Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Bubblegum Avatar #1 -- "Tin-Sell City" ❯ Chapter 4 - "You have been recruited by the Star League... ( Chapter 4 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Trboturtle 
Sylia finally decides what to do, and something is happening with the unknown Boomer in GENOM's lab.
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.19.2005 | Updated On: 12.19.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 3.8K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Work In Progress
Sylia finally decides what to do, and something is happening with the unknown Boomer in GENOM's lab.
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.19.2005 | Updated On: 12.19.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 3.8K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Work In Progress
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Chapter 4 - "You have been recruited by the Star League to defend the frontier against Xor and the Ko-Dan Armada...."
**************
It was mid afternoon. The snow that threatened the city hadn't begun to fall, but it was only a matter of time. The menace did have the effect of keeping traffic to a minimum, limited construction work and forced a large number of stores to remain closed.
The Silky Doll was one of those stores that had remained closed for the day, though the weather played a secondary role in the owner's decision. The real reason had also demanded that she call for an emergency meeting of the Knight Sabers. Linna and Nene had arrived an hour after Sylia's telephone call and all four of them, along with Mackie, were now staring at their newest member.
He was slumped in a chair, both hands wrapped around a cup of tea, looking off into space. An air of shock, anger and sadness hung around him like a cloak. The introduction had been made in an air of tension, that coming mostly from Priss. The tautness had dissipated some, but enough hung in the air to make matters uncomfortable.
"What are we going to do with him?" asked Linna in Japanese. She and Nene had listened as Sylia explained what had happened, and the dancer was now apprehensive. "He could be a plant of some type."
"I don't think he is a plant," replied Sylia.
"He looks kind of lonely," said Nene sadly.
Priss tapped the redhead on the top of her head. "Wake up, baka! He isn't a homeless puppy."
Nene turned to glare at her. "I know! It's just that I feel sorry for him."
Linna sighed. "Are you sure he isn't a spy of some sort?"
Sylia sipped some tea. "If Ishmael wanted to destroy us, there is nothing we could have done about it. He know each of us and he showed some abilities I cannot explain in a rational manner."
Mackie motioned to the disinterested guest and asked, "Are you sure he can't understand us?"
"According to Ishmael, he can speak only English, bad Spanish and worse Korean."
"And you believe that twerp?" snarled Priss.
Sylia glanced at the singer. "That 'twerp' translocated you from this apartment into a snowbank seven stories down with just a thought."
Priss glanced down at the borrowed sweatsuit she was wearing. "Don't remind me. If I ever get hold of that -"
"You'll have to wait in line. I think our guest has a stronger claim, assuming Ishmael allows that to happen. But, somehow, I doubt that will transpire anytime soon."
"GENOM might have -"
"No." Sylia took another sip. "Something like a matter transporter is beyond any technology currently available."
"What about this 'time freeze' Ishmael used on him?' asked Mackie, motioning towards Craig again. "Could that have been faked?"
"Ishmael froze him literally in mid-stride. There was no way he could have maintained his balance if he had been faking it."
"We're avoiding the question," snapped Priss. "What are we going to do with him?"
"We keep him."
"What?" Priss shouted, shooting to her feet. "That's stupid!" Everyone, included Craig, looked at her.
"Possibly," replied Sylia. '"But I think keeping him outweighs any other actions."
"What other actions?" asked Linna.
"We could kill him."
"You're not serious!" shrieked Nene, standing up.
Sylia shook her head. "You're right," she said. "Killing him without a good reason would make us as bad as GENOM. But he knows too much about us to simply allow him to leave. So keeping him is the only real option."
"What do we do with him?" asked Nene, sitting down again.
Sylia looked at her brother. "I think you can use an extra hand with Hardsuit maintenance."
Mackie frowned. "Are you sure, Sis?"
"Very . If he is a spy, we can keep him an eye on him. Meanwhile, we will try and find out as much as we can about him. Nene, I was going to use another contact to run his fingerprints, but under the circumstances, I want you to do it."
Nene perked up. "Right!"
"Linna, Ishmael mentioned that he has some martial arts training. I want you to find out what type and how much. If he is a plant, he may try and hide his level of skill. Be aware of that."
