Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Black Knights, Steel Hearts ❯ Chapter 28
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Trboturtle 
Sylia and Greg go to dinner at GENOM Tower; Fargo finds out something important.
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Mecha / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.07.2008 | Updated On: 01.11.2008 | Pages: 4 | Words: 4.7K | Visits: 558 | Status: Work In Progress
Sylia and Greg go to dinner at GENOM Tower; Fargo finds out something important.
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Mecha / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.07.2008 | Updated On: 01.11.2008 | Pages: 4 | Words: 4.7K | Visits: 558 | Status: Work In Progress
===========================================================
Bubble Gum Crisis is copyrighted by Artmic Inc. and Youmex,
Inc. I am just borrowing the characters for a little while,
and promise not to bend, fold, or staple them - unless I can
come up with a good reason to do so. I can be contacted at the
Email address above. C&C will be accepted, out and out flames
will result in a Boomer or two being sent after you.
Please, enjoy my take on the Bubble Gum Crisis universe.....
========================================================= ==
Chapter 28
GENOM Tower
Saturday, December 22, 2035
7:52pm
Sylia waited until Greg opened the car door and extended a hand to her before she stepped out of the Limo. She looked at her escort
for the evening. "Are you going to be all right?"
She wasn't sure what was running through Greg Mallory's mind now.He had met her in the lobby of the Lady633, looking every inch a
successful industrialist in a dark grey suit well tailored for his frame. He smiled at her when she exited the elevator, and waited until she had walked up to him before he gave her a large bouquet of roses. Sylia wasn't sure, but she thought she could see some weariness in his eyes as she approached him.
"You look absolutely stunning," he told her, his smile radiant.
She had merely smiled at him and made a show of smelling the roses. The flowers smelled wonderful. "Thank you," she said.
Besides himself, There were three others with Greg. One was Marla Brooks-Fenton, who wore a business-type evening dress that matched her hair. She watched her boss and his date exchange greetings, a smile pulling at her lips. The other two were bodyguards, who were human and alert, alternated between watching Sylia and the lobby itself for any signs of trouble.
The five of them walked outside the lobby, where four more bodyguards met them and escorted them to a trio of limos. Greg guided Sylia to the middle car, while Marla walked toward the lead car. The entire trip from the lobby to the cars was done within fifteen seconds. Once their boss was safely inside the car, the bodyguards scattered to the other cars, and the convoy moved off into the traffic.
The phone had rung less then five minutes after the two of them had climbed into Greg's limo. As she listened to Greg's side of the telephone conversation, Sylia saw the CEO's face become stiff and his words sharp. He stopped talking, pressed a button to end the call, and dialed a number. His directions were short and direct. When he replaced the receiver back into its cradle, there was a look of pure anger on his face.
"That was Jeena on the incoming call," said Greg in a cold voice. "It seems that their source pick up reports that one of the G&B children
has lost a lot of blood in an accident. They can't give the child a transfusion because she has an abnormal hemoglobin condition."
"Janie?"
"Probably. She has the same condition this kid is suppose to have, and it's rare enough to rule out the possibility that it isn't Janie."
"Do you have a location where the child is suppose to be?"
"Jeena says their source has narrowed the field to three sites. I've got the Knights scrambling to cover all three, but I don't know
if Janie's in one of them."
"It could be a trap."
Greg ran a hand through his hair. "It could be."
Sylia looked at him carefully. "Do you want to cancel this Dinner?"
"Hell, NO!" said Greg sharply, surprising Sylia with it forcefulness."Quincy already knows I'm here. He knows that I've 'hired' the Black
Knights on a corporate contract, and he knows that I'm looking for a kidnaped girl. What he doesn't know is why."
"As far as you know."
"As far as I know." Some of the tension in Greg's face disappeared. "For now, We'll continue with this charade, but if the Knights do find
Janie, We'll be out of GENOM Tower so fast, Quincy will think we're disguised Boomers."
Sylia arched an eyebrow. "We?"
"You don't think I'd leave you to Quincy's tender mercies while I ran off and played vigilante, do you?"
"Well . . . ," said Sylia with a small smile. "Quincy is the richest man on the planet, and as far as I know, he is single...."
Greg chuckled. "Assuming, of course, we're dining with the real Quincy. Half my intel people think that Quincy's actually an AI hidden in the core of GENOM Tower running the company through Boomers androids, while a third of those left think Madigan is the real head of GENOM."
"What about the rest?"
Greg shook his head. "Then the theories start getting weird...."
They both chuckled at this, then Greg's face became serious again. "Something's going to happen tonight," he said, staring out of the tinted
windows. "I don't know what, but I just know something is going to explode, and soon."
Sylia nodded. "I can feel it too."
They rode in silence for several minutes, then Sylia said, "I should thank you for returning Priss earlier."
"You're welcome. How's she doing?"
"She's going to be staying in my spare room for the next couple of days, where I can keep an eye on her. Mackie's keeping an eye on her for me tonight, but I don't think she'll give him any trouble." Sylia hesitated, uncertain of her next words. "She told me something after we got her back to my place, something involving you."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"She told me about the question you ask her, the one about me being involved with anything else."
"I see."
"Did you ask her that question?"
Greg leaned back in his seat and looked directly at Sylia. "I did."
