Dialogue and descriptions from The Longest Journey by Funcom - Transcript compiled by Bluejay, slightly modified by me
Fingers of light crept slowly into the room as the sun slowly crawled into the sky. It gathered strength and began to shine more brightly. The rays moved higher and cast their bright fingers on the figure sprawled in the bed. April turned her head away but there was no escape. Reluctantly she opened her eyes to a new day.
April:
Oh God.... Headache. (She winced as she got up, hands to her painfully throbbing head head) I didn't really have that much to drink...did I? No...but I did travel through a Shift into a parallel universe, which would explain this weird compulsion to curl up into a fetal position and go back to sleep. Not that I'm particularly looking forward to it, but I guess I have to go find that Warren guy Cortez told me about down on Hope Street. And. hey, like that's not enough, I have to avoid bumping into Zack today.
April:
He's probably royally pissed that I stood him up. And Zack's very good at being pissed.
April:
Last night's, uh, date is not something any of us should be reminded of, and I'm not just talking about the incident with the groping and me kicking him in the groin. Doesn't he get that no means no? No.
Sunday, July 30th 2209.
Sundays are made for sleeping in. Sundays are made for walking around in baggy clothes, watching movies, nursing headaches and hanging out with your friends at the café. Sundays are NOT made for going to the worst neighborhood in town to find a kid who might be able to give you the information necessary to infiltrate a powerful cult that plans to take over the known universe. That's what Mondays are for.
Okay, okay, so the world's in mortal danger, and the only thing standing in the way of total chaos is ME. And this morning I have to go to Hope Street to talk to this priest called Raul at the cathedral, so that he can tell me where I can find Warren Hughes.
Dear Diary, note to self; the next time anybody says the word "destiny"...run like hell!
When she got outside her room, who should she see but the one person she had hoped to avoid. It looked like he was lying in wait for her. Anger blazed from his eyes when he saw her.
Zack:
(coldly) So you thought you could stand me up and get away with it, bitch?
April:
I'm sorry...what did you call me?
Zack:
We have a date, and then you don't show? Leave me looking like a sad prick all night, in front of my friends?
April:
I couldn't go, Zack. Get over it.
Zack:
(furiously) What the fuck was your glitch last night, bitch?
April:
I'm sorry...what did you call me?
Zack:
I take you to a top class club, wine you and dine you, and you slap me in the fucking face?
April:
Did you ask yourself why I slapped you, Zack?
Zack:
I don't fucking care. You'll regret fucking with me, bitch. I can promise you that.
April:
What are you gonna do?
Zack:
You'll find out, April Ryan. You're gonna be so fucking sorry you ever fucked with me.
April:
I'm sorry, Zack.
Zack:
Sorry? Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, April Ryan. You should've thought about the consequences of your actions before it was too late. You'll be sorry you ever crossed me.
April:
I'd call you a bastard if I didn't think you'd take it as a compliment.
Zack:
(incensed) If I wasn't such a fucking nice guy, I'd smash your fucking face in, bitch! You're gonna be so fucking sorry you ever fucked with me, April Fucking Ryan!
With a belligerent glare, he stepped into his room, slamming the door. Definitely not a good start to the day. Fiona was nowhere to be seen as she passed an empty common room, so she headed straight to the subway. The journey to Hope Street did not take long.
A fetid odour assailed her as she exited from the subway station. It was so strong that she was obliged to breathe through her mouth as she looked about for the source which seemed to be coming from the pipes overhead. She wondered if they were gas or water mains. Or worst, sewer pipes. That would explain the smell. A druggie with a green tourniquet on her left arm lay comatose against the guard rails outside the subway. Her complexion so pale and waxy that it was obvious she was shot right up to her gills. A fat man nearby pleaded earnestly with two men. One of whom whose garb she was familiar with. He was the boss man. From his "uniform", one of the West Side Kings. They had got recruitment posters all over town. The roughneck with him kept tapping the steel pipe he was holding in his hand as he listened, ready to swing into action once the word was given. She looked away, it was never wise to look too long or even meddle with what was really not her problem. If she was that foollish. Opposite the subway was a vacant stucco residential building, grafitti lavishly decorating the walls. Hovercabs glided by overhead. The cabs never stopped on Hope Street anymore. Not after it had degenerated into its current state.
A man in the garb of a priest stood with his back to her near the confessionals. The fresco near the booths depicted a baby angel or was it cherub? With a red robe wrapped around his posterior. She could not recall reading about this particular incident in the Bible. Maybe it was in the sequel. But that was only five years ago and the wall painting looked a lot older than that. She thought she might go for a confession but then it had been more than two years since her last confession. And she was not in a mood to be counting beads then and with her list of shortcomings, she would be counting beads for a very long time.
The priest heard her approach and greeted her warmly.
Father Raul:
Good morning. I'm Father Raul. You're not a Hope Street regular, are you? I haven't seen you here before.
April:
I don't visit the neighbourhood very often, no.
Father Raul:
And why should you? It's not a very nice place. This cathedral is all there's left of the hope in Hope Street.
April:
I'm sorry to hear that, Father.
Father Raul:
So am I. But we cope. We cope. How may I be of assistance?
April:
Do people still go to church?
Father Raul:
(chuckled) Yes, some do. Some do. Religion is pretty resilient.
April:
Religion, sure, but there are so many new religions, and people tend to abandon the old ones, don't they?
Father Raul:
They'll be back. The Voltecs and the Manus of the world offer only a fleeting chance at material happiness. What they cannot offer is spiritual enlightenment.
April:
So you're not worried about the competition?
Father Raul:
We have over two thousand years of experience and tradition to build on. I don't see us just rolling over on our backs and giving up, no.
April:
Do you know a boy named Warren Hughes?
Father Raul:
As a matter of fact, I do. The Hughes were regulars before they...traveled to the colonies. Poor Warren was left an orphan by his family. I haven't seen him for years.
April:
What does Warren live?
Father Raul:
I'm not sure he lives anywhere, but he does belong to a Hope Street gang -- the Razorblades, I believe. They seem to congregate just down the street, in building 87. Be careful though. Although they're far from the worst gang around here, they're not a particularly friendly lot. And they don't care for strangers.
April:
I can take care of myself.
Father Raul:
(chuckled) I don't doubt that. Still -- be careful.
April:
Thank you, Father.
Father Raul:
Please, come by again if you're ever in the neighbourhood.
Sunday...
I went to the Hope Street cathedral and met Father Raul. Nice guy. He told me that Warren hangs out in building 87, right down on Hope Street.
That's building 87 of the Hope Street Projects! Not exactly the friendliest place in town. It's more of a "shoot first, then shoot again, then pull the trigger a few more times before asking questions"-kinda place. And I'm not even sure they bother with the "asking questions" part anymore.
Nobody seemed to pay her any attention as she ran up the flight of stairs to building 87. The first and second levels were deserted. As she climbed up to the third storey, she saw a young boy who looked about fifteen, sitting on the stairs beside a broken down lift with the doors locked in an open and close cycle.
April:
Can I talk to you for a minute? (He shrugged) What's your name?
Warren:
What's yours?
April:
April Ryan.
Warren:
Lucky you.
April:
Do you know where I can find a kid named Warren Hughes?
Warren:
Who's asking?
April:
Uhm, I am?
Warren:
Warren Hughes? Never heard of him.
April:
All right, well, I guess you can't help me.
Warren:
Nope, nobody can.
April:
What do you mean?
Warren:
A nice, pretty girl like you in a neighbourhood like this, asking all the wrong questions. You're heading for some serious trouble, y'know.
April:
I can take care of myself.
Warren:
Uh-huh, sure you can. The thing is, there are four guys waiting downstairs for you to come back out, and they can take care of themselves real good.
April:
Don't threaten me.
Warren:
I ain't threatening you, girl. I'm just telling you how it is. You're in deep shit, and you've only yourself to blame.
April:
I'm not looking for trouble.
Warren:
Trouble found you, girl.
April:
Please let me go.
Warren:
I ain't holding you back, girl. Go. If you're real fast, maybe you can outrun them. But I wouldn't count on it. They're boosted up real good, and they're hungry.
April:
I don't have any money.
Warren:
You think I want your money? Shit, you can keep your damn money. Just 'cause I live in the projects don't mean I'm a thief, y'know.
April:
I'm sorry. I didn't mean --
Warren:
Of course not. You people never do.
April:
What do you want from me?
Warren:
I should ask you the same question, except I don't care. You shoulda thought twice before comin' after me.
April:
After you? I didn't come....so you're Warren?
Warren:
What, like you didn't know?
April:
No. Cortez told me your name, where to find you, but --
Warren:
Hold on. Cortez? Old Spanish-talking dude? Real crazy in the head?
April:
That's a fair description, yeah.
Warren:
Shit. You're not a cop? Social services? Corporate?
April:
No. No, I'm a, uh, friend of Cortez. He said to look you up.
Warren:
I haven't seen Cortez in a while, not since before... So, what does Senor Coretz want with me?
April:
We need some help.
Warren:
What kinda help? Look, I gotta stay incognito most of the time now that the corporates and cops are stepping up their search for us. I can't risk my ass for nobody, not even Cortez.
April:
That's all right. I just need some information on a group called the Vanguard, and their leader, Jacob McAllen.
Warren:
Ah, sorry. Never heard of those guys.
April:
You wouldn't have. They keep to themselves, and they got some kind of cover-operation going, but I don't know what it is, and --
Warren:
You want, need, to find out. All right, here's the thing. I got a friend who might be able to help you out.
April:
Great!
Warren:
Hold on. Before I use up my favors with him, I need you to do me a favor in return. Probably even help yourself out at the same time.
April:
Fair enough. What do I have to do?
Warren:
Easy. Break into the Newport Police Department computer archives, get me some information on my family, destroy my criminal record, and get the hell outta there -- preferably alive.
April:
Forget it, that's illegal.
Warren:
Damn, woman, is it? I had no idea. Listen, you won't just be doing me a favor. There's probably some information on the -- Vanguard, was it? -- in the archives, and that information will be valuable to my friend if he's gonna help you.
April:
No, it's too dangerous.
Warren:
Whatever. It's your loss. (Conversation ended)
April:
Hi, Warren?
Warren:
Changed your mind?
April:
I'll do it.
Warren:
Smart decision. Besides, there's probably some information on the -- Vanguard, was it? -- in the archives, and that information will be valuable to my friend if he's gonna help you out.
April:
You want me to risk my life for a personal favor?
Warren:
If you don't do this for me, I won't help you out. Besides, there's probably some information on the -- Vanguard, was it? -- in the archives, and that information will be valuable to my friend if he's gonna help you out.
April:
I'll do it.
Warren:
You got guts, girl. That's cool. Besides, there's probably some information on the -- Vanguard, was it? -- in the archives, and that information will be valuable to my friend if he's gonna help you out.
Warren:
So here's the thing. My Dad, doped up on Raps and seduced by commercials, sold our whole family to the shiny, happy colonization program for a lifetime's supply of the big R. The Rapture. He neglected to ask his lovely wife and children, and the corporates didn't care. One day they came to pick up my Mom, my sister ... and me. I got away, though. Snuck out the window. I spent the next two weeks in a dumpster.
