From: Tranquility <blitz@crow.cybercomm.net>
Subject: Afterthoughts and Memories
Date: Sat, 8 Jul 1995 22:18:51 -0400


"Jerzi?"

The voice was Sandy's.  She probably thought I was asleep.  I wasn't in
the mood for conversation, so I didn't answer.  I continued to examine
the weapon I held in my hands.  There were a lot of questions in that
small plastic-and-metal conglomeration, and maybe a few answers.  Not
enough, though.  I had some serious thinking to do.

My entire career in Paneuropean Intelligence had been gathering
information and speculating on what it all meant.  I did it for the UN, I
did it for the Great Houses on occasion, and I did it for the Earth
Defense Force during the war.  This wasn't too much different, just on a
smaller scale.

I was deluding myself, though.  I knew the answers to my questions well
enough.  I just didn't want to accept them.

The weapon was a compact DefenseTech .25 automatic.  It carried 23 rounds
in its clip, featured a Suregrip handle and a digital ammunition counter
on the side.  It was currently deactived -- no sense in running down the
battery.  I knew how many rounds the clip contained.  Six.  Six metallic
messangers of death, each one ridiculously tiny, each one carrying enough
explosives in the tip to put a sizable hole in an adversary.  Many people
these days laughed at such small pistols, scorning them in favor of
massive .44's or 10 millimeter varieties.  No one had scorned this one,
nor the woman who had carried it.  The woman who was most likely dead.

There were droplets of blood on it.  I hadn't tested them yet, but I knew
what type it would be.  O negative.  I'd raised fingerprints with a tube
of cyanoacrylate contact adhesive, then used a data terminal in the city
library to check them against a known reference.  The computer had come
up with a hit.  There was no mistaking whose pistol this was.

I hadn't known Jetta very long, only a few months.  If someone were to
ask me now whether I loved her or not, I wouldn't have been able to give
a definate answer.  I loved aspects of her, hated others.  I don't know
if I could've loved the whole that the parts formed.

I think I may have, though.

She reminded me too much of Sophi.  I think that was both a boon to our
relationship and a wedge driven between us.  She was like Sophi, but she
wasn't Sophi, and I constantly expected her to be.  Of course, I'd
neglected the lessons Sophi had taught me.  I shouldn't have.

Sophi had died in a missile strike.  I wasn't there when it happened.  If
I had been, she still would've most likely been dead, and I would've been
killed, also.  I blame myself for it because there isn't anyone else to
blame.  The missiles were launched by Ukrainien rebels.  Could I blame
them?  Not exactly...I'd been killing their own at the time, and the
launch HAD been an accident.  They hadn't aimed at Sophi.  They'd aimed
at Warsaw, and had missed by over thirty miles.  Sophi had been at the
wrong place at the wrong time.

If I'd been with Jetta, would it have been any different?  I don't think
so.  I'd seen her in action.  It took a lot to surprise her.  I'm not a
soldier, and I wouldn't pretend to be.  I'd killed with guns and even my
hands before, but it wasn't the same.  I lacked the instinct for it that
she had.  Whatever had killed her would definately have been able to
finish me off as well.

"Jerzi?  There's someone here to see you."

I looked around the room.  It was clean, orderly, and utterly devoid of
personality.  I hadn't been here long enough to make it home, nor would
I.  There was no sense in investing my life in it.  I slid the pistol
under my matress and walked to the door, unlocking it and disarming the
claymore concealed under the dresser beside it.

"Hiya, Jerzi," said Sandy, giving me a college-girl smile.  Her thin
frame was concealed beneath a sororiety sweatshirt.  "How're you feeling?"

"Good."  The response was automatic.  I was always feeling good, when
people asked.  I didn't like living in this house.  There were too many
people, all of them too friendly.  Cloistered.  I wouldn't be here for
much longer.  The rent was nice, but there were other places out there.

"There're some people at the door who want to see you," she said.  "I'm
going out to get some food...want me to pick you up anything?"

"No thanks," I said.  Another automatic response.  I didn't want much
these days.  I made my way down the carpeted stairs, through a small
hallway to the front door.  It was closed, unlocked, the single deadbolt
undone.  I opened it.

Four people stood in front of me.  Two of them were covered in heavy
black powered armor, bearing the House Demikaan Blackguard insignia on
each rounded shoulder.  Immense swords hung from sheaths on their backs.
The third was a man, a little younger than me -- maybe 35, black hair
just starting to gray beneath a blue beret, short and muscled under
Demikaan dress blues.  The fourth was unmistakably a Royal Demikaan
Cyborg Commando, its black carapace gleaming brightly beneath the sun.  I
remembered Cyprid immediately, but this one was different, newer.  The
armor was sleeker and more compact, and it stood several inches shorter.
Beyond them, in the driveway, I could see an official-looking blue
hovercraft parked next to Billy's Chevrolet sedan.

