Including a Scene from Cobalt Greywalker (Originally received a long time ago), and a slightly doctored version of the above.
--
Fawn had been A.C.’s self-appointed admin assistant for a while now, and in that time she’d gotten to know her boss’ moods fairly well.
Kasumi had pulled her aside as she’d come up to the dojo. This rarely happed, mostly because the android was sparing with the cyborg instead.
“This is not the best time.” The independent ninja told her. The lack of the android’s verbal tick put this into perspective. It took a significant force of will and a pinch from the kunoichi to prevent the flashback taking hold.
“Still need this signed off.” Fawn held up the PADD.
Kasumi considered this, then escorted her to the heavy powered doors leading to the dojo. The whirr-clunk of the Starfleet actuators seemed louder than normal, and once the dark-skinned woman walked in her fears were justified.
A.C. stood on the middle of the triangle of wing-chun training dummies made of battlesteel, the muscles normally hidden in her body now standing out as she blocked and countered in three dif-ferent directions.
“Oh my, she’s still angry.” Kasumi muttered.
Fawn blinked, as the sounds of flesh hitting pad flowed throughout the room. The dents in the pads were rather prominent, which from her own exercises she knew needed a lot of work to do. A quick flurry of movements happened, A.C. cancelling the dummies’ momentum and stepping out from the triangle. The sight of her muscles faded, once again reminding Fawn of her intrigue about why a cyborg like A.C. HAD muscles and putting it down to bio-mimetics (even if that never truly worked). That and the sheen of sweat (another bio-mimetic feature that she’d not really figured out).
“How bad’s the paperwork if you need to get it to me early?” A.C. asked lightly, taking the towel Fawn hadn’t seen Kasumi pick up.
“Just wanted to get this out of the way.” The lush-figured African replied, making a mental note to check over her own combat gear with how attracted to A.C. she was feeling as she handed over the PADD.
“Hum…” A.C. flicked though the various forms at a rate only an A.I. would match, right thumb in the right spot to confirm the forms. It was the work of seconds for the cyberneticist to page and confirm the various forms. “We’re still short on the order from Transys on Luna, so you’ll have to follow up on that.”
“Yes ma’am,” Fawn nodded, taking the PADD back before turning to leave. She’d need to coordi-nate with Eddie on munitions stocks they couldn’t make themselves. “But there’s one more thing.”
“Yes dear?” A.C’s eyebrow raised.
“She’s coming here. She didn’t say why. Only two words. She said you’d understand.”
“Which two?”
“Green Grass,”
“Thank you, Fawn,” A.C. said, her voice carrying a deliberate, unnerving evenness. “That’ll be all.”
“Kasumi, how’s the danger room looking?” A.C. asked as Fawn left the dojo.
Fawn knew she’d need to get Eddie and Libbie to check their stores, focussing on putting Green Grass out of her mind for the time being. If it’d gotten that sort of reaction for A.C., it wasn’t going to be pretty.
--
Gaige gazed at her reflection in the mirror bolted to the back of her locker. The woman in the mirror stared back, ignoring the red flush spreading across her face. Slow, steady breaths fought the buzzing back down, clearing her body and mind.
Building up the nerve to get out of the flight suit took time, the war between that slimy, sweaty feel on her skin and the tingly, buzzy feel on her chest coming to a slow but steady halt.
Footsteps approached from behind her, the soft strike of rubberised heel on tile betraying the owner
“If you tell me it’s okay to feel this way I’m going to hit you,”
Daryl’s locker door squawked a she pulled it open
“I was about to say we got a lot of good work done today, actually.”
Tension drained from Gaige’s body.
“I need to sit down and work it into the FM,” she said. “We might get another second off the lap-time.”
A genuine smile came to her lips
“Really?”
Daryl’s head emerged from behind her locked door, towel already wrapped around her hair.
Gaige gave her a single thumbs up. “It won’t be a problem.”
The other pilot thought for a moment. “If we can get that transition issue sorted, that might give us an edge.”
“I hope,” Gaige breathed.
“You want the shower first?”
Gaihe cooled herself with a long breath.
“I can’t remember what part of my fantasies of being naked in a shower with a hot woman, involved me being alone at the time.” Her voice shook. “Beside,” she looked to Daryl. “I thought you didn’t sweat.”
“My face.” The pilot pointed at her nose. “My hair.” She pinched a few silver strands between black polymer fingers. “And just because I don’t need to doesn’t mean I don’t like doing it anyway.”
“Hmmm,” Gaige looked at herself in the mirror. “It’ll take me time to get out of this thing anyway.”
“Gimme five then.”
Five minutes gave her time to think, time to work up the nerve, and time to start peeling the polymer suit off bare skin, cold air tickling its way into every crevice in her body. Soft fingers drew themselves over taught, tanned skin, pressing against firm muscle.
Her hands clasped around the curve between her legs, confirming once and for all that she really was looking at herself in the mirror, bedraggled, sweat-slick hair and all. Slowly, the tension drained from her body, hands relaxing to her sides.
“Gaige Kisaragi,” she said. “Nice to meet you,”
Her posture relaxed, her eyes wandering across the reflection in the mirror, mind half astonished how the woman always seemed to mirror her actions.
Alright. Time to deal with it.