April:
And your family?
Warren:
That's just it. I don't know. Off to the colonies, of course, but which one, I don't know. Sometimes they split up families too, y'know? They don't tell you that in their ads. I don't give a shit about my Dad, and my Mom -- she's tough, she can take care of herself. But I want my sister back. We were real tight. I'm not gonna let 'em use her in the mines and factories out there.
April:
So you want me to find out where they took your sister?
Warren:
That's it. You're catching on. You do that for me, and delete my criminal record at the same time to get the damn corporates off my ass, I'll give you all the help you need.
April:
What was it you wanted me to do again?
Warren:
Break into the police archives, get information on my family, delete my criminal record and if you're smart, check out what they get on the Vanguard...or whatever they're called.
April:
And then you'll put me in touch with your "friend"?
Warren:
He owes me one, yeah. And he can help you out with everything you need.
April:
Where's the police station?
Warren:
Take the subway to Metro West, and you'll come out on what they call Cop Street. You'll see the NPD headquarters down the block. You can't miss it.
April:
I'd better get going.
Warren:
Be cool, eh?
More Sunday-stuff (at this rate, I'll have to get a new diary by the end of the week):
Warren Hughes wasn't a bad kid at all. Just an unlucky one. He acted tough, but I could tell he was a sweetheart. Anyway, he's willing to help, but I got to do him a few favors first. I even get to play the criminal. Joy.
His sister and parents were sent to the colonies, and he wants to find out where they went. So I have to dig through the police archives to get a hold of whatever information I can. At the same time, while I'm in there, I should also look up the Vanguard, or the Church of Voltec which is, like, their cover here in Stark.
The air was considerably better at Metro West and no shady characters hung about. A man, veteran of a war past, horribly scarred and crippled, sat by a steel container begging for handouts. Another unfortunate victim of the Anglo-Pacific wars of the '90s A black low squatty roadblock, the garden-variety type scattered all over the pothole-infestedtown, sat by the side of the road. An automated garbage truck rumbled by, turning the corner at speed. Garbage trucks usually crisscross the town emptying containers... and running people over. A T-Rex looked set to rumble in an advertisement painted on the wall of a grocery store. She did all her grocery shopping at T-Rex. Not that their food was particularly good, nor their prices particularly low. She just love their ads. They were just cool. Especially the one where they built an actual-sized robot dinosuar and sent it out to mangle a competing chain of grocery stores. For real. She did not know if anybody got hurt, but that campaign kicked ass. Proving once and for all that brute force advertising was the way to go.
An unexpected sight hoved into view as she approached the police station. A tv crew was on-site to film the wreckage of a shuttle that had crashed right on the doorstep of the police station. The area was cordoned off by a high-voltage military laser perimeter fence. A police officer stood guard, paying not the least attention to what was going on nearby. The cameraman gave the thumbs up to the reporter who launched sombrely into her report.
Lucinda Carlyle:
This is Lucinda Carlyle reporting live from just outside the Metro Precinct police station, and I bring you today a senseless and tragic display of technology gone wrong. In the carnage you see behind me, medical drones are digging through the rubble of a crashed shuttle for the remains of over one hundred people who lost their lives today in an accident...that could and should have been prevented. Only hours ago, a Brave New World Airlines shuttle, carrying starry-eyed colonists to the Metro Tower, experienced an engine failure (she waved towards the wreckage) ...and came roaring down on this street without warning, crushing three cars and burying nine innocent pedestrians and two would-be carjackers. The cause of this human tragedy? As of yet, there are no official reports, and we can only speculate. And speculate we will. Was the pilot drunk? Was he hipped up on Amathin? Was someone aboard carrying a bomb? Did the manufacturers of the shuttle, Monster Ltd., skimp on a part and import it from a bootleg factory in Germany? The truth...could be any or all of the above.
April approached and stood behind the reporter, smoothing down her hair. She had always wanted to appear on the Screen and now she was getting her chance.
April looked down at herself, checking that she was presentable and did a pirouette. She waved and did little jumps so that the camera would get a better view of her. She shrugged as the cameraman made a shooing gesture and decided she had better scoot while the going was good.
The reporter waited until given the signal she was off the air and spoke into a small phone mic attached to her collar. Her demeanor swiftly changed to one of fury.
She stormed off angrily. The tv crew packed up quickly and left. April returned to take another look at the wreckage. A light blinked rapidly from a small object dangling from a broken panel If she was not completely mistaken -- and if she remembered her tech classes correctly -- that was an Anit-Gravity control unity. It looked fully intact. Although the reporter spoke of medical drones removing bodies, there was hardly any activity on the wreckage. She shuddered to think of what it must be like in there and hurried off to the main entrance of the police department. A police officer in his exoskeleton clanked back and forth beneath a huge Newport Police Department holographic sign. The large doors of the main entrance remained shut as she approached them. Puzzled, she looked for a panel or anything that could open it but found nothing. She buttonholed the police officer.
April:
How do I get into the station?
Actor Cop:
That is the question, is it not?
April:
Pardon?
Actor Cop:
To get in, or not to get in, that is the question.
April:
Good grief. More weirdos.
Actor Cop:
Oh, I'm not a weirdo. I'm an actor.
April:
No offense, but...isn't that an oxymoron?
Actor Cop:
"Lady, you are the cruellest she alive".
April:
(gives up) How do I get into the station?
Actor Cop:
You don't. Not today.
April:
But I need to get in! What if there's been a crime?
Actor Cop:
Good point. I guess you need to report it via one of the many kiosks installed throughout the city or by contacting an officer of the law.
April:
Like yourself?
Actor Cop:
I am, but a humble servant of her Majesty...and I'm actually assigned to vice, so don't bother.
April:
Any chance you'll let me through?
Actor Cop:
Shower me with sweet forgiveness, princess, but unfortunately -- I cannot. The doors ain't working.
April:
The doors aren't working?
Actor Cop:
They're not? Lood Lord! I must report this immediately...after I'm done with my policing exercise.
April:
Did you say the doors weren't working?
Actor Cop:
Ah, correct. The only things getting in and out of the station today are police officers, prisoners and garbage.
April:
Aren't they all pretty much one and the same thing?
Actor Cop:
Cutting words from a wench's barbed mouth!
April:
What did you call me?
Actor Cop:
Uhm, sweet princess?
April:
That's more like it. How are you able to bring in garbage out and prisoners in when the doors are broken?
Actor Cop:
These doors don't work, but the gate downstairs does. Of course, you can only get through that inside a vehicle. The security measures are quite extreme.
April:
Like, how extreme?
Actor Cop:
Can you say radiation poisoning?
April:
Why were you parading back and forth like that?
Actor Cop:
I'm practising the fine art of policing.
April:
It doesn't look like policing. It looks like acting.
Actor Cop:
Bollocks. And I thought I was making progress.
April:
Maybe if you tried being a little less -- rigid.
Actor Cop:
Yeah, but it's this bloody suit, it makes everyone move the same way. I'm not able to release the character!
April:
Are you an actor or a cop?
Actor Cop:
Both, darling. Both! I am an actor, but I will portray an officer of the law in my next motion picture. It's called "Mad Cop 2". I play the mad cop's friend, the somewhat ticked off cop.
April:
I think I saw the first one. It stunk.
Actor Cop:
I agree. But this one has a certain...je ne sais quoi...flair, that the original lacked.
April:
You mean, more violence, more sex, less plot?
Actor Cop:
That's it!
April:
So you're doing research for your next role?
Actor Cop:
Indeed, my fair maiden, I am. I have been assigned to a squad to capture the essence of her Majesty's honorable service.
April:
And what squad would that be?
Actor Cop:
Vice.
April:
Thanks, and good luck.
Actor Cop:
Ah, parting is such sweet sorrow. Farewell, princess. Till we meet again, farewell!
Leaving the actor cop to his research, she made her way back to the subway. Since she was neither a police officer nor a felon, her only way into the station would have to be the garbage truck. There was a garbage container just outside the subway which she could use. The container was mostly empty, saved for a couple of sticky, old newspapers and bottles. Holding her breath, she climbed in. Oh, the grossness of it. And she was in her favorite shirt too. She hoped the garbage truck would come by soon as the stench was overpowering and the dimness made it thrice as bad. She trod on what looked like a fur mitten and found, to her disgust, it was a dead rat. She was definitely not going check out that other "mitten" in the corner. She could have sworn it just moved.
The garbage truck rumbled by but it did not stop. After another ten minutes, she had had enough. It was pointless waiting since the garbage truck did not seem to be picking up the container she was in. And she was starting to reek a little of eau-de-crap too. None too pleased, she climbed out as she wondered if the route the grabage truck was programmed to take was the problem. One came by at that moment, turned the corner and sped off. It did not pass by the street the container was in. If only she could block its programmed route. She looked at the roadblock. It had a numeric keypad but she had absolutely no idea what numbers to type to move it. She looked carefully at the street signs at the intersection. One said "Calavera Crossing M.C.W." the ID number was 0092. The other read as "Threadbare Lane M.C.W.", street ID number 3018. Perhaps if she entered the ID of the intersecting street the roadblock would move. She punched the number into the keypad on the roadblock. It rolled off silently and halted at Threadbare Lane.
Hoping her strategem would work, she climbed back into the container. Seconds later, a garbage truck rumbled up. Robotic arms grabbed hold of the container and tipped the contents into the truck. She yelped as she was flung into the garbage pile in the truck and screamed as a rat leapt on her.
April:
Keep your claws to yourself!
Once in the station basement, she managed to get out of the garbage truck without being noticed. Bits of garbage and debris clinged stubbornly to her as she tried to brush them off . That was so gross. The things she had to do to save the world... that smell, that sticky stuff... the way that rat just would not let go... Disgusting! Not to mention the fact that she really, truly stank! She did not think it was ever coming off. She was going to stink like fishheads and moudy pizza for the rest of her sorry life.
She ascended to the first level. It was not as crowded as she supposed. A plump police officer was busy with some paperwork behind a long latticed counter. From her extensive knowledge of cop shows, she'd say she was probably the desk sergeant on duty. For some reason, they were always slightly overweight, and grumpy. A few men sat on a nearby bench. Two of them prisoners, from the manacles they were wearing. One of them looked like a tv character from a science fiction series .. Tuvok? The third man in a bright blue bandanna that almost covered his eyes gave her the finger when he noticed her gaze and then ignored her, picking his nose. She was sure he was a bad apple too. One could really tell a crook by his eyes and his foul behaviour. Two vidphones squated in the middle of the room while a very plump repairman and his colleague lounged on stone seats on the other side of the room.
Other than the two exits leading to the basement and main entrance, the third set of doors beside the front desk probably led to the inner station and to the archives. A large red tool box lay open beside the doors as she approached them and she noticed a form in it. The doors remained shut however and she wondered if all the doors of the station had broken down. There was a panel next to the doors that most likely would have the manual overrides but it was secured shut and she did not know how to open it. Was there another another way to the archives?
