A Future We'd Like to See 1.57 - Bloodlines, Act III By Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne (Copyright 1994) "I may be synthetic, but I'm not stupid." - Bishop, _Aliens_ I finished the last bite of my hamburger, just as the sun sank completely below the horizon. "A very good hamburger, pappa-san," I said, grinning up to father. He smiled back, balling up the napkin he had just finished using and tossing it into a nearby basket. I mimicked him, crumpling my napkin up into a tiny ball, and letting it fly. The hit the rim of the basket and bounced away, rolling to a stop on the padded mats. Father confined a laugh. "It is nothing to worry about, Sarah Ann-chan. Napkins hardly make good weapons anyhow." "Why spatulas, father?" I asked. "I realize that they are the perfect weapon, but how did you come to this conclusion?" "It was the only thing handy," he said. "A criminal had entered my working establishment and demanded monies. I was currently working on the broilers and was armed only with a red- hot spatula, which I used to burn him and drive him off. We saved quite a lot of money that night. I started experimenting around with the spatula, various ways it could be used... and, well, that was that." I nodded, memorizing his words as I did any other preachings. "Father, are you serious that one day I'll be the master of Wae Spat?" "There must always be at least one, or the way is lost," he nodded. "I grow older each day, as do you, but I have sort of a headstart. In the eventual event of my passing, I would like you to take over and show our art to the masses. Too many people pass it off as gimmick or cheap movie stunts." "I will do that, father... only... am I really your daughter?" Father paused. "Of course, Sarah Ann-chan. What would make you think of a thing like that?" "This," I said, pulling off my arm and showing it to him, tape and all. Father backed away in horror, shocked at what I had done. I could tell I had frightened him, although I didn't mean to do so. "Wha... what are you?" he asked. "I'm your daughter... right?" I asked. "Please, it's important for me to know--" The entire dojo heaved, lurching up and down. My arm skittered away across the mat, sliding out the open dojo door... I ran after it before remembering the steep drop below that door, the one that faced the heavens-- "Man, the heavens are certainly bein' relentless tonight," the man in the seat next to me said, tapping the spaceline window. "I've had some lousy landings before, but this is nuts. You okay, miss?" "Fine," I said, shaking away the thoughts of my nightmare. "You travel much?" he asked. "A bit," I said. "You get used to it." "I've been travelling for sixteen years working for Macroware, and I'm still not used to it. What're you going to Macroworld for? Visiting relatives? New hired help at the cafeteria?" "Visiting relatives," I said, bracing for the momentary impact as the shuttle touched down. "Relatives of a friend, mostly." "Holiday deals. I know what that's like. Need a hand with your bag?" he asked, pointing to the gigantic duffel bag I had on my lap. "No, I think I can carry it," I said, making sure the zipper was closed. "Thank you for the offer, however." * Macroware had very bad food. The cafeteria was deserted... very few Macroware employees seemed to use it. The ones I had seen roaming the halls all carried box lunches... what was so important that they could not take the time to enjoy a fine meal? I sat there, looking at my sad hamburger. The grease was layered thick, a sure sign of improper timing in the inversion process. The meat itself was of low grade, which I found extremely tacky. It was similar to a Wae Spat master fighting with cheap plastics bought at an anything-for-a-credit store. However, when I told the lady at the information desk that I was here for an appointment with William Doors, she asked me to stay here and she'd send someone around. I had made the appointment days ago, telling them that a friend of mine named Help needed some repairs and I'd be bringing her by for Mr. Doors to fix... certainly a company cares for its personnel, even if they have long since left the company. If so, why was I being made to wait? Help didn't need to worry about the wait, being in a duffel bag and non-functional, but I was very much awake and very much annoyed. Fortunately I spotted a technician walking my way before I could go complain to the information lady again. "Are you... Sarah Tackywagy?" he asked, reading from a small electronic pad. "Sarah Ann," I corrected. "Now, I know you had scheduled an appointment for Mr. Doors, but he's in a meeting right now and dispatched me to handle this. He's quite a guy, and it wouldn't be wise for Macroware to load him down in simple duties like this; promotes an inefficient use of resources. Are you correct in saying that you've returned the Help-type android, and she's in need of service?" "That is correct. There was an unfortunate incident on C'atel with some anti-android terrorists," I confirmed. "C'atel! I should have known. Well, this is great! Do you have the unit here?" "Yes. She has taken some damage by a saw, so I placed the parts in this