CrossoverChapter 3: Suburban Sunset
Again, the scene was 1990s America. This was Vicki's home-suburb. Today was the same day that Vicki was taken away from home, and sunlight dimmed with the sunset -- the sun going down. Kids were called in for supper, and people went inside to homes for dinner. With outside darkening, no one was around. Save for the sudden barking of a nearby neighbor's dog, the neighborhood street of two-story and well-kept suburban homes was quiet. A warm gust of wind whipped along the street -- and only one street, as if the wind were contained to that one place. The annoying barking suddenly cut into a fearful whine. A second gust of wind flew along the street, a blast of wind strong enough to knock down anyone that could have been in the street at the time. Then, something began to happen. Six feet above the street, the air rippled. The air rippled as if heated, being manipulated. It was actually a hole in reality, one wide enough to comfortably allow two people through -- a good fifteen feet across. Two beings came through that trans-warp. Vicki landed on a shoulder, shouting something in anger. Vicki was neither bruised nor with anything broken. Her coolness of thought had been broken, though: Vicki was half as angry as her personality emulation programming allowed her after landing that way. She thought, this is just all too foolish to tolerate: I'm going to wake up, and this will all have been a stupid dream. Indeed, Vicki's logic programming still hesitated at accepting what had happened. Gally, smaller and agile, landed in a kneeling position. Gally stood, then lightly walked to where Vicki lie fuming angrily in the street. She then stood before the gynoid. With slight metal sounds coming from her arm and shoulder joints, Gally reached a hand to Vicki. Vicki's face relaxed from its anger-twisted position, and she sighed. So that cyborg-thing was still around. Was this a dream? Who cares if this was a dream? For now, until this insanity was over, Vicki's logic processors would tranlate this all as a "dream." Doing so was a very human act: When in an insanely foolish situation, a situation beyond control, why fight it? Vicki accepted Gally's existence -- then accepted Gally's offer of kindness. Vicki placed her soft synthetic hand in Gally's metal hand. With the pull of one electromechanical arm, Gally hoisted Vicki to her feet. "For a really small girl, you have some strength, Gally," said Vicki. "I suppose that isn't a costume you're wearing. Those solid arms, at least, have to be real." Vicky stared at Gally's bare, thin gray arms. "Thanks, but I did not design my body. Ido modified it for me, gave it to me. He really deserves credit for it. If we should return to my place and time after doing what we must do here, I hope to bring you to him. Maybe, you could receive better body upgrades as well?" Vicki shrugged, still going along with it all. "Okay, maybe so," said Vicki. "But before we deal with whomever we have to deal with, we'll have to go back to my house. Dad must be worried about me. And you cannot walk around dressed that way. The leather gymnast's suit would be passable around here, but you have to hide those metal arms and hands." Vicki's gestured to Gally's armor-solid body. Gally began to ask questions, being very curious about this time period. "What, does the ruling class here hate cyborgs? Will there be a price on my head? Or are cyborgs banned from your neighborhood, like how people are banned from the floating place above Scrap Iron City?" Gally asked that, and looked up into the sky. She saw no gigantic city of wealthy people floating over Vicki's neighborhood, a somewhat strange absence. "No, the 'ruling class' does not hate cyborgs. At least, I don't think so. I do not think there are any laws against cyborgs -- yet. But we can't walk around... You can't walk around -- solid gray body and all--without eventually bringing attention to yourself." Gally nodded. "Of course, you know the customs of your time better than I; I really should seek to cover my arms. Also, using a degree of disguising would be a good idea. Camouflage can prevent our enemy from knowing of our presence. Though her face was made of synthetics, the slight smile was real. "Yes, synthetic girl, we should go to your home. And there, we can talk." Vicki's thoughts imagined the situation if her "father" were awake. Yeah, Dad, I have brought home a new friend: a metal-bodied little cyborg girl who dresses like a gymnast, thought Vicki. Gally waved with an open hand forward, a gesture inviting Vicki to lead away. Vicki began walking east, and Gally followed. By now, sunlight was completely gone from the sky. Streetlamps illuminated the dark gray asphalt of the street and white sidewalks. Houses on the sides of the street were lit up from inside, alive with people. They walked along those darkened suburban streets outside, the wholesome artificial girl from these suburbs and the cyborg girl whose body and mind was hardened to tough life in a dark city. They were two blocks from Vicki's home and centuries away from Gally's home of Scrap Iron City. Gally had to trust this robot girl, this well-done replicate of a full-flesh girl. About the girl that this "Vicki" was modeled after, was the real girl dead? Then, Gally had a thought of herself, asked herself if she were "dead," her original body long ago fallen to rot and dust -- while her brain lived on in a hard synthetic body of replaceable parts. The two continued their walk, smaller Gally keeping up with Vicki by using long and agile strides. In walking with others, others often taller than her diminutive and four-foot self, Gally walked this same way. But Gally rarely had people to walk with, as few in her life ever remained by her side for long