Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Bubblegum Avatar #1 -- "Tin-Sell City" ❯ Chapter 3 - "Opening moves." ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Trboturtle 
Both Sylia and her guest get offers they can't refuse.....
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.19.2005 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.2K | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Work In Progress
Both Sylia and her guest get offers they can't refuse.....
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 12.19.2005 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.2K | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Work In Progress
**************
Chapter 3 - "Opening moves."
**************
Sylia sipped her coffee and looked at the morning paper. There was the possibility of more snow during the day, so she was thinking whether or not to open the store.
There was a tap at the door. "Ready or not, Sis, here I come!"
Mackie walked in. He frowned when he noticed his sister was wearing a thick woolen robe that wasn't part of the line the Silky Doll carried. "Anything on our guest in that paper?" he asked.
"No. Anything in yours?"
He shook his head. "Not a peep. Do you want me to start on the rest of those disks after breakfast?"
She looked at him. "I think it's time to ask our guest some questions."
"Er, are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Mackie glanced at his watch. "That last sedative should wear off in about an hour."
"Fine. That will give me enough time to get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To find out what he really knows."
**********
He felt himself rise slowly out of the darkness of sleep.
He open his eyes slowly, but winced and shut them as the bright light stabbed him. "Who turned on the lights?" he muttered, trying to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Feeling his arm trapped, he grumbled something and tried to use his other arm to free it. When that arm refused to respond, he tried to sit up. When that failed, he opened his eyes again and started at the ceiling.
"You're awake," said a female voice off to his left. It sounded strange, like it was being filtered through an electronic filter. He turned his head and saw a figure standing there. He squinted, then closed his eyes again. "That's nice," he said, his voice rough. "Now I'm dreaming about the Knight Sabers."
"This isn't a dream," the figure said.
He opened his eyes again and looked at her. A white hardsuit stood there, hands on hips looking at him. He shrugged. "Now, my dreams are talking back to me."
The hardsuit walked over and stood next to him. "You are not dreaming," it said, slowly and clearly, with only a trace of an accent. "Who are you?"
"Craig Alan Reed, Junior. Who are you?"
"I thought that would be obvious."
"You're the White Saber, AKA Sylia Stingray. You lead a team of four women in fighting the evil corporation GENOM in MegaTokyo in the early 2030's." He frowned. "Or the early 2040's, depending if you're from the OVAs or the TV series. Which version are you?"
The hardsuit stepped back, as if she was surprised. She said something in what he thought was Japanese, but he didn't understand a word of it. "I have no idea what you're saying," he said.
The hardsuit turned and stalked out of the room. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the bright light and he took the chance to look around the room. It was an infirmary, with white walls and ceiling that were reflecting the light. He looked down the bed he was lying on, and noticed the heavy black straps securing him at the ankles, thighs, waist, wrists and upper forearms. "Great. Just when I think I've figured out my subconscious, it throws me a curve...."
The hardsuit walked back in and dropped something on his chest. "Explain this," she said.
Craig looked down at the book. The angle wasn't the best, but he could see it was the Bubblegum Crisis EX source book. He looked up at her. "Don't look at me, I didn't write it."
"This isn't the time to be playing stupid." A hint of anger was now in her voice.
"What do you want to know?"
"Where did you get this from?"
"I bought it."
"Where?"
"The Hobby Works in Laurel, Maryland."
"In America?"
"Where else is Maryland? Unless they move it without telling me-"
"This isn't the time to be funny!"
Craig shook his head. "What are you getting excited about? It's just a book."
The hardsuit picked up a cylinder from a tray next to the bed. "I do not have time for you foolishness." With a quick motion, she pulled up his sleeve and pressed the tube to his forearm.
"What did you just do?" He asked.
The hardsuit replaced the tube on the tray. "Something that will make you more cooperative."
Craig sighed. "My subconscious has gone of the deep end."
"It will take a couple of minutes for the drug to affect you. I'll be back then."
"Don't hurry on my account."
The hardsuit turned and walked out of the room. Craig closed his eyes and began chanting, "It's time to wake up, it's time to wake up, it's time to wake up...."
**********
Three hours later, Sylia sat in her apartment, sipping coffee, smoking cigarettes, and feeling frustrated. The interrogation hadn't gone well. In fact, it raised more questions then it answered.
She now knew the following about her guest: his name was Craig Reed, he was an American, and beside an odd word or two, couldn't speak Japanese. However, everything else he told her didn't make any sense. He claimed to be in his mid thirties, though he looked like he was in his early twenties. Under the serum, he declared that it was early September in the year 2000.
It was when she started asking him about the material in his backpack that things started becoming strange. The material was from an anime series called "Bubblegum Crisis," a fictional series about four women fighting against a large corporation. The fact that one of those 'fictional characters' was questioning him didn't seem strange to him, as he kept muttering that he was dreaming.
While she was interrogating their visitor, Mackie continued looking over the material on the disks. Besides the anime episodes, there were a couple of music albums. There was a number of songs that sounded like Priss and her band, but Mackie wasn't the only one who was shocked at hearing someone that sounded like Sylia singing. Sylia knew that wasn't her - singing had never been part of her life - but it was still unnerving. There were even songs with Linna and Nene sound-alikes, so close to the real Nene and Linna that Sylia doubted that she could tell the difference if she didn't know they didn't sing.
There were also a directory made up of text files of something called fanfiction. In its own way, it was even more disturbing. There were a couple of hundred stories, some short, some long, and some that even had their own directory. But they all were about the Knight Sabers. After skimming over half a dozen of the stories, Sylia had retreated to her apartment and now sat thinking.
Instead of becoming clearer, the situation had become even more confused and strange. There was enough information in that backpack to kill each of them several times over. If this was a trick by GENOM, it was elaborate and at the same time bizarre. Was this a sign of a twisted mind somewhere inside the conglomerate?
Or was it what it appeared to be, a man dropped into this time or place? Neither possibility made real sense, but she didn't see a third option. She was now convinced that the material was meant to fall into her hands, but why?
A knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts. Sighing, she placed her coffee cup on the table and went to the door. A glance through the peephole showed a familiar face. Sighing again, Sylia opened the door.
Priss, dressed in her biker leathers, stomped in. "About time," the singer muttered. "It's cold out there,"
"What brings you by on a day like this?" asked Sylia.
"I need some cash from the last job we had." Priss had her 'I'm a brooding artist, don't ask me any questions' look.
"What for?"
"I'm a bit short of cash right now."
"Today?"
"Yes. I want to by enough food for several more days. The weather people say there's another big snowstorm moving in over night."
"Very well," Sylia led Priss into the living room. "Have a seat. It'll take me a couple of minutes to make the deposit into your account." She walked over to a desk in the corner of the room, where her computer sat.
"Fine by me." Priss glanced at the filled ashtray on the table next to the coffee cup. "Something wrong?"
