Crossover

Chapter 9:  Crossing Over

In the depths of Scrap Iron City, Dr. Nova was at work trying to break cosmic forces.  He was trying to break karma.  The tall, light-haired scientist went about his current project.  In the large and white room, well-equipped with various unidentifiable machines and two solid stretchers, the tall and weak man in the white lab coat sat typing at one machine.  His hair was swept back at the sides, forming wing-shapes.  On his forehead was a purple and circular mark, one with the outline of a finger not colored in.  The scientist typed on, took looks at the test subject, then typed some more.

Nearby, the test subject continued to have difficulties.  The red-haired man lie strapped to a solid metal stretcher that lie close to the ground, a stretcher designed for machine-bodied cyborgs weighing around one thousand pounds.  This man weighed a fraction of that.  Both of his legs -- from the two knees down -- were missing, but there was no blood in sight -- only small bits and pieces of hard material.  His arms were clamped to the sides.  Despite the mutilation done to him, he was still alive.

He had lost no blood when the legs were cut away -- because he was a cyborg.  His lost legs were metal, and could be replaced.  Of note were the three wires connected from the man's thick metal abdomen to a machine on the right.  It was seriously doubtful that the man would want his legs back now.  That is, if the man wanted anything anymore, at all.  The wide-eyed and frenzied look in his eyes was a nearly dead one, one that was not too far from death.  How close was he to death?  Also, did he have any surprising and revelatory commentary on karmic values?

Dr. Desty Nova, the frail and gray-haired scientist with the swept-back hair typed some more.  He had killed off just enough of the man's brain to put him on a border between living and brain death.  Now, the cyborg test subject was a few brain cells from becoming a mental vegetable.  But, so near death, there had to be something for that man to say about karma!  Again, Dr. Nova would have to resort to brutal efforts to gather more clues on karma.  The last time he did something of this sort, he received cryptic ranting: "The black dog runs at night.  The black dog runs at night.  The black dog runs at night..."

Dr. Nova could not figure out what it was he meant.  So, after that first one died (with a mess), he would repeat the experiment.  "Now, let me ask you again, man.  Where do you think your karmic values lie?"  He stopped typing, then looked directly at the man on the stretcher.  Meanwhile, the cables connected to his severed and solid knee-stumps sent data from the cyborg to Dr. Nova's computer.  Some values changed, from data on the test subject.  A certain few equations jumped.  This was most likely the beings' karma -- something to be moderated and controlled!

Meanwhile, as he reread the results, a small and keening klaxon began screaming.  Dr. Nova stood, then turned it off.  "Well, thank you for participating!"

"Don't yourself be hurt this time..." said the man on the table, the drugs tripping his brain and mind set.

Dr. Nova soon heard the wind coming from somewhere.  How could that be?  It wasn't logical; this room was sealed.  He ignored the wind, then continued to type.  Someone then placed a very dry and stiff hand on Dr. Nova's shoulder, a hand that was webbed with cracks in the drying skin.  Instantly, "Eelai!" bleated Dr. Nova before he tried to get away.  The Cloaked Man grinned, holding the somewhat mad scientist in place.

The Cloaked Man's skin began to crack; dark webs of blood began to seep to his hand's dry and dying surface.

"Dang it, that was the most God-awful bleat I've ever heard!  What type of shout was that, the cry of a weakling?" he said.  But, very quick footsteps came from outside the door, from down a hall.  The Cloaked Man, with his left hand on Dr. Nova, fingered his cape in places.  When the scantily clad, long-haired and well-armed young lady named Eelai burst into the room, Dr. Nova and the intruder were gone.

Still by the side of the room was the dying cyborg, his mind more far gone by the moment.  Elai, one of Dr. Nova's bodyguards, whipped her head around.  "Where are they?  You saw them!  Tell me where they vanished to!" shout-questioined Elai.  Instead of a coherent answer, the dying cyborg said something else.  "I'll see you... under sycamore trees..." said the cyborg before dying, leaving Eelai discombobulated as to what happened.
 

