A/N: See the first chapter for full notes. Feedback, including constructive critiques, is welcome and appreciated. Please enjoy. Thanks again to VirtualFaerie/MalfoyMyFerret for beta-reading. Note: This chapter is divided in half because of PK's length requirements.
Well, that certainly could have gone better. Leaning back in his chair, Commander Signas sighed. He looked around his office. Bare, linen colored walls caught and reflected light from the ceiling illumination pods, chasing all shadows from the room. Someday, I've got to get around to hanging some pictures in here. It looks like I'm just borrowing the room -- not a good image for a base commander. As soon as we resolve this problem, I've got to take some time to redecorate. If not for the window to his immediate left that looked out over the compound's grassy main plaza, he would have felt like he was locked up in an impenetrable capsule, sealed away from the world. Ha. That would certainly be nice.
As much as he hated to admit it, despite the golden pips on his shoulder, he wasn't a soldier. Sure, he went through ten weeks of basic procedural and combat training, but so had every other rookie who joined the Hunters in the last two and a half decades. He was quite comfortable with the automatic pistols at his hips, too. But he didn't have a scrap of real field experience. He wasn't even a diplomat. He was just a really good theoretical tactician, appointed by the UN Hunter Oversight Committee because its members thought he would be someone easy to influence.
But Signas was a smart man -- that's why he sat in the big chair, as far as the Maverick fearing public was concerned -- and he wasn't one to be easily had. He knew the paper-pushers meant him to be a puppet, but he was well aware of what strengths he did bring to the job. He made up for what he considered his command failings -- inexperience, lack of fieldwork, inapproachability -- by acknowledging that there were Hunters that had more experience than him, and asking them to stand at his side: Commanders X and Zero. With the two of them at his side along with Lieutenant Commander Alia, perhaps the most brilliant of the lot of them, he had enough backup to do his job while keeping the politicos at bay. But the arrangement had its problems.
X, Alia, and Zero all knew their place: they were only advisors. X and Zero, who had both served as Hunter Grand Commander at least once during their careers, loathed his position anyway. All final decisions rested with the big man in the titanium hat. Still, all three of them were used to having their say. Such discussions usually occurred in private, giving Signas the opportunity to get the input he needed while maintaining the strong public image that allowed the Hunters to keep a high degree of autonomy. But losing control of any of his senior staff during a teleconference, especially in such a grave situation, was unacceptable. Alia, Douglas and Lifesaver had kept their indignation and anger to a proper minimum. But X and Zero ... he shook his head.
X's reaction wasn't really unexpected. From everything Signas heard and witnessed, he usually had amazing self-control when it came to dealing with even the most smarmy of diplomats. But he was just a man, and he had his buttons, just like everyone else. The possibility of weapons of mass destruction being used against innocent people was a big red one. Today, someone everybody assumed to be Dynamo went and smashed it as hard as he possibly could. And to make matters worse, not only were the weapons loose, but the only reason they were in play was because the humans had circumvented a number of their own laws to build them.
Signas spent a great deal of time studying history and recent events. He knew about every recorded attempt by Maverick reploids to kill massive amounts of humans with unconventional weapons. He knew how many had been stopped, and how many had, unfortunately, succeeded despite the best efforts of humanity's guardians. The numbers weren't exactly one-sided: three out of four times, the nuclear bomb was disarmed, the nerve gas was neutralized before it flooded the city, and the hostages were rescued before anyone got too trigger happy. But it was the remaining twenty-five percent of incidents that accounted for the deaths of billions over the last quarter century.
But X -- the oldest of them all -- had been there for all of it. He watched the nuclear bombs explode, saw the masses of people struck down by chemical weapons laying dead and dying as helpless doctors looked on, walked in the carcass that was all that remained of Paris mere hours after the world's first and only working cobalt devices ravaged the city. For Signas, all but the most recent of such incidents were just unfortunate history book entries; horrible examples of what could happen if they screwed up. For the Commander of the Seventeenth Unit, they were vivid memories that he would never, could never forget.
X had been furious when he found out about the Ragnarok Protocol, Signas knew. He no doubt felt like history was repeating itself and wondered if he and his friends would be able to win the day, or if he was about to watch thousands, possibly millions, die a horrible, excruciatingly painful death once again.
Signas was, to be completely honest, impressed with the man for keeping his anger in check well enough to carry on a coherent conversation with Aya Misumi. His fury was plainly obvious to everybody, but he got his point across without slipping into a rage, and in the end he even managed to make the woman on the viewscreen feel so out of sorts that she started volunteering information they weren't even supposed to have. Breach in decorum or not, it's nice to have a legend around to intimidate the hell out of your superiors. It would have taken forever to pry the information out of her if X hadn't snapped.