"Why?"
Greg mulled over the question for several seconds before he answered. "Because you and I are very much alike. We both fight the war against Man's deepest, darkest emotions such as greed, callousness, and blind stupidity. We fight our war in the shadows behind masks and hardsuits, using your father's genius and vison to do so."
"So?" replied Sylia.
"So, neither one of us is involved in a relationship - we can't afford to drag an outsider into our world."
Sylia arched an eyebrow. "I think I know where this is going."
Greg looked amused. "Do you?"
"I do. It is too early to consider a relationship, even if I was looking for someone right now."
"So you're not involved?"
Sylia shook her head. "As you said, We can't afford to drag an outsider into our world."
Greg smiled. "I'm not looking for a quick roll in the hay, Sylia - I respect you too much for that." He leaned forward. "I find you attractive, smart, and with more sense than half of MALCORP's Board of Directors. With those qualities, I'd be a fool to let you go without trying to court you."
Sylia was speechless for several seconds, her mind sorting through Greg's words. "I suppose already you have a large number of women
chasing you now. Surely one of them would be a better choice then me?"
"I don't want some woman who is only good for the bedroom and spending money. I need a life partner, not a bed warmer."
"I don't believe in love at first sight."
"How about second sight?" Greg leaned back, the smile gone. "I knew you were the one when I saw you at Destari's this afternoon.
Something just clicked into place."
Sylia changed her tactics. "I can't walk out on my friends or responsibilities."
"I know." Greg looked out the side window. "You won't leave this city as long as GENOM stays on a course of economic domination. And neither one of us has enough friends to allow them to fade away just because we walked away. I would never ask you to leave your friends
or your fight. But afterwards?" He looked at her, his mismatched eyes holding her gaze with no trouble. "What are your plans after GENOM has been steered away from it's intent of world conquest, assuming that ever happens?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."
"You should," Greg said gently.
"I can't. If I look to the future, I may make a mistake in the present."
"And if all you think about is the present, you lose your future."
Sylia's eyes narrowed. "What is your future, Greg? What do you see yourself doing in ten, twenty years?"
"Business-wise, or personally?"
"Both."
Greg took a deep breath. "For Myself, a family. MALCORP, I see an expansion into space. First Mars, then Mercury. The asteroid belt
is an untapped source of raw materials that we can use to build exploration ships and push out even farther into the solar system."
"A noble dream," replied Sylia.
"A dream that is closer to reality then you think." He closed his eyes. "All the megacorps think about is the bottom line -- how much did
we make, and was it enough? My father never thought that way, and neither do I."
"An interesting theory."
"Isn't it? The Greek Aristotle once said 'Life is doing things, not getting things.' It always stuck in my mind that the only difference between three billion and thirty billion is a zero, which is literary nothing."
"There are not many CEOs that will agree with you on that matter."
"There are not many CEOs that would be willing to rescue a fourteen-year-old who wasn't a blood relative."
"I'm surprised you can think of anything else but Janie right now," said Sylia cooly.
Just then, the car passed under an overpass, and the shadows rushed in to replace the light. The passed across Greg's face in rapid succession, and Sylia saw a familiar expression fit itself like a mask on his features. The same type of mask she used to hide strong emotion from her friends. In some ways he's so much like me, it's like looking in a mirror.
By the time the car cleared the overpass, the mask was gone, replaced by a sober look. "Janie is never far from my mind," he said carefully, "but, until we find out where she is, we can't help her. In the meantime, I have to keep up certain appearances to draw attention away from my people. I have to play more then one game in this city, each with a different set of rules. Tonight I have to play the game of corporate
power politics with a grandmaster - Quincy." He looked out the window and smiled. "And the game for tonight has just begun."
Sylia felt the car slow, then make a right hand turn. She looked out the window and saw the familiar front entrance of GENOM Tower. As the limo rolled to a stop, Greg opened the door and stepped out. He reached back in and took Sylia's hand. Once outside, they climbed the stairs to the glass doors above them.
There were only eight members in Greg's party. Five were bodyguards, all human and professionals, in a tight circle around their boss and his date. The last member was Marla Brooks-Fenton, who trailed behind the couple at a respectful distance.
At the top of the stairs, a well-dressed woman stood waiting for them. It took several seconds for Sylia to realize it was Kate Madigan,
The GENOM executive watched then approach, her expression unreadable. She was dressed in a severe business suit that gave the impression she had just attended a funeral. She was flanked by a trio of disguised security Boomers that stood at attention. "Mr. Mallory," she said politely.
"Miss Madigan," replied Greg. "I see you have fully recovered from your injuries from the Largo incident."
Madigan's eyes widened slightly, but she betrayed no other signs of surprise. Greg's intelligence network is better then I thought, thought Sylia. GENOM took extreme measures to hide the Largo incident from the world.
Sylia expected Madigan to deny she had been nearly killed, but she didn't."It was a difficult recovery," the lavender-haired woman replied slowly.
"I respect your loyalty to GENOM and drive to get back to work," said Greg smoothly. He motioned to Sylia. "Have you met Miss Sylia Stingray?"
Madigan shifted her gaze to Sylia. "Not in several years," she replied easily, "But I am acquainted with the daughter of the man who created the Buma." She addressed Sylia directly. "Katsuhito Stingray's legacy is still with us, Miss Stingray."