"Jerzi Mitchnikov?" asked the leader, in a feminine voice.  A blue plume
stuck jauntily out of the top of her helmet.

"Close enough," I said.

She flipped up her faceplate, locking it open.  The face was very
familiar -- sharp, chiseled, a little angry.  Like a hawk's.  I caught a
small glimpse of brown hair beneath.

"This is Major Glas, House Intelligence," she said, gesturing to the man
beside her.  "Captain Anderson, Demikaan Blackguard."  She nodded towards
the other Blackguard.  "Sirius, RDCC."  She jerked a thumb back at the
monstrous cyborg, then extended her hand.  "General Nova Srin, Demikaan
Blackguard."

"Srin?"  I asked.  "Related to Jetta?"

"That's not her real name, but yes, I know who you are referring to, and
yes, I'm her sister," said Nova, shaking my hand.  "If you don't mind,
we'd like to have a few words with you."

I looked at the four, remembering a kino I'd once seen a while back about
the Nazi regime of Germany, circa 1938.  "I don't think I have much
choice in the matter.  Come on in."

Anderson and Sirius positioned themselves on either side of the door,
waiting outside.  Glas and Nova followed me into the kitchen.

"Have a seat," I said.  They both did.  Glas set his beret down on the
table.

"We're here to talk to you about Jetta, aka Jennifer Srin," said Nova.
She swung her sword over her shoulder and set it down beside her before
putting her weight on the chair.  I heard it creak.  That armor looked
heavy.  "I understand that you were the last one to see her alive."

"I don't think so.  She is dead?"

"Very.  You're right...the person who killed her was the last, but since
we don't know who that is, we'll settle for you."  She glared hard at
me.  "She used to be a Hellblazer.  When a 'Blazer dies, the House likes
to know how, why and who.  Do you know who?"

"Not positively."

"Give me your best guess."

"We were engaged in a firefight against some BioWorks personnel.  I lost
track of her.  We were supposed to be extracting a hostage.  She and
April entered a building.  Only April came back out."

"You think April killed her?" asked Nova.

"I don't know."

"The BioWorks people?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know much, do you?" she asked, still glaring.  "For someone
who used to be with PI, you know remarkably little.  Your record leads me
to believe that you probably know a little more than what you're telling
me."

"You think I did it?" I asked.

"No.  I don't.  I don't think it was just one party.  I think April
played a part, but didn't actually kill her.  I just want to know who was
responsible and in what way so the proper measures can be extracted
against the guilty parties."

"What kind of measures?" I asked.

She patted her sword.  "An eye for an eye.  I will kill them, and
everyone who's seen them in the last 24 hours."

"You're very ruthless, aren't you?" I asked.

"It runs in the family.  You've met three of us.  You should know that by
now."

"I know a lot of things about you, Nova," I said, leaning forward.  "I've
read many, many files on you about your actions during the war.  Nuclear
strikes on colonial worlds.  Ignoring the demands of hostage takers.  The
military made you into their own little monster, didn't they?  They just
gave you the orders and blamed you for the carnage, then sold you out
after the war was over.  Isn't that how it went?  What were they calling
you?  I don't recall...the Butcher of Ostland, wasn't that it?"

She looked at me for a moment, then smiled a bit.  "You're very clever.
This isn't an interrogation.  You're not going to get me with that bit.
And for the record, they were MY orders, not my superior's, and I've also
been called the Iron Bitch, which I preferred, but that one didn't catch
on."  She leaned towards me, going on the offensive.  "Aren't you a
little angry about what's happened, Jerzi?  You were living with her.
Maybe planning marriage?  Now that will never happen.  She's dead, just
like Sophi died, and you weren't there for her.  Were you, Jerzi?"

"Nova, take a long look at me and tell me what you see."

"Not a whole lot.  A burned-out has-been."

"Exactly."  I dug into my pocket and placed a handful and change on the
table.  "Take that."

"What's this for?" she asked.

"Find a phone and call someone who cares, okay?  She was your sister, not
mine.  I can find another girlfriend.  Can you find another sister?"

Her eyes narrowed for a moment.  At that moment, I grew a little
nervous.  I thought maybe I'd stepped over the line, and a reinforced
gauntlet would rocket into my face.  It didn't happen, and I'd won the
sparring match.  It was only round one, though.