before things happened to them. The feelings Gally got from being here were wonderful, feelings from being in a place and time so beautifully different from her own. "Vicki, everything here is so neat and plain. And I can hear so many insects, many little creatures making many little sounds," commented Gally as she looked around. "And there is so much life, so many plants. How do you keep them all alive? Doesn't the sun's heat and the pollution eventually kill them?" asked the cyborg as the two walked. "We do not need to do much to keep the plants alive. They have to be watered, and landscapers have to be called by sometimes. But those are only sometimes. The plants can take care of themselves. And there isn't enough pollution or intense heat here to kill them." Vicki paused. Vicki's microchips analyzed Gally's commentary and questions. "Analyzing those questions, I think your place and time must have very high temperatures and dangerous amounts of pollution. Is that why you were put in that body, Gally?" Gally voiced a "Hmm?" She thought of it some moments, then answered. "Oh. I cannot say why I was made into a cyborg, Vicki. I don't know that, myself." Gally smiled. "I don't even know myself. My memory from before, it vanished. There is nothing in my memory to tell why my flesh body was taken from me." They both pondered that, walking on for blocks more. Gally hesitated, not wanting to ask too much about Vicki's own existence. She was still quite careful about becoming too close to Vicki. Why try to come close to Vicki, when violence or betrayal could take her away? But Gally realized that, to gain the artificial girl's trust, she would have to reach out. Moments more, and Gally had more questions. "Tell me about the man you call your 'father.' Does he have anyone, beside you?" The answer came easily enough. "Sure," said Vicki, "I'm not just the only one in the family. There's mom and there's Jamie. Grandma is sick, but Grandpa still visits. Didn't you ever have a family, Gally?" Gally turned her head from Vicki. Gally now felt shame in expressing emotion to this person she was just beginning to know. "I...I do not know. And I do not think I can ever know. Again, I never remember what life was like with the body I was born with. Nothing at all. You must remember what Mr. Thunderhorse said about me, about my name. My name is just a label, a borrowed label put on me. "My name, my appearance, my entire body, all of it can be changed. But I can hold onto my name, at least. With my memories taken from me so long ago, I hold onto what I can." The sub-programs that weighed Vicki's emotions put her to thinking sadder thoughts. Poor Gally; poor cyborg-girl. Soon, they came to one of the many well-kept and neatly painted houses. Gally's hometown of Scrap Iron City had decently maintained buildings, but the buildings were maintained for efficiency of the Factory; the places of Gally's hometown were not as extravegently and meticulously kept as the homes here. Vicki slowed her walk, then stopped stiffly. The lights were off, except for the automatic porch lighting that came on at the Lawson household when sunlight fell. Vicki stood close to the front door, then had a thought. She felt for her small purse. Fortunately, throughout it all, the small purse was still over her shoulder. After that, Vicki reached into a right jeans pocket, found a key, and unlocked the deadbolt and springbolt locks. Gally was still somewhat nervous about this. This stranger was so trusting, so sure of safety in this neighborhood. The small cyborg, her metal arms at her sides and dark shimmering body suit seeming just smaller, had her eyes unfocused and looking around. Vicki smiled. "Come in. If we have to act together to get through this craziness, you'll need to at least accept my help." Gally's large eyes returned to focus, and she carefully walked inside. It was dark, a place for enemies to be well--camouflaged. Vicki found a light switch near the doorway, and the living room illuminated. Then, Vicki looked Vicki's "father" was asleep on the couch, the television still on. He must have worn himself out with worry. And when he wakes up, he's going to be even more worried if I'm not here, thought Vicki. Wait, did she smell something in the air? No, she must have misidentified an airborne chemical -- the data from the chemical analyzers in Vicki's nose detecting slight anomalies from the "normal" home environmnent. What could be wrong here? Vicki closed the door--and locked it. Gally watched as Vicki did, wondered how such a flimsy wooden door could keep out "crazies" and other violent people. Or maybe, this was that time Ido talked about? This could be a time when there were "police" to protected people -- a safer and more peaceful time where people did not die so often because of violence. This is probably also a time period before cyborg technology. That is, there were probably no cyborgs other than herself in these times. And because flesh people here are weaker and more delicate than cyborgs, the wooden door should be security enough. Vicki turned on the stairs light, then had Gally stand by the stairs. Vicki turned off the living room lights, not wanting to disturb "Dad" asleep on the couch. "Come upstairs. I should have something for you to wear to cover your arms," said Vicki. Gally stepped along the floor, then went up. Vicki's room was something out of a distant past and dream to Gally's eyes. Gally had been in some serious bent-reality scenarios before, but this situation was more unique. Gally was truly in a far past, as shown by the artificial girl's room. To Gally, Vicki's room was so soft and delicate -- a full carpet, wooden furniture, a mirror against a wall, and a frilly bed. There were drawers at one end of the mid-sized and