A short story, again dealing with what my avatar was up to - this time prior to the events of 'Wild Rover'. One that delves a bit farther into his past than the ten years period covers, actually. Some fourteen years at the point that's farthest back. And before you complain, it was meant to be the mixup of sections that it's become. Call in an excercise in writing if you will.
Enjoy, and have a poke at it if you will.
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He sat there, waiting.
The moon rode high that night, lighting up the sky with a cyan brilliance while the Belt glittered like a flock of stars running around from one side of the horizon to the next. There really wasn't all that much to do, all things considered, even though it wasn't a simple babysitting job by far.
Exactly how his current mark had come to acquire his services was unusual in itself, but he wasn't one to scoff at the unusual. Actually, he was rather fond of the unusual, even if sometimes he'd swear he'd rather be bored for all eternity than be forced to take more of a passing interest in something of its ilk.
That aside, he wasn't exactly cheap, and his renown tended towards the eccentric side of the scale, which went in pair with the fact that he was genuinely picky about his jobs. Not like he needed the money too desperately. It was merely something to do, and something that he enjoyed doing. Keeping people safe ... he'd have liked to believe that made him a better person ... he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself though. His sensei's habits had rubbed off on him, that was it. It was merely sticking to familiar ground that was so comforting.
And maybe, just maybe, he did sleep a _little_ easier after all.
As things stood, he was sprawled out in the back of a parked van that stood on the corner up the street and across from where the mark worked - a four floor laboratory and research complex - keeping his eyes occupied with the various screens that had camera uplinks from the security system within the place itself and the masked sensor suite on top of the vehicle. In addition to that, he'd spread out a few recon drones inside the complex, set down several sensory probes here and there.
Paranoid?
Maybe.
Was it really paranoid if someone _was_ out to get you?
a short story of the Spiral,
written by Griever
Copyright 2003(c)
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Sylia Stingray wasn't in the habit of brooding over things. Not usually anyway. Still, as she checked and double-checked the systems of the Stingray model-22C Hardsuit she was caught by a small bout of nostalgia. It wasn't anything big, in fact, no one thing had contributed to said bout, but still there was a bit bit of an air out in the night. Looking behind her, at the four people in the aptly nicknamed Dressing Room of the transport aerodyne she couldn't stop herself from wondering what would have happened had things gone differently.
Everything that led up to this point had started from a simple thought, and the thought had turned out to be more than that just a few weeks afterwards. It hadn't been that much of a necessity even. They could have simply gotten contract teams signed up ... they _had_ gotten contract teams signed up ...
She guessed it was just her fondness for the hands-on approach. Her father was more one to delegate while pursuing his goal, and often got results far better than she did, but Sylia felt a need to be more personal in her dealings. She smiled a private little smile when she realized that some would find that outright odd when in conjunction with the cold, controlling personality she projected when acting in her official capacity as Vice President of Stingray Enterprises.
The people with her were some of the few who actually knew her, and not the mask she showed the corporate world of Neo-Edo and the Spiral in general. Another one was her father. Yet another who at least suspected, was one of the fixers they had on retainer. And amongst the few that made up the rest of that little group was the person who'd had more than a little impact on her life, and could actually be responsible for her genuine interest in the very sort of work they were getting ready to do.
Her youger brother wasn't quite a carbon copy of her that was merely a different gender, if younger as well. He was a bit on the small side, lean, with a somewhat broader and more angular face. The hair and eyes were the same for both siblings, the former coal-black and the latter a clear, icy blue. He was actually shaping up to be quite a prodigy in the mechanical field of things, whilst his sister was more an all-round type. She wouldn't say it to his face out of fear of inflating the poor dear's head too much, but she was pretty sure that if he applied himself he'd be able to surpass both her and her father when it came to his field of choice. Maybe even going as far as matching the good Doctor, though that was a bit of a scary thought. The old man's talent was already frightening in its extents. Still, Mackie Stingray looked like a person who'd always be a little bit of a child at heart. Similar to another person she knew, and maybe it was due to some influence of that person. Some days she envied him because of that. Still, he had faults. Being a incorrigible pervert being one of them.