A gust of wind rammed people in the street, the wind whipping across the flat concrete of the ground and the hard surfaces of Scrap Iron City's thousands of many small and large buildings.  What was that?  People were knocked back by an unseen force of something.  Then, they appeared outside of a small hot noodle restaurant in Scrap Iron City.  The Cloaked Man took Dr. Nova by the ear.  "Relax!  Be seated!" said The Cloaked Man with a grin as he roughed the doctor into a seat at a well-polished round table at the hot noodle restaurant.  Dr. Nova was not quite frightened; his curiosity was piqued.  How did he get here?

Dr. Nova was curious, but The Cloaked Man was somewhat worried about something.  The last time he took someone with the use of his trans-warp cape, it nearly fried the device.  And Bonnie Brindle was quite a mass.  As Dr. Nova looked, The Cloaked Man checked his status.

He first pulled forward his cape and looked at the tag.  It was red, which was bad -- very bad in that the time-warp capability of the cape was finally burned out.  The Cloaked Man was trapped in Scrap Iron City, 30^th century.  Well, isn't that just dandy? he thought.

And he checked the small and coin-sized timer in his back pocket.  As soon as he had a glimpse at it, he flipped it over his shoulder.  He was really short on time; all of that time seeking out Dr. Nova's lab really ate up how much run-time he had in life -- before terminal deterioration began to disable him.

"Young man, you lack manners!" said Dr. Nova, grinning.  Dr. Nova knew that there had to be a good and interesting reason as to why that strangely dressed young man had brought him here -- and with such interesting technology.  That rude and ruddy-faced young man had to have something for the doctor.  "You come out of nowhere, literally, and you take me from my work.  Why? Did you want me to do a taste-test for various foods around Scrap Iron City?" Dr. Nova tilted his head back slightly, a large smile on his face after that last word.

The Cloaked Man was not to be out-cooled.  "Nah, I've had enough of Scrap Iron City's crap-food," he began.  "But I'll need some advice on coffee..." Dr. Nova's grin remained.  The Cloaked Man then jumped up, whipped his hand across and gripped the doctor by the lab coat, the grip reaching into the shirt below the coat as well.

"Listen up, doc, because time is... time. If it's technology you like, wire-thin trans-warp capacitors and such, then let's bargain."  He released his grip, and the doctor sat down.  There were with faint smudges of blood on his labcoat's front.  It was The Cloaked Man's blood where he gripped Dr. Nova, the blood coming from The Cloaked Man's cracking skin.  The Cloaked Man did not feel pain in his hands, though: His nervous system was already going.  Time's an issue; I'll have to pitch while I can, thought The Cloaked Man.  "Doctor, what do you know about a certain, short and athletic female cyborg with dark hair and large brown eyes?"

"Oh, do you have tastes for that type of girl?  Well, I can certainly make one for you!  But why?  They lack the ability to copulate.  A strapping young man like yourself could..."  The Cloaked Man slammed one of his rough fists on the table.  "That's a line of crap that needs to be cut!  Now, what do you know about Gally, the top bounty hunter in all of this scrap heap-ghetto you 30^th century freaks call a city?"

"I know that she posesses great capabilities.  Gally is an intriguing cyborg.  Her body, though relatively diminutive, was actually made from technology dating near the Interstellar War.  She has immense strength.  Combined with her Panzer Kunst style of fighting, which originates from Mars, she is most probably unstoppable.  That is, unless my work on a certain Motorball player bears any fruit..."  The Cloaked Man shook his head.

He spoke.  "Now, let me tell you something.  Currently, Gally has a big and goofy sidekick -- a primative and 20^th century replicate named 'Vicki.'  Yeah, a humanoid robot out of the 20^th century.  And she's pretty decent, relatively speaking, though I think she malfunctions sometimes."  Time is short and low...  "Now, doctor, what if I were to make you an offer of technology?  I know that such an intellectual as yourself is not as suspectable to bribes of chips.  Why don't I offer you something in the way of payment that you would appreciate in exchange for a favor?"

Dr. Nova thought about this curious offer. If it was whatever device that man used, he would serously consider the offer. But, what was the favor? "What do you require of my talents, young man?" asked Dr. Nova, his pale face and bold cheeks holding firm in patience. The Cloaked Man smiled. "It's really easy! I think that you could pull the job even if sleep! How good are you at working with older technologies, doc? Tell me."  The Cloaked Man then leaned forward on the table and propped his head with his hands.