"I did not know you had been injured," said Sylia in a mild tone. She ignored Madigan's statement about her father's legacy. You've perverted my father's work. He would have never let Boomers be turned into machines of death and destruction.
"It was an experimental Buma that malfunctioned," replied Madigan. "I've just recently returned to work." She stepped aside and otioned
to the glass doors. "Chairman Quincy is waiting to meet you."
She led then inside, the trio of security Boomers forming another circle around the MALCORP group.
**********
Mi-Ra Teahouse
Saturday, December 22, 2035
8:01pm
The Mi-Ra teahouse was actually a bar located a block north of the Gulf and Bradley-Japan headquarters. It didn't quite reach the status of a high-class drinking establishment, but it was far from being a dive. It was one of the G&B employees' favorite watering holes, especially among the security personnel.
Tonight was a slow night. There were about a dozen patrons in the place, mostly G&B employees. About half were standing at the bar that ran along the back wall of the establishment, while a couple of others were sitting at the tables that dotted the room.
Four men sat in a booth nearest the bar. A thin man in a rumpled suit looked at the other three in turn. "It's not our fault," he muttered. "It's that witch's fault, not ours."
"Give it a break, Chasen," said one of the other men, a moon-faced individual with small eyes. "We're still lucky that we still have jobs."
"Yoshitoma's right," said Kanetada, the third member of the group. "Mr. Bradley could have bounced us out on the street, or worse."
"I know," replied Chasen. "But if we didn't follow the orders his sister gave us, we would be in just as much shit as we're in now."
Yoshitoma sighed. "Just drop it, all right? The girl made us look like idiots, but bitching about it isn't worth it. "
The fourth member of the group nodded silently and sipped his beer. After several seconds, he said, "I'm not certain this entire situation has been approved by Houston."
"It's not our problem," replied Kanetada. "We're paid to follow orders, not determine corporate policy."
"But if the twins are working against the company?" said the fourth man "Then, the entire G&B - Japan branch is screwed."
"Dannon's right," said Chasen. "Maybe we should get word to Houston."
"Go over the twin's heads?" asked Yoshitoma in surprise. "Are you crazy?"
"And what the twins is doing is sane?" replied Dannon quietly. "I know Jansen Bradley. He's a hard, ruthless man, but he would never
do what the twins have been doing to that girl."
"That Doctor Zin-Choon is a creep," agreed Chasen.
"He's more then that," muttered Dannon. "You've haven't had to listen to the screams like I had to." He looked down at his beer. "I haven't had a good night's sleep since they brought the girl into the headquarters building."
"Keeping her at the Headquarters building is a stupid idea," agreed Yoshitoma. "The Black Knights are good, and if they hit the building, we are going to be in deep shit."
"The twins are sick. They should be locked up somewhere."
"Don't let Ozu hear you say that," said Kanetada in a low voice. "Or you'll find yourself guarding icebergs in the Antarctic."
"If I could sleep at night, it'll be worth it."
Chasen glanced at his watch. "We'd better wrap it up. Me and Dannon are on duty at nine."
"Duty?" asked Kanetada. "You just got off at five."
"Ozu doubling the guard around the girl. Word is we're getting Boomers to augment the guard on top of that. They can have the fun
of dealing with the Black Knights when and if they show up."
"I hate those tin men."
"They're not on my friends' list, but I rather have them with me then against me." Chasen stood, followed by Dannon. The other two followed reluctantly and the four of them walked out into the cool night.
Ten minutes after the four left, a sandy-haired man in a untidied suit who had been standing at the bar slipped into the booth with a glass of beer. He sat there for ten minutes, slowly sipping his beer and staring at the table, apparently in deep thought. Then, with a flourish, he finished the beer and slipped out of the booth. He waved to the bartender and walked out into the night.
Fargo didn't take the miniature vocal recorder out of his pocket until he reached his car. He placed it on the seat next to him and started the car. Once he got the car moving, he switched the recorder to playback mode and listened to the entire conversation. Once the conversation had ended, he turned off the recorder and smiled grimly.
He hadn't expected to hit paydirt this early in the operation, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The four G&B security men were regulars at the Mi-Ra Teahouse, and the booth was their regular table. Fargo had made a point of becoming a semi-regular at the bar, in order to bug the booth. Over the last couple of years, they had been a regular, if unknowing, source of information for Fargo regarding G&B-Japan. If anyone was going to know where the VanDell was being held, it would be these four. And now he had the information.
He glanced in his rear-view mirror to check for any possible tales. None of the cars seemed to be following him, but he decided to take a roundabout route to his bolthole. No sense taking chances unnecessarily.
**********
GENOM Tower
Saturday, December 22, 2035
8:22pm
They rode the elevator up in silence. Sylia held onto Greg's arm tightly, dividing her attention between Greg and Madigan. Greg tried to look relaxed, but Sylia could feel the tension in his arm. Madigan ignored them both and watched the indicator as the elevator rose at a steady rate. No one spoke during the trip up.