While Mackie was there in his capacity as the team's driver and emergency support, the other three would be going out in the field alongside her.
Nene Romanova was the second youngest, barely a year older than the boy herself, a petite redhead who'd broken into more secure databases during the last year than most addicted webjockeys ever managed to safely navigate in their entire career. The pinkish red of the model-22E wasn't exactly what Sylia thought of when paint-schemes suited for combat operations came into play, but made for some better PR if and when there was a camera present anywhere on-site. When she _wasn't_ breaking all sorts of computer laws or engaged in the often slightly less than legal activities of the hardsuited mercenary lifestyle she was actually a part of the Advanced Police of Neo-Edo, a law enforcement branch that dealt with the sort of crimes that interested outfits like theirs immensely.
Priscilla S. Asagiri hauled her own 22A's plating into position, the dark blue of the armor glinting ominously in the lighting. Red eyes peering from under a mop of long brown hair (currently in a ponytail) she was what one might call confidence personified. That very confidence gave her a sort of charisma not easily matched, though there were times it bordered on arrogance. Still, whatever else she may be, Priss was nothing if not loyal. Even though she had her own agenda, and the place in a mercenary team was only a means to an end. On the other hand, Sylia mused thoughtfully, she'd often stated that it wasn't the destination that was important but the way you got there. It was a definite thought that this attitude, though born out of love for various fast-paced modes of transportation - especially groundbikes of any shape or form - could well carry to other vistas of her life, including her involvement with Stingray Enterprises.
And finally there was Linna Yamazaki. A dancer, a hand-to-hand combat specialist, and someone who'd initially been in it for the money only and was something of a self-proclaimed materialist. As with Priss, loyalty ran high on her list of priorities. Higher even than money, though she was somewhat loathe to admit it. Olive tinted armor slid into place as she suited up, the 22H's joints smoothly aligning as it synchronized with the information relayed by the softsuit the dancer wore.
"Are we all clear on objectives?" Sylia asked. Caution more than anything else, and because there was no such thing as too many reminders.
"We go in, get the prototype, wipe their systems and scram. What's there to be clear on?" Priss replied, sliding the tinted visor over the front of her suit's helmet. Servos hummed to life as it powered up, the routine starting as soon as the connectors in the head-gear clicked with the neck armor.
"An overly simplified description, but mostly accurate. I was referring to the method of approach though."
"Split into two teams. Priss and Nene go in and deal with the data. You and I will take care of retrieval." Linna shrugged, her own helmet clicking into place as she spoke.
"Stay quiet and wait for the call signal and LZ choice. Then come down and get you out." said Mackie from up front in the aerodyne's cockpit.
"Let's try to keep collateral damage to a minimum," Sylia went on, doing a last systems check. It came out green as well, and she stepped up to the hatch release. The bottom of the rear section moved, lowering until the cityscape below could be seen from the now open cargo bay. The four hardsuited women looked at each other, and nodded. Then they stepped up to the hatch.
"Knight Sabers! Go!"
And jumped.
***
There was something in the air. He could feel it, a goading sense of anxiety permeating the dank of the night. He didn't need the drones to tell him that, one way or another, there were seriously bad vibrations going around in the ether at the time.
He had no idea exactly _how_ he knew this, but instincts were something that he tended to listen to whenever they were as distinct as this one. Or maybe it was actually his subconscious mind talking to him?
No matter really. He wasn't about to take a chance on this. Number one rule of engagement was that when uncertain you made damn sure you remedied that condition as soon as possible. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but there were times when a healthy dose of it and a paranoid mind were a lifesaver.
A glimmer of something from the rooftop camera drew his attention, before the feed was broken by static. Mikes picked up an impact though. It was enough of a hint, if not a blatant affirmation that his instinct had been right on the matter of it being an interesting night.
It appeared as though something _had_ been in the air, quite literally in fact.
"Security. We've got something up topside, get the peeps on standby and ..." he paused for a moment. A few seconds later static was the only reply he got. By then several of the drones were showing little more than white noise, and being jammed.
