Ranma used without permission
=================================================
Ranma 1/2: Jet Moto
Chapter 10
=================================================
Why am I still here? Chance scowled - for whom the sole audience was his
faint reflection in the window - then returned to one of two chairs in the
room, intending to read some more of a book he had picked up from the gift
shop in the lobby. He had barely picked up the paperback when the question
came back.
Why was he here, really? Not that he doubted the quality of care Ukyo was
receiving - the EMTs had assured him that this was the best hospital in
Tokyo, and that Kadowaki fellow seemed a nice enough doctor. Her safety?
Granted: if someone knew enough to send the ersatz-ninja to Ukyo's
apartment, it wouldn't be all that hard for that assailant, or another, to
find their way here? Another phone call would be all he needed to have
troops guarding the room around the clock. That would be the sensible thing
to do: bring people in, then go home and get some sleep before the
spookhunters and whoever else came to talk to him.
But the call went unmade, and he remained there, barely visible in the
shadows, watching Ukyo sleep. Again, the Militech corporal asked himself why.
The really irritating part about it all was that he thought, somehow, that
he should know the answer. Ukyo Kuonji was... what? A friend? Well yes...
but if that was all, why had he imagined what Robert Garcia, old classmate
and self-proclaimed ladies' man, would say about her at all?
Yes, the answer was there, dancing oh-so-close but refusing to take proper
form, and its lack of cooperation was galling.
=========================================================
It was only when he had returned to his office after his final rounds,
intending to sleep in as he often did, that Doctor Kenshiro Kadowaki
grasped fully that which had been bothering him the whole time. Not so
much the indignities Ukyo Kuonji had suffered not that far back in her past
- how, he had asked himself, could someone do something like that? - as it
was the way her friend had reacted.
The eyes' unusual coloration - unusual, that is, for natural eyes - had
accentuated somehow what the doctor had seen, made it worse. He hadn't
seen shock (maybe it had come and gone too quickly to garner notice) but he
had seen blind rage, the sort which railed and sought something into which
to sink its fangs. That had melted away, to understanding, and finally to a
sort of calm... but just before that calm had descended, he had seen
something.
Death. Coiled silently, unlike the rage, awaiting only a target and an
opportunity to strike.
But it was still death, living in that young man's mind.
And Kadowaki believed then that Ukyo's friend perhaps, maybe not on a
conscious level, thought of her as something more than that.
========================================================
**Well, look what the cat dragged in.** Shan Pu stopped cold at Taro's
mocking tone. How had be managed to sneak up on her like that? Slowly, she
turned to face him. Taro leaned casually against a stray crate, the dim
light shadowing the smug grin she knew to be there.
**Not now, Taro, I'm not in the mood for your bull,** she growled.
**Not so cocky now, are you?** The superior tone in his words irked her, as
if he was trying to provoke her. Well, if he wanted a fight that badly,
she'd be more than happy to oblige. **Shan, you really dropped the ball on
this one. Just like I expected.**
**What?** And just how did he know that she had failed?
**I was there, girl. I saw as that guy chased you off like some scared
little...** Quick as a snake, her hand closed around Taro's throat, cutting
off his words with a violent squeeze.
**Great Grandmother didn't tell you to accompany me!** she hissed.
His eyes widened for a second, surprise showing in their depths before
shifting to cold malice. Shan Pu felt a small prick on her wrist just before
losing all feeling in her arm.
The next thing she felt was Taro's fist ramming into her temple. Bright
spots of color danced in her sight as she hit the floor, the world seeming
to spin as she fought to regain her equilibrium.
Taro's foot stomped down on her good arm, sending a bolt of pain through
her shoulder and slapping her back into focus. Her eyes locked on the
pencil-thin beam of red light that terminated in the center of her forehead
**You better watch your step, Shan,** Taro spat, the superiority having
burned away to cold anger. **You never know when you could have a little
accident...**
**TARO!** Khu Lon appeared to the left, the glare on her face enough to
freeze lava. Shan tried not to let her relief show as the pressure on her
arm vanished and Taro re-holstered the Sig. **If you ever...**
**I get the hint, Khu Lon,** Taro said, turning to disappear back into the
shadows. Her left arm still numb, Shampoo rose to her feet as she ignored
the pain in her right.
**Let me see that, child.** Khu Lon took Shan's left arm into her tiny
hands, twisting it a few times before jabbing a point in the center of the
palm. Her arm began to tingle, as if ants were crawling over it as the
feeling started to return.
**I am sorry, Great Grandmother, I...**
**Yes, I know,** Khu Lon replied, her voice still gentle. **Taro couldn't
risk bragging about it. Come, we will talk about it.**
========================================================
I didn't know Ranma could play the guitar, Akane thought as she looked at
him from the shadows. The garage was empty, save only for the two of them.
Ranma sat in one of the small plastic chairs Kasumi kept for guests, a
strange gesture since hardly anyone even visited much less wanted to see
their garage, the cherry red Fender cradled in his hands. He was still
wearing his faded blue jeans, a loose blue T-shirt draped over his torso.
He stared down at the guitar's neck, a powerful chord thrumming throught
the garage each time he plucked a string. Akane stood there, watching him
tune the instrument with a look of concentration on his face. It seemed as
if he didn't even notice her as he checked each string's pitch, moving down
to the next and checking that against the string just above.
