Shan Pu walked back towards the warehouse which was for the time being
home, the bulky and uncomfortable disguise having been removed in an alley
and bundled into the satchel she carried. The night had not exactly been
what she would call a success.
Two seconds. Seemingly an infinitesimal span of time, it had tonight made
all the difference. Had that man arrived that much later, or she herself
been quicker to recover from his surprise entrance, things would
have gone differently. Who was that, anyway?
She almost smacked herself for being so careless. Given the importance
Militech placed on this project, she should have _known_ they would have
somebody keeping an eye on their test pilot. But guards, like soldiers and
beat cops, preferred to work in pairs - where had this one's partner been?
Maybe he wasn't a guard, Shan Pu thought. Ukyo's date, perhaps, arriving at
the wrong time? The Chinese woman smiled briefly at the thought. It was
possible, after all, and would explain a couple of things. If that was so,
where'd he get the gun? Firearms were still relatively hard to score in
Japan, and the milspec ones - like the SOCOM - would be even more so.
Whatever the answers to those questions, her great-grandmother would not be
pleased. At least she would be somewhat understanding... which was
better than she could say for Taro. Girding herself for what lay ahead,
she continued walking.
==========================================
The medics were on the way, according to the duty officer. In the
interim, it was up to him.
Like soldiers the world over, Chance had the benefit of basic medical
training, basically what to do to try and keep the subject stable until
proper medical help arrived. Having laid Ukyo - carefully, for fear of
aggravating as-yet-undiscovered internal injuries - on blankets and a
pillow appropriated from the bedroon, he went to work.
Busted lip, right eye swollen shut. Bruises on the neck, indicators of
attempted strangulation... One perverse benefit of being trained in how to
inflict a variety of injuries, some fatal, was the ability to recognize the
evidence they left behind. It was no substitute for formal foresnics
training, but it did have its uses...
The flash of white-hot anger and revulsion he experienced on seeing what
lay under Ukyo's shirt was something of a surprise. Having the blacker, more
sickening experiences her life described to him was one thing. Seeing the
evidence, however, was another matter entirely. These weren't wounds that
had been accrued in the chaos of battle, but the result of systematic,
calculated malice. How could anyone do this? His next words, as natural
and... right?... as they seemed, were another surprise.
"Whoever you are, hope I never find you." Chance didn't know whether he was
talking to the intruder, or to those who had done this to her over the
course of her life. Ukyo groaned just then, putting an end to further
vocalized thoughts of retribution. "Help's on the way," he continued.
"We'll have you back on your feet in no time."
He then got back in touch with Ops, requesting a direct line to the
enroute medics. It couldn't hurt to let them know what to expect, after all.
========================================
Ranma Saotome stared at what few stars managed to pierce through the garish
lights of the city, twinkiling dully as they competed with the harsh
electrical illumination below.
The outer surface of the holo-trainer was smooth and slightly cool through
the thin material of his shirt. Car horns and muffled shouts echoed through
the menagerie of metal-and-glass structures, little more than background
noise. Nerima was actually pretty quiet at night, since not many ever came
through after dark.
It was times like this when he began to look back on his life an wonder
just what had brought him here. Sure, life with Genma wasn't a picnic, but
he had Ranko there. They would also bump into Ryoga from time to time, who
travelled with his cousin Koji. Unlike Ryoga, Koji's sense of direction was
infallible. It seemed that the whole navigational thing managed to skip a
generation once in a while.
But here, he had no family. Since Ranko's death, he had been more or less
on his own. He had pretty much disowned Genma as his father a long time ago,
the first time he hit Ranko. He would hit Ranma as well, who was too small
to fight back, whenever either of them did anything whatsoever to displease
him. Life with Genma wasn't a picnic, it was almost hell.
As Ranko began to grow and mature, something began to change. Some nights,
Genma would send Ranma out of wherever they were staying at the time,
sometimes for hours on end. When he returned, he often found Ranko shivering
in a corner with a blanket drawn up around her, tears running down her
cheeks. Ranma's heart would threaten to tear itself apart at the sight, and
he would try to talk to her. Unlike before, when she would allow herself to
break down in his arms, she would remain silent and distant. If he tried to
put a comforting arm around her, she would flinch as though he were trying
to hit her and even draw away. Puzzled, he would just sit there, unsure of
what to do for her.