"Great. Just great." he stared at the comm-unit in indignation. "No rest for the wicked."
He took an instant to check the screens, finding all but two of them whited out. Not particularly heartening. Then again, he'd never expected this to be _simple_. Sliding the door of the van open, the man stepped out onto the sidewalk, hands running over the clamps of the body armor under the nanoweave coat he wore as well as the butts of several guns hidden on his person, finding everything as it should be in that case at least.
Seconds later he felt an enormous hand shove him in the back and send him into the air, as the shockwave from his erstwhile observation spot's rather loud explosion, courtesy of a missile of some sort, impacted.
***
"Open and clear."
Priss stepped inside, the cold, hard winter sky framing her suit as she moved through the doorway Nene had just cracked the security of. Her gun-arm swept the stairway beyond, and found no targets.
"Alright, we're in," she commed a brief message to the others, and motioned Nene to follow.
"Where do we need to go?"
"Gimme a second ..." the redhead replied, the antennae on her suit shifting slightly before she nodded an affirmation. "It's on two, in the middle of the level. I've got the cameras on the stairway looped for the time being."
"We'd better get moving then!" said Priss, and immediately set out to do just that, jumping the flight of steps with a little arrest from her jump-jets at the end, to soften the landing. Nene followed, if a little more hesitantly.
***
He'd passed the ground level security post some time back, and found it a mess. The guards were a bit of a mess as well, even though they'd been taken down relatively quickly by whoever it was that had come through.
Four of them walked down the hallway, clanking metallically as the heavy boots sounded on the bare floor of the laboratory's walkway. Utterly confident.
He slid backwards, behind the relative cover of the small alcove, and waited. His back still itched a little, and he'd ditched the coat before even coming into the building. It was useless anyway, shrapnel having made neat little strips of material from most of it.
He recognized the armor the intruders wore - he believed in putting some work into pre-assignment recon - though it was unmarked by unit name or insignia. Typical wetworks operatives or mercs, he figured from the manner, but moving with relative experience. Well, he hadn't been hired for his pretty face ... gods knew he lacked one of _those_. For a moment he smirked. His sensei could have dealt with these bastards any day of the week without breaking much of a sweat, blade against anything they had. The he sobered. As much as he liked to stroke his own ego, he was a far cry from Manji when it came to straight out skill and power. Several hundred years of experience worth, that is.
'That's okay,' his grin came back, and eyes lit with a sort of fervor. The expression on his face was could be called a grimace at best. 'Sharp pointy things are nice, but not my forte.'
***
Everything had gone smoothly ... for all of five minutes. And then ...
Bedlam!
Sylia ducked underneath an arm, metallic and shining as it cut through the air inches above her helmeted head, claws that shone with white heat sizzling. She threw the suit right, straight into the assailant's midriff, crashing its metalloy carapace into the reinforced plating of the vault wall with a screech of tortured steel.
A moment later she had her left armblade out and was slicing through her enemy's neck. The decapitated corpse collapsed to the ground, sparks sizzling and fluid gushing from the 'mortal' injury.
She seethed as she always did when she took a moment to recognize the attacker. A perversion with a butchered cyber-brain and often faulty protocols. That made any doubts she may have held as to who was pulling the strings of this particular project moot.
Another one, from behind this time. She dodged the blast of searing plasma, and replied in kind with a beam of tightly focused laser light that found its mark and burned cleanly through the chestplate of that particular target. Lightweights, and not even particularly fast ones. Luck seemed to favor them once again, the woman mused as she continued down the hallway with due speed, heading for the sounds of battle.
From the traffic that was filling the comm-bands she could ascertain that Nene and Priss were involved in fighting as well. At least Priss was. Nene was probably trying to get her end of the operation done while the sometimes-singer covered her back. Doing quite well too, from the sound of things.
A flash of light from around the upcoming turn caught her notice, and she brought her right arm up with the laser primed as another enemy emerged ... this one in two pieces, cut to half from hip to opposite shoulder by something wickedly sharp. Linna was doing her part, apparently.
