[FFML] [Fic][Illusions] Fool's Minstrel Ch.3 (Critique needed)

[Mike Ching]

Hi All:

Third part of the fic I'm writing, forgot to
specifically ask for criticism and critique on this.
(Esp. from Fred).

Also note: The "Matt Lewis" in this series of fics is
NOT FFML's Matt Lewis--I created the character and
started work on them before I knew FFML, so apologies,
I didn't mean to offend, however I want to keep the
same character name if possible.

- Wavehawk

--------------------
The way the 55C's right optic twitched was far more
than human--It took all of Kurusugawa's self-control
not to snap off a chuckle at the response. It could
not have been any better had she planned out this
encounter from the beginning.

"You're kidding me. Tell me you're kidding me," Alex
ran his hands through his polished, hairless durasteel
skull. "Tell me you did not ACTUALLY give a pair of
ADP officers my home address back in town."

"Yes I did. Happily," Ayaka could have rubbed the fact
in further, especially after that 'Brass-Plated'
remark the tall blue android had been scattering
around the techs. She instead opted for bluntness.
"Oh, stop whining. They're not going to kick down your
door and drag you out kicking and screaming, they just
want advice on modernizing their forces."

"And you give 'em directions to my place without
asking me first," Alex leaned with one hand on the
thick desk, one of the solid oak variety, the other
hand vibrantly gesticulating various forms of
displeasure. "I mean, isn't that a breach of company
ethics, handing out your employees' personal info? Who
the hell knows what's gonna happen when they knock on
the door? What if I sneeze and they take it as a cue
to blow my shiny blue head off?"

"You're the resident armorer when it comes to weapons
development," Ayaka continued on, not batting an
eyelash at the boomer's stymied response. Despite his
personal quirks, Alex had impeccable knowledge of
firearms to go with his engineering skills. That and
reassurances from friends who'd been in the MegaCorp
almost for life, ensured him a job as one of the top
R&D people in Toratotaka. "Or would you rather AD
Police went to Genom or Samguk to get their new toys?"

"Waste of government money," Alex immediately reacted,
with a dismissive wave. "The cops can do it cheaper,
better, and faster with our off-the-shelf equipment.
They don't need more crap that never works."

"That's the spirit, Alex," Ayaka gave an almost
beatific smile, had it not been for the catlike,
devious crease of her eyes as she clapped her hands
together. "Take a week off. Be prepared, they'll drop
by your house tomorrow afternoon."

"But Saturday's my off day!!!" The 55C exclaimed, then
shot her a baleful look. To get back home meant
catching a quick T'n'T flight back to the city--fast,
but there was no way for him to return anytime soon.
"You're doing this just to torment me, aren't you,
Boss?"

"Oh, absolutely."

=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=
Fool's Minstrel
03.
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=

The old wind-up clock only had two seconds of ring
time on it when the heavy butt of a Heckler and Koch
USP Combat pistol smashed it violently to bits.
Unappeased, the hand wielded the gun like a mallet and
continued to wildly smash at the remnants a few more
times before the weapon dropped. Had it not been for
the numerous safeties and innate sturdiness built into
the german-built pistol, it would have already
discharged a round from all the punishment it was
taking. Content, the hand then crawled back under the
groaning bedsheets like a amoebic mass.

Another ringing sounded, and the hand once again
lashed out for the pistol. Gripping it like a hammer,
the hand then paused as the distinct sound of a phone
became clear. That same hand dropped the gun then,
opting instead to fumble for the phone handset. Upon
finding it, the whole device was dragged into the
greedy maw of the bedcovers, emitting only one sound:

"Mrmph."

"~~the hell are you, Tomoru?!? Our client called
again!!!" the phone yelled back in Shingo's voice as a
response. "I thought you said you'd open up early
today?!?"

"Gneh," came the reply beneath the covers, then a SLAM
as the receiver was jammed back into the phone's base
unit. The room was chilly in winter, as Tomoru could
not afford a heater, much less a decent apartment.
He'd already blown his last amount of pay on the USP
pistol a year back, and was living off what little
residuals he had from bank savings. Thus, the best way
for him to survive the cold usually involved a healthy
helping of brandy before bed. Unfortunately, the
amount of alcohol he needed to keep warm was just a
little bit less than the exact amount he needed to get
a splitting hangover the next morning. And he often
slipped on his dosage.

"Fuck," Minazuki spat out in a half-addled daze before
dragging himself out of his alcohol and cold-induced
stupor.

=*=*=*=

The morning sun came through the blinds gently, a soft
hand of light that helped rouse Yuu from her night of
slumber. The warmth helped to clear the cobwebs from
her mind, strength in her legs as she stood up and
stretched. Her body was now filling the faded blue
pyjamas she'd worn as a teenager, but despite this,
she could not bring herself to replace them.

The cast reminded her with a thunk as she slid out of
bed. It was still a few weeks before Asuka could
remove it, old-fashioned medication as it was. Many of
the cafe regulars asked why she didn't have the bone
resynthesized at a hospital or simply have it
cybernized, but Yuu often sheepishly replied having a
lack of finances for it. 

There were other reasons, too, as to why Asuka did not
like having to be scrutinized by public docs.