Linna nodded. Priss glared at Sylia. "What do you want me to do?"
"I'll give you a choice - you can either follow him, or teach him to speak Japanese."
Priss shot a distrustful look at Craig, who had gone back to staring into space. "I'll follow him," she said flatly.
"So, it is left to me to teach him to speak Japanese," said Sylia.
"I still don't like it."
Sylia shrugged. "I'm not asking you to. For now, consider him a member of the Knight Sabers unless he proves otherwise."
"Where is he going to stay?" asked Linna.
"Mackie, go prepare the guest room. Make sure the phone in there is tapped, just in case."
"Right." He stood. "I'll go do that right now."
As Mackie left, Nene glanced at her watch. "I have to get going - I'm on late shift tonight." She sighed. "I hate working when it's cold and snowy!"
Look at the bright side," said Linna, "At least you're inside. Think of the poor guys who have to patrol tonight."
"The central heating at ADP headquarters is on the fritz again." The redhead looked unhappy. "I'll spend half the shift freezing, the other half in a steam bath!"
"I think you'll survive," remarked Priss with a smirk.
Linna stood up. "I'll drive you home, Nene. Do you need a ride into work?"
Nene nodded glumly. "I just hope it's a quiet night," she muttered.
As the two of them started towards the door, Sylia said suddenly, "Priss, why don't you go and see if Mackie needs any help?"
The singer frowned, but then noticed Sylia's eyes shift to Craig. "Sure." She strolled off towards the guest room.
Sylia stood up and followed the departing pair to the front door. After handing Nene a set of Craig's fingerprints, she let them out. When she came back into the living room, she found Craig where she had left him, still staring off into space. After several more seconds, he looked at her. "Well?" he asked.
"Mackie's opening up the guest room," replied Sylia in English. "You can stay here for the time being."
"So you're not going to shoot me right away?"
"What makes you think I would do that?"
"Some people where I come from think you're somewhat cold-blooded." He gave her a sad smile. "I'm not one of them."
She forced herself to smile. "You realize that it's a bit hard to accept that you're from another time and place."
"Think how I feel. Don't take this the wrong way, but MegaTokyo wasn't high on my places to see."
Sylia hesitated for a heartbeat, then shook her head. "This isn't your fault."
He got up slowly and walked over to the window, the mug of tea still gripped in her hands. "It's Ishmael's fault," he said quietly, the smile fading. "However, since the weasel isn't around to vent my frustration on...." he trailed off and stared out the window.
"You had no idea how you got here?"
"Nope. One moment, I staring up at the stars from my back yard, the next, I'm staggering out of and alley where I was nailed by some yahoo with a red...." He trailed off again and looked at her. "That was you, right?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry, but -"
"Don't apologize for something you didn't do. It's my fault." He sighed. "Murphy strikes again."
Sylia frowned. "Who?"
"Murphy, as in the guy who came up with Murphy's Law: What can go wrong will go wrong." He looked out the window. "Sometimes I think I've a living poster boy for that guy."
"You seem to be taking this calmly."
"Only because I haven't stop to think about it - When I do, I'll be a basket case quicker then a used Yugo."
Sylia frowned, trying to think of what a Yugo was. "Did you leave anyone behind?"
"Mostly family. A few friends. No one else important." He sipped from his mug. "I was between jobs, trying to establish myself in a new career in a new state and...." He stopped. "I won't bore you with my dull life, because there isn't anything to say."
"You can stay here as long as you like."
Craig shrugged. "At least until Nene can confirm or deny my existence."
Sylia looked at him curiously. "Do you expect Nene to find something?"
"I don't know." He turned away from the window. ""Deep thinking regarding parallel dimensions isn't something I've done a lot of. Did I, or do I exist here? And if so, do I want to know?"
"I can't answer that."
"I don't expect you to." He took a deep breath. "I suppose I should apologize to you for dropping in unannounced like I did."
"As I said, that is not your fault."
"So...." He drained the last of the tea from the mug and looked at her again. "How are we going to do this?"
"With you joining the Knight Sabers?"
Craig nodded. "I'm not ready for action like that."