On the other hand, he could find no such redeeming factors to justify Zero's outburst. Scratch that. The man was raging for five solid minutes. Now, Zero wasn't X, and no one expected him to be. He shared many of the same experiences, but for whatever reason internalized them differently. Everybody knew he was quicker to anger, but his best rages, the kind that terrified everybody but those that knew him best, were usually reserved for the field of battle. Which left Signas wondering why they had gotten a fairly powerful blast of one. He felt like he was missing something. Zero's mood had been getting worse for the past couple weeks, and he couldn't figure out why. Signas found this profoundly annoying, because he knew there were really far more important things he should be worrying about, like the neurotoxin they were supposed to be finding.
A chime cut into his thoughts, and he turned a curious eye to the door. "Come in."
The two chrome panels slid into the wall, revealing none other than Commander Mega Man X. Still in full armor, he wore an expression that was two parts dour and one part cowed. "Signas," he said after a silent instant, his dulcet, thoughtful (and here was a surprise) almost anxious tones bouncing off the empty walls, "do you have a minute?"
The bigger man shrugged. "Not really." He grinned gamely. "Sit down, please." X took a seat in one of the luxurious black leather office chairs casually slung around the room. Signas watched him carefully, expecting to see him shift a little and then relax into the seat. He did indeed fidget until he seemed more comfortable, but the relaxation never came. He reminded Signas of a spring wound too tight. Yeah, he thought sardonically, figures he'd find his way to my office. "All our standard procedures for a Code White possible mass casualty event are in place. I've also instructed our undercover operatives already in the field to contact their informants for information about Dynamo, and I've got the Intelligence Department monitoring communication channels he's been known to use. But so far, nothing's shown up. I'll be sending more agents out as soon as they're briefed. On the chance missiles will be used as the delivery mechanism, we've got the global missile shield on active standby, but I really hope it doesn't come to that. Those lasers are designed to shoot down solid-state warheads, like nukes. They're more likely to aerosolize the stuff than destroy it. Then again, we've only been at it for forty minutes. I assume you've put your unit on combat alert?" The question was rhetorical. At least half of X's unit was always on combat alert, whether they were supposed to be or not.
X nodded. "Everybody's ready to roll. I've told them we have a Code White and given them a quick overview of what we learned in the meeting and my spectacularly sub-par performance at the research facility -- the parts that are most pertinent to our mission, at any rate -- but I've left the details for the briefing in about," it took him a fraction of a second to check his internal chronometer, "thirty minutes. I didn't go into every little detail, like we will at the briefing, but," a frown quirked his lips, "I went ahead and told Stacy and Brent that we have no treatment for them if they're exposed. They asked me outright, and there wasn't any way I was going to lie to them." He shook his head. "Beth looked sick. I still donÕt think she's gotten used to just how vulnerable humans are compared to us. But I'm getting off the point. I wanted to apologize."
Signas couldn't help it: one of his eyebrows shot straight up. An apology was the last thing he had expected from X. Sure, the Blue Bomber had a few harsh words for their contact at the UN, but unlike his blonde brother in arms, he hadn't blown completely off his rocker. "For what?"
A sigh escaped X's lips, and when he spoke, he made it sound as though he thought it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I lost my temper. I know that put you in a difficult position. My behavior will probably hurt you with UNHOC if word spreads. And trust me, it will. We've discussed how important it is for us to present a united front when dealing with them, and I all but hogged the stage and nearly pulled command authority out from under you. I was way out of line, and I'm sorry."
Signas said nothing for a moment, and when he finally did speak, his voice was level, unperturbed. "X, you know you weren't the only person at that table that was ticked off at the whole bunch of those bureaucrats. Sure, you let our friendly representative have it, but you didn't yell and scream while you were at it. You were lucid and logical about the whole thing, and no one disagreed with a word you said, least of all myself. And you probably won't like to hear this, but it's the truth: you scared her into giving us a great deal of extra information that will probably be quite helpful. Since I'm the one who decides what the boundaries are, I'm perfectly comfortable saying that you didn't overstep your authority. At no point did you say anything that really undermined my command. I didn't stop you because I didn't want to, not because I thought I couldn't. So even though I don't need it, apology accepted. But to be perfectly honest, I'm a little jealous."
It was X's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh?" Signas noted that he looked a little more relaxed now.
The Grand Commander grinned mightily. "You can have no idea how much I wish it could have been me doing the blasting. Watching you work was very ... satisfying. And just a bit scary, to be perfectly honest. But it would be indecorous for the Grand Commander of the Maverick Hunters to be anything but completely civil even in the face of the utmost stupidity and idiocy." The smile dancing across X's lips got closer to his eyes than any that lit his face since he entered the room, but it didn't go all the way. Signas knew it probably wouldn't until their current crisis was over. Well, except maybe for one person, perhaps. But she's not here.
"And people wonder why I always wiggled my way out of your job when it came my way."