carpeted room -- a soft and bright beige carpet for the floor. To the side of the drawers, on the adjacent wall, was a closet and a bookshelf -- plenty of paper books. Gally was surprised at the number of paper volumes in possession of the robot girl. A third wall was fronted by a bed, one with drawings of people and creatures Gally had never seen before. Gally regarded one poster in particular. Who was "Questor?" Was he a gladiator, or Motorball player? Did people of this time have motorball? This was as well-done as a full flesh human's bedroom: Why did that man Ted treat Vicki as human, pile her with all the stuff given to a human being? Gally thought questions. Is the lie for himself--or for Vicki? As Gally stood and looked around, Vicki looked through drawers. Vicki looked at Gally again to confirm clothing size, then systematically rummaged through drawers again. Vicki located several sets of clothes in a bottom drawer? What about pinafores? No, the sleeves were short. Gally stood patiently and quietly, her dollishly large eyes still looked furtively around the room. Gally was minding her manners. "Ah, this should fit you and fit the need!" suddenly said Vicki. Gally was jolted out of her relaxed surveying of the room: eyes going wider and her lips rounding into a small "o." "Come over here, Gally. I think that I've got the right clothes to cover your arms." Vicki had small Gally stand before the mirror (which looked well cared-for in Gally's eyes: no cracks), and gave Gally a pink woolen sweater. On the five-foot Vicki, it fit tightly over her pseudo-developing figure (which made Ted and Joan Lawson a bit ready to chide at times, wearing such clothes), but it should fit somewhat loosely for small and more athletically slender Gally. Gally carefully put her metal fingers through the sleeves. Vicki had to then roll up the sleeves an inch or so to keep Gally's hands from being restrained by loose sleeves. Gally then straightened the sweater's hem around her hard hips. Gally shook her straight dark hair to get strands of it out of her eyes, then looked at herself in the mirror. "Your metal hands are still exposed. Maybe some gloves will do?" Gally continued to look. Her small self was in the mirror, a mirror designed for taller people. And here she was in a pink soft sweater, one that flopped over her female-shaped cyborg body. Gally's metal "skin" could not feel the soft material of the sweater. Her metal fingers then went to her own machine-solid and flat abdomen, pressing the soft cloth against her artificial feminine body. Did this hide her mechanical body? Vicki moved to the window at the center of the wall, a window to the left of the mirror. I'm still waiting for this dream or nightmare to be over, thought Vicki. But if this isn't a dream, and someone from a terrible future really is here, then I can make it a dream for someone. The poor girl, to not even have a real body. To have to hunt criminals just to earn money. Vicki would have hugged Gally -- but could not be sure of how the cyborg would interpret the hug. Gally's large and warm eyes, large eyes set in her small and elven face, stared at herself in the mirror. She pivoted on a foot, looked at how it fit over herself. Vicki thought of the girl with the body made of machinery -- a body like that of a small and thin ballerina doll, a solid doll of hard gray metal. I wonder, is that a girl or a woman? That weird man in "Another Place" said that her body is absolutely synthetic. And she looks like a very young woman, her body seeming developed. But her body is not real, is all metal. How old is she? Vicki moved behind Gally, appraising and analyzing. Gally's eyes met Vicki's in the reflection, the robot-girl over a head taller who stood close by. "So, do you like it?" asked Vicki. "Or are you just happy because you don't have sweaters in your time -- and you have a chance to wear one?" Gally turned sharply, eyes bright. "There are sweaters, Vicki. And we have dresses. We have every type of clothing, I believe. I think, looking at your clothes, the styles of clothing have only changed slightly since this time period -- at least for flesh people. But for cyborgs, we wear stronger clothing, often." Vicki's sub-processors came up with another question. "Why do cyborgs wear clothes at all, Gally? If your body is all metal, wouldn't you just look like a naked metal doll without that gymnast's garb?" Vicki herself was a robot who still had modesty issues to work out at times, and she often asked questions about modest aloud with her friends. Her friends were all humans, though, ready to blush red. "I try not to think about that sometimes, Vicki, how my body is not 'real.' Sometimes, when something seems to go really wrong, I do think about my life. I do think about the body I have, how it is not me -- but is me. Yes, my body is a machine. It is just as repairable. It is just as replaceable. It has to be: With what I want to do with myself, hunting criminals or trying Motorball, there is always the chance that this body will be damaged. It is not a 'real' body, yes. But everyone needs a body, Vicki. If I do not have a body, then I am helpless. "And I do not want to be helpless. Helplessness is death Scrap Iron City, Vicki. There is none of your 'police' to keep brutal people from hurting and killing people in Scrap Iron City. If helpless, a person cannot earn money for food, Vicki. Cyborgs must eat, too -- eat solid food or get refills of glucose. Even then, physically able or not, jobs are hard to find. "Half of the people, cyborgs and full-flesh people, cannot get good and steady work. Many people live on the street, their bodies barely dressed in tattered clothes. And the streets are dangerous. On or off the street, people are hurt. And in Scrap Iron