Ok, this isn't finished but I've wasted so much time trying to fix it
that I thought I'd post what I have for suggestions for improvement. Note
that it isn't necessary to have read what's gone before to understand this -
it's set entirely in the BGC universe and includes none of the characters
introduced so far.
The major problems are:
1) The KSs characterisation is IMO absolutely *atrocious* -- I just
can't seem to differentiate them in any but the most cliched of ways. Any
ideas?
2) On re-reading, it seems to me to be fragmented, to jump all over the
place and lack a *great* deal in the descriptive department. Is it my
imagination?
3) The premise seems to me unlikely at best and utterly absurd at
worst. Opinions?
Well, here goes nothing! :) BTW, I've not bothered to spell-check
this yet -- won't do it until it's finished.
--------------------
Chapter 3.
Crack!
A chunk of pavement exploded almost at his heels. Then there was a
ringing, tearing crunch as his trump leapt from the roof to which she had
vaulted after shattering Ogawa's neck and crashed down on the C-55 that had
nearly killed him scant moments before. He did not stay to see what happened
next. Marina had given him a chance, slim though it was. He was numbly certain
the boomer could not hold out against the larger fully armed machine in close
quarters, not with most of her systems inaccessible. Still, she-- `It' he tried
unsuccessfully to remind himself, would take it with her; her instructions on
that point could not have been more clear. Instructions! He laughed bitterly.
Gasping now, his left leg shooting numbing shards of agony through his
body at every impact with the ground, he rounded yet another corner and dove
desperately into the comparative darkness of an alley. He spun crazily, no
longer able to bear his own weight on his injured leg, let alone that of the
small heavy case he carried. Then he cannoned into some dust-bins and other
refuse and a moment later he lay dazed and panting in a sodden pile of some
unnameable, evil-smelling filth, the case tumbling to rest almost at his side.
For what seemed an endless time of ever growing pain and dilirium he
lay still, too exhausted and terrified to move, while blood soaked slowly
through his heavy trench-coat from the terrible wound in his shoulder and
through his trousers from the dreadful gash just below his left knee.
"You have to get up! You have to get up!" He kept telling himself, the
gasping whimper ever more desperate and hopeless. "You can't stay here. You're
as good as dead already. You have to keep going!"
Stirring at last, trying vainly to fight down the retching, clutching
nausea, he made a feeble effort to rise. But it was already too late. Far
beyond exhaustion, he could do nothing but whimper helplessly as his body
simply refused to obey him. It would be so simple to surrender to the gentle,
calling blackness of oblivion, an oblivion free from loss and pain. For a
moment he struggled to hold the blackness at bay, then with a last tiny sob he
closed his eyes and the world around him was no more.
Movement. He was being carried. He could feel the firm grip about his
legs and his arms had been drawn down to be held by the wrists.
He tried to stir, then moaned as fresh agony knifed through him.
"Keep still." Came a low female voice close beside him.
It was a moment before he recognised it in his semi-stupor. Then he
started.
"Marina?" He gasped.
"You were expecting someone else?" The boomer responded, her tone
seeming to be one of wry amusement. "Did you think I wouldn't make it?"
She laughed a chilling, hard-edged laugh and tossed her head, the long
fair hair flipping against his cheek.
"I thought--. I mean, a C-55-m."
"Losing isn't in my job description." She answered, the hard edge still
in her tone. "You should know. You defined my combat parameters."
"Parameters change." He grunted. "I wasn't sure you'd survive, or come
for me if you did."
"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought." She answered simply. "If
you don't know your own firmware--."
"You're more than firmware Marina--" He began, but was cut off by a
short savage laugh.
"Oh yes." She answered. "So much more. The perfect assassin, the
perfect street whore, the perfect lady of high society, the perfect spy, the
perfect bait for the Knight Sabres?"
With this last she laughed again, a wild lost sound. "Except that now I
need to find them rather than take or kill them. You didn't put that in my job
description before we had to run. I had to make those changes myself."
She laughed again. "I'm surprised you didn't christen me Shasti rather
than give me the name of your lost daughter, attractive though she was. It
would have been more fitting, *and* more accurate."
This time, the laugh was a short vicious snarl.
He simply tried to shake his head, not comprehending.
"It doesn't matter." She said. "How could you understand?"
They continued in silence for some time, her smoothe, cat-like
movements barely jolting the injured scientist.
"Where are we going?" He asked at last.
"I had intended to find a place where I could finish patching you up."
She answered simply. "A derelect, an office building; it wouldn't have
mattered. But you're too badly hurt. Now I must make other plans. They won't
come looking tonight. I took the precaution of tampering with the assassin,
just a little, and Ogawa and Radford are dead. It believes it finished the job,
not that that will mean much on close examination; I was a little pressed for
time."
"You really are amazing." He said softly, a father's warmth suddenly in
his tone.
"Genom's latest in the quest for killing perfection." She parroted in a
near perfect imitation of the tones she herself had used for the internal
executive presentation, tinged with a little sardonic savagery. "Presenting the
D-class, series A. The DA-33, incorporating our newly patented EOA, Enhanced
Organic Architecture, together with the very latest in AI iso-linear technology
and personality simulation is the ultimate tool for those demanding the very
highest in state-of-the-art boomer products with which the name of Genom
Corporation has come to be synonimous. Pre-programmed with over
onehundred-thousand personality variants and presented standard with more than
onehundred-million megabytes of three-dimensional Optical RAM on-board, coupled
with the very latest in relational data retrieval and assimilation, an on-board
library including the Encyclopaedia Britannica, over ten-thousand works of
historical importance and support for over two-hundred languages, the DA-33 is
a must for those demanding the very best artificial intelligence has to offer."
She stopped, as though only now aware of just how dangerous it might be
to announce herself to any who might be near enough to hear and coherent enough
to care (this was the Canyons after all).
But the man she was carrying did not have to hear the words again. He
had helped write the speech she had delivered. Still more than half dilirious,
his own mind ran on, replaying the words.
"Able to emulate all combat functions of the military-spec C-class
model 55-MKII without the need for internal expansion, and all functions of the
discontinued S-series including but not limited to social, relational and
interface capabilities, the DA-33 is uniquely suited for a myriad of
applications from weapons control to shock-troop command and from military
confidante to the subtlties of covert intelligence. Add the enhanced DA-2134
EOA parallel CPU with an additional onehundred-million megabytes of
CPU-INTERNAL 0.1 nano-second ORAM together with DA-SPECIFIC weapons, physical
and ECM enhancements and the DA-33 becomes the DA-33-Elite, a machine
unparalleled in weapons capability, relational intelligence and physical
performance."