The blue-armored abomination was still twitching though, mouth open and the muzzle of its plasma emitter jutting forward. She crushed the head under one of her armored boots. The cyberoid ... no, not cyberoid ... the _boomer_ stopped moving.
Sylia was already in a run though, past the doorway through which the biomech had been thrown and into the middle of what remained from Linna's skirmish. Decapitated or holed boomer bodies were strewn across the room ... she continued on.
"Got it!" Nene exclaimed over the tacnet. "C'mon Priss, we're leaving, now!"
The singer could be heard grunting her affirmation.
Then, everything was thrown off kilter again, as a loud bang sounded from where Linna had headed. Followed by the olive-suited Knight Saber's surprised exclamation. And a rapidly expanding wall of artificial fog that clung to surfaces and obscured the sensor coverage somehow.
***
Perception is the base on which the enemy's ability to attack is placed. Without it, without a way to know where your enemy is, defeating him or her isn't quite as easy as it would be otherwise.
Griever knew this. Hell, he'd _lived_ it more than once. First time had been way back when, before his first reach for the stars and back on the planet of his birth, during the first corporate wars that happened in the midst of the turmoil of the 21st century. First as an urban guerilla against the corps, then a corp soldier against religious fanatics hell-bent on destroying the 'impure' world and bringing forth their New Epoch. And before all that on the mad escapade that was the world spanning search of his sensei. Between all the various rules of combat he'd learned at one time or another one would always remain true - obfuscation was your friend.
The 'Ravenlofts' did their work, exploding with a loud bang and spreading thick, sensor dulling and view obstructing mist over the lab-space. It was a mixture of magnetized metalloy particles intermingled with burst from a small 'ping' emitter in the grenade's shell that lit up the area in a dazzle and spread of low-key radiation that confused the hell out of sensor packages. Added to that was the old and tried chemical mixture that had first made smoke grenades possible, if a tad modified to produce a virtual torrent of the milky-white stuff.
The window was several seconds at worst, half a minute at best.
In combat, this was a lifetime.
He moved.
The mist was everywhere, but he didn't really notice. His mind held a picture. Four confused figures and one suit (he'd missed him earlier), trying to figure out what was happening, where the scientist were. Scientists who'd taken cover in the auxiliary lab and barred the doors as soon as they'd caught whiff of something being wrong. His employer was in there as well, and he couldn't really let these 'gentlemen' past. Wouldn't be sporting if he did. Wouldn't be fair. He _was_ under retainer after all. Wouldn't do to have the man paying him be offed, would it?
'Sides, he liked the guy and his ideas.
Flesh and blood, the lot of them. Blood. Blood he could work with. It was just body armor, and as he closed through the mist he could feel their pulse, almost sense their hearts beating. The one sense he had in addition to the usual five was working, as it had ever since he'd woken up that day, shocking the hell out of the science team that had recovered the cryo-tray he'd been locked in.
The weight in his hands was familiar, reassuring. He felt the first and pointed one at him, at the center of the 'beat' that marked him. The sound was deafening in such close quarters, and in a semi-enclosed space that the rather spacious lab had been placed in. He had seven in each, six and one in the barrel, loaded for bear ... or armor clad enforcer. Full metal jacket ten millimeter bullets, with a refined tritanium core and gel propellant imported from the Cameron Sector ...
Double tap, and one beat faltered. He was less than five meters away from it. Next.
Whatever else it did, the fog didn't dampen the aural sensors of whatever headgears his targets wore, and a burst of fire was sent towards his position from two of them ... professionals. Then again, he was one as well ... and simply wasn't where the sensors told them he'd be.
In half crouch and still moving, he targeted the second closest and placed the closest between himself and the third. Both hands came up and loosed the thunder again, both pistols firing ... the beat fluttered, soared, and blinked out as the projectiles hit home. The head and heart. The former being the strongest source of the beat, the latter close to that and prominent as well. Whether he'd hit them, exactly, wasn't something to wonder about. They were merely what his shots were guided by.
Again they fired, but he was elsewhere once more, and a scream was heard as the closest beat to him spiked.
