Last in line
October 17th 2006 14:12
Last in line
8 May 2054 11.35
Gteams Heartland Headquarters, two miles outside New Chicago.
Conference Room #3
The old woman was dressed in a crinkled skirt that went down to her ankles and a pair of sandals. Her light wispy blouse caught the morning sun through the conference room. She could see the entire flight range from this position, and reminded herself that Jean-Paul picked this place deliberately.
She thought about him briefly. He was tardy, deliberately no doubt in an effort to control and manipulate the situation. He was never tardy when she trained him. He knew better then. He knows better now, just now he is in charge. Still, she thought, it was my last one.
She looked at her reflection in the plastic window. She was getting old. Far too old to be playing around with these youngsters. She had things to do and was not getting any younger as far as she was concerned. Still, she thought, one last trainee. A good way to kick it off. Perhaps she, or he, would show some potential. That would be nice. It would be hard to cap Denise, really. Denise had always listened, always followed. Never had to worry about her.
That is until she went solo and got both of her legs severed at mid femur. Her mouth wrinkled into a scowl at that point. She still had a score to settle with those bastards.
The door swung in and Kinomoto came in. She did not even bother to turn.
“General” she said sarcastically.
He let his guard down. It was Crone, after all.
“Crone,” he replied. He had in his hands a plastic sheet and laid it on the desk.
“Give me the short story.” She spoke briefly, still not turning.
“Mutant, one of the older categories. Homo Mutatus stongaria.”
She grunted. “A muscle man. Should be fairly easy.”
“Yes. I am hoping so. He should be here in about a month. We will give him some settling in time. You made a time off request. Of course it's granted, but do you really need the full month?”
“Actually I'm going on a fact finding tour. Doctor Reis has made me a bit of a challenge so it might even be longer. Better make it two months. She turned and looked at him straight into the eye.
“Two months.” He echoed. Then again, what was he going to do about it? Not a whole lot he could do. He knew she was spoiling for a fight. She was angry, over something.
“Two months and two years.” She intoned. The tension was very thick.
“You really regret signing that contract, don't you?” He asked saucily.
“One of the greatest mistakes of my life.” She almost spat out the words, as she picked up the data sheet. Immediately, it scanned her fingerprints and recalibrated itself to her personal configuration. All text, no visuals, in a bizarre white text on black background.
“2040?” She roared after reading Charlie's date of birth. “You're sending me a child.”
“As of three weeks ago he became an emancipated minor, more than capable of making his own decisions. He has legal council, if you'd care to speak with them.”
“I agree with what Shakespeare had to say about the lawyers. At least he had some common sense.” She closed her eyes, and he watched. She was genuinely upset. Denise's injury was not permanent by any means. It would keep her out of the saddle for a few months, nothing more. Give her a chance to catch up on her class work. Why did this bother Crone so much?
“Denise is up on med platform C. I'm sure she'd love a visit, if you can find it in your heart to pop in before you left.” He changed the subject before she became volatile. Crone's temper had once nearly leveled an office building. He knew how to push her buttons, but for once was not trying to do so. Not right now. He still needed her. He needed her more now than ever, with Gteams funding tight. He would have given her three or more months off, if she had requested it.
“We talked last night. She says that being weightless is helping a lot, as far as her psychology is concerned. She doesn't like being in the med-bay for the entire time, but I'm not sure what options she has.” She flipped the plastic sheet down.
“She can be in a wheelchair down here, or floating up there. Which would you choose?”
She glared at him. “I'd have found myself a proper healer before letting your butchers hack both my legs off.”
“Now Crone not everyone can heal themselves with a twitch of their nose.” He baited.
She did not respond. She was not anywhere near Denise during the assault. She was, in fact, in another state dealing with a flood. It was merely property damage. Denise had been brutalized, and then taken to a space-based trauma center. Appeared to be in good spirits, but Crone honestly could not tell. Her powers were predominantly terrestrial based, and when she went into space, they waned a great deal. Growing limbs, even with witchcraft was not particularly easy, and defiantly not without pain and potential disfigurement.