There had followed a stunning but fabricated display of Marina
desposing of a score or more of the best in C-55, Doberman and the massive
Bu-12b technology within a matter of seconds, fabricated because of last-minute
problems with the first, and at that time the only DA-2134 which had forced the
DA prototype to remain a standard 33 until the second and bug-free chip, the
huge block of pseudo-organic technology nestled (amongst other things) in the
case that swung now from about the boomer's neck, could be completed and
tested.
"We have to find her quickly." He gasped, the throbbing agony already
almost unbearable once more. "Until I finish the upgrade--."
"I'm a liability." She ended, a trace of amusement in the words. "Stop
moving." She continued harshly. "Do you want the tourniquet to come off? I'm
perfectly aware of our need for safety; leave such matters to me. After all, I
*was* designed to deal with them."
"Couldn't you fly?" He asked, his voice a mutter of semi-dilirium.
"If someone hadn't neglected to remember that the standard Iso-linear
hasn't the additional address-space needed to drive thruster controllers
designed for the 2134. yes." She answered with a touch of sarcasm. "I should
have thought the CPU upgrade would have been your first priority."
"Needed the weapons on-line." He muttered, drifting again towards
unconsciousness. "Thought we'd never get out without them. Didn't know so much
would be incompatible."
"And now they're all but useless." She said simply. "Incompetence. I
simply can't believe such incompetence from someone with your intelligence."
"'M sorry Mrina." He muttered. "Lost my daughter--, had to save you.
Didn't want her copy to be Quincy's latest toy. Just wanted get away; save you
and Camilla."
"You really are a maudlin fool." She said savagely.
He could not see the intensity of the smile she gave him or the sudden
tears in her blue eyes. His own were already closed and her tone was a perfect
imitation of dismissive contempt.
"Wanted them to pay for what they did to her." She heard him gasp, his
voice a cracked whisper. "No hope. Find us, kill me and make you weapon."
"Not if I can help it." She snarled, too softly for him to hear.
But she knew her time was desperately short. He had destroyed the
recall data and her access key, but they would already be expediting the
activation of the second and only other 33 and as intelligent as he was, she
knew he was far from imaginative. Once they had unlocked Camilla's key, it
would only be a matter of a few permutations on her part before they had her
own. They had to get to Sylia Stingray before that happened. If the Mason/Largo
data she had found was accurate, she alone might be able to unravel the
subtlties of the designs that even Alexei Ivanovitch Shuranofsky had not been
able fully to comprehend. His knowledge, like that of every scientist in the
vastness of Genom Corporation, was, at least in part, impirical, a poor
reflection at best of the intricacies of the inventive genius that had made the
lithe diminutive peak of technological achievment that now raced with her
precious cargoe through the vastness of the canyons with such single-minded
purpose, possible. She had to reach Katsuhito Stingray's daughter before
morning, of that at least she was certain. By dawn they would have Camilla out
of her tank and the second functional DA-2134 could be initialised and
installed within twenty-four hours. Not that they would need the chip unless
their initial attempt failed. They would waste no time with tests; Camilla
would be of no danger whilst her enhanced physical and weapons systems remained
off-line. They would have her attempt access to the first prototype immediately
and Marina could not access the code to override her response once her key had
been sent; there was no code as such to access, a precaution on father's own
suggestion she knew, ironic as that was now; a failsafe should her systems
crash so completely that nothing else was accessable. The key would hardware
cold-boot her systems and place her in firmware command mode under the control
of a tiny sub-processor, the standard iso-linear running as little more than an
extremely expensive ORAM interface. Then they would have her, her and father.
The 2134 upgrade alone would do nothing to stave off the inevitable; her
firmware was designed to run the minascule sub-CPU included in the 34 in an
enhanced equivalent of the same mode at cold-boot. The hardware key needed to
be changed and the micro-instructions (included even in the DA-SPECIFIC chip)
designed by the elder Stingray needed to be altered to ensure no compatibility
with Genom's own code, and there was only one who might be able to do that.
Sylia Stingray would help them, or die. That, she had already decided.
Alexei moaned again and she shifted him a little, trying to ease the
pain. He was in desperate need of attention, she knew that. He had lost too
much blood in the alley before she had found him and he had probably infected
the wounds during his time amongst the refuse, not to mention the fact that a
good deal of shratnel was still inside him and he probably had severe internal
injuries. Were she fully functional she could have taken to the air or covered
the ground at perhaps forty times her present speed. But her enhanced systems
were not compatible with the standard chip and she was having a hard enough
time as it was interpretting the semi-incoherent ruin that was supposed to be
sensory data without attempting to access more of the new systems.
Baring her teeth in a boomer-snarl of savage frustration, she tightened
her grip on the now unconscious scientist and began to increase her pace. She
could not afford to spare him now. If she did not find help quickly, he would
die and she would be Genom's once more. Snarling again, her mouth set in a
feral smile of vicious determination, she lowered her head, settled the human
she considered her father closer to her and went on running.
"Priss! Oh God Priss, please help me!"
Whirling at Nene's scream, Priss ducked the vicious swipe of the C-55
and flipped back to put some distance between herself and the boomer.
"Eat this you bastard!" She snarled, twisting from the path of the
blast and driving a spike into the machine's suddenly gaping mouth.
There was a satisfying flash as the laser discharged into the boomer's
head, then in the next moment an explosion slammed Priss to the ground.
"Sh*t!" She panted, flipping to her feet. "How many more are there
today!"
Another desperate scream made her remember Nene nearby and in trouble.
Spinning just in time to avoid the claws of yet another homicidal
machine and smash it to the ground with a savage back-hand that all but took
off its left arm, Priss leapt away and turned, just in time to see Linna whip
round, slashing the head from the machine that had been about to nail her.
"Have to do better than that!" Priss cursed herself.
She spun, flipping again as yet another particle beam slammed into the
place in which she'd been standing scant moments before. Then in the next
moment something slammed into her from behind and she found herself on the
ground, pinned and utterly unable to move.
"Damn it, damn it!" She snarled, struggling madly to escape. "Not
again!"
Kicking out with a savagery born of desperation, she felt her foot
connect with something. There was a dull thudding crunch and Priss hurled the
suddenly dead weight from her and lurched upright. She turned to finish the
machine just struggling to its feet. Then suddenly a blood-curdling scream made
her spin back and away. Priss searched wildly for a moment, and froze, head up,
eyes wide, gaping in shocked sickened horror at what she saw.
Nene hung limply in the grip of a C-55, its claws seeming impossibly to
have punched right through her suit. She was facing the thing, her helmet torn
away, blood splashing on her lips and pumping from the dreadful wound over the
boomer's arm as she hung, green eyes wide and glazed with terror and agony.
Then, even as Priss watched, too sickened for the moment to react, the machine
seemed to shift and change before her eyes until in its place stood the tall,
stunning figure of a woman, her long flaming hair streaming about her, her face
twisted into a hideous smile of demonic triumph as she lifted Nene effortlessly
in her arms, her mouth reaching for the blood on her own.
