Date
Posted:
03.24.1998
Date:
12.15.2195
Time:
Midday
The Wastelands
"So what do we have to do?" Aran asked, standing up in the sidecar.
Gripping the sides and leaning forward, he studied the horizon, ready to
fly on his own again.
"Center of the city has a subterranean haven. A sunken self-contained
complex. It's locked tight, though. I'm going to
the eastern part of the city for part of the key to open it. You
need to go west, into the swamps and find a building. A long time
ago it was the part of the Technicia Defense Organization. It's a tall
tower, the tallest with seven others around it in a geometric pattern.
It's the--"
"Weapons Research and Development tower," Aran broke in.
John Salan stared at him for awhile with an expression that was as close
as he had ever come to amazement. "I know the building," Aran murmured.
Not true, Dr. Tsano knows the building. Unfortunately,
I've got a chunk of his memory in my friggin' head.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Inside, in the fifth basement level there is a computer system named
ICARUS. You HAVE to retrieve the hard disk drive from this computer.
It is absolutely vital that you do. It has years and years of research
notes on vaccines, medical knowledge, and genetic information. To
lose it would decrease the chance of the Pure surviving."
"No problem." Aran jumped from the sidecar and hung in the
air briefly, weightless, before gravity began to pull him down. His
wings extended and he began to slowly descend over the city.
The thickness of the air seemed to choke him, almost strain his breath
to the point of blacking out, so Aran switched on his internal air filter.
Instantly, the air was cleaner, though not even near the level of what
he normally breathed. It would be dangerous to stay below more
than a few hours. Hey, Seer, gimme a 4 hour countdown. Starting
Count. Aran landed on the ruins of street that had been vacant
for hundreds of years. This part of the island was a living
testimony to the war between nature and science. Being unpopulated
by humans, the only change to these streets were the foot high spiderweed
bushes bursting through cracks in the pavement. A family of
chokeivy was twined around a nearby street sign, obscuring its printed
name. Aran floated up and pulled a few of the vines away, frying
the twining parasites with essence as the vines tried to twine around his
arm. In bold, white block letters were the words:
HOPE AVE.
"Ironic," Aran said to no one, only a howling wind answered.
The Automap was useless, no one updated the software to include the
Wastelands. Aran relied on his compass to point him to the west,
towards the 'marshes' of the once great city. The pavement
below was still strong, so the path was easy. As he walked,
Aran's thoughts wandered with him. First about how his apartment
was doing, and whether his lawyer had paid the bio-doc yet. I
better call him soon, see if I can get transfer my accounts to fellinum
as fast as possible. He thought about the A.C.C.U. and
how they would probably try to retaliate again, soon. He thought
about the Historian, and he thought about the mysterious blue-haired girl
he was driven to protect, for unknown reasons. What did
the historian call her? Athara-Meeatora? 'The Box That Opens From
The Inside'. Not exactly. What do you mean?
He paraphrased. What? The direct translation is 'the
locked box that is opened from the locked box within'. It refers
to a hypothesis of a later 21st century scientist Daniel Braddock.
What was the hypothesis? He said that to truly lock away a
secret, completely and unreachable, you would need two 'lock boxes'.
The first would hold the key to the second, and the second would hold all
the secrets...and the first box. So that the key to unlocking
all the secrets is itself locked inside, with the secrets. And even
if, somehow, that box came into the world: it too would have to be unlocked.
Strange, so the blue haired girl is a box within a box? What
box is she in? Or does she contain the first box? Eh,
too strange for me. I just steal things or blow them up, philosophy
isn't my strong suit. Perhaps. Whatever, let's
just get to the tower.
Aran strode along the empty streets, beyond the unlit windows and open
doors. Winds seemed to race through every crevice and empty room,
and the entire city seemed to be crying. The wail was echoing
then, off of the massive towers of glass and steel.
"Gives me the creeps," Aran muttered to himself. "All these
buildings sitting there, empty. It's like a ghost town.
No humans, no insects, no friggin' life. Just plants, some vegetation.
Still can't get it out of my mind that maybe, in one of those windows,
there's an eye on me." He shivered briefly and continued walking.