When the elevator reached the three hundredth floor, the elevator stopped. As the door opened, two of Mallory's bodyguards, ccompanied by one of the boomers, moved out into the hall. After several seconds, the rest of the party moved out of the elevator. Madigan led the group down the left corridor. She stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. "The Executive Dining room," she said and opened the doors.
The Executive Dining room was a large, curving room on the outer ring of the tower. The far wall was made entirely of glass, which allowed the diner to have an impressive view of MegaTokyo. The other three walls of the room were paneled in a dark hardwood, with several paintings hanging in ornate frames. The floor was covered in a luxurious carpet, soft green in color, with intricate patterns of muted brown and amber woven in.
There was only one table in the room, a wide and long affair that dominated the center of the room. There were six dining places set,
one at each end and two on each side.
When the group entered, the only occupant of the room turned from the window and looked at them. "Welcome to GENOM Tower, Mr. Mallory."
"Thank you Chairman Quincy," replied Greg with a nod of his head. "I must say that this is a magnificent feat of construction."
Quincy nodded. "Thank you." The GENOM Chairman stood ramrod-straight, dressed in a somber grey suit with tie, holding a thick cane in his hands.
Sylia tightened her grip on Greg's arm. She had only met Quincy a few times over the years, but each time it had confirmed her belief that he had to be stopped. There was something . . . well, wrong with him. Not out-and-out evil like a villain from fiction, but a cold calculation that placed people's survival and moral responsibility below the continued smooth functioning of GENOM. The individual didn't matter: Only the corporation's bottom line had any meaning. It was this mentality that cost Katsuhito Stingray his life, his creations now nothing more then a way to dominate and tighten control over others. It was this mind set she fought against, a battle to cripple this belief that only the life of the corporation was important.
Quincy smiled at her. "And this is Miss Stingray. I am glad you accepted my invitation. It is always an honor to have the daughter of the man who created the Boomer as my dinner guest. It has been too long since you graced us with your presence."
Sylia smiled easily. "Greg's invitation was hard to refuse Chairman."
"Excellent," replied the white-haired chairman with a smile. He waved towards the dining table. "Please take a seat. Miss Madigan and
Mister Tarson will be joining us shortly. Unfortunately, Mister Faust is working on an important project and cannot attend. He sends his apologizes."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Greg smoothly. "I had hoped to meet him. I've been told he's a wizard with numbers."
"It couldn't be helped," replied Quincy with a sigh. "The matter in question is serious and could have an effect on several of our long-term projects. Beyond that, I cannot say anything else."
"I quite understand."
With that, everyone moved towards the dining table. What is Faust doing that's so important? Sylia asked herself as she sat in the chair
Greg had pulled out for her. Let's see, Faust is an annalist, a number man. His skill is shifting through reams of data and spotting inconstant information.
Since before Mason, Sylia made it a point of knowing all she could about Quincy's Special assistants. Faust was one of the more unusual ones to be selected by GENOM's chairman -- everything she knew about the man indicated he was not chairman material. Yet, he was loyal to GENOM and managed to avoid most of the corporate in-fighting that occurred at the highest levels. I would have like to have met him -- he could be dangerous if out paths crossed.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the first course. She sipped the soup slowly, allowing the rich flavor to wash over her tongue. She listened as the conversation started between the two rival chairmen.
Quincy started. "Do you notice anything unusual about the waiters and waitresses serving dinner?" he asked between sips of soup.
Greg glanced at the four servers moving around the table and frowned. His eyes narrowed. Sylia, too, watched the waiters out of the corner of her eyes. There were four of them, two men and two women, all fairly young and somewhat attractive. Each was dressed in a simple uniform White shirts and black trousers for the men, while the women wore white blouses and black, knee-length skirts. They moved with quick and easy grace as they served the rest of the soup and wine.
Sylia saw the slightly dazed look on their faces and reached her conclusion a heartbeat ahead of Greg. The MALCORP CEO smiled at
Quincy. "A new line of Boomers I see."
Quincy smiled back. "Very observant. The 35-Ps are still in the testing stage, but they should be ready for the market in another nine months. I'm surprised that you recognized them as Boomers that quickly."
"They are if you know what to look for. Their body language isn't quite right."
"I shall pass that along to our development team."
Sylia sipped her soup, realizing the opening salvo of a hidden battle had just happened. Inside, she sighed to herself. She knew this was going to happen. Quincy wanted the opportunity to size up a potential rival, as did Greg. With polite words they would test each other, looking for a weakness they could exploit at a later date. And she could do little more then sit and watch the duel.
Just then, a tall, heavy set man strolled into the room. "I'm sorry I'm late sir," he said to Quincy. "The meeting with the . . . Mr. White's representative ran long."
Quincy frowned. "Mr. Tarson," he said cooly, "I thought I was clear on the time the meeting had to end."
"Yes Sir," replied Tarson quickly, "but the discussions had reached the point where several more minutes were enough to complete the agreement. The contract is on your desk right now, ready to sign."
The GENOM chairman nodded. "Very well. You are forgiven this time. Please take your seat."
Tarson moved around the table and sat across from Sylia, She watched him over the rim of her wine glass, her mind recalling what she knew about the special assistant. Philip Tarson, age 32. One of the small group of hanger-ons and sycophants that Mason liked to keep around. After Mason's death, seems to have found a backbone and advanced up the corporate ladder, becoming part of Quincy's group of special assistants four months ago. Acts as a GENOM spokesman. He hides a cruel streak behind that smile of his. Not as smart as Mason, but he's dangerous. I'll have to be careful around him tonight.