"I didn't think you were. We'll start you off with helping Mackie and Doctor Raven with the hardsuit maintenance and we'll go from there. Once you're comfortable with that, we'll start the combat training."
"That's fine." He looked down at himself. "Looks like Ishmael decided to do some altering before he dropped me off."
"In what way?"
He pointed to his eyes. "I can see you perfectly."
"So?"
"I've worn glasses for over twenty-five years, but I don't seem to need them any more." He waved a hand indicating his body. "I've also appear to have lost forty pounds somewhere between home and here."
"Pounds?"
"About twenty kilograms, to use the metric system." He shrugged. "I never was real comfortable with metric."
"That's been the world standard for decades!"
"Not where I come from. We still used miles, pounds, quarts and Fahrenheit."
"Even the Americans finally converted over to the metric system about 2010."
Craig shrugged. "Like I said, I'm from out of town."
Sylia shook her head slowly. "What skills do you have?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Let's see. Some computer skills that are probably outdated, some little used martial arts skills, half remembered readings from military history and an abrasive personality. That, I think, covers the highlights."
"I see."
"Maybe shooting me would be easier."
The leader of the Knight Sabers gave him a cold stare. "Don't even joke about that," she said in a quiet, yet hard, tone of voice.
Craig's grin faded to a look of discomfort. "I forgot to mention the occasional bouts of foot in mouth. I shouldn't have said that, and I am sorry."
Sylia sighed. "Apology accepted. Why did Ishmael choose you?"
Craig walked towards the chair again and carefully sat down "That is a question I have no answer for." he looked up at her. "I could think of a lot better people for this role, most them having a clue when it comes to warfare. The closest I've ever gotten to combat is reading about it."
"You don't think I chose the others purely for their combat experience, do you?" Sylia sat down and looked him over carefully.
"I don't think so."
She leaned back and continued to watch him. "Each member brings necessary skills to the team. All we need to do is find out what your skills are."
Craig leaned forward and folded his hands. "Do you have tests I can take to find out what these skills are?"
Sylia nodded. "I think I can arrange something."
"That'll be fine. I need to do something more then sit around like some misplaced soothsayer waiting for Bert's Largo to show up so we can kill each other like civilized people." He stood and started pacing behind his chair. "What am I going to do now? I stuck heaven knows where, by a refugee from an episode of Dr. Who! Waiting for a superboomer with delusions of glory so I can take him out like some TV cowboy! Do I get a say in this? No! I mean...."
Sylia let him ramble on, watching him pace and analyzing his movement and body mass. She judged his height to be about seven cementers shorter then her own height, but with a frame that carried a lot more weight, not all of it fat. He moved smoothly, but she noticed his feet were turned out when he stepped, the sure sign of a person who wasn't a sprinter or fast runner. His hands and arms were in constant motion, punctuating his statements.
He wasn't in perfect shape, she noted to herself, but he could be worked into good physical condition with little problem. Mentally, she wasn't as sure. His rambling was more nerves than anything else, but she could sense the anger he still had, along with other emotions that would flash to the surface for a second before melting away again. She decided to try something.
"One of the first things you will need to lean is to speak and read Japanese," she said suddenly.
He stopped and look at her. "Huh?"
"I said, you need to lean Japanese."
"That's what I thought you said. Why?"
Sylia stood. "Most people in the city can speak both English and Japanese," she explained. "The English because of all the international business that is transacted here, and the Japanese for obvious reasons. It's easier to blend into the city's population if you can speak both."
"While any non-native would stand out?"
She nodded. "The less attention you call to yourself, the better."
"I don't know," he replied. "I mean, I have enough problems with English."
"As long as you speak passable Japanese, you should be all right."
"As long as 'passable' is defined loosely," muttered Craig.
"We'll see." Sylia glanced at her watch. "I think Mackie and Priss have had enough time to get the room ready. I'll show you where it is."
"Thank you. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow, we start your training. Tonight, you can have dinner with Mackie and myself. There are some other things we need to discuss."
"You're the Boss."
She gave him a small smile. "There is one thing I do need to ask."
"What?"
"Why is the anime series from your dimension involving the Sabers called 'Bubblegum Crisis'?"
