Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Bubblegum Avatar #2 – "Born to be Killed" ❯ Chapter 18 - “A Dark Time of the Soul” ( Chapter 18 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Trboturtle 
The aftermath of the battle....
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.01.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.5K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Work In Progress
The aftermath of the battle....
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.01.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.5K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Work In Progress
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Chapter 18 - “A Dark Time of the Soul”
**************
Linna watched as a pair of surgical-garbed figures worked on Irene.
They were in the base under Raven’s Garage, in a seldom used area. Sylia had recognized that sometimes going to a hospital to be treated for injuries was out of the question. When she had designed the base, she had included a small, but well-equipped, surgery for serious injuries. Linna was watching through a large window from a viewing room next to the surgery.
It had been three hours since they had wheeled Irene into the surgery and started working on saving her life. Linna closed her eyes and shuddered as she recalled the images of the bloody mess that had been her friend’s face.
“How’s it going?” Nene asked. She was curled up in one of the trio of chairs in the room. She looked pale and tired. She had pretended to be sick and left early from work, but had come over here after stopping home to change back into civilian clothes.
“I don’t know,” Linna replied, not looking at her teammate.
Mackie walked into the room. “The reports of the attack are all over the airwaves,” he said. “How’s Irene doing?”
“We don’t know,” Nene replied. Mackie went over to the redhead and knelt next to her. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m all right, but I’m concerned about Craig.”
Linna turned to look at them. “Where is he?”
Mackie pointed a thumb towards the corridor. “He’s in the infirmary,” he said. “Sedated and strapped down.”
“How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Sylia doesn’t want to take any chances with him right now.”
“You don’t think he’d do something stupid, would he?” Nene asked.
Mackie gave her a shrug as he looked at her. “I’ve got the garage and the armory locked down,” he replied.
“Where’s Priss?”
“She’s up in the garage, keeping an eye on the security cameras, just in case.”
Just then, there was a tap on the window. All three looked at the green-clad figure standing there. Linna strode over to the window and pushed a button attached to a small speaker set in the wall next to the window. “How is she?” she asked.
Sylia’s voice was tired. “She’s stable for now, but the next twenty-four hours are going to be critical. Even if she survives, she’s going to need extensive reconstruction surgery.” She looked over at Nene. “Nene, I want you to extract the recording data from Craig’s hardsuit.”
“I don’t think he had a choice,” Linna said, “If he had waited any longer, Irene would have been killed.”
“I want to make my own decision on that. Until then, I’m downgrading him to reserve status. How is he, Mackie?”
“Still out,” the younger Stingray replied. “I’ve never seen him react like that before.”
“Linna, go with Mackie and check on Craig. I want him able to talk coherently when the time comes.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Linna asked.
“I think it’s the best course of action for now.”
“Right.” Mackie and Nene left the room. Linna followed, but not until she had taken a long look at the girl on the surgery table. Sylia watched them leave before she turned to the other green clad figure in the operation room. “What do you think, Doctor Raven?”
“She has a chance,” The old man replied. “That’s more then either female assassin boomer would have given her.”
“I know, but I think I’ve failed.”
“You haven’t failed. She still alive.”
Sylia nodded. “But at what cost?”
“To who, her or Craig?”
*****
The infirmary was quiet. Craig laid on a bed, still in his innersuit, strapped to the bed at the wrists, chest and ankles. His face was swollen and bruised, and the rest of his body looked to be much the same. He was breathing slow and steady and Linna could see rapid eye movement indicating he was dreaming.
Linna grimaced as she saw him lying there. “I didn’t realize he was that badly hurt,” she said.
“His suit is a total loss,” Mackie said. “Too much of it was either ruptured or too dented to repair. I’m actually surprised it was still functioning. It’s not optimized for hand to hand combat.”
“What happened to him what Sylia told you ‘Delta Black?’” Linna asked.
Mackie looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I should say,” he replied.
“If Sylia has something in our hardsuits we don’t know about, I –“
”Not in all the hardsuits,” Mackie said quickly. “Just Craig’s.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a chip in Craig’s hardsuit designed to cut all power to the hardsuit, lock the joints, and hit him with a dose of a fast-acting knock out drug, in case something happened.”
“Like Craig turning against us?”
