Hello again,
This is the continuation of part 1 of "True Love", a BGC story I've been
working on. If you've read this far, I hope it's because you're enjoying
the story and not finding it so awful that you just can't tear your eyes
from it <g>
Again, any comments, positive or negative, over the ML or private, will be
appreciated.
Thanks!
Jeanne
*********
Sylia was awakened by the wail of the building's security
alarm. Her first, reflexive, action was to seal the blast doors
to, and the security doors within, the Knight Sabers complex.
Her second action was to get out of bed and bring the
building's live-time security monitors on-line. A quick scan
of the area showed that she wasn't under active attack. A
more detailed internal scan proved the building hadn't been
penetrated, to any great extent anyway, and that whatever
had triggered the alarm was gone.
Immediate concerns satisfied, she called Mackie at
Raven's Garage, where he'd planned to work through the
night to complete the preliminary design models for the new
suits. Once she'd filled him in, she entered the command
codes to download the last few hours of surveillance
recordings from the security system. Only then did she take
a few moments to get dressed. That done, she went
downstairs to await the arrival of the police.
"Hey Priss, you in there?" Kenji knocked on the dressing
room door again, a little louder this time. "Priss!"
After a couple minutes of pounding, a muffled "All right,
just a minute," came floating out of the locked room. Kenji
put his ear to the door. Thumps. Voices. Male and female.
Yep, they were at it again. He jerked away just as Priss
threw the door open. "This had better be good," she growled
as she reached over her shoulder to pull her hair from inside
the t-shirt she had just pulled on.
Kenji looked into the small room. A full length mirror on
the wall opposite the door showed the reflection of a tall, red-
haired man, just out of Kenji's direct eyesight, trying to pull
his pants on over his boots. He'd didn't know his name, but
he'd seen him around a few times before. Priss looked over
her shoulder to see what Kenji was looking at and sighed.
She gave him a shove, and moved into the corridor, closing
the door behind her. "What?"
"Sorry to interrupt," he smirked. Arms crossed over her
chest, she glowered at him. "OK, OK, I'm really sorry, but
I've got some messages to give you."
"What?" she repeated.
"Boy, you're nasty when you get interrupted, you know
that?" He winked at her.
"Jesus, Kenji, I wish you wouldn't do that. It's
impossible to stay mad at you," Priss smiled, the absurdity of
the situation finally getting to her. "All right, let's have
them."
"I'm just too irresistible," he smirked as he handed her an
envelope. "Some joker came to the back door a bit ago.
Said you wanted to see him. He wasn't on the list, so I didn't
let him in. Would've gone looking for you, but you'd just
retired with loverboy there."
"Leave it alone," Priss warned. "Who was it?"
"I don't remember the name," Kenji shrugged. "Seen him
around, out in the crowd, but not in the back before. Seemed
like the fanboy type. Anyway, when I wouldn't let him in,
he asked me to give you that envelope. He had a message
too; I wrote it on the back so I wouldn't forget."
Priss glanced down at the scribbled handwriting: 'Meet
me out back -- 11 AM.' "What time is it?"
Kenji glanced at his watch. "Little before 11."
"OK, anything else?"
"Yeah, a phone call a few minutes ago. Lady said your
lingerie is ready, but you have to come get it now if you want
the special price." Kenji was almost leering now. "Picking
up something special? Do I get to see it?"
Priss's heart almost stopped. That was one of Sylia's
priority one code phrases. It wasn't quite on the level of a
crash emergency or a Knight Sabers call-out, but she had to
get over to Sylia's immediately.
"Here, throw this away, will you?" she said distractedly as
she thrust the now crumpled envelope back into Kenji's
hand. Without another word, she turned and went back into
the dressing room, ignoring the man waiting inside, who had,
by now, managed to get his clothes back on. She stopped
just long enough to pull socks and boots on over her bare
feet, then grabbed her jacket, helmet, and gloves, and headed
out the door.
"Women," the two men said simultaneously as they
watched her run towards the front of the club.
***
Again, the demons try to interfere with our love.
One of their minions is close at hand.
Because of him, she did not join with me.
He will intrude no more.
***
"Priss, I want you to leave town."
"Are you NUTS?! I can't leave now! I'm signing a
record contract tonight! Send Nene or Linna on your errand,
I don't have the time for it."