**********
The entity that had called itself Ishmael had returned to its place of nothingness. The other entity was waiting for its return.
[You are breaking the rules!]
*What rules?* asked Ishmael. *He has no special powers or extra knowledge beyond what he was already aware of. He is going to have to work and train hard in order to be the victor.*
[But the money!]
*What of it? We are allowed to support our Avatars by any means other then direct transfer of power, or direct involvement in combat. The money is the best support I can give him in this world and has the benefit of helping the other members of the team.*
[What about Largo?]
*He is starting his own rebuilding, but he will not be ready for some time.*
[So, it is a race then?]
*No. More like a time of building for both sides* Ishmael changed the subject. *Did you manage to shield the Avatar's insertion from our opponent?*
[Not completely,] the other intelligence replied. [It knows we have placed someone into the dimension, but who and exactly where it does not know.] There was fierce pride in its words.
*To hide it completely from our opponent was too great a hope, but you have done well to shield our Avatar's identity.*
[It will be looking for him.]
*It does not have the resources yet. When Largo is repaired, then it will have what it needs. Until then, We have the advantage.*
[What do we do now?]
*We watch and wait.*
**********
Brian J. Mason, special assistant to the Chairman of GENOM, was a careful man. He was also cold-blooded, ambitious, and arrogant, but no one mention those anywhere near him, not if they wanted to continue working for the conglomerate. His lack of anything resembling a sense of humor was well know, as was his habit of eliminating people who he believed might pose a threat to his position.
As a matter of course, Mason preferred to do things himself, in part to make sure the job was done right, but mostly because he was a hands-on type of person. He had always found a solution to any problem that popped up, making him invaluable to the Chairman. Over the years he had handled problems ranging from motorcycle punks trying to blackmail GENOM to misguided scientists who allowed ethics to stand in the way of progress. Mason's record of success was clean and without blemish.
Until now.
Mason stared at the damaged Boomer as it sat in the cylinder, immersed in a fluid that preserved further damage to its systems. He hated unknown factors, and this damaged boomer was a unknown factor.
There was a couple of technicians monitoring the boomer, but they avoided the executive with the cold, flat eyes and the scowl that promised dire retribution if disturbed.
He had retreated to the lab to avoid Madigan's investigation, confident in his knowledge that this was one of the few places in the tower when she couldn't enter. Madigan had started early in the day, and she soon made it clear that Mason's presence was an obstacle that was going to be removed, one way or the other. Mason, knowing she wouldn't find anything, retreated to the lab.
But the lab presented its own problems. The first was the boomer itself. Mason had mentally began to think of it as a superboomer, for even with its damage, it was clearly a superior design to the current models out in the field. If Doctor Ming's report was correct, it was even exceed the most optimistic expectations of the Lazarus designs.
But who built it? Ming was sure it had been GENOM, but that was impossible. To build such a complex cyberdroid, the builders needed expensive equipment and parts - parts that were manufactured in only a few plants, all controlled by GENOM. He had already dispatched teams to check the plants, but they had reported all parts were accounted for. Similar teams had been sent to the handful of boomer manufacturing plants that could possibly do such work had reported no evidence of the superboomer being built there.
Could someone at either the development center or production control center have built this? Unlikely, according to Ming, as some of the superboomer's design was too advanced for anyone to work out without knowledge from Project Lazarus - knowledge that wasn't even completely developed yet.
Mason's scowl deepened. Despite the fact the superboomer was inactive, he felt it laughing at him, mocking his efforts to solve its origin. He stared at it, trying to will it to tell him everything he wanted to know. But the superboomer stayed silent.
Snorting in disgust, he checked his watch. He had spent enough time in here for now. He should probably appear again, to annoy Madigan if for no other reason. Annoyed people could make mistakes, especially if they were given the right stimulant.
Without so much as a glance to the duty technicians, he strode to the door. As he reach it, someone said, [Mason]
"What?" he snarled, turning to give the closest technician a glare.
The man looked at him puzzled. "I didn't say anything to you, sir," he replied, his thin reedy voice sounding nothing like the one that had called Mason's name.
The executive turn his stare at the other technician, who was on the other side of the chamber, too far away for the low voice Mason had heard. After switching his gaze back and forward between the two several times, he turned and stalked out of the lab without saying another word. The two technicians looked at each other before they both shrugged and went back to their monitoring.