'No friendly fire warnings on heads-up?. Heh.'
He charged, shoulder smacking into something solid moments later, a startled cry erupting from before him. He jammed the muzzle into the 'obstruction' and emptied the clip. He felt the warmth as blood spurted from the man he'd slammed into, and braced him against one shoulder as he started to slump forward. The dying man shuddered again as his partner emptied the remains of his weapons' clip in the direction of the shots, the bullets biting into his back..
'Thank you for your co-operation.' Griever shoved the body to the side. The mist had thinned enough to see, roughly, and he saw the remaining man start as he cast the corpse away from himself. He saw the man stop struggling with replacing the clip, and go for the sidearm on his hip. He emptied three shots into him from his one still partly loaded weapon.
He felt more than saw the last person standing, himself aside, and rolled as the now rapidly clearing air was split by the sharp cracks of firing handgun. Then the distinct clicks of an empty clip. He felt the quickened beat of the suit's heart, and turned to face him. The man was fumbling with the handgun in his hand, popping the clip and sliding a fresh one home ...
... Griever dropped his right hand gun and reached for the small of his back. A moment later the hand was back forward again, pointing a snub-nosed little black pistol at the last target just as the man brought his own weapon to bear on his crouched form.
***
"Soft target coming your way! He's got the prototype on him!" Linna's shout came through the comm and jogged Sylia's awareness. The fog was thick and somehow dulled the sensors of her suit by a fair bit, but she could still see the humanoid figure dashing through the misty barrier as if it were no impediment to the senses at all. Sight may have been suppressed, and visual spectrums sent into a minor fit by whatever had thrown the fog up, but the echolocation systems worked just fine. Plus, the tracer on the item said figure was carrying helped her place it immensely.
But 'soft target' meant that shooting on sight would have been against work ethics, at least against theirs.
She got ready and her right hand shot forward, fingers of the glove's manipulator spread and ready to latch onto the man as his form emerged from the obscuring mist. The figure must have somehow noticed her, because it dropped and tumbled to her right and out of reach before she could close the fingers and find purchase.
The coat billowed sluggishly as the man came up from his roll, bringing something upwards to meet her arm ... the sound of metal on metal could be heard as the barrel of a heavy looking handgun clanged against her gauntleted hand, managing to make it veer slightly and miss the mark. It slipped past a hairsbreadth from his shoulder.
Her suit suddenly blared warnings at her when a loud bang sounded and something struck her right leg at shin height with enough strength to actually crack a bit of ceramic armor and push her slightly off balance.
The man spun, and as Sylia moved to regain her balance and brought her arm to bear on him something in the back of her mind found the way he moved oddly familiar. Probably only a reminder though. She'd been a student of many martial arts in her life, having actually started off by learning some basics of an extremely esoteric form that was used by a grand total of _two_ people at the latest count and called Ars Fatalis, and finished off with a compilation art put together by a school of assassins which she had mastered just last year. It was likely she simply recognized it from someone she'd fought at one time.
Then there was no time to think, as her leg whipped outwards in a reverse spin kick with the force of trained and conditioned muscle augmented by high performance myomers. At best it would break a few ribs ... at worst ... well, there was no time to dally. They had to get out before reinforcements arrived, with the prototype.
The kick went high as her target dropped, overbalancing backwards sharply and landing on his back. A gunshot rang out.
Sylia spun around, away from the muzzle flash, but the slug caught her on the side of the helmet. It shattered the tinted visor outside of the actual face-shield as it went past. Her arm lanced out, swordblade slipping from the top of the gauntlet and spearing forward. Impossibly, the man shifted out of the way, but the weapon still caught his coat and pinned him to the ground, immobilizing him and letting Sylia bring the other arm to bear, palm-cannon aimed ...
... The muzzle of the handgun pointing up at her was deemed a relatively minor detail, as was the fact that somehow she'd ended up in a gunfighter's nightmare - a Mexican stand-off - her weapon pointing along the man's outstretched gun-arm and at his face just as his own was aimed at hers.
Both pairs of eyes, one icy blue, the other a murky green, blinked in surprised recognition.