"Oh SH*T! Oh *SH*T* Sylia stop this!"
The words were torn from Pris's throat in a strangled scream of utter
revulsion. "If this is your idea of a new simulation it's f*ing *SICK*!"
Then in the next instant the thing had turned, Emerald eyes locking
suddenly with Priss's own, a slow seductive smile of nightmare appetite filling
the devastating face as the thing moved towards her. Priss reeled back for a
moment, horror and revulsion such as she had never imagined she could feel
fighting to choke her. Then something seemed to explode inside her into a
white-hot paroxysm of rage and hate. She leapt to attack, then all was pain and
screaming and her mad, desperate struggles to pound the nightmare into the
dust.
"Priss! Priss what on earth are you doing!"
The voice seemed to come from very far away.
"Quick, get her out of there!"
A moment later so it seemed, hands were holding her and then the helmet
was gone and Priss was doubled over, retching and choking until at last there
was nothing left to bring up.
"It's alright." Linna seemed to be saying again and again as she and
Sylia struggled to pull Priss from the simulated hard-suit. "Just don't faint
on us. You'll be alright in a minute. Just breathe."
Then she was being led, her head still spinning and her legs somehow
refusing to obey her, through a passage and into the bathroom. There she was
sick again, the image still clearer to her than the world around her. She felt
someone wiping her mouth, and turned to see Sylia's usually calm expression
replaced by one of real anxiety.
"You've got a lot of f*ing explaining to do!" Priss snarled shakily,
pulling back to stare at her. "I know you can be calculating but that! That was
just--!"
She stopped as though unable to think of any way to describe what she
was feeling.
"What!" Nene exclaimed from her place just behind Linna. "Priss, what
are you talking about? What happened?"
"What the F* were you trying to do?" Priss screamed suddenly at Sylia,
rage now replacing horror as she began fully to come back to herself. "Just
what the f* kind of simulation was that supposed to be?"
"Hey, calm down!" Mackie exclaimed, appearing at Nene's side. "Sis
didn't do anything. We were all watching with her all the time. You were nearly
dead, you got in a lucky kick, got up, then just seemed to--."
"Mackie!"
Sylia's tone was suddenly sharp and commanding. "I think we'd better
leave this for the moment.
"Priss, the basic parameters of the simulation were *exactly* as I told
you they would be, believe me. You can see the data yourself as soon as you're
ready. I--"
"Now!" Priss snarled, still glaring at her as though she might tear her
apart at any moment. "I want to see the whole f*ing thing now before you--"
Abruptly she faltered, seeming suddenly to realise what she had been
about to say.
"Before I change it?" Sylia said quietly.
For just a moment, almost too briefly for her to be certain, Priss
thought she caught a flash of pain and anger in Sylia's eyes, then the cool
assurance was there once more.
Priss sat back, staring stupidly at the screen. The replay showed
events exactly as the others had insisted they had happened. She had caught the
simulated boomer with a blind strike that had crumpled its upper left leg like
foil, hurled it away, struggled up, turned to it, then suddenly she had whirled
and frozen, then begun to struggle and to scream.
For what seemed an eternity, Priss remained unmoving. Then at last she
stirred.
"Nene, could what I saw have been different from what you were seeing?"
She asked.
Nene looked uncharacteristicly outraged for a moment, then at a quick
look from Sylia she calmed.
"No." She answered, her emerald eyes full of certainty and anxiety as
they sought Priss's own. "The systems are slaved. We saw exactly what you did."
"No you didn't." Said Priss quietly.
"Do you want to tell us what you did see then?" Said Linna.
"Just one thing. Do you *swear* Sylia that you didn't do anything?"
Priss's tone was still hard.
"Yes." Sylia answered simply.
"Ok," Priss hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry, but it makes things all
the more weird. What I saw--"
"What *did* you see?" Mackie demanded, beginning to lose his patience.
Priss was silent for a moment. Then with a shudder, she began to speak.
She could not have been in a worse mood. Madigan stood amidst the ruin
that had once been Dr. Alexei Ivanovitch Shuranofsky's and his daughter's city
apartment and vowed that she would have the miserable, narrow-visioned bastard
ivicerated with something small and very blunt by the very machine he had
stolen, after security had finished with him of course. It had not been a good
night for Madigan.
She had been roused from a dead, dark sleep by the C-55 all but
dragging her from her bed, only an hour after she had settled into it for the
night. For a moment the irrational certainty that Quincy had decided, for some
reason known only to himself, that her services would no longer be required,
had seized her. Then the security boomer had made its report.
The first DA-33 prototype was missing, along with Shuranofsky and the
functional DA-2134.
Madigan, cursing more vehemently than she had since the moment the true
enormity of the Largo fiasco had become clear to her, had struggled with
frantic speed into something more suitable than a nightdress, her mind whirling
in wild desperate speculation.
There had been indications that the fool might try something like this,
indications to which she should have paid attention rather than listening to
the idiots who considered themselves the cream of Genom internal security. Ever
since the oh-so-unfortunate death of his daughter, the scientist had been a
liability. Yet her advisers insisted that he was cowed and would not try to
escape, not yet, not until the tests were complete and he saw what he
considered all but the resurrection of his lost child fully functional.
Certainly, they had continually assured her in imbecilic concert, there was no
posibility that he might try to flee with the machine he had helped to create.
She should have known better. She should have had him confined to
quarters within the tower for the duration, or at least until the first DA's
initial firmware could be checked independently both for faults and for any
influence he might attempt to hide in its programming. The problem was that
they were desperately pressed for time. Had it not been for the failure of the
initial 2134, the infiltration of the Knight Sabre organisation could have
taken place *exactly* as originally intended.
It would have been so simple. Camilla, a new experimental prototype
based supposedly on the discontinued 33-S sexaroid and designed apparently for
the lucrative and in some cases illegal international market in such products
as well as its domestic equivalent, would have "escaped" with Marina, the
daughter of a distinguished Genom scientist forced to head the project and
recently "terminated" after the machine's completion. Whilst Camilla, the
standard DA, played a desperate Sylvie equivalent for the sabres benefit,
Marina, the DA-33-Elite, would be waiting, the perfect distraught daughter of a
cruely murdered genius, apparently no longer willing to trust anyone and so
using her father's creation as an intermediary. Madigan might not know who the
Knight Sabres were, but she was certain that it would not take them long to
find the two "escapees" given the appropriate leaking of information concerning
the project, information specifically created for the occasion but based, at
least in part, on a tiny fragment of the truth. Camilla's task would have been
to observe and to play the desperate, terrified machine-become-woman seeking a
new beginning. At each return to the hideout Madigan had no doubt the sabres
would soon provide, she could upload the gathered data to Marina, who would
then determine what should be done. When they were ready, Marina would upgrade
the second DA and they would summon the sabres to the hideout on whatever
pretext seemed appropriate. The women would be captured and brought to the
tower where four more DA-33-Elites would be waiting to take their place. This
time, the deception would be perfect. After the appropriate extraction of
information, ensuring of course that none of the four were damaged unduly, the
four 33s would be released to destroy the sabres' reputations, both as
mercenaries and as themselves. When their future was ruined beyond all hope of
redemtion, the 33s would be recalled and the four disgraced Knight Sabres
released to provide the ADP, USSD, SDPC, Genom or whomever else wished to bring
action against them with the criminals the city would demand.