It was cooler out, causing Yuu shiver as she opened
the door from her small apartment to the back alley
without. M.Y. Home was located on the bottom floor of
her building, two floors down from her lodging.
Property was a premium in MegaTokyo, even in the older
quarters that refused to be touched by the MegaCorps'
modernizing influence. The fact that Asuka actually
owned this spot of land was more than considerable, as
most of the nearby buildings were apartments or
offices rented on the cheap by many who called old
Tokyo their home. No snow fell, simply the crisp nip
of the air, as she gingerly eased down the rear
outdoor stairs.

Yuu then noticed the sight of her new employee up and
about. Already awake, Sayo seemed engaged in a smooth,
somewhat serpentine flow of dance exercises just
outside Asuka's small property.

What caught the cafe owner's eye was that the dance
seemed to incorporate many of the moves she'd seen the
day before. By the time she reached ground level, she
had noticed someone else observing the same sight.

"Sanari?"

"Yo," Sanari Misumi smiled back, her long bleached-tan
hair bobbing with shared glee. One of Yuu's oldest
friends, and a former classmate in Kempo, she stepped
back as her friend came closer. The girl whom both
women observed semed not to take heed of their
presence as she went on with her movements. Despite
being a professional athlete, Sanari couldn't quite
place the younger girl's movements. "Is she dancing or
something?"

"Don't really know," Yuu answered. Some of it looked
like a watered-down version of what she had seen in
the cafe; a twisting of body that was graceful and
nonviolent, but recoiled like a striking snake in
return. The girl was in constant motion, not taking a
fixed position or stance as most martial arts were
taught. Indeed, it seemed more like an exotic dance
than a martial arts drill or kata.

"So what really happened yesterday?" Misumi asked,
curious. News traveled fast behind closed doors.

"Some girl named Kanako challenged me to a V.G. duel,"
Asuka began. Her first words already earned her a look
of disbelief from her old friend, but she continued.
"I refused, but she wouldn't have any of it. Sayo
there," she indicated the performing girl with a bob
of her chin, "Stepped in and fought her."

"And beat her," Misumi finished. "You're serious?"

Yuu simply nodded.

"Some people like that, acting on half a wit..."
Sanari begins, then stops. She and Yuu were guilty of
that naivete as well, some years back. While their
ordeal had ended, there were still those who fought
with misguided zeal. "It all ended three years ago.
V.G. is gone and done with. Nobody's running those
games anymore. And even if they did..."

"Kanako sounded as if she thought they were still
going," Yuu hobbled a bit. There was very little
actual pain, but the cast still gave her some
difficulty with walking in the mornings. "I've been
able to avoid explaining this to Sayo so far. I don't
know enough to answer her if she pries deeper into
it."

"Why don't you ask the Abbot and Costello Detective
agency to check on it?" Misumi smirks, half-jesting.
"Tell them they get a month's free lunches if they can
solve it."

"Don't kid around like that, Tomoru and Shingo have a
lot to work on. Besides, they still have to find..."

Yuu trailed off, realizing where the conversation was
leading to.

"Right. Sorry," Misumi mumbles, shamefacedly. In an
attempt to get both their minds off the subject, she
looked to the girl in motion before them. Sanari mused
as she leaned lazily on one side of the fence. "Still
looks like a kinda dance to me."

=*=*=*=

The sun had already reached its zenith when the ADP
vehicle began to slow into a suburban parking area.
Oshika was better managed than the urban sprawl of
MegaTokyo, with enough garden and open space to make
one think of it more as a model resort than an actual
prefecture of modern, ultra-tech Japan. The sleek
armored police vehicle seemed jarringly out of place
in the immediate surroundings.

"So who IS this reclusive weapons genius we're to talk
to?" a now-exhausted Daley asked as the Road Chaser
pulled over, having expended his curse vocabulary ten
minutes ago. It was a quiet suburb, mostly populated
by new or migrant T'n'T employees working at the
Oshika division. The immediate area was quiet to the
point of being remote. One could set down a
battlemover in the center of the suburb and nobody
would have bothered it.

"Someone with pretty high referrals," McNichol's voice
trailed off. He'd asked an old friend--Mikihara
Megumi--for the data, piling another tab to his long
list of dues to the T'n'T intelligence expert. Earlier
in the day, Leon had called and made an appointment,
and now the pair were walking up the path to a small
company-sponsored bungalow. "After reading that
report, I figured we'd need advice from an expert. One
who knows about infantry combat weapons and how to use
them, not some corporate stiff with a sales brochure.
And who knows, maybe..."

"~~~LEON!!!"

The pair instantly reached for their guns at the sight
of a Bu-55C Combat Boomer opening the door. McNichol's
heart went straight to mach one even as he and Daley
reflexively drew their guns to bear. Of course, being
this close to a boomer when firing an Earthshaker
heavy revolver wasn't the best of ideas, but
hard-earned habits die hard.

The 55C looked odd; first, it was a metallic blue
tinted one, garbed in a large T-shirt and workman's
pants, but obviously hadn't bothered with the fleshy
exterior cover most of that type used. Second, it just
looked at them, optics staring first at Daley, then
Leon. Third, it spoke with the decidedly human tone of
exasperation.