April:
Excuse me, ma'am?
Front Desk Sergeant:
Yeah, yeah, what can I do for you?
April:
Where are the archives?
Front Desk Sergeant:
The archives? You're not an officer of the law, are you?
April:
Yes, yes I am.
Front Desk Sergeant:
If you're a cop, where the hell's your uniform? Your badge? Your standard issue disruptor pistol?
April:
At home. They're all at home.
Front Desk Sergeant:
Then I suggest you get your cute little butt home to get your badge, your uniform and your gun. Capisce? Now, shoo, leave the grown-ups to do grown-up work, okay?
April:
About the archives....
Front Desk Sergeant:
You're not an officer of the law, are you?
April:
I'm in training at the academy, and I need to get into the archives to...study.
Front Desk Sergeant:
You're in training? Uh-huh, sure you are. Then what the hell you doing here? You should be at the academy, doing push-ups and learning how to bullshit like a pro.
April:
So what if I'm not.
Front Desk Sergeant:
Then you can't go to the back, capisce? Cops only. Besides, half the doors in this building, including that one, are out of order -- nobody's going in, nobody's coming out. And until those overpaid, underworking "service" guys get off their butts and back to work, that's the way it's gonna stay.
April:
Thanks anyway.
She would have to get those repairmen to fix the doors. The skinny repairman witht the baseball cap had a rather vacant expression on his face. The portly repairman's belly rose like a small round hill over his pants, his shirt unable to win the territorial battle, had retreated to his chest.
April:
Hiya.
Thin Repairman:
Huh? You an angel from heaven come to take me away?
Fat Repairman:
No point in talking to old George there. Ever since he overdosed on Raptures, he ain't been right in the head. I don't ever let him hold the hammer no more either, I'll tell you that.
It looked like any conversation with George would be a one way street so she directed her questions to the fat repairman.
April:
Hi.
Fat Repairman:
Whaddayawant? We're on our lunch break, honey.
April:
Excuse me -- how do I smell?
Fat Repairman:
Smell? Are you coming on to me, honey?
April:
What?
Fat Repairman:
I dunno. Women don't usually come on to me so I'm just checking -- I wouldn't want to miss a come-on.
April:
I asked you how I smelled!
Fat Repairman:
Yeah. Right. Uhm. Like mouldy pizza -- and... is that salmon?
April:
Smoked.
Fat Repairman:
Yeah. And a faint touch of rum.
April:
I had an... accident, with a bottle. Inside a garbage container.
Fat Repairman:
Happens to me all the time. You're not alone. In fact, there are meetings downtown every Wednesday night.
April:
I don't have a drinking problem!
Fat Repairman:
If you can't admit it to yourself, honey, you do. After all, who's the one reeking of rum? Not me, that's for sure. Not today, anyway.
April:
Why aren't you guys working?
Fat Repairman:
We're on our contractually bound lunch break.
April:
Uh-huh. Right. But you're not eating.
Fat Repairman:
We're done eating, sure, but we're still on out break. Clause sixteen of the contract? And I quote, "... improper digestion may prove detrimental to further work-related activities..." End quote.
April:
Meaning what?
Fat Repairman:
We're letting the corn beef settle, honey.
April:
Aren't you supposed to fix the doors?
Fat Repairman:
That's right.
April:
But instead you're just -- sitting there.
Fat Repairman:
That's right.
April:
And you're not planning on getting back to work any time soon.
Fat Repairman:
That's right.
April:
I could say anything, anything at all.
Fat Repairman:
That's right.
April:
And you'd just answer ...
Fat Repairman:
(chirpped merrily) ... that's right.
April:
Well, how's that for productivity. (quickly she forestalled him as he opened his mouth) Yeah, yeah, "that's right". (wheedling) It'd be so nice if you could fix the doors.
Fat Repairman:
And it would be so nice if you could go away and leave us alone.
April:
Is there anyhting I can do to make you go back to work?
Fat Repairman:
No. Short of an emergency we ain't moving our asses in the forseeable future.
April:
What constitutes an emergency?
Fat Repairman:
Any event accompanied by a specific work order, signed in triplicate.
April:
What kind of work order?
Fat Repairman:
(hedges) Eh...you know.
April:
About the work order ...
Fat Repairman:
Yeah, which one?
April:
You know, for emergencies?
Fat Repairman:
You meant the "Short-Term Tactical Suspensioin of Union Members Benefits" requisition form?
April:
Uhm, sure.
Fat Repairman:
Well... if you were to produce said requsition with the appropriate signature, we'd be forced to prematurely suspend our lunch break -- for tactical reasons, of course... thus allowing our scheduled work to be completed.
April:
Don't you love bureaucracy?
Fat Repairman:
Bu-what?
April:
Never mind. Where do I go to get the requsition form?
Fat Repairman:
What form?
April:
The requsition form for the "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of ...", uh, "... of Union Member Benefits"?
Fat Repairman:
Any official office for which we perform services.
April:
Enjoy your lunch break, guys.
Fat Repairman:
With the Sunday overtime we're getting. You betcha, honey.
Was the plump repairman on the level with her? Perhaps the form she saw in the tool box was the required document. She picked it out of of the tool box. It turned out to be some kind of requisition form, or work order. "Bokamba/Mercer Corporate Labor Union, Form #09042. Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits". A carbon copy of an old work order. The work order the portly guy was talking about. The repairman glanced indolently at it when she handed it over to him.
Fat Repairman:
That's the requsition from last week. What a horrible experience that was. I pray each and every night that we'll never have to sacrifice our lunchbreak again. You keep it, ok? Seeing that form again sickens me.
Pleased, she approached the front desk sergeant.
April:
Excuse me, ma'am?
Front Desk Sergeant:
You again? What do you want now?
April:
I need a requsition form, number 09042, "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits".
Front Desk Sergeant:
(heavy sigh) Hold on.
Heaving herself out of her chair, she looked amongst the row of shelves behind her.
Front Desk Sergeant:
Here you go, miss. Union requsition form number 09042.
She double checked the green coloured form with the old carbon copy she had and confirmed it was the "Bokamba/Mercer Corporate Labor Union, Form #09042: Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits" work order. It was blank though so she had better filled it out first. Grabbing a pen lying on the counter, she wrote "Fix the damn doors!" Signed, the Commish. The plumb repairman looked blankly at the new form she gave him.
April:
Now we're set.
Fat Repairman:
What's this?
April:
Oh, just a jolly little requsition entitled "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits".
Fat Repairman:
Say what? Lady, do you realize what you've done? You've... interrupted our lunch-break? This is an official work order! It can't be -- wait, 09042... this isn't 09042-A, is it?
April:
Uhm, no. Just plain, old 09042-nothing.
Fat Repairman:
Hah! This being Sunday and all, that peitition is useless. On public holidays you need the extension-A form. "Addendum for Public Holidays". Us being on triple overtime and all.
April:
So...?
Fat Repairman:
So we're gonna stay here and enjoy our extended break, thank you very much. Now, go away.
She marched back to the front desk, determined to get those repairmen back to work.
April:
Excuse me, ma'am?
Front Desk Sergeant:
You again? What do you want now?
April:
I'm sorry, but I need the 09042-A requsition form addendum as well.
Front Desk Sergeant:
The what? The 09042-A? Why the hell didn't you ask me for that one in the first place?
April:
Because I'm a cruel bitch, and I love torturing you. In fact, I've made it my life's mission to haunt you forever and ever with requests for useless forms and documents.
Front Desk Sergeant:
Hmmm. Hold on. (She handed April a purple form) Here you are. The 09042-A requsition addendum and that'd better be it.
Sighing, April checked that it was the "Bokamba/Mercer Corporate Labor Union, Form #09042-A: Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits, Public Holiday Addendum" form and forged it again.
April:
Okay, now we're set... I hope.
Fat Repairman:
(irked) Why do you keep bothering us? Don't you have anything better to do?
April:
No, absolutely not. This is requsition form number 09042-A. The "Short-Term Tactical Suspension of Union Members Benefits" requsition form with the "Public Holiday" addendum.
Fat Repairman:
Balls, we've been nailed. George! Get your ass off that chair. We're going back to work, thanks to this... lovely young lady.
George got up from his chair willingly enough as his colleague clambered to his feet heavily and lumbered slowly to the toolbox. Wires tumbled out as they opened the panel. April fidgeted impatiently as time wore on.
April:
Are you guys gonne be done soon?
Fat Repairman:
Hey, who knows. This is complicated stuff, honey.
At the rate they were moving, she doubted the doors would be fixed at the end of the day. She was certain she could hot-wire the doors, if she could get to the panel and the repairmen diverted elsewhere. The vidphones gave her an idea as she tried to operate one of them. Ancient, ancient technology. Visuals were so passe. The screen and camera were both out of order on one of them. She could still make a call though. The right vidphone was in working order. Impulsively, she called her mother.
April:
(dialed home) I haven't spoken with Mom since I... Since I left actually. I should give her a ring.
Mom:
Hello?
April:
Hi... Mom.
Mom:
(subdued gasp)
April:
It's April. How are you?
Mom:
(choked) Where are you, sweetheart?
April:
In the city, Mom. You know that.
Mom:
Why didn't you call? We've been -- I've been worried sick about you, sweetheart.
April:
Didn't you get my letter?
Mom:
Yes. And I can't say I understood why --
April:
Well, that was the problem, wasnt it? You didn't understand.
Mom:
I don't think it was fair of you to be so hard on your father. You hurt him a lot, you know? And I'm not just talking about you pushing him down the stairs.
April:
And what about me? You don't think he hurt me? Were you so blind you didn't see that?
Mom:
April... you know I can't take sides in this...
April:
No. Of course not. Not you. Not ever. Anyway. How is -- is Dad doing okay? I mean, after the fall?
Mom:
He broke his arm, and he had to take some time off work. Money's short because of that... we had to pull Danny out of school until next semester.
April:
You can't blame me for those things, Mom.
Mom:
If you hadn't left like you did --
April:
I'd probably be dead now, Mom. I couldn't take it anymore... please, let's not argue about this now. I just wanted to... hear your voice.
Mom:
Please come home, April. We still love you.
April:
No. Thank you, but no -- that's not going to happen. Listen, I have to go. I'm in the middle of... something. Take care, okay?
Mom:
Okay, sweetheart. I love you.
April:
Yeah. Me too, Mom. Bye.
The number of the vidphone was stenciled under the dial buttons ; "This phone: 099-12090". She dialed the number on the left vidphone. The right vidphone began to ring and she hurried to the repairmen.
April:
Hey, there's a a phonecall for you.
Fat Repairman:
For me? Who is it?
April:
I think it might be union business.
Fat Repairman:
Outta my way, lady!
Dropping his tools, he waddled to the vidphone at top speed. George stared at the panel as if fascinated by it. At least he was doing something, even if it was just staring at the panel.
April:
Good to see you up and about, George.
Thin Repairman:
Mister! Mister! The plane! The plane! ... The ants, they're everywhere! There are ants in my pants! (He began to claw at his pants)
April:
There's a call for you too, sir.