A faint mile crossed her lips, catching a glimmer of a memory in the reflection. If the hair had been darker and the eyes a different colour – maybe if she pouted her lips a little.
“You’re smiling?”
Daryl stood there, patting the beads of moisture off her own body. Gaige blinked, tension flickering through her body, mind taking a moment to catch up and realise she wasn’t being a accused of anything,
“I was just thinking…” she said.
“About what?”
Daryl questioning lingered for a moment
“How much I look like my Sister…” she answered
“Well, it’s her puppet,” Daryl shoulders gave a light shrug.
“Not the puppet…. The body.” Both of Gaige’s hands placed themselves on her stomach. “She built the original hardsuit to fit her body. And then built the puppet to look like it almost fit the hardsuit.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She had this amazing body. I mean, really, like something airbrushed in a magazine. “
“So you’re just feeling Hot for Sister?”
A dozen rats ran up Gaige’s spine. She didn’t dare admit that. A soft breath damped the rush, calming her down.
“Worried, really,” she said.
Daryl’s eyes dropped just enough to spot the evidence of the lie. She turned her head towards own locker, stuffing a damp towel in on top of an old gym bag.
“I don’t know what it feels like to lose a brother, but, I know what it’s like to loose someone important.”
“Yeah, but I amn’t dead,” Gaige answered.
Her hands found her hips for a second, before she realised what she’d just done. They sprang back, fingers grasping at empty air.
“Look at it from her perspective.” Daryl breathed.“She found your body on the moon. And she had all that time to mentally get into the space that you’re dead and she had to find out why.”
Daryl stood, looking through her. Yes, this is your fault for not understanding some obscure feeling-related thing that should’ve been obvious.
“I guess,” Gaige sighed, swallowing the words in her throat. “I expected her to be more excited about me being alive and that she managed to save my life, but she’s been so detached lately.”
She looked to Daryl, eyes reaching for an explanation.
“You were killed, and then she found out someone murdered you,” Daryl said, packing her towel away into her locker. “It might just take her time to get out of that headspace.”
As if it would be the perfectly normal reaction.
Gaige’s eyes lingered on the other woman for a moment, before turning herself towards the reflection in the mirror.
“I hope so,” it said after a few moments.
--
A stream of hot water imposed her body on her mind, intimately finginering its way across her skin. Damp hair weighed heavily on her neck, pulling her head back.
Still alive, she thought.
And coping.
“Because I can cope,” she told herself.
She could cope with washing herself, dressing herself. She coped with the crowd outside and the eyes tracking her across the landing bay. She coped with the whispers as she straddled her own motoroid.
She felt a thrill through her body as the machine’s turbine shrieked to life.
Her heart raced through dimly lit tunnels, chasing the point where the overhead lights met the road ahead. Her finger nudged the throttle, pushing the speed higher – far past the official speed limit.
Just like everyone else.
Catgirls on exocomps sped backwards, surprised by a half-ton motorcycle splitting between them.
Gaige whooped as they receded behind, urging their mounts to speeds their mounts had too much sense to attempt.
She smiled as she left the machine parked outside her apartment, her gaze lingering longingly on the red paint and liquid chrome reflections.
Mine, she thought.
A brass key unlocked her apartment, allowing her into her own private space against the universe. The door snicked shut behind her.
And she could cope with it to.
The peace. The quiet. The ability to be her own self in her own mind, despite what the world saw on the outside, sealed away in a private sanctuary which none could enter.
The freedom to luxuriate out on the couch in a scarlet silk bathrobe that’d probably have blown a blood vessel in Mackie’s mind if he’d seen his Sister wearing it.
Nobody to assure her it was okay to go a little native, and probably a healthy thing.
Nobody to look down on her for showing that much up top, as if that’s what men thought all women should dress like.
Just herself, a cheap dinner, and Star Thunder with the mic turned off.
She’d give the body back in a heartbeat. But the apartment wouldn’t go without a fight.
A buzz from her communicator interrupted the thought. A chiming ringtone demanded her attention. She flicked it open, and pinned it between her ear and her shoulder
“Yeah?”
“Gaige,” said her sister’s voice. Tinny, distant, impassive – obviously through her own internal comm’s rather than a separate system. “How long would it take to get Becky flying?
“Ah?”
Gaige bolted upright, grabbing the communicator in her hand to keep it from falling.
“I pulled in a favour to get it through type acceptance. She’s to be armed on the Forge. I need you to get it flying and get it out there. “
Oh Skuld.
--
“So, how is he?” Anika asked.
She settled herself into her operator’s chair. Golden eyes stared, not looking at anyone. Electric green and burning orange hues reflected on her skin, mirroring the monitors screens surrounding her.
“It’s a fatal dose.” Tilly, the reactor operator, had turned white, shrinking down into her seat. Black hair clung to her face, sweat-sheened skin shining multicolour with the reflection from her screen.
“No,” said Anika. Her body seemed to shrink into the chair. “Why didn’t he bring a dosimeter?”
She looked for blame.
“Dunno.” Keisuke shrugged his shoulders inside his greasy overalls . “Not that it matters now.” The man glanced at the two women, adjusted his jacket, then sighed, returning his gaze to the plant diagram.
“So where’d it come from?” asked Anika.