"You two sure as hell don't look like cops."

Taken aback, Leon blinked as he recognized the voice
as the same that had greeted him on the phone earlier.
"You're Alex?"

"In the flesh. You two must be Laurel and Hardy," the
55C waggled its metallic eyebrows, leaving the baffled
ADP officers wondering if the line was meant as a
joke. "So, you gonna get that gun outta my face or do
I call the cops...oh wait, you ARE the cops.
Nevermind. Come on in."

The 55C returned inside, leaving the door open for the
two ADP officers to follow. The pair still stood there
a moment, not sure what to think.

"A sarcastic boomer?" Daley blinked.

"There's a first time for everything," Leon muttered
upon entering. It took him awhile to adjust from the
outside sun to the dim yet harsh indoor lighting.

Alex was definitely a collector. As Leon and Daley
walked into his home, they found it less spacious than
the outside hinted at. Of course, it might have been
greatly due to the sheer number of firearms in the
place. Some were in display cases, others were
dissassembled for either repair or disposal. About the
only other thing in the room was space for a simple
mattress bed--McNichol was surprised to think a 55C
needed sleep--and a heavily customized NAVI unit at
its foot.

"There's enough guns in here to start a revolution,"
Wong whistled. It wasn't possible, though. Most of the
weapons in display cases were classics, muskets from
the American Civil War all the way to a mint-condition
M1 Thompson Submachinegun from World War II. They were
well-preserved to the point that using them in combat
would be utter perversity. About the only two objects
wounted to the wall that wasn't a firearm or replica
were a pair of framed certificates; Daley recognized
the first as a collector-only firearm permit. The
other was an armorer's certificate--one only given
after extensive apprenticeship.

"So, what can I do for you, Chief McNichol?" Alex
asked before sitting down. He resumed work on the
extricated barrel of another gun, a classic-looking
lever-action from its design, and began to file away
rust flakes with one finger. Leon noted that the 55C's
fingertip was not of the standard type, being turned
into a unique tool-finger. "Last I checked,
restoration and upgrading of guns for sport or
collecting purposes wasn't against the law."

"Nothing like that. I got word that you've a good eye
for weapons technology, the modern man-portable kind."

"I might," Alex gave a noncommital grunt, giving the
old rifle a sharp once-over. He then continued with
the barrel. "What kind are you thinking of?"

"I was told your specialty was Mil-Grade equipment."

The 55C stopped, doing a good job of acting surprised.
"Who told you that?"

"Secret."

"I can guess," Alex stopped at this, then rolled up
his optics. Deep inside his electronic mind, he was
envisioning the ways he could possibly get back at
Ayaka Kurusugawa without being slagged in the process.
The rifle barrel was forgotten as he set it down.
"What, you guys planning a rearmament thing or
something?"

"Or something," Leon answered, handing the paper over.
Alex gave the document a long look, browsing through
it quickly. The way the 55C's optics moved, Daley
could have sworn it was arching an eyebrow. After a
quick run of the paper, Alex handed it back.

"I'll need to give your current inventory a
once-over," Alex stood up, cursed about there not
being enough 55C-sized shoes, and walked out,
motioning the two to follow. The boomer opened up a
garage, which housed a modest-looking Toratotaka CTH
minivan. The choice was obvious; it was one of the few
small vehicles that could actually fit a 55C in the
driver's seat. "Other than you two, there anyone in
ADP you wanna come around and check out this gun
stuff?"

"Just a couple, Kaneko Akamura and Arwen Sasaki," Leon
answered as he got in, looking at Daley's raised
eyebrow. Arwen would definitely love the chance to try
out some new guns, and Akamura would be a better judge
of weapons effectivity. In any case, they were career
ADP and cleared with T'n'T as well, which was a plus.
Most companies didn't like government employees
tinkering with their products free of charge. "I'll
give them a call."

"Good. I'll drive."

=*=*=*=

The flight out was quiet, but Tsubame chafed
uncomfortably in her seat. Although the spaceplane's
movement was swift, there was no sensation of movement
as it cut across the international dateline from a
sub-orbital arc. Flying in a vehicle such as this was
luxurious for the KMs, but Tsurugi couldn't get
comfortable regardless what she did. Almost all the
other Kuromoroboshi were sound asleep, trying to buy
some rest before switching back to Japan time.

Giving up sleep, Tsubame stood and decided to stroll
about the plane's hallways. She had no idea what it
was that made her feel so anxious; In the years since
the Kuromoroboshi had been reshuffled, while she
missed her old KMT-6, she'd also gotten used to the
flexibility of the new system, with KMs being switched
between teams on a regular basis. However, it was
something else that curled in her gut as she took the
first few steps toward the toilet cabins.

She met Kurogane Otome halfway there.

"Ah," Tsubame reflexively expunged. Shrugging, she
stepped to one side and passed, not another thought
until Otome's words struck.

"You have an oppressive feeling."

Tsubame stopped in her tracks. Turning, she saw
Kurogane, standing still in the hall behind her, not
making the slightest hint of motion.