Signas chuckled. "Yes, it is a profound mystery. After all, we all know how much you enjoy being responsible for a few thousand people and filling out so many forms that, were they still done on paper, would have resulted in the complete eradication of every tree on the planet in about five minutes." He suddenly grew serious again. "You want to know who I'm really concerned about, X?"
X's smile faded into a thin line. "Zero."
Signas nodded gravely, wondering not for the first time if the blonde commando wasn't the real reason X was sitting in his office. "I don't think I've ever seen him act so ... volatile during a briefing. I understood that he was angry -- we're all angry about this -- but he was just so ... so full of rage."
X bowed his head. "That sounds about right." He folded his arms, suddenly deep in thought. He stared through Signas, watching some bitter memory unfold before his mind's eye. The younger man found himself reminded once again exactly how much older X was than him; at the moment, he looked positively ancient. "I knew this was coming. I was going to be ready for it this time. I always tell myself I'm going to be ready for it. But I never know exactly when it's going to start. It looks like the dam broke this morning. He'll only get worse before he gets better." The voice synthesizer in his neck pushed an exasperated sigh through his breathless throat. "Dynamo couldn't have picked a worse time to pull this stunt."
Signas felt like a complete idiot. He quite simply had no idea what X was talking about. The Azure Hunter, for his part, looked to be waiting for his superior to piece together the clues. X is making it sound like some sort of recurring event. Yearly, perhaps? He quickly tried to think of any serious incidents that occurred on or around early July. The end of the Repliforce War was on July thirty-first, but that's weeks from now. And we won that one, what could be -- oh, damn. I can't believe I forgot about her. What's wrong with me? A calm internal voice reminded him he'd been around less than three years and it wasn't his job to keep track of his subordinates' personal demons. But another one chimed in shortly after and just a little firmer, reminding him that Zero was supposed to be his friend, too.
He looked back at X. Like most people, he didn't know all the details of the incident -- only X and Zero knew the whole story -- but he knew the name. "Iris."
X's nod was quick, and if Signas wasn't mistaken, more than a little pleased. "And the Colonel, but yeah, she's the important one here. It's going to be a long few weeks."
You're definitely a master of understatement, X. "Indeed. Unfortunately, time marches on, and we haven't the luxury of letting grief run its course uninterrupted."
The purely sardonic smirk rolling across X's face failed to reach his eyes. "Do we ever?"
Oh boy.
Harry knew he was openly gaping, but he really couldn't do much about it at the moment. His body and brain had gotten horribly mixed up, ran around like headless chickens for a few seconds, then crashed into each other with a mighty boom. The fox-man blinked his blue eyes patiently, waiting for some sort of response to his greeting. Harry managed to retake control of his senses and steal a glance at Hermione. Her eyes were wide, but the look on her face was far more like total shock than terror, with a splash of honest curiosity for flavor. He needed to say or do something, he knew. Bolting for the door seemed kind of appealing.
Hermione's mother taught her not to stare at a very young age. It was rude, insulting, and -- not that this was the key factor, by any means -- unladylike. For the most part, she always complied with that edict, taking it not so much as a command but as a good practice for living: there really was so much more to a person than appearance. After all, Harry, a small, nerdy guy by even the most forgiving of Muggle and Wizard standards was as brave, bold, and compassionate as the noblest Prince Charming. And in the Wizarding world (The 20th Century Wizarding World, her brain reminded her with a painful jolt), he enjoyed status as a jock. So yes, she was perfectly willing to look beyond the physical when meeting new people.
But even so, all she could do in those first few instants of contact was burn a hole into the animaloid with her eyes. Harry was right: she wasn't afraid. After all, her mind would remind her when her rattled and wounded rationality managed to reassert itself, no one else in here is acting like anything is out of the ordinary. And he looks pretty friendly ... I think. On a subconscious level, she realized that six-foot-tall fox-beings were normal in the 22nd Century. How or why, she had no earthly idea. It suddenly occurred to her that the seconds were ticking by, and neither of them were speaking. Harry looked about ready to overload, but she thought little of it, considering the resourcefulness and refusal to panic he demonstrated in the past few hours. He was entitled to a lapse of brain function. Nothing got around his awful timing, though.
She cleared her throat quickly, and prayed that her voice didn't come out sounding like a frightened mouse squeak. "Hello, sir. Sorry about the ... um ... silence. You startled us a bit." Not bad ... could have done without the clueless pauses. I should definitely leave the impromptu fibbing up to Harry.
The Boy Who Lived, for his part, finally found his tongue. It was funny. He'd seen (and fought) a full grown mountain troll, dragons, and all sorts of other creatures. A man-fox in normal clothes and wearing a library volunteer nametag really wasn't that horrible. Lord Voldemort was frightening. This ... this was just weird: strange enough to make keeping a straight face incredibly difficult, surreal enough to keep his mind from failing completely. "Yeah. Terribly sorry about that, Mister ..."