“It’s the bubbler pool for Unit Four, probably through the cable shaft.” Tilly’s finger traced the route on the plant diagram on the screen. Static crackled at her touch, glass screen fizzing beneath her fingers. “ The level’s dropped by five centimetres.”
Anika blinked, caught for a moment. “That’s nearly ten thousand litres.”
“And it’s got all that graphite from the reactor liner in it and that’s just fizzing with radioactivity,” Keisuke added.
The three of them stood for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in. Dozens of gauges and text readouts hummed, dutifully read out the details of Frigga’s reactors. A dozen or more red and orange indicator lamps flagged up the systems that’d broken, failed, been disabled or otherwise bypassed to keep the whole edifice from crumbling.
Reams of text printed onscreen logged the operating state of the plant, second by second.
Most of them logged up error codes. Failed sensors, lost signals, or overflow levels. A row of six switches had been left in the manual override position for so long, the normal position had gathered dust.
Anika tapped at her keyboard, logs flickering in front of her eyes. Tilly couldn’t help but wonder how the other girl could stare like that – her eyes almost like glass. Her gaze fixed, inhuman, her expression morphing from vague concern, to something resembling what Tilly thought a seal pup would wear as it saw the club come down.
“Um. ,” she began, her voice shrinking down her throat. “The Active Reactor Safety Exam logs we’ve been sending to the Patrol? I never fixed the program so it wouldn’t generate data for Unit 4.”
Tilly swallow a sick lump, finding herself starin
“If they figure out we’ve been radioing it in, everyone here’s fucked.” She glanced between the pair of them, pulling them in to the conspiracy.
“Well it’s not our fault the system’s so fucking decrepid,” Keisuke cut back. “It should’ve been replaced years ago!”
No, I amn’t going to prison for this.
Anika glared. He glared back. Her expression softened Yeah, I fucked up. The vortex threatened to swirl. The world threatened to end. Faced with a threat, with disaster, the gears in her mind had begun to turn to snatch them all away from it.
“Alright,” Anika breathed. “Do we have the live data from the original accident?”
Tilly glanced at her screen. A few keypresses brought up the traces.
“I think so?”
“Good. Add it to today’s packet. Send a warning to all ships advising them of a reactor problem. Then an update saying it’s under control, with one radiation casualty.”
There. That’s the start of a solution.
“That’s….” Keisuke’s’s jaw hinged open.
Tilly glared. In for a penny. “It might save everyone if we get it under control before they decide to look.”
“So how do we get it under control then?”
“The radiation levels are so high they’re frying electronics. The Exocomps detected that,” Anika answered. Her hand grasped tight shut.
Kesuke folded his arms. “We need to seal that leak before it reaches the core melt. When all that water hits what’s left of the lithium…” Keisuke didn’t feel the need finish the sentence.
“And we’re back at a thermal explosion that’ll poison everyone,” added Tilly.., her voice softening. “If we start now, it’ll take at least a day to evacuate,”
“At this rate we’ll hit the melt in eight hours.”
“But we can’t get anything electronic in there,” said Anika. So, no Exocomps. No robots. Nothing automated could go in there and come out. She glanced between the pair, begging for an answer.
The idea came to Tilly’s mind and she hated herself for it. She detested every spark in her thoughts that proposed it. She detested every whisper that agreed
“Liquidators,” she said. “We send teams in to do it. Keep the dose low.”
Nobody said a word after that.
--
"This is your ship. Why do you want me to fly it?"
Miyuri looked up from her tablet to see Shinji's worried face, and decided not to say that it was an order. "Technically, it's the station commander's ship, not my ship. More importantly, you're a better pilot than I am. I'll give you the course."
The plan was simple - skirt the edge of the Limit until they were at the closest point they could reach at FTL to where 77 Frigga would be if they made a straight-line drive toward Sol, then make that straight-line drive. If the calculations and piloting were exact, they'd reach the point in Frigga's orbit where Frigga would actually be.
Flying so close to the Limit was always tricky. One wrong vector and the ship was either going on an impromptu trip into the Black or going substantially more slowly than expected - either way, it meant added time. And time was something in very short supply.
However, Miyuri Akisato was both one of the three best astronomers studying the Limit and one of the five best sensor operators in StellviaCorp. If anyone knew how to read how the Limit was act-ing, it was Miyuri.
Putting that knowledge into practice was the responsibility of Shinji Ikari. He wasn't the greatest pilot in space - in fact, he was barely average - but he did have experience operating a vehicle in high-stress situations. Not for the first time, Shinji thanked Jet for giving him the personality and memories that she had when she built him.
"I know you know what you're doing, Commander. I hope I know what I'm doing."
Miyuri mock-glared at Shinji. "You know what happens when you call me Commander." She put her elbows on her armrests and crossed her hands in front of her face, obscuring her mouth. "I have to talk like this for the rest of the meeting."
They both laughed, breaking the tension in the air.
Miyuri uncrossed her hands. "Seriously, Shinji, I trust you to get it right. Not just because you're my security chief, but because Anika's expecting us."
Shinji nodded. "I'd do anything for my sister. Let's do this."
* * *
She gazed into her father’s face through the monitor.
“And what am I supposed to do, Mr Scott?”
“Use your judgement, Miyuri.”