"What?"
"Is something wrong?"
"What makes you say that?"
Priss pointed at the ashtray. "When you're worried, you start smoking."
"Something has come up," the leader of the Sabers said.
"What? Another job?"
"No."
"GENOM found out our secret identities?"
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean. 'Not exactly'?" Priss glared at her leader.
Sylia hesitated for a moment. "Have you ever heard of a song called 'Konya Wa Hurricane'?"
Priss looked surprised. "What does that have to do with GENOM?"
"Nothing. But it has to do with the problem I'm thinking about."
"How did you know about the song?"
"You've heard of it then?"
"Heard of it?" The singer snorted. "Hell, I wrote it. But there's no way you could have heard of it."
"What if I told you that I have heard it?"
"That's impossible. We aren't going to start publicly playing it until next week." Priss gave Sylia a suspicious look. "You haven't been bugging my trailer, have you?"
"It's not as simple as that."
"What isn't as simple as that?"
"Maybe I can explain better then Miss Stingray," said another voice.
Both Sylia and Priss spun towards the voice. Sitting in chair opposite the couch was a man. He was past middle age, thin without being frail, with a white goatee and clear blue eyes. He was dressed impeccably in a brown suit with an open-neck shirt and a panama hat, completely ill-suit for the weather outside.
He also hadn't been sitting there three seconds before.
Priss was halfway into her pistol draw when the man said, "Please desist in your actions, Miss Asagiri," the man said calmly. "I mean neither you or Miss Stingray any harm."
Sylia grabbed Priss' arm before the singer finished her pistol draw. After several seconds of resisting, Priss stopped struggling. "Who are you?" Sylia asked.
The man smiled. "You may call me Ishmael. As to why I'm here...." He waved a hand towards the couch. Sylia's eyes widen as she saw her prisoner sitting there, looking as confused as she felt. "He is the reason why I am here."
"Who the hell is he?" Priss snarled, her hand digging for the pistol again. "Who the hell are you?"
Ishmael sighed. "Allow me to demonstrate." Priss stopped in confusion as she no longer felt her pistol in its holster.
"Please sit down, Miss Asagiri," Ishmael said pleasantly, Priss' pistol sitting in the palm of his hand. He ejected the ammo clip from the pistol and place both items on the table in front of him. "I doubt that Miss Stingray wants bullet holes in her wall." Giving the man a hard stare, Priss flopped into a chair across the table from Craig. Sylia remained standing.
"What's going on?" asked Craig, looking confused.
"I have come to explain some things," said Ishmael. "But, first, I think some introductions are in order. Miss Stingray, Miss Asagiri, this is Mr. Craig Reed. He is here because I brought him here. Mr. Reed, this is Miss Sylia Stingray and Miss Priss Asagiri, one half of the vigilante team known as the Knight Sabers."
"Fine," snapped Craig, looking hard at him. "In that case, who are you?"
The other man smiled. "You can call me Ishmael."
"What are you?" asked Sylia. "I don't think you're human."
"Ah, that is a very good question. You are correct that I am not a human."
Craig eyes narrowed. "You look familiar. How we met?"
"No, but I took a form you might recognize. Think of the opening scenes of 'The Ribos Operation'."
Craig groaned."My subconscious is now running crossovers."
"Not exactly. I took a form that represented my role and that you would recognize. And this isn't a dream."
"What do you mean this isn't a dream?"
"You are here." Ishmael waved a hand around him. "All of this is real." He motioned to the other two. "They are real people, as are Linna Yamazaki, Nene Romanova, Leon McNichol, Quincy, and everyone else who lives in this city."
"The Boomers?" asked Craig weakly.
Ishmael nodded. Craig sunk low into the sofa, looking shocked.
"What the Hell is going on?" snarled Priss.
"I will explain." Ishmael leaned back. "Mr. Reed recognizes me as a character called The White Guardian from a science fiction TV series from the last half of the last century. My role is very similar to that character's."
"Which is?"
"My purpose is to fight for Light, Order and Goodness against those who serve the other side."
"The other side being Darkness, Chaos, and Evil?" asked Sylia.
"It's more complex then that, but essentially, yes." Ishmael steepled his fingers. "The two sides are locked in an eternal war, spanning Galaxies, timelines, and dimensions in an almost infinite number. We observe and manipulate beings to counter our opponents' observations and manipulations of other beings. This time and place is just one battlefield."
"So, what are you, a God?" snarled Priss.
Ishmael shook his head. "That would be careless of me to claim so. Some might mistaken me for such a being, but not from any fault of my own."
Sylia folded her arms. "What brings you here?"
"First, a question to Mr. Reed. Do you know someone named Bert Van Vliet?"
Craig looked up. "Hm?"
"I asked if you know someone named Bert Van Vliet?"
Craig frowned. "We've traded Emails, but I've never met him."
"And you are familiar with the series he's written called 'The Bubblegum Zone' ?"
"Yes." There was suspicion in his voice now.
"What would you say that in one Universe, those stories are true?"
"I'd want to know what drugs you've been using."
Ishmael looked amused. "I am telling you the truth. There is a dimension in which a man named Bert Van Vliet was transported from his time and place and landed in MegaTokyo where he joined the Knight Sabers."
"What?" This came from both Craig and Priss. Sylia's eyes narrowed but stayed silent. Ishmael looked undisturbed by the reaction he'd received.
Craig recovered first. "But I know the Bert I've talked to isn't in MegaTokyo!"
"I never said the Bert you know was the one transported. Are you cognizant of Robert A Heinlein's 'World as Myth' idea?"
"I think so. I haven't read his stuff in a while."
"What theory is that?" asked Sylia.
Craig looked over at her. "Every fictional story ever written has happened for real, in another universe or dimension."
"A simplification, but generally accurate." Ishmael looked at Sylia. "To Mr. Reed, this city and you two are part of an anime series called 'Bubblegum Crisis.' There are a number of dimensions that are similar to this one. In the case of Mr. Van Vliet, he is currently operating with the Knight Sabers in another dimension, calling himself SkyKnight and having the time of his life."
"So what does this have to do with me?" asked Craig, turning to look at Ishmael.
"Do you remember what happened to Largo in the third story of the Bubblegum Zone series?"
"He got blasted off the GENOM Tower rooftop and ended up as very small pieces."
"No, he did not."
"Huh?"
"Who's Largo?" asked Sylia.
"A Super Boomer with delusions of grandeur," replied Craig quickly. "What does that have to do with me?"
"The Largo from SkyKnight's dimension is here in this one."
"You mean that Largo the would-be Boomer God, the one who got pummeled by the Knight Sabers and SkyKnight and was last seen falling off a man-made mountain is alive and here?"
"He is." Ishmael leaned forward. "I'm afraid my opponent played a bit fast and lose with the rules we operate under."
"You have rules?" asked Priss with a smirk.