The building he remembered was only a few miles ahead, he could see
its ruins even from here. How much time do I have? 3
hours, 44 minutes. Aran sighed and broke into a run.
No sense in staying in the past.
His ears heard a pulse cannon charge. Distance! 44
yards. Aran flared his wings and shot upwards, the concrete
below him shattered into hundred of fragments and so much dust.
Give me a thermal scan. The world was overlaid
with layers of red and orange. He saw four figures in buildings scattered.
The heat sensors were reading only parts of bodies, arms, legs, one or
two hearts among them. So either they were wearing thermal shielding
or... Technomancers! Aran dove towards the street
and spiraled into a thermal, letting the wind current carry him higher
and faster than he could fly under his own strength. The figures
were moving. Two of them jumped from their 20th story perches
and slammed into the concrete below. Fighter models, almost invincible.
One was scaling the wall down, the other seemed to be taking whatever internal
path he had used to enter the building. The two below were already
scouring the ground, looking for any sign of their target.
Heh, they won't even look up here. That gives me the element of
surprise. I have something that may be useful. What?
The bio-technology readout for doing a 'push' field. What's
that? Charge essence through your arms, then release it at the
certain condition to create a wall of energy that doesn't hurt, but will
throw an opponent. Right, give it to me.
Aran felt the long forgotten sensation of information pulsing through his
brain. To a technomancer, it was his heartbeat.
The information pulsed through fiber optic nerves, flowed like liquid life
through his veins. Aran knew how to generate the push field.
Below, two technomancers were performing standard sweeps of the area.
Looking for remains or signs of escape. Aran began channeling essence
and dove towards the nearest one: a stocky young man with a pulse
cannon instead of a right arm. He was a pure military model, the
working of his body showed it. The style was anything but subtle,
his face was masked and synth-skin was used sparingly. Hoses
and external fiber connections wired his body together in a fashion that
made him incredibly fast at the cost of not looking human.
Aran charged essence through his arms and let the blue energy explode from
his palms through his fingers. A translucent blue wall
of energy descended on the war-machine, who never saw it coming.
The wave pushed him a foot into the concrete, cementing his place.
Aran landed and quickly jammed his fist to the guns central charging core,
pulling the wires away from the core.
"Sorry, I just don't have time to fight." Aran said and
turned to face the oncoming attacker. The second technomancer
was dressed in all black, with a pale face unbroken by technology.
But he looked less human than the war-machine. He seemed to
radiate unattachment, a dull sheen in his eyes that betrayed him as slowly
loosing touch with his humanity. From his back came four extra
arms, all laced with razors. His fingers and forearm began
to sprout blades as well. The arms were attached much like his wings,
but these were designed for nothing but death. Aran spun on
the pavement and jumped backwards as the extra arms shot forward, the blades
dug into the concrete he had been standing on.
"You're good," the technomancer said icily.
"Thanks. You're not bad yourself," Aran said, jumping over another barrage
of the spear like arms. Only two landed in the ground this time,
the other two anticipated his jump, racing for his heart. Aran
retracted his wings and twisted sideways. The arms missed him
on either side and he fell to the ground with a force that jarred him.
He began generating a second push field, and threw it towards the black
clad technomancer. Seeing the field, the technomancer drove
all of its spike-arms into the concrete as anchors. The field
passed through it without any visible affect. He could see the third
technomancer climbing the building, and the fourth was almost to the ground.
Unless he could disable this one in time, their would be no chance of him
taking on all three together. Behind him, a wrenching of concrete
and metal announced that the war-machine had managed to free itself.
Aran spun and threw a push-field at him, sending the young technomancer
flying through a wall on the opposite side of the street.
"I told you, I don't have time to fight," Aran growled, his ears alerted
him to the sound of the spears launching at him with his back turned.
Aran spread his wings and pulled them around him. He heard
the metal spark as the two collided, felt the blades chip his wings.
Great. The wall-climbing technomancer was almost to the ground,
and the war-machine was trying to push the remains of the wall off of him.
Aran pulled his wings back and rolled forward, feeling the spears stab
the street behind him. Before him was a second street sign,
writhing with chokeivy. Aran ducked his head and brought his
wings forward, shearing the sign with the edges of the metal wings.