Had either one of them looked at the superboomer closely, they might have noticed a faint gleam in its eyes that wasn't a reflection of the light in the lab....
Chapter 4 - "You have been recruited by the Star League to defend the frontier against Xor and the Ko-Dan Armada...."
**************
It was mid afternoon. The snow that threatened the city hadn't begun to fall, but it was only a matter of time. The menace did have the effect of keeping traffic to a minimum, limited construction work and forced a large number of stores to remain closed.
The Silky Doll was one of those stores that had remained closed for the day, though the weather played a secondary role in the owner's decision. The real reason had also demanded that she call for an emergency meeting of the Knight Sabers. Linna and Nene had arrived an hour after Sylia's telephone call and all four of them, along with Mackie, were now staring at their newest member.
He was slumped in a chair, both hands wrapped around a cup of tea, looking off into space. An air of shock, anger and sadness hung around him like a cloak. The introduction had been made in an air of tension, that coming mostly from Priss. The tautness had dissipated some, but enough hung in the air to make matters uncomfortable.
"What are we going to do with him?" asked Linna in Japanese. She and Nene had listened as Sylia explained what had happened, and the dancer was now apprehensive. "He could be a plant of some type."
"I don't think he is a plant," replied Sylia.
"He looks kind of lonely," said Nene sadly.
Priss tapped the redhead on the top of her head. "Wake up, baka! He isn't a homeless puppy."
Nene turned to glare at her. "I know! It's just that I feel sorry for him."
Linna sighed. "Are you sure he isn't a spy of some sort?"
Sylia sipped some tea. "If Ishmael wanted to destroy us, there is nothing we could have done about it. He know each of us and he showed some abilities I cannot explain in a rational manner."
Mackie motioned to the disinterested guest and asked, "Are you sure he can't understand us?"
"According to Ishmael, he can speak only English, bad Spanish and worse Korean."
"And you believe that twerp?" snarled Priss.
Sylia glanced at the singer. "That 'twerp' translocated you from this apartment into a snowbank seven stories down with just a thought."
Priss glanced down at the borrowed sweatsuit she was wearing. "Don't remind me. If I ever get hold of that -"
"You'll have to wait in line. I think our guest has a stronger claim, assuming Ishmael allows that to happen. But, somehow, I doubt that will transpire anytime soon."
"GENOM might have -"
"No." Sylia took another sip. "Something like a matter transporter is beyond any technology currently available."
"What about this 'time freeze' Ishmael used on him?' asked Mackie, motioning towards Craig again. "Could that have been faked?"
"Ishmael froze him literally in mid-stride. There was no way he could have maintained his balance if he had been faking it."
"We're avoiding the question," snapped Priss. "What are we going to do with him?"
"We keep him."
"What?" Priss shouted, shooting to her feet. "That's stupid!" Everyone, included Craig, looked at her.
"Possibly," replied Sylia. '"But I think keeping him outweighs any other actions."
"What other actions?" asked Linna.
"We could kill him."
"You're not serious!" shrieked Nene, standing up.
Sylia shook her head. "You're right," she said. "Killing him without a good reason would make us as bad as GENOM. But he knows too much about us to simply allow him to leave. So keeping him is the only real option."
"What do we do with him?" asked Nene, sitting down again.
Sylia looked at her brother. "I think you can use an extra hand with Hardsuit maintenance."
Mackie frowned. "Are you sure, Sis?"
"Very . If he is a spy, we can keep him an eye on him. Meanwhile, we will try and find out as much as we can about him. Nene, I was going to use another contact to run his fingerprints, but under the circumstances, I want you to do it."
Nene perked up. "Right!"
"Linna, Ishmael mentioned that he has some martial arts training. I want you to find out what type and how much. If he is a plant, he may try and hide his level of skill. Be aware of that."
Linna nodded. Priss glared at Sylia. "What do you want me to do?"
"I'll give you a choice - you can either follow him, or teach him to speak Japanese."
Priss shot a distrustful look at Craig, who had gone back to staring into space. "I'll follow him," she said flatly.