"This has nothing to do with the Knight Sabers," Sylia
began, a bit hotly, "and if you'd take a minute to think about
it instead of yelling at me you'd know that too. To refresh
your memory of current events, someone trashed every
storefront in the building last night. Just hours, I might add,
after you paid a supposedly secret visit. And he left a calling
card, if finding 'Leave Priss Alone!' spray painted on your
back wall can be considered a calling card."
Priss stared at her, her stubborn expression showing no
sign of slackening. Sylia decided to try a different tack.
"Look. Someone obviously followed you here last night.
He's connected you to 633, which puts him too close for my
taste to connecting you to me. He's obviously taken a strong
interest in you. I want you out of here, if for nothing else
than to cool off his interest before he makes a connection
between you and the Knight Sabers."
Priss's face lost a little of its mulishness as Sylia's words
began to sink in. "What did the police say?"
"TPD wanted to know if I knew anyone named 'Priss'. I
told them I had two or three customers named Priscilla, but
they didn't press for details." Priss suddenly stood and
began to pace around the room. "Please, Priss, get out of
town. At least until the police ID this guy and bring him in.
If he's capable of vandalizing a building over you, who
knows what else he could do?"
Priss completed a few more circuits of the room in
silence. "I can't go anywhere for a couple days, at least," she
finally said, placatingly. "Tonight I do the record deal,
tomorrow we finish this run at the Legs, and I can't bail on
that, not after signing with a label." Not with some of the
screwy things Haskell had been trying to get away with.
"It'll have to be the day after."
"Right. I'll call Linna--"
"No." Priss finally stopped pacing long enough to grab
her things off the chair she'd dumped them in, and headed
for the door. "You haven't said anything to Linna or Nene
about this yet, have you?" Sylia indicated that she had not.
"Then don't involve them now. I'm a big girl, I can take care
of myself, and keep this guy off our backs too." Assuming
you aren't just being paranoid, Sylia.
"Be careful then," Sylia called as Priss started to leave.
"Let me know your travel plans. Maybe I can help."
"Hey, careful is my middle name!" Priss smiled back at
her friend, then left, closing the door behind her.
"I wish it were," came the sighed reply.
"Thank you, Asagiri-san," the woman said as she capped
her pen. The freshly signed contracts went into a manila
folder, the folder into her slim-line briefcase, and the
briefcase back under the table in the back corner booth. "A
drink to toast our new relationship? I am sure this agreement
will be profitable to both of us."
Priss nodded, and the pair drank in silence. "To all of us.
You, me, the band, your company."
"As you say. I regret that the terms of our agreement are
not more to your... liking. However, if Priss and the
Replicants performs well, I am certain that changes will be
considered. Eventually."
Priss shook her head in disbelief. These corporate types
are all the same: a big pain in the ass, she thought to herself.
And I was stupid enough to think bringing in the boss would
help. "All right," she reluctantly agreed. "But I'm still not
happy about it."
"You've made that abundantly clear to Mr. Haskell.
Which is why, despite regular procedure, he asked me to
assume the negotiations directly." She smiled slightly; a
shark's smile, with absolutely no warmth in it. "If this is so
unpalatable to you, perhaps I should inform him that we are
unable to reach an accommodation, and direct him to look
elsewhere. There are, after all, other groups in this city."
Priss kept a carefully calm facade, but inside she shook
with rage. Damn bitch. She can't treat us like that. She
can't treat me like that! I ought to tell her just where.... No.
The guys will kill me if I blow another deal. They want this
one. Priss forcibly calmed herself. "No need to go
elsewhere, Oomori-san," she said, each word sounding as if
it were forced out. "I just wanted to clarify our position one
more time."
The shark disappeared, replaced by the businesswoman.
"Noted, and I believe our meeting is concluded. Good
evening."
Priss watched as the record company's A&R Director
stood, gathering her things to leave the darkened room that
was Hot Legs after hours. "Hey." The woman looked up.
"Something has been bothering me. Have we met
somewhere before?"
"I think not," she sniffed, and left the room as quickly as
she could.
"Bitch," Priss muttered under her breath. "OK, guys, all
clear!"
The rest of the band emerged from the backstage area.
"Well?" Paul demanded. He was the most outspoken of the
Reps about making the deal.
"All signed. One year, with another year at their option.
One album the first year, one in the option year, touring,
performance support, the usual stuff." She thought briefly of
some of the clauses that weren't quite so usual. Ahh, who
cares about non-performance. We always meet our
performance dates. Well, almost always. "The money's not
the greatest, and you know I'm not happy with some of the
terms, but it's the best I could do." Given that somehow that
bitch knew you guys were pushing me to do this deal.
