Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Black Knights, Steel Hearts ❯ Chapter 24

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

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The Bubble Gum Crisis OVA's (which this story is based on) are copyrighted by
Artmic Inc. and Youmex, Inc. I am just borrowing the characters for a little
while for non-monetary reasons. I can be contacted at the Email address above.
Serious C&C will be accepted, out-and-out flames will result in a Boomer
or two being sent after you, once they get around to building them.

Please, enjoy my take on the Bubble Gum Crisis universe . . .

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Ch apter 24

AD Police Headquarters
Saturday, December 22, 2035
11:42am

Daley Wong stalked into the office, feeling only slightly better after four hours sleep then he had before. He stopped long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee, then sat down and stared at the pile of paper on his desk.

"You all right?" asked a voice from behind him.

Daley blearly turned and looked up to see a clean-shaven male face framed by short dark hair. The face had brown eyes, and a look of concern. His face was a bit sharp for Daley's liking, but he wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination.

"Lousy night," Daley mumbled to the face. He turned back to his desk and sipped his coffee, feeling the hot liquid run down his throat and banish some of the weariness.

"I'm looking for Inspector McNichols or Wong," said the face.

"I'm Wong," replied Daley, feeling slightly better. "Who are you?"

The face perched itself on the edge of Daley's desk, and the inspector duly noted the body the face was attached to was slim and well trimmed, wearing a nice, but not too expensive suit.

"I'm Kosaku Sanemori. I've been assigned to the ADP Investigations division." He smiled and stuck out a hand. "Call me Ko."

Daley took the hand, and they shook. "Welcome to the world of no sleep mixed with a few minutes of complete terror ever so often."

Ko chuckled. "You look like hell."

"I feel worse. You'll look like this after a while."

"The Coastal Highway incident?"

Daley nodded. "What are the press saying about it? I haven't bothered watching any of the news coverage."

Ko grimaced. "You don't want to know."

"That bad?"

"The ADP is being blamed for everything short of actually launching the attack from orbit. The UN is in an uproar, the USA is scrambling to find out what happened, the USSD is being roasted for not stopping the attack, and the Diet is demanding an explanation from everyone. About the only ones who aren't on the hot seat are GENOM and Quincy."

"Wonderful." Daley downed the rest of his coffee in one go, and stood up slowly. "Since Inspector McNichols is on vacation, you can partner up with me. I'll give you the ten-yen tour of our happy establishment, then we can head out."

"Sure."

An ADP officer strode up to the pair just then. "Inspector," said the officer. "The Chief wants to see you."

"Oh, glory," muttered Daley, scratching his head. He waved at Ko. "Stay here while I see what the Chief wants."

"No problem."

Daley shuffled over to the Chief's office, and knocked on the door. He heard what sounded like "Enter" and opened the door and walked in.

Like Leon, Daley didn't like the chief much. Unlike Leon, he was better at hiding his dislike. The man was a weak leader, a bureaucrat of the worse sort. While Chief Todo had been a veteran police officer who done his best to support his men in the field, this new chief was completely clueless. The fact he looked like a mildly successful United States President from late in the last century didn't help much.

You wanted to see me, Sir?" he asked politely.

The Chief nodded, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. "Is your report on last night's incident complete yet?"

"No sir. I think it's going to take at least a couple of days to complete it."

"Oh?" The Chief looked up with mild interest. "And why is that?"

"It's going to take a couple of days for the evidence people to go over the area. And there's going to be teams from everywhere crawling all over the site. The press is calling it an unprovoked strike from an American satellite, so I expect the Americans to send a team of their own. The Diet, USSD and the UN are bound to get involved, and I would prefer to talk to them before I commit the ADP to a stance on this matter."

"I see." If there was one thing the Chief understood, it was bureaucratic wrangling between different groups.

"Also," Daley continued, "I need to review the reports of the Detachment commanders before I can complete my own report."

The Chief nodded sagely. "I uderstand. Thank you, Inspector."

"Yes Sir." Daley turned and walked away. As he reached the door, the Chief voice stopped him again. "There's something else that's bothering me, and I would like your answer."

Daley turned to look at him. "Sir?"

"I understand you had a phone call from Mr. McNichol last night just before you ordered the ADP units to pull back. Can you explain this?"