The ritual went on for a few minutes, Akane not wanting to disturb him. She
had to admit, she was curious about how well he could play. Ranma moved down
to the last string, adjusting it to the one above until the two were in
perfect harmony. His eyes closed, the look of concentration vanishing as the
fingers of his left hand pressed down on certain strings. Despite herself,
Akane felt a slight twinge of anticipation, made all the better by the fact
that Ranma didn't know about his audience. Ranma started to strum the
guitar, picking out a slow bluesy rhythm.
I've been sittin' here
Tryin' to find myself
I get behind myself
I need to rewind myself
Looking for the payback
Listen for the playback
They say that every man bleeds
Just like me
Akane felt her jaw drop as Ranma began to sing in English. The guitar
supported his voice, adding a lonely, sad background to the words. Akane
recognized the song, but for the life of her couldn't recall the name.
I feel like number one
Yet I'm last in line
I watch my yongest son
And it helps to pass the time
I take too many pills
Helps to ease the pain
Made a couple dollar bills
But still I feel the same
Everybody knows my name
Say it way out loud
Lot of folks tough with me
Hard to hang out in a crowd
I guess that's the price you pay
To be some bigshot like I am
Outstretched hands and one-night stands
Still I can't find love
And when your walls come tumblin' down
I will always be around...
Akane could almost hear the other instruments playing in time with Ranma's
words, backup guitars adding their power to the melody as the drums kept the
steady cadence. She couldn't help but get caught up in the song.
And when your walls come tumblin' down
I will always be around
People don't know about
The things I say and do
They don't understand
About the shit that I been through
It's been so long
Since I been home
I've been gone
I've been gone for way too long
Maybe I forgot
All the things I miss
SOmehow I know
There's more to life than this
I said it too many times
And I still stand firm
You get what you put in!
An' people get what they deserve!
The sound suddenly shot forward the music seeming to take him over. She
coould tell that this was the end, and he was going all out for a big finish.
But I ain't seen mine!
No, I ain't seen mine!
I been givin just ain't been gettin'!
Been walkin' that thin line!
So I think I'll keep a-walkin'!
With my head held high!
I'll keep movin' on!
And only God knows why!
Only God...
Only God...
Only God knows why!
Only God...
Knows... why, why, why!
Only God knows why!
Take me to the river!
Oh, won't you take me to the river!
The final notes echoed into silence as Ranma sat with his head bowed.
Stunned, Akane simply stood in place for a moment as the song continued to
buzz in her mind. While it wasn't the best singing she had ever heard, it
was certainly far from the worst.
"Enjoy the show, Akane?"
Akane's hands stopped in mid-clap, the two palms a scant millimeter away
from contact. Ranma looked up at her, a mischevious gleam in his deep blue
eyes as his mouth curled into an impish grin.
"How... You knew I was here?"
"The whole time," he smirked as he flipped the switch on the amp. A loud
pop sounded through the garage as power was cut off from the large speaker,
Ranma gently setting his guitar on top of the black Peavy. "Haven't played
for an audience in a while, an' I didn't feel like askin' you to leave."
"Well, it was good." It really was, too.
"Nah, it wasn't that great. I ain't a good singer." Akane nearly did a
double take at Ranma's announcement of his lack of skill in something. Was
this... modesty? From Ranma? "Ranko was the singer in the family. Mom was, too."
"Could she play? Ranko, I mean." Was Ranma about to open up a little?
"Guitar? Not for anythin'." His smile faltered a little as he gazed at the
idle guitar.
"What was that song, anyway?" Akane asked, changing the subject. So Ranma
wasn't ready to talk about that yet. She could wait.
"Only God Knows Why. It's an old Kid Rock song."
"Kid who?"
"Some late 90's American singer. Ryoga has one of his CDs."
"You know any more?"
"Yeah...."
"Well, play another one. If you don't mind."
"I don't know..."
"Aw, c'mon," Akane said, turning on the charm, "what'll it hurt?"
"Umm..... all right."
=======================================================
Nabiki cursed as she watched the exchange on the monitor. Ranma picked up
his guitar again, strumming another tune while Akane sat there listening
like she had nothing better to do.
Akane had gotten close to something, closer than she herself would have
gotten, but had chickened out when he began to clam up. What was her problem?
Nabiki closed her eyes, leaning back in the chair as she took several deep
breaths. She was still shaken from the visit those two PSIO agents had paid
earlier.
How did I get myself into this? It was a simple question, with an equally
simple answer. She had overestimated herself, and had gotten burned for it.
On reflection, she realized that it had to have happened sometime.
Stop it! she commanded herself. Think of the solution, not the problem!
She had to worm some information out of Ranma somehow, but if she just
asked him he might get suspicious. Then again, Akane wasn't doing so well,
either. Ryoga? Well, what he had said sounded more like personal opinion
rather than hard fact, which is what those two were after.
But why use her? Why not question him themselves?
=========================================================
Hanzo thought about the question as the ghetto of Nerima shrank into the
distance behind them. They could have just as easily asked him and been done
with it, leaving Nabiki to twist in the wind. They wouldn't be running the
risk they were if they had.
"I don't really know, Galford," he answered, steering the car gently into
the increasing traffic.
"You mean to tell me that we're putting our asses on the line, and you
don't even know WHY?!"
"Exactly."