The conversation started again, and Sylia listened, her mind filing away small items for later examination.
**********
Bubble Gum Crisis is copyrighted by Artmic Inc. and Youmex,
Inc. I am just borrowing the characters for a little while,
and promise not to bend, fold, or staple them - unless I can
come up with a good reason to do so. I can be contacted at the
Email address above. C&C will be accepted, out and out flames
will result in a Boomer or two being sent after you.
Please, enjoy my take on the Bubble Gum Crisis universe.....
========================================================= ==
Chapter 28
GENOM Tower
Saturday, December 22, 2035
7:52pm
Sylia waited until Greg opened the car door and extended a hand to her before she stepped out of the Limo. She looked at her escort
for the evening. "Are you going to be all right?"
She wasn't sure what was running through Greg Mallory's mind now.He had met her in the lobby of the Lady633, looking every inch a
successful industrialist in a dark grey suit well tailored for his frame. He smiled at her when she exited the elevator, and waited until she had walked up to him before he gave her a large bouquet of roses. Sylia wasn't sure, but she thought she could see some weariness in his eyes as she approached him.
"You look absolutely stunning," he told her, his smile radiant.
She had merely smiled at him and made a show of smelling the roses. The flowers smelled wonderful. "Thank you," she said.
Besides himself, There were three others with Greg. One was Marla Brooks-Fenton, who wore a business-type evening dress that matched her hair. She watched her boss and his date exchange greetings, a smile pulling at her lips. The other two were bodyguards, who were human and alert, alternated between watching Sylia and the lobby itself for any signs of trouble.
The five of them walked outside the lobby, where four more bodyguards met them and escorted them to a trio of limos. Greg guided Sylia to the middle car, while Marla walked toward the lead car. The entire trip from the lobby to the cars was done within fifteen seconds. Once their boss was safely inside the car, the bodyguards scattered to the other cars, and the convoy moved off into the traffic.
The phone had rung less then five minutes after the two of them had climbed into Greg's limo. As she listened to Greg's side of the telephone conversation, Sylia saw the CEO's face become stiff and his words sharp. He stopped talking, pressed a button to end the call, and dialed a number. His directions were short and direct. When he replaced the receiver back into its cradle, there was a look of pure anger on his face.
"That was Jeena on the incoming call," said Greg in a cold voice. "It seems that their source pick up reports that one of the G&B children
has lost a lot of blood in an accident. They can't give the child a transfusion because she has an abnormal hemoglobin condition."
"Janie?"
"Probably. She has the same condition this kid is suppose to have, and it's rare enough to rule out the possibility that it isn't Janie."
"Do you have a location where the child is suppose to be?"
"Jeena says their source has narrowed the field to three sites. I've got the Knights scrambling to cover all three, but I don't know
if Janie's in one of them."
"It could be a trap."
Greg ran a hand through his hair. "It could be."
Sylia looked at him carefully. "Do you want to cancel this Dinner?"
"Hell, NO!" said Greg sharply, surprising Sylia with it forcefulness."Quincy already knows I'm here. He knows that I've 'hired' the Black
Knights on a corporate contract, and he knows that I'm looking for a kidnaped girl. What he doesn't know is why."
"As far as you know."
"As far as I know." Some of the tension in Greg's face disappeared. "For now, We'll continue with this charade, but if the Knights do find
Janie, We'll be out of GENOM Tower so fast, Quincy will think we're disguised Boomers."
Sylia arched an eyebrow. "We?"
"You don't think I'd leave you to Quincy's tender mercies while I ran off and played vigilante, do you?"
"Well . . . ," said Sylia with a small smile. "Quincy is the richest man on the planet, and as far as I know, he is single...."
Greg chuckled. "Assuming, of course, we're dining with the real Quincy. Half my intel people think that Quincy's actually an AI hidden in the core of GENOM Tower running the company through Boomers androids, while a third of those left think Madigan is the real head of GENOM."
"What about the rest?"
Greg shook his head. "Then the theories start getting weird...."
They both chuckled at this, then Greg's face became serious again. "Something's going to happen tonight," he said, staring out of the tinted
windows. "I don't know what, but I just know something is going to explode, and soon."
Sylia nodded. "I can feel it too."
They rode in silence for several minutes, then Sylia said, "I should thank you for returning Priss earlier."
"You're welcome. How's she doing?"
"She's going to be staying in my spare room for the next couple of days, where I can keep an eye on her. Mackie's keeping an eye on her for me tonight, but I don't think she'll give him any trouble." Sylia hesitated, uncertain of her next words. "She told me something after we got her back to my place, something involving you."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"She told me about the question you ask her, the one about me being involved with anything else."
"I see."
"Did you ask her that question?"
Greg leaned back in his seat and looked directly at Sylia. "I did."
"Why?"
Greg mulled over the question for several seconds before he answered. "Because you and I are very much alike. We both fight the war against Man's deepest, darkest emotions such as greed, callousness, and blind stupidity. We fight our war in the shadows behind masks and hardsuits, using your father's genius and vison to do so."