Oh, Shit. Daley thought furiously for several seconds, then nodded slowly. It's stupid, but it just might fool him. "Yes Sir, I did receive a phone call from Leon last night, warning me about the satellite attack."

"And how did he know about the attack?"

Here goes nothing. "He's working undercover, sir."

The Chief's face took on a puzzled look. "Undercover?"

"Yes, sir," replied Daley with a straight face.

"But he shouted at me yesterday that I should take this job and sh -"

"All to establish the fact that he'd quit the ADP and wasn't working for us."

"I don't understand."

Because that would take a brain. "Sir, Leon heard from one of his informants that there was a Corpwar brewing. You heard about the shootings last night involving Boomer-led hit teams?"

"Yes."

"That was the opening salvo. Leon figured that if he could get inside one of the corps involved, he could limit the amount of damage to the city. So, he quit publicly, and one of the Corps picked him up."

"So, the yelling at me . . . "

"Was to convince anyone listening outside that he really was quitting."

The Chief leaned back and stared at Daley. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"He thinks the Corps has agents inside the ADP." He held up a hand at the Chief's expression of anger. "Not you, Sir. He decided that the fewer people who knew, the better. I had to know, so as to keep things running along without him. He didn't tell you, just in case you had to issue a statement denying ADP's involvement in the matter.Plausible denialbilty, I believe is the correct term."

"Oh."

"If you check his file, it notes that it lists him as on vacation."

"I see. And he didn't mean those things he said about me?"

"No, Sir."

"Thank you, Inspector. I need to think some on this subject. That's all."

Daley left the office, his mind whirling. Why didn't you just tell him Leon's actually a secret agent for the USSD? That might have been more believable!

He was aware of Kosaku Sanemori waiting by his desk, waiting for him. "You all right, Inspector?"

Daley gave him a tired smile. "First rule around here is call me Daley, not Inspector. Ready for a tour?"

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Dastari's Restaurant
Tinsel City
Saturday, December 22, 2035
11:03am

"I don't believe you," Sylia replied coolly. "The Hardsuits are Katsuhito Stingray's creations."

Greg shrugged. "I'm telling you the truth. The original idea for the Hardsuits was his, as was most of the work on the outer shells, and most of the musclar components. But, you know that he didn't have the skill or the knowledge to design some of the components you use, like the innerwear suits, or the weapons systems."

"Then who does? And what really happened at Bioescape?"

Greg sipped his tea. "I should start at the beginning. My mother told me most of the story, the rest I found out on my own or I can guess at. Your father's work on Boomers was well known in the science community. So when he contacted my mother and several other people, invited them into the project, they jumped at the chance."

Sylia nodded. "That's why you came here."

"Yes. Mother thought the experience of living in another country would be good for me." He refilled his teacup, added milk and sugar, and stirred slowly.

"After my mother and the others arrived," he continued slowly, "your father told them the truth. He was closer to perfecting the Boomer design then anyone else knew. But he saw Mason's greed, and he didn't trust Quincy. He realized that there was a need for something to counter
the strength and power of a Boomer. Thus, the idea of hardsuits was born. In the hands of the right people, they would be the best defense against rampaging Boomers."

"He was right."

"Your father realized that he couldn't openly devote time and money to hardsuit development. He was sure Mason and GENOM had agents inside Bioescape. So, while he directed all attention and publicity on the Boomer project, the team working on the hardsuits worked in the
shadows. They were supposedly perfecting several minor sub-systems for the Boomer project that had already been completed." He looked at Sylia. "But Mason caught wind of the project, and put pressure on Doctor Stingray to share the hardsuit designs with GENOM."

Sylia was silent for a minute. "That's why Mason killed him. Not for the Boomer plans, but for the hardsuits designs."

Greg nodded. "I don't know if Mason was acting on orders from Quincy, or on his own, but he was definitely after the designs. But by the time he made his move, it was too late. Your father had disbanded the hardsuit development team and purged the computer systems in Bioescape of all related data. Finally, he gave copies of the hardsuit designs to three team members, including Dr. Raven. My mother was one of those three. Mason and GENOM got nothing but the Boomer designs."

"And the other member?"