The animaloid grinned self-consciously, scratching the back of his furry head. "No need to apologize. My fault entirely for sneaking up so quietly on the two of you. You looked like you were in a deep conversation; I hated to interrupt. The name's Todd, by the way. Pleased to meet both of you." If Harry and Hermione had been used to reading non-human facial expressions (and the general fact that such things existed at all), they would have picked up on the knowing look he wore. They completely missed it, undoubtedly saving the two of them several minutes of fierce blushing.
Todd, Harry thought wryly, his mind having accepted the situation at face value and moved on -- he came here for explanations of such weird things, anyway -- of course. Because you would expect all the fox people to have such unassuming names. Perhaps all the mole people are all named Bob. He blinked; his thoughts rarely sounded so much like Ron Weasley. He didn't think he entirely liked the sensation. Shaking thoughts of his dead friend from his mind, Harry put out a hand. Todd's grip was firm, his skin felt human. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter. And this is my friend, Hermione Granger."
"A pleasure to meet you, sir." Hermione congratulated herself on such a flawless, confident delivery, and put out her own hand.
Todd took it and grinned, giving them an excellent view of his sharp teeth. "Well, like I always tell my friends, the library's one of the best places to meet new people. Oh, and I won't have any of that 'sir' stuff. I'm only five; I'm not ready to be an old fart yet. Check back in ten years or so. Anyway, Francine tells me you two haven't been here before. Care for the guided tour?"
Five years old? But ... but ... blast it. Harry mentally gathered up all the remaining preconceptions he had ever had about pretty much everything, collected them into a little ball, and banished them from his brain.
Hermione's eyes lit up. Human or not, this guy was offering to give her a guided tour of the Library of the Future. Bliss. "That would be wonderful, sir," she caught herself, "err ... Todd."
The young reploid grinned. "Sir Todd? Now that could be interesting." He pointed towards the library entrance. "Let's start at the main receptionist's desk. Feel free to ask me any questions you might think of. This is only the third time I've done one of these, so I might leave something out. This way."
Harry rose and picked up the robes at his feet, tucking them once more under his arm. If Todd thought this was odd, he held his tongue. After all, if the sight of a polished broom on a very expensive looking leather strap failed to draw a comment, it was highly likely nothing else would. Harry could feel the comforting weight of his Firebolt against his shoulder, and smiled a little. It occurred to him that leaving the stuff underneath the dumpster with Crookshanks might have been a good idea -- assuming, of course, that the cat didn't get bored and shred their robes. And did he really want to leave his broom just lying on a street corner?
Todd walked with Harry and Hermione on either side of him, running over the details of the tour route in his mind. "So," he said as they neared the desk, "Here's how it works around here." The tour was on. Hermione immediately gave the reploid her undivided attention, and Harry too listened carefully. "It's actually pretty simple. This is, as I'm sure you know, the south branch of the Tokyo public library system. The first floor is outfitted with information terminals, both arranged in this foyer and in a number of private research rooms. Those'll get you access to current and archived periodicals, journal databases, and more reference and encyclopaedic material than you could ever read. On the second through fourth floors, we have actual, paper books, with special collections on the remaining floors. Our collection of works in digital form is much larger. If you find something you like in the catalogue, just grab a reading pad from the front desk and punch in its ID number. We also have some interesting exhibits in the basement, one on the evolution of nuclear fusion reactors, and the other a collection of sculptures by Pierre Lombard, on loan from the Toronto Museum of Art. But let's start off with the basics. Come this way, and I'll show you how to get around on the computers and the catalogue browser ..."
Hermione and Harry traded pleased looks. If everything went according to plan, by the time they left the library they might actually have some idea what was going on around them. A pleasant thought, indeed.
Dynamo stared at what was left of his vodka with lime, and downed the remains in one quick gulp. The Red Letter might have been one of the cheapest gentleman's clubs in a five mile radius (the dingy, flaking yellow walls and absolutely nasty rouge carpet did nothing if not affirm that notion), but their bartender knew how to stock good liquor. The fire that raced down his throat was refreshing despite his immunity to inebriation. The five humans sitting with him were another story entirely: the mercenary thought it was a bit early in the day to be completely hammered, and wondered idly if any of them would even be able to walk by the time they finally decided to leave. It would certainly be entertaining. But not the most interesting thing, for sure. He watched an average-height, blue-eyed reploid girl head towards a pole-table of early arrivals, men in cheap suits catching an early lunch. She wore nothing more than a few well-placed strips of something shiny and red. What it was, exactly, he had no idea, and didn't really care. She reminded him of a present wrapped by someone in too much of a hurry to do it right, but still careful to hide the most important details of the package. Not the most interesting thing at all. He grinned, slamming his glass down on the dark oak bar and calling for another.