"In combat, you cannot afford to feel. Feelings--fear,
joy, anger, sadness, hatred, love, doubt--will be your
downfall," Kurogane continued, not turning to face
her. Her voice was cold, more frigid than the thin air
just outside. "Hatred and love are equal but opposite
feelings, but in combat, It's the same feeling."

"Who taught you that?" Tsubame hissed. She knew ofr
certain that was somethign she'd never heard from
Negako. Immediately, she began to wonder--just where
did Kurogane Otome hail from? Why was she so little
known even among the Kuromoroboshi? "What's wrong with
feeling love and joy?"

"The feeling of wanting to hold someone, but knowing
your duty prevents it. The price of protecting those
you love while staying in the shadows--doesn't that
give you a feeling of anxiety, knowing that?" Kurogane
turned her head, and shot her an icy stare back.
"There is something in your soul that you have not yet
let go of, that gives you this feeling. Until you do,
you are a danger to all of us."

That said, Otome calmly walked away.

Silently, Tsurugi gave the back of Otome's head the
deepest dagger stare she could muster. 

=*=*=*=

She had quiche for lunch.

An afternoon drizzle spelled relief for the summer
days, as Sydney residents all welcomed the heavenly
shower. This woman, however, kept to herself as she
watched the steam rise from cold raindrops striking
asphalt. For a moment, she looked outward and gazed
back at herself in the coffee-shop glass. She could
have surprised herself; the cosmopolitan woman
reflected on the mirrorlike surface was garbed in
body-flattering denim, nothing like the more
conservative clothes she normally wore off-duty.
Hiding in plain sight and not seen, although she did
catch more than a few wandering eyes around the store.

Her hair had grown out a bit since last she visited
this place. It now halted a few inches above her
shoulders, ending in a slight but stylish wave, dyed
electric red in the current fashion in Sydney.
Apparently some smart fashion designer had thought the
'retro-android' look was the in thing, thus quite a
few women on the continent were dyeing their hair in
outlandish metallic colors.

She had to remind herself it was only March; Australia
being on the other end of the world, its seasons were
reversed, with summer during the Christmas season and
cold winters in June. The sole earring on her left, a
bangle the size of a dessert plate, felt like the
weather, hot.

"Hair looks good on you," a waiter commented as he
brought her a paper cup filled with steaming mocha
latte, accompanied by a copy of The Australian, a
local daily. "White mocha, specialty of the house."

"Thanks," she smiled back with a sweet, almost girlish
melody in her voice. Looking up allowed her to quickly
recognize Cole Tyler, waiter at Gloria Jean's Coffee.
When not waiting tables, the man was a deep-cover
USCOM agent, one who learned his craft after years
with the CIA. She took a careful, connoisseur's sip of
the brew, a subtle sign to her contact. With a smile,
she left the fee on her table, the little excess
remaining was for a tip. "Good coffee."

"The paper's free for a lady like you," the faux
waiter winked, before turning to another table.
Another hidden signal.

Elisabet Hardigan let out a sigh, picking up both
coffee and paper before leaving. She took her time,
taking in Sydney's sights and mulling about the heat.

=*=*=*=

Arwen Sasaki looked around and felt quite sheepish.
Her day off, and she was having the worst kind of
busman's holiday. McNichol had called her earlier in
the day, telling her to wait for him in front of the
ADP station along with Kaneko Akamura. Neither had yet
made an appearance so far, and thinking about it made
Sasaki give her head a vigorous, frustrated scratch. 

Leon wasn't adjusting to command too well, Sasaki had
noticed. He was overly worried; unlike old Toodou, he
lacked the ability to detach himself from the lives of
the individual ADP troops; while that made him a very
personable sort to be with, it also made him more
apprehensive about sending them into the danger zone.
There had been many times when either Arwen or Daley
had to stop him from jumping in and leading from the
front; as chief, McNichol could not be a field person
anymore, but a rear-echelon leader, something he
heartily disliked.

The fact that he was growing older didn't help.

The only good news was that he had yet to lose a
single man since sitting down as chief. It wasn't that
bad after all, Arwen thought. But she still wondered
what it was her new boss was up to, trying to shake up
existing ADP structure like that. Word was that he
planned for a reshuffling of the TAC teams, Airborne
reconnaisance, and even the K-suits in some way, but
no specifics were given. Whatever it was, though, it
was big.

Big enough for Leon to cell her, tell her to drop what
she was doing, and wait outside the station for a CTH
van to pick her up.

*What the hell's going on?* she wondered, even as she
spotted Akamura sauntering across the street to join
her.

=*=*=*=

Cold water, artificial rain, drummed a rhythm on her
head, mocking her every thought as the afternoon sun
crossed outside. Usui Kanako stood with her fists to
the wall, the shower turned full force as it prattled
its crystal song on her rage-deafened ears, anger and
shame at her loss. She hadn't turned up for work--ever
since her bout at the M.Y. Home cafe, she couldn't
stop thinking of her failure.

"Are you allright?" the girl, Mikage Sayo, had told
her as she offered her a helping hand. Kanako refused
it, all to aware of the eyes on her, eyes that seemed
to confirm her loss, her humiliation. "Technically,
you didn't lose."

"What're you talking about?" Usui snapped back,
choking back her shame. "I don't need your pity!"