"So?" replied Sylia.
"So, neither one of us is involved in a relationship - we can't afford to drag an outsider into our world."
Sylia arched an eyebrow. "I think I know where this is going."
Greg looked amused. "Do you?"
"I do. It is too early to consider a relationship, even if I was looking for someone right now."
"So you're not involved?"
Sylia shook her head. "As you said, We can't afford to drag an outsider into our world."
Greg smiled. "I'm not looking for a quick roll in the hay, Sylia - I respect you too much for that." He leaned forward. "I find you attractive, smart, and with more sense than half of MALCORP's Board of Directors. With those qualities, I'd be a fool to let you go without trying to court you."
Sylia was speechless for several seconds, her mind sorting through Greg's words. "I suppose already you have a large number of women
chasing you now. Surely one of them would be a better choice then me?"
"I don't want some woman who is only good for the bedroom and spending money. I need a life partner, not a bed warmer."
"I don't believe in love at first sight."
"How about second sight?" Greg leaned back, the smile gone. "I knew you were the one when I saw you at Destari's this afternoon.
Something just clicked into place."
Sylia changed her tactics. "I can't walk out on my friends or responsibilities."
"I know." Greg looked out the side window. "You won't leave this city as long as GENOM stays on a course of economic domination. And neither one of us has enough friends to allow them to fade away just because we walked away. I would never ask you to leave your friends
or your fight. But afterwards?" He looked at her, his mismatched eyes holding her gaze with no trouble. "What are your plans after GENOM has been steered away from it's intent of world conquest, assuming that ever happens?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."
"You should," Greg said gently.
"I can't. If I look to the future, I may make a mistake in the present."
"And if all you think about is the present, you lose your future."
Sylia's eyes narrowed. "What is your future, Greg? What do you see yourself doing in ten, twenty years?"
"Business-wise, or personally?"
"Both."
Greg took a deep breath. "For Myself, a family. MALCORP, I see an expansion into space. First Mars, then Mercury. The asteroid belt
is an untapped source of raw materials that we can use to build exploration ships and push out even farther into the solar system."
"A noble dream," replied Sylia.
"A dream that is closer to reality then you think." He closed his eyes. "All the megacorps think about is the bottom line -- how much did
we make, and was it enough? My father never thought that way, and neither do I."
"An interesting theory."
"Isn't it? The Greek Aristotle once said 'Life is doing things, not getting things.' It always stuck in my mind that the only difference between three billion and thirty billion is a zero, which is literary nothing."
"There are not many CEOs that will agree with you on that matter."
"There are not many CEOs that would be willing to rescue a fourteen-year-old who wasn't a blood relative."
"I'm surprised you can think of anything else but Janie right now," said Sylia cooly.
Just then, the car passed under an overpass, and the shadows rushed in to replace the light. The passed across Greg's face in rapid succession, and Sylia saw a familiar expression fit itself like a mask on his features. The same type of mask she used to hide strong emotion from her friends. In some ways he's so much like me, it's like looking in a mirror.
By the time the car cleared the overpass, the mask was gone, replaced by a sober look. "Janie is never far from my mind," he said carefully, "but, until we find out where she is, we can't help her. In the meantime, I have to keep up certain appearances to draw attention away from my people. I have to play more then one game in this city, each with a different set of rules. Tonight I have to play the game of corporate
power politics with a grandmaster - Quincy." He looked out the window and smiled. "And the game for tonight has just begun."
Sylia felt the car slow, then make a right hand turn. She looked out the window and saw the familiar front entrance of GENOM Tower. As the limo rolled to a stop, Greg opened the door and stepped out. He reached back in and took Sylia's hand. Once outside, they climbed the stairs to the glass doors above them.
There were only eight members in Greg's party. Five were bodyguards, all human and professionals, in a tight circle around their boss and his date. The last member was Marla Brooks-Fenton, who trailed behind the couple at a respectful distance.
At the top of the stairs, a well-dressed woman stood waiting for them. It took several seconds for Sylia to realize it was Kate Madigan,
The GENOM executive watched then approach, her expression unreadable. She was dressed in a severe business suit that gave the impression she had just attended a funeral. She was flanked by a trio of disguised security Boomers that stood at attention. "Mr. Mallory," she said politely.
"Miss Madigan," replied Greg. "I see you have fully recovered from your injuries from the Largo incident."
Madigan's eyes widened slightly, but she betrayed no other signs of surprise. Greg's intelligence network is better then I thought, thought Sylia. GENOM took extreme measures to hide the Largo incident from the world.
Sylia expected Madigan to deny she had been nearly killed, but she didn't."It was a difficult recovery," the lavender-haired woman replied slowly.
"I respect your loyalty to GENOM and drive to get back to work," said Greg smoothly. He motioned to Sylia. "Have you met Miss Sylia Stingray?"
Madigan shifted her gaze to Sylia. "Not in several years," she replied easily, "But I am acquainted with the daughter of the man who created the Buma." She addressed Sylia directly. "Katsuhito Stingray's legacy is still with us, Miss Stingray."
"I did not know you had been injured," said Sylia in a mild tone. She ignored Madigan's statement about her father's legacy. You've perverted my father's work. He would have never let Boomers be turned into machines of death and destruction.
