formulating a plan to use
this...thing while shielding himself from harm in case things went wrong. "Let me think about
this overnight," he said finally.
#That is fair. I will await your reply about this time tomorrow. Fair enough?#
Mason nodded. "Fine." he turned and walked to the door. Before he reached it, he turned.
"What is your name? I like to know who I'm dealing with."
#Fair enough. I am called Largo.#
Mason nodded. "Very well, Largo. I will give you my decision tomorrow." He walked out of
the lab.
The silence lasted for several minutes before a low laugh echoed around the chamber
before it died away into stillness.