"Nameless young man, an ability to work with techology of varying natures is an operating prerequisite, for any decent person of knowledge, here in Scrap Iron City. Almost all the techology used here is centuries old -- with varying ages.  Also, some citizens of this place regularly bring in scrapped items from the junk yard region of this city, and those items sometimes have questionable levels of technological worth: sometimes high, sometimes low."

The Cloaked Man pressed questions.  "What about 20^th century technology, such as that ancient prototype replicant I mentioned? Do you think that you could do a little someething to her programming, whithout destroying her? And what about acquisition?"  What about reprogramming that artificial bitch Vicki?

Dr. Nova stayed relaxed. "Replicants are all primative toys anyway, considering nanotechnology in comparison.  Therefore, electronics of the Twentieth century can be even more primative -- and delicate. Yes, with certain equipment I have stored somewhere, we can work with such.  That includes working with the insides of the alleged replicate you refer to." The Cloaked Man sat up and placed both his rough and deteriorating hands at the edge of the round table. "You mean Gally's sidekick -- or former friend."

Then The Cloaked Man, with a mysteriously large amount of chips stored in his slacks' left pocket, ordered very hot coffee. Dr. Nova then moved to make local social calls and communicated with people that owed him favors.  What members of the criminal underworld were there available for a quick abduction job. And, was that specially modified cyber-equipment still in that side-room of the underground Motorball arena? As Dr. Nova called in favors, The Cloaked Man continued to sip "damned fine" coffee. He drank cups of it; it helped his sense of well-being, a way to distract himself from the prospect of death. "Damned fine coffee," he said as Dr. Nova returned to the table.
 

Another immense gust of wind whipped across the bodies of Scrap Iron City's dwellers. And like the one previous, several were actually knocked down. What, was the Factory up to something foolish? Instead of getting a solid answer, some citizenry stepped out of the way when a strange singularity opened in one place; the small hole in reality opened. Two beings faded into view below the hole. Then, the hole in reality was gone. This time, Gally and Vicki were both standing. And now, they were feirce and ready to eliminate The Cloaked Man.

This was the last time Vicki would be torn from her home. Deep in her programming, Vicki wanted to stay close to the geographic area that was her home. Her processors had to wrestle with two different places and customs, and the constant switching could cause more malfunctions. Vicki was resolved to help Gally stop The Cloaked Man.

Gally wanted an end to this business as well. The Cloaked Man was dishonorable. He has caused pain with so many. Yet, he just warped away before he could be punished. It was unjust. It was wrong. For honor's sake, Gally would eliminate the target. She clenched the electromechanical fists of her metal body, her synthetic-fleshed face and eyes dark.

"We are near the Motorball arena area of town," said Vicki, looking around as the crowd went about its business again. Indeed, the casually dressed girl-robot and the small and athletically clad cyborg were near the entrance to the vast underground stadium that was the location of Motorball playing.

Motororball was a sport in which powered-up cyborgs ran with a globular metal ball to a finish line -- while the other team tried to smash and ruin the posessor of the ball. It was a sport of machines, madness, courage and grit -- truly fitting to Scrap Iron City.  But the two were not here to play Motorball. "As Thunderhorse said that he would teleport us close to the location of The Cloaked Man's troublemaking, he must be close by. He could very well have seen us prior to us sighting him," said Gally, looking around and talking to the taller being.

"I would have thought that The Cloaked Man had run out of plans. Yet, plans can be made in despiration. Hastily made plans are very often ruinous. Then again..." paused the cyborg. She looked at Vicki. "Plans of despiration can sometimes be very sharp. A desprate person is dangerous."

"So, where would be a place in which The Cloaked Man would most likely concoct his plans? Are there any enclosed places that The Cloaked Man could rent to do whatever he could have planned in final moments? He always seems to be well funded, so maybe he rented an area for usage in the Motorball arena? " asked Vicki.

Gally shook her head. "No, the Factory is very careful about usage of all property. The Factory owns Motorball and the Gladiator arenas. The Factory probably wouldn't have allowed any sort of isolated use by newcomers. But the concept successfully piques interest and borders on possibility, Vicki."

Then again, what does The Cloaked Man have planned? They stopped the obnoxious man at every turn, stopped him wherever and whenever he stirred trouble. Now, they were near an entrance to a stadium, a place where there were plenty of resources The Cloaked Man could use for causing chaos. As The Cloaked Man had money, he could probably find some people for some more trouble. Gally thought about this. And then, the concrete beneath their feet exploded.