He grabbed the bottom, near the cut and whirled around, hitting the black
garbed technomancer with the sign. Finding a living target, the chokeivy
swarmed over him. As he thought, the technomancer began using all
his attention to fight off the chokeivy...it looked like an even fight.
Geez, what's this guy made of? A blow to his spine sent
him sprawling as the third technomancer he hadn't been watching took him
down. Aran rolled over and barely avoided a stream of ionic-pulse
charges. The third technomancer was a war-model as well, the number
'7' emblazoned on it's chest. PLEASE don't let there be a one
through six nearby... Aran jumped to his feet hastily as the
other technomancer began to target him again. The war-machine was
almost free of the rubble.
"I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS. WILL YOU GET THIS THROUGH YOUR HEADS!!!!"
He dashed forward at a speed that surprised him as much as his opponent
and picked him up. Aran threw the technomancer towards the
war-machine and the two collapsed as two more push fields brought down
more rubble around them. He turned and found the fourth technomancer
rushing from the building towards the black clad one. Aran speed
to meet him.
"Please, don't attack! I just want to help Kreep," the technomancer
said. "The chokeivy will make him hurt himself."
"What? Looks like the chokeivy's the only one that needs to worry
about getting hurt," Aran said. "And why're you
the only one here that's not trying to tear me apart at the seams."
"I'm Ta-Kyn, and I'm not a fighter. I fix things. Please,
you have to let me help him. I have to get this chokeivy off of him
before he--"
"Before he what?" Aran interrupted. The young technomancer looked
at him, eyes hidden behind a permanent hud-visor.
"Have you ever heard of a berserker rage?" Ta-Kyn asked.
Aran looked down as the word jarred his memory. Berserker
rages? Only Technomancers who become so attached to weapons
that they starting loosing touch with humanity...oh glitch.
The black-clad technomancer's eyes lost what little fire they had and
became to hollow orbs. Aran charged his hands and brought them
down on the black-clad technomancers body. The chokeivy tried
to twine around him, but it was fried by the essence before it could touch
him. Aran began to tear the vines away from the technomancer, whose
body was now crawling with blades. Shock waves of pain shot through
his body as Aran hands and arms were sliced and punctured by the technomancer.
The chokeivy was almost dead, and Aran began to charge more essence.
"Sorry, but this is for everyone here." Aran released the
surge of essence and the technomancer's eyes closed. Smoke
rose from his body where the fried chokeivy had been, and the innumerable
blades on his body began to retract. Aran knelt down and tried
to force himself to ignore the pain. Ta-Kyn looked at his arms and moved
forward.
"No, check out razor-boy over there, Kreep you called him? Just make
sure he didn't hurt himself. I can deal with myself."
Aran forced himself to concentrate, forcing the nanite-factories in his
arms to regrow the synthskin that had been lacerated. Slowly,
the skin began to pull together, seamlessly tying itself together on a
molecular level. He was, however, now sporting a new hole in
his left palm. Standing, shakily, he looked around.
Both war-machines had charged guns leveled at him from two angles.
The only way out would be through a wall or up. Aran sighed.
"Look, you see that building..." Aran gestured to the immense
tower leaning in the distance. "...I've got to get there. Now,
unless you've got something against that, I want to go there. You're the
ones who attacked me, I just want to get my job done."
"Hurt pure?" the war-machine with the '7' on his chest roared.
Aran's jaw dropped.
"You know about the pure?!" Aran asked. "I'm
here to get them out of this place. John Salan told me to get a key
from that tower."
"Master John Salan, of the seven blades?" A new voice asked.
Aran spun around and saw an aged technomancer before him. He wore
multiple layers of mismatched clothing over a large frame, and his iron
like gray hair fell far over his shoulder. A beard of the same steel
gray strands was almost to his chest. If the clothing didn't
give him away, the beard and hair would too easily. As comical as
he looked, he was nothing more than legend.
"Doc." Aran gestured. "Or so I assume. All the
stories I've ever heard have only one man dressing or looking like this:
Doc, the oldest living technomancer."
"Among other things," Doc answered, he frowned at the scene.
"I told you to be on guard, not to attack. What happened to Kreep?"
then to the two war-model technomancers: "Weapon, 7, lower your guns."