"Oh yes," replied Ishmael gravely. "With the powers we possess, we can not confront each other face to face. The results would be catastrophic and neither side would win. So we are limited to influencing events to tip the fight in out favor."
"What rules did the Black Guardian bend to bring Largo here?" asked Craig.
"Black Guardian?" Ishmael shrugged. "A good a name as any. To answer your question, we do not usually allow people to cross from one set of dimensional points to another. A few, like Mr. Van Vliet, slipped into their new situations without the assistance of either side."
"How's that possible?"
"This isn't a time for an explanation that would involved quantum physics, dimensional eddies, and multi-universe theories. Let us just say that a few people slipped through the dimensional cracks and leave it at that."
"Oh."
"Anyway, by the time the people are discovered, they have become part of the timeline, and thus cannot be removed. A few others are voluntary transferred from one point to another, when they had skills we thought were necessary. We call these people Avatars."
Ishmael's gaze bore into Craig. "But, we do not move people from one dimension to a similar one. There is too much of a chance of personal issues interfering with their purpose. A situation like that could cause more problems then it would solve."
"But not in the case of this Largo," said Sylia.
"His personal issues are the reason why he was brought here. Largo lost to the Knight Sabers. Those events that caused his destruction there have not happened here yet. He has knowledge of the future, a hatred of the Knight Sabers and an obsession of you, Miss Stingray, that borders on the maniacal."
"And what are those issues this Largo has?" asked Priss, looking like she want nothing more then to toss Ishmael out the window without bothering to open first.
"Beside the long and painful deaths of the Knight Sabers?" He shrugged. "The usual stuff - world domination, being worship as a god, the destruction of the human race, and so on."
"So why am I here?" asked Craig, an ugliness in his tone of voice that hadn't been there before. "Why not borrow SkyKnight from his own timeline and let him take on this Bozo?"
"We cannot. His presence is needed where he is. You, on the other hand, share some of the same qualities as Mr. Van Vliet and were more available."
"What qualities? I'm not an engineer!"
"No one is asking you to be."
"I'm also not a military or intelligence type! What qualities?"
"First you have some knowledge of Military History and tactics."
"Reading 'The Art of War' and some other books several times doesn't qualify me as an expert!"
Ishmael brushed the objection away. "Then, there's your familiarity with this dimension and the people in it."
"So is any reasonably fanatical Otaku."
"You've had some martial arts training."
"I never did get my Black Belt."
"You have above average intelligence, and a willingness to learn."
"Only when I have to."
Ishmael chuckled. "I think you'll find sufficient reasons to learn. You also have a strong sense of what's right and wrong, but you're willing to blur the line at times."
"I don't call that a virtue."
"You're also a pessimist and a worrier who does not take things at face value."
"They've already have a moody brooding type," replied Craig, pointing a thumb at Priss. The singer glared daggers back at him.
Sylia watched the exchange quietly until now. "What do you want from me?"
Ishmael leaned back. "Largo's presence here and now has cause a shift in the balance of power towards the other side. Fortunately, he is currently too damaged to take direct action against you. However, that will not last, and with his future knowledge, he can eliminate the mistakes he made last time. Since I cannot remove Largo from this time and place, I needed someone to balance him. Mr. Reed is my Avatar in this case."
"You picked him?" asked Priss, pointed to Craig.
"Hey, I'm not happy about it either!" Craig snapped back.
Sylia unfolded her arms and looked Ishmael in the eye. "You want him to join the Knight Sabers." It wasn't a question.
"I do."
"This idiot?" snarled Priss. "Him in a hardsuit?"
Craig's anger erupted. "I don't think I could do any worse then you!"
"What do you know?"
"You're an accident waiting to happen!"
"And you'll get yourself killed and us along with you!"
Craig stood. "Listen, Priscilla." the singer flinched at her real name. "I don't want to be here, all right?"
"Then why don't you go home?"
"I would like nothing better, but it's a bit too bloody far to walk, don't you think?"
Priss motioned towards Ishmael "You believe this nut and his crazy story?"
"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"
"I believe him," said Sylia quietly. Priss and Craig stared at her. She ignored them and gave the Guardian a cool stare. "The items in the backpack was your doing, correct?"
Ishmael nodded. "I needed something to get your attention. Would you have listened to me if I hadn't given you proof of my claims?"
"No."
"What stuff?" asked Craig.
"She'll explain it later," said Ishmael. "Now, about the arrangements -"
"You're not seriously considering this!" yelled Priss.
"I can't afford another member," said Sylia cooly.
"I assure you that money is not an object," replied Ishmael. "In fact, you should check the bank account you have in the First Bank of Hong Kong, the one you use for Knight Sabers business. I think you will find a large deposit has been made into it the last...." He glanced at a pocket watch that appeared in his hand. "....three minutes."
Sylia frowned. Then, she slowly walked over to the computer and accessed the amount. The screen darken for a moment, then flashed up:
Account number: 777-8822-9955-4P
Amount in account as of 9:24am, Dec. 17, 2031: $ 5,458,466.64
Deposits
White Guardian Security Corp.
Houston, Texas, USA - 12:28pm, Dec. 17, 2031: $ 100,000,000.00
New Total: $ 105,458,466.64
Thank you and have a nice day.
She stared at the screen. After several minutes, she looked at Ishmael again. "I'm impressed," she said, keeping her voice steady. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Priss watching her suspiciously.
"I hope it shows that I am serious about this."
"Don't I have any say in this?" asked Craig angrily.
Ishmael shook his head. "As a matter of fact, you do not. The Avatar must be in place now in order to be prepared for the confrontation." He gave a small smile. "But I doubt you'll complain much about the pay."
"What pay?"
Ishmael held up an empty hand. A flash of light, and there was suddenly a small book in the hand. He tossed it over to Craig. "An account book," Ishmael said mildly as Craig looked at the book in his lap, then back him. "Open it, it is in English."
Craig did so, his glare never leaving The other man. After a few seconds, his eyes drifted down to the book. His eyes feel on the amount in the account and he nearly choked. "Is this US dollars?" he asked weakly.
"It is. It's only fair after all. The job will not be easy, and while we aren't allowed to do some things, we try and compensate those we chose in other ways. In this case, money. You'll find that there will be a modest amount added to that account each month."
"Define 'modest.'"
"About one percent of the current account balance."
Craig made some more strangling noises. "That's all well and good," he said after about fifteen seconds, "but I thought you didn't draft people for this things, but went looking for volunteers."
"Usually, we don't draft people like yourself. But this is a crisis situation, so I am forced to use whatever I have available. If I had more time, I would have done things differently. But there is no time."
"What do you mean there's no time?" Craig roared, standing up, the bank book forgotten.
The object of his ire didn't seem upset or worried at the threat. "I will not send you back. This attempt by my opposite guardian must be countered here and now, and I have chosen you for that role. I cannot find anyone else in time."