Gally moved back in a hurry; Vicki managed to jump backward.  The explostion was caused when a metal giant of a cyborg leapt up through the street. This one was large, a steel body eight feet tall and with a torso five feet across shoulders the thickness of truck tire-rims! The It growled a hideous one. It was a cyborg Motorball player, a cyborg for the immense racing-sport of the Motorball Arena.

Gally had leapt back with a reverse somersault, was now kneeling and with her right fist at the ready. Vicki was on her back, scrambling to get away. The growl could be felt in the ground; the metal beast-giant of a cyborg had a voice with all the depth and power of a very mighty motor. His growl was obviously more machine and beast than man.

"Gally!" shouted Vicki. Vicki's processors took some time to register the new event, "danger" signals going off in her sub-processors. The gladiator turned to face Vicki, and the stumps at the ends of his construction vehicle-sized arms split open, revealing immense brown-painted alloy hands. One hand grabbed Vicki's shoulder, and Vicki reacted with a basic preprogrammed action-because the basic action was more easily processed. She wriggled, but the immense right hand lifted her.

She was tucked against the crook of the cyborg-beast's left bent elbow, held there. I should be crushed, thought Vicki, her programming still making her process thoughts with parameters that made her think herself human. Vicki felt her metal pole-thick arm pressing against her lower titanium ribs, compressing synthetic flesh just above her abdomen and below her chest.

The large gladiator cyborg suddenly did a small hop and vanished down into the dark pit he made in the street. With the sound of the immense machine-feet pounding, he and Vicki were gone.

Gally leapt to follow, leapt to go down the hole. But another cyborg, one of mid-size, leapt in the way. She twisted her body as so her legs struck the blocking cyborg in the chest, bouncing off of a bare metal chest. Gally landed two yards back, then stood. This was an ambush.

She looked around and around. There were four, then five. Soon, there were seven cyborgs of average height, all with reinforced chests and arms. Why was this? Why was all of this happening so suddenly? When The Cloaked Man seemed to be at the last of his own activity with trouble-making, he launched one last plan.

The cyborgs grinned and flexed their thick-plated bodies. This looked like an entire team of Motorball players. And, they were all amateurs from the way they looked. Professionals would have been bigger, sleeker-bodied. These were just bit-players who wanted to be professional. Being so desprate, they sometimes took cash doing unlikely things.

"Aw, isn't it cute?" said one of them, a red mowhawk coming from his synth-flesh scalp. "I bet that the dolly must have walked out of a shop window!"

"I'll bet she broke out!" said another. "Look at those little fists of hers. They look really, really dangerous! I wonder what she can do with them?"

"I wonder where I can buy one?" said a cyborg with a decidely feminine head atop a slightly less bulky body. "I had a rag doll as a kid."

"Maybe, you press a button on her back?"

"I'll press her buttons, all right!" They all laughted.  Gally really felt the stress building, the words going around and around. She steeled herself for the conflict.

Thick clouds began to swirl overhead. And the hard-flat concrete looked even more solid as sunlight began to turn metal gray when filtered through clouds. People just took it as another side-effect of Tiphareans possibly mangling the weather again. Where did those thunderclouds come from, with almost no clouds in the sky before this? Someone else was responsible...
 

Vicki did not know how fast she was being carried by the beastly, brutally tall cyborg that had her clutched under his arm. She just wanted to get free, get out from the arm that clutched her middle. Being a Motorball player, the cyborg that gripped the gynoid could have easily run at several hundred kilometers per hour. They were not going that speed, but they were going along very fast. But as the tall and bulky Motorballer cyborg zipped along underground, in the dimly lit and concrete tunnel lined with piping,Vicki was too too distracted by her own efforts to free herself. In the dim light of the tunnel near the underground Motorball stadium, she could see that they passed by piping and dim utility lights very fast -- at least at sixty miles per hour.

"Slow down! And let go, you metal freak!" she shouted. Her shout was almost torn away with the rushing wind. I wish there were cops in Scrap Iron City! Then, I would have them lock you away. No, I will call those Hunters! What...?" Her last sentence was cut short when the Motorballer skidded to a stop, his alloy feet scraping up concrete as he slid to a stop. Vicki's computer processors registered the change in momentum, and her mind simulated "fear."