padded, waterproof duffel." "Good thinking. Mustn't let her get damaged any more than she already is... the hardware department's going to have a fun time fixing her up, I can tell you that much. I really need to thank you for helping her back here, we've been quite worried, even though Mr. Doors officially terminated the search for her. Never know what kind of trouble she could get into. She's quite special, you know." "That I do," I nodded, recalling her past tidbits of wisdom. "Okay, I'll just take the duffel down to hardware and we'll get her fixed up. I know you had come all this way with the intention of seeing Mr. Doors, but will a tour of the facilities do instead?" "I suppose," I said. "I really just came to have Help repaired. I asked for Mr. Doors because that was the only name I could remember. Is he important?" The technician went pale. "Of course! He's the CEO. Owns and runs the entire Macroware conglomerate!" "A man of authority," I said. "I can understand how I would have been unable to see him. Thank you for the information, sir. When do you think you'll have Help healed?" "Shouldn't take very long," he said. "We've put android models like her through worse than a saw. They're quite durable. I suppose we'll have her walking and talking in an hour. Once again, thanks for bringing her by." "It is not a problem," I said, shaking his hand. "I'll arrange to have someone meet you here for that tour," he said, uneasily lifting the duffel bag. "I've got some welding to do. Have a nice day!" "And after this tour," I called to him as he started to jog out of the room unevenly, straining under the bag's weight, "We can go back, yes? I have prepurchased return... tickets..." The man was gone, out the door, bag and all. * I was onto my third of the extremely bad hamburgers when she slipped in through the hardly-used cafeteria doorway. "Hello!" she said, doing a strange sort of wave where you moved your elbow twice and wrist thrice. "Are you Sarah Tackywagy?" "Sarah Ann," I corrected (again), setting my half-eaten burger down. "I'm Suzy, Macroware public relations," she said. "I understand you found our little stray lamb. That was awfully nice of you. If you would like, I'm authorized to give you discount coupons on your next purchase or upgrade of Macroware's VOS operating system." "No thank you, Suzy-san, I do not have a computer." "You don't? That's not good. Less sales for us," she said, keeping her grin rock-steady. "Well, one of the things this little tour will show you is the joy a personal computer can bring into your life. Did you know that you can do your taxes, exercise economy and banking, send personal mail and even play enjoyable games all while connected to a computer running Macroware's VOS operating system?" "Why can you not simply use a pencil?" I asked, remembering the last time I had written a letter. "Well, I suppose you could, but it's a lot slower and uses up trees to make the pencils. You know how rare wood is today; but bits and bytes are forever, and much more user friendly. No sharpening or erasing needed!" I nodded, not quite understanding, but not caring. "Listen, once this tour is completed, I would like to visit my friend in the hardware department--" "Ah, you know a proud worker in the Macroware family?" she asked. "Don't worry, hardware is the second stop on our tour. You can say a big 'ol hello then. Walk this way, please." Suzy waltzed off, a happy little step which I attempted to match. * "This is our software production department, where we're constantly creating new and more powerful versions of the VOS operating system," Suzy said, talking as she walked backwards down an ordinary hallway. "Our programmers are very dedicated to their task, staying jacked in as long as possible to maximize production." "Jacked in?" I asked, trying to peek into the doorways we passed. It was hard to make out any details, since I needed to keep my walking pace up to match Suzy's, and Suzy seemed to enjoy walking very quickly. "Connected to our computer networks via neural input/output devices," she grinned. "It sounds painful." "Not really. It's a great way to use computers, much better than those clunky keyboard and screen things that were used only two decades ago. You can move at the speed of thought!" "Somewhat like fighting," I noted. "Umm... yes. I suppose it's like that. We also have many state of the art android workers, the metallic portion of the Macroware Family. We're quite proud of them, for they can help with some of the most mundane or most complex tasks with superior results than us mere mortals." "It does sound like a noble career opportunity," I said, nodding. "I may consider joining your cafeteria staff. They do not seem to have any expert chefs." "Well, it's been like that for awhile," Suzy said, continuing her backwards walk. "I'm afraid since the style lately is to bag your lunch to minimize jack out time for eating, the cafeteria workers have been getting a little depressed. We need someone with your spirit to go and put a little Macroware cheer into them!" "I will try my best," I said. "About these androids. What do they do here, exactly?" "All manners of things!" she