"Hanzo... man, I can't believe you!"
"Listen, Galford," Hanzo said, slowing to match the pace of the car in
front of them. "From what intelligence we gathered on Nabiki Tendo, she's
the main reason that Moto team's still up and running. Some of her methods
are a little..."
"Unorthodox?"
"Yes, thank you, but she alone manages the finances there. I have nothing
against the Tendos, and I do not wish to leave them without a financier."
"Since when were you such a nice guy?"
Hanzo let out a frustrated breath between his teeth. "Galford, you really
do not know much about the Japanese, do you?"
"Huh?"
"If one of a Moto team's members, pilot or administrator, was associated in
any way with such a high crime..."
"They'd be ruined!" Galford exclaimed in dawning realization.
"Correct. While no legal action would be taken against the team itself, its
reputation would be permanently stained." He didn't go into all the details
about how the team would be ostracized, even barred from the higher
circuits. Hanzo didn't have the time nor patience to give his American
counterpart an involved lesson in Japanese social structure.
"This way, everyone is satisfied."
"You get that Saotome case solved, Nabiki doesn't get burned, and that team
keeps its honor," Galford finished. "But we have a saying in the States: the
road to hell is paved with good intentions."
"I know."
========================================================
"Chance!" The voice stopped him short, nearly causing a nurse to run into
him from behind. The woman in white stepped around, accepting his
halfhearted apology with good grace.
"What is it, Wormwood?" Elias Wormwood came into his field of vision, a
diminutive man in an Armani suit who was sporting a glaring spot of skin
atop his head. Horn-rimmed glasses rested on his too-sharp nose, beady
ferret's eyes staring at him from behind the lenses.
"Let me get to the point, Mr. Checkhov," Elias said in his usual snide and
nasaly voice, "Can Ukyo pilot in the next race?"
"I don't know..."
"What do you mean you don't know!" Elias practically shouted, cutting
Chance off. Chance, who was already in a terrible mood, had to restrain
himself from burying his fist in the little twerp's face. Elias Wormwood was
treading dangerous ground... "It's your job to know!"
"I haven't had the chance to ask her yet, and I don't want to speak for her."
"Listen up, *corporal*, if your little star can't run this next race, then..."
"Hey, Wormwood, how's life?" asked a snickering voice from the side. A man
appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, startling Elias out of his tirade.
Chance paid him little mind, his glare fixed solely on the demented little
fuck in front of him. Chance scarecly heard the following conversation,
weighing the pros and cons of beating the living shit out of one of
Militech's executives.
"You know, there's this guy who's going off on someone who's about to kick
his scrawny ass, and.. oh, wait, that's you! Sorry."
"Who?" Wormwood's indignant voice stopped cold as he looked up at the speaker.
"Chance'll get in touch with you in an hour. Won't you, Chance?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. One hour!" Wormwood stalked off in a huff, obviously in a snit about
something, probably from being stymied by a superior.
"Thanks, Chief," Chance said, secretly wishing that Brian hadn't shown up
when he did.
"Y'know, if you had thrashed him, I would have stuck up for you."
"I know." Chance placed the leash back on his anger, turning to look at the
man beside him.
Brian Payne, one of Militech's V.P.'s, was a man a head taller than he,
glasses of his own resting on his nose. He was a relatively large man,
powerfully built. Chance had served with him before, and knew the man was
well worth his salt. But why...
"How's Ukyo?"
"She'll wake up in another hour or so. Hey, why is the District Head of
Intelligence here?" Brian, who headed up the Intel division and served as a
Junior Vice President, outranked Wormwood by several positions and at least
two tax brackets.
"A lot of department heads are in town. Can't say why, of course."
"Naturally," Chance said good-naturedly. He understood Brian's reasons.
"But maybe you can tell me why testing has been stepped up?"
"Ah... no, I can't. But I can tell you it's why Wormwood's having such a
hissy-fit, what with the race being postponed and all."
"It was postponed?"
"Yeah, problems with the track, The race is scheduled for Friday." Friday,
three more days. Could Ukyo be ready by then?
"Any luck finding out just who attacked her?" Chance asked.
"No, but we have a few leads." Brian obviously didn't want to get into it
while standing in the open.
"Listen, Brian, I've got a favor to ask," Chance whispered.
"Name it."
"Those guys Hawkes got Ukyo from, you know about them, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Brian said, his face darkening. "Hey, wait a second, you aren't..."
"I am. I want you to track them down for me."
"No can do, man. You know I can't authorize use of Militech resources for
something not related to corporate security."
"Don't give me that, man. I just want you to find them, that's all."
"Hold on, there, cowboy," Brian said, "you aren't thinking what I think
you're thinking, are you?"
"I think I am."
"Oh, you *have* gone nuts." The smile on Brian's face belied his true
feelings about Chance's request. "I like!"
"Besides, Ukyo's a potential witness. They could try to find her, right?"
"We can't have that, now can we?" Brian was grinning now, his eyes alight
with glee. He absolutely loved this stuff. "I'll see what I can turn up."
"And if the situation proves to be threatening to one of Militech's
interests..."
"We'll deal with it."
"Thanks, man," Chance said, clapping Brian on the shoulder, "knew I could
count on you."