Now, however, he cursed himself for not putting things together sooner. On
the eve of their fifteenth birthday, she let it all out. It had been her,
Ranma, and Ryoga alone in a decrepit wreck of a building somewhere south of
Osaka. There, sitting around the light from an electric lantern brought by
Ryoga, she told them of just what Genma had done to her.
She had sounded so ashamed, as if it had all been her fault. Ryoga, his
face pale and drawn, had moved to comfort her. Ranma, however, sat there in
the cold light of the elecctric Coleman lantern, rage burning in his veins
like a living flame intent on consuming him whole. He would see Genma pay
for what he had done, and would make sure that his sister would never go
through anything like that again.
A few scant days later was the fateful accident which robbed him of his
only family. The following year was one of the lonliest of his life. Then, a
little more than a month ago, Genma had sold his contract to Ryu-Ken.
"Ranma!" The sound of Akane's voice brought him out of his reverie. He
looked over to his left to see her approaching his position, a palpable air
of determination emanating from her. Akane's face was obscured by the
shadows, but her posture and voice told him that he was in for some trouble.
"Yeah?" he asked noncomittaly.
"We have to talk," she said, coming to a halt less than a meter away from
him. She remained standing over him, as though she intended to keep control
of whatever was about to take place.
"What about?"
"You."
"Why ain't I surprised?" he asked sarcastically. He just wished Akane would
get on with it.
"Now listen, and listen well," Akane said in a warning tone, "because I'll
only say this once. I'm the lead pilot here, understand?"
"I know you're the lead pilot," Ranma said, his ire beginning to rise. If
this was just about the team pecking order... "What's your point?"
"My point is," Akane said, "that ever since you got here, you've been a
pain in the ass!"
More like I've been showing you up, he thought. It wasn't HIS fault that he
was the better pilot.
"Akane, you've given me this song before," Ranma said irritably, "would ya
just skip to the refrain?" She just stood there, sputtering in surprise and
anger.
"Let me tell you something, Ranma," she hissed, "for the past five years,
I've been the only pilot for this team. We were doing just fine then, and..."
"Listen to me, Akane," Ranma said quietly. "I ain't your enemy, and I ain't
tryin' to steal any of your thunder. You're lead pilot, and that's just fine
by me. I just wanna race for a real team for once."
"Real team?" Akane asked, some of her righteous indignation fading. This
wasn't the Ranma she had come to know over the past month. He wasn't firing
back with verbal barbs of his own this time, nor was he trying to start a
shouting match. "What are you talking about?"
"I don't usually talk about this," Ranma said, a note of sadness in his
voice, "but if we're gonna live together, we gotta get a few things out in
the open."
"All right," Akane said slowly. Was Ranma really about to open up to her?
Or was he just trying something to get her off his back? She mentally
slapped herself for assuming the latter so quickly, kneeling down so as not
to seem like she towered over him.
"The last time I've ever lived in a real house was when I was five years
old," Ranma began, "it wasn't much, but it was home. When me an' Ranko were
about five, Mom left us."
"She...?"
"Nah, she just up and left us. Then Genma took us on the road."
"Why did your mother leave you?" Akane asked, unable to believe that a
mother could abandon her own children.
"I dunno," Ranma said, his shoulders sagging. "Genma never talked about
it." The tone in Ranma's voice was full of confusion, pulling at the strings
of Akane's heart. She had no idea he had also lost his mother.
"Where did you go from there?" Akane asked.
"Just about everywhere," Ranma replied offhandedly, "we never stayed in one
place for too long."
For the first time, Akane was beginning to understand a little about Ranma
as a person. While Akane had a home all her life, Ranma had stayed wherever
he, his father, and his sister could.
"So you never had a home," Akane said softly.
"Home was wherever we laid down to sleep that night," Ranma said with a
hint of regret.
"And then you lost Ranko," Akane said in the hopes that he would talk about
that as well. He was obviously carrying a good deal of pain, and he had to
let it out.
"Yeah," he said shortly, literally slamming himself shut before her eyes.
"Listen, Akane, let's just say that we have to learn to at least get along
on the track. You don't have to like me, it ain't like people expect us to
get married or somethin', but we gotta work together." On that note, Ranma
rose gracefully to his feet and began to walk back toward the house. Akane
remained there for a few moments, mulling over the conversation before
folowing him.