Thin Repairman:
Me? I get no calls, ever. Except from my Mommy. Is it my mommy?
April:
Uh, it could very well be your Mommy.
Thin Repairman:
Oh. Thanks!
With both repairmen out of the way, she quickly examined the wires. It was a long shot, but if she tried to cross this wire to that. With a hiss, the doors slid opened. However, the front desk sergeant had noticed and stopped her just as she was about to enter.
Front Desk Sergeant:
You can't go back there! It's a restricted area.
With those eyes on her, she dared not take another step. She would need to distract her, but how? The repairmen were still at the vidphones although the fat repairman would have realized by now that was no call for him, it was doubtful he would hurry back to work. And George did not even figure in the equation. He was just standing there seeing what he wanted to see in the broken down vidphone. The obstacle now was the front desk sergeant. She would have to try to get her busy with something. The shelves behind were stuffed with forms What would be the most difficult form to get hold of? She strolled past the counter. The one on the top left shelf looked ideal, she squinted her eyes as she read the small label, "Reporting indecent or Lewd Behavior by Bingo! or B/M Personnel, #31366"
April:
Excuse me, ma'am?
Front Desk Sergeant:
You again? What do you want now?
April:
I'd like that form for complaining about lewd and indecent behavior, please?
Front Desk Sergeant:
Number?
April:
31366.
Front Desk Sergeant:
Hold on.
The moment the sergeant had her back to April, she crossed over to the panel, did her trick with the wires again and dashed past the doors. Luckily, there was no one in the passage which forked into two corridors. She decided to try the first room ahead. It was locked but there was a small glass panel set into the steel door. She peered through it to see a table and several chairs. The Bingo! soda machine hummed invitingly as she walked past it to the second room. Her mouth felt a little dry and she sure could use some wet so she turned to the machine. Bingo! The world's favorite soda. And after the devastation soda wars of 2159. the world's only soda. Bingo! soda machines were not exactly secure so now and then, she had been able to walk off with a free can of soda but considering the fact that she was inside a police station, it might be prudent to pay for the soda first. The machine bleeped as it scanned her cashcard. The variety of choices left her stumped: Cola, Lemon, Lime, Lemon-Line, Strawberry, Strawberry-Lime, Strawberry-Cola, Cherry-Cola...not her favourite. She decided to go with the old standby. Bingo! Classic. Boring but safe. Even if it was not the only soda available, Bingo! would still be the soda for her. She hit the appropriate button and a frosty can thudded into the receptacle below.
Pocketing her cashcard which the machine spat out, she retrieved the can and was about to pull the tab when the sign above the second room caught her eye ; Archives. It was locked, of course but entry into the room was via the scanning device by the door. To her surprise, it was an outdated and obsolete retinal scanner but she guessed they did not care. Attempting to use it was out of the question as the security feedback would probably fry her eyeballs. How to get in? A locker room was nearby, there might be something useful although she was not hopeful. The locker room was white tiled, so clean and shiny that she felt like a splotch of dirt . The unisex showers on the left was tempting. The urge to get rid of the smells clinging to her was overpowering. She could really use a shower but she had no change of clothes so it would be pointless. On the right was a row of lockers.
Locker 6: "Sgt. Anthony MacDonald", Locker 5: "Sgt. Morty Lode", Locker 4: "Sgt. Maria Hernandez", Locker 3: "Sgt. Ricky Mahoney", Locker 2: "Sgt. Russel Franco", Locker 1: "Sgt. Frank Minnelli".
All were locked as she tried each one. Now what? She looked around and realised a series of groans was issuing from one of the two toilet stalls near the sinks.
April:
Hi, who's in there?
Frank Minnelli:
Minnelli. Who's asking?
April:
God, I know that voice.
Frank Minnelli:
What? Who are you?
April:
(saying the first thing that came to her head) Agent Scully. FBI.
Frank Minnelli:
You'll be wanting the chief's office, then. That's down the hall -- Oh my God... pain.
Listening to his groans and his straining, April wa sorry she played that trick on him. It seemed he had been stuck in the lavatory since yesterday. And it looked like he was still as easy to fool as ever. An imp began to whisper in her ear and she could not resist having a little fun with the cop.
April:
Hello?
Frank Minnelli:
Who is it?
April:
It's me!
Frank Minnelli:
Who? Hey, wait, I know that voice. Identify yourself!
April:
Uhm, I gotta run.
Frank Minnelli:
Hey, hold it! Come back -- Oh my God... that hurts.
April:
Hello?
Frank Minnelli:
Who is it?
April:
Nobody.
Frank Minnelli:
Who is -- Oh my God... somebody kill me.
April:
Hello?
Frank Minnelli:
Who is it?
April:
Pizza delivery.
Frank Minnelli:
Oh God, don't mention pizza. Christ...
April:
Hello?
Frank Minnelli:
Who is it?
April:
Sergeant Hernandez.
Frank Minnelli:
Maria? Thank God you're here. Listen, I need you to get my stomach medicine from the locker. Here's the key... oh, God ...
He threw out a key from under the door of the stall. Surprised at the turn of events, she was nonetheless delighted. Minnelli's locker turned out to be rather sparse. Two empty clothes hanger, a blue zipped pouch, a toothbrush and an interesting receptacle for a synthetic eye on the shelf. She guessed Frankie-boy's using one of those babies. She'd never have guessed it from looking at him. It was empty, so he must be using it. She picked up the squat pink bottle beside the receptacle, "Tummy-oo-Aah -- Fast Relief for a Runny Tummy".
A mirror on the locker door was broken off at the corner. It looked like Sergeant Minnelli had been banging the locker shut too many times. Talk about having seven years of bad luck,. That sure made her feel a whole lot better about harrassing him. The broken loose shard of the mirror glass had been placed back in the corner, now why would he have done that? Something white peeked out between the cracks. Carefully, using her fingertips, she teased out the shard. It dropped out into her hand. She was loathed to throw it away so she would have to be careful carrying it around. Sacrificing a piece of paper from her diary, she wrapped up the piece of glass and stuffed it between the pages of the little notebook. In the space behind the broken mirror was a white piece of paper on which was written "Archives login, 'fminnelli'. Password, wife's birthday". She shook her head, Minelli sure was a smart guy. Real security wiz. Getting the date of his wife's birthday should be a breeze.
Minnelli greeted the appearance of the medicine with heartfelt relief. He sighed after gulping down what sounded like the entire contents of the bottle.
Frank Minnelli:
Oh thank God. Thank God.
April:
How are you feeling?
Frank Minnelli:
Better. A little better. I needed... I think... this medicine is flushing out my system a little, you know what I mean? It's accelerating the -- the natural process of... (sneezing)
April:
No need to go any further, sir.
Frank Minnelli:
Thanks, Maria. Hey, you got a cold or something? You sound different.
April:
Yeah, a cold or... I got something, all right. How's Mrs Minnelli doing?
Frank Minnelli:
Why are you asking? I didn't think, you'd... hell, Maria. We spoke about this, I told you I'd... can't you just let it rest?
April:
Uh, sure. Sorry. Just... wondering.
Frank Minnelli:
I wish you wouldn't, Maria. You know how... it is what it is, you know?
April:
About Mrs Minnelli...
Frank Minnelli:
God damn it, Maria, I'm on the freakin can, yeah?
April:
I was just thinking, maybe I should get her a birthday present. What do you think?
Frank Minnelli:
Are you nuts? Have you gone completely nuts? What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?
April:
Being nice?
Frank Minnelli:
Nice? You want Laura to kick me out of my own apartment, is that it? You want my wife to kick me out of the apartment tomorrow?
April:
Tomorrow? Your wife's birthday is tomorrow?
Frank Minnelli:
You're not buying her a present, Maria. Don't even think about it. That would be such a big mistake, you don't want to make a mistake like that.
April:
Okay, boss. You're the boss.
Frank Minnelli:
Don't call me boss. And would ya leave me alone? I'm not in a sociable mood. Hell, I'm on the can!
April:
Gotta go, Minnelli.
Frank Minnelli:
Thanks for your help, Maria. (He sneezed) Jesus, I think I'm allergic to the God damn medicine! (Something plopped to the floor almost at her feet) Aw crap, my eye! (A hand groped from under the door) There ya are. Back in your slot.
He could not stop sneezing and his false eye kept dropping off. This was the chance to get her into the archives. She tried to pick it up but Minnelli was not happy.
Frank Minnelli:
Hey, leave my eye alone.
Her next attempt was successful and Minnelli kicked up a fuss when he could not find it.
Frank Minnelli:
What the hell happened to my -- Maria? Maria, did you take my eye? Give it back!
Afraid that he would come dashing out, she returned it. If only there was a way to substitute it and that made her think of her toy monkey. Her luck that she remembered to retrieve him from the alleyway. She prodded the eye that was almost out of its socket. It came loose, the spring behind it dangling out from the socket. Poor Constable Guybrush. Monkey see, monkey do... well, not without it, he would not. She removed the eye, switched off the light of the stall Minnelli was in and waited. He gave another hearty sneeze and his eye came loose again. With the fastest sleight of hand that would make any magician proud, she made the switch. Not noticing anything, Minnelli picked up the substitute and almost freaked out as he put it in his eye socket.
Frank Minnelli:
Aw God, I'm seeing red! I'm having a stroke! Maria -- Maria, go get the doctor, fast! I'm seeing red!
By then, "Maria" was already out of the locker room and standing outside the archives. She held the eye up to the retinal scanner and the door readily opened. The archives room was narrow, U-shaped and many storeys high with numerous lockers reaching from floor to ceiling. She hoped nobody was looking in through the set of windows on one wall on the third floor. Two machines sat side by side, one of which was on a table with a stack of paper running into it. If she remembered her digital history lessons correctly, it was called a "dot matrix printer". It was used in, like, the 18th Century or something. Next to it was a computer from what seemed like the Stone Age to her. She had never seen anything like it outside of a museum. It was a miracle it was still working, let alone in active service. The machine sitting opposite was not as ancient but strange with a contol panel with a weird keyboard. The symbols on the keypad seemed to be some sort of code. She would do well to leave it alone. Triggering an alarm then was not a good idea. The small armless office chair in front of the computer offered her weary legs much needed rest. The computer was on standby with a single word on the screen inviting her to login, which she did.
April:
"Hi, I'm Frank Minnelli". And I feel really guilty doing this. (She typed it in and waited. The screen cleared and prompted her for the password) "I, uhm, love my wife, Laura, and her birthday is on the 31st of this month", which means... "laura0731"? Please, pelase, please...
The screen cleared again and she gave a little whoop as a welcome message appeared.
Please enter your search query: >
April:
... yes! I am so good. Again. Now... what to search for...
First on the list, Warren Hughes.