Her shoulders fell. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Scott’s eyes closed for a moment as he drew a deep breath. “When you wear a uniform and take orders, you’re an errand girl. You have the luxury of being able to tell yourself that it’s not your fault, whatever the consequences. You completed your mission.”
There was one, obvious flaw with that.
“But, I was just following orders….”
….was no excuse at all.
“Assuming they’re lawful orders, of course,” he conceded. “The point is, you don’t have the full picture, just a task to complete.”
She felt herself look at the compartment door, hoping Shinji would arrive.
“But if you want to be a Troubleshooter, there are no orders. It’s up to you to make that decision for yourself, and the consequences of that decision will be your own to bare, on your conscience or otherwise.”
“And if we’re wrong?” she said, her voice small.
“We live with it, Miyuri.”
The weight of those words hung on his voice. She saw it in his eyes, which had seen many things she found herself wishing she’d never see herself.
“Thank you, Mister Scott,” she said after a few moments.
“I wouldn’t have sent you on this mission if I thought there was a chance you’d make the wrong decision when the time came,” he said, his expression softening just a little. “And you know everyone out there far better than I do. I trust your judgement Miyuri.”
“Thank you, Mister Scott,” she said, again. Her mouth couldn’t find anything more.
“Check in when you arrive. And please convey my condolences, if she hasn’t received the message.”
“I will, Mister Scott.”
The channel went dead, leaving her along in the aft compartment, with a collection of files on a datapad and the enclosing hum from the drives for company.
She lasted five minutes
“Problem ma’am?
She sighed. “I wanted a mission. And for my sins, they gave me one.”
Why couldn’t it have been one she wanted?
"We're committed to this course, ma'am."
She frowned, slipping into the seat beside him. "Shinji, 'ma'am' is only slightly better than 'Com-mander'. Why can't you call me Miyuri?"
"I'd rather not while we're working, ma'am. Would you take the controls, please?"
"Sure. Is there something else you need to do?"
Shinji reached into his bag and withdrew a weapon case. "I am your security chief, and Jet does have a well-earned reputation for getting into combat. I need to make sure this is in perfect working order." He opened the case, pulled out a Minebea PM-9 and its cleaning kit, and started cleaning the machine pistol.
"Good idea. When you're finished, you can take the controls again and I'll make sure my AMT Backup is in just as good condition."
Shinji's eyebrows rose. "You're armed?"
"Haven't you seen the anime that Noah took my personality template from?" Shinji shook his head, and Miyuri continued, "Everybody knows that the character I'm based on was an astronomer and a sensor operator. Most people forget she was also a military cadet. Of course I'm armed."
"Oh." After a few minutes, Shinji added, "Is your Backup chambered for 9x19mm NATO rounds?"
"Yes, and before you ask, yes, that is where your ammo has been disappearing to."
Shinji sighed. "Some security chief I am."
She felt herself giggled for what seemed like the first time in hours.
* * *
"Ma'am?"
"Yes, Shinji?"
"Does Jet know we're coming?"
"I don't know. Did Anika tell her?"
“I’ll ask….”
She keyed open a comm channel on her panel. A burst message filled the screen. She blinked, recoiling from the warning on her panel.
“What is it?”
Genuine concern hung from his face.
“Red navigation advisory.” she read. “Minor radiation incident in progress. No landings will be permitted until further notice.
They both shared a look, processing all possibilities, from the monstrous to the mundane.
“What in the name?” she breathed.
Shinji forced a smirk. “At least we know Mackie’s okay.”
--
-------------------------------------------------------------------
25FRIGGA7745
SUBJ: APPRAISAL OF LOCAL SITUATION. 77 FRIGGA
C: 26/04/01
R: 26/04/02
A: Hugh Mann. Stel-Oil Liason.
CONFIDENTIAL
Frigga feels like an old con, that’s been run by the same group of people for ten years – whether they like it or not.
You’ve a whole load of people who love things the way they are and are quite happy to live with that, but either want no part in keeping them that way, or are dangerously incapable of keeping them that way.
You have the committee, who hate things the way they are, but are forced to keep the aspidistra flying by the first group because they just can’t bare to see it end or fall into the hands of people who will probably destroy it.
While the few people who desperately want to run the thing, and are certain they'll do a spiffing job of it for Venus, are the ones nobody wants involved in the show
Baron(ess) Frigga being the epitome – one who hates her duties with a passion, and would clearly rather be anywhere else but a VTP investigation committee but by all accounts is proving to be at least a ‘competent’ politician on the Venusian stage.
And yet, it has the well-polished edge of familiarity. Everyone involved knows what’s happening. The local form of adhocratic democracy sort of works. Jobs get done as needed. The power and water stay on inspite of the aging infrastructure. Delivery quotas are made, and a punitively meagre budget is creatively stretched beyond breaking point. Bureaucratic plumage gets treated the same way the internet treats damage, and the whole show rumbles on regardless.
Events such as MotorCon give a growing vibrancy, and the actual working Diesel Railway attracts visitors. The local economy is coming to life, with the first few bars, shops and workshops opening. The mine is working to feed Bristol with raw material. More than just the Millenium misfits are starting to move there.
Frigga shows all the signs of becoming a major station in the belt. If the ruling committee don’t burn out and blow it first.