"It was an experimental Buma that malfunctioned," replied Madigan. "I've just recently returned to work." She stepped aside and otioned
to the glass doors. "Chairman Quincy is waiting to meet you."
She led then inside, the trio of security Boomers forming another circle around the MALCORP group.
**********
Mi-Ra Teahouse
Saturday, December 22, 2035
8:01pm
The Mi-Ra teahouse was actually a bar located a block north of the Gulf and Bradley-Japan headquarters. It didn't quite reach the status of a high-class drinking establishment, but it was far from being a dive. It was one of the G&B employees' favorite watering holes, especially among the security personnel.
Tonight was a slow night. There were about a dozen patrons in the place, mostly G&B employees. About half were standing at the bar that ran along the back wall of the establishment, while a couple of others were sitting at the tables that dotted the room.
Four men sat in a booth nearest the bar. A thin man in a rumpled suit looked at the other three in turn. "It's not our fault," he muttered. "It's that witch's fault, not ours."
"Give it a break, Chasen," said one of the other men, a moon-faced individual with small eyes. "We're still lucky that we still have jobs."
"Yoshitoma's right," said Kanetada, the third member of the group. "Mr. Bradley could have bounced us out on the street, or worse."
"I know," replied Chasen. "But if we didn't follow the orders his sister gave us, we would be in just as much shit as we're in now."
Yoshitoma sighed. "Just drop it, all right? The girl made us look like idiots, but bitching about it isn't worth it. "
The fourth member of the group nodded silently and sipped his beer. After several seconds, he said, "I'm not certain this entire situation has been approved by Houston."
"It's not our problem," replied Kanetada. "We're paid to follow orders, not determine corporate policy."
"But if the twins are working against the company?" said the fourth man "Then, the entire G&B - Japan branch is screwed."
"Dannon's right," said Chasen. "Maybe we should get word to Houston."
"Go over the twin's heads?" asked Yoshitoma in surprise. "Are you crazy?"
"And what the twins is doing is sane?" replied Dannon quietly. "I know Jansen Bradley. He's a hard, ruthless man, but he would never
do what the twins have been doing to that girl."
"That Doctor Zin-Choon is a creep," agreed Chasen.
"He's more then that," muttered Dannon. "You've haven't had to listen to the screams like I had to." He looked down at his beer. "I haven't had a good night's sleep since they brought the girl into the headquarters building."
"Keeping her at the Headquarters building is a stupid idea," agreed Yoshitoma. "The Black Knights are good, and if they hit the building, we are going to be in deep shit."
"The twins are sick. They should be locked up somewhere."
"Don't let Ozu hear you say that," said Kanetada in a low voice. "Or you'll find yourself guarding icebergs in the Antarctic."
"If I could sleep at night, it'll be worth it."
Chasen glanced at his watch. "We'd better wrap it up. Me and Dannon are on duty at nine."
"Duty?" asked Kanetada. "You just got off at five."
"Ozu doubling the guard around the girl. Word is we're getting Boomers to augment the guard on top of that. They can have the fun
of dealing with the Black Knights when and if they show up."
"I hate those tin men."
"They're not on my friends' list, but I rather have them with me then against me." Chasen stood, followed by Dannon. The other two followed reluctantly and the four of them walked out into the cool night.
Ten minutes after the four left, a sandy-haired man in a untidied suit who had been standing at the bar slipped into the booth with a glass of beer. He sat there for ten minutes, slowly sipping his beer and staring at the table, apparently in deep thought. Then, with a flourish, he finished the beer and slipped out of the booth. He waved to the bartender and walked out into the night.
Fargo didn't take the miniature vocal recorder out of his pocket until he reached his car. He placed it on the seat next to him and started the car. Once he got the car moving, he switched the recorder to playback mode and listened to the entire conversation. Once the conversation had ended, he turned off the recorder and smiled grimly.
He hadn't expected to hit paydirt this early in the operation, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The four G&B security men were regulars at the Mi-Ra Teahouse, and the booth was their regular table. Fargo had made a point of becoming a semi-regular at the bar, in order to bug the booth. Over the last couple of years, they had been a regular, if unknowing, source of information for Fargo regarding G&B-Japan. If anyone was going to know where the VanDell was being held, it would be these four. And now he had the information.
He glanced in his rear-view mirror to check for any possible tales. None of the cars seemed to be following him, but he decided to take a roundabout route to his bolthole. No sense taking chances unnecessarily.
**********
GENOM Tower
Saturday, December 22, 2035
8:22pm
They rode the elevator up in silence. Sylia held onto Greg's arm tightly, dividing her attention between Greg and Madigan. Greg tried to look relaxed, but Sylia could feel the tension in his arm. Madigan ignored them both and watched the indicator as the elevator rose at a steady rate. No one spoke during the trip up.
When the elevator reached the three hundredth floor, the elevator stopped. As the door opened, two of Mallory's bodyguards, ccompanied by one of the boomers, moved out into the hall. After several seconds, the rest of the party moved out of the elevator. Madigan led the group down the left corridor. She stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. "The Executive Dining room," she said and opened the doors.