"Err ... this is awkward," Griever muttered as he raised his finger out of the trigger guard, and moved his gun-hand slightly, nudging the palm-cannon that one of the few people he trusted implicitly was pointing at him away from his face.
***
"What in the world happened to _you_?!" Dr. Katsuhiko Stingray exclaimed as his bodyguard plopped onto the car-hood beside him. He was a sorry picture, the light body armor he wore badly scuffed and battered, the back looking as if it'd been trampled on by a bunch of horses. There was a hole in it, on both sides of a bloodied but otherwise healthy right shoulder, as if a bullet had gone through ... no wound there, though.
Oh, and his face was smudged with soot. Among other things. He was fairly sure that the red smudge was anything _but_.
"Something I'm not sure my auto-club insurance will cover," Griever snorted, inclining his head to the side. Katsuhiko looked down the street, past the police line, where the smoldering wreckage of a van stood.
"Among other things."
They sat in silence for a few moments, letting the bustle of corporate police wash over them.
"Are _you_ guys okay?" the yojimbo asked after a moment.
Katsuhiko nodded. "Mostly. A few nervous breakdowns, but we're okay. Lab security was another matter."
"Humm. They came in through the rooftop entrance, jammers running, while two guys with a handheld ATM were down here and blew the van." Griever said, wearily. The adrenalin was wearing off. "I think they had an insider somewhere. You lab team, maybe? I mean, how else would they know about the drones? It wasn't blind luck they had jammers good enough. Normal cameras, even the good ones the secforce had set up, are easier to scramble. You need some really good tech to pull that sort of thing off on drones. Sorry about the secforce guys."
"It's a shame ..." the scientist hung his head.
"The nature of man ... and most other sentient species as well, come to think of it."
"Yes, that too. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing faith ..."
"Daddy!"
Dr. Stingray turned, startled, as his teen-aged daughter slipped under the yellow tape, and rushed up to squeeze him in a fierce hug.
"And then something like this happens," the doctor shrugged his shoulders. "What are _you_ doing here young lady?"
"I saw the lab in the news, and got worried ..." the young Sylia Stingray said, eyes teary as she looked at her father with concern. "You're alright, aren't you daddy?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine."
***
The armored gauntlet closed on his wrist and hauled him upward.
"Thanks," Griever said. "But we really ought to get out of here before something _else_ happens."
An olive-armored hardsuit emerged from the cloud of smoke, and stopped a few meters away, eyeing him dubiously.
"Later," came Sylia's voice. "And _you_ owe me at least an explanation. A good one, too. You have the prototype?"
He nodded, patting the side of his coat.
"At least _something_ positive." she nodded. "Let's get a move on."
***
"... J. Mason was killed in an incident that the police state was a case of what they term 'aggressive industrial espionage' gone bad ..." the newscaster droned on in the background. Griever paid him no mind as he rubbed tiredness from his eyes while going over the condo's security system logs. There was nothing to indicate tampering here, nor anywhere outside.
'So they were going to get the lab specifically. I hope.'
"Still up?" a steaming mug of coffee was put in front of him, on one side of the terminal he was using. He accepted with a grateful nod.
"I think I'm paranoid. It's in the job description." he took a sip of the heavy brew, finding it liberally sweetened.
"But mostly, I think it'd be stupid if I let my guard down after one obvious try at ridding me of my momentary source of income and ..." here he yawned. "... find out it was just misdirection."
"You _honestly_ think that?" Dr. Stingray frowned.
"Not really, no." the yojimbo shrugged. "But if I came up with something like that, who says someone else wouldn't. As far fetched as that may seem, you _have_ hired me to cover all your bases."
"There's something I need to ask you."
Griever leaned back in his chair, and turned towards him, raising an eyebrow in question.
"This," he raised a piece of metallic looking engraved material. "If something were to happen to me ... just in case ... this is a permanent retainer of sorts. I have a bit of money invested, and I thought I may as well ... cover all my bases, as you put it. If something were to happen, this is going to authorize you to draw retainer from my accounts as long as you stay in Edo and ... and make sure nothing like that happens to my children."