"I don't have a VG license," Sayo explained, politely
but firmly standing in her way. "Technically, you
can't say this is an official fight."

"Now wait a minute---!" Usui growled, then stopped,
grit teeth and all.

"It was a good match," Mikage had smiled with
absolutely no guile nor smugness, honestly offering
her hand for Usui to shake. "Friends?"

*Why does this idiot have to be so damned NICE?* It
was too much for her to take; the Kopaka Grill girl
had stormed out, straight home, and locked herself in
her own bathroom. Fellow employees--waitresses at the
grill who did not share her martial arts desires, had
tried to coax her out the night before, trying to
relieve her of her worries, but she had ignored them
all.

"I don't need pity," Kanako growled, nails digging
deep into her palms and drawing rich blood as her
white-knuckled fists trembled in rage. Being beaten by
a complete nobody was unforgivable, but being cared
for by that same enemy--that was a shame she would
never be able to live with. "I'll never forgive you
for that, Mikage Sayo."

=*=*=*=

"This is crap," Tomoru grumbled, fidgeting in the
moth-eaten seat of his '22 sedan. Parked outside the
docks, he and Shingo were motionless in the cold,
waiting in the shadow of the old docks. "I mean, what
ninny-hammer sneaks in a whole freaking ship at
midday?"

"People who're crazy like a fox," Iwanaga mumbled, but
did not sound convinced of himself. His partner reeked
of alcohol, and he was quite annoyed that their client
had called and neither had anythign to show for it as
of yet. That one random call--a friend of a friend,
calling in a favor--later that day was the only lead
they had. A slim string, but the two P.I.s were
willing to grasp at anything at the moment. "Anything
can happen."

"Like seagulls taking a midflight poop," Tomoru
grumbled. In the corner of one eye he saw a large ship
float inward, heading in their direction. It was
preparing for dock, slowing from it's sailing speed.
"We're just looking for a yacht, right?"

"Yes, a yacht," Iwanaga grumbled. "Just a Yacht. No
more, no less, and just photos to prove where it is
and when."

"Uh-huh, just a boat that..." Minazuki then trailed
off as he now focused on the ship coming in. "Hey,
Shingo...define Yacht?"

"Luxury boat. What is this, twenty--" the other
detective stopped as he noticed the ship come in, the
fancy scripting on the side becoming quite visible.
"Hell..."

Tomoru blinked; when he heard 'Yacht', he was thinking
along the lines of a boat with a sail, like the kind
seen on that old vid he'd borrowed from Shingo,
"Gilligan's Island". An opulent floating mansion
wasn't what he had in mind--much less one pulling up
in the seedier part of the docks. "This is the wrong
one, right?"

"N...no, that's the one," Shingo muttered in
disbelief. "Oceanic Magistrate."

"That's...a pretty big yacht," Minazuki muttered.
Almost as an afterthought, he began snapping pictures
of it. There seemed to be no one on deck, and no one
getting or or off. "You know, I've been thinking about
this client of ours..."

"Yeah...What about it?" Iwanaga asked, but his mind
was already following his partner's train of thought.

"I think we've been had," Tomoru's voice took on a
sharper tone. "Heirloom my ass. I think we were hired
by a fricking MegaCorp."

=*=*=*=

The park that afternoon was brightly lit by the sun,
gathered round by people trying to enjoy their freedom
before beginning the drudgery of mundane work. With
daylight savings time on it's last few years before
being phased out, it allowed one to enjoy a bit moe of
sunlight during the Australian summertime. She liked
that about the country; no matter how hard life would
be, the people there generally knew how to have a good
time. Hardigan took a short, leisurely stroll through
until she paused, watching an old man on one of the
benches. He wore a worn fishing hat, one that seemed
to rustle in the heat of the day. Shaking her head and
suppressing the lightest of smiles, Est approached,
then sat down beside him in silence.

"Lovely day for a walk," Hardigan smiled, opening the
newspaper. There were no dossiers nor files within; it
was merely for show as the real information was passed
through word of mouth. "What's the situation?"

"I trust you like Sydney better than Moscow or
Lithuania," the old man beside her grinned, happily
taking in the warm Australian air. Colonel John-Connor
Fernandez rarely went into the field nowadays, but
when he did, he was easily mistaken for the
grandfather of five that he was. So, how's your
vacation so far?" 

"What, is that a pickup line I hear?" Hardigan
quipped.

"Knock it off, I'm with my grandkids," the Colonel
rubbed the sweat from his brow and cursed mildly, but
keeping his grin. He hadn't been to his native
Philippines for years, and wasn't as used to the heat
as he had once been. "Dammit, I'm getting too old, too
damn fast if a little sun makes me melt."

"Melbourne's a lot better for my soul. But at least
I'm not freezing my nose off like a TV dinner this
time," she replied curtly. Most of her operations
since Belarus had been in cool-weather regions such as
Poland and Ukraine. The fact that she had been kept
stationed in Moscow for the better part of a year did
not help. Est swore that if she saw snow again anytime
soon, she'd go berserk. "And if you plan to ship me
off to another sub-zero, glacier-buried piece of..."

Fernandez wasn't the least bit ruffled. "How does
MegaTokyo strike you?"

