Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Bubblegum Avatar #2 – "Born to be Killed" ❯ Chapter 15 - “Storm Clouds Gather” ( Chapter 15 )

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

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Chapter 15 - “Storm Clouds Gather”

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The car that entered the dilapidated factory complex that cloudy afternoon was a sleek, expensive model common among corporation executives. It was also armored, with a heavy suspension, flat-proof tires, and a powerful engine, all designed to protect the occupants from either assassination or kidnaping. Nothing but the best for GENOM executives.

When the car stopped in the shadow of the crumbling building, the first two people out of the car were BU-55C boomers. After about thirty seconds of scanning the surrounding area, one of the pair went to the back door and opened it. Mason stepped out, followed by Largo. With one of the bodyguard boomers in front, the other one behind, they escorted the other two into the building.

Inside the building wasn’t much better then the outside. Debris and trash littered the hallway, pipes and wires hung loosely from the ceiling. The smell of long-ago released chemicals still hung in the air, making Mason’s nose wrinkle in distaste. Largo and the other two weren’t affected.

“Interesting place,” Largo said, looking around as they walked down the corridor.

“Didn’t your Mason use the same place in your dimension?” Mason asked bruskly.

“He did,” Largo replied. “It’s just that I never visited the factory in my time.”

“You still think this is a bad place to move the project?”

“I do.”

“I thin you worry too much. The Sabers have no idea we are here.”

“They will find out.”

Mason snorted. “How? I had all references to this factory purged from GENOM’s databases.”

“What about the city’s databases?”

“Yes, the city databases too. There is no record of GENOM ever owning this factory.”

“There is still the old news reports about the explosion that closed this place.”

Mason glared at the cyberdroid. “There is nothing to connect this factory to the project.”
Largo nodded slowly. “I would not be so confident about that. The Sabers are very resourceful, and they have the Avatar helping them.”

“Bah!” Mason said harshly. “I have seen nothing to show that this Avatar is anything more then an annoyance.”

“The same annoyance that you want dead,” Largo replied evenly.

“You haven’t tracked him down yet,” the GENOM executive shot back.

“I haven’t. But I am getting closer.”

“The only thing I want to hear about him is that he is dead.”

“I will inform you of that very soon.”

“Good.” The quartet reached a security door that managed to look as abandoned as the rest of the building. One of the bodyguards stepped forward and punched in a code on a keypad next to the door. The door opened and the four passed through into another hallway that looked less ill-used. After the door slid shut. Mason asked, “What about that Chang bitch?”

“The attack will occur in the next hour or so. Your squad is moving into place even as we speak.”

“Make sure she’s dead.”

“She will be.”

“Good.”

They reached another security door, and again, one of the boomers stepped forward and punched in the entry code. The door slid open, this time showing what looked like a brilliantly white corridor. To the left, the wall was a long row of windows, while the rest of the dead-end corridor was featureless. It was only after Largo stepped in did he realize that this was a room, not a hallway

Mason motioned toward the windows. “Just in case the Sabers do come for a visit, I’m sure the reception committee will be able to deal with them.”

Largo stepped over to one of the windows. The observation room, which was clearly what this room was designed to be, overlooked a room the size of two basketball courts. The room, with a high ceiling and plain white, walls looked like a operating theater. But what was being performed in the room wasn’t life-saving surgery. In fact, it was almost the opposite.

A dozen manufacturing boomers were scattered around four slab-like tables. Each of the four slabs had a partially completed boomer on it. Each of the boomer under construction was similar to the 55 series in appearance, only larger and red in color.

For a long minute, Largo stared down at the activity, frowning as he did so. “I didn’t know we were producing more then one prototype.”

“Neither will the Sabers,” Mason replied, his own expression one of smug satisfaction.

“We do not have the black box ready.”

“On the contrary, it has been ready for two days now.”

Largo looked up at the human. “You did not inform me of this,” he said cooly. Mentally, he noted that Mason was showing signs of moving past his anger, and back towards the cold-blooded Special Assistant of old. Which wasn’t a good sign....