The Motorball-playing cyborg's voice was a growl, one that sounded a cross between beast, man and heavy diesel machine. "Quiet, you! Who are you, to call me a freak? These days, being a cyborg is very common. Being totally synthetic, you are the freak." Vicki's audio pickups were slightly damaged by the deep and beastly voice in the confines of the concrete tunnel.  "Why does everyone call me 'synthetic?' Why?" said Vicki before beginning to wriggle more, the myogel musculature of her abdomen and back working as she continued to wriggle in a pre-programmed method. The cyborg took several steps forward, and Vicki felt the lurching steps as she was shaken in the arm-grip.

"If you doubt yourself, then the doctor will gladly clear it for you -- and clear your thinking processors as well!" The grand and silver-bodied cyborg gave a beastly laugh, and Vicki's audio systems suffered more. She could not free her arms to cover her ears, and "damage" signals to Vicki's mind flickered on.

The laughing stopped, but the damage was done: Vicki was now partially deaf by the design specifications that went into making her. Having undergone pain, her sub-processors began to emulate "fear" and "sadness," causing Vicki to cry and quiver. The Motorball cyborg, with Vicki still in his left arm, used his powerful right armored hand to open the rusted door at the side of the tunnel. What now?

"Very good work, Murdochus!" said Dr. Nova. "You have managed to bring the gynoid in one piece! I trust that her compatriot did not put up a fierce resistance to your abduction effort? From that master of Panzer Kunst, I would have expected difficulty."

Vicki arched her neck look forward. The Cloaked Man! The Cloaked Man sat on a stool, to the left of blue-painted Motorball-playing cyborg like the one that held her, sat on a stool -- trademark slacks, sneakers and caped tee-shirt in place.

The brightly lit room they were in was the size of an average kitchen But, this brightly lit room was much less comfortable-looking than a homely kitchen room, more resembling a room for "clean" repairs and other work with computers. Along the bright walls, bulky and boxy metal machines were against two of the four walls; the machines lined the forward and right wall. The wall itself was ceramic white, medical-tile white. The metal platform with clamps at the side did not look to comfortable for Vicki...

But, something was more out of place. The Cloaked Man did not look his obnoxiously confident and impish self. His tanned complexion seemed a bit paled, and he was in a cold sweat. Vicki analyzed his physical appearance. He must be very sick. Her eyesight unconsciously switched to infrared for a better diagnosis. Vicki's "fear" lessened and became "empathy" when she diagnosed The Cloaked Man's physical status -- very near to death.  For the gynoid, safety of humans came first -- violent prankster or innocent bystander.

"You! You are dying!" said Vicki, no longer resisting the grip. "Murdochus, let her stand, feet on the ground, but hold her!" said Dr. Nova. The large cyborg that had Vicki, Murdochus, gripped Vicki's shoulder and lowered her to the ground. In the grip that threatened to peirce her synthetic skin and crushed the myogel musculature of her shoulder, she expressed concern.

"Cloaked Man, you are very sick. If you stop this troublemaking now, maybe a doctor could..." "Shut your myogel mouth up!" interrupted The Cloaked Man, nearly falling from the stool. Countdown syndrome was nearing its cycle, and his nervous system was doomed. He did not need that coin-sized timer the doctors gave him to know that his time was nearly up: He felt time going.

"I don't want any damned ranting and tomfoolery about your primative hospitals being able to stop the infection by the Countdown virus!" The Cloaked Man, arms crossed, shook his head slightly. He then made a weak "get over here" gesture with a reverse wave of his arm. Vicki also noticed the cris-crossed cracks in the skin of his hands and going up to his arms. The cracks in The Cloaked Man's skin seeped blood.

"Dr. Nova, got anymore of that coffee?" said The Cloaked Man in a lower voice. Dr. Nova, interested in hearing The Cloaked Man's near-death words, grinningly went to get a mug of coffee from one of the machines. He filled the mug with coffee from an all-metal coffee machine, the small spigot pouring out the dark brown liquid whose aroma filled the room. The blue-bodied cyborg whose appearance matched the silvery one tha held Vicki, then moved to stand before the door to be out of Dr. Nova's way.