> Warren Hughes
Warren Hughes
Born: 08.29.2195
Father: Ellis Hughes (col#0050123185353258)(DECEASED)
Mother: Simone Paris (col#0050123185353259)(DECEASED)
(Siblings): ERIKA HUGHES (col#0050123185353260)
Address: n/a
ID: n/a
Contact: n/a
- Wanted for a COL01 (Failure to Comply With Colonization Agenda), 11.23.08
- Wanted in connection with multiple burglaries (case#P059-696230, case #P012-015815, case #P032-903376, case #P059-696322)
- Wanted for questioning regarding destruction of public property
His record was lengthy. She did not think she needed to see any more of Warren's rap sheet. He had been active, very active. Wiping it clean should be easy. She made changes such that he was exempted from the colonization contract and his wrong doings were completely removed. Scary how easy it was to manufacture a saint.
April:
Whoa, I think I just killed Warren. Oh well, he's just gonna have to, uh, live with that. At least the cops and corporates won't be after him anymore. Just the morgue.
Warren Hughes
Born: 08.29.2195
Father: Ellis Hughes (col#0050123185353258)(DECEASED)
Mother: Simone Paris (col#0050123185353259)(DECEASED)
(Siblings): ERIKA HUGHES (col#0050123185353260)
Address: (DECEASED)
ID: (DECEASED)
Contact: (DECEASED)
From the record, both Warren's parents were dead but his sister was still alive. She noted down the colonization number. She had better showed him a copy of his record. Anxiously, she looked up to the windows as the printer emitted a high pitch whine as it printed out the hardcopy but no one came to check on the noise.
The system gave her a "no information" on her query on Erika Hughes so maybe the colonization number would turn up something. It was a long shot, but it was the only lead she had, so if it fell through, she was out of luck.
> (col#0050123185353260)
Erika Hughes
Born: 12.09.2200
Father: Ellis Hughes (col#0050123185353258)(DECEASED)
Mother: Simone Paris (col#0050123185353259)(DECEASED)
(Siblings): Warren Hughes (col#0050123185353261)
Address: Bokamba/Mercer Prime Office of the Adminstrator C/O Lt. Carol Drake ID. BMP-EH12092200-185353261
Contact: Carol Drake - Adopted by Lt Carol Drake (OOA, BM Prime) on 04.01.2208 after death of parents
The ancient printer spat out a copy of the information. She wondered if there was anything on herself. She would just make sure there was no warrant or anything out for her arrest. To her relief, there was nothing to her query. Next, the Vanguard but she drew a blank once more. Perhaps there was something on the Church of Voltec since it was the front the Vanguard used in Stark, so there must be at least some information available.
> Church of Voltec
Contact: White Cardinal JACOB MCALLEN
Jacob McAllen, White Cardinal? What the hell was that? She should keep that name in mind, though. It could turn out to be important. However, when she typed in the query, things did not look good for Minnelli.
> Jacob McAllen
Item: CLASSIFIED This request has been logged
User "Frank Minnelli" has violated user privileges
"Frank Minnelli" please report to supervisor
There was more. But the following page revealed nothing except a column of "X's and a strange code in the lower right corner of the screen. She had no idea what they could mean though they looked like the characters on the keypad behind her. She copied down the symbols carefully, double checking they were correct before keying them in on the keypad.
A green light glowed on the panel and a small robotic retreiver immediately slide up to a locker four levels up before coming back down again. Nestled within was a folder marked "Vanguard". There was nothing in it except for a tiny datacube with a non-standard interface. It probably would not work on the screen at home. She brought the datacube, but left the folder behind. Time to get out of there. Gathering up the computer printouts, she exited the room only to remember that she had left Minnelli's synthetic eye behind. There was no way she could go back in to retreive it and return it to the cop.
There was nothing for it but to leave as quickly as possible and hoped that the desk sergeant would not ask her any questions. To her relief, the desk sergeant was too engrossed with some paper work to notice her. The repairmen were nowhere in sight, the chairs where they were lounging in empty except for a shackled prisoner. However, they seemed to have repaired the doors before they left, although they were sloppy enough to leave the panel opened. They had also failed to take their toolbox and a magnetised screwdriver lay discarded on the floor. She pocketed it as she made her way to the main entrance. There was no way she was going back down into the basement. She'd rather be rolled out of there on a gurney with her body wrapped in black plastic. Besides, with the doors fixed, there was hardly any point in using the basement. Outside, the actor cop was gone as well.
It did not take long to get back to Hope Street. The fat man and the thugs had gone. She averted her eyes from a wino standing straddle-leg at a lit oil drum as she ran up the stairs to building 87. Warren looked up hopefully when he saw her.
Warren:
How did it go? Did you get the information? Is my sister okay?
April:
It wasn't easy, but I did it. Your sister is fine. And you don't have to worry about the law or the corporates anymore.
Warren:
That's great. That's -- Thank you. Really, thank you. So, do you have the information for me?
April:
Sure. Right here. (She handed him the hardcopy which he perused eagerly) Listen, Warren, your parents... they're... They're dead. But your sister is okay. She's been adopted by some woman named Drake, a Lieutenant with the Bokamba/Mercer Corporation.
Warren:
My sister's a corpbrood? And my -- My parents... You know, that should hurt, but it doesn't. I don't feel anything. My parents left me a long time ago. But my sister? I gotta find her.
April:
I'm sure you will, Warrren.
Warren:
I see you wiped my record clean. That's good. I wasn't sure if you'd be able to do that.
April:
No problemo. I'm not too shabby with computers.
Warren:
So, lemme know what can I do for you, sister.
Warren:
(startled) Hey, wait... you killed me? Thanks a lot.
April:
When you're dead, nobody cares. The cops are not gonna be chasing after you for crimes committed by a dead guy.
Warren:
Yeah, you're right. But I'm gonna have a tough time getting a new ID. You should've just wiped my record clean. I'm not complaining, though. I'm better off now than I was a few hours ago. So, what can I do for you now, sister?
April:
Can you out me in touch with your friend now?
Warren:
Yeah, for the information you needed? Right, you got it. Head on out to the Newport docks, down in the outskirts of the city. It's all deserted now since they stopped using the boats for cargo shipments. Head across the construction yard to a large garage... you can't miss it, It's got all these large tubes outside. Knock three times on the door, and tell Burns Flipper -- this guy's weird, so don't mind the stuff he says -- tell the Flipper that I sent you. I'll call ahead to let him know you're coming. He should be able to help you with almost everything you need to know, okay?
April:
Thanks. Bye, Warren.
Warren:
Hey, keep it cool, sister.
Still Sunday (surprise!)
I got in, I got out, I got a glorious career in crime ahead of me if I want! And it feels sooo good. My parents would be so proud of me. Li'l Miss Criminal. That's me.
Whatever. At least I got the name and location of Warren's friend, the so-called Burns Flipper (is that an actual NAME?). His shop is down by the Newport docks, in an old garage. Knock three times on the door, Warren told me. I'm surprised I don't have to say "Open Sesame!" as well.
Hopefully this guy - uh, "Flipper" - will be able to help me locate the Vanguard/Church of Voltec. This afternoon I have to meet up with Cortez again, and I'd prefer to have some solid information to share with him.
After enduring another boring train ride, she arrived at the deserted Newport docks. To get to the construction yard, she had to ascend a rusty bridge and had a clear view of a grey and silent shipyard which had been closed down, but all the machines were still there. It was a wonder nobody had bothered to dismantle it to prevent accidents. The hulk of a ship floated nearby, anchored to the dock where large empty cargo containers lay abandoned, a relic of a bygone age. It had not sailed for years and was just a big hunk of rust with paint on it, just like all the other ships. In the distance, the city looked ominous from her vantage, through all the smog. Metro Tower in particular was very gothic.
Her footsteps sounded lonely as she crossed the bridge. Steel beams, wood and debris lay scattered all over the construction yard. A tower looked as if it was going to topple over soon. The rickety ladder warped and falling to pieces. She could not believe her eyes when she spotted the blue vehicle parked by an abandoned building It was a 2032 Camaro, in prime condition. Gas-guzzling automobiles was her secret passion before she turned thirteen. They were so much more fun than boys. Still were, really. The 2032 Camaro was probably worth at least a quarter of a million bucks. Who'd leave a car in such a place? She could not resist touching the shiny blue sheen chrome and drew back in alarm as a strident and annoyed voice blared out.
Burns Flipper's recorded voice:
Thanks for putting your greasy hands on me. I'm now charged with a fuckload of electricity, and any further physical contact will result in you being toast.
April:
Uh-oh. It bites.
Taking the warning to heart, annoying as it was, she made her way to the large garage, the only lighted byuilding in the yard. A battered hovercraft with a cumpled nose lay rusting away near the closed doors. Expensive junk. But still junk. She steered clear of the garbage containers. She had been up close and personal with enough trash for one lifetime. The tubes Warren mentioned looked like the ventilation pipes off a ship and where there's ventilation, there was life. A strange rusty machine with large coils squated like a toad under one of the tubes. She could only just make out what it was from the faded label, "MTI Industrial strength paint shaker". So it was a device for shaking paint, rather last century. She rapped three times on the doors and an echoing dismebodied voice responded.
Burns Flipper:
You're trespassing. You gotta leave. Now.
April:
Where did that come from? (She realised that the voice was coming from one of the tubes. She called out loudly nto the tube) I'm April Ryan. Warren's friend.
Burns Flipper:
I don't know anybody named Ryan, so... how about fucking off.
April:
Warren called you on my behalf. Warren Hughes? You know Warren right?
Burns Flipper:
Didn't I tell you to fuck off?
April:
Yeah, but --
Burns Flipper:
So fuck off already! Am I stuttering here? Jesus H Christ, you'd think that "fuck off" would be clear enough as it is even a slag like you to understand.
April:
I'm not a slag!
Burns Flipper:
Ah, so you're a gangbanger. Baby, there ain't enough here worth shit, and I got no beat with your posse. So fuck off.
April:
No! No, I'm --
Burns Flipper:
A corp. Yeah, I'd recognize a corp bitch anywhere. I'm legit, no funny stuff, got my corp permit right here in my little hand, two weeks ago. And I only do inventory by appointment, so you're gonna have to phone me up there, toots.
April:
Could you, like, shut up for just one second?
Burns Flipper:
Chill out!
April:
I'm April Ryan. I'm a friend of Warren's. who, apparently, is a friend of yours, and he called you a short while ago to let you know he's cashing in on a favor. Does any of this ring a bell?
Burns Flipper:
Ring a bell? Ding-dong, the witch is dead? What are you, like a cliche movie botch? Yeah, it fucking rings a bell, but not the bell you'd like to hear. Think I was born yesterday? Like jacking in on a satellite conversation isn't in the fucking guidebook to good corporate surveillance? Jesus! Corps always underestimate the Flipper. Like I bite because I see a babe in tight pants? I don't think so.
April:
You know, if the fate of two worlds didn't depend on me, I'd tell you to go straight to hell.
Burns Flipper:
Did I mention blow me, baby. Could you blow me really hard?
April:
Oh, you're such a bastard. Listen, if I was out to arrest you, don't you think I'd have brought an army of corporate goons?
Burns Flipper:
You got a point. April Ryan, huh? Shit, my channel with Warren was scrambled anyway -- top-of-the-line African scrambler, fucking impossible to hack unless you're the Flipper.
April:
You're telling me that... that you knew who I was the whole time? Are you a psychopath or something?