“Does this young man have any idea what he's getting into?” She barked at him.
“I told his mother our most senior trainer would be working with him. She seemed pleased.”
Crone snorted, and he continued.
“His dad is up in med 4. Recovering from his heart transplant. Really, Crone, you're doing the right thing.”
“You just traded one for another. Save the old man's life at the cost of his son's future.” She countered.
“I hardly think a five year contract constitutes all this fuss you're giving me. He will have enough education credits; he can go to any school on the planet. He'll have opportunities that most young men dream of.”
“Spare me the patriotic drivel. Nationalism saw more people into more unjust conflicts than you can possibly imagine.”
“There's nothing wrong with a bit of healthy patriotism. It is good for people to take pride in their country. A strong America is a good America.” He retorted.
She turned profile to him, only her right side exposed, as her left side curled into a smirk. “Ever read your classic history? Napoleon, Hitler, Bush. They all thought they were doing the right thing. History has proven them all to be fascists.” She knew he hated two things. Her putting down his country, and her not facing him. His power to control people was less when they did not look at him, and she knew it. After all, she trained him.
“Charming political argument, but we can trade scraps like this at any time. What's got you? You haven't been the same since you let Denise out from under your wing.”
She was taken aback by his brusqueness. She exhaled, and turned three-quarters in his direction. “I think I miss her. I'm not sure.” She looked down.
“You always did get too emotional with your trainees. It's what makes you a good teacher. To see Denise get laid up like this so soon, it cuts you. The look on your face when one of the Rattlers shot me was nothing short of incredible. You killed four with one sweep of your cane.” He reached out and put a hand on the back part of her shoulder. “It's what makes you you, Crone.”
She looked at him. He was trying to be compassionate, despite all their differences. She put one of her wizened hands on the one touching her. “I suppose you're right, Jean-Paul.” She said softly.
He smiled, removed the hand from her, and brought it to his glasses. “You know, with a quick wink, I can make all those nasty little feelings go away.”
“Lift those shades and I'll enucleate you.” She replied flatly, with a smirk.
“Now that's the Crone I know that advocates for the Green Party.”
“Only sane political people that this country has ever known. Even that idiot Jefferson was a right-wing zealot. I'll have you know his predecessors tried to have me burned at the stake.”
“Yes, yes.” He looked at her. She was still holding back. He did believe her, though, the moment his glasses were to come off, he would loose his sight for good. Only once did he ever use his power on her. It was not a pleasant experience.
“At any rate, I'll be heading off.” She strode to the window. It was, like every window on this floor, hermetically sealed. She started to make an oval like gesture against the wall, as her finger glowed gently. Her voice became a gentle, trilling. Gently, she chanted: HG XNT BZM QDZC SGHR XNTQD FNNC
She turned, nodded to him, and stepped through. He never, ever failed to be impressed at her magic.
The portal closed and he put his phone to his ear. “Tracker is on, repeat tracker is on. Where is she?”
A voice replied immediately. “Subject has appeared in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state, approximately fifty miles south-south east of Forks, Washington.”
“Initiate satellite tracking network, pipe it through to the local terminal.” He tapped a corner of the plastic sheet and there she stood. She mouthed words and another portal opened against a tree. She appeared softly stroked the tree and then walked through. As she did, every scrap of clothing came off her body. Including the tracker, he had placed on her back. The video link ended there, still functioning as the portal faded. He muttered. “Damned witch. We'll have you yet.”
“Subject is no longer traceable, general. The homing device is in a fixed location, and will remain there until it runs out of power. Fifteen or twenty days.” The voice on the phone spoke. General Kinomoto tapped at his teeth with a fingertip and then spoke, “have an orb dispatched, keep it under constant surveillance.”
“Sir, yes sir.” The voice spoke, and then disconnected. The General sat in one of the conference room chairs, and thought, for a very, very long time.