Tom the bartender, a middle-aged, balding, stocky man with twinkling brown eyes and horn-rims appeared from the stock-room, smiling at Dynamo, seemingly oblivious to the nakedness around him. "Straight again, D?" Sure, all the thugs and lowlifes that hung out at the Red Letter knew who and what Dynamo was, and even though none of them cared, yelling out the name of one of the most wanted terrorists in the world in a public place simply wasnÕt done. As for the clueless guys who didn't know enough to recognize Public Enemy Number Two by sight, there was no need to start a panic.
"Yeah," Dynamo replied absentmindedly. He pulled up his internal chronometer, and frowned slightly.
Tom suddenly didn't look too happy, either. He didn't like it when one of his best customers was in a bad mood. "S'matter D? Wanna try another brand?"
"What? Oh, no, this is excellent, Tom, as usual. An associate of mine was supposed to meet me here at half past the hour and, well, look at the clock. As much as I enjoy your company, buddy, now's really not the best time for me to be out and about." X and that lapdog Signas have probably called out the search parties by now.
"Ah," Tom said knowingly, "so you've got another project goin', hmm? Anything interesting?"
Dynamo's lip quirked up. "You don't really want me answer that, do you?"
Tom chuckled. "Nah. Just tryin' to be polite."
Despite their long friendship, Tom Shell was a mystery to Dynamo. He remained the only real human friend the platinum-haired mercenary had who wasn't a weapons dealer, drug smuggler, pimp, or otherwise so far outside the law that he would be arrested on sight. Indeed, Tom enjoyed a legal occupation. On top of that, he didn't have a bit of a problem with Dynamo's work. The mercenary had given up trying to figure him out months ago, and written him off as a cheery, friendly guy who served good drinks and happened to be completely and totally insane. I wonder what X would think if he knew there were guys like Tom out there. It'd probably just get his boxers in even more of knot. "Well then, I'll tell you this: this one's a real heavy deal. Certainly not the biggest I've done, but definitely heavy."
The human grinned, revealing a row of startlingly white teeth that couldn't, as far as Dynamo was concerned,
possibly be real. "Sounds like you'll be comin' into a heap-load of cash, then. Any special
plans?"
Dynamo smirked. "I'm sure I can think of something, buddy." He threw another glance at the door. Damn
it, where the hell is this guy?
One of the day-shift drunkards, this one with way too much of slur for mid-morning, called for Tom from the other end of the bar. "Excuse me, D. Duty calls, and all that." Dynamo nodded, making a mental note to come up with a better nickname for himself.
The Red Letter's heavy iron door opened, letting in the sounds of the outside world for about five seconds before the newcomer was inside. He was tall, his clothes tight against his spare frame. Coal-black slacks and a matching silk shirt forced all attention to his pale-skinned head. Grey eyes at the peak of a long, sloping nose swept over the room with the utmost contempt, finally locking on the mercenary. Dynamo smiled, trying not to stare too intently at the black attachŽ case at his side. It's about damn time. He rose and crossed the foyer, offering a hand. "Good to see you again. I was a little worried you weren't going to show."
The man crossed his arms. "I never miss an appointment," he drawled lazily. "Though I'll admit, I donÕt usually do business in such ... low-key establishments."
Dynamo inwardly groaned, glad Tom wasn't around to hear that one. Maybe it was a cheap topless bar, but it was his, and he was a fiercely proud lunatic. "Well," he said coolly, "like I said before, what I do may be flagrant, but getting away with it requires a bit of discretion. You wanted to talk in a safe place of my choosing. This is it. No one will bother us here, and no one cares to listen. As long as we get this done before the Hunter Vice Squad comes in here looking for me, we're golden. And the sooner we get our business wrapped up, the quicker you can get back to your castle in the sky, or bog, or wherever the hell it is."
"Very well," the human said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "I assume you've picked out a location offering a little more privacy."
"Of course. Follow me." Jerk off. Dynamo told Tom he was moving to a booth and wanted a pair of glasses of his best vodka, waited for their drinks, then led him through a half-empty maze of tables, noting with some satisfaction that his high-minded associate, despite his snide protests, was stealing more than a few glances at the less-than-clothed members of the staff. Not that the look of contempt ever left his face, but he could have stared at the floor. He finally arrived at the booth he was looking for. It was nestled in a small alcove, out of the line of sight of most of the rest of the Red Letter. And it was his booth, with a couple of custom accessories. Dynamo flipped a switch under the table, and the electronic sound-baffles lining the alcove entrance came online. They were free to talk.
"So," Dynamo began congenially, "you wanted to see me. Did something go wrong with the package?" Because, if it didn't, I'd kind of like to get paid...
"Not at all. My master is looking forward to making use of its contents. You've helped us come closer to putting an end to a long and costly struggle." And for the first time since his arrival, the newcomer sounded genuinely pleased. "The package, as you call it, was easily retrieved by my master's agents, and did in fact contain the toxin. The decoys you prepared were left in their place for your associates. I must admit, I was a bit surprised by your cruelty in your handling of them." He casually sipped his drink.