===================================
Waiting. It was one of the things Chance hated most in life. As a soldier,
he was trained to be patient, but the cossack in him craved action. Just
sitting on one of those damned uncomfortable benches in a hospital waiting
room was almost too much to bear, the fact that Ukyo was in the emergency
room down the hall notwithstanding.
He called up his mind's picture of the intruder who had put Ukyo here,
anything to keep it busy. Something seemed off about him, but what? First,
Chance recalled the outfit the intruder wore.
A simple black dogi, much in the style of old ninja movies, except a tad
tighter than it should have been. The muscletone seemed strange as well,
almost bulky and cumbersome in some respects. What else was wrong with the
picture?
The knife? No, knives were relatively easy to score in Japan these days.
The strobe? Definitely. Not many thugs and punks carry equipment like that.
Another odd point was the state of Ukyo's clothes. There had been some
minor rips in the fabric of the oversized shirt, but her undergarments had
remained relatively undisturbed. Chance was not a profiler, but he figured
most rapists to be little more than rabid animals who would tear at the
victims clothing while attempting to subdue her. Could this one have been
more level-headed than most others? From the shape Ukyo was in when he
arrived, the bastard could have had his way with her easily. He wouldn't
even have needed the knife, which he thankfully hadn't used. The bruises
left on her from the fight seemed to support the level-headed rapist theory,
the placement such as to temproarily incapacitate her. But there was still
something that didn't fit...
He put everything he knew together, and realized that maybe this wasn't
just some random act, but that Ukyo had been targeted by someone. But why?
Chance could only think of two possible reasons, and neither or them were at
all reassuring.
"Mr. Checkhov?" asked a man in green surgical scrubs. Chance started at the
intrusion, cursing himself for getting so lost in his own mind.
"How's Ukyo?" he asked, worry gnawing at his stomach.
"Her injuries weren't as serious as we had first thought," the doctor said.
Chance felt a great weight lift off of his heart at the news. Ukyo wasn't
too badly hurt. "We expect her to make a full recovery in a day or so."
"Is she..."
"She's asleep now, Mr. Checkhov," the doctor said in a practiced kindly
voice. "Have the police contacted you yet?"
"Yeah. I already gave a statement," Chance said. It had been a total waste
of time, but it had to be done.
"That's good," the doctor, his nametag said Kadowaki, replied. "I know
you've already answered this, but what is your relationship with Miss Kuonji?"
"I'm a friend of hers," Chance said, feeding the doctor the same line he
had the police. He was more like her superior officer, but that was
something they didn't need to know about.
"Well, then," the doctor said, "since she has no immediate family, I guess
you'll do. I found some rather disturbing things in her X-rays and blood
work that I think you should know about."
The doctor turned left and proceeded down the antiseptic white corridor,
Chance following close behind. Their footsteps echoed softly on the tile
floor as they passed by assorted hospital staff and patients. Chance kept
checking his perpiheral vision, utilizing the large domed mirrors situated
on the ceiling to check behind him. It was a habit he had formed while in
the service and one that had always served him well.
They turned down two more corridors, Dr. Kadowaki keeping a brisk pace all
the while, and found themselves before a modest wooden door. The small tag
on the door identified it as the office of Doctor Kenshiro Kadowaki, M.D.
The office was almost pitifully small, bookshelves along the right wall
littered with medical journals and reference materials, the left occupied
only by a medium-sized vid screen. The back wall was covered with his
diplomas and certificates of achievment. His desk was likewise cluttered,
paperwork in a state of utter disarray.
"Forgive the mess, Mr. Checkhov," Kadowaki said in a tired voice, "I've
been on a twenty hour shift so far, and haven't had the time to straighten
things up in here."
"Don't worry about it," Chance replied, taking a seat opposite the desk.
"Now, what's wrong?"
"Here are scans from Ukyo's X-rays taken whe she was brought in." The
screen on the left wall flickered to life, showing a black-and-white image
of a human ribcage. In the top right corner was the name "Kuonji, Ukyo,
Patient #234766," followed by the date and time of the X-rays. Several small
windows opened up on the scan, lines connecting the small rectangles to
various points on her ribs.
