Chapter SixGo to chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ==February 13, 2096, 8h Transcript from LBC Communications, Inc. Hello, and welcome to LBC News at 8. I'm Eliza Laim. And I'm Kathy Kijap. World Aeronautics and Robotics showcased the second and third matches of their Mantis Project today, and we've got some highlights for you. The first fight was between two mysterious individuals outside of WAR: a man named Trent, who apparently has no last name, and "Jane Doe", who is not allowed to divulge her identity under her contract from the Systex Corporation. In this clip, Jane Doe is the familiar human-shaped Jaguar on the right, while Trent uses a construction-oriented model called Flail. As you can see, the Flail has wheels instead of legs and two industrial-strength chains attached to the shoulders, so a pilot must use completely different tactics to defeat it. This gave Trent the advantage, allowing him to land several free hits with his chains, and although Jane Doe fought well, she was simply outclassed. Systex may have to reevaluate its decision to use only Jaguars for its security jobs! In our second fight, Dr. Ibrahim Hothe, WAR's lead robot designer, used his intimate knowledge of the Jaguar and amazing endurance to defeat the Electra of space station designer Evan Stevens. Dr. Hothe simply parried every attack and made a few decisive strikes with his concussion cannon, knocking Stevens out of the fight for good. This sure is shaping up to be an interesting tournament, Kathy. Every fighter has displayed impressive knowledge of both traditional martial arts and HAR strategy. The final championships are going to be something nobody will want to miss. I couldn't agree more. Actually, WAR's effort may have some competition in the popularity area, with the newest toy craze sweeping the nation... Absentmindedly giving the driver a tip, Trent stepped out of the taxi in front of one of the less impressive buildings in New York City. It looked just like any other monolithic, soulless skyscraper, rows upon rows of glass windows rising to the sky topped by a microwave receptor and satellite array; its most distinguishing feature was that it sported no gaudy corporate logo on the eightieth floor. The building actually housed several tiny companies on the lowest floors, none of them aware that above them lurked the headquarters of the infamous mercenary band Iron Fist. The run-down factory and smoky back rooms of the 20th-century cowboy days had given way to the ultramodern locale. Trent gulped, then remembered what he was doing this for: if he couldn't win the Mantis Project, he had no chance of ever recovering his real identity. Shrugging his shoulders, he went in. Trent told the elevator to go all the way to the eightieth floor, and was impressed when it dumped him out on the thirty-ninth: he didn't think the mercenaries had enough equipment to determine his identity inside the elevator. Confident the secretary had been informed of his status, he strolled in and confronted her behind a genuine fir desk and abstract art, in keeping with the general slick opulence of Iron Fist's operation. He looked at her, then did a double take: the "secretary" was a small black woman wearing bright blue contact lenses and gloves (to hide her retina and fingerprints from cameras), who matched perfectly the description of Pandora Carlson, best hacker-for-hire in the world. "Pandora Carlson. What are you doing behind a desk?" To his surprise, Carlson answered him politely. "Oh, I'm just here to impress customers like you. What with the anti-hacker bill in Congress this week, the Talon said I should lay low for a while, and since Yu-san has other business today, I thought I'd take a quick peek into your personnel files." "I made my reservation fifteen minutes ago, from a public voice-only holophone," said Trent in awe. He had badly underestimated this operation, and considering that his bargaining position was rather slim to begin with, it was not shaping up to be a good day for making deals. "Yes, yes, of course. However, your case was most interesting - you've never been a WAR employee, but your Company personnel file is classified so tight I'd have to break the whole system to get in, and frankly, you're not worth that kind of risk. That, plus your valuable strategic position as a likely tournament finalist, made the Talon take a personal interest in your case. I'll take the stunner." Carlson held out a hand impatiently, received Trent's hand weapon, and continued, "She will see you now." The woman gestured to a door labeled "Office of the Coordinator", then went back to her terminal, plainly having no further interest in a prospective customer. Trent's research had given him the official data of the members of Iron Fist's inner circle, but this was the first time he had seen any of them. The office was actually a standard conference room, with a long rectangular terminal-equipped table and an expensive display built into one wall. One man was seated around the middle of the table, a cyborg with slate-grey cybernetic implants in a band covering his eyes and a pack on both shoulders: Steel Claw was purported the stereotypical cyborg, with the distracted air of someone listening to music or using display goggles while talking