Having known the man for so long, Hardigan did not
bother with words. She simply gave him a long, cold
stare that pressed the question: "You have GOT to be
joking."

"The USSD's Officer's Club," the old man replied, not
even acknowledging the agent's response. He knew that
Japan was the last place in the world she wanted to
be, but there were few people in their line of
business who were anywhere near where they wished.
Espionage was about putting people in the wrong place
at the wrong time and hoping to god that they came
back out in one coherent piece. "Remember them?"

"The dog ate my homework, John," Est chuckled, but
with a curious tone. Minor regional threats were
rarely taken on by USCOM unless they had the potential
to blow out of proportion. So far, Hardigan couldn't
see it happening with this case; the former power
known as the United Nations Space Security Division
had, at it's public inception, been developed as a
safeguard against a potential nuclear war, what with
the explosion of nuclear weaponry worldwide following
the collapse of the Soviet Union in the late 20th
Century. Privately, the lasers were at times turned
outward, waving off any attempts at friendly
extraterrestrial contact in those old, dark ages. Now
that the world was finally coming out of it's
self-imposed isolation from the rest of the universe,
diplomatic contact with alien races was at a snail's
crawl, but progressive nonetheless. An overzealous
ex-USSD officer could throw such fledgling
relationships astray... "But hasn't the USSD been
operating on a solely consultational basis since 2038?
Even in 2040 they weren't much help to anybody..."

"Last I checked, there was still one USSD officer in
Japan with the power to pull strings."

"John, Major Matheson's most serious offense to date
was the public destruction of ONE Genom-made vacuum
cleaner when he couldn't plug it into his office,"
Hardigan noted with distaste. She knew of the man;
spared the indignity of the trials and post-collapse
witchhunts that whittled the USSD down to nothing, The
current USSD Asia-Pacific bureau head Major Patrick
Matheson's only reason for such mercy was the fact
that he was too inept to have been a threat. "He's a
joke."

"Experience tells us that it's the 'harmless' ones you
have to watch out for the most," Fernandez muttered.
"Remember, it only took six wackoes with X-Acto knives
on board a plane to change the way the world looked at
terrorism."

"Point taken," Est nodded. Still, she couldn't help
but be sarcastic. "So what, he plans to take the world
hostage by creating a vacuum cleaner shortage?"

"I'm serious, Est," USCOM-One didn't feel like kidding
around today, not with the sun's heat. "I sent Pale
Horse to talk to Matheson a week ago. Today...I wrote
a letter of condolence to his folks."

That gave the agent pause. Hardigan's lips pursed,
indicating she wanted more details on the matter.
Joshua Stalking-Horse, code-named Pale Horse, was an
excellent agent in the field with more than a decade
of experience under his belt, most of them during his
stint with the ubiquitous American Delta Force CT
unit, and the US Army Rangers long before that. He was
not the type to be easily taken out while on a simple
sneak-and-peek mission.

"It was originally a simple investigation into some
missing people back in old Kinshasa," Fernandez
answered with finality. Kinshasa was once under the
thumb of Genom, the branch office there held by Annan
Kabbah, second most ruthless man in the Megacorp right
after then Vice-Chairman Brian Mason. Like Mason, he
was long since dead, but some of his legacy could
still be felt in the company's shares in that region.
"Odd group of kidnappees. Some biotech scientists
working on cloning crops, some history scholars,
archaeologists, and a few ethics professors. No
connection between any of them. Not even from the same
university."

"Missing Persons is a local police job, not USCOM's
jurisdiction."

"Normally yes. But when I got word of USSD
involvement, I had to send someone in, and John was
it," USCOM-One waited for a response from the agent
before he continued. "We're talking a -considerable-
amount of missing people. Interestingly enough,
they're all somehow involved with an old USSD project
called 'Arcadia'. I've heard word that the cops in
Kinshasa are crooked as old vines. Probably a holdover
from the old Genom years under Kabbah. Someone, it
seems, has been paying off them and some ex-USSD
people to lose the paperwork. If the missing people
reports aren't a good enough reason, the payoffs are."

Est mumbled something unintelligible. Even years after
their downfall as an organization, USSD still had a
serious number of skeletons in closets. "What's this
Arcadia?"

"That's what I sent Joshua in to find out. It's not on
any of the USSD files we'd been observing for years,"
the colonel steepled his hands together, deep in
thought as he mulled the possibilities of this. USSD
had been a straightforward, bureaucratic organization
that kept track of almost everything: from the
position of their satellites in space to the toilet
habits of their janitors at any given time. The fact
that not one word of Arcadia had ever come out of
their searches worried him. Lack of hardcopy or
digital confirmation was either a sign of
non-existence--or that of a serious, small, and
secretive unit within a unit that knew not to trust
their dealings on paper or kilobyte. "Maybe it's an
Odessa-like organization, helping some of the old
government or corporate bad seeds escape arrest. Or
maybe a pet project by one of the 'Corps. I know
nothing."

"Not good," Hardigan remarked. If USCOM-One was
telling her only what she needed to know, he would be
upfront and honest with it, say it was for security
reasons. If John said he knew nothing, it was true to
the bone. "And nobody else is onto this yet?"