"So, it is left to me to teach him to speak Japanese," said Sylia.
"I still don't like it."
Sylia shrugged. "I'm not asking you to. For now, consider him a member of the Knight Sabers unless he proves otherwise."
"Where is he going to stay?" asked Linna.
"Mackie, go prepare the guest room. Make sure the phone in there is tapped, just in case."
"Right." He stood. "I'll go do that right now."
As Mackie left, Nene glanced at her watch. "I have to get going - I'm on late shift tonight." She sighed. "I hate working when it's cold and snowy!"
Look at the bright side," said Linna, "At least you're inside. Think of the poor guys who have to patrol tonight."
"The central heating at ADP headquarters is on the fritz again." The redhead looked unhappy. "I'll spend half the shift freezing, the other half in a steam bath!"
"I think you'll survive," remarked Priss with a smirk.
Linna stood up. "I'll drive you home, Nene. Do you need a ride into work?"
Nene nodded glumly. "I just hope it's a quiet night," she muttered.
As the two of them started towards the door, Sylia said suddenly, "Priss, why don't you go and see if Mackie needs any help?"
The singer frowned, but then noticed Sylia's eyes shift to Craig. "Sure." She strolled off towards the guest room.
Sylia stood up and followed the departing pair to the front door. After handing Nene a set of Craig's fingerprints, she let them out. When she came back into the living room, she found Craig where she had left him, still staring off into space. After several more seconds, he looked at her. "Well?" he asked.
"Mackie's opening up the guest room," replied Sylia in English. "You can stay here for the time being."
"So you're not going to shoot me right away?"
"What makes you think I would do that?"
"Some people where I come from think you're somewhat cold-blooded." He gave her a sad smile. "I'm not one of them."
She forced herself to smile. "You realize that it's a bit hard to accept that you're from another time and place."
"Think how I feel. Don't take this the wrong way, but MegaTokyo wasn't high on my places to see."
Sylia hesitated for a heartbeat, then shook her head. "This isn't your fault."
He got up slowly and walked over to the window, the mug of tea still gripped in her hands. "It's Ishmael's fault," he said quietly, the smile fading. "However, since the weasel isn't around to vent my frustration on...." he trailed off and stared out the window.
"You had no idea how you got here?"
"Nope. One moment, I staring up at the stars from my back yard, the next, I'm staggering out of and alley where I was nailed by some yahoo with a red...." He trailed off again and looked at her. "That was you, right?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry, but -"
"Don't apologize for something you didn't do. It's my fault." He sighed. "Murphy strikes again."
Sylia frowned. "Who?"
"Murphy, as in the guy who came up with Murphy's Law: What can go wrong will go wrong." He looked out the window. "Sometimes I think I've a living poster boy for that guy."
"You seem to be taking this calmly."
"Only because I haven't stop to think about it - When I do, I'll be a basket case quicker then a used Yugo."
Sylia frowned, trying to think of what a Yugo was. "Did you leave anyone behind?"
"Mostly family. A few friends. No one else important." He sipped from his mug. "I was between jobs, trying to establish myself in a new career in a new state and...." He stopped. "I won't bore you with my dull life, because there isn't anything to say."
"You can stay here as long as you like."
Craig shrugged. "At least until Nene can confirm or deny my existence."
Sylia looked at him curiously. "Do you expect Nene to find something?"
"I don't know." He turned away from the window. ""Deep thinking regarding parallel dimensions isn't something I've done a lot of. Did I, or do I exist here? And if so, do I want to know?"
"I can't answer that."
"I don't expect you to." He took a deep breath. "I suppose I should apologize to you for dropping in unannounced like I did."
"As I said, that is not your fault."
"So...." He drained the last of the tea from the mug and looked at her again. "How are we going to do this?"
"With you joining the Knight Sabers?"
Craig nodded. "I'm not ready for action like that."
"I didn't think you were. We'll start you off with helping Mackie and Doctor Raven with the hardsuit maintenance and we'll go from there. Once you're comfortable with that, we'll start the combat training."
"That's fine." He looked down at himself. "Looks like Ishmael decided to do some altering before he dropped me off."
"In what way?"