"Anytime, pal." With that, Brian turned and walked away, leaving Chance
with a feeling of accomplishment. He knew Brian wouldn't let him down, and
those bastards would soon end up dropping off the face of the earth.
========================================================
She awoke with a start, blinking as her eyes acclimated to the sunlight
permitted access by the windows. A radio was on, the source of the soft
music she was hearing, and a nurse was standing at bedside, a tray balanced
in her hands.
"Good morning, Miss Kuonji," she said, putting as much cheer as she could
into her voice.
"What...?"
"This is Tokyo General; they brought you in last night." There was a
short pause. "Doctor Kadowaki will be glad to know you're up and around;
he'll be by later."
Ukyo's eyes fell on a chair in the room's corner, expecting for some
unqualifiable reason to find someone occupying it. The movement of eyes
and head wasn't missed.
"Your friend went off for lunch, I think." The nurse - her nametag
identified her as Yuko - smiled.
Friend...? Yeah, I guess he is, Ukyo thought with a tiny smile.
"He must be some friend - I mean, one of the other nurses said..."
Ukyo tuned out much of the rest, but what she caught surprised her, and at
the same time didn't. She wasn't the team's only pilot, just their best, and
surely Chance wouldn't have stayed here the whole time like Yuko was
saying... would he? If nothing else, the people sponsoring the team must
have found out by now what had happened and were demanding answers.
She accepted the offered tray. Lunch was miso soup and rice, simple yet
nourishing and all the more appealing for having missed dinner and
breakfast. As she ate, though, she could still occasionally picture a dark
form occupying that seat, her very own guardian angel, after a fashion. It
was a very reassuring thought.
===================================================
To say that the office was intimidating would be an understatement at the
least. The high, vaulted ceiling stretched to a dizzying height above the
richly carpeted floor, the light at its apex shining down as if the ceiling
were glass instead of triple-reinforced concrete and titanium alloys.
Ornately decorated bookshelves lined the walls, with a spacious catwalk
running the length of the entire office between the two levels of shelves.
Behind an elegant hardwood desk sat Donald Lundee, CEO of Militech, Inc.,
who was by far more intimidating than his office. Barely a wrinkle marred
his weathered face, the snow white hair kept in a crewcut not showing any
sings of falling out. His broad shoulders filled out the grey busness suit,
hinting at the still-powerful physique beneath. Peircing blue eyes scanned
everything they passed, seeming to take in every detail at once. Those eyes
locked on the man approaching the desk, seeming to drill into him as he
walked nearer.
"Mr. Lundee," he said in greeting, "I take it your flight was uneventful?"
"Quite," he replied in a voice that could easily pass for that of a man
half his age.
"Well, sir, you'll be pleased to know that Prince Herb's flight is on
schedule, and will arrive by late afternoon."
"Excellent. Have the car waiting."
"Yes, sir."
Donald watched as the man attempted not to scurry away, his fear an almost
physical thing. He turned his attention to the matter at hand, Prince Herb.
"I think he'll be impressed with the prototype," a male voice said from behind.
"I believe so," Donald replied as the speaker circled around to take the
leather chair opposite Donald's. "What do you think, Grady?"
Paul Grady was a man in his fifties, younger by at least two decades, but a
sharp man nonetheless. He still had the body of a soldier, trim and fit
beneath his navy blue suit. Lundee had first met him while in the service,
the other having been only a major under his command at the time.
"The Musk Dynasty is the same as any of the other dime-a-dozen democratic
movements in China," he replied. "The only difference is that they actually
have the funds to pay for this system."
"But they aren't the only ones with the ability to take power," Lundee added.
"Having second thoughts about selling Herb the Nazgul?"
"No." What Herb did with the Nazgul was none of Donald Lundee's concern,
until he became a nuisance. Then he would be dealt with.
"Well, we all knew it had to happen sometime."
"Yes, it did, didn't it?"
The event to which Paul was referring was the downfall of Communist China.
Communism was an excellent system of government, in theory. In practice,
however, it simply did not work. Russia had learned that the hard way, as
had Cuba, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. The fact that China had managed to
hold on for as long as it had was surprising.
"They knew it had to end sometime," Grady commented, lighting a ciagrette
from his ever-handy pack. "Not even that damned caste system could save
them." Nearly eighty percent of Chinese citizens were mere workers and
peasants, grossly undereducated and oppressed by the communist regime set up
by Chairman Mao. The remaining twenty percent comprised the government
positions, the two distinct castes forming a sort of social pyramid. Each
could be divided into several sub-castes, but the main structure was
composed of government and the lower peoples.
"That same caste system was why America was so hot for trade with China to
begin with," Lundee said in undsguised disgust. "The government doesn't give
a rat-fuck about its people, and won't hesitate to exploit them. They don't
care about slaughtering them either, Tiennamen Square was a prime example of
that."
"True," Grady consented. It was why so many Chinese tried to get out of the
country, preferably to America. "Then there was the Yellow River Dam
Project." That had been the clincher, damming up the Yellow River had
destroyed the eco-system of the Chinese Rice Basket. It had taken forty
years, as opposed to the estimates of fifty. Of course, that wasn't the
whole situation, but such was unimportant.
"Prince Herb does have a great deal of support," Grady said, leaning back
in his chair as he changed the subject.
"But does he really think that he can lead China into democracy by himself?
China simply has too many people, and not enough resources. They will find
that free enterprise isn't all wine and roses. Then what will he do?"