Priss eyed the bassist narrowly. Was it you, Paul? Were
you the one?
"Then that'll have to do," the drummer interrupted her
thoughts.
"It'll be OK for a start, that's for damn sure," Paul agreed.
"But who gives a shit about that now, let's PARTY!"
"Damn right!"
Priss joined in the general euphoria of the moment, but
passed when the drugs and booze came out. She hadn't
engaged in what Sylia euphemistically called "recreational
pharmaceuticals" since before joining the Knight Sabers,
and, truth be told, didn't miss it. The high she got from
performing and Boomer-bashing more than made up for
them.
Besides, tonight was not a time to be even slightly
blurred. She thought she'd seen what looked like the same
motorcycle at least five times today, either on the road or
parked on the street. Thinking back, it seemed like she'd
seen that same bike several times over the last few weeks.
Maybe what she'd initially thought of as paranoia on Sylia's
part was rubbing off, but, real or imagined, the thought of
being followed by an unknown was beginning to spook her.
Ah, I'm overtired, that's it. It's just my imagination. I
wouldn't put it past Leon to follow me around, she thought
wryly, but there's no reason for anyone else to do it. But
still, Sylia wasn't often wrong....
Or maybe it's just old age. Decrepit at 20. Early onset
senility, that's the ticket.
Maybe it's time to get out. Out of this dive, out of this
town.
Shaking off the dark thoughts, she turned back to her
friends, determined to have a good time. Tonight was, after
all, a night to party.
***
The demons are calling to her, and she's been blinded by
their falsehoods.
They've promised her fame and fortune and happiness.
But she can only be happy with me.
She thinks she's leaving me.
She can never leave me. We are one, soul mates.
She must be saved from herself.
I must save her.
I love her.
***
Word of the signing spread quickly among the regulars at
Hot Legs, and from there to the more casual fans of the band.
Tonight, the club closely resembled a zoo, as it seemed like
the entire city wanted in to see Priss and the Replicants.
After all, once they made it big most of the crowd wouldn't
be able to get in to their venues, let alone afford the price of a
ticket.
Newcomers already inside the club were removed,
forcibly at times, as room was made for the regulars.
Although upset that he would soon be losing his premiere
attraction, the manager reacted like any intelligent
businessman -- he tripled the cover charge, watered down the
drinks even more, and was making a killing.
As a result, there was a sudden rush of new roadies
appearing at the club's back door, all vouched for by one or
another of the band's members. Which was how Nene
Romanova and Linna Yamazaki found themselves on the
main floor, helping Charles, the guy at the mixing board.
Helping, that is, by staying out of his way and not touching
anything.
When the house and stage lights went down, a stylish
half-hour late, the crowd turned its collective attention from
their mundane activities to the stage. Priss had dictated a
change in the playlist; instead of their signature opener,
Konya wa Hurricane, the Reps were kicking off with another
old favorite, Rock Me. As the pulsing bass and percussion
lines of the opening began, the crowd roared in recognition.
The roar built as the wailing guitar solo joined the wall of
sound thundering out of the darkness. An infinitesimal pause
in the music, and the lights flared on as Priss began the verse.
The roar of approval changed to something more primal, like
that of some prehistoric beast, shaking the building to its
foundations.
Priss strutted around the stage, putting everything into the
performance, selling the song to the crowd of willing buyers.
Nezumi might have spies in the crowd, and she was
determined to prove that they were worth a better deal.
There were times when Priss was totally drained after a
performance; this looked to be one of those nights. And
then...
During the reprise of the intro, Priss suddenly staggered
backward a couple of steps, a surprised look on her face. As
she fell to her knees, one of the can lights at the side of the
stage exploded. Some of the crowd cheered this bit of rock-
n-roll pyrotechnics, something new for the Reps, but Nene
seemed to know instinctively that something was very
wrong. The band vamped a bit when their leader didn't
come in on cue, confused looks on their faces.
Nene grabbed Linna's arm and they moved out from
behind the board onto the floor, shoving their way through
the crowd of drunken or stoned (or, in some cases, both)
fans, all intent on, it seemed, getting in their way. As they
finally broke into a relatively clear area, Linna looked up in
time to see Priss fall forward onto her face. The band ground
to a halt, and the drummer climbed out from behind his set,
moving to Priss's side.