"This scan shows that Miss Kuonji's ribs had been broken previously, and in
several places. Some even more than once." Kadowaki said, concern and
revulsion evident in his tone. "There was also evidence of the same on both
arms," he continued, the scan changing to Ukyo's left and right arms, "her
left leg," the scan changed again, "and evidence of at least one major
concussion in her life." The scan changed again to her skull. Chance's blood
began to boil at the sight of even more evidence of the hell she had been
through. "There was so much evidence of physical abuse that..."
"I get the point, doctor," Chance said through gritted teeth.
"I have to ask you, Mr. Checkhov," Kadowaki went on, "how much you know
about the abuse Miss Kuonji has suffered."
"Not much," Chance said with a sigh. It was a lie, but what else could he
say? That yes, he had been fully briefed on the life and times of Ukyo
Kuonji? "I haven't known her for long."
"I'm sorry to have had to ask you that," Kadowaki said in a gentle voice,
"but I have never seen anything like what I saw with her. I..."
"Had to try and find out if she was still being abused," Chance finished.
"Not quite," Kadowaki said, "I haven't found anything correlating to recent
abuse. The most current signs are several months old."
"At any rate," Chance said, anxious to be by Ukyo's side, "I have to go see
her."
"She's still under," Kadowaki said.
"I know that, but I still want to go to her."
"Okay," Kadowaki replied, "she's being moved from the ER now. I'll walk you
there."
=========================================
Nestled inside Militech's Tokyo building - specifically, three levels
belowground - was a room which never slept. Those seeing it for the first
time would often draw comparisons to spaceflight control centers, such as
those at Vandenburg and Cape Canaveral. It wasn't an unfair comparison,
although a better one would be made by naval personnel.
At any particular point in time Militech's Op-Center (Asia-Pac sector) was
staffed by anywhere from a dozen to eighteen operators, and two or three
supervisors (one of whom would be considered the 'duty officer' for
organizational purposes) - all of whom monitored and coordinated whatever
operations were going on in-theater, liaising as needed with similar
Op-Centers in other parts of the world. By and large, it was all rather
routine. Unless there was a crisis brewing, of course; stories still
circulated about conditions during Petrochem and SovOil's war, not that
long gone, over oil reserves in the South China Sea...
Given the long shifts and relative boredom, operators and supervisors alike
were encouraged to find small diversions to help keep awake. Different tones
denoted the various urgency levels of traffic, giving one a definite cue as
to when to sit up and take notice.
This evening - or, more fittingly, morning; it was zero-fifty Lima,
according to the strip of wall clocks - the job of duty officer happened to
fall to one Angelique Gerard. On hearing the phone ring, she put down the
old John Grisham novel she had been reading and pulled on her headset.
"Op-Center, Lieutenant Gerard. Please identify yourself."
Gerard's eyebrows shot up briefly when the caller identified himself. Less
than a minute later she was making some calls of her own.
Chance took another look around. Nothing had changed, of course: Kadowaki
had, after taking one more check of Ukyo's vitals, left the two of them
alone; she to sleep and he to think...
With burgulary and rape off the board, only two possible motives for the
attack remained, a hypothesis he had shared with the Op-Center duty officer
- Gerard, as he remembered - and his own second-in-command, Drake. One, the
more plausible one, was pure business: some corporation with a rival program
did some 'research' and decided to do something sufficient to sieze the
advantage. The other was more unsettling.
What if those bastards Hawkes had managed to wrest Ukyo from hadn't given
up on their prize? Not impossible, except for the part about a band of
slavers having the wherewithal to circumvent operational security in their
search - not to mention complete disregard for the possible consequences of
being found out.
And could you really blame them for wanting her back? that dissonant voice
in the back of his mind wanted to know. Leaving aside the possibility of her
one day being a prosecution witness, Ukyo's a young, attractive, and
cheerful woman - he could almost hear Robert, one of his old classmates,
laying down his points about why she was such a great catch...
Not now! he chided the voice. Later... maybe.
===========================================
"Tell me, again," Galford Connolly said tiredly to his partner, "why we're
going after this girl?"