“There was no reason to,” Mason replied, arrogance giving his words a sharpness that had been missing lately from his conversation. “However, there is only one black box ready for use. There has been a problem with our source of one of the critical components. I am meeting with the source this evening.”

“You are not using GENOM resources for this?”

“There are a few components that GENOM does not has direct access to. I was forced to relay on less...dependable sources for the parts.”

Largo nodded. In his own dimension, there had been no need for the black box to be built -- it had come whole from the remains of the USSD boomer it had been in. “I see. Is this going to be on ongoing problem?”

“Steps have been taken to secure future resources.”

Largo nodded. “You are leaning.”

Mason’s face became red. “Do not patronize me!” he snarled. “You work me! Do not forget that!”

“I don’t,” said Largo flatly. “But I do know what the Mason from my dimension did wrong. You are making the same mistakes, like underestimating the Knight Sabers.”

“You give them too much credit!”

“And you are giving them too little.” Largo turned and stared down into the room again, watching the four boomers under construction. ‘They will come. Maybe not tonight, but they will be here soon.”

Mason shrugged. “By this time tomorrow, all four will be completed and ready for action. I have ordered that all data relating to the Knight Sabers be uploaded into the Boomer’s memory chips.”

“Oh?” Largo turned to look at Mason again.

“The boomers are programmed with a new combat prediction algorithm. It is supposed to be ten percent more accurate then the current version.”

“Indeed?” Largo’s thoughts were not as surprised. It seems Mason is finally over his snit with the Avatar. At least enough to think straight. Interesting. “I can see a very fascinating test coming up.”

“I am so glad that you approve.”

“My job is to advise you.” At least until you are no further use to me.

“In that case, do you have anything to add or suggest?” Mason said in a tone that implied there had better not be.

“Nothing that I can see,“ Largo replied easily.

“Good, We have fifteen minutes before we must leave. I want to show you something else before we go. Interested?”

“Of course,” Largo replied. Maybe this game isn’t so out of hand.....

*****

Priss, in her hardsuit, waved to Craig as she entered the camouflaged sentry post. “Quiet so far?” she asked.

Craig turned to look at her. “So far,” he replied. “Any signs of a tail?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Where did you park your bike?”

“Garage a block and a half away.” She moved over to stand next to him. “I used the escape tunnel to sneak into the building. Irene’s is dead to the world, and Linna’s not much better. Nene’s left already, and Sylia will be leaving in a couple of minutes. She said she wanted to talk to you before she left.”

“I’d better go see her then,” Craig replied.

“You should,” Priss agreed. She walked over to where Craig was standing. “Anything I should be aware of?”

“No. Like I said it’s quiet. But if I was a paranoid man, I would say it’s too quiet.”

“What do you mean, ‘if you were a paranoid man?’ I’m not the one with the four K-9 boomers guarding his building.”

“That’s not paranoia,” Craig muttered as he walked away, “That’s prudent security in this ‘berg....”

Craig climbed down the ladder. The ladder was located inside the closet of the largest bedroom in five o three, which was the other apartment of the safehouse. As he emerged from the closet, he unlatched and removed his helmet. “Sylia?” he called out.

“Out here,” she replied.

He walked out into a mirror image of the living room in five o four. Unlike the other living room, there was a number of boxes scattered about, mostly for items like food, technical gear for the hardsuits, and other things for a temporary stay. Sylia stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, looking serious.

Craig gave her a half smile. “You wanted to see me, Boss?”

She nodded. “I’m leaving you in charge.”

Craig blinked. “What?” he said in a low flat voice.

“Linna’s sole responsibility is Irene, while Priss is too headstrong at times. You are in charge, it a matter of elimination.”

“Can I demand a recount?”

Sylia gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. If you are attacked, getting Irene out of here is the first priority. Don’t try and make a heroic stand. All you and Priss have to do is hold them off long enough to Irene and Linna to escape.” She walked over to a panel on the wall and opened it. There was a large button of some sort. “The self destruct switch,” she said, her expression serious. “Push it, and all of you will have three minutes to get clear of the building before the charges are detonated.”

“Er...yeah,” Craig muttered, looked pensive.