It didn't sound to Dynamo like his associate particularly minded the idea of cruel behavior, but found the circumstances interesting. "Oh?"
"Indeed. Were they really so useless that you felt it necessary to have them violently eliminated? I have some experience in these matters, and I've found that it's usually best to dispose of those who can't pull their weight quickly and absolutely."
"We've discussed this before, haven't we? The only way our little ruse was going to look authentic was if there was really someone there for X to kill. And trust me, he's smart enough to tell when his opponents are acting. He's called my bluff one too many times. If the people I sent to face him had known they were part of a decoy operation, there's no way X wouldn't have picked up on it. As for them all being useless, they all showed promise. They probably could have been great, given a few more years of practice."
The human sounded honestly intrigued. "If they had such potential, why have them killed?"
Dynamo did his best to keep a straight face. "I need people that can be good," Dynamo said flatly. "I'm only interested in working with one person that's got the potential for greatness, and you're looking at him."
The human sneered lightly. "I see."
"Now, as for the whole suffering thing, that tells me you really don't know a damn thing about what X is capable of. I know him, and I know none of them were still alive by the time their heads hit the ground."
"This makes you feel better about arranging their execution?" Another sip of vodka.
Dynamo shrugged. "Who said I felt bad about it?" He paused. "But if you don't mind, as long as we're on the subject I have to ask: if you're as concerned about being discreet as you say you are, why were you so willing to have your men flout their talents while X was watching? Come to think of it, if there was a satellite in range, his girlfriend was probably watching too. I'd be willing to bet the entire command staff knows about it by now."
The man waved his hand dismissively. "It doesn't really matter. As you said, most of them likely know the facts of the encounter, but not a single one of them knows what they mean. Very few Muggles are allowed to be as informed as you, Dynamo. You are fortunate my master does not see fit to Obliviate you now that our dealings are complete. And knowledge without wisdom, as any sufficiently preachy moron will tell you, is completely useless. Even now, they're probably sitting around a table trying to figure out what new technology you've got your hands on, what kind of weapons masquerade so effectively as sticks of wood. Just another layer of mystery; one that doesn't have a thing to do with the problem they should be trying to solve, but is far too interesting to ignore. They'll be nothing if not confused, and trust me, my master will see to it they stay that way. As for the lot of them even considering the truth, I'm sure you remember how difficult it was for you to accept the reality of magic," he finished, smirking knowingly.
Dynamo's smile evaporated into a thin line. "Well, what can I say? It was a pain in the ass admitting there was a whole part of the world I didn't know a thing about, but," he gestured at the briefcase, "I think it's been worth the blow to my ego."
The human's grin was feral. "I'm glad you feel that way. It's made doing business with you quite easy. Speaking of which," he lifted the briefcase onto the table, turning it to face the mercenary. Enjoy your prize, fool. There are far more precious things in the world; like power -- something you shall never have.
Finally, the fun part. Dynamo's fingers pried eagerly at the latches. He opened the case just enough for the dim lighting to catch the golden seals on the bound stacks of money inside. He snapped the case shut quickly. "Shiny."
"A total of 575,000 zenni, as we agreed upon."
Dynamo whistled. I don't believe it. Ether these guys are the greatest idiots to ever walk the earth, or they're the most well funded terrorists in recent history. Second biggest take I've ever gotten for one job, and I didn't even have to lift a finger. I wonder what I'd get if I actually did something. "Excellent."
"I believe our business here is concluded, then. My master may wish to make use of your services again in the near future, perhaps in a more direct capacity."
"Anytime. You know how to reach me."
"That we do." He drained the last half of his glass and got up.
Dynamo followed suit, once again offering his hand. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Malfoy."
The human nodded haughtily, his hands disappearing into his pockets. "I suspect we're going to be doing a good deal more business in the future. Such strict formality is likely to become tedious. For the sake of convenience, you may call me Draco."
Hermione rubbed her temples. She felt a nice headache coming on, and it had nothing to do with their now-departed tour guide's perennially chipper voice.
"Something wrong?" Harry asked from the console next to her.
"I'm beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea." She stared at the empty query screen on her own terminal, and frowned. "I'm not sure this is the best way to go about this."
Harry raised an eyebrow. They were only five minutes into their research, and Hermione was already expressing doubts? That wasn't normal. "What do you mean?"
Hermione scooted her chair away from the lush plant that dominated their secluded corner of the computer center and turned to look at him. "I don't know. I mean, we've got, what, an hour and a half before we need to leave? There's no way we can find out everything we need to know in ninety minutes. We probably couldn't get all the information we need in ten visits. Honestly Harry, we're talking about 150 years of completely new material here, not one of you and Ron's cram sessions before exams." Her eyes widened. It was the first time she mentioned Ron since their arrival in the 22nd century. She felt a familiar, cold force pulling down on every muscle of her face. She swatted at her dampening eyes.