The plan: his*Her* plan" she reminded herself bitterly, had been
perfect in its simplicity, and, Quincy himself had agreed, a fine test for the
new prototypes. Now, with a single stroke, Shuranofsky had brought it crashing
down about her.
She would die if she could not recover at least the stolen 33 and its
chip, of that she had no doubt at all. Failure of this magnitude was beyond
incompetence, it could be almost inconceivably disastrous. Should the Knight
Sabres hear of this and take the boomer and the 2134, she shuddered to imagine
what the consequences might be.
"Ma'am?"
Madigan started at the rumbling tone of the machine at her side, unused
to being unnerved by the creatures.
"Have you found anything?" She demanded, although she held out very
little hope.
"Dr. Shuranofsky has not entered the apartment today, nor does the
inventory indicate anything either touched or missing." The machine answered.
"Very well. Have everything removed to the tower for analysis,
regardless of how insignificant, then fire the apartment." She said briskly.
"Place a watch on the building and--"
She stopped as her phone beeped.
"Madigan." She snapped even as she snatched it from her coat and
unfolded it.
"The assassin has just returned Ma'am." Came the voice of a human
security operative. "It claims that it has destroyed both Shuranofsky and his
companion."
Madigan had warned them that it would mean death to anyone who
mentioned the DA-33 over the network, secure as it might be, but this news made
her forget her own caution.
"Destroyed!" She shrieked, fear and rage fighting for dominance.
"Didn't you tell those two idiots what they were to
do?"
"Ogawa and Radford are dead; the assassin brought back their bodies in
the car. It seems that; er; Shuranofsky's companion broke both their necks and
went for the boomer. The assassin had no choice but to destroy it."
"How unfortunate," Madigan purred icily. "and how thoughtful that it
brought back Ogawa and Radford while leaving the others behind. Have that data
trebble-checked" She continued, suspicion and her own feeling for her position
already dismissing the boomer's report as absurd. "and have the location of the
battle to me in less than thirty seconds. Believe me, if this *is* true,
Ogawa's and Radford's deaths will be the least of your problems."
"Ma'am." The man answered, unable to keep the sudden terror from his
voice.
Madigan whirled from the apartment's living room and, snapping several
further instructions to the gathered men and machines, moved quickly out and
down towards her waiting limosine.
Moments later she was being chaufeured at speed towards the canyons,
the four security boomers silent as they listened to her continuing commands.
"You shee Prish? Told you you were getting jumpy la'ly 'bout nothing."
Nene was sprawled haphazardly across a chair, her head on Linna's arm,
her green eyes trying vainly to remain focussed on the blur that was a very
moody Priss who sat facing her. Beside her, Linna glanced up from the computer
on the table before her and pushed her upright yet again. Nene giggled.
"Whasha matter?" She demanded cheerfully, trying to turn to look at
her. "Can't sh'port me? 'M not that heavy. You know I think 's time to go
shomewhere elshe. Thish ish sh'poshed to be fun."
She grinned absurdly across at Priss and Sylia. The former was now
glaring at her, in no mood for Nene's drunken exhuberance.
This hadn't been a good idea. Nene had suggested an evening out to
settle them down after the trouble of the afternoon, since Priss wasn't playing
that night. Linna had agreed immediately, then after some hesitation so had
Sylia. Priss however was in no mood for it and alcohol had only darkened her
mood as the evening progressed and she watched Nene make a fool of herself yet
again. Now she sat, glowering across at the drunken red-head, her current drink
barely touched, her mind still on what had happened earlier.
"You know you're really pathetic sometimes." She said sourly, still
glaring across at the smaller girl.
"Whaja mean!" Nene retorted indignantly, then giggled. "Leasht my
boomersh didn' turn into vampire women. Thatsh really weird you know, 'nlesh it
wash a 33-esh you shaw." She giggled again. "When Shylvie--"
Abruptly Priss shot to her feet, eyes blazing.
"Listen Nene, I'm not in the f*ing mood for any of this sh*t tonight,
alright?" She shouted.
She leaned across the table so that she was almost nose to nose with
her.
"Hey Priss, let's just leave it ok?" Said Linna, suddenly very uneasy.
"And as for you, little Miss Cyberpunk," She continued, standing quickly and
slipping an arm around Nene to lift her to her feet. "I think you've had quite
enough for one night.
"I'll take her home Sylia." She ended quietly.
Sylia simply nodded, her attention on Priss. Gently she reached out and
caught the other woman's hand, exerting an insistant pressure to pull her back
into her seat.
For a moment Priss remained standing, still glaring at Nene, then
slowly she settled back once more and Sylia relaxed her hold.
"'M 'lright, no need t' hold me up." Nene was insisting, swaying on her
feet and smiling inanely as she clutched at Linna for support.
"Shut up." Said Linna without anger as she slipped the small computer
into her bag and slung it on her arm.
"But I'm 'lright." Nene insisted, beginning to pout. "'M not a shild.
Lego. 'wan t'njoy myself. 'm not going home yet."
"Yes you are." Said Linna calmly.
"'m not going home yet!" Nene shrieked suddenly.
Then she lurched, swayed on her feet, and collapsed into Linna's arms
in a dead faint.
"I think you are." Said Linna with a smile.
Sylia sighed as she, Priss and Linna carried Nene out to Linna's van.
Linna had picked her up earlier in the evening, guessing that something like
this might happen.
"Can you manage with her?" Priss asked as she stepped back. "We can
follow you if--"
"No." Linna assured her. "I'll be alright with her."
Moments later she had wished them goodnight and was driving through the
night towards Nene's apartment, the younger girl curled up beside her.
Linna hummed quietly to herself, her own mood introspective. Things had
been quiet, too quiet recently. For nearly two months they had done little save
train and deal with the ever more occasional boomer rampages. Not that she
minded the respite, yet it gave her time to think and, at times, to regret the
path her life was taking; more time than she would have wished. Beside her,
Nene murmured something incomprehensible and Linna sighed.
It was easy for Nene. She knew why she was doing this. Even Priss, with
her depression, rage and destructive hatred and Sylia with her cold,
calculating determination to settle the debt Genom owed her family and the
world at large knew why they did what they did. For Linna it was different.