“Something wrong?” Sylia asked.

Craig glanced around. “Where’s Mackie and Nene?”

“They’ve already left, by the escape route. What’s bothering you?”

“I don’t like this entire setup here,” Craig said, running his free hand through his hair. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, but this just screams ‘stupid move’ in three foot high letters. You’re dangling Irene and the rest of us out here like a pinata.”

Sylia nodded. “To be honest, I’m not pleased with this setup myself. But events outpaced the plans we made. Instead of days, we have hours, and we’re taking risks I do not like to take. If it wasn’t for the need for me to accelerate the plans for Irene and Jeremy, I would be here.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t have to like it.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t like it either. I don’t like leaving Irene and the rest of you like this. As soon as I have set everything in motion, I will be back. I just need you and Priss to hold the fort long enough to allow me to do that. If I’m lucky, it will be before midnight, and Nene will be with me. We’ll move Irene to a safer location then.”

“Assuming this place is still standing by then.”

“Assuming that.” Sylia glanced at her watch. “Mackie and I have to get going if I’m to have everything ready by tonight. Remember, getting Irene and Linna out of here in case of an attack is your only priority. Is that understood?”

“Right Boss,” Craig replied, still looking glum. “”You don’t mind if a prey to whoever is the local deity for a quiet evening, do you?”

“Not at all. I just don’t know if they will grant your request.”

“You’re a great inspiration to me, Boss,” Craig muttered.

Sylia smiled again. “Well, don’t worry yourself sick. If they do attack, you can’t prevent it. If they don’t attack, take it as a good sign.”

*****

Cahira waited until the phone rang for the second time before she answered it. “Yes?”

“It is Freya,” the person on the other end said. “We are two minutes from you location. Do you have the data?”

“I do,” Cahira replied in the same tone. “Transfer of data by electronic means not advisable.”

“Understood. Do you have a location for us to meet?”

Cahira glanced down the street, her eyes scanning the street. “There is a garage three blocks south of the target called Heroshi’s.”

“I have the location in memory,” Freya said. “We will be there in one minute, thirty-five seconds.”

“I will be there.” Cahira. She broke the connection, then looked at the target building. She wanted to kill the target herself, but her orders were clear: watch but do not take action unless the target escaped. As she walked out of the alley, she mused on what would happen if the attack did fail and she was forced to step in. The thought didn’t bother her. On the other hand, the possibility pleased her....

*****

The van was a slightly worn-looking specimen of the type, muddy brown in color, with a sign on the side in both Japanese and English that said, ‘Talman’s Plumbing Company – 24 Hour Emergency Service’, followed by a phone number. The company was real, as was the phone number, but the van was not a real Plumber’s van.

Parked around the corner from one of the better restaurants in the city, it drew little in the way of attention from passer-bys. A few did come over and ask one of the two men working on the van’s engine if they needed any help, but the men merely smiled and said a tow truck was on the way. The fact that each man was young and looked fit, with short hair and clean shaven, with clean jumpsuits might have alerted someone to something amiss, but subtle details like that were usually missed by the average citizen.

The van’s interior was definitely not that of a Plummer’s mobile workshop. Instead, there were two banks of sophisticated electrical surveillance equipment, overseen by a trio of USSD technicians. Near the rear door of the compartment, Rowley sat, eyes closed and leaning back against the van’s interior. “Anything?” she asked for the tenth time in the last hour.

“Nothing, Sir,” one of the technicians, a geeky looking guy by the name of Lyman replied. “The Russian is on his way out the front door, and the Frenchman is still visiting the men’s room.”

“Looks like a bust,” Rowley said slowly, opening her eyes.

“Appears to be,” the technician agreed.

“Tell Iwata to wait ten more minutes, then get out of there. What’s the next place on the list?”

Another of the technicians, a Japanese native by the name of Nanamura, glanced at a clipboard next to her head. “A Club in District three,” she said. “The Golden Spider. Part of the local Yakuza business front. Some of the heavy hitters in the weapons trade are regulars there.”

“Fine,” Rowley replied. “Iwata is to head there next. Get Rabaud over there to secure positions before we arrive.”