"She asked for information on the Saotome case," Hanzo Hattori replied
matter-of-factly, "information from OUR files." The sun was just beginning
to rise over the tips of the skyscrapers, reaching upward as if to deny one
a glimpse of the heavens. The sky, what they could see of it, was tinged
with blazing gold that promised to soon fade into a deep blue. All in all,
it was shaping up to be a rather beautiful day in Tokyo.
"Since when did a street murder warrant the attention of PSIO?" Galford
asked. Such occurrences were often handled by local police, except in
certain instances. After all, the FBI didn't handle the run-of-the-mill
murders and neither did the Japanese counterpart.
"It was my case back in Kansai," Hanzo answered, "and it still is."
"Okay, I can buy that." Such a thing as an agent investigating an old case,
even one in the jurisdiction of the Koban, wasn't exactly unheard of. If one
just pulled the right strings and knew the right people, it could be pulled
off. "But what charges can we bring up?"
"Here I thought you were all fired up to go check this out," Hanzo said.
"Hey, man, I want to see an old case get solved as much as you do," Galford
replied, "but what grounds do we have to question her on?"
"I do see your point," Hanzo said, "until Gosunkugi actually breaks into
our systems, there is no crime." And a solicitation charge was a
misdemeanor, he didn't add.
And so they would wait. When and if Gosunkugi actually broke into the PSIO
datafiles, then they would question Nabiki. The nature of the files
Gosunkugi would look for just made steering the questions toward the Saotome
case that much easier.
==========================================================
Senior Technician Yuka Sankao sat before one of the terminals in the PSIO's
data storage room. The room, which was larger than her apartment, was lined
with sophisticated digital storage equipment on all sides, racks of routers
and internet communication equipment occupying several metal shelves in the
center. The soft hum from the running machines filled the air with a
subliminal vibration that one learned to ignore after a while.
Yuka had always been extremely proud of her software systems, being the one
who approved and oversaw every update in software and equipment gave her the
sense of being almost a mother. A mother with silicon chilren, but a mother
nonetheless. As such, she had taken great care in safeguarding each and
every program from potential hackers.
Many of the anti-virus and anti-hacker safeguards were either her own
design, or her own variation of an existing one. The woman had been known to
hack out several thousand lines of code she thought to be extraneous, even
in market software. Not that the software companies ever found out, of
course, since the Bill Gates and Peter Norton wannabes out there would throw
a hissy-fit. In essence, she was the last true pirate of Silicon Valley,
despite being in Japan.
The terminal in front of her beeped for attention, Yuka knowing the problem
before she even looked at the screen. She had been briefed about what
Gosunkugi had been planning, and was secretly excited. She knew him, having
come up through Nippon Tech together, and she knew just how good a hacker he
really was. The thought of going up against the one student in the whole
school who could give her a run for her money was a prospect she could not
refuse.
The detection programs instantly registered the outside access, looking
into public files the PSIO either never bothered to or had actually
de-classified. Such was not uncommon, since students doing research on
criminal investigations often went there first.
She traced the signal, coming up with a telephone number from Tokyo, but
something didn't seem right. Curious, she cross-referenced the number with
existing ones in that area.
"Hikaru, you're losing your touch," she said softly once the results had
come up. The number was a fake. While the prefix matched the one Tokyo
businesses and other organizations used to dial into the local trunk, the
following three didn't form a valid Tokyo interchange. She had him.
The fake account continued to search through public data for a few moments,
not even bothering to enter restricted files. Yuka kept watch, wondering
just what Gosunkugi was planning. There was something odd about his tactics,
why was he trying to come in through the front door and with an obvisouly
fake number at that?
"Crap!" Yuka shouted, momentarily angry at her oversight. Of course he
wouldn't try to come in through the front, that just wasn't his style. The
fake number was just a diversion to keep her busy! Yuka hurriedly scanned
through the logs for the classified files, looking for any unauthorized
access. Every single cookie reported the accesses coming from authorized
numbers within the building, nothing out of the ordinary.
"C'mon, c'mon..." she muttered as her fingers flew across the keyboard with
lightning speed. Yuka brought up the logs on the Saotome casefile, which she
had classified as per its unsolved status. Forensic evidence and pathology
reports were closely guarded in the event that some nutjob found them and
decided to make a false confession. Odd as it seemed, such had actually
happened before, which was why most evidence on ongoing cases was kept from
public view.