With a sudden chill, she wondered if things would change in five, or even in
ten years? Would she still be no more than a faceless figure in a green
hardsuit? What of the career she had left behind, of the companion she longed
for and could never have whilst she remained as she was? What of the future?
Linna shivered, abruptly intensely aware of the loneliness that lurked
always behind the facade of success and confidance she projected, waiting until
one day she realised that the chance for happiness had flown, never to be
recalled. Suddenly desperately cold and afraid, Linna reached out to Nene at
her side. But Nene was senseless and Linna withdrew her hand, a sudden, numbing
feeling of forboding settling over her. In that moment she wanted only to reach
the relative security of her own apartment, empty though it might be.
Shivering again, Linna increased her speed and raced through the night,
the dreadful certainty of something horrible to come suddenly absolute as she
sped through the night to take Nene home.
She was running, fleeing wildly through a frigid, numbing greyness
whilst something unknown and terrifying pursued her, growing ever nearer.
"Sylia!" A voice called again.
The tone seemed almost familiar but she could not recall it and
stumbled blindly on.
"Sylia, my darling Sylia, quickly!"
"Mother?" She heard her own voice scream suddenly, but it seemed to be
the voice of a very small child. "Mother!"
Suddenly the passage seemed to turn and in the next instant her mother
stepped from the swirling deadly greyness and stood before her, both arms
outstretched, her face lit by a smile that might drive the last terror from the
uttermost reaches of the universe.
"Oh my little girl!" The woman cried, reaching out to her.
The child Sylia, her heart racing with ecstatic joy and her mind
overflowing with a love more absolute than anything she could remember,
stumbled forwards, her own small arms outstretched. She felt her mother's arms
enfold her once more adult form, then abruptly the face seemed to shift and
change.
"Sylia no!" Priss's voice screamed suddenly from behind her. "Oh sh*t!
Oh *god* no!"
Then the woman before her grew and changed, her hair a sudden flaming
curtain of red that tumbled below her waist, her suddenly emerald eyes fixed on
Sylia's own, blazing with a vicious deadly light of victory.
"Mine!" She snarled wildly, throwing back her head, her stunningly
beautiful face a lost, twisted mask of triumph and anticipation, while the
pounding of Sylia's heart became suddenly the lost, screaming beat of madness
that threatened to overwhelm the very fabric of her soul. "Yet one more. They
fall so easily. Come to me. Obey in perpituity!"
"Bitch!" She heard Priss scream through the rising roaring and madness.
Then she was hurled aside and from behind the pounding grew and grew as
Priss hurtled at the woman and the screams of wild, insane battle began.
Sylia shot bolt upright in bed, gasping, her heart racing wildly.
Something was desperately wrong. Every instinct screamed to her of sudden and
iminent danger. Then she understood. The pounding had not ceased. It was coming
from outside, a continual, mechanical sound of something or someone beating at
her apartment's door.
For a moment she remained frozen, trying desperately to shake away the
unfamiliar terror of the nightmare. Then she reached for the emergency pager by
the bed and activated it. It would take the others some time to arrive. In the
meantime, she would have to deal with whatever or whomever was there. Whatever
it was had been able to enter the building and disable her security, a near
impossible task that spoke of only one possible intruder.
Moving quickly, her mind suddenly cold and calm, Sylia rolled to the
floor, reaching for the pistol that lay on the dresser. She caught it up, then
froze. The pounding had ceased. Then from outside came a sudden click as an
internal door was opened. For one fractional moment Sylia had time to realise
that the pounding had been no more than a ploy to wake her, perhaps even to
have her summon the others and so prove herself. Then the bedroom door exploded
inwards and something barely glimpsed closed the distance between them in a
heartbeat and slammed her face-down on the bed.
"Should you move, I will not hesitate to cut your head from your body."
Purred a low female voice close to her ear.
Sylia felt the pistol plucked from her hand, then a tiny jerk as it was
flicked to the farther side of the room.
"You are Sylia Stingray?" The voice continued.
It was as frigid as the tones of any boomer Sylia had heard and the
frigid chill of the body pinning her own only confirmed what she already knew.
"I imagine you knew that already." She answered, her own tone belying
the sudden turmoil in her mind.
How could the machine possibly have entered without triggering a dozen
facets of her security? No stealth or ecm could counter it, she was certain.
Yet she had no time to consider.
With a sudden brisk movement, the boomer half lifted her in one arm,
keeping her face pressed to the pillow.
"Forgive me." It said unexpectedly.
Then there was a quick savage sound of tearing as it slashed her shift
from hem to neck, pulled it from her and in one fluid movement, whirled in a
quick, curling motion to stand, snatching her from the bed as though she
weighed nothing and setting her naked on her feet, her back turned towards it.
"Do not try to turn." It said, the threat more apparent by the lack of
overt warning in its tone.
For a moment it remained still, then with the same fluid motion it spun
her to face it.
Now it was Sylia's turn to gasp.
The boomer was *very* far indeed from what she had expected. Standing a
little taller than herself, the machine was a picture of voluptuous female
curves beneath the scant, tight-fitting jumpsuit it wore. Long fair hair, the
tattered remnants of a ribbon that had once bound it still looped uselessly in
its midst, fell in tangled dishevelled waves below its waist. Freshly dried
blood and more that was not dried smeared the clothing such as it was, and more
still was spattered on the bare arms, stunning face and long neck. The look in
the blue eyes as they regarded her was disconcertingly intense and very much
alive and the red full mouth was set in a fierce smile of savage determination
and appraisal as the creature studied her intently. Had she not already guessed
the truth, she could not have told that the thing before her was not as real as
she herself.
"Impressive." Sylia acknowledged calmly, searching for something with
which to buy time. "Although not a picture of ellegance at the moment. But I
understood that Genom had long abandoned such designs. Certainly I wouldn't
have thought it appropriate for an assassin, unless I'm being treated to a
display of your chairman's own perverse sense of humour."
The machine surprised her again by laughing, a hard, savage sound.
"Your composure does you credit," Said Marina. "but even you I think
could not even *begin* to guess at my purpose or the danger in which you might
have found yourself had I been sent as intended. Still, that doesn't matter
now. I'm not here to kill you, not unless I must. Tell me what clothes you
need. Do not move."
Less than a half-minute later Sylia had finished dressing in all that
the machine would allow her.
"Come." Marina commanded, pushing her ahead of her from the bedroom and
along the passage. "Father is hurt and you will fetch help for him, and help
me."
Entering the loungeroom, Sylia gasped again as she caught her first
sight of the figure lying by the door. Blood pulsed slowly from a dreadful
gaping wound in his shoulder and from another in his leg, splashing on to the
already blood-soaked trench-coat upon which he lay.
"Who--" Sylia began.
But the boomer had already crossed to the figure and returned, a small
black case clutched in her arm.
"You will find the data and the components you need in this." She
continued, her tone suddenly vicious and urgent. "Father needs attention. I
cannot find it as I am. You will--"
Then suddenly she whirled, easing the case quickly to the floor.