City, many of us are cyborgs. That means that we can hurt for a very long time before our brains die. We can feel pain for days, Vicki. People and things hurt people in Scrap Iron City, Vicki. And when I mean things, I also mean living that should never exist. Monsters live in my time -- monsters made by drugs or pollution." Vicki was unsure if she wanted to hear about Scrap Iron City anymore. Putting together all that Gally told Vicki since she knew the small female cyborg, Vicki knew what type of future Gally described: a future society of near anarchy and callous heartlessness. Gally's future is a future where no government protected people, a future-time when laws were only enforced by those who had to be paid on a case-by-case basis. And there was the barenness of Gally's future. Gally described a sad city, a miserable and brutal one. Vicki's programmed ability to analyze words let her extrapolate a vision of what Gally talked about: a far-future city so mechanized that even people were made partially into machines. There were the cyborgs Gally described, poor people even whose bodies were barely their own: expendable people, expendable bodies, life being cheap. She imagined the city to go with it, Scrap Iron City. It sounded like decay and breakdown. That was the future to come. "Gally, how did that happen? What was the change between these times and your times, the change that made things so terrible?" asked Vicki. "I want to know how your future came to be. Instead of being afraid of it, I want to understand it." Vicki's voice sounded monotone, perhaps a reversion to her original artificial voice. Gally took a moment to collect and organize thoughts. Standing before the mirror, her eyes unfocused, she began to speak. "Between your time and mine, there was an interstellar war, that much I know. It was a gigantic one, maybe as large as you could imagine. There was a conflict between planets, one of machines and guns, explosions and pain. Before that, there were geological cataclysms: earthquakes, a tilting of the Earth on its axis, and more. Earth suffered in the firestorms of war and disaster. Earth became isolated and injured, as were the people. People suffered with war and planet-wide destruction. Since then, the world was slowly re-civilized--became what it was for me as people move on to survive. That was that. What is there to understand?" Increasingly more, Vicki realized something: She wanted out of this "dream." This had to be a dream, had to be. Why else was there a cyborg in her bedroom? But now, it was what people labeled a "nightmare" with that talk about earthquakes and war and violence. It would be more of a nightmare if Vicki were pulled into that other time, into a far future that was more grim than Gally's descriptions so far depicted. Would Thunderhorse power up that far-future and end-of-time equipment to trans-warp Vicki into Scrap Iron City of the 30th century? Vicki voiced her concerns. "Gally, I do not like the way your time sounds. Since you're here, and you're not in your time, then that means that I could be pulled from this time and be brought to yours. You were pulled here. I could be pulled there..." Vicki crossed her arms, then went to the window again, her emulated body language displaying "worry." Then, she and looked up and out into the depths of space -- into the star-spotted night. Gally turned her head left and up at the gynoid. "Please, do not hate me. I do not want you to hate me. You have been so kind to me. Where I come from, not everyone is as caring as you. There are plenty of kind people, but their kindness is sometimes hidden for fear of being hurt by crazies -- very violent people who lose their sanity. Are you going to hide your kindness, Vicki?" Vicki's eyes went down and out of focus in thought. Computer subroutines in her head and chest chittered and hummed. Everyone here was good, except for criminals, the bad guys. Mrs. Brindle was a nuisance, not a "crazy" -- not a violently terrible person. Mr. Brindle was just an annoyance for the first years Vicki was around; Vicki could remember that -- some memories from those times still stored in her memory. Since then, he has calmed and has become a more courteous neighbor. That was especially true since Vicki's "father" had been promoted to an equal position of rank to Mr. Brindle. And Harriet was once the same way. She was now a valued friend to Jamie and the rest of the family. Almost everyone here has been good. Though Vicki's early stored memories were troubled ones with burglaries, money worries, and even several threats of her being taken away, people were never violent "crazies" around here. Vicki believed in "good" and "evil." And she believed that the division between good and evil was not as blurry as Thunderhorse said it was. She thought of evil, then. What was said about evil? Vicki again recalled Mr. Thunderhorse's briefing. When they warped back to a place, they would be placed close to an area that was being threatened by an evil too strong to be human. Vicki could ignore the charge by Mr. Thunderhorse about her being a robot. She could run away from the talk about "Another Place" and "forces" that existed before reality. She could not ignore the possibility of some place in her neighborhood being troubled by evil. She re-focused her eyes, then looked directly at the Brindle household. There was no sound of a television being played. But Brandon and Bonnie were often night-time television viewers, heavily so. Vicki could always hear their shows from here. The television was off. Lights were on, and Vicki did here people walking around the Brindle household. A moment, and the computers of Vicki's mind put it together. The Brindles were not watching television. They almost always watched television. There