Burns Flipper:
Or something. Sure, babe. Hold on.
The double doors opened with a rumble. She was so cheesed off with Burns Flipper that she contemplated something rude on his giving her such a hard time out there. The bay was empty saved for a crumbling flight of stairs leading to an office and a light shining out from a pit. Unknown to her, the bay was under surveillance by Seshadri Industries. Kneeling at the edge of the pit, she peered down but the pit was too deep to see anything. Holding on tightly to the ladder fixed to the side, she climbed down into a wide metal ledge which spiralled four levels down to a wheeled hatch. Tubes, wires, machines were all over the place. Very cyberpunk-ish. A man in a hoverchair was busy at what looked like a mishmash of old and new computer hardware. She supposed that that must be Burns Flipper. Squatting down, she gave him a call.
April:
Hello! Are you Burn --
Burns Flipper:
Yeah! Chillout, baby. Chill. I'll be there in a sec. (He floated up. In his hoverchair, they were eye to eye. He was wearing shades and an aviator cap with wild tufts of brown hair peeking out) How did you get down here? Who the hell are you?
April:
I knocked, you let me in. We spoke only a few minutes ago. Warren's friend? April?
Burns Flipper:
Warren who? I don''t know any -- Warren, 's right. Firelizard. Zeek. He's a good supplier, the Flipper likes him. Likes him good. You buddy of his, yeah? You his baby?
April:
Oh, sure, I date fifteen-year olds all the time.
Burns Flipper:
Whatever. So what the fuck do you want?
April:
What is this place?
Burns Flipper:
This is the Flipper's boutique, mademoiselle! I sell everything! From joychips and porn cubes -- strictly hardcore, max illegality, what would be the fucking point otherwise? -- to satellites and BH- generators. What I don't have here, I can get. For a price. This place ain't your neighbourhood S-Mart, lemme tell you. "Shop smart, shop S-Mart". No, what I got here costs moolah. Mucho moolah. Are you in the market for a neutronium bomb by the by? Got a hot one sitting in storage, give it to you for a cool one hundred million. Hah, bargain! Interested?
April:
Sure, let me just check my wallet. No! Of course not! Are you crazy?
Burns Flipper:
I know you are, but what am i? Hah!
April:
What happened to your legs?
Burns Flipper:
Jeesus! Are you fucking kidding me? My fucking legs, huh? You wanna know?
April:
I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know.
Burns Flipper:
I'll tell you who took my legs -- Captain Crunch! No, answer this question for me, I'll tell you who took them.
April:
Sure.
Burns Flipper:
Are you a virgin?
April:
What?
Burns Flipper:
I ain't telling you nothing until you answer the question, there, Trebek.
April:
That's none of your business.
Burns Flipper:
Then it's none of your business how I lost my legs, got it? Got it.
April:
I'm not a virgin.
Burns Flipper:
Good for you. Who'd you lose it to, Warren?
April:
What? No! Why the hell are you --
Burns Flipper:
I lost my legs when I was eighteen. I was doing odd jobs, breaking into high-security accounts, spying, shit like that. I was hitting MTI at the time. Malkuth Technologies? Big guys, big guns. So they caught me, with my finger up the proverbial anus, you know what I'm saying? I was hooked up, cruising their network, when they hit me with some shit-hits-the-fan tech... Fried my brain like breakfast sausages... Major brain malfunction! I was as dead as a lesbian black chick at a Republican fundraiser. Woke up from the coma a week later, some shit-spewing goons from MTI are hovering over me. They tell me, "Try that again, dickhead, you die", shit like that. And then I found my legs got cut off. Sure, I can get some new ones, no problem, but that costs like, an arm and a leg. Hah! Get it? An arm and a leg! Shit, I'm funny. So I start building me this hoverchair instead. It only works in here, but I don't care, never leave the damn place anyway. That's that story, not-a-virgin. You tell me something personal, I tell you something personal. And the world keeps turning round and round and round again, 'cause the Flippers on board.
April:
I am a virgin.
Burns Flipper:
Sheee-right! And I lost my legs in a hunting accident! Mosquito bit it off. Nasty motherfucker.
April:
Really!
Burns Flipper:
Noooo. Just fuckin' with ya again.
April:
Well gosh darn it, you really got me there, boy.
Burns Flipper:
Oh, ouch! It bites! You got teeth, honey! Lemme have it! Grrrowl!
April:
You're weird.
Burns Flipper:
So are you.
April:
I need some information.
Burns Flipper:
So visit the fucking library. Or go bother the Oracle, or whatever. The Flipper can't help you.
April:
That's too bad. I guess Warren was wrong about you.
Burns Flipper:
Yeah... Hey, what? What was he wrong about?
April:
About you being the best there is at getting information, any kind of information. I guess you can't help me.
Burns Flipper:
Fuck, yeah, I'm the best! The best there ever was, better than chocolate! I'm the king of the datastreams, the emperor of the feed, baby. What kind of information do you need?
April:
I need information on a guy called Jacob McAllen, and an organization called the Vanguard, or the Church of Voltec.
Burns Flipper:
Sounds pretty heavy, I gotta tell you. Voltecs and shit. They got security, top of the fucking goodchain. You got something concrete for me to go on, here, besides names? Names are nothing.
April:
What do you mean?
Burns Flipper:
Deatils! God's in the -- Jesus is in the details, woman! There's a fucking ocean of info out there, gotta know where to start, what to focus on, where do I begin, give me a map!
April:
I got this datacube from the police station...
Burns Flipper:
Yeah? So? What the hell is on it?
April:
You asked for details? This thing has details. Plenty of it. I hope.
Burns Flipper:
And you're expecting me to sort through this shit for you, locate the relevant information, dive into the big, blue sea of corporate security, and fish out whatever it is you need from the feed?
April:
Could you? Please?
Burns Flipper:
Shit! You're cute! But if you weren't Warren's little plaything, I'd kick you out. Hey. whatever. Hand it over, and give me a few minutes.
He tossed it around in his hands so recklessly that she half feared that it would be damaged before any information could be gleaned from it. He floated down to his computer terminal, spinning like a top as he waited for the terminal to process the data. His face was a little flush as he floated up again.
Burns Flipper:
Holy macaroni, you do know what the fuck you're fucking with here, yeah? You do know, don't you? These guys are the fucking epitome of uncoolness! It's good stuff, though. Precious information. I gotta hand it to you, sexy, you know what you were doing bringing this to the Flipster.
April:
So what can you tell me about the Vanguard? Is there anything in there about where they're located, and how to get access to their files.
Burns Flipper:
Shit, aren't you a little too eager to trot with the beast, babe? Slow down. Chill! I'll tell you what you need to know. But first, take a look at this recording. (He gestured to the screen over her shoulder) Just step to the screen there, and I'll play it back for you. Okay?
It seemed to be recorded directly off a camera. Fine static lines filled the screen. A distinguished white haired old man was apparently addressing an assembly.
Jacob McAllen:
-- to join in the effort! We must charge forward into a new era of compassion, companionship and good will! An era of expansion and enrichment! A golden era -- (The audience cheered) We must forge a future for ourselves, our children, and out children's children that can withstand forces that oppose us! We shall be victorious! -- (Camera angle cut away to a far view) What the Church of Voltec was created to do is to bring spirituality back into our lives, and into our world. Spirituality and knowledge. Our enemies have surpressed the truth for too long! -- (More cheers) We can no longer stand idly by while they spread their lies and their disinformation to the people of our planet. We must fight back! We must take to arms, and defend ourselves against our oppressors! -- (Wild response) I am not, by nature, a man of violence. Nor are you, I know that. But the time comes when all people must do their duty to protect their ideology and to preserve their beliefs. That time has come. Our time has come -- We will do what we must to protect ourselves and our families. We will do what we must to defend our beliefs against the heretics. We will go to war, if that's what it takes! (Roars of enthusiasm)
April:
Who was that? He was incredibly charismatic, but cold.
Burns Flipper:
Who do you think? Your friend, and mine, Mr Jacob McAllen, head honcho of the CHurch of Voltec. Or the Vanguard, if you wish. Supposed peaceful philosopher dude. Not the case, as it turns out. Obvious Hitler complex. Real Nazi wannabe. This is heavy, dangerous shit you got here...and I love it!
April:
But I thought the Church of Voltec was a peaceful religion dedicated only to meditation and philosophy?
Burns Flipper:
You and twenty billion other souls, missy. But this is the truth, as clear and simple as butter. Now, take a look at this -- on the screen, again.
An extremely pale young man stared glacially out of the screen. His deep set eyes, prominent cheekbones and hollow cheeks giving his face a skull like cast.
April:
Who's this?
Burns Flipper:
It's a guy named Gordon Halloway. Evil looking dude, huh? Turns out he's McAllen's right hand man, runs the Vanguard's secret ops -- there's goldmine of info on this datacube, yeah! The Vanguard have a bunch of agents that they're bred in tanks. Their grasp of genetic engineering far surpasses anything I've seen so far, and I've seen everything. From what I can tell, the Vanguard are up against an enemy they call the Fathers, or the Sentinel. Don't know who the fuck they are, but I'll find out. Must be the good guys, though, if they're fighting these creeps. Anyhow, this guy, Gordon. he was originally intended for some kind of religious duty, whatever the hell it was, for the Sentinel dudes. Let's say like the Dalai Lama, or whatever. But the Vanguard kidnapped him before he was ready, and they did some shit with him, some experiments, to try to use his "powers" -- and I'm thinking, this spiritual crap, it's just bullshit. But! Both the Vanguard and these Sentinel dudes, they believe this kid has powers, that he's destined for something very important. So when the Vanguard grab him, that's like holy shit! Fucking big deal!
April:
What kind of experiments did they perform on the child?
Burns Flipper:
Weird fucking things, trying to control these "powers" he has. They fuck up big time, though, and the kid is totally screwed up. Split in half, in some spiritual way. One part chaotic. the other pure logic. So now, this dude Gordon, he's like the coldest motherfucker you'll ever meet, so stay out of his way. According to these documents, he'll kill somebody for cutting in line ahead of him, which I'd do too, you know, or like coughing in his direction, which I'd fucking lop your head off for... but anyway. He runs the whole dark side of the Church of Voltec, and I'm guessing he's next in line to take over, after old man McAllen leaves this earthly earlm. Which could take ages, I'm afraid, with the tech these guys got.
April:
How come the police were able to gather this much information on the Vanguard, and yet they don't do anything about it?
Burns Flipper:
I dunno. Maybe it's routine, maybe they want something on the bastards to pressure them when they really need to. And maybe the information just got lost in the system. The fact is, though, that with assholes like these walking among us. we're not safe. None of us. Least of all you. So please don't hang around longer than necessary, yeah?
April:
So, okay, these guys are badasses, and I should stay as far away from them as possible. Disregarding that, however -- where are the Vanguard headquarters?
Burns Flipper:
You're either very brave or very stupid, chiquita, but whichever it is, I shouldn't tell you.
April:
Why? Because I'm a girl, and I can't take care of myself?