"I don't know. Mother doesn't know, or will not tell me. For my own protection, or so she tells me. I suspect that's why several of Doctor Stingray's associates had 'fatal accidents' over the years."

"So, what happened after the team was disbanded?"

"GENOM came sniffing around my mother, but they didn't find anything. All they could find out was she had done some minor work on the Boomer project, then left several months before the explosion that killed your father. And Mason wasn't about to arrange an `accident' for my mother - my father let him know that wasn't a good idea."

"What did he do?"

Greg's smile became grim. "MALCORP was a subcontractor on the particle beam satellites. Among my father's talents was that of a system programmer. He quietly incorporated a fail-safe into the targeting system during the last stages of the design process. He told Mason that if my mother met with a fatal 'accident' of any sort, the satellites would fire and eliminate every single GENOM tower on the planet within five minutes of her death."

Sylia leaned back and looked at him in shock. "Is it still active?" she asked slowly.

Greg shook his head. "One of the first things I did as CEO of MALCORP was to shut down the fail-safe. It would need a special key to start it up again." His smile became warmer. "Of course, only three people know I've done it -- Myself, Mother, and now you. As far as GENOM's concerned, the system is still in place."

Sylia closed her eyes. "That's a relief." She opened them again. "I'm surprised, however, you let such a weapon slip away so easily. There's several others that would kill to have a weapon like that."

"And become the next GENOM?" asked Greg sharply. He stared out the window again. "When I saw what those particle beams did to Aqua City, the GENOM towers in Chicago, Berlin, and Sydney, I couldn't leave it in place, no matter how much GENOM deserved it. Too many innocent people would die."

"So, why did you end up with hardsuits designs? And why the Black Knights?"

"I guessing now, so don't take this as one hundred percent fact, but it should be somewhat close to the truth." He paused, then started. "Your father knew that it would take more then superior hardware to keep the Boomers from rampaging wildly. It would take people, special
people to carry the fight."

"Yes."

Greg put his teacup down. "But who is he going to trust to continue the fight against GENOM? Most of the people he's working with are too old to go running around in hardsuits, assuming that they're not spies for GENOM. And would you give a person off the street a hardsuit?"

"Not without knowing them really well."

"Exactly. But what about the children of those same researchers? They're young enough to adapt the mind set, and aren't yet under the influence of corporate loyalties. But he can't recruit just any child. They have to be bright enough, physically active, and mentally tough."

"So," interrupted Sylia, "Father quietly watches the children of his coworkers, looking for the right type to recruit."

"Yes. Think back to that group of kids we were apart of. How many do you think could climb into a hardsuit and go out Boomer hunting today?"

Sylia was silent for a moment. "Not many," she replied at last.

"'Not many' is right. I think only you and I made the cut."

Sylia looked out the window. "What else did you receive besides the hardsuit designs?"

"Very perceptive," replied Greg. "I got a data cassette as a sixteenth birthday present. A very special Data cassette."

"What was the number on it?"

"Number one." He grimaced in memory. "I had a headache for a week after viewing it. What was the number on yours?"

"Mine was Number two." She looked away from the window and gave him a small smile in sympathy. "You're not alone in having a headache after viewing the data cassette. But why your sixteenth birthday?"

"When did you receive yours?"

"Right after Father's death."

"I see." Greg thought for a minute, sipping his tea as he did so. "Your cassette was his insurance policy."

Sylia nodded. "I always knew that father was a meticulous planner, but for something like this...."

They were silent for a moment, then Greg said, "If your father had lived, I'm certain he would've guided your course in life very much as you've done on your own. He would have taught you and Mackie everything that was on that data cassette at a slower pace, and groomed you to
take either his place, or command the hardsuit team. But he never got the chance."

"But why did you get a cassette?"

"Because I was halfway around the world. For me to come anywhere near this city after we left would have peaked GENOM's interest, something Doctor Stingray wanted to avoid." He chuckled. "I expect that I was also a gunia pig with the imprinting process."

"And how did it work?"

"So damn well, it's scary. I went from being an above average student to an exceptional pupil overnight. I earned my bachelor's degree in three years, my MBA a year and a half after that."

Sylia nodded in understanding. "I experienced the same thing."