were also strangers walking abound the Brindle's household. Mr. Thunderhorse explicitly warned Vicki and Gally to be aware of danger, to be aware of their enemy. The enemy could be next store -- could be there with partners. For confirmation, Vicki heard the voices of those who shot at her earlier -- heard the voices of the people she encountered before being trans-warped into Thunderhorse's far-future office. Indeed, there was a nasty situation inside of the Brindles' home; things were not going decently at all. The three business-suited industrial thugs who were out to get Vicki strutted around and inside the Brindle residence. They were angry at their own failure to injure and abduct Vicki, frustrated how the girl actually escaped -- how Vicki vanished before they could nab her. And now, the three were given new orders by The Cloaked Man in compensation for failing to get Vicki. This even meant holding an entire family hostage, holding the Brindles hostage. It was too bad that only the parents were home: Bonnie Brindle and Brandon Brindle. Harriet was out. A little knockout gas, some rope and good gagging, and the husband and wife were tied away tight. If the kid Harriet showed up, she would be put alongside her parents. Brandon Brindle was bound on the couch, hog-tied. He came to his senses, and the world came into view, slowly. He tried to put together a decent thought, tried to think coherently through the headache he had. What happened? First, Bonnie and he pulled in home. He remembered wanting to watch television. Then he wanted to sleep suddenly. Bonnie wanted to sleep as well. The floor seemed a good place for a nap. Now he was here... "What the Hell? He's coming around!" shouted the brown-haired athletic woman in the slacks and blouse, one who held a sophisticated and dark gun that fired ceramic bullets. It was the same woman who acted with the trio who earlier tried to get the artificial girl. "Don't you have any more gas capsules?" "I've got some. Just keep that gun on him," said the bald-headed man in the suit, the other industrial thug in the room. He reached into a pocket, then pulled out a small green capsule. With his fingers, the bald man held the capsule under Brandon's nose. He broke open the capsule, a whiff of gas came out of it, and Brandon's eyes turned up in his head -- with Brandon going unconscious. That should silence him for another few hours. "Careful with those capsules, though. Don't want an overdose. If he vomits with the gag on, he could choke on it," said the brown-haired woman. "You know how the stuff is. If a person gets too much of it, nausea develops. And when he chokes to death on the vomit, who's going to clean up the mess?" She asked that, then held the gun as so it pointed up. "What do you mean? If he chokes to death with the gag on, there won't be any vomit. It will have all been sucked into his windpipe! The body wouldn't leave too much of a mess." The bald man sounded annoyed. "But bodies are messes. They are an annoyance to burn. And when we do, even the ashes are hard to dump. Why do I have to clean up the car trunk incinerator on every job? And why couldn't we just use acid to get rid bodies?" The brown-haired woman said this, was annoyed at having to deal with yet another body. The bald man turned to the brown-haired woman and spoke, his back to the living room door. "Don't worry: We're not going to make too many people dead on this one. And who said we had to dump bodies? We could leave this guy tied and dead, leave him here for good. People in this neighborhood are so wholesome in attitude that they wouldn't suspect a kidnapping. And when they do suspect something, days will have gone. We will be gone." Indeed, the three industrial thugs often got away with the jobs they pulled. Each of the three had a criminal record. Bribes and good lawyers kept the trio out of prison, though. Their superiors did not want to keep their valued and skilled employees from being held away from business, especially where a prison-time mishap could kill them. When a servant of wealth, wealth served as well. The bald man smiled. "Yes, we will be gone," he hissed as he stood and stepped away from the unconscious Brindle on the living room couch. "When I go, I want to head out to somewhere in the Midwest. Out to one of those big places with open prairies, a place where you can see the wide land swathed in sunset..." "And see pollution, and smokestacks, with plenty of heavy machines," interrupted the brown-haired woman, her straight hair fluttering with every blurted sentence that came from her pale face. "You want to go to a place where abandoned factories exist. You want to go to a place that decays with post-industrialism. Don't forget the piles of tailings from mining. Yeah, big piles of solid waste among heavy architecture. That is what you want." She then smiled. "Don't say that! The Midwest is still about prairies and farm fields. And I want to get out there, out where it is peaceful," said the bald man. There was no conviction in his speaking, though. Maybe, he did not really want to leave Southern California: He wanted to leave, but business said that he stay in the state. "Anyway, The Cloaked Man will pay more than enough for me to get out there. Pay enough to get me wherever I want to stay," said the bald man. The brown-haired woman shuddered, the Midwest.
Not far from where Vicki and Gally were, The Cloaked Man stood. He felt the pain again, the pain that immediately reached to overwhelm him. The pain, the pain attacks were worsening since first trans-warping through time with the portable device. He knew that his own trans-warp device was not responsible for his pain. No, the cause of his physical suffering was deeply in place before he left his home time-period. And only temporary measures could relieve his pain.