"Well, if anyone from the MegaCorps knows something,
they've been nonchalant about it lately..."
John-Connor drew a breath, mindful of his tone as
people passed by. Once the pedestrians were gone, he
continued on with his findings. "I can wager a guess
that T'n'T might already be investigating it, but as
far as our own sources go, they don't even know it
exists. In that case, we've got a leg up--we have a
name."

Est nodded. USCOM had an ear or two hidden among some
MegaCorps, not full-time agents or spies, but
employees who unwittingly talk a bit too much at bars
and the like. It was often too surprising to learn
much about a company by simply going to a bar where
their employees often frequented. While not always as
reliable as dedicated espionage, it was generally used
as an indicator of possible movements in a company.
Movements to be looked further into.

"The last I got from Joshua was that he was going to
investigate an old mothballed USSD yacht, the Oceanic
Magistrate. That ship is not on the harbor register,"
USCOM-One ended it with a sigh. The old man stood,
casually brushing his pant legs as he did, beginning
to walk away. "As of now, we've got nothing, no
evidence of any wrongdoing save for pure gut feel. We
need solid proof that something's going down, and what
it is exactly. I want to know where that ship is,
what's on it that got Pale Horse killed, and how to
stop it."

"And that's where I come in, right?" Est asked, almost
rhetorically as she knew what was coming next.

"Take in as much of Sydney as you can. You leave on
the last flight tonight," Fernandez did not look back,
walking calmly on as if ignorant of the world. "I'm
counting on you, Dove."

"Hah," Est threw her head back as she laughed,
wondering if she would bump into old friends on the
job. 

=*=*=*=

It took the four ADP officers awhile to get used to
the idea of letting a 55C into the building through
the back door, but it had to be done. McNichol noted
that most other ADP personnel would not take too
kindly to a boomer--even a sentient, unarmed
one--simply waltzing through the front door.
Especially not one asking permission to riffle through
their gear.

"Well now, where do we start?" Alex dispensed with the
niceties as he walked into the equipment room.
"Personal gear should be standardized."

"It's all here," Arwen shrugged, not altogether sure
how to take this intrusion. She'd heard of Alex from
friends in T'n'T, all about the blue 55C who refused
to take a humanlike skinsuit. "Try not to go crazy."

"Hmmmm. GENOM T67A4 Inter-Unit Radio communications,"
the boomer mumbled without any indication he'd heard.
He picked up the device, grimaced, then tossed the
radio over his shoulder. "Crap."

"Parson Industries Insulated Impact Helmet..." Toss.
"Crap."

"Genom Alpha Halogen--are you kidding? Didn't you guys
ever hear of SureFire Tactical lights?" Toss. "Crap."

"Second-Generation Flexible Body Armor." Toss. "Crap."

"Now hold on, tin man!" Arwen finally screamed,
causing the other three ADP officers to wince, and
make the Boomer stop cold in the act of tossing out
the footwear. "Isn't there ANYTHING here that you
don't find crap?"

"The people. Maybe," Alex remarks, rudely poking a
considerably large metal finger out of a frayed and
overworn tactical vest. "But just about everything
else in here is..."

"Crap," the four ADP officers chorused blandly.

"Looking at this stuff, I'd say you folks were plumb
out of your mind to be hunting down rogue boomers,"
Alex grumbled, jerking a thumb at the impromptu pile
of rejected personal items. "Hell, a regular Police
SWAT team from 2030 should be better equipped than
this!"

"It wasn't by choice, you know," Akamura cut in, more
to keep Sasaki from blowing a gasket over the boomer's
mean comparison. "We tried spending more on
weapons..."

"...And Genom shoved all this crap up your ass," Alex
sighed, as if defeated. Then he made the very human
gesture of rubbing his chin. "This is gonna take more
work than I thought. Tell you what, I'll pick you guys
up tomorrow morning, and show you guys what you're
missing. Deal?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Leon yawned, agreeable to the
idea of sleeping on the matter for the moment. Daley
nodded, and gave the boomer a gesture to follow him
out. Arwen and Kaneko lagged slightly behind as the
ADP Chief left the room.

"Hey," Just before crossing the door, Sasaki tapped
her ADP compatriot on the shoulder. "Aren't you the
slightest bit worried?"

"Worried about what?" Kaneko shrugged. "A smart-ass
55C from TnT is a change."

"A 55C telling US what to do with our anti-boomer
weapons. Doesn't that give you SOME kind of indication
how low we've sunk?"

"Nah," Akamura smirked. "After Leon made chief, I
don't think we can sink any deeper."

"~~~I heard that!!!"

=*=*=*=

Hot Legs had changed, but remained the same to Priss.
The stage had been moved, as the old nightclub seemed
to have increased in size. The bar was now further
away, the nightclub built to house more people than
the trickle of Technotrash diehards it used to have.
But it was still the same feel, the same smell--the
heat of people in the midst of musical ecstacy as they
all crowded to see the sight. Spectacle and sound,
mixed in with a bit of alcohol.

Asagiri remembered it well. But what caught her
attention was the tune of the band. It wasn't the
hard, metal-smashing of Technotrash from it. For a
second the ex-singer wondered if Hot Legs had turned
into a nightmarish pop-music hall, but the trembling
roll of the drums was different. Distinct from
Technotrash, yet similar in theme.