Burns Flipper:
No. Because anybody who fucks with these gys is sure to end up with a bullet lodged in the back of their skull. Or worse.
April:
I'll take that chance.
Burns Flipper:
Shit. You know, I'm the Flipper! The Flipper! I'm not into this shit, you know? I'm strictly into sales and profit. This detective shit you're doing, what the hell is it? Why you doing it?
April:
That's a... very long story. Some other time, yeah? I really need that information, Mr Flipper.
Burns Flipper:
Okay! Chill, dicksmack! I got it, I got it. You see, the Church has several "unofficial" headquarters round and about, but they're insignificant. Cover operations, basically. There is no concrete adddress on this datacube you gave me, but I scanned through some online records quickly, and I discovered that the Voltecs -- the Vanguard -- are linked to a very big company indeed.
April:
Which is?
Burns Flipper:
MTI. Malkuth Technologies Incorporated. Big guys, almost as big as Bokamba/Mercer. Freaked the hell outta me, but it looks like the head honchos of the Vanguard may be running MTI. Which is kinda funny, 'cause I got some beef with MTI. Some heavy duty beef. And now I got something to hit them back with, the fuckers.
April:
What does that mean, that MTI is run by the Vanguard?
Burns Flipper:
It means that wherever the corporate headquarters of MTI are, you'll probably find the Vanguard elite.
April:
And do you know where the MTI corporate headquarters are located?
Burns Flipper:
I'm the Flipper, dude! What the fuck do you think? Shit! Don't answer that. Grendel Avenue.
April:
I don't know where that is.
Burns Flipper:
You don't know where Grendel Avenue is? Holy Christ, you kidding, right? It's like the numero uno neighbourhood in Newport! Only the top dogs live there, apartments go for hundreds of millions of dollars.
April:
How do I get there?
Burns Flipper:
Sorry babe, a slag like you are stuck on ground level for all eternity. There's no stepping up in the world for you. Gotta have proper ID -- top level ID -- to get to Grendel Avenue. And you don't, babe. Sorry.
With a shrug, he floated back down to his computer terminal as April ruminated through her options. There had to be a way to get to Grendel Avenue. Recalling what Flipper had said about his business, she was positive that he could help her.
April:
Hey, Burns?
Burns Flipper:
I'll be right up! What is it?
April:
Could you fix me up with some fake indentification?
Burns Flipper:
Why would you want that?
April:
How else am I going to get to Grendel Avenue?
Burns Flipper:
Hey, I'm warning you, don't fuck with those Vanguard shitheads, yeah? They bite, and I bet you they don't let go, like fucking -- what do you call those little fucking dogs that don't let go.
April:
Put bull terriers.
Burns Flipper:
Shit. Man, those things are nasty. Fucking, wicked nasty!
April:
Can we discuss the fake identification I need?
Burns Flipper:
Baby, I tell you... it's gonna cost you. Cash-ola. You got a lot of cash? Lots of it. You better coming out of your ears. Sorry, friend of a friend and all, but it ain't cheap. And I'd advise you to forget about it, pronto.
April:
Let me worry about that. How much will it cost me? I have, like, three-hundred dollars.
Burns Flipper:
Hah! Try twenty-K on for size, short-cake! Sorry, little missy, but fake ID costs moolah. I need to buy a properly generated key from a connection downtown...I need an authorized blank card... you're an idiot! It don't come cheap, that stuff. Even if I cut out my profit -- which, for a friend of Warren's, I just may, hah -- it'll still come to fifteen-thousand dollars, baby.
April:
Would you consider alternative forms of payment for a fake ID?
Burns Flipper:
Sorry, chiquita, that urge disappeared with my little legs.
April:
No! Not that, God forbid. More like a... a favor, or something you need.
Burns Flipper:
Don't think I need a th-- (His hoverchair wobbled unsteadily suddenly. He frailed in the air when it looked as if the chair might fail and dropped all the way to the bottom of the pit) Whoa! Shit, that gets me every time.
April:
What's up with your chair?
Burns Flipper:
Ah, the AntiGrav control unit is fried like fried tatters, brainiac! It'll be gone-gone-gone for good in a few days, but I'm hoping my good friend, my mate, Freaky Sales, gets me a new one before that... so I don't fall down!
April:
If I get you new new AntiGrav control unit, would that get me a fake ID?
Burns Flipper:
If you found a good one that actually works, and one that can lift more than two-hundred kilos... hey! Sure! Like you gonna find one. Hah.
April:
Thanks for your help, Mr Flipper.
Burns Flipper:
I'm the Flipper! The! Flipper! Call me Burns, yeah, beautiful. See ya!
Burns Flipper. Okay, now there's an eccentric. A bastard as well. Not to mention big asshole, major jerk and total idiot. But reasonably friendly. And definitely interesting. Some people might say, an enigmatic man. Not me, though. I never use the word "enigmatic" to describe anybody or anything.
He was helpful, though, and managed to decode this data-crystal that I found in the archives. The Church of Voltec is apparently associated with MTI, and their headquarters are up on Grendel Avenue, but I can't get up there without access to the upper levels of the city. And they'd never give that to a lowlife like me, so I have to fake it. "The Flipper" can help me out with this too, but it's gonna cost a lot, so unless I can find a replacement AG unit for his chair, I'm...well, outta luck.
Now where did I see an AG-unit today?
As she walked out of the garage, she remembered then where she could get a AG-unit at no cost to herself: the shuttle wreck outside Newport Police Department. The laser perimeter fence was an obstacle but the police officer guarding the wreckage was the biggest one of all. Recalling the soda can she'd bought earlier, she shook it experimentally before her eyes found the paint shaking machine. Manual shaking would not build up enough charge to soak an exoskeleton but a machine would be a different story. She started the machine after placing the soda can on the shaking pad. The can expanded to alarming proportions, almost three times its original size before she halt the machine. She could feel the built-up carbonate ready to burst through the seams as she picked it up. It felt so volatile she'd better get rid of it as soon as possible. She hurried back to Metro West. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the police officer at the shuttle wreck.
Gay Cop:
Move along. There is nothing to see here.
April:
Except for that crashed hovercraft.
Gay Cop:
Nah, you see those everywhere these days.
April:
Sorry?
Gay Cop:
Dime a dozen.
April:
Crashed hovercraft are a dime a dozen?
Gay Cop:
Fifteen a week, ma'am. At the very least. In this city alone.
April:
But they say it's the safest mode of transportation available!
Gay Cop:
Statistically, yes. Unless you're abroad one of the buggers. Then your chance of survival drops drastically.
April:
What?
Gay Cop:
They're the safest mode of transportation if you stay on the ground. The chanes of being hit by one going down are relatively low.
April:
Thanks for ruining my trust in modern technology.
Gay Cop:
We're here to protect and to serve.
April:
Isn't it the other way around?
Gay Cop:
Just keep it moving, ma'am. Nothing to see here.
April:
Except for that escaped convict right behind you!
Gay Cop:
On special duty today, ma'am, so that escaped convict will have to take care of himself. After all, who'd guard this perimeter in my absence?
April:
Uhm, me? I'll be good.
Gay Cop:
That was a rhectorical question, ma'am. You are not -- qualified. Now, move along. Nothing to see here.
April:
Except for you, officer.
Gay Cop:
Eh? Me?
April:
I always did love a man in a uniform.
Gay Cop:
Sorry, ma'am, but I'm gay. Now -- move along. Nothing to see here (coughs).
April:
Except --
Gay Cop:
I won't tell you again, so move along! There is absolutely nothing to see here. Nothing! Jeez, don't you people have anything better to do? (coughs)
April:
Are you feeling all right, officer?
Gay Cop:
Thank you, ma'am. I'm fine. All the dust from the debris is just choking me up.
April:
Would you like a cold soda, officer? To wash away the dust?
Gay Cop:
Much obliged, ma'am.
He put his rifle on the ground and accepted the soda from her and pulled the tab. The soda exploded all over him, liquid seeping into tiny chinks. She backed away hastily as he threw the can away in vexation.
Gay Cop:
Damn. Damn it, I have to get to the service office before my suit shirt-circuits.
Grabbing up his rifle, he clanked away as fast as he could.
April:
I feel sooo bad... (shed a few crocodile tears) And I love it. (She whooped)
Now she could get to work on recovering the AG-unit. Getting past the laser fence should be easy, she hoped what she was going to try would work. She got the idea from an episode of "MacGyver 2200". Taking the shard of glass she kept from Minnelli's broken mirror, she carefully placed it in the path of the laser beam and reflected it back to the electronic cone. With a sizzle, the section of fence shorted out. There was not much debris near the AG-unit so she was able to go up close. It refused to budge as she tried to remove it from the hull. The unit was fastened tight with a couple of big screws. Yanking it free might damaged the unit. She had the device off in a jiffy with the screwdriver. The unit fit snugly into her hand. It was amazing such a tiny device could perform such an enormous job. She hoped it was not the reason the shuttle went down, or Mr Flipper might be in for a nasty surprise.
The Flipper must have been monitoring the entrance, no surprise really, as the double doors were opened. She was really getting a lot of work out that day, she puffed as she climbed down the ladder into the pit.
April:
Hey, Burns?
Burns Flipper:
I'll be right up!
April:
Is this what you need? (She handed him the AG-unit)
Burns Flipper:
Whoa! Heavy duty! That baby's worth... just enough for me to get you a top-of-the-line, all-access ID, babe. Yeah! Hey, with this, I might even be able to zoom on outta here once in a while. Excellent.
April:
So how soon can you have the ID ready?
Burns Flipper:
Aaaah... coupla days.
April:
A couple of days? I need it now.
Burns Flipper:
Oh, oh no, no, no, no, no. Ain't gonna happen. Shit takes time, y'know. Shit takes time. Tomorrow night at the earliest. Can't promise anything, though, but I'll certainly try, for the little girl.
He promptly descended to the lower levels before she could say anything. In any case, he was right. There was no point in trying to push for something that could be not done immediately. And no point too, in hanging around. There was that appointment with Cortez. He had better be there, she was not keen in searching all over the city for him, again.Hope Street was deserted as she exited the subway. The stupefying heat had probably driven most people indoors. Cortez was talking to Father Raul by the confessionals as she entered the church. Their stance alerting her that something of import was being discussed. It was a great opportunity to gather some information so she tiptoed quietly to the pillar nearest them.
Cortez:
-- stirring up support for their ideas. And Arcadians, those easily misled sheep, they embrace these ideas because they prophesized change, and change is always attractive to humans.
Father Raul:
Not only humans. The Vanguard are using the Tyren to force their changes into effect. They say the Tyrens have turned to religion, that they have --
Cortez:
The Tyren! Those beasts are not much for loyalty, but promise them money and power... The Vanguard are probably ready to offer them half of the Northlands, perhaps, even Marcuria itself, for their services. And they have certainly wanted to put their filthy claws on the city for as long as I can remember.
Father Raul:
Yes, it's beginning to look quite bleak. What about the girl?
Cortez:
I think she may have seen the light, finally. She does not know even half of what is going on, and if she did, I do not think she would be able to handle it -- better she does not know.