--
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
--
Fawn had been A.C.’s self-appointed admin assistant for a while now, and in that time she’d gotten to know her boss’ moods fairly well.
Kasumi had pulled her aside as she’d come up to the dojo. This rarely happed, mostly because the android was sparing with the cyborg instead.
“This is not the best time.” The independent ninja told her. The lack of the android’s verbal tick put this into perspective. It took a significant force of will and a pinch from the kunoichi to prevent the flashback taking hold.
“Still need this signed off.” Fawn held up the PADD.
Kasumi considered this, then escorted her to the heavy powered doors leading to the dojo. The whirr-clunk of the Starfleet actuators seemed louder than normal, and once the dark-skinned woman walked in her fears were justified.
A.C. stood on the middle of the triangle of wing-chun training dummies made of battlesteel, the muscles normally hidden in her body now standing out as she blocked and countered in three dif-ferent directions.
“Oh my, she’s still angry.” Kasumi muttered.
Fawn blinked, as the sounds of flesh hitting pad flowed throughout the room. The dents in the pads were rather prominent, which from her own exercises she knew needed a lot of work to do. A quick flurry of movements happened, A.C. cancelling the dummies’ momentum and stepping out from the triangle. The sight of her muscles faded, once again reminding Fawn of her intrigue about why a cyborg like A.C. HAD muscles and putting it down to bio-mimetics (even if that never truly worked). That and the sheen of sweat (another bio-mimetic feature that she’d not really figured out).
“How bad’s the paperwork if you need to get it to me early?” A.C. asked lightly, taking the towel Fawn hadn’t seen Kasumi pick up.
“Just wanted to get this out of the way.” The lush-figured African replied, making a mental note to check over her own combat gear with how attracted to A.C. she was feeling as she handed over the PADD.
“Hum…” A.C. flicked though the various forms at a rate only an A.I. would match, right thumb in the right spot to confirm the forms. It was the work of seconds for the cyberneticist to page and confirm the various forms. “We’re still short on the order from Transys on Luna, so you’ll have to follow up on that.”
“Yes ma’am,” Fawn nodded, taking the PADD back before turning to leave. She’d need to coordi-nate with Eddie on munitions stocks they couldn’t make themselves. “But there’s one more thing.”
“Yes dear?” A.C’s eyebrow raised.
“She’s coming here. She didn’t say why. Only two words. She said you’d understand.”
“Which two?”
“Green Grass,”
“Thank you, Fawn,” A.C. said, her voice carrying a deliberate, unnerving evenness. “That’ll be all.”
“Kasumi, how’s the danger room looking?” A.C. asked as Fawn left the dojo.
Fawn knew she’d need to get Eddie and Libbie to check their stores, focussing on putting Green Grass out of her mind for the time being. If it’d gotten that sort of reaction for A.C., it wasn’t going to be pretty.
--
Gaige gazed at her reflection in the mirror bolted to the back of her locker. The woman in the mirror stared back, ignoring the red flush spreading across her face. Slow, steady breaths fought the buzzing back down, clearing her body and mind.
Building up the nerve to get out of the flight suit took time, the war between that slimy, sweaty feel on her skin and the tingly, buzzy feel on her chest coming to a slow but steady halt.
Footsteps approached from behind her, the soft strike of rubberised heel on tile betraying the owner
“If you tell me it’s okay to feel this way I’m going to hit you,”
Daryl’s locker door squawked a she pulled it open
“I was about to say we got a lot of good work done today, actually.”
Tension drained from Gaige’s body.
“I need to sit down and work it into the FM,” she said. “We might get another second off the lap-time.”
A genuine smile came to her lips
“Really?”
Daryl’s head emerged from behind her locked door, towel already wrapped around her hair.
Gaige gave her a single thumbs up. “It won’t be a problem.”
The other pilot thought for a moment. “If we can get that transition issue sorted, that might give us an edge.”
“I hope,” Gaige breathed.
“You want the shower first?”
Gaihe cooled herself with a long breath.
“I can’t remember what part of my fantasies of being naked in a shower with a hot woman, involved me being alone at the time.” Her voice shook. “Beside,” she looked to Daryl. “I thought you didn’t sweat.”
“My face.” The pilot pointed at her nose. “My hair.” She pinched a few silver strands between black polymer fingers. “And just because I don’t need to doesn’t mean I don’t like doing it anyway.”
“Hmmm,” Gaige looked at herself in the mirror. “It’ll take me time to get out of this thing anyway.”
“Gimme five then.”
Five minutes gave her time to think, time to work up the nerve, and time to start peeling the polymer suit off bare skin, cold air tickling its way into every crevice in her body. Soft fingers drew themselves over taught, tanned skin, pressing against firm muscle.
Her hands clasped around the curve between her legs, confirming once and for all that she really was looking at herself in the mirror, bedraggled, sweat-slick hair and all. Slowly, the tension drained from her body, hands relaxing to her sides.
“Gaige Kisaragi,” she said. “Nice to meet you,”
Her posture relaxed, her eyes wandering across the reflection in the mirror, mind half astonished how the woman always seemed to mirror her actions.
Alright. Time to deal with it.