In the next instant the window exploded and three hardsuited figures
entered the room. It seemed that the alarm system had long since signalled
Mackie after all.
Before Sylia could so much as move, the machine had twisted, slipped
aside and leapt to attack. Moving with an inconceivable fluid blur of speed so
far beyond any boomer they had encountered as to leave Sylia gaping, she caught
up Linna as though she were feather-light and catapulted her through the
remains of the window with the force of a cannon. Flipping effortlessly from
Priss's tackle, the DA snatched her from the floor and sent her spinning in
Linna's wake, the suit's systems struggling uselessly against the singing
impetus of the cast.
"No!" Sylia cried as Nene began to move.
Too late, Nene, still less than entirely sober, tried desperately to
avoid the machine. In the next instant she had followed the others, but in the
same moment the boomer lurched, froze, then without a sound crumpled to the
floor.
Whatever Nene had tried to do had, it seemed, been effective.
Sylia dropped to the floor beside the disabled machine, tearing
frantically at the jumpsuit in her haste to find something that might disable
it in a more permanent fashion without doing any lasting harm. The movement
when it came was too quick for her to comprehend. One moment she was attempting
to turn the creature on to her back. In the next she was pinned to the boomer,
a lithe hand clamped tightly about her throat, but not so much as to choke her.
"Resist again" The machine purred softly. "and you will be very, very
dead. Even incomplete, my reflexes are a million times your own, and besides, I
am more protected against ECM than you could begin to understand."
There was a movement from beyond the shattered window and a moment
later Priss stood in the room once more, Linna and Nene only moments behind
her.
"Listen you little piece of--" Priss began.
"Don't trouble to threaten me Priscila Asagiri." Said the boomer
calmly. "I haven't the time. Father is dying. You and she" She indicated Linna.
"will take him now to a place where he can have the attention he needs, a place
Genom cannot find. Nene Romanova" She indicated the pink-suited figure. "is of
least threat to me. She will stay. Attempt to betray me and she and your leader
will die."
With a snarl, Priss began forwards, but the machine shifted so that
Sylia was between her and the advancing blue hardsuit.
"You want this?"" She purred in a low threatening growl.
"Syl--" Priss began.
"Do as she says." Interupted Sylia with unnerving calm. "Take him, and
the case."
"The case stays;" Said Marina, her tone calm and frigid once more. "you
will need it."
"Leave it." Sylia agreed. "Go."
"That thing will kill you the moment we're gone!" Said Linna, her tone
at the raw-edge of panic.
"You are mistaken, Linna Yamazaki." The boomer responded after a brief
moment.
"Go, now." Sylia commanded suddenly, her tone at last beginning to
betray something of the tention she was feeling.
"If you hurt them you f*ing piece of Genom sh*t--" Priss snarled.
"You have my word, for what it is worth to you, that I will not." The
boomer answered.
Priss laughed viciously in answer. Then turning, she watched as Linna
bent to lift the sprawled figure by the door.
"What happened to him!" Linna gasped, seeming only then to become aware
of just how badly hurt he was.
"An assassin." Marina, still pinning Sylia, answered flatly. "Go now,
and do not forget, their lives depend on you. Find father the help he needs."
Moments later, Linna had leapt from the room, the man cradled in her
arms. Priss remained for a moment, her attention still on the machine.
"Is there something about death you do not understand?" Marina hissed,
tightening her hold ever so slightly on Sylia's throat. "Go."
With a snarled oath and an unseen glare that would have vapourised the
DA where she stood were it possible, Priss whirled abruptly and leapt after
Linna.
"Remember what I said you bitch." She shouted back, and was gone.
"Reset the security system." Said the boomer quietly, turning to Nene.
"I imagine you're capable. Then remove your suit. I doubt that it could hurt
me, even as I am, but I'm not prepared to take the chance. And you've no need
to scan me;" She continued with a sudden lighter laugh. "you can have all the
data you wish when I'm certain I can trust you, or when I no longer have the
choice, which will be soon enough. Whatever you might choose to think, I'm not
your enemy."
While Nene reset the system, Marina led Sylia back to her own room once
more, pausing only to close the door behind them. Retrieving the pistol she
tucked it into the only pocket her scant clothing possessed.
"Sit." She commanded, pushing Sylia down on to the bed and settling
herself beside her. "If you wish, I can fetch what you need to dress more
comfortably. I'm sorry I can't trust you to fetch your clothes or leave you to
dress alone; I understand humans are sensetive about such things."
"Usually only with the opposite sex, and certainly not with a machine."
Said Sylia, still forcing her tone to a chilly calm.
"Not even with what you can't help but imagine to be, at least in part,
an S-class equivalent?" Marina purred, her tone suddenly silkily warm. "After
all," She added, moving closer. "even as I am, I have many times your strength
and speed, and I'm only a fraction of what I will be when you complete the
upgrade, assuming of course Largo's data concerning your abilities to be
accurate." She laughed softly. "At the least, won't you admit to being curious;
eager perhaps to disassemble me piece by piece to see just how this is
possible?"
She reached, laying a slender hand on Sylia's arm.
"Perhaps," Sylia conceded coldly, twisting from her touch and moving to
regain the distance she had lost. "although I assume the data is already here."
She indicated the case. "As to anything else--."
Marina's mocking laughter cut her short.
"You are uneasy aren't you." She purred triumphantly. Then in
amusement: "I'm perfectly aware that you're immune. Even barely operative and
with my sensory data a travesty, I can read your tone and physical responses.
You haven't reacted to my triggers, physical or chemical. I should say you're
safe, for the moment."
She smiled viciously and laughed again, a harsh wild sound laced
suddenly it seemed as much with self-mockery as with amusement and
condecention. "Shall I prove it to you?" She continued savagely, moving closer
once more. "I am the first of a revolution in design and integration, the
perfect creature of a million facets. Such testing for advantage and
vulnerability is part of my initial assessment program, an S-class based
routine *with* appropriate modifications of course, though I can emulate *all*
functions of that particular series; hadn't you guessed? Such routines are as
much a part of me as any human instinct. Amusing, isn't it?" Her voice was now
a savage sneer of self-mockery that somehow never lost its purr. "I am warmth,
seduction and death in *perfect* combination. That cannot change."
She fell silent, a feral preditory smile playing about her mouth.
"That remains to be seen." Sylia answered this time unmoving, her own
tone seeming perhaps to be tinged with something more gentle although her face
remained unreadable. Then abruptly she shifted as though to dispell the
tention. "Where is Nene?" She ended.
"Watching from the roof." Marina answered, the smile vanishing as
though switched off and her response suddenly the cold, brisk tones of a C-55.
"She reset your security system and made her way there immediately afterwards
to observe me; but then I imagine you knew that."