“Or if he went rogue. You saw how he acted tonight. He was crazy.”
“I know.” Linna walked over to the bed and looked down at him. “He had a tough night.”
“Yeah,” Mackie said. “Priss said he’d gone hand to hand with an assassin boomer at the safe house. That’s why his radio was out.”
“What are his injuries?”
“A lot of bruising, a couple of cracked ribs, maybe a mild concussion. It’s best right now he rest. I’ve already injected him with a dose of nanites to speed the healing process. He should be better in the morning.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“We’d better leave him alone for now. We can’t do anything more for him.”
“You’re right.” Linna’s shoulders sagged. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Hey,” Mackie said softly. “You all right?”
She waved him off. “I’m fine,” she insisted.
“I don’t think so. Has anyone looked you over yet? You did get knocked around in that crash.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, but she leaned against the foot of Craig’s bed.
“As Craig would say, ‘Bull.’ I think you should lay down until Sis looks you over.”
“I’m more worried about Irene.”
“Worry about yourself first. Let Sylia and Doctor Raven worry about Irene.” Taking her firmly by the arm, he guided her to another bed. “Just rest until Sylia has a chance to make sure you’re okay. I’ll go get her.”
Linna flopped down on the bed. “I’m fine,” she repeated yet again.
“Let Sis make one hundred percent sure.” He lifted Linna’s legs onto the bed. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.” He walked quickly out of the infirmary.
Linna looked over at Craig. “I wonder what you’re dreaming about?” she asked aloud.
*****
Craig opened his eyes and found himself lying on grass and staring up into a clear blue sky.
“That’s not right,” he said out loud.
“Depends,” said a familiar male voice. “Would you care for some tea?” Craig lifted his head and saw Ishmael sitting at a small table, a teacup and saucer in his hands. He was wearing a somber suit and tie. A fedora sat on the table next to him.
“Am I dead?” Craig asked.
“No,” Ishmael replied. “You were roughed up in tonight’s operation, but your physical wounds are not serious.”
Craig got up slowly, expecting to feel the pain he knew was there, but was surprised when he felt nothing. “I don’t feel like I’m hurting.”
“That is because this is not real. Well, it is not as real as you are use to.”
“Huh?”
“The best way to describe is that this,“ He motioned around him, “is your subconsciousness.”
Craig looked around. The area around him was reminiscent of an English garden, with a rich green lawn, rose bushes, and neatly trimmed hedges. Ishmael sat in a comfortable chair. Across the table was another chair.
“I don’t recall this in my subconsciousness,” Craig said.
“Well, I am borrowing a small section of this for this conversation,” the Guardian replied. “Please, have a seat.”
Craig want over to the empty chair and slumped into it. A large mug of tea appeared on the table next to him. “Am I dreaming?” he asked. “I mean, you’re some part of my mind taking on the form of Ishmael, right?”
Ishmael shook his head slowly. “I am not some figment of your imagination. I thought this would be a good time to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About Miss Irene Chang.”
“Oh yeah,” Craig said bitterly. “The girl I nearly killed.”
“But you did not kill her. You saved her from a rather brutal death.”
“By nearly killing her myself?”
“You did not have much of a choice.”
Craig slammed his hand on the table. The mug jumped, but not a drop of tea was spilt. “I should have!”
“Life does not always give you a choice. You know that.”
“I know. How badly is she hurt?”
“She will survive, though the recovery will be long and difficult.”
“Shit!” Craig snarled, slapping the table again. “I should have been quicker!”
“You are blaming yourself for something you could not control.” Ishmael took a sip from his teacup. “Let’s review your evening. First, you had a confrontation with an assassin boomer, a machine designed to kill. You fought the boomer in savage hand to hand combat, were thrown into a wall, then both of you went through that same wall. Then you and Miss Asagiri managed to escape from the building, narrowly avoiding being caught in the demolition of that same building. With me so far?”
“Yes,” Craig growled.
“You then raced through narrow streets at a speed that only Miss Asagiri considers ‘safe.’ and were forced to take a difficult shot under some extreme conditions. You were under a great deal of stress, yet you managed to complete your tasks. After that, you killed two Boomers by yourself, though the. . . intensity was a bit surprising.”
“I lost my temper.”