A faint mile crossed her lips, catching a glimmer of a memory in the reflection. If the hair had been darker and the eyes a different colour – maybe if she pouted her lips a little.
“You’re smiling?”
Daryl stood there, patting the beads of moisture off her own body. Gaige blinked, tension flickering through her body, mind taking a moment to catch up and realise she wasn’t being a accused of anything,
“I was just thinking…” she said.
“About what?”
Daryl questioning lingered for a moment
“How much I look like my Sister…” she answered
“Well, it’s her puppet,” Daryl shoulders gave a light shrug.
“Not the puppet…. The body.” Both of Gaige’s hands placed themselves on her stomach. “She built the original hardsuit to fit her body. And then built the puppet to look like it almost fit the hardsuit.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She had this amazing body. I mean, really, like something airbrushed in a magazine. “
“So you’re just feeling Hot for Sister?”
A dozen rats ran up Gaige’s spine. She didn’t dare admit that. A soft breath damped the rush, calming her down.
“Worried, really,” she said.
Daryl’s eyes dropped just enough to spot the evidence of the lie. She turned her head towards own locker, stuffing a damp towel in on top of an old gym bag.
“I don’t know what it feels like to lose a brother, but, I know what it’s like to loose someone important.”
“Yeah, but I amn’t dead,” Gaige answered.
Her hands found her hips for a second, before she realised what she’d just done. They sprang back, fingers grasping at empty air.
“Look at it from her perspective.” Daryl breathed.“She found your body on the moon. And she had all that time to mentally get into the space that you’re dead and she had to find out why.”
Daryl stood, looking through her. Yes, this is your fault for not understanding some obscure feeling-related thing that should’ve been obvious.
“I guess,” Gaige sighed, swallowing the words in her throat. “I expected her to be more excited about me being alive and that she managed to save my life, but she’s been so detached lately.”
She looked to Daryl, eyes reaching for an explanation.
“You were killed, and then she found out someone murdered you,” Daryl said, packing her towel away into her locker. “It might just take her time to get out of that headspace.”
As if it would be the perfectly normal reaction.
Gaige’s eyes lingered on the other woman for a moment, before turning herself towards the reflection in the mirror.
“I hope so,” it said after a few moments.
--
A stream of hot water imposed her body on her mind, intimately finginering its way across her skin. Damp hair weighed heavily on her neck, pulling her head back.
Still alive, she thought.
And coping.
“Because I can cope,” she told herself.
She could cope with washing herself, dressing herself. She coped with the crowd outside and the eyes tracking her across the landing bay. She coped with the whispers as she straddled her own motoroid.
She felt a thrill through her body as the machine’s turbine shrieked to life.
Her heart raced through dimly lit tunnels, chasing the point where the overhead lights met the road ahead. Her finger nudged the throttle, pushing the speed higher – far past the official speed limit.
Just like everyone else.
Catgirls on exocomps sped backwards, surprised by a half-ton motorcycle splitting between them.
Gaige whooped as they receded behind, urging their mounts to speeds their mounts had too much sense to attempt.
She smiled as she left the machine parked outside her apartment, her gaze lingering longingly on the red paint and liquid chrome reflections.
Mine, she thought.
A brass key unlocked her apartment, allowing her into her own private space against the universe. The door snicked shut behind her.
And she could cope with it to.
The peace. The quiet. The ability to be her own self in her own mind, despite what the world saw on the outside, sealed away in a private sanctuary which none could enter.
The freedom to luxuriate out on the couch in a scarlet silk bathrobe that’d probably have blown a blood vessel in Mackie’s mind if he’d seen his Sister wearing it.
Nobody to assure her it was okay to go a little native, and probably a healthy thing.
Nobody to look down on her for showing that much up top, as if that’s what men thought all women should dress like.
Just herself, a cheap dinner, and Star Thunder with the mic turned off.
She’d give the body back in a heartbeat. But the apartment wouldn’t go without a fight.
A buzz from her communicator interrupted the thought. A chiming ringtone demanded her attention. She flicked it open, and pinned it between her ear and her shoulder
“Yeah?”
“Gaige,” said her sister’s voice. Tinny, distant, impassive – obviously through her own internal comm’s rather than a separate system. “How long would it take to get Becky flying?
“Ah?”
Gaige bolted upright, grabbing the communicator in her hand to keep it from falling.
“I pulled in a favour to get it through type acceptance. She’s to be armed on the Forge. I need you to get it flying and get it out there. “
Oh Skuld.
--
“So, how is he?” Anika asked.
She settled herself into her operator’s chair. Golden eyes stared, not looking at anyone. Electric green and burning orange hues reflected on her skin, mirroring the monitors screens surrounding her.
“It’s a fatal dose.” Tilly, the reactor operator, had turned white, shrinking down into her seat. Black hair clung to her face, sweat-sheened skin shining multicolour with the reflection from her screen.
“No,” said Anika. Her body seemed to shrink into the chair. “Why didn’t he bring a dosimeter?”
She looked for blame.
“Dunno.” Keisuke shrugged his shoulders inside his greasy overalls . “Not that it matters now.” The man glanced at the two women, adjusted his jacket, then sighed, returning his gaze to the plant diagram.
“So where’d it come from?” asked Anika.