8 May 2054 11.35
Gteams Heartland Headquarters, two miles outside New Chicago.
Conference Room #3
The old woman was dressed in a crinkled skirt that went down to her ankles and a pair of sandals. Her light wispy blouse caught the morning sun through the conference room. She could see the entire flight range from this position, and reminded herself that Jean-Paul picked this place deliberately.
She thought about him briefly. He was tardy, deliberately no doubt in an effort to control and manipulate the situation. He was never tardy when she trained him. He knew better then. He knows better now, just now he is in charge. Still, she thought, it was my last one.
She looked at her reflection in the plastic window. She was getting old. Far too old to be playing around with these youngsters. She had things to do and was not getting any younger as far as she was concerned. Still, she thought, one last trainee. A good way to kick it off. Perhaps she, or he, would show some potential. That would be nice. It would be hard to cap Denise, really. Denise had always listened, always followed. Never had to worry about her.
That is until she went solo and got both of her legs severed at mid femur. Her mouth wrinkled into a scowl at that point. She still had a score to settle with those bastards.
The door swung in and Kinomoto came in. She did not even bother to turn.
“General” she said sarcastically.
He let his guard down. It was Crone, after all.
“Crone,” he replied. He had in his hands a plastic sheet and laid it on the desk.
“Give me the short story.” She spoke briefly, still not turning.
“Mutant, one of the older categories. Homo Mutatus stongaria.”
She grunted. “A muscle man. Should be fairly easy.”
“Yes. I am hoping so. He should be here in about a month. We will give him some settling in time. You made a time off request. Of course it's granted, but do you really need the full month?”
“Actually I'm going on a fact finding tour. Doctor Reis has made me a bit of a challenge so it might even be longer. Better make it two months. She turned and looked at him straight into the eye.
“Two months.” He echoed. Then again, what was he going to do about it? Not a whole lot he could do. He knew she was spoiling for a fight. She was angry, over something.
“Two months and two years.” She intoned. The tension was very thick.
“You really regret signing that contract, don't you?” He asked saucily.
“One of the greatest mistakes of my life.” She almost spat out the words, as she picked up the data sheet. Immediately, it scanned her fingerprints and recalibrated itself to her personal configuration. All text, no visuals, in a bizarre white text on black background.
“2040?” She roared after reading Charlie's date of birth. “You're sending me a child.”
“As of three weeks ago he became an emancipated minor, more than capable of making his own decisions. He has legal council, if you'd care to speak with them.”
“I agree with what Shakespeare had to say about the lawyers. At least he had some common sense.” She closed her eyes, and he watched. She was genuinely upset. Denise's injury was not permanent by any means. It would keep her out of the saddle for a few months, nothing more. Give her a chance to catch up on her class work. Why did this bother Crone so much?
“Denise is up on med platform C. I'm sure she'd love a visit, if you can find it in your heart to pop in before you left.” He changed the subject before she became volatile. Crone's temper had once nearly leveled an office building. He knew how to push her buttons, but for once was not trying to do so. Not right now. He still needed her. He needed her more now than ever, with Gteams funding tight. He would have given her three or more months off, if she had requested it.
“We talked last night. She says that being weightless is helping a lot, as far as her psychology is concerned. She doesn't like being in the med-bay for the entire time, but I'm not sure what options she has.” She flipped the plastic sheet down.
“She can be in a wheelchair down here, or floating up there. Which would you choose?”
She glared at him. “I'd have found myself a proper healer before letting your butchers hack both my legs off.”
“Now Crone not everyone can heal themselves with a twitch of their nose.” He baited.
She did not respond. She was not anywhere near Denise during the assault. She was, in fact, in another state dealing with a flood. It was merely property damage. Denise had been brutalized, and then taken to a space-based trauma center. Appeared to be in good spirits, but Crone honestly could not tell. Her powers were predominantly terrestrial based, and when she went into space, they waned a great deal. Growing limbs, even with witchcraft was not particularly easy, and defiantly not without pain and potential disfigurement.