Harry put what he hoped was a calming hand on her shoulder. "It'll be alright, Hermione." That was his new mantra, it seemed. Hermione was a genius, as far as he was concerned, but he had learned something for a fact in the last few hours he had only vaguely suspected before: she was at her absolute best when she had some degree of control over a situation. She didn't need to be in complete command; she just needed one good, solid handhold. Right now, she had nothing that tenable, and the stress was starting to show. "You're right. We can't just sit here and hope to absorb every single thing that's happened in the last century and a half. We probably don't need to. Think about it this way. How many times today have you seen something you were totally unprepared for and couldn't explain?"
"More than once," she grumbled.
"And how many times," Harry prodded gently, "have you simply seen something new and interesting but not exactly earth-shattering?"
"Since we've gotten here? Dozens." The Boy-Who-Lived was pleased to note the tinge of wonder in his friend's tired voice.
"So," Harry continued calmly (later, when he had time to think about it, he would be amazed at how logical he could be when he absolutely had to), "There's dozens of things we'd both love to have explained. But there's surely a much smaller set of information we absolutely have to have if we're going to be able to function here, isn't there?"
Hermione's eyes lit up, and a full grin -- perfect teeth and all -- lit her face. "I guess when you put it that way, it's not quite so daunting."
"That's the spirit." Harry found a grin of his own. Handhold. "So, any ideas? Right off the top of your head, what's something we absolutely can't afford not to know?"
"Let's see," she mused, "A brief overview of major historical events from the last 150 years is vital. With any luck, we'll be able to find a timeline of some sort. Don't give me that look, there's timelines for everything. We also need to know about how the government of Japan functions in terms of law enforcement, and even the most rudimentary grasp of international politics would be nice. Understanding the new money system would be useful, too. We don't want to end up getting scammed again. We know there's some sort of military organization out there called the Maverick Hunters. They seem to be pretty important, and their existence is common knowledge. Who are they? What do they 'hunt,' and why? I don't know, but doesn't a military organization with that kind of name seem a bit ominous? One of them is named Commander X, and looks to have quite a reputation around here, and I'm sure it has to do with something besides his odd name. I'm betting it would seem pretty bizarre if we didn't know who he was. And there's always the question of when foxes began to walk on two legs. Oh! And don't forget communications technology. They might not even use telephones anymore -- we didn't see what that nurse called the shelter with -- and we need to know."
"Excellent. And I've got a few ideas of my own. I'm interested in what kind of travel they've got. We're eventually going to have to figure out how to get back to the UK. But let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"Yeah. We've got plenty to get started with, and we'll probably think of more. Alright, then," she chirped brightly, "What do you want to start with?"
"Let's get the boring stuff out the way. How about money?"
Hermione smirked lightly. "Money's boring?"
"Reading about it is. Then again, I'm not the one who's committed every line of Hogwarts, a History to memory."
She giggled. "I know. Believe me, I know." She turned to her console. "Let's see ... zenni." She typed the word in, pressed submit, and was greeted almost instantly with a list of results. "Wow. That was fast, wasn't it?" She scanned the list. "Here's an encyclopedia entry."
"Hit it."
Hermione began to read aloud. "Says here it replaced yen after the monetary collapse of 2005. That doesn't sound too good, does it? Carefully controlled to stay competitive in value to the US dollar. It's available in electronic form, like the kind we have here, and cash made out of synthetic paper. Synthetic?" She grinned. "About time."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Well, before we got here, I sort of expected all the trees to be gone by the 22nd Century. It's nice to know we'll get our act together at some point." She looked back at the screen, pleased with herself. "There's plenty more here about current exchange value and printing history, but that's not important. I just wanted to know what happened to the yen. Well, that was easy, wasn't it?"
"Extremely." Of course, we weren't demanding much that time. "What next?"
"While we're doing simple things, how about current world population? It's not exactly crucial, but it's one of those things that would be really interesting."
Yeah," Harry said, "and we'd probably look really weird if it came up in conversation and we were off by a couple billion." He looked at his own console, beckoning him to input something. He started typing. After a couple minutes of sifting, he found the number. He stared blankly at it. "That can't be right."
"What?" Hermione pulled her head away from a query on modern communication technology that returned about 50000 results. Apparently, nothing much had changed about searching electronic documents in the last century and a half.
"What was the population in 1995? Somewhere around six million, right? I remember a teacher telling us that when I was really little. The memory sandwiched in between a couple of delightful run-ins with Dudley's gang."
"Six billion ... yeah, that sounds about right."
"Well ... this is just bizarre, then."
"What, Harry?" Spit it out, already.
"Listen to this: 'Global population, as of 2150: four-point-five billion.'"