"Well, screw your opponent, because I'm not staying!" He held up the bank book. "Even for this type of money!"
"I'm afraid you will stay until this crisis has been resolved. In any case -"
It was at this point that Craig threw the bank book at Ishmael and dove over the table, intent on grabbing the man by the throat. The bank book whizzed by Ishmael's head, but the expression on his face looked somewhat resigned. He sat there as Craig reached out to grab him.
Instead of his hands closing around flesh, Craig's hands found nothing but air. Before he realized that his hands had passed through Ishmael's neck with no resistance, he slammed into the back of the chair hard enough to knock it over onto it's back. Craig made it only a little further before he smashed into the carpet, face first.
Ishmael looked over his shoulder at the man he'd chosen to be his Avatar. The fact that his chair had been knocked over didn't seem to phase him in the least, as he continue to sit where he had been, only with nothing holding him up.
"It's a fucking hologram of some sort!" Priss yelled, looking around for a possible source of the projector.
"Oh dear," replied Ishmael quietly as he continued to watch Craig shake off the effects of the fall. "I didn't think his temper was that bad....." He shrugged, then turned to look at Priss. "Miss Asagiri, I am most certainly not a hologram." He stood up, picked up Priss' pistol and ammo clip and haded them back to the singer. "It's just that physical violence is not one of my favorite pastimes. While trying to strangle me may have some soothing qualities for Mr. Reed's current emotional state, that is all it would have been effective for."
Ishmael left Priss staring at her pistol and strode over to Sylia, who had watched the entire event in silence. "The amount in the account is yours whether or not you agree to take Mr. Reed under your wing."
Sylia gaze was unyielding. "Suppose I do agree to this. What do you want me to do with him?" Over Ishmael's shoulder, Sylia could see Priss reload her pistol, then start to move towards them stealthily. Craig was back on his feet, though he wasn't steady.
"Train him to be a front-line member of the Sabers. Integrate him into your team. Largo will be expecting only four Knight Sabers, not five. Use that as an advantage."
"What do I get out of it?"
"There'll be an additional fifty million deposited to the same account every two months. If he manages to survive and, in your view, he is a member of the team after six months, there will be a deposit of two hundred million made to the account. If he survives a year, another two hundred million."
"And if he doesn't survive six months or a year?"
Ishmael gave her a level, serious look. "In that case, Miss Stingray, you and the other Knight Sabers, not to mention most of this city's population, are liable to be dead, or wish you were, because Largo would have won."
"Why should I trust you? You could be a plant from GENOM."
"I could be," conceded the Guardian. "But you know GENOM very well. Do they have the technology to do this?" He closed his eyes and Priss disappeared. One split second, she was there, aiming her pistol at Ishmael's head and moving for a clean shot, the next she was gone.
"Where is she?" Sylia asked, her voice cold with fury.
Ishmael pointed to the window. "She is all right. I just decided she needed to cool off some."
Sylia moved towards the window, angling herself so she could keep an eye on the strange man. When she reached the window, she looked down at the street below. "I don't see her."
"Oh?" Ishmael's voice came from right next to her. Startled, she turned to look at him. He ignored the stare and looked out the window. "I know I translocated her....There!" He pointed.
Sylia looked again. The street had been cleared of snow, resulting in the snowdrifts that divided street from sidewalk. The snowstorms had been heavy the last several days, so the drifts varied in height from a meter and an half to two meters and twice this in width. Where Ishmael was pointing, a part of a drift started moving. A red-and-brown clad arm broke free, followed by the head and other arm. Priss shook herself free, looked around, then looked up. Even from this distance, Sylia could see the long strings of curses the singer was shouting as she finished digging her way out of the snowdrift.
"Oh dear," Ishmael sighed. "I had meant to locate her on top of the drift, not in it." He looked closer. "She seems all right though. Extraordinary vocabulary for such a young woman."
"That was...impressive," Sylia said finally.
"But not convincing?"
"Not completely."
Ishmael turned to look at Craig, who had finally recovered from the dive and was stalking towards them. "You go-"
Ishmael shrugged and Craig stopped in mid-stride and mid-rant, frozen in place like a picture. Ishmael walked over to the immobilized man, then turned to looked at Sylia. "Does this convince you?"
The leader of the Knight Sabers moved towards the living statue. "What did you do to him?" she asked.
"I froze his personal timeline," Ishmael replied. "He does not see or hear anything we do, which is just as well. I do have some final things to say before I release Mr. Reed here and Miss Asagiri comes storming in looking for my head."
"I never said I'm willing to take him."
"I think you will take him. He knows too much to let him go, yet you're not as ruthless as to kill him out of hand for something he has no control over. That would make you as bad as GENOM, and while your methods are hard, you are not a cruel person."
Sylia took a deep breath. Ishmael was right, but she wouldn't let him know that. "What else do you want to tell me?"
"The first is that while Mr. Reed has some suitable characteristics for this job, he is not prepared to function in this time and place. We regressed him to his early twenties, removed a few physical imperfections, and made him more physically fit then he was, but he isn't a superman by any stretch of the imagination. Beyond what he seen and heard in the animated episodes and read in the source books, he knows nothing about the here and now. He needs to fit in, including speaking the Japanese language." He held up a hand to forestall Sylia's coming question. "I thought for everyone concerned that we appear to be speaking the same language, so I allowed you to think you were. But as soon as I leave, Mr. Reed will only be able to speak English, very bad Spanish, and a smattering of even worse Korean. Please be aware of that."
"Very well." replied Sylia stiffly.
"And there's one last thing. The items in Mr. Reed's backpack? Pay close attention to the animated episodes and the role-playing books. If not for this Largo's appearance, the episodes show what would have happened to you and your fellow Sabers in the near future. Viewing them in detail might allow you to head off any possible problems. The text files supply a wide variety of possible outcomes and scenarios. Just remember that all have occurred somewhere else, and you should be aware of them." He gave her a sad smile. "Knowledge of the future is a dangerous thing - be care of what you try and effect, or you may end up causing more harm then good."
He reached out and took one of Sylia's hands. She noted that his hands were solid and warm. "I must leave you now" Ishmael said quietly. "I wish you and the rest of your team good luck in the near future - I think you will need all the help you can get." He kissed the back of her hand, released it, and stepped back.
"What about him?" she asked, motioning towards the still frozen Craig.
"He will be free five seconds after I leave. Good-bye." With that, Ishmael vanished.
Sylia was still standing there when Craig started moving again '-ddam jackass! I'm going -" he stopped suddenly and started looking around. "Where did he go?"
"He left," replied Sylia in English.
Craig staggered in disbelief. "He can't!"
"He did."
"What the hell am I suppose to do now?"
"Sit down and see if we can figure out some things." There was someone hammering at Sylia's front door. "That'll be Priss. She's already angry, so I suggest you say nothing until she calms down."