"Then there are those still loyal to the Party," Grady commented. "They
will pose some problems."
"Not without their nukes. China's war was lost before it began."
=====================================================
"Hey, look who's up," Chance said amiably as he walked into Ukyo's room.
The chestnut-haired girl's head popped up, a wide grin stretching across her
face. Ukyo's lip was still swollen, her eye blackened and shut.
"Hey, sugar!" Ukyo's cheerful voice rang out in stark contrast to her
appearance, almost surprising him. Ukyo was indeed a strong woman.
"How's the eye?"
"Ah, don't even worry about it. I've had worse." Ukyo's voice darkened a
little at the last, some details of her past popping up unbidden in Chance's
mind. "I heard you stayed here all night."
"Um, well, yeah, I did," Chance stammered, caught completely off-guard. "I
just wanted to..."
"Don't, Chance," she said softly, "I just want to say thanks. I really
appreciate it."
"No problem."
"So, how'd Clancy do?"
"Huh?"
"Clancy. You know, the second pilot? How'd he do in the race?"
"OH! The race was postponed. It's on Friday."
"Then I gotta get movin'!" Ukyo exclaimed, swinging her legs out of the bed.
"Ukyo, come on, don't push yourself!" Chance said as she rose to her feet.
"You just woke up!"
"Uh-uh, Chance. We've only got, what, three days?"
"Listen! Clancy can handle it! You just rest up."
"No, you listen, Chance." The tone in Ukyo's voice brought him up short. "I
will not just lie around while someone else takes my place on the track!"
Her voice was laden with determination, assertive and demanding. Her good
eye, however, showed another, more deeply-rooted emotion in its depths.
Chance saw that storm rising, and in it saw Ukyo's inner demons railing
within her mind.
"I have worked too hard, and too long, to risk losing it all now!" Ukyo was
practically shouting now, tears flowing down her cheeks. "And if you think
that a little scrape like this is gonna keep me down, then you got another
thing comin', buster!"
Chance looked at her critically in the ensuing silence, thankful for the
soundproofed room. Ukyo's chest heaved with each breath, that maelstrom of
emotion still raging in her one unswollen eye. He glanced away, wishing that
he hadn't consulted Silas about her life. She would definitely have to talk
about it, and soon, before the past tore her apart.
"All right," he reluctantly conceeded. "The nurse will bring you a robe,
and we'll head over to the complex. But you take it easy today, you hear?"
"Yes, sir!" She snapped a salute with a lopsided grin, any outward traces
of her earlier outburst gone.
"Then, we'll go by the apartment and pick up your clothes. You're not
staying there anymore."
"Huh?"
"You'll stay at my place from now on. That guy might come back to finish
what he started, and I don't want you there if he does."
"Chance, I can stay at the com..."
"I'm not taking no for an answer on this, Ukyo," Chance said in a voice
that would brook no arguement. "You're staying with me, and that's final."
"Oh, all right, if you insist," she said.
"Good. I'll go get a nurse for that robe. You'd have to fight the guys off
you in that," Chance said with a smirk.
"Chance?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry about blowing up like that. It's just that... I've got a lot on
my mind right now, and..."
"We'll talk later, Ukyo," he replied in his gentlest voice. "Right now, we
need to get you something better than that sheet of paper you're wearing."
=============================================================
The aircraft could have been any of the many Learjets in service the world
over - the manufacturer having seen no need to change its flagship product's
distinctive form over the years. The white jet descended rapidly to the
waiting tarmac, its landing gear hanging in preparation for contact with the
asphalt surface. The tires hit with a screech, bouncing back upward before
landing again. Having executed a picture-perfect landing, it taxied to a
smooth stop in one of several hangars made available at Narita for private
craft, its red, gold, and white livery quite visible in the lights.
A trio of people were waiting. Two wore grey jumpsuits; the webbing and
torso armor - as well as the helmets and boots - were black. Militech's
distinct 'square-M' logo adorned the right breast and left shoulder of
each. Both stood at attention, SMGs held at port arms. Standing between
and just in front of these two was a man clad in a grey suit. Thin and fit
in spite of his advancing years, he watched as the Lear deployed its stairway.
The first pair off the aircraft - obviously soldiers - took position at the
bottom of the stairs, looking deadly serious in spite of their
gold-on-white ceremonial uniforms.
Third to descend was a young man, by all appearances still in his teens,
whose white hair was accentuated by a streak of dark blue. While his
clothing was similar in coloration to his soldiers', his armor was
suggestive of golden scales, including bracers and knee segments, with
the pattern mirrored on the inside of his white cape. Golden eyes of a
not-quite-human aspect took in their surroundings, before meeting those of
the man he had come to see.
Donald Lundee, retired USMC general and now chief executive officer of what
many called the largest arms manufacturer on earth, offered his hand.
"Welcome to Japan, your highness." His soldiers snapped off letter-perfect
salutes.
"It is good to finally meet you, general," Herb replied, shaking the
offered hand. The two headed for a waiting car, their accompanying
soldiers keeping watch on the surroundings.
===========================================================
"I hope you'll find our hospitality adequate," Donald Lundee said, taking a
sip of champagne. He abhored small talk, but knew it was necessary.
Discussing trivial things was often the preamble to the actual topic.