Vicki, upstairs and next door, heard the industrial thugs speak. She heard it all but did not want to believe it. Mr. Brindle was unconscious and in the living room. Mrs. Brindle was not present; Vicki's robotic hearing did not hear references to Mrs. Brindle at all. She could be anywhere, somewhere tied up. The criminal from another time was close by, and the evil person was willing to use violence. And from the conversation, Vicki found out that someone called The Cloaked Man was responsible for the evil event here. If they stopped The Cloaked Man (whomever he was), then good would win here. And Gally could go home. "Gally..." Gally turned from the mirror, then saw a very concerned Vicki. Gally walked with silence, a stalking walk. She stood close enough for Vicki to speak and for her to talk back. Vicki then backed away from the window. "I know what task we have to complete before you can get out of here," said Vicki. "Is our target next door?" asked Gally, looking at the bedroom window. She then seemed eager -- eager for violence, maybe. "Yes, the target is next door. Have you heard of someone named The Claoked Man?" asked Vicki. Gally shook her head. "The Cloaked Man must be the person that we have to stop, I'm sure. He's the one responsible for the trouble I hear next door, and we were put here to stop that person. We have to stop The Cloaked Man." "And I thought you so closed minded that you would not help," said Gally. "False girl, do you still doubt this all? Will you continue to act with denial?" The small cyborg-girl stared. Vicki's face put on a quick and angry frown before reverting to a more neutral look. "I don't know, Gally. This is still tough to fully believe." Vicki glimpsed out the window again, then spoke to Gally. "Let's talk about that later. First, we have to save Mr. Brindle next door. I hope he isn't too far gone. And I hear those industrial spies next door, ones that shot at me before you and I met. They have weird guns, and I don't think your armor could stop their bullets." Gally nodded, then she went to the window. Before Vicki could stop her, Gally opened the window and dove out of it. The cyborg dove out and down, hands down with palms flat. Why did she do that? Vicki stood there discombobulated, her logic trying to stop her jumbled confusion at cyborg girl's act of recklessness and danger. Then, Vicki looked outside and downward. Gally dove through the window for a quick and stealthy way to get outside fast. Out and into the night air, she swooped down the dozens of feet to the hard ground, her metal arms out. Then, she landed on her palms and carefully absorbed the shock of her fall, a handstand with hard gray hands sinking just a bit into the already packed soil Gally pushed off from the ground with her metal arms, then somersaulted to right herself. She then landed again, this time with feet down and head up. There was the sweater as an issue. The pink sweater would just draw attention to herself in the dark night. With mechanical fingers, Gally pulled off the pink sweater, a jerk of her head fixing her hair. She heard a movement behind her. Gally froze. She made a quick movement, but too late. There was a muzzle flash from a silenced pistol, green sparks flickering from the gun's muzzle. Gally gasped when the ceramic bullets pierced her torso. Instead of shouting, harder logic went to work in Vicki. Vicki ran downstairs. She then went through the kitchen, turned off the porch and the kitchen light, then opened the back door enough to get out. She ran to the grassy side of the house, where she thought Gally landed. And Vicki saw the industrial thug, one who advanced on an unseen target. The sweater Vicki gave Gally was on the ground... "Gally!" shouted Vicki. The nondescript man turned, the gun turning with him. It was hard to see the expression on his face. He probably grinned, though, as he took careful aim at Vicki. Then, his gun suddenly flipped from his hand and his body jerked. After the jerking motion, he swayed on his feet before finally falling over backward. Small and dark-clad Gally stood behind him, harder to see in the dim light between the Lawson and Brindle homes. Gally sidestepped when the man fell. "Gally, I thought you were shot!" stage whispered Vicki, her eyes large with concern. Gally only walked carefully in Vicki's direction. She walked somewhat stiffly, maybe carefully. "You really were right about the bullets." Vicki then looked looked down at Gally's abdomen and chest. Her eyes recaliberated adjusted to the dim light of night to see the damage done to the cyborg girl. There was one inch-wide bullet hole left on Gally's chest, a bullet hole visible as jagged gray metal where the bullet pierced body armor and clothing. It pierced close to where Gally's heart would have been if she had a flesh body. Two more jagged holes marked her abdomen. Vicki could see that the holes of damage to Gally's body looked a bit molten, the rims of the bullet holes slightly yellow. Gally gave a small cough, then shrugged. "You're going to die! We have to get you to a hospital, or something!" said Vicki in a too loud whisper, nearly whining. Instead, small Gally only shook her head. She smiled, stifled another spasming cough from a slightly malfunctioning respiratory system. "Don't worry. I have had my body more damaged than this. My body is damaged, but the damage is contained. I'm not going to bleed to death. It'll just be a bit harder to walk around, however. And it doesn't hurt." Put on a look of more worry, her mouth agape. "I said for you to not worry." More solidly, Gally said, "We have a mission here. Let us complete it." "I think you just knocked out one of them. There are two more in the house, and Mr. Brindle