“It’s the bubbler pool for Unit Four, probably through the cable shaft.” Tilly’s finger traced the route on the plant diagram on the screen. Static crackled at her touch, glass screen fizzing beneath her fingers. “ The level’s dropped by five centimetres.”
Anika blinked, caught for a moment. “That’s nearly ten thousand litres.”
“And it’s got all that graphite from the reactor liner in it and that’s just fizzing with radioactivity,” Keisuke added.
The three of them stood for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in. Dozens of gauges and text readouts hummed, dutifully read out the details of Frigga’s reactors. A dozen or more red and orange indicator lamps flagged up the systems that’d broken, failed, been disabled or otherwise bypassed to keep the whole edifice from crumbling.
Reams of text printed onscreen logged the operating state of the plant, second by second.
Most of them logged up error codes. Failed sensors, lost signals, or overflow levels. A row of six switches had been left in the manual override position for so long, the normal position had gathered dust.
Anika tapped at her keyboard, logs flickering in front of her eyes. Tilly couldn’t help but wonder how the other girl could stare like that – her eyes almost like glass. Her gaze fixed, inhuman, her expression morphing from vague concern, to something resembling what Tilly thought a seal pup would wear as it saw the club come down.
“Um. ,” she began, her voice shrinking down her throat. “The Active Reactor Safety Exam logs we’ve been sending to the Patrol? I never fixed the program so it wouldn’t generate data for Unit 4.”
Tilly swallow a sick lump, finding herself starin
“If they figure out we’ve been radioing it in, everyone here’s fucked.” She glanced between the pair of them, pulling them in to the conspiracy.
“Well it’s not our fault the system’s so fucking decrepid,” Keisuke cut back. “It should’ve been replaced years ago!”
No, I amn’t going to prison for this.
Anika glared. He glared back. Her expression softened Yeah, I fucked up. The vortex threatened to swirl. The world threatened to end. Faced with a threat, with disaster, the gears in her mind had begun to turn to snatch them all away from it.
“Alright,” Anika breathed. “Do we have the live data from the original accident?”
Tilly glanced at her screen. A few keypresses brought up the traces.
“I think so?”
“Good. Add it to today’s packet. Send a warning to all ships advising them of a reactor problem. Then an update saying it’s under control, with one radiation casualty.”
There. That’s the start of a solution.
“That’s….” Keisuke’s’s jaw hinged open.
Tilly glared. In for a penny. “It might save everyone if we get it under control before they decide to look.”
“So how do we get it under control then?”
“The radiation levels are so high they’re frying electronics. The Exocomps detected that,” Anika answered. Her hand grasped tight shut.
Kesuke folded his arms. “We need to seal that leak before it reaches the core melt. When all that water hits what’s left of the lithium…” Keisuke didn’t feel the need finish the sentence.
“And we’re back at a thermal explosion that’ll poison everyone,” added Tilly.., her voice softening. “If we start now, it’ll take at least a day to evacuate,”
“At this rate we’ll hit the melt in eight hours.”
“But we can’t get anything electronic in there,” said Anika. So, no Exocomps. No robots. Nothing automated could go in there and come out. She glanced between the pair, begging for an answer.
The idea came to Tilly’s mind and she hated herself for it. She detested every spark in her thoughts that proposed it. She detested every whisper that agreed
“Liquidators,” she said. “We send teams in to do it. Keep the dose low.”
Nobody said a word after that.
--
"This is your ship. Why do you want me to fly it?"
Miyuri looked up from her tablet to see Shinji's worried face, and decided not to say that it was an order. "Technically, it's the station commander's ship, not my ship. More importantly, you're a better pilot than I am. I'll give you the course."
The plan was simple - skirt the edge of the Limit until they were at the closest point they could reach at FTL to where 77 Frigga would be if they made a straight-line drive toward Sol, then make that straight-line drive. If the calculations and piloting were exact, they'd reach the point in Frigga's orbit where Frigga would actually be.
Flying so close to the Limit was always tricky. One wrong vector and the ship was either going on an impromptu trip into the Black or going substantially more slowly than expected - either way, it meant added time. And time was something in very short supply.
However, Miyuri Akisato was both one of the three best astronomers studying the Limit and one of the five best sensor operators in StellviaCorp. If anyone knew how to read how the Limit was act-ing, it was Miyuri.
Putting that knowledge into practice was the responsibility of Shinji Ikari. He wasn't the greatest pilot in space - in fact, he was barely average - but he did have experience operating a vehicle in high-stress situations. Not for the first time, Shinji thanked Jet for giving him the personality and memories that she had when she built him.
"I know you know what you're doing, Commander. I hope I know what I'm doing."
Miyuri mock-glared at Shinji. "You know what happens when you call me Commander." She put her elbows on her armrests and crossed her hands in front of her face, obscuring her mouth. "I have to talk like this for the rest of the meeting."
They both laughed, breaking the tension in the air.
Miyuri uncrossed her hands. "Seriously, Shinji, I trust you to get it right. Not just because you're my security chief, but because Anika's expecting us."
Shinji nodded. "I'd do anything for my sister. Let's do this."
* * *
She gazed into her father’s face through the monitor.
“And what am I supposed to do, Mr Scott?”
“Use your judgement, Miyuri.”