Father Raul:
Aren't you worried that the fate of the Balance and our worlds is in the hands of a..a child? A simple country girl?
Cortez:
Of course. I do my best to help her, as does the Mother, in her way. Still, April will be on her own soon enough, and then... who knows? After all, she is the one, no one seems to doubt that. The Balance knows, and the Balance provides, and if the Balance believes in this girl, we should as well.
Father Raul:
Spoken as a man of true faith.
Cortez:
But of course, Father. You are not the only one who places his faith in higher powers.
Father Raul:
Speaking of higher powers -- I have to fo prepare my sermon for tonight.
Cortez:
And what lessons will be taught today?
Father Raul:
You know, the usual. Sacrifice, devotion, faith. The cornerstones of any religion. Even the Vanguard seem to follow these tenets. They require the devotion through faith just as much as we do.
Cortez:
Good night, Raul. Que Dios te bendiga.
Father Raul moved away as chills ran down April's spine.
Sunday, late afternoon.
I just overheard a conversation between Raul and Cortez, and I suddenly feel very, very scared. The simple fact is that I don't know these people, I can't tell who my friends really are anymore, and there are things going on that I fear I will never understand. It's really frightening how easily I've accepted everything I've been told these past few days without questioning people's motives...it's not like me at all. I'm usually the paranoid type.
But I'll be more careful from now on, and I won't trust anybody, not without good reason. It's not that I think Cortez plans to stab me in the back or something; I'm sure his motives are solid enough. But I don't like being kept in the dark, especially when so much is riding on me. And with a situation as complicated as this one...I just wish I knew what's really going on, is all.
Taking a few seconds to compose herself, she walked out from behind the pillar. Cortez did not seem surprise at her sudden appearance and she wondered if he knew she had been behind the pillar all the while.
April:
It's beautiful in here, don't you think? So quiet, so... spiritual.
Cortez:
Si. I'm no Catholic, but I still like coming here to meditate. To pray, if you want.
April:
If you're not a Catholic, who do you pray to?
Cortez:
To the universe. To the Balance. To the rock in this floor and the air around us. To you, and to myself.
April:
What is that, Buddhism?
Cortez:
It is life, senorita, pure and simple. So, what did you dig up today?
April:
Oh, nothing...except for everything you ever wanted to know about the Vanguard and Jacob McAllen.
Cortez:
You got the information? You found Warren? He helped you?
April:
Eventually. It wasn't easy. But I know where to find McAllen, and I'm working on how to get there. I should be all set by tomorrow.
Cortez:
Good news. and just in time too. Things are not going well out there.
April:
What do you mean?
Cortez:
The Balance is collapsing, and magic is seeping through into this world. Stark is till protected by its strong current of logic and order, but Arcadia is on the brink of war, and utter chaos. Unless we act quickly, Arcadia will fall into disorder and Stark will follow.
April:
Can't we get help?
Cortez:
Everyone with the power and will to help is doing so, but you are so much more important than anyone else. You can travel to Arcadia to bring order to chaos, at least until we find the Guardian and return him to his realm.
April:
What about the Vanguard?
Cortez:
We investigate your lead tomorrow, yes? If we find what we are looking for -- if they have the Guardian, or know where he is -- then we are one step closer to victory. But we still need to find the entrance to his realm... and the situation in Arcadia is not getting any better, not without your help.
April:
I don't know anything. What can I do?
Cortez:
By just being there, you are helping. You are strong in the Balance, April, and your power flows into those you meet and helps them against the tides of Chaos Whatever you do, however you do it, you are helping.
April:
I still feel so... helpless. I don't understand half of what you tell me, and as for the other half, I can't help being skeptical.
Cortez:
Good. Do not trust everyone or everything, and make a stand against that which you do not beloeve. Just be sure to accept the truth, when you find it, and embrace the good in the world.
April:
I'll do my best. What are we going to do now?
Cortez:
Tomorrow, we will visit with McAllen, find what he knows, and use it. Then, the day after, you will go back to Arcadia. At most, we have a week. But it should be enough. As for today? Relax, be with your friends.
April:
I don't think I'll ever be able to relax again.
Cortez:
We pay a heavy price for our knowledge, yes. But try to enjoy yourself, because the hard work begins in the morning. I will see you then, yes?
April:
Wait, wait. Where are you going to be this time?
Cortez:
We will meet here, yes? I'm afraid I cannot go back to Venice, not now. There are -- people -- looking for me.
April:
The Vanguard?
Cortez:
Yes, They know what I am, who I am. They will not rest until they have me. So we must work fast, to destroy them. Tomorrow, then?
April:
Tomorrow. Have a good night, okay? Be careful.
Cortez:
Thank you, senorita. And you.
Somehow or other, she had misgivings as he walked away. As if something bad was going to happen. But there was nothing she could put a finger on. She was getting too fanciful. A good night's sleep was what she needed, it would probably look brighter tomorrow. By the time she reached the Border House, she was dead beat. Fiona was not in the common room and that was a troubling sign. As she reached the second floor, she was astonished to find Zack outside her room, his ear to the door.
April:
Hey, what are you doing?
Without looking at her, he wheeled away and returned to his room. She wondered who was in her room as she could hear muffled voices.
April:
Charlie? Emma? What are you guys doing here?
Emma:
We locked ourselves in to wait for you. I hope you don't mind.
April:
No. Of course not. By the way, I think Zack was spying on you guys. I caught him leaning up against the door, and he hurried back into his room the second I arrived.
Emma:
He's such a loser. And he seems to have a personal vendetta against you, after what you did to him -- or what he claims you did -- last night.
April:
Gotta love the guy. So what's up? What's the occasion?
Emma:
We wanna know what's going on with you, April.
April:
What do you mean? Nothing's going on.
Emma:
Don't lie to your best friends, that's way below you. We know something's going on, there's no point in denying it. For three days straight, you've been away all day, you've been acting weird and hanging around Cortez, of all people. Then today we find out you've been up to Metro Circle by yourself. I mean, April, for God's sake, what is going on?
April:
I've been doing some research for my painting.
Charlie:
That's all? Then why go to Metro Circle? I thought you were going for something a little more pastoral.
April:
I haven't made a lot of progress this far, so any inspiration is good inspiration. And whatever you think of Metro Circle, on some level at least, it's quite inspiring.
Charlie:
If that's all it is, if that's all you say it is, then I believe you. You've never lied to me girl, and I don't think you ever would.
April:
That's all it is, and nothing more.
Charlie:
Okay. Then everything's okay, yeah? I hope you don't think we're meddling, but we care so much about you that when something feels wrong, we do our best to help you.
April:
Thanks Charlie.
April:
I'm just exploring the city and meeting new people.
Charlie:
Why? What's wrong with Venice and your friends here?
April:
It's... it's getting old. I'm looking for new impulses, and... and inspiration. So I've been around the past few days. Big deal! You guys aren't my parents, you know.
Charlie:
We're just worried. But if you tell me that's all it is, that there's nothing else going on, I'll accept that. You've never lied to me, April, and I trust you implicitly.
April:
There's something else going on, but you wouldn't believe me if I told you.
Charlie:
Try us, girl. We're your friends. We're here to help you. That's what friends are for, yeah?
April:
I'm sorry, but I really can't tell you guys anything.
Emma:
Okay. Fine. If you're not gonna open up to us, we're not gonna try forcing you to. And don't think we'll stop being your friends, or something, just because of this. We'd just like to see you open up, April. If you have a change of heart, tell us. You can knock on my door, or Charlie's, anytime you need to. Okay?
April:
If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.
Charlie:
Try us. We're your friends. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can help... somehow.
April:
(hesitates before taking the plunge) I've been, uh, chosen to save the world.
Emma:
Stop kidding around, April. We're serious.
April:
So am I. I told you you wouldn't believe me.
Emma:
You're actually telling us the truth? What do you mean, you've been chosen to save the world?
April:
As in, there's something really bad going down, I can't say exactly what, but Cortez is with the good guys, and I've been... drafted.
Emma:
Look, April... if you're having some kind of nervous breakdown, we'll do anything to --
April:
God, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. Forget it! I don't even believe it myself, so why should you?
Charlie:
I believe you, April. I've seen things these past few days -- strange, inexplicable things -- and my Grandma taught us there's a lot more to this world than what meets the eye... And after all, it's you saying these things, my friend April. I've never know you to lie, or even exaggerate the truth... If you believe it, I believe it. And I'm sure the same goes for Emma.
April:
Thank you, Charlie. It means a lot to me. I wish I could tell you everything, but I don't think I can.
Charlie:
I understand. When you're ready? But if there's anything, anything at all we can do to help... Well, don't hesitate to ask.
April:
There are a few things you could help me with.
Emma:
Great. What?
April:
Like I said, I can't really tell you very much about what's going on. Not yet, anyway. Tomorrow, after I've had a good night's sleep, I'll try explaining as much as possible. But there's one thing you could do for me. I have reason to suspect that somebody's out to get me, or Cortez.
Emma:
Who?
April:
Long story. But I could need some backup. These goons, these agents, they could be closing in, and whatever advance warning you're able to give me...
Emma:
We'll do out best. What do they look like?
April:
I'm not sure. But you'll know when you see them, I'm sure. Anybody suspicious around, let me know.
Emma:
This is kinda exciting. But you gotta tell me, what are they after you for? Did you do something illegal?
April:
Not yet, not really. It's what I might do they're worried about. But please, don't ask me any more questions today. Just keep your eyes and ears peeled for anything weird. I need a good night's sleep, and tomorrow I should be able to tell you more. But thanks for helping me out, guys. I really appreciate it.
Emma:
We're all hanging out at the cafe tomorrow night, April, so you're just gonna have to join us.
April:
I promise.
Emma:
Now -- get some sleep! Sorry to tell you this, but you look totally exhausted.
April:
I'm glad we had this talk. Thanks for checking up on me, guys.
Emma:
Sure! Good night.
April:
Good night, Charlie.
Charlie:
Good night, girl. Sweet dreams.
She was more than ready to fall into bed after they had left but the effluvium rising from her reminded her of the state of her clothes. Dumping her satchel on her bed, she grabbed a towel, bathrobe and fresh underclothes and headed for the bathroom. Zack would definitely not be around to play his tricks since she was anathema to him. The water was cold but she did not care, it was a relief to get rid of the dirt and smell. Refreshed from her bath, she collapsed onto her bed with a relief sigh. She was too tired to take off her shoes and fell rapidly alseep.
Elsewhere... vehicles came to a violent stop. The door of a room was suddenly broken in by a booted foot. An armored trooper entered, weapon at the ready. Cortez squinted in the bright lights, momentarily blinded. A figure blocked out the lights as he entered. There was no expression on that skull-like demeanor. The young man said nothing but looked at Cortez who sat unresisting on his bed .
A steady low hum woke April from her slumber. She yawned and blinked at the pale blue light in the room and got up from the bed. It was difficult to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. However, bright intense light was glowing from the edges of the partially opened wardrobe door. She opened one of the doors cautiously and was yanked into the light. Oh.. ..