is still in there. Maybe, you can knock out the other two, like you did to that man there?" said and asked Vicki, pointing to the still form on the ground, pointing to the defeated criminal at Gally's feet. "Oh, knock them unconscious?" asked Gally. The pool of blood from the man's smashed-open back was barely visible in the grass as his corpse lie there getting cold. Gally held both her hands behind her back, her left fist covered with wet and dark liquid that was just drying and crusting. Vicki did not know; she did not have to know. "Just give me time, and I can take them all out," said the cyborg. Gally looked like a metal-bodied doll of real action now. "Good, because I'm not a professional at this. But you are, Gally. Do your thing, and get those jerks! And when you do, I can call the police. Maybe then, Mr. Thunderhorse will let you go back to where you came from." Vicki then slightly bent her knees, then leapt over the fence separating the Brindles' yard from the Lawsons'. She glided over the seven-foot fence, her arms out for balance. Gally also cleared the fence with a leap, doing a slow somersault before landing feet-first. The two then walked in stealthy crouches along the night-darkened grass along the side of the Brindles' househould. They crouched by the side of the house, the corner that led over to the front yard. Gally commented, "They are career criminals whose interest is in cash, not in perfection of skill. They are probably too worried about how much they will be paid to worry about an attack from an unsuspected direction." Vicki thought on it a moment, then smiled. Gally was referring to what they were doing now: They were going to get at the industrial thugs using something so simple as the front door. But they weren't going to just leap in and hurt people. That would be too obvious. Also, a frontal rushing in was for bad action shows and cliché action scenes. In real life, running in would have made for Gally and Vicki being destroyed when the thugs inside just fired on them. And that would have been the end of them both. And what if the Brindles were being held at gunpoint? Too many people would die if the two tried to undo this event's evil by running in and trying to fight. "Vicki, let us trick them into coming outside. No, you know the people of this time better than I. You should know what decieves them better than I do. Me, I will use your deception to disable them. I will crouch in the shadows, lying quietly. My dark clothing and hair will go well with the shadows. Then, they will pass by me, not seeing me..." Vicki analyzed the parameters of the request, her programming humming. She knew what would work: sound effects. Vicki's voice, the sound synthesizers in her artificial throat, could simulate most any sound -- pleasant or annoying. This was a night for being annoying. Gally nodded, then went to lie in the shadow of the tall fence they previously leapt over. Vicki went to work. There was a cat's mewling at the front door. Brandon Brindle didn't care; he was unconscious. The bald-headed man continued to inspect his dark gun, checking parts and such. Seated in Brandon's armchair, he looked as if he were relaxing on a Saturday night instead of playing the role of a professional criminal. The brown-haired woman stood close to the door, then listened. "A damned cat!" she said. She pointed the gun at the door, her finger tensing on the trigger. Thinking a better idea, the brown-haired woman then grinned. "I'll step out for some animal cruelty. Don't wait up," she said. The bald man snickered, then went back to checking gun parts. That woman had a nasty streak, and he did not want to know what she had planned for the cat. He recalled one incident with her strange acts: She once ironed a particularly expensive cat to death, laughing all the while. The cat cried and died, the woman laughing in the reeking meat and burned fur smell of burning cat. Outside, the light clothing and pale skin of the brown-haired woman seemed to glow slightly in the dim light allowed by nearby street lamps. "Hello, kitty!" she crooned to the "cat." "Let's play snuggles! You hold still while I snuggle this nice gun against your chest!" Just beyond the corner, Vicki gave another simulated cat mewling. It was her "manx" voice, simulating the voice of a two-month-old cat of that breed. "Mreew?" The brown-haired woman grinned: Her smile was not so nice. "Your intestines will be so much fun to knit with, once I've dried them!" said the brown-haired woman, stepping around the right corner of the house. Her eyesight was still acclimated to the bright lights of the house's inside. "Mreew?" The "cat" seemed further on, going towards the back yard. A cold clamp closed down on her windpipe, and yanked her back and downward. She tried to raise her gun to stop the attacker, then felt a solid hit on her hand. The plastic gun fell from her grip, and her right hand flopped on a broken wrist. Who was the little person that knelt over her? And how did she? The industrial thug felt a tightened grip -- felt metal! Were those armored gloves? A small but powerful jerk of Gally's gripping hand, and the brown-haried woman no longer moved. Vicki clearly heard the brown-haired woman's neck snap, even from the back yard. Vicki's emotional state jumped into extreme upset and anger mode. What is that crazy metal girl doing? She's not suppose to kill people! Weren't we supposed to be on the side of "good?" Vicki's thoughts leapt and screamed in her electronic mind. On a deeper level, her programming responded to the loss of human life -- a serious violation of her safety protocols. Vicki was quick in running over to the small cyborg girl, the girl who contemplated the plastic gun she held. It was almost obscenely grotesque: the four-foot