"We're going to go for a ride," she said, standing and retrieving her sword.

"Where to?" I asked.

"New Brunswick PD.  They have her body in cold storage.  I haven't been
over there yet...I guess we could both take a look at it together," she
said, smiling wickedly.

I winced.  She read my thoughts.  "Have you ever played chicken, Jerzi?"

"No.  What is it?"

"It's a game where two people take vehicles and drive full speed at one
another to see whose resolve breaks first."

"Have you ever played?" I asked.

"Yes.  I wrecked my first car that way," she answered, chuckling.



New Brunswick PD's morgue was a complex of white-tiled tunnels and
examination rooms, lit with ghastly blue lights.  In the muted blue of
the place, everything seemed dead, even the things that were still
alive.  Glas's beret seemed to be the only real thing around,
unbelievably red in the light.

The entourage stopped beside one of the doors towards the back.  A cop
stood in front of it, nodding at our approach.  Anderson sat down beside
him and started chatting idly; Sirius stood at the other side of the
door, arms crossed stolidly over his armored chest.  Nova, Glas and I
entered.

The room wasn't very large, about the size of a bedroom.  Shelves and
cabinets lined two walls, filled with a variety of instruments.  A single
table was in the center, covered by a still form beneath a white sheet.
A man stood beside it, dressed in a faceless olive-green biohazard suit,
hands glistening from plasticoat.  His mask was pulled aside to allow for
a cigarette.

"What's up?" he asked around the cigarette.  "Hoshiro, forensics.  You
the Demikaan people?"

"Yes," said Nova.  "This is Jennifer Srin?"

"Yeah, unless she got up and left while I was on the shitter," said
Hoshiro.  "Don't happen too much, but it's a bitch when it does.  Want a
peek?  Admission's free."  He picked up the edge of the sheet and rolled
it back a few feet.

In death, she didn't look too different than she did in life.  Skin a
little too pale from something she described as "genetic damage", brown
hair ruffled and tangled instead of straight and smooth.  Both eyes were
halfway open, staring blankly at the ceiling.  Some blood was congealed
at the corner of her mouth and under her nose.  Her left cheek was
darkened by a welt, not old enough to be a bruise yet.

"I got the report on file," said Hoshiro.  "Guys really did a number on
her.  Didn't find anything on the corpse, it was bare-ass naked under the
old train bridge running out of New Brunswick.  Couple of squatters found
it and turned it in for the reward money.  If there was anything around
that had some value, the fuckers probably took it."

"Take the sheet off," said Nova.

"Hey, she's in bad shape, but you're the boss," he said, whipping the
sheet off with a flourish.  Nova made a choked sound, sobbed once, then
turned away.

I'd won round two.  It wasn't a very satisfying victory.

I moved my eyes down her body, head to toe, taking in the damage they'd
inflicted on her before she'd died.  Most of her fingers were broken.
Two of her claws had been ripped free and were hanging limply from
strands of muscle and sinew.  Burn marks on her arms and shoulders.
Bullet wounds in her torso, one of which was a large shotgun blast, just
beneath her left breast.  I could see shattered fragments of silvery
subdermal armor beneath, broken ribs beneath that.  Tremendous amounts of
bruising.  Past the dark triangle of her pubic hair, burns along the
insides of her thighs.  Both knees shattered.  The soles of her feet were
burned off.

"Put the sheet back on," I said.

"No argument here," said Hoshiro, throwing it back in place.  A single
tear hit the bluish-white tiles beneath Nova's feet.  I placed a
comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me," she said, not bothering to turn.  "Next part of
you that touches me, you lose."

I backed off.

"Where to now?" I asked.

"We're not leaving just yet," she said.  She turned back around, eyes
dry.  "Hoshiro, what'd the autopsy turn up?"

"Blah, blah, blah," he said.  "Bullet wounds made by a .35, blah blah
blah, one shotgun hit, probably a Streetsweeper, blah blah blee, lotta
trauma caused by blunt instruments, blah blah blah.  It's pretty
obvious.  The burns look like they were made with the flat part of a
heated knife.  Did some bloodwork-" he tapped at a keyboard, eyeing the
lines of data that came up.  "Found some interesting substances in her
blood.  Know what Metachlor is?"

"Stimulant."

"Right.  Just about impossible to lose conciousness on that stuff.  How
bout AGH-38932a, better known as Scream Cream?" asked Hoshiro.

"Never heard of it."

"I have," I said, shuddering at the thought.  "Pain enhancer."