Griever barely stopped himself from spitting the hot brew across the room.
"... you do realize that I could just, oh, kill you right now, get rid of the body, and act as if it were all a great surprise that you were gone all of the sudden, then start looking for loopholes and eventually get at the accounts with that thing, right?" he said after a moment, giving Stingray a hard stare.
"I'd like to think I'm a better judge of character than that." Katsuhiko muttered, shrugging.
"I s'pose." the bodyguard replied sardonically. "My life would be so much simpler without these silly moral constrains about betraying someone's trust. Sometimes I just hate myself. 'Sides, my contract is still good for several months. Anything going at you is going to have to do it over my dead body. And, trust me one this, I'm about as hard to kill as a roach."
***
"So, how's the good Doctor doing"? Griever asked as he settled into one of the acceleration couches, dubious stares from three of the four other occupants of the aerodyne's bay resting on him. He and Sylia had taken up seats away from the others to get some privacy for their conversation.
"Father is doing fine, which you'd know if you'd keep in touch more often than you do," Sylia told him.
"I've had a busy couple of years. I was actually heading your way when I got sidetracked by this little thing," he lifted the small reinforced case the prototype was inside of. A small, barely egg-sized piece of crystal that would quite possibly revolutionize the industry in a minor way. Pricy, still very touchy and experimental, the datacryst was well capable of holding immense stores of data within by virtue of a dynamic nanotech matrix interlaced with it.
"Figured I might as well do my good deed for the decade and get it back for you."
"No good deed goes unpunished?" was her lightly amused reply.
"Something like that. It's good to see you again, in any case." the man nodded. "So you're getting into the field work end of things? Any particular reason? Got bored of playing desk jockey, and hanging around labs?"
"Why? Insecure about your place in the world?"
"More like gathering information about possible competition. You've put together a good team, though." he inclined his head.
"_So_ glad you approve," she said sarcastically.
"It's a major character flaw of mine," Griever shrugged. "I sometimes worry about people I care for."
"Oh? Is that it? Aren't you going to stick your nose into my business as usual? You must be feeling ill."
He shot her an amused look.
"You're doing well, if your judgment is as good as your father's then you don't have _in_competent people watching your back, you're no slouch yourself when it comes down to the basics ... far as I can see there's nothing wrong with this setup. Hell, now I have a legitimate reason to be afraid to cross you."
She blinked, and chuckled to herself.
"Utopia misses you as well, you know," Sylia sighed.
"She does? She seemed fairly happy last time I talked to her," the man frowned.
"She hides it well. You _were_ the first friend she's ever had, you realize? Right? She was really depressed when you took off on your little errand run two years ago," the elder child of Katsuhiko Stingray told him. "Did you at least find what you'd been looking for?"
"No ... not as such," was the reply. "I'd have visited earlier, but there were some issues I had to hash out with myself. I wouldn't have made for good company anytime during that particular period."
"Heavy thoughts?" she guessed.
"Just getting a glimpse of what sentient beings are capable of at their worst." Griever sighed sadly. "Remember the "Miranda" incident the Commonwealth media were so shocked could even happen?"
She did. The "Miranda" had been a luxury liner that ran its cruises from Humanx to Taiidani space and sometimes even went as far as the Andermani Empire on the longer runs. It had been one of the more expensive private company investments and tickets for it had cost more than some people made in a year's time. Then, one day about two years ago, it had disappeared. Five months later information that it had been found leaked into the media, and whatever speculation was running - considerations of accident possibilities for the most part - was dismissed by the naked facts. The ship had been ambushed by pirates operating in the so called Buffer Zone that was basically the fleck of space between Aan, Minbari, Humanx and Taiidani. That was the wake-up call, some guessed. That and the facts about what happened to those crewmembers and passengers who'd been found on board of the hulk.
"There was a song you were fond of ... I remember it running sometimes when you were in the guest suite," Sylia mused for a moment, remembrance clouding her eyes. "How did it go ... 'Nobody cares 'til somebody famous dies' or close to that. Yes, "Miranda" was a wake-up call."