She was rewareded with a single hit, an access from... inside? No, that
couldn't be it. Checking the ID code, she found the number to be that of the
Deputy Chief, who would have access to the files.
"I don't think so." She activated Predator, a tracking program of her own
design. It was a beauty of software engineering, if Yuka Sankao said so
herself. It didn't stop until it traced the signal to its point of origin,
often times much faster than the best Norton systems. The main beauty,
however, was its resistance to switchbacks and false trails that hackers
often used to fool such systems. Predator was able to copy itself on the
fly, tracing every trail as they came while the main program kept seeking
the source. If one of the clones hit a dead end, it would automatically send
a signal back before self-deleting. Lastly, Predator also had the ability to
report geographic locations if Gosunkugi was using a cloned number nor would
it be stopped if he had spliced into another line. Predator was not on the
market, even though she could make millions off of it. If others got ahold
of it, they could find a way around it and that wouldn't be very good, would
it? The downside was that it could be detected once a lock was established
and didn't prevent the hacker from logging off and heading for the hills.
Predator first hit the terminal of the Deputy Chief, bouncing around the
PSIO building from there until it reached the desk terminal of a file clerk
who happened to have an outside line.
"Wardailing," Yuka snarled, furious at herself. Wardailing was one of the
oldest tricks in the book, where one simply kept dialing number after number
in rapid succession until finding one that led from the outside in. It stung
the Senior Tech that such a simple trick had nearly been her undoing, and a
lesson had been learned. Now it was time to teack Gosunkugi one. NOBODY
messed with HER equipment and got away with it!
The tension steadily mounted as Predator traced the signal. If Gosunkugi
broke the connection, then Predator would be useless. It still needed a
connection back to her to report the location of Gosunkugi. Yuka resisted
the urge to play with him, alerting the little turd that someone was onto
him might spook him into severing the connection.
"Please," she muttered, not wanting to lose this one, "please, baby, do it
for mama..."
After an eternity of seconds, a small window popped up in the center of the
monitor, giving all the details. The connection broke quickly after, the
files untouched, but that didn't matter. She had him now!
"Sorry, Hikaru, but you lose."
========================================
Hkaru Gosunkugi broke the connection using a decidedly low-tech solution,
un-plugging the cable from his computer. It may have been inelegant, but it
always worked.
He cursed himself as he strode about the fastidiously neat room. How had
they traced him? Not only had he spliced into another line, he had also
routed through at least five cloned numbers, used God knew how many cutoffs
and switchbacks, wardialed a weak-willed fax/modem, and bounced his signal
around the PSIO, not to mention Tokyo. All that, coupled with his
diversionary tactic, should have made the job a cinch! Instead, someone
still managed to nail him.
Gosunkugi immediately grabbed his ever-handy suitcase and false ID papers.
So what if this equipment was confiscated, he would get more. Then he would
set about learning just who had tagged him and how. This was something he
was very intrested in.
He strode to the door, confident that he could vanish before any PSIO goons
showed up. Placing his suitcase on the floor, he opened the door...
...and was greeted by two smiling men brandishing PSIO badges in their left
hands and 9mm pistols in their right.
========================================
"Uh-huh. Yeah? Okay, good job!" Galford folded the cell phone and replaced
it in his coat pocket, a cocky grin on his face. "Hey, Hanzo, we're on."
"So, Gosunkugi actually attempted it, eh?" Hanzo replied in his usual stony
demeanor. The waitress stopped at their table, refilling their coffee cups
before moving along once more. The small kissaten was decorated in brass and
brick, various hanging plants giving the place a cozy ambiance. Soft
sunlight poured through the large plate glass window that faced the street.
"Yep. Our boys nailed his ass just as soon as he walked out the door. They
didn't even have to knock."
"Well, then," Hanzo said as he took a token sip of his coffee, "We will
leave Gosunkugi to Daisuke. Electronic crimes are his specialty. It is time
we paid a visit to Nabiki Tendo."
"Think she'll crack?"
"I know she will." Somehow, Galford really didn't like Hanzo's tone when he
said that...
======================================
"Man, what a dump," Galford muttered as they drove through the dilapidated
Nerima Ward. "What the hell is a Moto team doing holed up out here?" His
eyes passed over the filthy structures that lined the street, many without
windows or even doors. Colorful grafitti decorated the dingy bricks, a few
homeless people shuffling about in their dirty rags.