The Cloaked Man took the mug, and Dr. Nova stood to The Cloaked Man's left. Using both damaged hands to hold the mug, The Cloaked Man drained half of the contents.  Condensed steam from the coffee swirling around his head. He slowly brought down the mug. "Damned fine coffee, doc," he said. "I wish I had time for more of the stuff." The pale-skinned and white-haired scientist merely waited for The Cloaked Man to speak to Vicki.

Cradling the mug, staring into it, he said, "You know what? I believe that I now understand you, robo-chick. You are simple, simple but passably human. Simple-mindedly dedicated to doing right, because you can't be anything else. The limits of AI technology of the 20^th century must have made you so narrow-minded, seeing things in terms of right and wrong.

"But, you care about people. Heck, I don't! It's damned fun just watching those jokers squirm when one of my pranks breaks out! Damn!" He chuckled, then nearly fell over from the effort. Righting himself on the stool, he spoke some more. Weakly smiling, he said, "We really had some fun time, didn't we? You and Gally running around after me, and me just vanishing whenever you thought you had me?

"Anyway, I suspect Gally will probably come to your aid. She knows this place very well. Also, she whipped my plans good! All but one of them. If it were not for Gally, you would not have been able to counter my plans. Really, that ninja wisdom-talking metal-bodied girl has a mind and a body to kill for. Get it? Kill!" He put on a look of mock seriousness. "Grr, kill! Kill! Ha, like what old-time soldiers said during training..."

The Cloaked Man knew that his time was going. For all of his crazy time-traveling jaunting, this was the end of his own time. His vision dimmed and pain began to swim in his head. Before his vision totally darkened, The Cloaked Man finished off the mug of coffee. "Damned fine coffee! Vicki, before I cross over, I want to thank you and Gally for a Hell of a good challenge."  He moved his left hand to his pocket, his right hand still holding the coffee mug. "Here, have some signs of my thanks!" With his left hand, The Cloaked Man reached into his left slacks' pocket and took out what he could make out to be several circular ceramic coins, the currency of Zalem. The three coins totaled to about 25,000 credits. He tossed the coins, rough left hand moving quickly but weakly -- shakily.

The tossed coins clattered at Vicki's feet, clattering against her light sneakers. They glistened with droplets of blood -- The Cloaked Man's blood that seeped from his cracked palms. "And, that's payment in advance for fighting Gally." Vicki's face had a look of surprise. "That's right, that's payment for fighting the one that accompanied you. Not that you'll have any choice in this matter, with Dr. Nova going to work on you and all, but please do accept the credit chips."

He wobbily stood up from the stool. "Thank you. And I'll see you... " he said, coffee mug dropping from his right hand. The empty mug then fell to the hard floor, and The Cloaked Man did not motion to pick it up. He stood there, sick-faced with cold sweat in the temperature-controlled room.

Dr. Nova looked on in deep interest: That was the third time someone said cryptic comments in his presence. Standing in the center of the room -- surrounded by cyborgs, a gynoid and a scientist -- The Cloaked Man fell to his knees, arms still at his sides. On his knees, he fell on his face -- hard. Vicki's face flickered with shock when The Cloaked Man's face and forehead smacked the floor. Blood oozed from his noze and ears, beginning to puddle. Then, he began to smoke.

Dr. Nova was very interested in this death, more interested as The Cloaked Man underwent the spontaneous combustion brought about because of the terminal stage of Countdown syndrome. Flames licked about, and he was consumed -- shirt, slacks and all. But the cape remained. Outlined by and on top of a body-shaped puddle of ash and to the side of an empty coffee mug, The Cloaked Man's cape remained.

Dr. Nova took the four-foot by two-foot strip of microelectronics-embedded cloth, then placed it in the compartment of one machine -- for later analysis. Before he could move to collect a sample of The Cloaked Man's ashes, a breeze blew through the isolated room. Scattered ashes blew about and...vanished. The solid Motorball-playing cyborg that gripped Vicki was passively curious, as was the blue-painted one that stood near the door. Dr. Nova was fascinated, the look of surprise on his face. "A very interesting phenomenon! Surely, his cosmic debt to karma must have been immense! A pity I failed to tape his passing!"