“I noticed,” Ishmael replied “Besides that, most would say that you did very well tonight.”
“I’m not one of them,” Craig muttered.
“The only reason why Irene Chang is still alive is because of you.” He sipped his tea again.
“Oh she’s alive,” Craig replied bitterly. “But in spite of me, not because of me.”
“If you had not fired when you did, she would have died. And you would have then been blaming yourself for not being fast enough.”
Craig leaned back and exhaled slowly. “I thought I had killed her,” he said quietly.
“You saved her,” Ishmael replied softly. “It was not a perfect outcome, nor the one I would have preferred, but Irene Chang and her fiancé are still alive. That is something to be satisfied about.”
Craig nodded. “Does Kwan know about Irene?”
“Not yet, though Miss Stingray is making plans to do so. She wants to make sure that Miss Chang is recovering before she brings them together. Drink your tea.”
Craig picked up the mug and downed half the contents in one gulp. He held the mug in both hands and stared into it. “Aren’t you going to tell me to stop moping and get back to the job?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re my boss?”
“Your boss?” Ishmael’s eyebrow rose. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you brought me here, pay me, and sent me after a cybernetic psycho?”
“I have placed you here, compensated you for your time or trouble, and given you a general task, but Miss Stingray has more of a command influence over you then I do. I dislike micro-managing my Avatars, and while I do talk to them, it is up to them to decide what they are going to do.”
“So you’re telling me that I should be telling myself to stop moping and get back to the job?”
“That is up to you. But remember that Irene Chang is still alive. That is more then can be said in most parallel dimensions to this one. Also remember that Jeremy Kwan is still alive, something that occurs in even fewer dimensions. To my knowledge, less then a half dozen dimensional time lines see Irene Chang and Jeremy Kwan live long enough to wed.”
Craig looked at him. “I don’t think they’ll thank me at the wedding.”
“At least they will not be blaming you at a funeral.” Ishmael took another sip of tea. ‘There were mistakes made, true, but nothing that will cause long term damage.”
“Only if you consider the bride not having a face a minor detail.”
“The body can heal, and Irene is young and fit. Miss Stingray knows a few reconstruction surgeons that will be discreet when it comes time to give Irene a new face.”
“I suppose so.” the two of them sat in silence for a few seconds, then Craig asked, “Why did you chose me for this?”
“To be my Avatar here and now?”
“Yeah. And no BS about prior knowledge or skills. Why me?”
“Because you care.”
Craig looked at him blankly. “Huh?”
Ishmael took another sip of tea. “Because under that cynical shell of yours is someone who does care. Cares about his friends and people who need his help. Cares about making a difference in a world that needs it. Cares enough to face an enemy who could kill him.”
“Like I had a choice.”
“You did. You could have said no, stayed in your apartment and never come out. You could have challenged and argued with Sylia on every move she makes. You could have gone after Largo yourself. You could have done a lot of things, but you didn’t. You became a team member, doing the tasks assigned to you with great skill and ability. You let your opinions known, but you follow Sylia’s orders. You train hard and act as a gentleman should because you know the team depends on you and you on them.”
“So I play well with others. So what?”
“So most men are not willing to take orders from a woman,” Ishmael said.
“Most women can’t kick my ass up around my ears if she so chose to,” Craig replied.
The Guardian smiled. “That may be true. However, I am well satisfied with your work to date. There have been a few. . . rough spots, like tonight’s temper tantrum, but you have acted for the most part as I expected you to.”
“Gee, thanks,” Craig retorted. “Do I get a raise?”
“A small one may be in order.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t.” Craig glared at him. Ishmael pulled out a pocket watch. “I’m afraid out time here is just about up,” he said, replacing the pocket watch in a vest pocket. “I do have one last bit of information you should be aware of. Mason have been very busy at that abandoned factory of his. While he has only one black box constructed and ready to go, he has several choices for which boomer to put it in.”
“More then one bo....” Craig’s face slacken in surprise and shock. “You mean –“
”Just as I have said.” The Guardian stood and removed the pocket watch again. He placed it into Craig’s hand. “I will need this back,” he said.
Then the garden faded and went black.