Her shoulders fell. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Scott’s eyes closed for a moment as he drew a deep breath. “When you wear a uniform and take orders, you’re an errand girl. You have the luxury of being able to tell yourself that it’s not your fault, whatever the consequences. You completed your mission.”
There was one, obvious flaw with that.
“But, I was just following orders….”
….was no excuse at all.
“Assuming they’re lawful orders, of course,” he conceded. “The point is, you don’t have the full picture, just a task to complete.”
She felt herself look at the compartment door, hoping Shinji would arrive.
“But if you want to be a Troubleshooter, there are no orders. It’s up to you to make that decision for yourself, and the consequences of that decision will be your own to bare, on your conscience or otherwise.”
“And if we’re wrong?” she said, her voice small.
“We live with it, Miyuri.”
The weight of those words hung on his voice. She saw it in his eyes, which had seen many things she found herself wishing she’d never see herself.
“Thank you, Mister Scott,” she said after a few moments.
“I wouldn’t have sent you on this mission if I thought there was a chance you’d make the wrong decision when the time came,” he said, his expression softening just a little. “And you know everyone out there far better than I do. I trust your judgement Miyuri.”
“Thank you, Mister Scott,” she said, again. Her mouth couldn’t find anything more.
“Check in when you arrive. And please convey my condolences, if she hasn’t received the message.”
“I will, Mister Scott.”
The channel went dead, leaving her along in the aft compartment, with a collection of files on a datapad and the enclosing hum from the drives for company.
She lasted five minutes
“Problem ma’am?
She sighed. “I wanted a mission. And for my sins, they gave me one.”
Why couldn’t it have been one she wanted?
"We're committed to this course, ma'am."
She frowned, slipping into the seat beside him. "Shinji, 'ma'am' is only slightly better than 'Com-mander'. Why can't you call me Miyuri?"
"I'd rather not while we're working, ma'am. Would you take the controls, please?"
"Sure. Is there something else you need to do?"
Shinji reached into his bag and withdrew a weapon case. "I am your security chief, and Jet does have a well-earned reputation for getting into combat. I need to make sure this is in perfect working order." He opened the case, pulled out a Minebea PM-9 and its cleaning kit, and started cleaning the machine pistol.
"Good idea. When you're finished, you can take the controls again and I'll make sure my AMT Backup is in just as good condition."
Shinji's eyebrows rose. "You're armed?"
"Haven't you seen the anime that Noah took my personality template from?" Shinji shook his head, and Miyuri continued, "Everybody knows that the character I'm based on was an astronomer and a sensor operator. Most people forget she was also a military cadet. Of course I'm armed."
"Oh." After a few minutes, Shinji added, "Is your Backup chambered for 9x19mm NATO rounds?"
"Yes, and before you ask, yes, that is where your ammo has been disappearing to."
Shinji sighed. "Some security chief I am."
She felt herself giggled for what seemed like the first time in hours.
* * *
"Ma'am?"
"Yes, Shinji?"
"Does Jet know we're coming?"
"I don't know. Did Anika tell her?"
“I’ll ask….”
She keyed open a comm channel on her panel. A burst message filled the screen. She blinked, recoiling from the warning on her panel.
“What is it?”
Genuine concern hung from his face.
“Red navigation advisory.” she read. “Minor radiation incident in progress. No landings will be permitted until further notice.
They both shared a look, processing all possibilities, from the monstrous to the mundane.
“What in the name?” she breathed.
Shinji forced a smirk. “At least we know Mackie’s okay.”
--
-------------------------------------------------------------------
25FRIGGA7745
SUBJ: APPRAISAL OF LOCAL SITUATION. 77 FRIGGA
C: 26/04/01
R: 26/04/02
A: Hugh Mann. Stel-Oil Liason.
CONFIDENTIAL
Frigga feels like an old con, that’s been run by the same group of people for ten years – whether they like it or not.
You’ve a whole load of people who love things the way they are and are quite happy to live with that, but either want no part in keeping them that way, or are dangerously incapable of keeping them that way.
You have the committee, who hate things the way they are, but are forced to keep the aspidistra flying by the first group because they just can’t bare to see it end or fall into the hands of people who will probably destroy it.
While the few people who desperately want to run the thing, and are certain they'll do a spiffing job of it for Venus, are the ones nobody wants involved in the show
Baron(ess) Frigga being the epitome – one who hates her duties with a passion, and would clearly rather be anywhere else but a VTP investigation committee but by all accounts is proving to be at least a ‘competent’ politician on the Venusian stage.
And yet, it has the well-polished edge of familiarity. Everyone involved knows what’s happening. The local form of adhocratic democracy sort of works. Jobs get done as needed. The power and water stay on inspite of the aging infrastructure. Delivery quotas are made, and a punitively meagre budget is creatively stretched beyond breaking point. Bureaucratic plumage gets treated the same way the internet treats damage, and the whole show rumbles on regardless.
Events such as MotorCon give a growing vibrancy, and the actual working Diesel Railway attracts visitors. The local economy is coming to life, with the first few bars, shops and workshops opening. The mine is working to feed Bristol with raw material. More than just the Millenium misfits are starting to move there.
Frigga shows all the signs of becoming a major station in the belt. If the ruling committee don’t burn out and blow it first.
--
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?