Then, Dr. Nova went to sit by a computer, sitting in a cushioned swivel chair. He began typing, then stopped. "Murdochus, put the old-style replicate in the repair bed, and lock her in." The cyborg-athlete nodded once, then lifted Vicki by the shoulder. She gasped, feeling the hard metal dig into the softer artificial tissues of her left left shoulder.

The blue Motorballer moved to assist. The silvery one placed Vicki on the eight-foot by six-foot solid platform. Vicki was held in place uncerimoniously, the large metal hand pressing between her small breasts. She found it difficult to breathe, but did not pass out; Vicki did not actually need to breathe. The edges of the low-lying platform rasied up, and out came several manicles. These clamped around Vicki's ankles and wrists -- holding her hands to her sides. This was a modified repair platform for cyborgs, one that was suitable for synthetic-bodied beings of many sizes. The obsenely placed hand placed against Vicki then came away, slowly.

Two metal projections came out of the bed, then moved along slots in the platform to clamp Vicki's head in place. Vicki tried to shout. She tried, but was then paralyzed. That was because Dr. Nova had found the electromagnetic frequency of Vicki's wireless signals input. The doctor had Vicki now.

Dr. Nova swiveled around to face the corner of the room where Vicki was locked down onto the repair platform. He began to speak in a businesslike and somewhat haughty academic lecturer's voice. "Of course, like any replicate, there is a degree of remote control with the one labled Vicki. Or rather, we could say 'V,' 'I,' 'C,' 'I.' According to information relayed by the replicate's microwave input/output, this gynoid was intended as a...you must hear this. That replicate that seems to have cause the deceased so much trouble is a nursemaid! A child care device for the 20^th century! And, like any child's toy, she is easily manipulated."

Vicki's processors revved. She felt as if her thoughts were being pushed and boxed against her control -- because they were. The banks of microchips in Vicki's head and chest were being infiltrated by software centuries more advanced than that out of any place in the 20^th century or even the 21^st century. Her thoughts continued to undergo infiltration...
 

Above-ground, Gally had some time with the mid-sized amateurs who chose to confront her. There were six, six-foot cyborgs with metal bodies that parodied muscular human bodies. The opponents faced her, and she faced them. In this time of despiration, with time probably running low for Vicki, Gally would use one of the energy-exhausting abilities of her cyborg body: controlling plasma. She slightly bent her arms, her fists held up and apart from her body. Mumbling and concentrating with concentrated effort, her mind ordering her body, things began to happen. A flourescent blue glow encased Gally's alloy fists, surrounding her fists in auras of plasma energy.

"Damn, she's the one with Panzer Kunst! I am gone!" shouted one of the cyborg amateur sportsman before running away, the speed of a car in escape on electromechanical legs. The only female in the group split as well. Those two did not want to taste the disintigration of plasma!

That left four. One of the mid-sized cyborgs leapt at Gally, a blade suddenly folding out from his wrist. He completed the swing, but the rest of his arm did not. He grunted in anger as he saw the severed artificial limb flip down the street. Gally, after cutting the arm, then knelt and cut through both of his armored knees with her right hand flat: a karate knife-strike.

The other two were just as easily disposed. They rushed her similtaneously, and Gally eliminated them both. A jabbing punch from her left hand went through the hips of one. As the first fell, Gally leapt over all of the second one. She did a handstand on his shoulders, then let her glowing fists melt through those shoulders -- letting her compact bodyweight force herself and her hands through the sides of his torso.

She then snapped her legs down from overhead to land on her feet. That cyborg was a smoking ruin. One remained. Then, a bolt of blue struck the concrete behind the remaining one. The bolt reflected off of something shiny and sharp, something with a hilt that was dark and simple and a blade that was the deepest gray. As Gally seemed distracted, the enemy charged. She leapt, somersaulted very close to the cyborg's left shoulder, and vaporized a section of steel from him.

Landing behind him, Gally gripped the knife made of the strongest double-mixed and tempered alloy in Scrap Iron City. Molecularly, it had an unbelievably crystalline structure, the melding of two types of already mixed metals. The long knife, Gally's Damascus Blade, was again hers after vanishing since the beginning of her escapades with Vicki. She let the plasma around her fists dissipate, and she gripped the blade's hilt.

Gally leapt forward, then did a tuck-and-roll to dodge the random swipe from the injured cyborg. But, with the near-invincible Damascus Blade, this conflict was hers. Two cuts, and he was in three sections.
 