*****
Sylia has given Linna a quick examination and found her a bit bruised, a stiff neck and a very mild concussion. After a short and half hearted argument, Linna agreed to lie down and get some rest, but only if Sylia would keep her appraised of any change in her friend’s condition. Linna laid down and quickly fell asleep. Sylia gave Craig a quick check, then left them there.
When Sylia checked on Craig and Linna a couple of hours later, she found them resting comfortably. Just as she turned to leave, she caught a glimmer out of the corner of her eye. She turned back toward Craig’s bed, noting the glimmer had come from something in his hand. She strode over and inspected the restraints. They were still intact and tight, so she checked the item in Craig’s right hand. The item was held loosely, so she had no problem removing it.
It was a pocket watch, a little larger then most she had seen, metallic gold in color, with intricate etchings along the face. She frowned. Where had this come from? She had never seen it before, and Craig, still unconscious, had been brought here directly after their return, so it was doubtful he had picked it up somewhere along the way. She was also certain it had not been there the last time she had checked on him.
Carefully, she opened it, there was a piece of paper, folded and neatly placed in the small space made by the watch’s cover. With a finger, she pried the piece of paper out, and placed the watch on Craig’s chest. She unfolded the paper and scanned the contents.
Miss Stingray,
I have had a short discussion with Mister Reed
over his actions tonight. As you might have gathered, he
is somewhat upset, but I think you will find him a little
more in control when he wakes up.
As for Miss Chang, should the need arise, I will be
willing to help. I would prefer that human medical technology
be allowed to have its chance to relieve her problems, but if
they fail to fully heal her, I will step in and finish the healing.
(Please do not tell Mister Reed about this, as he will see it as
meddling.)
Also, I have informed Mister Reed about some data
regarding the abandoned plant where the Superboomer is
supposed to be. I will let him inform you about that, so I
suggest you take no action until he wakes up.
Ishmael
Sylia sighed. It appeared that Craig’s unusual ‘employer’ was still around, if not actually visibly active. Linna had told her about the fortune cookies at the dinner, but this was the first evidence she had that Ishmael was still involved. She glanced over at the pocket watch, only to find it had disappeared. She looked around the bed, but there was no sign of it. She glanced down at the paper again and found something had been added to the note.
PS – It is MY pocket watch. . . .
Sylia signed again. She needed to look over the footage from Craig’s data recorder, but first, she needed something for the headache that was beginning to form between her eyes. . . .
Chapter 18 - “A Dark Time of the Soul”
**************
Linna watched as a pair of surgical-garbed figures worked on Irene.
They were in the base under Raven’s Garage, in a seldom used area. Sylia had recognized that sometimes going to a hospital to be treated for injuries was out of the question. When she had designed the base, she had included a small, but well-equipped, surgery for serious injuries. Linna was watching through a large window from a viewing room next to the surgery.
It had been three hours since they had wheeled Irene into the surgery and started working on saving her life. Linna closed her eyes and shuddered as she recalled the images of the bloody mess that had been her friend’s face.
“How’s it going?” Nene asked. She was curled up in one of the trio of chairs in the room. She looked pale and tired. She had pretended to be sick and left early from work, but had come over here after stopping home to change back into civilian clothes.
“I don’t know,” Linna replied, not looking at her teammate.
Mackie walked into the room. “The reports of the attack are all over the airwaves,” he said. “How’s Irene doing?”
“We don’t know,” Nene replied. Mackie went over to the redhead and knelt next to her. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m all right, but I’m concerned about Craig.”
Linna turned to look at them. “Where is he?”
Mackie pointed a thumb towards the corridor. “He’s in the infirmary,” he said. “Sedated and strapped down.”
“How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Sylia doesn’t want to take any chances with him right now.”
“You don’t think he’d do something stupid, would he?” Nene asked.
Mackie gave her a shrug as he looked at her. “I’ve got the garage and the armory locked down,” he replied.
“Where’s Priss?”
“She’s up in the garage, keeping an eye on the security cameras, just in case.”
Just then, there was a tap on the window. All three looked at the green-clad figure standing there. Linna strode over to the window and pushed a button attached to a small speaker set in the wall next to the window. “How is she?” she asked.
Sylia’s voice was tired. “She’s stable for now, but the next twenty-four hours are going to be critical. Even if she survives, she’s going to need extensive reconstruction surgery.” She looked over at Nene. “Nene, I want you to extract the recording data from Craig’s hardsuit.”