He waved a hand causally. "After college, I worked for MALCORP in different departments, learning the nut and bolts of the business under the best people my father had. When he died several years ago, I became the CEO of the fifth largest Megacorp in the world."

"What about the Black Knights?"

Greg paused to sip some tea. "I organize the first team six months after I took over MALCORP. I recruited people I could trust, trained them, and led them for the first six months."

"What happened after that?"

"My duties as CEO began to eat into my time. I couldn't lead the Black Knights and effectively run a Megacorp at the same time. MALCORP simply won out, as the corporation as several hundred thousand employees who depended on me doing my job. I expanded the unit to six three-man teams, and I still supervise the overall operations. But, these days, I only put on the armor if the mission is important, or personal. This mission is both."

"I see. What do you want from the Knight Sabers?"

"As I said before, an alliance between the Black Knights and the Knight Sabers. Somewhere in this city, there is one scared and lonely fourteen-year old girl. She's been torn away from her family, her father killed, all because she's got the plans for new technology in her memory.
Between our two groups, we can rescue her."

"Your people seem capable of doing the job."

"We don't know the city like your people do. The freelancers we were using have gone underground because our enemy went after them last night."

"Fargo's one of your freelancers?"

Greg nodded. "Several others weren't as lucky as you two were. From the makeup of the group last night, all the hit teams were Boomer led. I sent word out to the freelancers to go under-ground. I don't risk people unnecessarily."

"What's in it for us?"

"Fifty million up front, one hundred million more when the actual location is found."

"Interesting." Sylia sipped her own tea. Time to find out how much interest he has in the girl, and how much is in the technology she has locked in her mind.

"Interesting?"

"The money isn't the problem."

"But?"

"What about the shield technology Janie has in her memory?"

She saw Greg stiffen. "What about it?" he asked.

"What are your plans for it?"

Greg's face darkened with anger, and his eyes narrowed. "That goddamned shield generator should never have been created," he said, his words low and hard. "If I could remove the memories from Janie's mind with a wave of my hand, I would so without a second thought. Because
of that piece of technology, nearly twenty people are dead, twice as many are wounded or injured, and Janie is going through God knows what. All I want is Janie back. Everything else can go to hell."

Sylia looked at him, her mind analyzing his words. There's a ring of truth there. Enough to trust him - for now. "All right, I think we can discuss terms. Make I make a phone call first?"

Greg finished his tea, and poured himself another cup. "Go ahead."

Sylia pulled out her cellar phone and dialed the number for the special line in Raven's garage. It rang twice, then was picked up in the middle of the third ring. /Hello?/ asked a cautious male voice.

"Mackie. Staying out of trouble?"

She heard him relax slightly as he heard the code phase for 'everything's OK'. /Sis, are you all right?/ he asked slowly.

"Yes, I'm sitting here with Greg Mallory right now. I called to make sure everything's all right."

She could almost hear the gears turn in Mackie's head as he thought of a reply. He knew the line was prone to being tapped, so any direct reference to anything dealing with the Medusa protocols or the Knight Sabers was out of the question. /I take it then the job you wanted me to
do at one o'clock is on hold, right?/

"Yes, but stay where you are for now. Greg and I have some business to discuss, and I'll call you back in a couple of hours. Greg did tell me some good news about a friend of ours, the one we were so worried about."

/How is she?/

"Not too bad, considering the accident she was in. I'll call you with details when she can receive visitors."

/Great! I'll call the others, and let them know the good news./

"I'll talk to you in a couple of hours. Bye." She hung up, and replaced the phone in her handbag.

Just then, Marla walked up to the table. "Excuse me, sir. This just came in." She handed Greg a folded sheet of paper.

Greg unfolded the sheet and read the message. The expression on his face became one of curiosity as he read the note. "Interesting," he said finally.

"What is?" asked Sylia.

"What are you doing tonight?"

That question caught her flatfooted. What type of question is that? "I-I don't know," she managed to stammer out.

Greg gave her a quirky smile. "It seems Quincy has decided to see what I'm doing on his turf. He just sent me an invitation to have dinner with him tonight."

"And you want me to accompany you to this dinner?"

"Why not? It should be a pleasant experience."