"I am certain I will," Herb replied, glancing out at the city of Tokyo
through the one-way bulletproof glass of the office's enormous picture
window. "However, I am not here to discuss lodgings."
Ah, direct and to the point. Lundee liked that in a man. "Very well. I am
certain you will find the Nazgul to be everything we've said."
"I hope so, general. Has it been tested?"
"Of course. What you will be seeing is a demonstration of the Nazgul's
maneuvering capabilities under real-world conditions."
"And the weapons?" Herb asked, turning to look at Lundee. Donald met that
gaze, suddenly uncertain if Herb was completely human. He had heard the
stories of the ancient Musk Dynasty and now wondered if they could be true.
"Our technicians will go over the available weapons after the
demonstration. You will be very pleased, I am sure."
"When is the demonstration?"
"This Friday."
"Excellent. Now, to business." Herb moved away from the window.
"I trust you have perused the contract?"
"Indeed I have," Herb replied, "and I am curious as to why you wish basing
priveliges on Chinese soil."
"Your highness, allow me to give you a new insight on China's actiites over
the past five years."
"I know already how the government started this war," Herb replied tersely.
"But you do not know why they are losing, do you?" Herb remained silent,
waiting for Lundee to continue. "When China launched its ballistic missle
attacks, it was to be the first step in their push to expand their borders.
"Militech had devised, and sold, a new early detection system *and* TMD
system to the allied nations..."
"Excuse me, what is a TMD?"
"Theatre Missle Defense. It's meant to intercept incoming warheads. In any
event, those systems allowed America and most of its allies to blunt China's
nuclear attack. The only warheads that reached their targets were the two
that landed on Russia, obliterating Moscow and Kazakhstan.
"With their nuclear arsenal rendered useless by the failed attack, China
had to resort to using conventional warfare. Their war had gone from
offensive to defensive all in the space of a day. While America refused to
launch its own warheads, mainly for politcial reasons, I am certain you saw
the effects of Russia's counter-strike."
"Yes, I have," Herb said with a note of sadness.
"The communists lose more and more ground every day. Even the most
optimistic estimates place their defeat within the year at the very most.
When the allied forces roll into what's left of Beijing, any chance you ever
had of attaining power will vanish.
"However, we can ensure your rise to power. Once there, you can lead China
into the world rather than follow the examples of the past and shut it away
once again. Of course, you will have to kow-tow to the rest of the world,
but you will gain what you want the most. Now, is our price really so much,
in the face of all this?" Lundee watched Herb's face as he let the question
ring out into the air. He, himself, didn't rightly care one way or another
how Herb ran China, so long as the prince played by the rules.
"Let me see this weapon, first, and then we shall talk."
"Fair enough, but I remind you just how little time is left."
====================================================
"Hey, Akane, you sure you can handle this?" Ranma asked, leaning against
his Moto.
"For the last time, Ranma, yes! I'm not a kid, you know!" Akane tilted her
head back, finishing the small cup of water in one gulp. The purple and
black pilot suit clung to her body like a second skin, the flame-retardant
material highlighting her figure. "Now will you stop nagging me already?"
"Hey, sorry! I just wanted to make sure!"
"Akane," Soun said, walking up beside her. He leaned on the simple cane in
his left hand, having complained about his bum leg since that morning. He
placed a hand on Akane's shoulder, his face a study in anxiety. "I know you
are confident, but I must ask you to be careful. You have never raced on a
suicide track before."
"Dad, I've run almost a hundred sims using a suicide track. I know what I'm
doing."
"But you have never raced on one!" Soun protested. "A..."
"I know, I know, a sim is nothing like a real race. Trust me, dad, I can do
this."
The suicide track was one of the most feared amongst Moto pilots. Suicide
races consisted of a straight track, with some twists and turns thrown in
between the two grappling posts on each end. The pilots would turn around
those posts, then hurtle headlong into oncoming Motos on their way to the
other end. It wasn't uncommon for pilots to lose their lives in violent
head-on collisions during a suicide race. The fans, however, were nuts for
it because of the insane dangers. After all, nobody watched those old NASCAR
races to see forty rednecks chase eachother in circles all day long.
Ranma had never raced on one before. Though he wouldn't ever admit it to
anyone else, he was scared as hell.
"ALL PILOTS TO STARTING POSITIONS! REPEAT, ALL PILOTS TO STARTING POSITIONS!"
"Looks like we're on, Ranma," Akane said, mounting her Moto.
"Looks like it." Ranma donned his helmet, swinging a leg over his hovering
machine. "Be careful out there."
"Thanks."
==============================================================
"GREETINGS, JET MOTO FANS!" The announcer's voice blasted throughout the
open air, filled with the energetic cheer that seemed programmed into every
sportscaster. Ranma took his position, Akane occupying the one to his left,
as the roar of the crowd reached tidal proportions. He tuned out the
spectators and thundering music, focusing on the track ahead.
"Hey, Saotome!" came Ryoga's voice over the commlink, "how's the view back
there?" Ranma looked about, spotting Ryoga atop his heavy-class Moto on the
line ahead. The yellow-on-black design complemented his pilot suit, with the
logo of Shiratori, Inc. emblazoned on the back.
"Just stay behind me, Ryoga," Ranma said, a grin spreading across his face.
"We can't have you getting lost again."
"Funny, Ranma. Real funny."