“I don’t think he had a choice,” Linna said, “If he had waited any longer, Irene would have been killed.”
“I want to make my own decision on that. Until then, I’m downgrading him to reserve status. How is he, Mackie?”
“Still out,” the younger Stingray replied. “I’ve never seen him react like that before.”
“Linna, go with Mackie and check on Craig. I want him able to talk coherently when the time comes.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Linna asked.
“I think it’s the best course of action for now.”
“Right.” Mackie and Nene left the room. Linna followed, but not until she had taken a long look at the girl on the surgery table. Sylia watched them leave before she turned to the other green clad figure in the operation room. “What do you think, Doctor Raven?”
“She has a chance,” The old man replied. “That’s more then either female assassin boomer would have given her.”
“I know, but I think I’ve failed.”
“You haven’t failed. She still alive.”
Sylia nodded. “But at what cost?”
“To who, her or Craig?”
*****
The infirmary was quiet. Craig laid on a bed, still in his innersuit, strapped to the bed at the wrists, chest and ankles. His face was swollen and bruised, and the rest of his body looked to be much the same. He was breathing slow and steady and Linna could see rapid eye movement indicating he was dreaming.
Linna grimaced as she saw him lying there. “I didn’t realize he was that badly hurt,” she said.
“His suit is a total loss,” Mackie said. “Too much of it was either ruptured or too dented to repair. I’m actually surprised it was still functioning. It’s not optimized for hand to hand combat.”
“What happened to him what Sylia told you ‘Delta Black?’” Linna asked.
Mackie looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I should say,” he replied.
“If Sylia has something in our hardsuits we don’t know about, I –“
”Not in all the hardsuits,” Mackie said quickly. “Just Craig’s.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a chip in Craig’s hardsuit designed to cut all power to the hardsuit, lock the joints, and hit him with a dose of a fast-acting knock out drug, in case something happened.”
“Like Craig turning against us?”
“Or if he went rogue. You saw how he acted tonight. He was crazy.”
“I know.” Linna walked over to the bed and looked down at him. “He had a tough night.”
“Yeah,” Mackie said. “Priss said he’d gone hand to hand with an assassin boomer at the safe house. That’s why his radio was out.”
“What are his injuries?”
“A lot of bruising, a couple of cracked ribs, maybe a mild concussion. It’s best right now he rest. I’ve already injected him with a dose of nanites to speed the healing process. He should be better in the morning.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“We’d better leave him alone for now. We can’t do anything more for him.”
“You’re right.” Linna’s shoulders sagged. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Hey,” Mackie said softly. “You all right?”
She waved him off. “I’m fine,” she insisted.
“I don’t think so. Has anyone looked you over yet? You did get knocked around in that crash.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, but she leaned against the foot of Craig’s bed.
“As Craig would say, ‘Bull.’ I think you should lay down until Sis looks you over.”
“I’m more worried about Irene.”
“Worry about yourself first. Let Sylia and Doctor Raven worry about Irene.” Taking her firmly by the arm, he guided her to another bed. “Just rest until Sylia has a chance to make sure you’re okay. I’ll go get her.”
Linna flopped down on the bed. “I’m fine,” she repeated yet again.
“Let Sis make one hundred percent sure.” He lifted Linna’s legs onto the bed. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.” He walked quickly out of the infirmary.
Linna looked over at Craig. “I wonder what you’re dreaming about?” she asked aloud.
*****
Craig opened his eyes and found himself lying on grass and staring up into a clear blue sky.
“That’s not right,” he said out loud.
“Depends,” said a familiar male voice. “Would you care for some tea?” Craig lifted his head and saw Ishmael sitting at a small table, a teacup and saucer in his hands. He was wearing a somber suit and tie. A fedora sat on the table next to him.
“Am I dead?” Craig asked.
“No,” Ishmael replied. “You were roughed up in tonight’s operation, but your physical wounds are not serious.”
Craig got up slowly, expecting to feel the pain he knew was there, but was surprised when he felt nothing. “I don’t feel like I’m hurting.”
“That is because this is not real. Well, it is not as real as you are use to.”
“Huh?”
“The best way to describe is that this,“ He motioned around him, “is your subconsciousness.”