"I was on commission with the Commonwealth, for a patrol force in the area. We were the ones who found it - HSC98, the "Lady in Viridian" ... I had a spot on the boarding party that did the initial assessment of the ship." his voice was flat as he said this. "A lot of us ... a lot of us left the service, contracts be damned, a few weeks afterwards. I wasn't in any condition to talk about it then, or for a while to follow. Neither of us were."
"It's good to see you're alright."
He looked up at her, and away from musings brought on by the grim topic.
"It's a major character flaw of mine," Sylia said, using his earlier words. "I sometimes worry about people I care for."
"Thanks. I think you know how much that means to me," he smiled softly. "Right now though, I think you should appease your team's curiosity a little. They seem to be glaring daggers at me for some reason, and for the life of me I can't figure out the 'why'."
"How much would you have me tell them?" she asked.
"You wouldn't have them with you if you didn't trust them," she nodded as he said this. "I trust you Sylia. As much as you think they ought to know."
As he watched her stand up and start towards the other three armored women, there was only a single thought running through his head.
'It's good have a place you can come back to when you're done ... it's good to have a home.'
THE END
Cast (in no particular order of appearance):
Lucas Simon Gabriel Kocinski as Griever
Sylia Stingray
Dr. Katsuhiko Stingray
Mackie Stingray
Priscilla S. Asagiri
Linna Yamazaki
Nene Romanova
J. Random Hired Merc
J. Random 55-C Boomer
and Brian J. Mason as the suit who got creamed off-screen
Griever shall return in a prequel of 'Past present' - 'An elegy for Miranda' - that takes us back to the very beginning of the Ten Years period in the Spiral universe, and directly involves the follow up of the aforementioned Miranda incident. And in the aftermath, there will be only one thing to say. Aku. Soku. Zan.
------------------
Yes, I seem to be going back farther and farther into his history and past deeds ... don't ask why. It just happens. The "Miranda" bit was something that showed up in 'Wild Rover' but wasn't really named as such, and I brought it into this one because it felt like the thing to do. 'Wild Rover' happens a year and six months after this piece does, though only the bits that feature the Sabers. 'An elegy ...' will cover the year and a half before this.
Oh, and FYI, my avvie and Sylia do not have a romantic relationship or even the hopes for one on either side. They're pretty much very close friends, knowing each other almost as well as brother and sister. Griev occasionally jokes that he'd been shanghied into getting adopted into the family. And yes, Sylia is the more mature one in their interactions. Neither minds overmuch.
--
-Griever
'Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.'
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>Her youger brother wasn't quite a carbon copy of her that was merely a different gender, if younger as well.<
That is confising, I think I understand what you mean, but it doesn't parse well, I would change it.
>...Mackie Stingray looked like a person who'd always be a little bit of a child at heart. Similar to another person she knew, and maybe it was due to some influence of that person. Some days she envied him because of that. Still, he had faults. Being a incorrigible pervert being one of them.<
Unless you meant to say that Sylvia thinks of Griever as an icorrigible pervert you need to seriously reword that.
Other than that it might be nice to mention what the prootype is earlier, and why exactly Sylvia wants it. Was it stolen? It doesn't seem like her or Griever to go and steal such a thing just because they face some competition.
It's also really two seperate stories from what I can piece together. I think it would be better if you split the two stories, b/c the way it is right now is just confusing.
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I'd actually meant to make it a little confusing. An excercise in paralell storytelling to be exact. Did I really overdo it that much?
As for the Mackie thing ... I'd thought it scanned well enough, guess I was wrong.
As for the prototype, it's more a case of stealing something _back_ actually. A fairly new cyber-brain model, in fact. It's going to be popping up here and there in later days, actually, and the original project will have been the groundwork for the advanced model that serves to give Kasumi a body as of the beginning of Part IV (since the Le Fey isn't very much but a very elaborate piece of scrapmetal after the Stand at Khatovar). While not really being that much better when allowing for emotional responses is concerned (already on par with those of a token sentient) it has far more raw processing capability.
--
-Griever
'Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.'
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