“Does this young man have any idea what he's getting into?” She barked at him.
“I told his mother our most senior trainer would be working with him. She seemed pleased.”
Crone snorted, and he continued.
“His dad is up in med 4. Recovering from his heart transplant. Really, Crone, you're doing the right thing.”
“You just traded one for another. Save the old man's life at the cost of his son's future.” She countered.
“I hardly think a five year contract constitutes all this fuss you're giving me. He will have enough education credits; he can go to any school on the planet. He'll have opportunities that most young men dream of.”
“Spare me the patriotic drivel. Nationalism saw more people into more unjust conflicts than you can possibly imagine.”
“There's nothing wrong with a bit of healthy patriotism. It is good for people to take pride in their country. A strong America is a good America.” He retorted.
She turned profile to him, only her right side exposed, as her left side curled into a smirk. “Ever read your classic history? Napoleon, Hitler, Bush. They all thought they were doing the right thing. History has proven them all to be fascists.” She knew he hated two things. Her putting down his country, and her not facing him. His power to control people was less when they did not look at him, and she knew it. After all, she trained him.
“Charming political argument, but we can trade scraps like this at any time. What's got you? You haven't been the same since you let Denise out from under your wing.”
She was taken aback by his brusqueness. She exhaled, and turned three-quarters in his direction. “I think I miss her. I'm not sure.” She looked down.
“You always did get too emotional with your trainees. It's what makes you a good teacher. To see Denise get laid up like this so soon, it cuts you. The look on your face when one of the Rattlers shot me was nothing short of incredible. You killed four with one sweep of your cane.” He reached out and put a hand on the back part of her shoulder. “It's what makes you you, Crone.”
She looked at him. He was trying to be compassionate, despite all their differences. She put one of her wizened hands on the one touching her. “I suppose you're right, Jean-Paul.” She said softly.
He smiled, removed the hand from her, and brought it to his glasses. “You know, with a quick wink, I can make all those nasty little feelings go away.”
“Lift those shades and I'll enucleate you.” She replied flatly, with a smirk.
“Now that's the Crone I know that advocates for the Green Party.”
“Only sane political people that this country has ever known. Even that idiot Jefferson was a right-wing zealot. I'll have you know his predecessors tried to have me burned at the stake.”
“Yes, yes.” He looked at her. She was still holding back. He did believe her, though, the moment his glasses were to come off, he would loose his sight for good. Only once did he ever use his power on her. It was not a pleasant experience.
“At any rate, I'll be heading off.” She strode to the window. It was, like every window on this floor, hermetically sealed. She started to make an oval like gesture against the wall, as her finger glowed gently. Her voice became a gentle, trilling. Gently, she chanted: HG XNT BZM QDZC SGHR XNTQD FNNC
She turned, nodded to him, and stepped through. He never, ever failed to be impressed at her magic.
The portal closed and he put his phone to his ear. “Tracker is on, repeat tracker is on. Where is she?”
A voice replied immediately. “Subject has appeared in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state, approximately fifty miles south-south east of Forks, Washington.”
“Initiate satellite tracking network, pipe it through to the local terminal.” He tapped a corner of the plastic sheet and there she stood. She mouthed words and another portal opened against a tree. She appeared softly stroked the tree and then walked through. As she did, every scrap of clothing came off her body. Including the tracker, he had placed on her back. The video link ended there, still functioning as the portal faded. He muttered. “Damned witch. We'll have you yet.”
“Subject is no longer traceable, general. The homing device is in a fixed location, and will remain there until it runs out of power. Fifteen or twenty days.” The voice on the phone spoke. General Kinomoto tapped at his teeth with a fingertip and then spoke, “have an orb dispatched, keep it under constant surveillance.”
“Sir, yes sir.” The voice spoke, and then disconnected. The General sat in one of the conference room chairs, and thought, for a very, very long time.
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