"Yep.  Pretty effective.  Banned in 35 countries worldwide, and a few
offworld colonies to boot.  Outlawed under the Geneva Convention of '43,"
said Hoshiro.  "Now, yeah, it's illegal and expensive as all hell, and
carries some pretty stiff fines for possession and distribution, but it's
not that hard to get.  Just about every S&M place this side of the
Atlantic can get you some if the price is right.  But the thing is, this
isn't the kind of shit you carry if you're just walking around or going
on a run or something."

"You wouldn't take something like that with you unless you were fairly
sure you would have need for it," I said.

"Is there an echo in here?" asked Hoshiro.  "Yeah.  That's about it.
Whoever did your girl here, they knew she was coming and they knew they'd
get her.  Oh, by the way, there's more."

"More?" asked Nova.

"Yeah.  Found signs of forced vaginal and anal penetration.  Looks like a
gang rape.  No semen samples, though," said Hoshiro.  "I see a lot of
bodies on this job, but I ain't seen something like this in a long time.
This is the kind of shit I don't tell my kids about."

"You pull the AI out of her head?" asked Nova.

"I was wondering what the fuck that was," he said.  "No, it's still
there.  Same with the biomonitor...didn't think it would be too important."

"It's infinitely important," said Nova.  "They're Demikaan antiques.
Both of them will have records of her death.  I'm going to want to
analyze the data."

"Sorry.  The homicide chumps get first dibs," said Hoshiro.

"The fuck they do.  I get first dibs," said Nova.

"Hey, lady, them's the rules.  Love it or leave it."

"The rules have changed.  Get the thing out of her head and give it to me
or there will be TROUBLE.  Do you understand?" she asked.

"I'll lose my fucking job if I do."

"No you won't.  Tell your boss that Nova Srin will personally castrate
him and everyone who knows him by name if he attempts to solve this
investigation."

"Nova Srin?" asked Hoshiro.

"Yes.  That's me.  Now start cutting before I start cutting."

The bone saw began to whine.  I walked calmly out of the room, went down
the hallway to the bathroom, and vomited for a good ten minutes.



For people being muscled around and tromped over by House Demikaan, the
New Brunswick officers behaved remarkably civil.  I think Sirius may have
played a part in it.  They had very few heavy-duty cyborgs and 'bots on
the force, all of which were old, none of which were military grade.
Sirius could've made short work of the entire station if he'd taken the
armory first to keep the police away from their rockets.

Or that may not have even been necessary.

"What's that?" I asked Sirius, eyeing his rifle.  It was a tremendous
weapon, too large for a regular person to use, even with mounts and
gyroscopes.  The balance was all off.  It was designed for a giant like
Sirius.  The front was bulbous and vaguely grotesque, while the back was
smooth and tubular, marred by a bank of industrial power cells and an
odd-looking ammunition drum.

"Spinner," grunted Sirius.

"Who?"

"It's a spinner," he repeated tonelessly.

"I've never heard of it."

"Of course not," said Sirius.  "It's still classified.  After we depart,
you will not have heard of it."

"He used to be PI," said Nova.  "If he doesn't have the clearance, he's
got friends that do.  Don't be an ass."

"Fires a spool of monowire netting," said Sirius.  "Initial diameter is
two inches, expanding to as much as ten feet, depending on range, setting
and ammunition type.  Forward velocity is 1970 feet per second."

"My God," I said, truly a little horrified at the thought.

"Alternate ammunition type is a ceramic cylinder pack with monowire
snippets left over from net production, ironically," the cyborg
continued.  "Instead of a net, a spray of one-inch lengths are launch.
Used most against vehicles...small wires like that aren't always fatal
against organic targets immediately.  It sometimes takes hours for the
ruptures to turn serious.  They don't know they're injured until they die."

We made a turn into the main lobby, walking back out to the hovercraft.
>From there, we went directly to Newark airport, taking a private flight
to the Demikaan embassy in Seattle.  It was mildly humorous, watching the
agonized expressions of security guards as they watched four
heavily-armed foreign soldiers marching through the airport and were
unable to act.

I was fatigued, but sleep wouldn't come on the flight.  Nova offered me a
small blue pill with no explaination.  Would it keep my mind clear or put
me to sleep?  Would it kill me?  Was it retroviruses to mindwipe me?  At
this point, all those options seemed attractive.  I took it.  It put me
to sleep.

I awakened to the small Lear taxing down the embassy's VIP runway.  Nova
looked my way and nodded.  I raised an eyebrow.

"You're curious," she said.  "I'll explain on the way in."

We made our way towards the large marble building, passing around busy
flight crews and soldiers standing rigidly at attention.  Nova waved the
others ahead, snapping a salute to the waiting men.  They scattered,
going back to their duties.