to you. By the door was a big man with a brutish face and build that bespoke a lifetime of hard labor or prison camps: Edwin Farlane, once a notorious terrorist and now a notorious weapons expert. The chair at the other end of the room was turned away from him, but its user was obviously operating the wallscreen. Trent assumed this was the infamous Talon. Trent was about to take a seat when Farlane snarled, "He is weak!" and casually swung a punch at him, fast and hard. Trent hadn't been physically attacked for years, so his mind went into overdrive trying to weigh his options in a split second. On the one hand, he was one of the world's best martial artists and could probably defeat Farlane; on the other hand, maybe this was a test to see how he reacted under fire. Trent settled on a compromise: he twitched his head back and sideways, a millimeter away from Farlane's punch. The mercenary wasn't fazed in the slightest; in fact, he had obviously been anticipating this response. A twist of the wrist, and something flashed in his hand. A stun-knife? A monofilament blade? A fountain pen? There was no way of being sure. Trent spoke as he moved. "I hate to show you my skills like this" -- Trent's hand chopped down on Farlane's tendons, throwing the object to the floor -- "since you really don't deserve it" -- his other hand slammed into Farlane's neck, not hard enough to break anything but dropping him to the floor. "You are a fool!" Trent bent down to pick up the fountain pen, thinking, All that work for nothing, and took his seat opposite Steel Claw. The chair to Trent's left swiveled back around to face him. The Talon was beautiful, with a gentle smile, luxurious black hair, a ladies' business suit, and eyes that would not have been out of place on Satan himself. Trent was stunned into silence. This just can't be true, he thought. There must be some trick, a stunt double or face alteration. Ms. Laim doesn't have the time to run a news show and a mercenary syndicate without someone suspecting. He glanced at Steel Claw to see the cyborg's reaction (faintly amused under the visor), and caught it, just for an instant, out of the corner of his eye: a flicker of chair back where Eliza should have been. He whirled back around to face her, an exultant look in his eyes. "A hologram! That's how you can lead a double life, you've never really left LBC headquarters!" The hologram nodded in approval. "Congratulations," she said, "even Farlane didn't catch it as fast as you did." Her tone changed, taking on a bemused air, as she continued, "But then again, you're Lang's pet superman, right? "You do nothing but train for the Mantis Project, so you must be asking for our help in that area. You don't have the cash for more than a small job, so you must have a specific person you want us to deal with. The three logical choices are Ibrahim Hothe, Raven Menaza, and Jonus Augardi. So which one? "Dr. Hothe, of course. The other two don't have any experience in HARs, so they won't be expecting my Flail, but WAR's head robot designer knows all my tricks already." Trent shot a glance at Steel Claw, saw the silent assent on the cyborg's face, confirmation of his assessment of the competition. Brimstone had already quietly left the room, presumably on his original errand, and Laim's holographic projection remained emotionless as ever. The Talon (Trent could no longer think of her as Eliza Laim) was quick to respond. "If you do win, you will be indebted to us. It would cause a scandal if the public ever knew how you really won. This, combined with your precocious fighting talent, makes you useful to Iron Fist. I accept your deal. "Under the rules of the tournament, anyone can issue a public challenge to a competitor, even someone who is not participating himself. Dr. Hothe's pride will not allow him to refuse such a challenge from our operative here, Steel Claw. Hothe will be defeated and thus out of the tournament. Those in the know will fear Iron Fist the more; the public will know nothing." Steel Claw sat up in his seat and nodded his acceptance of the mission. "Don't worry, Trent, I won't lose. You may, but that's your problem." The callous words were accompanied by a cold smile, made eerie by the implants covering his eyes and making it impossible to see his expression. Obviously, the cyborg was used to intimidating clients; by contrast, the Talon reclined with the ease of someone confident in her superiority. Trent steeled himself and nodded. "Take the requisite fees from my account," he said, "I'm sure your hacker friend outside will have no problems." The door opened behind him, another sign that the Talon could read him like a book. He preferred to get as far away as he could before she learned anything more. Carlson looked up from her desk to give him another small smile, her disturbing all-blue contact lenses reading nothing but sympathy. "Don't worry," she said. "If the Talon wasn't the best, wouldn't we all be working for someone else?" Trent retreated from the no longer innocuous office and took the elevator straight back to the lobby. I've got to take my mind off this, he thought, trying to reassure himself. With Steel Claw on the job, my competition is cut in half. All I have to do is make sure I remain the strongest. WAR will pay one day. |