Underground, Vicki managed some thought as Dr. Nova's hacking went to work. I am not a robot! You people, you all lie! I am real, not some electronic and weird-talking thing with computer chips inside! If I am, then... Her thoughts then became a flurry of emotionless and monotone commands as her I/O took in more instructions. It was probably a good thing that Vick's personality was bypassed and disjointed now, because, Dr. Nova moved to use a spinning diamond saw, a saw reinforced with embedded nanotechnology, to cut open Vicki's forehead...
 
 
 

An hour later, a tall and skeletal humanoid of metal came by to survey the scene. Its upper-body was tubular, and its lower body was a stand. It had a human brain for a central processor, a brain that was mutilated as so it could no longer think for itelf. This was a netman. It surveyed the scene, and decided that no real laws of the Factory were broken by Gally. No brains were destroyed, only cyborg limbs were severed, and no property (outside of the cyborgs' bodies and the hole in the street) was damaged. But, the fallen cyborgs would be held responsible for the hole in the street -- a deadly penalty to be given.

Indeed, Gally easily eliminated all of the amateur Motorball players. Various limbs made of synthetics lie scattered, metal bits and pieces all around. Though some were left with an arm or two, all had their legs missing. The repairs would cost something.

"This was interference...from amateurs who should be elsewhere, playing games. Four mutilated cyborgs shuddered with fear. With what limbs they had, they pulled themselves away. Gally then held her blade in a reverse fashion, the flat pommel of the Damascus Blade up and the edged blade itself pointing down. She stood around, waiting for the tall and skinny netman to finish surveying the scene.

Clunk went the blow to Gally's back, and she was knocked forward. Her skill allowed her to break her fall with a quick roll. She rolled, then stood and whipped her head around. What had struck her, a projectile weapon? Gally looked about, then saw what struck.

Rather, Gally saw who struck her, and was very disappointed. The opponent was five feet in height, wore good blue jeans with sneakers and sported a light blouse. Her dark hair atop a light and cream-complexioned face stared at Gally. The opponent looked female, yet the bloodless and exposed piece of skull said otherwise.

"ELIMINATE THE TARGET..." Vicki's voice was down to the monotone yet again.

Vicki stood ten yards from Gally, her fists balled. Or rather, the being that had once been Vicki stood there. There was a grim expression frozen on Vicki's face. Her eyes followed every minute move Gally made as Gally slowly waved her blade. Gally was testing Vicki's eye-movement, testing her abilities. What now? Would Gally die, or would the malfunctioning gynoid have to be reduced to scrap?

Vicki was a blur, the gynoid dashing at Gally. Gally felt herself fly back, striking the solid concrete wall of the Motorball arena. Her metal body took a dent in the chest. The back of her head felt strange. Gally's blade flashed out as Vicki came again. Gally's mind then went white with battle-rage. A grin on her face, her blade went out and struck through the fronts of Vicki's shoulders.

The blade felt part of her body, and her electromechanical physique felt part of herself. Only throught fighting did Gally feel more "human" than just a glob of still-living gray matter in a synthetic skull.  Gally's blade went wildly about, flashing and parrying Vicki's blows.  Gally dodged the reprogrammed Vicki's moves quickly...
 

When it was over, Vicki was on her back. Gally held the blade, finally coming to herself. Gally was now able to look at the damage done to the gynoid, the one twisted by Dr. Nova. Vicki's shoulders and torso were a ruined mess. Exposed electronic innards could be seen in Vicki's abdomen, sheared and torn. The gynoid's eyes were dark and closed. Vicki had been destroyed, ruined and broken in a broken and ruined city beyond her own time.

Gally moved close, bending both knees. Now with the battle rage cooled, she was very sorry for what she had to do.  Gally sat cross-legged, then cradled the broken gynoid, holding Vicki by her and shoulders -- and sung a lullaby. Rocking back and forth, Gally sang to the cold and broken gynoid with a damaged forehead.

Then, Gally squinted in pain and discomfort. The back of her head, it felt strange. When she had struck the Motorball arena wall, she hit her head -- her braincase hitting the hard surface. The strange and soft-smothering feeling soon consumed her thoughts. She fell into unconsciousness, feeling pain creep around her head...