"Hold your tongue, Galford," Hanzo said in a warning tone, "Good people do
still live here." It had been the same back in Kansai, and every other
metropolitan area. "It is much the same in America, is it not?"
"Well, yeah."
"Just because the houses are in shambles does not mean that the people are
any less human than us." Hanzo hadn't mentioned the cyberpunks that often
frequented the worst parts of Nerima. They weren't really human anymore.
The high wall of the Tendo Moto Training Complex suddenly loomed to their
right, the surface as stained with paint and grime as any other they had
seen. Hanzo slowed the Mitsubishi to a crawl, pulling in to face the solid
steel doors that granted access to the complex beyond. He was not about to
leave a PSIO car out in the open in a place like this.
Hanzo flashed his badge at the monitor situated in the small portion of the
wall that jutted out in front of the recessed doors. A thin beam of light
shone on the small bar code printed on the card, scanning to see if it was
genuine. Every such system was programmed to recognize PSIO badges and allow
access to the agents holding them. The badges were impossible to duplicate,
and the monitors also checked the faces of the agents using the badges.
The doors slid open with a loud mechanical hum, vanishing into the walls as
they slid back on their tracks. When the gap grew wide enough, Hanzo guided
the small black sedan into the complex proper.
=============================================
Nabiki leaned back in her chair, still wearing the halter and near
panty-sized shorts from her morning workout. The leather of the chair felt
soft and cool against her mostly exposed skin as she reclined, allowing her
mind to wander away from the team's debts and nagging accounts. She looked
down the length of her long, shapely legs, crossing them at the ankles atop
her desk. She definitely had the figure to wear something like this, mainly
due to her rigorous aerobics regimen every morning. If there was one thing
she really appreciated, it was looking good. Even in simple clothes, she was
a knockout.
"Nabiki?" Kasumi's face appeared on the small terminal next to her feet,
her usual smile firmly in place. "There are two men here to see you."
Nabiki's brain instantly went on full alert, noticing details that had
slipped her a second before. Kasumi's smile seemed false somehow, her eyes
tinted with anxiety. Her voice had also seemed less than sincere, as if she
were trying to play cheerful.
"Sorry, sis," Nabiki replied as a few pieces of the puzzle clicked
together, "they don't have an appointment." Not that they would need one, if
her hunch was correct. Nabiki felt trapped, cornered as her heart began to
thud in the confines of her chest.
"I'm sorry, Nabiki, but they are very insistent." Kasumi moved aside, her
face immediately replaced by an ID badge bearing the symbol of the PSIO. Shit.
"May we come in, Miss Tendo?" A deep, cold voice asked. Despite herself,
Nabiki felt a shiver race down her spine. Hikaru had gotten caught and had
ratted her out. If she ever got her hands on him...
"Of course, Agent Hattori," Nabiki said with forced hospitality. This was
it, then, Nabiki Tendo goes down.
"Miss Tendo," Hanzo said as he took one of the chairs in the room, "I am
Agent Hanzo Hattori, PSIO. This is my partner, Galford Connolly."
"An American?" Nabiki asked, eyeing the gaijin investigator.
"He is here on an exchange program from the FBI."
"We've been wanting to talk to you, Nabsy," Galford said as he took his own
seat.
"First off, it's Nabiki, not *Nabsy*," she said in a cool voice, tinged
with warning on the last word, "and second, why do want to talk to me?"
"Do you know one Hikaru Gosunkugi?" He already knew the answer to that, but
it was still one of the questions any cop had to ask. Start with the obvious
stuff first, feel out the suspect, and go from there. Tedious as it could
be, it had to be done.
"I want a lawyer." Hanzo resisted the urge to plant his fist through the
girl's chest, her cocky grin the same as others who asked for one of those
detestable creatures.
"Listen here, *Nabiki-san*," Galford said, spitting out her name, "we have
you on solicitation *and* a datatheft charge." Galford had begun his part of
the routine, known as "good cop/bad cop". It was an old tactic, but still
effective. "We could take your happy ass in right now. Would you like to be
dragged out of your own home in handcuffs?" The girl's grin faltered only
slightly, gone so fast that Hanzo wondered if he had seen it at all.