"You may think I'm a little obsessive," said Nova.  "I'll explain myself
and where I'm coming from so you can understand a little.  Is the
knowledge you have of me limited to what you see on the news?"

"No," I said.  "I'll be straight with you.  I compiled a complete file on
you for the UN.  They were a little worried about you."

She made a half-smile.  "I knew that already, but I appreciate your
honesty."  She gave another salute to more waiting soldiers.  "My father
died in the Peasant Uprising on Ostland right after I left.  My mother
died a short time later of malnutrition during the food shortages.  My
sister Juno -- she used to be a peacekeeper with the UN -- was killed in
action during an Ortho attack.  And now, Jennifer -- Jetta -- is dead.
I've lost a lot of my family, directly or indirectly, to fighting.  I
avenged my mother and father by rising higher than the Families on
Ostland.  I avenged Juno by slaying her killer -- Byorax of House Ortho.
Now, I have to find out who killed Jetta, to get them back."

"I've heard that two wrongs don't make a right," I said.

"They don't.  But two wrongs will keep three from happening," said Nova.
"That's the way it's got to be.  If I let them off, what will be next?
WHO will be next?"

"If you embrace the vengence, it will become your life," I said.  "It
consumes you.  I've seen it happen."

"That's over with.  I've made my peace with it," said Nova.  "I know
quite a bit about you too, Jerzi.  I know about the Ukrainians.  Is that
why you let them off?"

"I couldn't forgive myself.  I forgave them instead."

"So be it."

"I can only pray that April had nothing to do with this," said Nova.  "I
know she did, but I hope she didn't.  If she did..."

"You'll kill her?"

"I don't know," she said.  "She's my sister.  I don't know if I could."



Jetta, clever as always, had not disappointed us.  I knew her AI was
capable of recording her sensory input in Demikaan Military protocol, and
I'd always suspected she kept business transactions and runs saved on her
unit's optical disk.  It couldn't record too much; the technology was
old, and it was very small, but the firefight at Johnson Park had been
recorded.

It wasn't pleasant watching the embassy's AI replaying the events from
her point of view, displaying the biomonitor's readouts beside it.
Before then, I hadn't known what had transpired inside the garage.  Now I
did.  I saw the shootout upstairs.  I watched the biocomp feeding
stimulants and endorphins into her body like fuel as she sparred with the
swordwoman.  I watched the burst of adrenaline as she fired into Weiler,
knocking him down.

More importantly, I saw her brainwaves when April gunned her down.

The AI interpreted them flawlessly into emotions.  Wariness when she
covered April's escape.  Surprise, but not much, when she was shot.  Fear
and depression as she tried to flee.  Resigned stoicism when she was
captured.

Agony so intense that it was difficult to comprehend for the next few
hours.  Shame as she pleaded with them for her life.  No surprise when it
wasn't granted.

"What's the official cause of death?" asked Nova.

"A number of factors were involved," said the AI solemnly.  "I'd
attribute it to a combination of trauma, bloodloss and shock.  No single
injury killed her.  If you examine the last few minutes of biocomp
readout, you'll find some odd, if predictable, results.  Apparantly, the
biocomp responded to her failing vital signs with an increased stimulant
and adrenaline flow to boost metabolism.  It was overridden."

"What?" asked Nova.

"Manual override.  The results would lead me to believe that she WANTED
to die."

"Not surprising.  Can I talk to the AI?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," said the AI.  "It's powered by
chemicals produced by the body.  The batteries ran out approximately
three hours after death.  The AI's persona is contained mostly in RAM.  I
could activate the backup for you, but it would be fairly out of date.
It would most likely be of little help to you."

"Yeah.  You're probably right.  Don't bother," said Nova.

"What now?" I asked.

Nova directed a glare my way.  "You don't want to know, and you don't
want to be involved."  She glanced over at Glas.  "Major, have Jerzi
flown back to Jersey City as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am," said Glas.

She looked back to me.  "I'll be in touch.  Watch your back.  Jetta
didn't, and look what happened."

I nodded.

"Are you going to kill April?" I asked.

"No.  I can't."  She shook her head.  "She's my sister.  I couldn't do
it."  She looked up at the ceiling and sighed.  "But Sirius could.  I
wouldn't worry about her looking for you.  Consider this case closed."

"Remember," I said.  "Remember what I said about revenge.  It's not all
as good as most people make it out to be."

"Yeah.  Sometimes it's all we have, though."  She turned sharply on her
heels and began walking away.  "Have a good flight, Jerzi."