*Old Hard Rock?* Priss blinked. Technotrash had it's
roots in it, 20th Century Rock music. Born of a
backlash against the turn of the century's mainstream
infatuation with Gangsta Rap and New Age, Technotrash
took many of the best elements of the old genre and
put a new, yet old-fashioned spin. Asagiri knew this;
no TechnoTrash singer or band was worthy of respect if
they couldn't pay homage to their roots. "Linna, who
the hell..."

"Just watch," Linna winked. She'd been to Hot Legs a
day before; that was the reason she insisted she and
Nene bring Priss along to the location. It had nothing
to do with the place's connection to their old friend
at all.

"This is the last one! For Old Jimmy Morrison!" the
girl on stage yelled--no, SCREAMED into the mike,
which sent the crowds roaring with delight as the
music began to hammer down all around. The song,
played over and over again through the years, still
had the lusty, dark rage that was carried by it's
original singer, taken form in the raven-haired girl
who began stamping her feet to the clash of guitar and
cymbal. The band built up the trill of air a moment
before she roared out the song.

     "Before you slip into
      unconsciousness
      I'd like to have another kiss
      Another flashing chance
      at bliss
      Another kiss,
      another kiss"

"Shit. Shit, shit," Priss found herself gawking at the
first delivery, cut now by the guitar and drums as the
filled the room, fighting for supremacy over the
equally roaring customers. Admit it or not, Asagiri
knew the girl was good, better than she expected for a
newcomer. No, better than that. She was downright
incredible.

And if Asagiri thought she'd heard the best of the
girl, she was wrong.

     "The days are bright
      and filled with pain
      Enclose me in your gentle rain
      The time you ran
      was too insane
      We'll meet again
      we'll meet again"

"She knows her Morrison," Priss had stopped dancing,
riveted by the song. There were many wannabes in
music, and technotrash had the largest number of
talent-challenged hopefuls. Many of them simply
assumed screaming out loud was enough. But the more
serious singers like Priss did more than sing--they
did their own research. Technotrash may have been
modeled on the punk rock and metal music of the middle
20th century, but spiritually it was a direct
descendant of hard rock. Asagiri knew many of her
contemporaries were drawn to the old but powerful
songs of Jimi Hendrix.

Picking Jim Morrison as a topic gave the girl more
weight in Priss' eyes.

The girl didn't do any cute antics, and she wasn't
sashaying it up on stage in the way that half-talent
singers did, hoping that the men would focus on her
body instead of her voice. The raven-black head of
hair nodded in solid tune with the beat, and when the
girl opened up her voice, it all came flowing out. She
had the talent, the power, and the drive--Priss
realized that, had she still been actively singing,
she'd have considered the girl as a major threat to
her career.

     "Oh tell me where your
      freedom lies
      The streets are fields that never die
      Deliver me from reasons
      why
      You'd rather cry
      I'd rather fly"

The drums and guitar stopped, and the abrupt silenced
the crowds instantly. One second, then two. Then the
voice of the girl onstage, perfect in it's measured
a'capella, suddenly carried the song through to the
end, band and guitar returning once more only as
background. Despite herself, Asagiri found herself
singing along, as did many of the audience who knew
this song, and the generations past that sang it.

     "The crystal ship
      is being filled
      A thousand girls,
      a thousand thrills
      A million ways to spend
      your time
      When we get back,
      I'll drop a line"

Applause roared amongst the crowd, even as the singer
shot a fist in the air one last time before stepping
offstage. Mysteriously, she was lost in the crowds, no
one seeming to have registered her escape. It was as
if her singing had mystified the audience so, that she
simply walked out without being seen.

"Whaddya think, ape-girl?" Linna elbowed her friend.
There was no violent reaction, and immediately
Yamazaki knew that Asagiri was speechless.

"Jeez," Priss was shaking her head. "What'd you say
this chick's name was?"

"Shion Sahara," Linna nodded, as she now found herself
gyrating to the newer, solid beat. Despite it, she
knew that the dance music now flowing was
unsatisfactory to her, unlike the song that was played
earlier. That one, it had a power of delivery she had
heard only once else before. "Damn, she's good."

"Sahara," Priss did a double-take. "Funky. Stage
name?"

Linna had by now tuned out, letting her body flow with
the music as she had done so many times before. Nene
was also dancing, chatting with other girls in the
now-active audience. For a moment, Asagiri considered
slapping both her friends on the head as in old times,
but stopped, looking back to the now-empty stage and
wondering about the girl who had sung there.

Priss knew the power, the pain behind the song. She'd
sung like that too many times to forget it. Rode
bikes, fought boomers, sung--all of it with the same
power from within. Watching the girl thunder through
her performance, Asagiri suddenly found that in a way,
she knew this girl better than anyone else in the
room, what force it was that made her so talented a
singer. The driving force of that voice wasn't love or
divine inspiration.

It was a song powered by sheer self-destruction.

=*=*=*=
=*=*=*=

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<i>"I figured Daredevil must be Catholic because only a Catholic could be both an attorney and a vigilante."</i> -<b>Frank Miller</b>
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