"Solicitation is a misdemeanor," Hanzo began, "but datatheft is a felony.
And since Gosunkugi actually broke into our files, on your request, you will
be charged the same as he."
"We won't just throw the book at you, we'll hit you with the whole damn
library." Galford was really playing his part to the hilt. Hanzo was forced
to wonder if, in fact, his new partner actually enjoyed doing this.
"I still want a lawyer."
"Miss Tendo," Hanzo said, "you had Gosunkugi obtain information pertaining
to an old, unsolved murder in Kansai. The murder of one Nodoka Saotome."
"And?"
"I was the detective working that case."
"So what? I said..."
"You might want to reconsider that whole lawyer thing," Galford said, "We
have an offer for you."
Nabiki knew the good cop/bad cop routine, but was still intimidated. That
American, Galford, really knew how to play the part of the bad cop. She also
knew to stick to her guns and keep asking for a lawyer. Japan's legal system
was rapidly becoming much like the American one, with all the corruption
that went with it.
The revelation that Hanzo had been the detective on the case came as a
surprise, her mind leaping back to the article on Nodoka's murder that she
had unearthed a few weeks before. Hanzo Hattori, Kansai homicide detective,
was now an agent for the Public Safety Inestigations Office, the PSIO. It
was ironic, really.
"And what would this offer be?" They must have thought they had a real ace
up their sleeves.
"Miss Tendo, we don't really want you," Hanzo said in his cool and even
voice. "We wanted Gosunkugi. I'm certain you are familiar with his
reputation as a hacker?"
"I..."
"Don't even say it! That little punk's got enough cyber piracy and
datatheft charges up against him, he'll be taking communal showers in
Tomobiki Men's Correctional for the rest of his life. You're just small
potatoes next to him." Galford was really gettting into this.
"What's the offer?" Right to the point. Hanzo liked that in a woman.
"I have a somewhat personal interest in the Saotome murder," Hanzo said.
"Her spirit cries out for justice."
"Huh?"
"Ranma Saotome is a member of this team. We want to question him about his
mother's death, and we require your help."
"My help?" He had the line in the water, the worm was moving, and the fish
was taking a look.
"Ranma may not reveal anything to us, but he may indeed to you, or to
someone else in this house. We want you to pass on any information you can
get out of him along to us."
"Why the interest in this case?" The fish was circling, looking for the
barb behind the worm.
"That's our business, Nabiki," Galford interjected. "You just play along."
"What's in it for me?" The fish was circling closer, now.
"Since we have the man we really wanted, we can at least downplay your
involvement in this whole sordid mess. You'll get a very lenient sentence,
most likely not even any prison time. "
"And if I refuse?"
"Then it's off to Tomobiki Women's Correctional for you, girl," Galford
grinned. "There's not a lawyer in the land who could get you off on this
one. And trust me, you do *not* want to spend the next thirty to forty in
there."
"And how would *you* know how bad it is there?" Nabiki's tone was defiant,
but her eyes betrayed her knowledge that the situation was hopeless.
"Do you have any idea how many of the inmates there are in for murder, and
worse that that? A few are rapists, believe it or not!" Nabiki's face began
to pale, only a little, but noticably. The fish might have known that the
worm hid a hook, but was realizing that a rather nasty shark was in the
water with it. "And all those bull dykes would *love* to get their hands on
a shapely little thing like you." Galford's face was hard and unyeilding,
but his eyes crackled with lightning. "Trust me, you won't have that shape
for very long in there."
"So, now that you've seen your options, what will it be?" Hanzo asked.
"I'll play ball," Nabiki said with a resigned tone. The fish bit and had
been reeled in.
"Excellent. We'll be in touch." With that, Hanzo and Galford rose from
their seats. "Oh, and ask your sister not to tell anyone else about our
visit. That's important." When she nodded her assent, the two agents left
the office.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Galford said as they climbed into the
car. "If the Director gets wind of this..."
"I know." Offering Nabiki a chance at avoiding gang rape in the women's
showers at Tomobiki for the chance to solve a ten year old murder would not
go over well. But, who said the Director had to find out?
=======================================
Well, that's it for this one. Sorry it took so long. Questions? Comments?
Pass 'em on!