“Understood. Transmitting orders.”

“Anything from Captain Dyachenko?” the Major asked the third technician, a pocked-faced youth named Quince.

“No. Nothing since the last report.”

“Inform him of our move.”

“Hold on!” Nanamura said excitedly. “We have a possible player.”

“Who?” Rowley snapped, standing and peering over the technician’s shoulder.

The technician’s fingers flew over the keyboard in front of her. “Thought so,” she said with a satisfied tone. “Brian J. Mason.”

Rowley peered at a television screen in front of the technician. The man in the center of the screen was tall, well-dressed, but something in his movement and expression told the Major that this wasn’t some minor accountant. He had just exited an expensive-looking car and was striding into the restaurant, followed by two striking women. “So, that’s Mason,” the Major said, half to herself.

“To the core,” The technician replied. “Special assistant to Old Man Quincy himself. If half the rumors about him are true, he’s probably the second most powerful man in the world, right after his boss. The rumors also say that more then a few people have died when they’ve crossed paths with him. A real cobra.”

“Pictures of him are few and far between. How did you ID him?”

“TV footage from this morning’s ‘accident’ at the lab,” Nanamura replied. “From what I saw, he wasn’t having a good day.”
Rowley nodded. “Maybe we should take a look at the ADP report on that incident and see what’s in it that could piss off Mason.”

“What’s Mason doing here?” Lyman asked. “GENOM Tower’s has places that make this place look like a greasy spoon in a backwater town.”

Rowley smiled. “Now that’s an interesting question.”

“You think he was behind the attack on the base?”

“Like Nanamura said, he’s dangerous. Just the type a man you want to have in charge of special projects.”

“Doesn’t explain why he’s here,” Nanamura said.

“What’s up with the two babes with him?” the pocked-faced man asked.

“Cool your gonads, Quince,” Rowley said. “Lyman, tell Iwata to stay put and watch him.”

“Right,” the technician replied.

Nanamura, see of you can get a line on those women.” The female technician nodded and started typing.

“Bodyguards, maybe?” Lyman asked after several seconds of conversation with the USSD members inside the restaurant.

“There’s no sign of the big boys besides the one that’s driving the car,” Nanamura replied. “And it looks like he’s staying put.”

“Any chance of scanning those two women?” Rowley asked.

“Not with the equipment we have inside,” Quince replied. “When they come out, we can do it.”

“You don’t think those two women are human, do you?” Nanamura asked.

“Nope. Think about it, how many people would want to kill Mason?”

“It would be easier to come out with a list of people who didn’t want to kill him,” The female technician replied. “And Mason knows it.”

“So the two babes are Boomers?” Quince asked, sounding disappointed.

“It would be a good bet,” Rowley replied. “And I don’t think they’re secretary types either. Do we have a visual on him inside?”

“Got him,” Nanamura said. “It looks like he’s heading for the Frenchman’s table.”

Rowley nodded. ‘The Frenchman’, in this case, was an unsavory individual by the name of Rene Dupree. He claimed to be French, but the French themselves had no record of him. His speciality was highly advanced equipment, some weapons related, some not, but all acquired under suspicious circumstances. One step ahead of the local law, Dupree was one of the best in his business. He had been near the top of the list Van Pelt had pulled out of the ADP computer network, so he’s been among the first to be approached by Iwata and several members of his platoon. Masquerading as intermediaries for a middle eastern faction looking for a few highly special pieces of technology, they had met with the Frenchman. The conversation, wouldn’t have stood up in a court of law – Dupree never said anything that would have incriminated himself, but there was enough hints and reading between the lines to let Iwata know that he could ‘obtain’ the items requested.

“Can we get anyone close enough to eavesdrop?” Rowley asked.

Nanamura shook her head. “Dupree’s paranoid enough to sweep his booth twice a night, and those goons of his don’t look like they want anyone near them.”

“Right. We’ll have to settle for lip reading then. Get the best picture you can without compromising the operation. I’ll settle for half a conversation.”

“Understood.”

“Now Mister Mason,” Rowley muttered, “What do you want from Mister Dupree?”