"I did." Said Sylia. "So, what now? Do you intend we stay like this
indefinitely?"
"Only until I'm certain of you." The boomer answered. "Were I fully
functional I might have reached a decision by now, or found some hold with
which to win or force your cooperation; although even the standard DA is
capable of swift appraisal, proved I think by my identifying your companions."
"Largo?"
"The data was incomplete, but he was nearly certain and I was curious
concerning the women I and Camilla were to deceive and capture."
She smiled again, but now the smile was brutal and cold. "I compared
your voices as projected by the suits with recordings of Priss's performances,
most of which contained enough speech to be useful, and of Nene whilst at the
ADP. You can distort them but you can't alter your manner of speech, accents,
quirks of phoneme and pronunciation, a million subtle cues that made
identification a simple matter for a relational intelligence. You should have
installed recognition systems and had the speech reprojected from the obtained
raw data. Once I had identified two of the Knight Sabres, the rest was simple
correlation, particularly in light of Largo's `interest' in you and
similarities between your father's initial boomer designs and the technology of
the Sabre hardsuits."
"And Genom?"
"Father had me destroy Largo's data when he decided to run." She
answered. "So far as I am aware, there is no more; and in any case, I didn't
upload my own conclusions and was not certain until I scanned the suits
tonight. Still, once Camilla is active--"
Suddenly she started and turned her head.
"Signals traffic to Nene." She said quickly. "I can't decode it in this
state, but she's responding. She's coming down."
A moment later there was a sound from outside, then the door which
Marina had closed was pushed open and Nene's pink-suited figure stepped quickly
into the room.
"That was Priss." She said, seeing no point in dissembling with the
machine; she had been listening through Sylia's own security system to the
conversation. "He's not going to make it. They're taking him to the garage.
He's asking for his daughter before he dies."
He was still in pain, but it was bearable now, a faint echo of the
agony he had known. He was also dying, of that he was sure. They had not
thought he could hear them, not guessed that he knew. He had listened intently,
the slow calm of acceptance and relief settling over him. Marina had found them
as he'd hoped she would, and now she would be safe, or at least as safe as she
could be. His only regret was that he could not stay himself to finish what he
had begun. But he would be with his daughter soon and her namesake would see
Genom smashed to its knees for her, and for him. He would be certain she
understood what she must do, then he could die in peace.
"Is he--?"
"He's holding on, barely."
More voices, approaching once more. Then suddenly there came others,
reaching him faintly from beyond what must be the closed door.
"Sis, this is crazy! That thing could be--"
"Where is father?" Another voice demanded, this one in a near scream.
Someone must have pointed, for a moment later there was a crash and in
the next instant arms were slipping beneath him and he felt tears fall upon his
cheek.
"Father!" Marina's, his daughter's voice called.
In his haze, he was not certain whether it was the voice of the boomer
or his child, calling to him from beyond.
`Please, not yet! Give me just a moment more!'
Desperately he fought down the seductive peace of death and opened his
eyes.
She had knelt beside him and had gathered him to her, cradling him
close, his head settling on her shoulder, her long hair against his cheek.
"Father forgive me!" She cried softly. "I tried! I should have--"
"Shh." He murmured, his voice barely a breath in the sudden stunned
silence of the others in the room. "You did all you could. It's your fight now.
Make them suffer Mrina for what they did to her, and to me. Swear to me. Rescue
Cmilla and; and bring; bring that stinking rfuse Qncy down 'ntil he has
nothing, 'ntil he *is* nothing. Tear out Genm's heart for me my darling; my
preshs. Promse me!"
His voice was a tiny gasp of sound beyond human hearing, his breathing
a faint, laboured whisper.
Marina pressed him to her, her face wrung with anguish as, for the
first time in her short existence her vision blurred with tears.
"Don' cry." He breathed. "Just don' fget me, and what they did. Was all
'ntended; make you torture Knight Sabrs f' tes' and be sntient weapon. Thinks
he's won, but 's wrong. I found the hidden data; know what he's doing. Hid
evthing in you; Stingr's daughter will find it. Qncy's mstake; doesn't know
what'll hapn when Cmilla sends your key. Trcked him. Make him pay. Tired now.
Time to go. G'bye Mrina, my Mrina, and srry. I; I lv."
Then with a tiny sigh, Alexei settled, limp and still in her arms.
For what seemed an eternity of numb, disbelieving unreality, the Knight
Sabres, Mackie and Dr. Raven stood and watched as the boomer remained, still as
though carved in marble, the scientist cradled gently to her. Then suddenly she
began to tremble. Very slowly she eased the body back to the bed, then just as
slowly she rose to her feet. For a long moment she remained standing, arms
tense at her sides, hands clenching and unclenching while the trembling grew
and grew until it seemed to wrack her body in wave upon wave of spasmodic
shaking. Then, starting deep in her throat, a slow, building snarl began,
rising and climbing until at last, throwing back her head, it burst from her in
an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream such as none of them had ever imagined
could come from the mouth of human or machine. In the next instant the DA
bunched herself. Then with a cataclysmic detonation of exploding concrete and
shattering steel she was gone, slamming straight upwards through the ceiling
and away into the night.
"Oh *SH*T*!" Was all Priss could think of to gasp.
Dr. Natsumi Kanamoto was deeply asleep in her apartment when she was
roused by her eight-year-old daughter's first terrified scream. In the next
instant the wall between her own and her daughter's room exploded in a
shattering shower of cement and a moment later she was dragged still
semi-conscious from her bed and slammed to the floor with enough force to
shatter her ribs to splinters. Trying to scream, blood suddenly filling her
mouth, she had one moment to stare in numb, nightmare horror into the blazing,
hate-filled eyes of the missing DA-33 who wore the face of the girl she had
helped security to take before searing pain exploded through her as the machine
crushed her kneck to pulp and tore her head, still alive, from her body.
Natsumi stared at her own headless corpse, her mouth opening in a silent
petrified scream. Then Marina's frigid blue stare was all she could see.
Marina continued to gaze into the staring, terror-filled eyes of the
dying woman until they glazed at last, the face fixed in a macabre silent
rictus of nightmare. Then turning she hurled both head and body through the
window before the petrified child could see what she had done. A moment later
she was gone, slamming her way up through the ceiling and away into the night
once more. There were others to eliminate before morning, both for revenge and
necessity. It would not prevent Camilla's activation of course, but if she
could kill enough of her father's assistants before Madigan realised that the
assassin's data was at fault, it would give her the time she needed.
"We can't move everything from the garage Sylia!" Priss cried
desperately. "I told you we should have blown that thing apart."
"As if you didn't try!" Linna snapped, her own nerves at the edge as
she held back the growing terror and unreality of this night. "You saw how fast
that thing moved. We didn't stand--!"
"Another one!" Mackie gasped as he stumbled to a halt in the doorway.