"I thought so." Trading insults with Ryoga helped take his mind off the
fact that this race could very well be his last.
"So *you're* Nabiki's newest pilot. I am impressed." Ranma's head whirled
about, seeking the source of the haughty voice.
"Who the hell're you?!"
"The beautiful and terrifying heroine of the Jet Moto world, idolized by
millions, feared by her competition, undefeated and undefeatable... The
Black Rose, Kodachi Kuno!"
"Who?" WHo'd this girl this she was, some kinda superstar?
"Ranma..." Nabiki's face popped up on his HUD, unusual worry showing,
"Kodachi Kuno is dangerous. Whatever you do, stay away from her!"
"She's not called the Black Rose for nothing," Akane said, concern in her
own voice. "I hear she even collects parts from the Motos she trashes."
"Indeed, it is a worthwhile hobby," Kodachi said with a laugh that almost
made Ranma's blood freeze. "I wonder if I shall add a piece of yours to my
collection? You should be honored, peasant, to be defeated by one such as I."
"Not if I can help it!"
Ukyo leaned back in the cushioned seat, eyes lazily scanning the image on
the interior of the Nazgul's cockpit. The climate controlled space was held
steady at seventy-two farenheight, the only real evidence that the image
displayed all around her was indeed an illusion. The air was much warmer
outside.
All systems running smooth, she thought to herself as she checked the
readouts for the umpteenth time. Bored, she flicked her eyes over to the
tracking icon. A crosshair that spanned the length of the frontal image
obediently appeared, passing over every Moto present.
Hey, wait a second, she thought, dragging the crosshair back to one Moto in
particular. The light-class machine was painted midnight black, a purple
band winding around its middle. The pilot was clad in a suit of the same
scheme... where had she seen him before? Ukyo suddenly recalled the first
race of the season, bumping into Ranma in the halls. So he was racing, huh?
Ukyo zoomed in on his Moto, the image appearing in a small window in the
display image. That design was old, at least ten years old...
Ukyo shook herself. There was no way that could be her Moto, no way! She
almost felt sick to her stomach at seeing him on a machine that so resembled
the one that had been meant for her as an unreasoning anger began welling up
in the back of her mind. Ranma was riding *her* Moto, the one *she* was
supposed to have ridden!
"Hey, Ukyo!" Chance's insistent shout snapped her back to reality, away
from the memories...
"Yeah?"
"Take a look to your left." Ukyo looked over, the sight of the strange Moto
taking her by surprise. It was a sleek design, much the same size as her
own, but with smoother surfaces. A thin tail section jutted out from behind
the vertical fin-like protrusion on the side, with a sharp beak at the
front. The whole machine reminded Ukyo of a black, hovering stingray.
"What the hell?"
Shan Pu watched the ungainly Nazgul from the corner of her eye, idly
wondering how the pilot saw. The technicians speculated on an advanced VR
sensor array, but had been unable to procure technical data on it.
Was Ukyo inside that black Moto? Shan Pu had thrown her a sound beating,
but somehow doubted that it had been indeed enough. She had seen strength
and resolve in those eyes that night, in good measure. So, she would have to
face Ukyo on more honorable terms That was fine by her.
Shan hoped that Mousse's near round-the-clock work on the Stingray would
pay off. She was in an untested prototype set against a design by the
world's leading arms manufacturer, after all.
The starting gun blasted in the air, and the show began.
==========================================================
Akane leaned forward, letting the air slide over her as the Moto gained
speed. As she fought for rank with other racers, she kept stealing glances
at her rearview image in the hopes of seeing that strange black Moto. She
wanted another crack at that thing, and was confident that she could beat it
this time.
The first turn came up from out of the distance, the leading contenders
already halfway around before she came close. Akane's first instinct was to
get close inside, maybe eke out enough room to blow past the lighter Moto
ahead with her higher top-end speed. Before she could try, Ranma shot past
her in a purple-on-black blur, rocketing toward the outside of the turn just
ahead of the Moto blocking her. The other machine veered left to avoid him,
giving Akane a much more generous space to pass. She gunned the throttle,
blowing past the sixth place racer and coming out one rank higher. She had
to admit, this teamwork thing really wasn't all that bad.
"Thanks!"
"Don't worry about it. Just worry about the other guys right now." Akane
focused on the next Moto, a gold-colored heavy class that seemed hell bent
on keeping her in the rear.
Akane juked to the left, hoping to surprise her newest opponent. He had
expected it, however, expertly moving to block her again. She checked her
HUD, finding Ranma already battling for third place. Well, he couldn't help
her *all* the time. Akane Tendo could fend for herself!
The second turn came up, a hairpin followed quickly by a right angle. She
would have to time this just right. She moved to the inside, pushing her
screaming power plant to the limit as she edged up alongside the gold Moto.
The grappling post jutted out above the track, a few neon purple strands of
energy circling around from the leading Motos. The large pilot edged closer,
trying to squeeze her out of the running just as she had hoped. She mentally
judged the timing, knowing that she could do it better than any onboard
computer. She tuned out the irritating beep of the proximity sensors' threat
warnings, waiting for just the right moment.