He pointed to his eyes. "I can see you perfectly."
"So?"
"I've worn glasses for over twenty-five years, but I don't seem to need them any more." He waved a hand indicating his body. "I've also appear to have lost forty pounds somewhere between home and here."
"Pounds?"
"About twenty kilograms, to use the metric system." He shrugged. "I never was real comfortable with metric."
"That's been the world standard for decades!"
"Not where I come from. We still used miles, pounds, quarts and Fahrenheit."
"Even the Americans finally converted over to the metric system about 2010."
Craig shrugged. "Like I said, I'm from out of town."
Sylia shook her head slowly. "What skills do you have?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Let's see. Some computer skills that are probably outdated, some little used martial arts skills, half remembered readings from military history and an abrasive personality. That, I think, covers the highlights."
"I see."
"Maybe shooting me would be easier."
The leader of the Knight Sabers gave him a cold stare. "Don't even joke about that," she said in a quiet, yet hard, tone of voice.
Craig's grin faded to a look of discomfort. "I forgot to mention the occasional bouts of foot in mouth. I shouldn't have said that, and I am sorry."
Sylia sighed. "Apology accepted. Why did Ishmael choose you?"
Craig walked towards the chair again and carefully sat down "That is a question I have no answer for." he looked up at her. "I could think of a lot better people for this role, most them having a clue when it comes to warfare. The closest I've ever gotten to combat is reading about it."
"You don't think I chose the others purely for their combat experience, do you?" Sylia sat down and looked him over carefully.
"I don't think so."
She leaned back and continued to watch him. "Each member brings necessary skills to the team. All we need to do is find out what your skills are."
Craig leaned forward and folded his hands. "Do you have tests I can take to find out what these skills are?"
Sylia nodded. "I think I can arrange something."
"That'll be fine. I need to do something more then sit around like some misplaced soothsayer waiting for Bert's Largo to show up so we can kill each other like civilized people." He stood and started pacing behind his chair. "What am I going to do now? I stuck heaven knows where, by a refugee from an episode of Dr. Who! Waiting for a superboomer with delusions of glory so I can take him out like some TV cowboy! Do I get a say in this? No! I mean...."
Sylia let him ramble on, watching him pace and analyzing his movement and body mass. She judged his height to be about seven cementers shorter then her own height, but with a frame that carried a lot more weight, not all of it fat. He moved smoothly, but she noticed his feet were turned out when he stepped, the sure sign of a person who wasn't a sprinter or fast runner. His hands and arms were in constant motion, punctuating his statements.
He wasn't in perfect shape, she noted to herself, but he could be worked into good physical condition with little problem. Mentally, she wasn't as sure. His rambling was more nerves than anything else, but she could sense the anger he still had, along with other emotions that would flash to the surface for a second before melting away again. She decided to try something.
"One of the first things you will need to lean is to speak and read Japanese," she said suddenly.
He stopped and look at her. "Huh?"
"I said, you need to lean Japanese."
"That's what I thought you said. Why?"
Sylia stood. "Most people in the city can speak both English and Japanese," she explained. "The English because of all the international business that is transacted here, and the Japanese for obvious reasons. It's easier to blend into the city's population if you can speak both."
"While any non-native would stand out?"
She nodded. "The less attention you call to yourself, the better."
"I don't know," he replied. "I mean, I have enough problems with English."
"As long as you speak passable Japanese, you should be all right."
"As long as 'passable' is defined loosely," muttered Craig.
"We'll see." Sylia glanced at her watch. "I think Mackie and Priss have had enough time to get the room ready. I'll show you where it is."
"Thank you. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow, we start your training. Tonight, you can have dinner with Mackie and myself. There are some other things we need to discuss."
"You're the Boss."
She gave him a small smile. "There is one thing I do need to ask."
"What?"
"Why is the anime series from your dimension involving the Sabers called 'Bubblegum Crisis'?"
**********
The entity that had called itself Ishmael had returned to its place of nothingness. The other entity was waiting for its return.
[You are breaking the rules!]
*What rules?* asked Ishmael. *He has no special powers or extra knowledge beyond what he was already aware of. He is going to have to work and train hard in order to be the victor.*
[But the money!]