Sylia stared at him. "I don't believe you. You haven't changed - you're still full of surprises."

"Thank you. Now, are you free tonight? I promise you, no business talk, or other work related subjects. Just you, me, Quincy, and a cast of thousands."

She chuckled softly. "You don't quit, do you?"

"I'm not allowed to." He grew serious again. "If I had my choice, Quincy could go jump off GENOM tower. I don't want to see the old ghoul, but I can't ignore him."

"And Janie?"

"I've got my people looking over a prime suspect right now."

"It wouldn't be Gulf and Bradley Japan, would it?"

Greg raised an eyebrow. "You are well informed, aren't you?"

"Fargo listed them as a wild card. He also said that the head of the local branch, Carlton Bradley, is ruthless and his sister Cora is crazy."

"A fair assessment of both of them."

"They're your prime suspect?"

"They are."

Sylia looked out the window. "I think dinner would be a nice idea. What time should I be ready?"

"According to the note, dinner starts at eight. Is seven o'clock early enough?"

"Seven o'clock is fine."

"About your fee...."

Sylia removed a small pad and pencil from her purse, wrote a series of numbers on a slip of paper, and handed the slip to Greg. "The account is at the First National Bank of Hong Kong. How soon can you make the transfer?"

Greg waved Marla over. "Ten minutes. I want to route the money through several accounts before depositing it." He handed his assistant the slip of paper and whisper the instructions to her. She nodded and left them alone.

He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and steepled his fingers. "What about your team mate?"

"Have Leon drive Priss to her trailer. I'll have someone meet them there. Is three o'clock a good time?"

"They'll be there."

Sylia stood. "I want a free hand in this VanDell matter."

"You have it." He reached inside his suit and handed her a business card. "I can be contacted at this number at any time."

She took the card. "I'll let you know what I've turned up. It's been good to see you, Greg."

"Same here. See you at seven o'clock."

"Until then."

Sylia turned and walked away. She had some phone calls to make, and some planning to do. She just hope she could trust Greg. . . .

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GENOM Tower
MegaTokyo, Japan
Saturday, December 22, 2035
11:56am

Quincy was standing at the window when Faust entered the office.

"What is it?" the chairman asked, not looking away from the window.

"I've just received word from Mr. Mallory's personal assistant that Mr. Malloy has accepted your dinner invitation for this evening."

"Excellent. Have the dinner arrangements been made?"

"Yes Sir. Also, Mr. Mallory is bringing a guest."

Quincy turned and looked at Faust. "Who is it?"

"Miss Sylia Stingray."

"Indeed?" The GENOM chairman smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. "An interesting turn of events. You have included her in the arrangements?"

"I thought it prudent to do so, Sir."

"Excellent. Enough about pleasure for now. What is the latest regarding Gulf and Bradley Japan?"

Faust adjusted his glasses. "Something is going on there. There's increased security in effect, and the Bradley twins have not been seen in public for several days."

"I thought so," murmured Quincy. "What do our spies inside Gulf and Bradley say?"

"As I said, there's a very tight lid on security at Gulf and Bradley Japan. Ozu is very cautious, and our people can't find out what's going on without risking their cover."

Quincy turned to face his assistant. "If there is no other way, they are to risk everything to find out what's going on there. Those two are up to something, I just know it."

"Sir, do you think it was Gulf and Bradley Japan that kidnaped Janie VanDell?"

"I do. For what reason, I do not have an answer - yet. How is the Gulf and Bradley Main Office reacting to the latest developments here?"

"They're taking a wait and see attitude. Janson Bradley is not certain about what's going on, but he's not about to step in unless he has to."

Quincy sat down behind his desk and leaned back. "What about your investigation into the missing Boomers?"

"My team is in place and they have started running down possible leads. I'm sorry I can't give you a solid timetable on this matter."

"I want this matter resolved, no matter how long it takes. You are dismissed."

Faust strode hurriedly out of the office. Quincy stared at the office door for several minutes, deep in thought. He turned his chair to face the window. His eyes picked out the squat glass and metal Gulf and Bradley-Japan building among the MegaTokyo skyline and stared at it for
several more minutes in silence. Then, he whispered in an amused tone, "Think you can challenge me? We'll see if you have any of your father in you...."

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