As she walked to the door, the slight stirring of a headache made itself known to her. It began to get worse as she opened the door and let a wet and furious Priss storm into the apartment. Some days, it doesn't pay to know the answers....
Chapter 3 - "Opening moves."
**************
Sylia sipped her coffee and looked at the morning paper. There was the possibility of more snow during the day, so she was thinking whether or not to open the store.
There was a tap at the door. "Ready or not, Sis, here I come!"
Mackie walked in. He frowned when he noticed his sister was wearing a thick woolen robe that wasn't part of the line the Silky Doll carried. "Anything on our guest in that paper?" he asked.
"No. Anything in yours?"
He shook his head. "Not a peep. Do you want me to start on the rest of those disks after breakfast?"
She looked at him. "I think it's time to ask our guest some questions."
"Er, are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Mackie glanced at his watch. "That last sedative should wear off in about an hour."
"Fine. That will give me enough time to get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To find out what he really knows."
**********
He felt himself rise slowly out of the darkness of sleep.
He open his eyes slowly, but winced and shut them as the bright light stabbed him. "Who turned on the lights?" he muttered, trying to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Feeling his arm trapped, he grumbled something and tried to use his other arm to free it. When that arm refused to respond, he tried to sit up. When that failed, he opened his eyes again and started at the ceiling.
"You're awake," said a female voice off to his left. It sounded strange, like it was being filtered through an electronic filter. He turned his head and saw a figure standing there. He squinted, then closed his eyes again. "That's nice," he said, his voice rough. "Now I'm dreaming about the Knight Sabers."
"This isn't a dream," the figure said.
He opened his eyes again and looked at her. A white hardsuit stood there, hands on hips looking at him. He shrugged. "Now, my dreams are talking back to me."
The hardsuit walked over and stood next to him. "You are not dreaming," it said, slowly and clearly, with only a trace of an accent. "Who are you?"
"Craig Alan Reed, Junior. Who are you?"
"I thought that would be obvious."
"You're the White Saber, AKA Sylia Stingray. You lead a team of four women in fighting the evil corporation GENOM in MegaTokyo in the early 2030's." He frowned. "Or the early 2040's, depending if you're from the OVAs or the TV series. Which version are you?"
The hardsuit stepped back, as if she was surprised. She said something in what he thought was Japanese, but he didn't understand a word of it. "I have no idea what you're saying," he said.
The hardsuit turned and stalked out of the room. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the bright light and he took the chance to look around the room. It was an infirmary, with white walls and ceiling that were reflecting the light. He looked down the bed he was lying on, and noticed the heavy black straps securing him at the ankles, thighs, waist, wrists and upper forearms. "Great. Just when I think I've figured out my subconscious, it throws me a curve...."
The hardsuit walked back in and dropped something on his chest. "Explain this," she said.
Craig looked down at the book. The angle wasn't the best, but he could see it was the Bubblegum Crisis EX source book. He looked up at her. "Don't look at me, I didn't write it."
"This isn't the time to be playing stupid." A hint of anger was now in her voice.
"What do you want to know?"
"Where did you get this from?"
"I bought it."
"Where?"
"The Hobby Works in Laurel, Maryland."
"In America?"
"Where else is Maryland? Unless they move it without telling me-"
"This isn't the time to be funny!"
Craig shook his head. "What are you getting excited about? It's just a book."
The hardsuit picked up a cylinder from a tray next to the bed. "I do not have time for you foolishness." With a quick motion, she pulled up his sleeve and pressed the tube to his forearm.
"What did you just do?" He asked.
The hardsuit replaced the tube on the tray. "Something that will make you more cooperative."
Craig sighed. "My subconscious has gone of the deep end."
"It will take a couple of minutes for the drug to affect you. I'll be back then."
"Don't hurry on my account."
The hardsuit turned and walked out of the room. Craig closed his eyes and began chanting, "It's time to wake up, it's time to wake up, it's time to wake up...."
**********
Three hours later, Sylia sat in her apartment, sipping coffee, smoking cigarettes, and feeling frustrated. The interrogation hadn't gone well. In fact, it raised more questions then it answered.
She now knew the following about her guest: his name was Craig Reed, he was an American, and beside an odd word or two, couldn't speak Japanese. However, everything else he told her didn't make any sense. He claimed to be in his mid thirties, though he looked like he was in his early twenties. Under the serum, he declared that it was early September in the year 2000.
It was when she started asking him about the material in his backpack that things started becoming strange. The material was from an anime series called "Bubblegum Crisis," a fictional series about four women fighting against a large corporation. The fact that one of those 'fictional characters' was questioning him didn't seem strange to him, as he kept muttering that he was dreaming.
While she was interrogating their visitor, Mackie continued looking over the material on the disks. Besides the anime episodes, there were a couple of music albums. There was a number of songs that sounded like Priss and her band, but Mackie wasn't the only one who was shocked at hearing someone that sounded like Sylia singing. Sylia knew that wasn't her - singing had never been part of her life - but it was still unnerving. There were even songs with Linna and Nene sound-alikes, so close to the real Nene and Linna that Sylia doubted that she could tell the difference if she didn't know they didn't sing.
There were also a directory made up of text files of something called fanfiction. In its own way, it was even more disturbing. There were a couple of hundred stories, some short, some long, and some that even had their own directory. But they all were about the Knight Sabers. After skimming over half a dozen of the stories, Sylia had retreated to her apartment and now sat thinking.
Instead of becoming clearer, the situation had become even more confused and strange. There was enough information in that backpack to kill each of them several times over. If this was a trick by GENOM, it was elaborate and at the same time bizarre. Was this a sign of a twisted mind somewhere inside the conglomerate?
Or was it what it appeared to be, a man dropped into this time or place? Neither possibility made real sense, but she didn't see a third option. She was now convinced that the material was meant to fall into her hands, but why?
A knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts. Sighing, she placed her coffee cup on the table and went to the door. A glance through the peephole showed a familiar face. Sighing again, Sylia opened the door.
Priss, dressed in her biker leathers, stomped in. "About time," the singer muttered. "It's cold out there,"
"What brings you by on a day like this?" asked Sylia.
"I need some cash from the last job we had." Priss had her 'I'm a brooding artist, don't ask me any questions' look.
"What for?"
"I'm a bit short of cash right now."
"Today?"
"Yes. I want to by enough food for several more days. The weather people say there's another big snowstorm moving in over night."
"Very well," Sylia led Priss into the living room. "Have a seat. It'll take me a couple of minutes to make the deposit into your account." She walked over to a desk in the corner of the room, where her computer sat.
"Fine by me." Priss glanced at the filled ashtray on the table next to the coffee cup. "Something wrong?"
"What?"
"Is something wrong?"
"What makes you say that?"
Priss pointed at the ashtray. "When you're worried, you start smoking."
"Something has come up," the leader of the Sabers said.