"Near the harbour. That's nine now within an hour. Can we be *sure* it's her?"
"I think there's little doubt." Said Sylia as she hefted another crate
in her hardsuit. "The mode of entry and escape."
"And the fact that they're all Genom researchers and security
personell." Nene added. "Why aren't they protected? They must know what's
happening."
"Perhaps they outlived their usefulness and Quincy's letting Marina do
the job for him?" Priss suggested. "Just another boomer gone rogue."
"Perhaps," Sylia answered. "or perhaps the victims are expendible
bait."
"You mean Quincy knew all this would happen!" Linna demanded.
"It's a possibility we have to take into account." Said Sylia grimly.
"After all, all this does seem a little too convenient does it not? Why wasn't
Shuranofsky watched? How on earth did he manage to escape with a top-secret
military prototype such as the DA-33, particularly with the machine in a barely
functioning condition."
"If that's barely functioning" Priss muttered. "I wouldn't want to face
one when it was running on all cylinders."
"Why was only one assassin sent after Shuranofsky" Sylia continued,
ignoring Priss. "and *really*; why was the assassin not monitored from the
tower? It was not, or they would have known the DA had fabricated its data and
sent another immediately."
"Then the whole thing is a setup;" Mackie exclaimed. "a test for the
new prototype!"
"Regarding the DA herself, we won't know that until, and if, we find
her." Sylia answered. "As for the rest--."
"Not a very good trap if we're suspicious of it already." Linna
observed.
"Suspicion isn't important if you're caught." Said Priss. "Anyway if
it's a trap we've already screwed up royally. Sylia we *have* to go after that
thing tonight! We have to blow her apart, destroy her so completely that
nothing's left for Genom to find."
"I agree" Said Sylia, "at least concerning finding her. As for
destroying her--"
"What!" Priss gasped. "Because of that sh*t with Alexei Unpronouncible?
The thing's a f*ing weapon for Christ's sake! It said itself that it could
emulate Ses, Cs and god knows how many other boomers, not to mention human
personalities, emotions, whatever. Even if the thing thinks its alive, it's too
damn dangerous! Sh*t, the thing trounced us in a second."
"Which is precisely *why* we need her undamaged." Sylia answered.
"But we have the data!" Priss insisted. "That case contains enough to
tell us its bra size. The thing's a piece of Genom military sh*t. Blow the
f*ing thing to pieces before they get it back or it kills us, or it really does
go rogue and wipes out half the f*ing city, if it hasn't cracked up already!"
"You didn't feel the same about Sylvie." Said Nene quietly.
It was an ill-timed remark. Priss whirled on her, red-brown eyes
ablaze.
"F* it, shut up about Sylvie!" She screamed. "This thing is a f*ing
millitary prototype. That means weapons and that means *major* trouble. How
many more times do I have to spell it out!"
"Priss!" Sylia snapped in sudden icy command. Then more quietly: "I
don't intend to argue the matter. We have to find her, *and* if possible, bring
her back unharmed."
"That won't be necessary." Said a sudden quiet voice from beyond the
open doorway.
A moment later Marina stepped into the garage. She was a sickening
sight. The once black jump-suit was now drenched with blood; indeed blood
seemed to cover her liberally from head to toe and her long fair hair was
matted and black with it.
Nene lurched away, gagging in her helmet as she fought desperately to
keep her sudden nausea in check. Even Priss stepped away from the machine, her
face twisting in horror and revulsion.
"And you think that f*ing thing is safe!" She muttered fiercely.
Mackie had his hand over his mouth and looked ready to faint.
"SH*T!" Linna gasped faintly at last.
"Quite a sight, am I not?"
Marina's tone was flat and frozen. "I must apologise. I had to kill
them as quickly as I could. I believe I've delayed Camilla's activation long
enough for you to complete my upgrade Sylia, and to give me the disguise I need
to enter the tower and tear out the Genom chairman's eyes, tongue and heart."
Domina Shukhova was afraid, more afraid than she had ever imagined she
could be. She should not be here; she should not have to be doing this. But
Kate Madigan and the two C-55 security boomers had left her very little
alternative, apart from the fact that it was likely the missing prototype would
make her its next target if she was not brought safely to the tower.
It had taken them too long to discover just how Marina had selected her
victims and why the dozen or so traps they had set had failed. The answer had
been stunningly simple and so overlooked. The boomer had accessed the
pager-phones each of her intended targets kept, as was standard Genom practice,
by them at all times and had determined in a moment where in the city each was
located. Ignoring those in the tower, she had made her way to each apartment,
scanning at a distance, able to blend effortlessly into the night, her ECM
shielding her from other boomers whilst her own suite picked out possible
danger with flawless precision.
`If nothing else' Domina had thought bitterly as she shifted uneasily
between the two female C-55s that flanked her in the limosine. `it had been as
fine a field test for the machine as they could possibly have designed.'
Why it hadn't used its weapons systems she couldn't guess. It was just
possible that Shuranofsky had not yet completed the upgrade. If that was the
case, if the DA was still running with the standard chip, then its enhanced
systems would be all but useless and the sensory data a distorted mess. Still,
the machine might be able to learn to interpret and interpolate given time. She
could not even guess at what the thing was capable of in its present state. It
depended on how Shuranofsky had assigned the address-space of the DA-2134. Only
he had had the genius to tackle that part of the hardware and he had had the
miserable machine make so much random garbage of what had once been the
project's electronic documentation. The backups were no better. He had had her
corrupt the archival and encryption routines and then re-archive everything.
The loss was not simply inconceivable, it was catastrophic. Their only
remaining trump apart from a few hardcopy scraps was the as-yet inactive DA-33.
Camilla was all they needed to reconstruct the lost data. The problem was that
Domina, as one of only four remaining researchers out of the ten who had been
alive less than an hour before, had been designated the project's new head and
would be responsible for recovering as much as was possible in less than no
time at all. Madigan herself would be overseeing that recovery. Camilla was to
be removed from her tank and operational before sunrise. She had continued in a
threatening purr that she would expect Marina to join her before noon. Which of
course boiled down to the unqualified fact that if they did not find the
missing DA's key and have Camilla recall her before then, heads, quite
literally, would roll.
Domina Shukhova tried vainly to fight down the tightening knot of
terror in her stomach as the lift climbed steadily through the seemingly
innumerable levels of the tower, carrying her towards apartments that would be
as much a prison as any cell until the project was brought to a satisfactory
conclusion or she failed. If that happened, she would never leave the tower, of
that she was sure.
--------------------
I really need ideas on how to fix this. I'm at the point of tossing it
for the moment and moving on to another chapter, but I hate leaving things
unfinished.
Craig
PS. I'll be reposting the rest in separate files rather than one huge one
-- makes it easier both for me and anyone who actually wants to keep the thing
:) as I make changes/corrections.