The Executive Dining room was a large, curving room on the outer ring of the tower. The far wall was made entirely of glass, which allowed the diner to have an impressive view of MegaTokyo. The other three walls of the room were paneled in a dark hardwood, with several paintings hanging in ornate frames. The floor was covered in a luxurious carpet, soft green in color, with intricate patterns of muted brown and amber woven in.
There was only one table in the room, a wide and long affair that dominated the center of the room. There were six dining places set,
one at each end and two on each side.
When the group entered, the only occupant of the room turned from the window and looked at them. "Welcome to GENOM Tower, Mr. Mallory."
"Thank you Chairman Quincy," replied Greg with a nod of his head. "I must say that this is a magnificent feat of construction."
Quincy nodded. "Thank you." The GENOM Chairman stood ramrod-straight, dressed in a somber grey suit with tie, holding a thick cane in his hands.
Sylia tightened her grip on Greg's arm. She had only met Quincy a few times over the years, but each time it had confirmed her belief that he had to be stopped. There was something . . . well, wrong with him. Not out-and-out evil like a villain from fiction, but a cold calculation that placed people's survival and moral responsibility below the continued smooth functioning of GENOM. The individual didn't matter: Only the corporation's bottom line had any meaning. It was this mentality that cost Katsuhito Stingray his life, his creations now nothing more then a way to dominate and tighten control over others. It was this mind set she fought against, a battle to cripple this belief that only the life of the corporation was important.
Quincy smiled at her. "And this is Miss Stingray. I am glad you accepted my invitation. It is always an honor to have the daughter of the man who created the Boomer as my dinner guest. It has been too long since you graced us with your presence."
Sylia smiled easily. "Greg's invitation was hard to refuse Chairman."
"Excellent," replied the white-haired chairman with a smile. He waved towards the dining table. "Please take a seat. Miss Madigan and
Mister Tarson will be joining us shortly. Unfortunately, Mister Faust is working on an important project and cannot attend. He sends his apologizes."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Greg smoothly. "I had hoped to meet him. I've been told he's a wizard with numbers."
"It couldn't be helped," replied Quincy with a sigh. "The matter in question is serious and could have an effect on several of our long-term projects. Beyond that, I cannot say anything else."
"I quite understand."
With that, everyone moved towards the dining table. What is Faust doing that's so important? Sylia asked herself as she sat in the chair
Greg had pulled out for her. Let's see, Faust is an annalist, a number man. His skill is shifting through reams of data and spotting inconstant information.
Since before Mason, Sylia made it a point of knowing all she could about Quincy's Special assistants. Faust was one of the more unusual ones to be selected by GENOM's chairman -- everything she knew about the man indicated he was not chairman material. Yet, he was loyal to GENOM and managed to avoid most of the corporate in-fighting that occurred at the highest levels. I would have like to have met him -- he could be dangerous if out paths crossed.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the first course. She sipped the soup slowly, allowing the rich flavor to wash over her tongue. She listened as the conversation started between the two rival chairmen.
Quincy started. "Do you notice anything unusual about the waiters and waitresses serving dinner?" he asked between sips of soup.
Greg glanced at the four servers moving around the table and frowned. His eyes narrowed. Sylia, too, watched the waiters out of the corner of her eyes. There were four of them, two men and two women, all fairly young and somewhat attractive. Each was dressed in a simple uniform White shirts and black trousers for the men, while the women wore white blouses and black, knee-length skirts. They moved with quick and easy grace as they served the rest of the soup and wine.
Sylia saw the slightly dazed look on their faces and reached her conclusion a heartbeat ahead of Greg. The MALCORP CEO smiled at
Quincy. "A new line of Boomers I see."
Quincy smiled back. "Very observant. The 35-Ps are still in the testing stage, but they should be ready for the market in another nine months. I'm surprised that you recognized them as Boomers that quickly."
"They are if you know what to look for. Their body language isn't quite right."
"I shall pass that along to our development team."
Sylia sipped her soup, realizing the opening salvo of a hidden battle had just happened. Inside, she sighed to herself. She knew this was going to happen. Quincy wanted the opportunity to size up a potential rival, as did Greg. With polite words they would test each other, looking for a weakness they could exploit at a later date. And she could do little more then sit and watch the duel.
Just then, a tall, heavy set man strolled into the room. "I'm sorry I'm late sir," he said to Quincy. "The meeting with the . . . Mr. White's representative ran long."
Quincy frowned. "Mr. Tarson," he said cooly, "I thought I was clear on the time the meeting had to end."
"Yes Sir," replied Tarson quickly, "but the discussions had reached the point where several more minutes were enough to complete the agreement. The contract is on your desk right now, ready to sign."
The GENOM chairman nodded. "Very well. You are forgiven this time. Please take your seat."
Tarson moved around the table and sat across from Sylia, She watched him over the rim of her wine glass, her mind recalling what she knew about the special assistant. Philip Tarson, age 32. One of the small group of hanger-ons and sycophants that Mason liked to keep around. After Mason's death, seems to have found a backbone and advanced up the corporate ladder, becoming part of Quincy's group of special assistants four months ago. Acts as a GENOM spokesman. He hides a cruel streak behind that smile of his. Not as smart as Mason, but he's dangerous. I'll have to be careful around him tonight.
The conversation started again, and Sylia listened, her mind filing away small items for later examination.
**********