The two war-machines snapped at the order and their weapons began to power
down.
"Kreep went ballistic again. This guy shut him down," Ta-Kyn
said, he stood up from Kreep. "He's fine, a little cosmetic damage
but that was easily fixed." Aran watched Ta-Kyn's left hand
melt slowly from a micro-solder unit to an actual hand. What is
that? omni-tool on a large scale. Looks more like an omni-hand.
"You say you came here with John Salan. Do you have any proof?"
Doc asked.
"Ask him, he's east of here, getting part of the key to that subterranean
haven," Aran said pointing to the eastern side of the island. "I
really have to be going, I've only got three and a half hours of air left."
"We've got canisters in a building nearby," Doc said. "But please,
answer me a few questions." Kreep moaned on the street below,
slowly pushing himself up.
"Is he ok, Doc?" Kreep asked shakily. "Or should I
kill him?"
"He looks ok, Kreep. Try to rest," Doc replied. "Now, sir."
"My name is Aran SeTaal."
"Aran SeTaal?" Ta-Kyn interrupted. "The data-thief?
Aran the-guy-who-broke-takiyoma-west SeTaal? The same data-thief
who once fried a network grid in under twenty minutes?"
"Yeah."
"You've got quite a legend, son," Doc replied.
"Look who's talking," Aran countered bluntly. "Now, what questions,
I have to get going."
"Why are you protecting the pure?" Doc asked.
He seemed to glide across the street, his layers and layers of clothes
hanging still despite the winds in the street.
"I don't know. The Historian told me to."
"So...you know about the five," Doc sighed. "What are you doing
in that building?"
"Two things. I have to get a hard disk from a sub-basement...and
something on a more personal level."
"You're truly here to help the Pure, aren't you. Yes, of course.
Well, we were told to take this building: "The Southeast Armory Corporation"
and hold it until John Salan contacted us. I apologize on behalf
of my pupils for the violence."
"Hey," Aran sighed. "I'm getting used to it, no problem."
"You'll need some help in that building, I can't go, but Ta-Kyn can.
Ta-Kyn, would you accompany Aran?"
"Yes. I need to look at that hand too," Ta-Kyn said.
"I'm going too," Kreep said, standing up.
"Look, I don't have anything with you," Aran said. "I was
just defending myself."
"I know," Kreep replied. His eyes didn't move from
their lock on Aran. "I'm not going to fight you. I have some questions."
"Well, great." Aran forced a mock smile, gesturing his arms
to the west. "I guess it's three off to the tower."
"Come back here when you're done, I can contact John Salan with a device
he gave me."
"All right. Let's go, I'm wasting air."
"Ta-Kyn, get the rover and two canisters of air," Doc ordered,
then turning to Aran: "He's a wizard with technology, he can hook something
up for you."
Twenty minutes later, Aran was in the back seat of the Rover while
Ta-Kyn was trying to fix his hand. Kreep drove silently down
the deserted streets. Ta-Kyn's right hand changed from tool to tool
as he repaired the gaping hole in Aran's palm. Finally, the silence
was broken by Kreep.
"Aran."
"Yeah?"
"I'll fight by you," Kreep said, then fell silent again.
Aran raised an eyebrow and looked at Ta-Kyn. Ta-Kyn shook his
head.
"It means he'll do his best not to kill you," Ta-Kyn answered.
"Ahhh...right back atcha Kreep." Aran mumbled. Glitch,
wish I was back at the safe house. I Hope the riots haven't
disturbed the blue haired girl and the g'ekk wirewitch she was with.
Oh, glitch. Hope I can get back in time to get her among the
pure and off the island.
"The wirewitch..." Aran muttered under his breath. "...will
not be going with her."
"Did you say wirewitch?" Kreep asked. Aran's jaw dropped
as he saw Kreep's shoulders crawling with razors.
"Yeah. What about 'em."
"I hate 'em," Kreep said bluntly, with enough coldness in
his voice to make Aran shudder. "I hate them, all their kind, and the glitching
witchfriends too."
"That feeling is mutual," Aran replied.
"Good," Kreep answered. "Very good."
The tower drew ever closer. |