"What?!" She kept her voice to a low sort of hiss, but got a few disturbed looks just the same. "That's impossible, unless there was some sort of plague or something."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "It gets weirder. This page lists several figures, in fifty year intervals. 'Record setting global population, as of 2100: seven-point-five billion. How do three billion people die in two and a half decades?" Even before the words left his mouth, Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Something in this ultramodern world was off.
"I don't like this, Harry. Something isn't right. Either there was a pandemic, or ..." she trailed off, looking suddenly horrified. "Or their deaths didn't have a thing to do with remotely natural causes."
Harry thought of the little talking trashcan, the five-year-old fox creature, and the picture hanging on the wall of what could only be a famous military commander. "I vote for war. Something critical changed while we were in limbo, and whatever it was, somebody didn't like it."
Hermione looked sick. "Everything was far too perfect looking. I think I fooled myself into thinking we'd landed in an utopia, or at least something that was a bit better than society circa 1995."
"Of course you did," Harry said reasonably, "so did I. I think we were probably both too thrilled that we didn't land in the middle of a Muggle labor-camp, even if we weren't really willing to admit we were thinking about the possibility, to consider that something genuinely terrible could be going on here."
After a long pause, Hermione spoke. Her voice dripped with anxiety. "I think we need to reorder our priorities. If you're right, we need to know what happened, and more importantly, if it's still going on. Harry, we could be sitting in the middle of World War III and not even know it."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Now who's being disturbing?"
The brown haired girl sagged in her seat, putting her mouth. "I want ..." Her voice was muffled; Harry knew she said more, but couldn't make out the rest.
"Hermione?" Blast it! I've done it again. I've got to watch what comes out of my mouth.
She took a deep breath. "I'm okay. I just got caught up in some bad thoughts; I'm rid of them now." She took in another lungful. Time to get it together, Hermione. Come on. I just need to last a few more hours, then I can sleep. "Alright," she said finally, and Harry tried not to grin. There was the authority, the in-control Hermione he had been trying to find for the last several hours.
And why not? He thought wryly. We're in a library. "Ideas, then?" He was sure there would be a few, at least.
"A few. Anything that could catalyze the deaths of three billion people in twenty-six years has to be dramatic; something new maybe, or at the very least, having a high-impact on society. I have one word for you: Todd. Whatever he is, it's something relatively new. Dramatic goes without saying."
"So," Harry prodded, "what is he? I doubt we can go up and ask him. Aside from being rude, I'd be willing to bet we're the only two people on this planet that don't know. Too bad we can't search this thing for him." That'd just be too easy, wouldn't it?
Hermione rested her chin in her hand. "Genetic engineering's always a possibility," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.
"What, like in the Island of Doctor Moreau? Is that even possible?"
Hermione made a mental note to find out how Harry knew about the Brando movie. It must have been some sort of torture implemented by the Dursleys. "It was theoretically possible in 1995 to make cows produce milk with spider's silk in it. I'm not willing to say it couldn't be done. But I doubt that's where our answer is. I think we're overlooking the obvious. "
She had him on the hook now. "Enlighten me."
"The trashcan."
Now, everybody knew tugging the line just to aggravate the fish was considered cruelty. "What about it?"
"In 1995, it would have been bleeding edge robotics technology. Now it's probably nothing more than a tinker toy, as far as the science of it is concerned. It's the absolute pipe dreams of the 20th century we need to look at. It's those all-but-fictitious things that'll be bleeding edge now. I know those paranoid dolts that pass themselves off as your family never let much literature into their house, but surely you're familiar with one of the most common components of the scifi genre."
She was on a roll now. Harry knew she would be thundering if she wasn't in a library. Part of him wished they were outside; it would be fun to listen to her go. But the other, larger section of his consciousness managed to get the point. If talking, walking trashcans were child's play, only one thing could be state of the art. He felt the color draining from his face, all at once excited at the possibilities and horrified by the implications. "You can't be serious. There's no way."
"Harry," she whispered, "you're a wizard. I'm a witch. We don't have the right to dismiss anything as too fanciful. Harry ... I'm almost sure Todd was an android. It's the only logical explanation."
"Well ..." Harry struggled for a way to refute this -- the suspension of disbelief had to stop somewhere. He came up with nothing. "You realize what you're suggesting, don't you? If you're right, three billion people have died in a war over robots. Or," and here was the really horrible possibility, "against them."
Hermione swallowed, color having long since abandoned her own cheeks. "I guess we should stop talking and see if I'm right then, don't you think?"
Harry nodded. "Do you want to be right?"
No hesitation. "I don't know, Harry."
She turned to her console, slender fingers flying. "Robotics, history of."
After finding a promising looking document, they began to read.
"New York Times Editorial Archive: A Summarization of Conflicts Related to the 22st Century Robotics Revolution.'"