Craig looked around. The area around him was reminiscent of an English garden, with a rich green lawn, rose bushes, and neatly trimmed hedges. Ishmael sat in a comfortable chair. Across the table was another chair.
“I don’t recall this in my subconsciousness,” Craig said.
“Well, I am borrowing a small section of this for this conversation,” the Guardian replied. “Please, have a seat.”
Craig want over to the empty chair and slumped into it. A large mug of tea appeared on the table next to him. “Am I dreaming?” he asked. “I mean, you’re some part of my mind taking on the form of Ishmael, right?”
Ishmael shook his head slowly. “I am not some figment of your imagination. I thought this would be a good time to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About Miss Irene Chang.”
“Oh yeah,” Craig said bitterly. “The girl I nearly killed.”
“But you did not kill her. You saved her from a rather brutal death.”
“By nearly killing her myself?”
“You did not have much of a choice.”
Craig slammed his hand on the table. The mug jumped, but not a drop of tea was spilt. “I should have!”
“Life does not always give you a choice. You know that.”
“I know. How badly is she hurt?”
“She will survive, though the recovery will be long and difficult.”
“Shit!” Craig snarled, slapping the table again. “I should have been quicker!”
“You are blaming yourself for something you could not control.” Ishmael took a sip from his teacup. “Let’s review your evening. First, you had a confrontation with an assassin boomer, a machine designed to kill. You fought the boomer in savage hand to hand combat, were thrown into a wall, then both of you went through that same wall. Then you and Miss Asagiri managed to escape from the building, narrowly avoiding being caught in the demolition of that same building. With me so far?”
“Yes,” Craig growled.
“You then raced through narrow streets at a speed that only Miss Asagiri considers ‘safe.’ and were forced to take a difficult shot under some extreme conditions. You were under a great deal of stress, yet you managed to complete your tasks. After that, you killed two Boomers by yourself, though the. . . intensity was a bit surprising.”
“I lost my temper.”
“I noticed,” Ishmael replied “Besides that, most would say that you did very well tonight.”
“I’m not one of them,” Craig muttered.
“The only reason why Irene Chang is still alive is because of you.” He sipped his tea again.
“Oh she’s alive,” Craig replied bitterly. “But in spite of me, not because of me.”
“If you had not fired when you did, she would have died. And you would have then been blaming yourself for not being fast enough.”
Craig leaned back and exhaled slowly. “I thought I had killed her,” he said quietly.
“You saved her,” Ishmael replied softly. “It was not a perfect outcome, nor the one I would have preferred, but Irene Chang and her fiancé are still alive. That is something to be satisfied about.”
Craig nodded. “Does Kwan know about Irene?”
“Not yet, though Miss Stingray is making plans to do so. She wants to make sure that Miss Chang is recovering before she brings them together. Drink your tea.”
Craig picked up the mug and downed half the contents in one gulp. He held the mug in both hands and stared into it. “Aren’t you going to tell me to stop moping and get back to the job?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re my boss?”
“Your boss?” Ishmael’s eyebrow rose. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you brought me here, pay me, and sent me after a cybernetic psycho?”
“I have placed you here, compensated you for your time or trouble, and given you a general task, but Miss Stingray has more of a command influence over you then I do. I dislike micro-managing my Avatars, and while I do talk to them, it is up to them to decide what they are going to do.”
“So you’re telling me that I should be telling myself to stop moping and get back to the job?”
“That is up to you. But remember that Irene Chang is still alive. That is more then can be said in most parallel dimensions to this one. Also remember that Jeremy Kwan is still alive, something that occurs in even fewer dimensions. To my knowledge, less then a half dozen dimensional time lines see Irene Chang and Jeremy Kwan live long enough to wed.”
Craig looked at him. “I don’t think they’ll thank me at the wedding.”
“At least they will not be blaming you at a funeral.” Ishmael took another sip of tea. ‘There were mistakes made, true, but nothing that will cause long term damage.”
“Only if you consider the bride not having a face a minor detail.”
“The body can heal, and Irene is young and fit. Miss Stingray knows a few reconstruction surgeons that will be discreet when it comes time to give Irene a new face.”
“I suppose so.” the two of them sat in silence for a few seconds, then Craig asked, “Why did you chose me for this?”