*What of it? We are allowed to support our Avatars by any means other then direct transfer of power, or direct involvement in combat. The money is the best support I can give him in this world and has the benefit of helping the other members of the team.*
[What about Largo?]
*He is starting his own rebuilding, but he will not be ready for some time.*
[So, it is a race then?]
*No. More like a time of building for both sides* Ishmael changed the subject. *Did you manage to shield the Avatar's insertion from our opponent?*
[Not completely,] the other intelligence replied. [It knows we have placed someone into the dimension, but who and exactly where it does not know.] There was fierce pride in its words.
*To hide it completely from our opponent was too great a hope, but you have done well to shield our Avatar's identity.*
[It will be looking for him.]
*It does not have the resources yet. When Largo is repaired, then it will have what it needs. Until then, We have the advantage.*
[What do we do now?]
*We watch and wait.*
**********
Brian J. Mason, special assistant to the Chairman of GENOM, was a careful man. He was also cold-blooded, ambitious, and arrogant, but no one mention those anywhere near him, not if they wanted to continue working for the conglomerate. His lack of anything resembling a sense of humor was well know, as was his habit of eliminating people who he believed might pose a threat to his position.
As a matter of course, Mason preferred to do things himself, in part to make sure the job was done right, but mostly because he was a hands-on type of person. He had always found a solution to any problem that popped up, making him invaluable to the Chairman. Over the years he had handled problems ranging from motorcycle punks trying to blackmail GENOM to misguided scientists who allowed ethics to stand in the way of progress. Mason's record of success was clean and without blemish.
Until now.
Mason stared at the damaged Boomer as it sat in the cylinder, immersed in a fluid that preserved further damage to its systems. He hated unknown factors, and this damaged boomer was a unknown factor.
There was a couple of technicians monitoring the boomer, but they avoided the executive with the cold, flat eyes and the scowl that promised dire retribution if disturbed.
He had retreated to the lab to avoid Madigan's investigation, confident in his knowledge that this was one of the few places in the tower when she couldn't enter. Madigan had started early in the day, and she soon made it clear that Mason's presence was an obstacle that was going to be removed, one way or the other. Mason, knowing she wouldn't find anything, retreated to the lab.
But the lab presented its own problems. The first was the boomer itself. Mason had mentally began to think of it as a superboomer, for even with its damage, it was clearly a superior design to the current models out in the field. If Doctor Ming's report was correct, it was even exceed the most optimistic expectations of the Lazarus designs.
But who built it? Ming was sure it had been GENOM, but that was impossible. To build such a complex cyberdroid, the builders needed expensive equipment and parts - parts that were manufactured in only a few plants, all controlled by GENOM. He had already dispatched teams to check the plants, but they had reported all parts were accounted for. Similar teams had been sent to the handful of boomer manufacturing plants that could possibly do such work had reported no evidence of the superboomer being built there.
Could someone at either the development center or production control center have built this? Unlikely, according to Ming, as some of the superboomer's design was too advanced for anyone to work out without knowledge from Project Lazarus - knowledge that wasn't even completely developed yet.
Mason's scowl deepened. Despite the fact the superboomer was inactive, he felt it laughing at him, mocking his efforts to solve its origin. He stared at it, trying to will it to tell him everything he wanted to know. But the superboomer stayed silent.
Snorting in disgust, he checked his watch. He had spent enough time in here for now. He should probably appear again, to annoy Madigan if for no other reason. Annoyed people could make mistakes, especially if they were given the right stimulant.
Without so much as a glance to the duty technicians, he strode to the door. As he reach it, someone said, [Mason]
"What?" he snarled, turning to give the closest technician a glare.
The man looked at him puzzled. "I didn't say anything to you, sir," he replied, his thin reedy voice sounding nothing like the one that had called Mason's name.
The executive turn his stare at the other technician, who was on the other side of the chamber, too far away for the low voice Mason had heard. After switching his gaze back and forward between the two several times, he turned and stalked out of the lab without saying another word. The two technicians looked at each other before they both shrugged and went back to their monitoring.
Had either one of them looked at the superboomer closely, they might have noticed a faint gleam in its eyes that wasn't a reflection of the light in the lab....