"NOW!" Akane engaged a boost, activating her grappling system and retros at
the same time. She leaned hard to the right, bringing the Moto into a sort
of power slide. The gold Moto veered wide to avoid her swinging rear, losing
precious seconds as Akane came out of the slide. Almost immediately, she
activated the grapple again, using the Moto's momentum to carry her through
the sharp curve. The G-forces nearly caused her to black out, only her
stubborn refusal to quit keeping her conscious as she fought the Moto
upright again. It had been close, but she had moved up to fourth. The
adrenaline rush was almost overwhelming.
"Not bad," Kodachi's voice said over the commlink. Startled, she looked to
her rearview to find Kodachi's black Moto riding in her slipstream. "So,
even a lowborn child like yourself can show a glimmer
of potential! Be grateful, for you have merited a small degree of respect
from the Black Rose!"
"At least I don't cheat, Kodachi!" Akane shouted. "You can't win otherwise!"
"You merely show no appreation for creative tactics," Kodachi said in reply
as she moved up beside Akane. Kodachi vanished from the image, revealing the
strange black Moto behind. Oh, why did that guy have to show up *now*! She
had to deal with Kodachi! Without warning, another black Moto popped up,
fighting with the other as they screamed down the track.
Looks like he's got his own problems, Akane thought with some delight. Now,
for Kodachi.
Damnit, who *is* this guy? Ukyo thought as she battled the strange Moto for
position. Whatever it was, it was damn fast, keeping up with her as she
weaved between other Motos.
"Chance?"
"I don't have a clue, Ukyo," Chance replied, anticipating her question.
"Whatever it is, it's giving me a run for my money!"
"You can take him, Ukyo," Chance said. "This guy's got nothing for you."
Ukyo gunned the engine, lurching ahead of the strange Moto as they left the
turn to the stretch. The turning point was coming up fast, the crowds having
blurred into indistinct colors as the grappling post rapidly grew in her vision.
The other Moto jerked toward the inside, the impact jarring her bones. Eyes
narrowed, Ukyo returned the hit, forcing the other Moto to the other side of
the post as Ukyo went into the turn.
She guided the Nazgul into the turn, climbing the bowl-shaped wall slightly
from the centrifugal force. The other Moto passed over in the opposite
direction, coming out a little behind her as they made their way to the
other point.
Akane leaned hard on the inside, trying to push Kodachi out of the way as
she rounded the grappling post. Kodachi didn't budge, ramming into the side
of Akane's Moto with a fierce cry.
Huh? A small wireframe mockup of her Moto appeared on her HUD, a tiny red
dot blinking on and off as the two came out of the turn.
"Hey, Kasumi, what's going on?"
"Just a hull breach. It won't take long to fix."
"Akane," Nabiki's voice said, "be careful. I've got a bad feeling about this."
"You're just paranoid, sis."
"I hope so."
======================================================
"I am impressed, General," Herb said as he watched the live feed from the
track. The enormous monitor, situated in a recess in one of the office's
walls, showed mainly the Nazgul fighting with that odd Moto, with a small
picture showing the pilot's point of view. "This Nazgul handles extremely
well. Yet, what is that other Moto?"
"I do not know, your highness." It was a lie, Donald Lundee knew full well
who that strange Moto belonged to. It looked like Cologne had finally made
her move.
He studied the Joketsuzoku prototype with interest, spotting many of the
design concepts used on the Nazgul. There was no sensor-diffractive hull,
however, and he managed to note what looked like a viewport. So, this thing
needed a clear spot to see from. A definite weakness when faced by someone
with a spare rocket and decent aim.
Design concepts aside, he had to put a stop to this before Cologne made her
presence known to Prince Herb. He knew Joketsuzoku could ill afford to lose
on this, failure meaning total bankruptcy for his Chinese rival. An opponent
with nothing to lose, there were few scenarios more dangerous.
=========================================================
Four laps down, Akane thought as she saw Kodachi join in the fight between
Ranma and Ryoga for third. The two strange Motos had long since passed her,
much to her growing annoyance, but had at least made Kuno wipe out. It had
been nothing fatal, just enough damage to force him off the track. His
bellowing tirade had seared the ears of every pilot on broadband until he
had finally been cut off.
She came out of the series of three hairpin turns after rounding the second
grappling post, when she felt her Moto soar forward of its own volition. She
checked her displays, finding that she had triggered a boost. Hey, wait, she
hadn't pressed the boost switch!
"Hey, Kasumi, what's going on?"
"What are you talking about, Akane?"
"The boost just came on, and I didn't do it!"
"Odd, I didn't activate the boost tanks, either." Akane swerved left,
coming up fast on the three Motos in front. Maybe it was just a glitch,
maybe she *had* used a boost, and just didn't register hitting the switch.
The boost light blinked off, yet the Moto didn't lose any speed. The whine
of the power plant had grown into a deafening roar as the track appeared to
go by even faster. She looked at her tach display, finding the glowing blue
bar stretching deep into the red.
"Akane," Kasumi said, worry and confusion in her voice, "what are you
doing? Your power plant can't handle that kind of strain!"
"I'm not doing it!" Akane was becoming afraid as the Moto continued to
accelerate. She thumbed the retros, with no effect. She tried again, and
still the system didn't respond
"Akane, slow down!" Ranma's voice shouted. "You're goin' too fast for that
turn!"
"I CAN'T!" The Moto began to shake and weave all over the track as Akane
fought for control, terror singing in her nerves. She didn't want to die,
please, not now!