“To be my Avatar here and now?”
“Yeah. And no BS about prior knowledge or skills. Why me?”
“Because you care.”
Craig looked at him blankly. “Huh?”
Ishmael took another sip of tea. “Because under that cynical shell of yours is someone who does care. Cares about his friends and people who need his help. Cares about making a difference in a world that needs it. Cares enough to face an enemy who could kill him.”
“Like I had a choice.”
“You did. You could have said no, stayed in your apartment and never come out. You could have challenged and argued with Sylia on every move she makes. You could have gone after Largo yourself. You could have done a lot of things, but you didn’t. You became a team member, doing the tasks assigned to you with great skill and ability. You let your opinions known, but you follow Sylia’s orders. You train hard and act as a gentleman should because you know the team depends on you and you on them.”
“So I play well with others. So what?”
“So most men are not willing to take orders from a woman,” Ishmael said.
“Most women can’t kick my ass up around my ears if she so chose to,” Craig replied.
The Guardian smiled. “That may be true. However, I am well satisfied with your work to date. There have been a few. . . rough spots, like tonight’s temper tantrum, but you have acted for the most part as I expected you to.”
“Gee, thanks,” Craig retorted. “Do I get a raise?”
“A small one may be in order.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t.” Craig glared at him. Ishmael pulled out a pocket watch. “I’m afraid out time here is just about up,” he said, replacing the pocket watch in a vest pocket. “I do have one last bit of information you should be aware of. Mason have been very busy at that abandoned factory of his. While he has only one black box constructed and ready to go, he has several choices for which boomer to put it in.”
“More then one bo....” Craig’s face slacken in surprise and shock. “You mean –“
”Just as I have said.” The Guardian stood and removed the pocket watch again. He placed it into Craig’s hand. “I will need this back,” he said.
Then the garden faded and went black.
*****
Sylia has given Linna a quick examination and found her a bit bruised, a stiff neck and a very mild concussion. After a short and half hearted argument, Linna agreed to lie down and get some rest, but only if Sylia would keep her appraised of any change in her friend’s condition. Linna laid down and quickly fell asleep. Sylia gave Craig a quick check, then left them there.
When Sylia checked on Craig and Linna a couple of hours later, she found them resting comfortably. Just as she turned to leave, she caught a glimmer out of the corner of her eye. She turned back toward Craig’s bed, noting the glimmer had come from something in his hand. She strode over and inspected the restraints. They were still intact and tight, so she checked the item in Craig’s right hand. The item was held loosely, so she had no problem removing it.
It was a pocket watch, a little larger then most she had seen, metallic gold in color, with intricate etchings along the face. She frowned. Where had this come from? She had never seen it before, and Craig, still unconscious, had been brought here directly after their return, so it was doubtful he had picked it up somewhere along the way. She was also certain it had not been there the last time she had checked on him.
Carefully, she opened it, there was a piece of paper, folded and neatly placed in the small space made by the watch’s cover. With a finger, she pried the piece of paper out, and placed the watch on Craig’s chest. She unfolded the paper and scanned the contents.
Miss Stingray,
I have had a short discussion with Mister Reed
over his actions tonight. As you might have gathered, he
is somewhat upset, but I think you will find him a little
more in control when he wakes up.
As for Miss Chang, should the need arise, I will be
willing to help. I would prefer that human medical technology
be allowed to have its chance to relieve her problems, but if
they fail to fully heal her, I will step in and finish the healing.
(Please do not tell Mister Reed about this, as he will see it as
meddling.)
Also, I have informed Mister Reed about some data
regarding the abandoned plant where the Superboomer is
supposed to be. I will let him inform you about that, so I
suggest you take no action until he wakes up.
Ishmael
Sylia sighed. It appeared that Craig’s unusual ‘employer’ was still around, if not actually visibly active. Linna had told her about the fortune cookies at the dinner, but this was the first evidence she had that Ishmael was still involved. She glanced over at the pocket watch, only to find it had disappeared. She looked around the bed, but there was no sign of it. She glanced down at the paper again and found something had been added to the note.
PS – It is MY pocket watch. . . .
Sylia signed again. She needed to look over the footage from Craig’s data recorder, but first, she needed something for the headache that was beginning to form between her eyes. . . .