"What? Another job?"
"No."
"GENOM found out our secret identities?"
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean. 'Not exactly'?" Priss glared at her leader.
Sylia hesitated for a moment. "Have you ever heard of a song called 'Konya Wa Hurricane'?"
Priss looked surprised. "What does that have to do with GENOM?"
"Nothing. But it has to do with the problem I'm thinking about."
"How did you know about the song?"
"You've heard of it then?"
"Heard of it?" The singer snorted. "Hell, I wrote it. But there's no way you could have heard of it."
"What if I told you that I have heard it?"
"That's impossible. We aren't going to start publicly playing it until next week." Priss gave Sylia a suspicious look. "You haven't been bugging my trailer, have you?"
"It's not as simple as that."
"What isn't as simple as that?"
"Maybe I can explain better then Miss Stingray," said another voice.
Both Sylia and Priss spun towards the voice. Sitting in chair opposite the couch was a man. He was past middle age, thin without being frail, with a white goatee and clear blue eyes. He was dressed impeccably in a brown suit with an open-neck shirt and a panama hat, completely ill-suit for the weather outside.
He also hadn't been sitting there three seconds before.
Priss was halfway into her pistol draw when the man said, "Please desist in your actions, Miss Asagiri," the man said calmly. "I mean neither you or Miss Stingray any harm."
Sylia grabbed Priss' arm before the singer finished her pistol draw. After several seconds of resisting, Priss stopped struggling. "Who are you?" Sylia asked.
The man smiled. "You may call me Ishmael. As to why I'm here...." He waved a hand towards the couch. Sylia's eyes widen as she saw her prisoner sitting there, looking as confused as she felt. "He is the reason why I am here."
"Who the hell is he?" Priss snarled, her hand digging for the pistol again. "Who the hell are you?"
Ishmael sighed. "Allow me to demonstrate." Priss stopped in confusion as she no longer felt her pistol in its holster.
"Please sit down, Miss Asagiri," Ishmael said pleasantly, Priss' pistol sitting in the palm of his hand. He ejected the ammo clip from the pistol and place both items on the table in front of him. "I doubt that Miss Stingray wants bullet holes in her wall." Giving the man a hard stare, Priss flopped into a chair across the table from Craig. Sylia remained standing.
"What's going on?" asked Craig, looking confused.
"I have come to explain some things," said Ishmael. "But, first, I think some introductions are in order. Miss Stingray, Miss Asagiri, this is Mr. Craig Reed. He is here because I brought him here. Mr. Reed, this is Miss Sylia Stingray and Miss Priss Asagiri, one half of the vigilante team known as the Knight Sabers."
"Fine," snapped Craig, looking hard at him. "In that case, who are you?"
The other man smiled. "You can call me Ishmael."
"What are you?" asked Sylia. "I don't think you're human."
"Ah, that is a very good question. You are correct that I am not a human."
Craig eyes narrowed. "You look familiar. How we met?"
"No, but I took a form you might recognize. Think of the opening scenes of 'The Ribos Operation'."
Craig groaned."My subconscious is now running crossovers."
"Not exactly. I took a form that represented my role and that you would recognize. And this isn't a dream."
"What do you mean this isn't a dream?"
"You are here." Ishmael waved a hand around him. "All of this is real." He motioned to the other two. "They are real people, as are Linna Yamazaki, Nene Romanova, Leon McNichol, Quincy, and everyone else who lives in this city."
"The Boomers?" asked Craig weakly.
Ishmael nodded. Craig sunk low into the sofa, looking shocked.
"What the Hell is going on?" snarled Priss.
"I will explain." Ishmael leaned back. "Mr. Reed recognizes me as a character called The White Guardian from a science fiction TV series from the last half of the last century. My role is very similar to that character's."
"Which is?"
"My purpose is to fight for Light, Order and Goodness against those who serve the other side."
"The other side being Darkness, Chaos, and Evil?" asked Sylia.
"It's more complex then that, but essentially, yes." Ishmael steepled his fingers. "The two sides are locked in an eternal war, spanning Galaxies, timelines, and dimensions in an almost infinite number. We observe and manipulate beings to counter our opponents' observations and manipulations of other beings. This time and place is just one battlefield."
"So, what are you, a God?" snarled Priss.
Ishmael shook his head. "That would be careless of me to claim so. Some might mistaken me for such a being, but not from any fault of my own."
Sylia folded her arms. "What brings you here?"
"First, a question to Mr. Reed. Do you know someone named Bert Van Vliet?"
Craig looked up. "Hm?"
"I asked if you know someone named Bert Van Vliet?"
Craig frowned. "We've traded Emails, but I've never met him."
"And you are familiar with the series he's written called 'The Bubblegum Zone' ?"
"Yes." There was suspicion in his voice now.
"What would you say that in one Universe, those stories are true?"
"I'd want to know what drugs you've been using."
Ishmael looked amused. "I am telling you the truth. There is a dimension in which a man named Bert Van Vliet was transported from his time and place and landed in MegaTokyo where he joined the Knight Sabers."
"What?" This came from both Craig and Priss. Sylia's eyes narrowed but stayed silent. Ishmael looked undisturbed by the reaction he'd received.
Craig recovered first. "But I know the Bert I've talked to isn't in MegaTokyo!"
"I never said the Bert you know was the one transported. Are you cognizant of Robert A Heinlein's 'World as Myth' idea?"
"I think so. I haven't read his stuff in a while."
"What theory is that?" asked Sylia.
Craig looked over at her. "Every fictional story ever written has happened for real, in another universe or dimension."
"A simplification, but generally accurate." Ishmael looked at Sylia. "To Mr. Reed, this city and you two are part of an anime series called 'Bubblegum Crisis.' There are a number of dimensions that are similar to this one. In the case of Mr. Van Vliet, he is currently operating with the Knight Sabers in another dimension, calling himself SkyKnight and having the time of his life."
"So what does this have to do with me?" asked Craig, turning to look at Ishmael.
"Do you remember what happened to Largo in the third story of the Bubblegum Zone series?"
"He got blasted off the GENOM Tower rooftop and ended up as very small pieces."
"No, he did not."
"Huh?"
"Who's Largo?" asked Sylia.
"A Super Boomer with delusions of grandeur," replied Craig quickly. "What does that have to do with me?"
"The Largo from SkyKnight's dimension is here in this one."
"You mean that Largo the would-be Boomer God, the one who got pummeled by the Knight Sabers and SkyKnight and was last seen falling off a man-made mountain is alive and here?"
"He is." Ishmael leaned forward. "I'm afraid my opponent played a bit fast and lose with the rules we operate under."
"You have rules?" asked Priss with a smirk.
"Oh yes," replied Ishmael gravely. "With the powers we possess, we can not confront each other face to face. The results would be catastrophic and neither side would win. So we are limited to influencing events to tip the fight in out favor."