"Get him! He's got a gun!!" The cry shattered the
sudden silence engendered by Priss's collapse. The crowd
started to panic: a few moving to the source of the cry, more
moving toward the stage, most running for the exits as fast as
they could.
"Go on!" Linna yelled into Nene's ear over the screaming
crowd. "I'll see what's happening over there!" Giving Nene
a push in the direction of the stage, she began shoving her
way across the room to where three or four men were
pounding on someone. Although it had only been 3 or 4
seconds since Priss fell, Nene felt as if hours had elapsed.
Thanking her stars that she was, for once, complying with
regulations, Nene pulled her shield case out of the pocket of
her jeans. She clipped her ADP ID card to her collar, and
looped the case through her belt, all while worming her way
through the rapidly thinning mob. The initial surge away
from the stage seemed to have passed, and, after flashing her
badge at one of the overwhelmed bouncers trying to move
the remaining crowd away from the stage and out the exits,
she climbed onto the stage itself. She walked quickly over to
the small crowd of band members and stagehands huddled
around Priss. Wiggling her way through the group, she was
finally able to see her friend.
Priss was lying on her stomach, face turned to the right,
feet tangled with some cables. One of her band-mates (the
drummer, Nene identified distractedly) was kneeling at her
side, talking to her softly. She's only tripped and knocked
her fool self out, Nene sighed in relief.
The drummer looked up then, the lost expression on his
face shattering her illusion. "Please, do you know what to
do? She won't answer me. She's just staring into space."
Nene blanched, then knelt at Priss's other side and gently
removed the microphone still clenched in her hand. She
checked Priss's pulse, first at the wrist, then reaching across
and checking at the arteries in her neck. She had trouble
finding it.
Nene reached up blindly and grabbed the nearest fist full
of clothing she could reach. "AD Police. Call an
ambulance." The person didn't move, and Nene looked up at
him, anger suffusing her face. It was the bass player, and he
looked blankly back at her. She shoved him away, wishing
that there was someone she could count on here. Even Leon
would do.
"Hey! I need some help over here!" she yelled at the
nearest bouncer. Focused on the rapidly escalating fight near
one of the side exits, he didn't hear her. "Hey! YOU!!
FIIIIIIRRREE!!!" That got his attention. "AD Police. Call
an ambulance. Call the police. NOW!" He nodded, and
started moving toward the bar. Now that help was
(hopefully) on the way, she returned her full attention to the
injured singer.
With help from the drummer, Nene turned her friend onto
her back and gasped. Priss's chest was covered with blood
and gore, from what looked like a gunshot wound, and there
was blood trickling from her nose and mouth. Nene started
to panic a bit herself when she realized there were air bubbles
in the blood welling from it. ohmygodohmygodohmyGOD
please don't let me fuck this up! her mind gibbered as she
closed her eyes and took two or three deep breaths to steady
herself. The crowd on the stage vanished when they realized
what was happening. Someone had been shot and the police
were on the way. Not a good place to be.
Nene grabbed the drummer before he could disappear and
sent him in search of a first aid kit, threatening to come and
find him some dark night if he didn't come back. She then
took off her own jacket and folded it up into a kind of pad,
and placed it over the wound, applying pressure.
She suddenly realized that Priss was watching her. From
the look in her eyes, she obviously didn't understand what
was going on, but there was some bit of consciousness there.
Nene brushed the hair out of Priss's eyes with blood streaked
fingers. Neither of them noticed. "Hang in there, Priss.
Everything's going to be fine. You just relax and keep still
and let me take care of things," Nene muttered, trying to
comfort her. Oh SHIT, why didn't I pay more attention in
field medical training? What do I do now?!
"Oh my God...." Nene glanced back to see Linna
standing behind her, a stricken look on her face. As she
looked up at her other friend, another part of her mind
registered the sudden quiet in the club. The drummer
returned, dropped a battered metal box with a red cross on
the lid on the floor at Priss's feet, and ran back stage again.
Linna broke out of her shock and grabbed the first aid kit.
Moving opposite Nene, she opened it and began digging
through the contents for something that could be remotely
considered a bandage. Priss's eyelids began to sag shut; she
was fading out. Nene reached out, slapping her face lightly,
leaving bloody finger marks on her cheek. "Come on, Priss,
stay awake. Stay with us here. Don't you do this to me,
Priss. Come on...."
Jeanne Hedge
jhedge@waterw.com ==================== 75512.1214@compuserve.com
"The truth is the one thing that nobody will believe."
-- George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
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