and pretty girl fondling a gun, a gun she took from the woman she killed. Gally was even calm about it. And Vicki noticed the dried dark material on Gally's her left hand. The data from Vicki's nose gauged the dark liquid to be blood... "Gally, why did you kill her? You weren't supposed to kill!" nearly shouted Vicki. She almost shouted. Gally stopped, then held the gun in a too-professional way. It was very similar to the types of guns in Scrap Iron City. Gally knew guns, having worked with them literally before she could remember. This was a somewhat cumbersome gun, one with an ergonomic grip. Gally felt the hard grip, moved it to her left hand, and looked it over some more. She toted the gun a bit to get the weight of it. Vicki continued to glare. "Why did you..." Gally's right metal hand moved very quickly, a blur. That blur ended in a pointing finger in Vicki's face. "Quiet, you! Death of the target is preferrable to death of myself! And these unskilled fools deserved death, as the third one does," said Gally in a slow and terrible whisper. Vicki went wide-eyed; Gally was psycho, after all! "You're crazy! All of this is crazy! I'm going to call the police to handle this!" Vicki's face twisted in dismay and sadness, and she ran from the cyborg girl -- a real nightmare. She leapt the fence, ran into her own house, and to the telephone. Apparently, the knockout gas used on Ted Lawson kept him out while this all happened. Vicki's fingers blurred "9-1-1." Back outside, Gally gave a small kick to the brown-haired woman's corpse, the dead woman's straight hair in disarray. Having figured out the simple operation of the woman's gun, she was ready to act. Gally moved to the front of the house, moved before the door. There really was a terrible look on her beautiful face. Gally leapt at the wooden door and kicked out with her left foot, and the door seemed to explode when the cyborg girl's leaping side kick destroyed it. She stood among the chunks of wood. Brandon Brindle stirred on the couch. The bald headed man stood up and tried to raise the pistol at the small female that entered. "Did you get the address? Please, hurry! People are dead!" shouted Vicki. "Please be calm. Assistance is on the way. Just stay indoors and stay down. If the murderer is still around, you will draw attention to yourself by standing and shouting," said the trained and inhumanly calm operator. Vicki would not stay calm. "She has a gun! And she's really strong! I saw her break someones..." There was a rush of air, and Vicki vanished into time. A flicker of light, and there was no longer an impatient robot-girl holding the telephone. The handset hung in the air for a while, then fell clattering to the small table it was on. "Hello, young miss? Hello? If you are injured, please tell me..." said the calm and trained voice from the dangling telephone, the telephone that now hung by the cord. Inside of the Brindle's house, the bald man was dead. He had been shot, just once, through the heart by Gally's very good aim. The ceramic bullet did a serious job and left a stain on the couch. His body was now slumped in the seat, eyes closed. He would not collect the money The Cloaked Man promised. Now that was too bad. As soon as Gally shot him, Thunderhorse's computers gauged that Gally and Vicki had sufficiently and effectively countered the plans of the enemy. Then, Gally was yanked through time. Moments after killing the third thug, she was pulled throught the trans-warp. She felt pulled through and away from reality, through everything. It was the same sensation she felt when pulled to Mr. Thunderhorse's office. And again, Gally lost consciousness when the darkness of the warp closed over her. Vicki was coming along with Gally as well, crossing through time. At least now, the damage to her body would be repaired. Someone paced angrily on the Brindles' backyard patio. "Dang nabbit, they must have stopped my thugs! And I was going to tip them pretty well, too!" The Cloaked Man, the square-jawed and red-tanned man with slacks and a tee-shirt with a cape, paced on the patio. "I thought I could get something evil done here. No, some freaks had to get in my way! Who could have known that I would be in this time period, and who could have stopped me?" The Cloaked Man gesticulated with his hands, his red tee-shirt and cape fluttering in the night. "It's not fair, not fair! See, I just want to cause just a teeny, tiny bit of evil in just some teeny and little places in human history. You can understand that, can't you?" He whined that, then began to step back and forth some morealong the Brindle's backyard patio. He heard the whine of sirens. Those must be the safety patrol of this time period -- the 'police.' Then, he looked at the round-bodied and red-haired woman who sat wide-eyed and tied on a bench. She thought that the young man in the tee-shirt was crazy -- especially with that weird cape sewn to his back. That was why she had a blindfold on. He pulled out a coin-sized timepiece. Damn, there was no more time for causing trouble now; he had to move on! "You know what, lady? We've got to move out!" When the police sirens were uncomfortably close to the Brindle's, he lifted the corpulent bulk of Bonnie Brindle -- Brandon's wife -- over his left shoulder. He was inhumanly strong -- probably a side effect of his insanity. "It's...time to go! Yuk, yuk, yuk..." said The Cloaked Man. Bonnie Brindle fainted, and he had to shift his left shoulder to keep her balanced. He pulled his cape around to his face. Then, there was a gust of wind in the back yard and over the patio. The two were no longer there, disappeared. Both The Cloaked Man and Bonnie Brindle vanished into time, just as Vicki and Gally did. |
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