"What rules did the Black Guardian bend to bring Largo here?" asked Craig.
"Black Guardian?" Ishmael shrugged. "A good a name as any. To answer your question, we do not usually allow people to cross from one set of dimensional points to another. A few, like Mr. Van Vliet, slipped into their new situations without the assistance of either side."
"How's that possible?"
"This isn't a time for an explanation that would involved quantum physics, dimensional eddies, and multi-universe theories. Let us just say that a few people slipped through the dimensional cracks and leave it at that."
"Oh."
"Anyway, by the time the people are discovered, they have become part of the timeline, and thus cannot be removed. A few others are voluntary transferred from one point to another, when they had skills we thought were necessary. We call these people Avatars."
Ishmael's gaze bore into Craig. "But, we do not move people from one dimension to a similar one. There is too much of a chance of personal issues interfering with their purpose. A situation like that could cause more problems then it would solve."
"But not in the case of this Largo," said Sylia.
"His personal issues are the reason why he was brought here. Largo lost to the Knight Sabers. Those events that caused his destruction there have not happened here yet. He has knowledge of the future, a hatred of the Knight Sabers and an obsession of you, Miss Stingray, that borders on the maniacal."
"And what are those issues this Largo has?" asked Priss, looking like she want nothing more then to toss Ishmael out the window without bothering to open first.
"Beside the long and painful deaths of the Knight Sabers?" He shrugged. "The usual stuff - world domination, being worship as a god, the destruction of the human race, and so on."
"So why am I here?" asked Craig, an ugliness in his tone of voice that hadn't been there before. "Why not borrow SkyKnight from his own timeline and let him take on this Bozo?"
"We cannot. His presence is needed where he is. You, on the other hand, share some of the same qualities as Mr. Van Vliet and were more available."
"What qualities? I'm not an engineer!"
"No one is asking you to be."
"I'm also not a military or intelligence type! What qualities?"
"First you have some knowledge of Military History and tactics."
"Reading 'The Art of War' and some other books several times doesn't qualify me as an expert!"
Ishmael brushed the objection away. "Then, there's your familiarity with this dimension and the people in it."
"So is any reasonably fanatical Otaku."
"You've had some martial arts training."
"I never did get my Black Belt."
"You have above average intelligence, and a willingness to learn."
"Only when I have to."
Ishmael chuckled. "I think you'll find sufficient reasons to learn. You also have a strong sense of what's right and wrong, but you're willing to blur the line at times."
"I don't call that a virtue."
"You're also a pessimist and a worrier who does not take things at face value."
"They've already have a moody brooding type," replied Craig, pointing a thumb at Priss. The singer glared daggers back at him.
Sylia watched the exchange quietly until now. "What do you want from me?"
Ishmael leaned back. "Largo's presence here and now has cause a shift in the balance of power towards the other side. Fortunately, he is currently too damaged to take direct action against you. However, that will not last, and with his future knowledge, he can eliminate the mistakes he made last time. Since I cannot remove Largo from this time and place, I needed someone to balance him. Mr. Reed is my Avatar in this case."
"You picked him?" asked Priss, pointed to Craig.
"Hey, I'm not happy about it either!" Craig snapped back.
Sylia unfolded her arms and looked Ishmael in the eye. "You want him to join the Knight Sabers." It wasn't a question.
"I do."
"This idiot?" snarled Priss. "Him in a hardsuit?"
Craig's anger erupted. "I don't think I could do any worse then you!"
"What do you know?"
"You're an accident waiting to happen!"
"And you'll get yourself killed and us along with you!"
Craig stood. "Listen, Priscilla." the singer flinched at her real name. "I don't want to be here, all right?"
"Then why don't you go home?"
"I would like nothing better, but it's a bit too bloody far to walk, don't you think?"
Priss motioned towards Ishmael "You believe this nut and his crazy story?"
"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"
"I believe him," said Sylia quietly. Priss and Craig stared at her. She ignored them and gave the Guardian a cool stare. "The items in the backpack was your doing, correct?"
Ishmael nodded. "I needed something to get your attention. Would you have listened to me if I hadn't given you proof of my claims?"
"No."
"What stuff?" asked Craig.
"She'll explain it later," said Ishmael. "Now, about the arrangements -"
"You're not seriously considering this!" yelled Priss.
"I can't afford another member," said Sylia cooly.
"I assure you that money is not an object," replied Ishmael. "In fact, you should check the bank account you have in the First Bank of Hong Kong, the one you use for Knight Sabers business. I think you will find a large deposit has been made into it the last...." He glanced at a pocket watch that appeared in his hand. "....three minutes."
Sylia frowned. Then, she slowly walked over to the computer and accessed the amount. The screen darken for a moment, then flashed up:
Account number: 777-8822-9955-4P
Amount in account as of 9:24am, Dec. 17, 2031: $ 5,458,466.64
Deposits
White Guardian Security Corp.
Houston, Texas, USA - 12:28pm, Dec. 17, 2031: $ 100,000,000.00
New Total: $ 105,458,466.64
Thank you and have a nice day.
She stared at the screen. After several minutes, she looked at Ishmael again. "I'm impressed," she said, keeping her voice steady. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Priss watching her suspiciously.
"I hope it shows that I am serious about this."
"Don't I have any say in this?" asked Craig angrily.
Ishmael shook his head. "As a matter of fact, you do not. The Avatar must be in place now in order to be prepared for the confrontation." He gave a small smile. "But I doubt you'll complain much about the pay."
"What pay?"
Ishmael held up an empty hand. A flash of light, and there was suddenly a small book in the hand. He tossed it over to Craig. "An account book," Ishmael said mildly as Craig looked at the book in his lap, then back him. "Open it, it is in English."
Craig did so, his glare never leaving The other man. After a few seconds, his eyes drifted down to the book. His eyes feel on the amount in the account and he nearly choked. "Is this US dollars?" he asked weakly.
"It is. It's only fair after all. The job will not be easy, and while we aren't allowed to do some things, we try and compensate those we chose in other ways. In this case, money. You'll find that there will be a modest amount added to that account each month."
"Define 'modest.'"
"About one percent of the current account balance."
Craig made some more strangling noises. "That's all well and good," he said after about fifteen seconds, "but I thought you didn't draft people for this things, but went looking for volunteers."
"Usually, we don't draft people like yourself. But this is a crisis situation, so I am forced to use whatever I have available. If I had more time, I would have done things differently. But there is no time."
"What do you mean there's no time?" Craig roared, standing up, the bank book forgotten.
The object of his ire didn't seem upset or worried at the threat. "I will not send you back. This attempt by my opposite guardian must be countered here and now, and I have chosen you for that role. I cannot find anyone else in time."
"Well, screw your opponent, because I'm not staying!" He held up the bank book. "Even for this type of money!"
"I'm afraid you will stay until this crisis has been resolved. In any case -"
It was at this point that Craig threw the bank book at Ishmael and dove over the table, intent on grabbing the man by the throat. The bank book whizzed by Ishmael's head, but the expression on his face looked somewhat resigned. He sat there as Craig reached out to grab him.
Instead of his hands closing around flesh, Craig's hands found nothing but air. Before he realized that his hands had passed through Ishmael's neck with no resistance, he slammed into the back of the chair hard enough to knock it over onto it's back. Craig made it only a little further before he smashed into the carpet, face first.
Ishmael looked over his shoulder at the man he'd chosen to be his Avatar. The fact that his chair had been knocked over didn't seem to phase him in the least, as he continue to sit where he had been, only with nothing holding him up.
"It's a fucking hologram of some sort!" Priss yelled, looking around for a possible source of the projector.
"Oh dear," replied Ishmael quietly as he continued to watch Craig shake off the effects of the fall. "I didn't think his temper was that bad....." He shrugged, then turned to look at Priss. "Miss Asagiri, I am most certainly not a hologram." He stood up, picked up Priss' pistol and ammo clip and haded them back to the singer. "It's just that physical violence is not one of my favorite pastimes. While trying to strangle me may have some soothing qualities for Mr. Reed's current emotional state, that is all it would have been effective for."
Ishmael left Priss staring at her pistol and strode over to Sylia, who had watched the entire event in silence. "The amount in the account is yours whether or not you agree to take Mr. Reed under your wing."
Sylia gaze was unyielding. "Suppose I do agree to this. What do you want me to do with him?" Over Ishmael's shoulder, Sylia could see Priss reload her pistol, then start to move towards them stealthily. Craig was back on his feet, though he wasn't steady.
"Train him to be a front-line member of the Sabers. Integrate him into your team. Largo will be expecting only four Knight Sabers, not five. Use that as an advantage."
"What do I get out of it?"
"There'll be an additional fifty million deposited to the same account every two months. If he manages to survive and, in your view, he is a member of the team after six months, there will be a deposit of two hundred million made to the account. If he survives a year, another two hundred million."
"And if he doesn't survive six months or a year?"
Ishmael gave her a level, serious look. "In that case, Miss Stingray, you and the other Knight Sabers, not to mention most of this city's population, are liable to be dead, or wish you were, because Largo would have won."
"Why should I trust you? You could be a plant from GENOM."
"I could be," conceded the Guardian. "But you know GENOM very well. Do they have the technology to do this?" He closed his eyes and Priss disappeared. One split second, she was there, aiming her pistol at Ishmael's head and moving for a clean shot, the next she was gone.
"Where is she?" Sylia asked, her voice cold with fury.
Ishmael pointed to the window. "She is all right. I just decided she needed to cool off some."
Sylia moved towards the window, angling herself so she could keep an eye on the strange man. When she reached the window, she looked down at the street below. "I don't see her."
"Oh?" Ishmael's voice came from right next to her. Startled, she turned to look at him. He ignored the stare and looked out the window. "I know I translocated her....There!" He pointed.
Sylia looked again. The street had been cleared of snow, resulting in the snowdrifts that divided street from sidewalk. The snowstorms had been heavy the last several days, so the drifts varied in height from a meter and an half to two meters and twice this in width. Where Ishmael was pointing, a part of a drift started moving. A red-and-brown clad arm broke free, followed by the head and other arm. Priss shook herself free, looked around, then looked up. Even from this distance, Sylia could see the long strings of curses the singer was shouting as she finished digging her way out of the snowdrift.
"Oh dear," Ishmael sighed. "I had meant to locate her on top of the drift, not in it." He looked closer. "She seems all right though. Extraordinary vocabulary for such a young woman."
"That was...impressive," Sylia said finally.
"But not convincing?"
"Not completely."
Ishmael turned to look at Craig, who had finally recovered from the dive and was stalking towards them. "You go-"
Ishmael shrugged and Craig stopped in mid-stride and mid-rant, frozen in place like a picture. Ishmael walked over to the immobilized man, then turned to looked at Sylia. "Does this convince you?"
The leader of the Knight Sabers moved towards the living statue. "What did you do to him?" she asked.
"I froze his personal timeline," Ishmael replied. "He does not see or hear anything we do, which is just as well. I do have some final things to say before I release Mr. Reed here and Miss Asagiri comes storming in looking for my head."
"I never said I'm willing to take him."
"I think you will take him. He knows too much to let him go, yet you're not as ruthless as to kill him out of hand for something he has no control over. That would make you as bad as GENOM, and while your methods are hard, you are not a cruel person."
Sylia took a deep breath. Ishmael was right, but she wouldn't let him know that. "What else do you want to tell me?"
"The first is that while Mr. Reed has some suitable characteristics for this job, he is not prepared to function in this time and place. We regressed him to his early twenties, removed a few physical imperfections, and made him more physically fit then he was, but he isn't a superman by any stretch of the imagination. Beyond what he seen and heard in the animated episodes and read in the source books, he knows nothing about the here and now. He needs to fit in, including speaking the Japanese language." He held up a hand to forestall Sylia's coming question. "I thought for everyone concerned that we appear to be speaking the same language, so I allowed you to think you were. But as soon as I leave, Mr. Reed will only be able to speak English, very bad Spanish, and a smattering of even worse Korean. Please be aware of that."
"Very well." replied Sylia stiffly.
"And there's one last thing. The items in Mr. Reed's backpack? Pay close attention to the animated episodes and the role-playing books. If not for this Largo's appearance, the episodes show what would have happened to you and your fellow Sabers in the near future. Viewing them in detail might allow you to head off any possible problems. The text files supply a wide variety of possible outcomes and scenarios. Just remember that all have occurred somewhere else, and you should be aware of them." He gave her a sad smile. "Knowledge of the future is a dangerous thing - be care of what you try and effect, or you may end up causing more harm then good."
He reached out and took one of Sylia's hands. She noted that his hands were solid and warm. "I must leave you now" Ishmael said quietly. "I wish you and the rest of your team good luck in the near future - I think you will need all the help you can get." He kissed the back of her hand, released it, and stepped back.
"What about him?" she asked, motioning towards the still frozen Craig.
"He will be free five seconds after I leave. Good-bye." With that, Ishmael vanished.
Sylia was still standing there when Craig started moving again '-ddam jackass! I'm going -" he stopped suddenly and started looking around. "Where did he go?"
"He left," replied Sylia in English.
Craig staggered in disbelief. "He can't!"
"He did."
"What the hell am I suppose to do now?"
"Sit down and see if we can figure out some things." There was someone hammering at Sylia's front door. "That'll be Priss. She's already angry, so I suggest you say nothing until she calms down."
As she walked to the door, the slight stirring of a headache made itself known to her. It began to get worse as she opened the door and let a wet and furious Priss storm into the apartment. Some days, it doesn't pay to know the answers....