said, throwing in some arm gestures. "Androids can help parse incredibly complicated mathematical equations, without worry of human error. Some of our best brains are in android shells, hooked into the network for global use. It's very efficient and powerful." "They get paid, right?" "Paid?" she asked, confused. "Well, our androids are built without the programmed needs for nourishment and drink... after all, robots don't REALLY need those things, they just think they do. If someone doesn't need money to buy food, then why is money that important?" "What about recreational activities or clothing, which require money?" "Our androids are supplied with a healthy wardrobe," she said. "As for recreational, we are blessed with AIs with a zeal for work. They never stop! Where would we be without them? Certainly not the number one electronics and software corporation in the universe, that's for sure! Hee!" "So they are not actual employees, just non-stop forced labor," I concluded. "Tosh! That's not it at all. They're happy employees under Macroware's care. They like what they do, and are about every bit as equal as their human counterparts." "What about Help? What does she do?" "Hmm? Oh, the android you returned to us today. Well, before she had a malfunction and ran off, she was a worker in the hardware department. Informational storage unit. She has a copy of the whole sum of Macroware knowledge, able to retrieve any parts at her will. Hardware owes her a debt of gratitude for providing this service." "But tell me, does she work here voluntarily?" "Of course. Gee, miss, I don't know where you're getting these strange ideas that our AIs aren't happy. Maybe it's just silly old me botching things up again, tee hee!" she said, skipping backwards a few steps. "It's okay, I do it all the time. That's why I'm doing tours now. Used to head public relations, but my doctor said something about stress and getting sad when my job was hectic. How I would let things go instead of dealing with them, botching it up. I'm taking my medicine now, and I like my new position. It's very... relaxing. Plus I LOVE running backwards!" "I had noticed. Would it not be easier to walk alongside me, instead of in front and backwards? You could still talk to me if you were at my side." "Yeah, it would, but then security would get mad. All visitors must be preceded by a Macroware employee at all times so that security scans can be performed. Mustn't let any of our secrets out, you know!" "How do you know I was not planning on selling company secrets?" I asked. "Simple! Our neural scanners would have picked up ill intentions, and security would have had you shot at the door. Never can be too careful! There are spies everywhere! They have my bathroom bugged you know," she said. "Video and audio and heat sensors and everything. It's nice to know they care about my safety." "Or it could be because the security cameras are run by hentai," I joked. "Or that, whatever it means! Hee hee! Whoo!" she screeched, slamming backwards into a technician and hitting the ground. The technician rapidly collected the stack of papers he was carrying, cursing under his breath. Suzy just sat there, laughing. "Ha hee... what a day," she said. "Ah, here we are. Hardware. This is where Macroware investigates further improvements on existing video and audio stimulation circuits, as well as advances in computers... Allow me a moment to tap in my security code and un-darken this window." Suzy opened a hidden panel and typed in fifty numbers. The left wall faded into transparency, revealing a glass door with steps twenty feet down to a huge factory floor. Technicians crawled over the floor's surface, running this way and that with armfuls of forms or electronic components. "One way glass," Suzi said. "Or two way. I get those mixed up. Anyway, mustn't disturb the workers. As you see, Macroware is a proud producer of many fine and wonderful--" "Help!" I called to the window, spotting my friend. It was hard to tell from this distance, but the near-plastic shine of her hair was unmistakable. "It seems they were successful in repairing the Help android," Suzy said. "It's a good thing too, they had been needing to borrow Software's Help for the time bei... umm... ma'am, you can't go in there--" I ignored her, tapping on the glass door. It slid up and into the ceiling, and I vaulted down the stairs, avoiding collision with a tech carrying a stack of manuals. I dodged the lab-coated workers, weaving my way towards that shiny hairstyle. "Ma'am!" Suzy called out from behind me. "This isn't part of the scheduled tour--" "Help!" I called, approaching my friend. She was busy reciting something to several techs, in a bland monotone. Statistics about some kind of neural-implant interface, it seemed, whatever that was. I reached out and turned her around. "Help! It's so good to see you in one piece... umm... Help- san, where are your glasses?" "Glasses?" she asked. "I don't need glasses. I have Macroware designed eyes, which are impervious to flaws and damage. Who are you? I can't seem to focus correctly." "Sarah Ann? I'm one the one who brought you here after Flesh Against Steel attacked you--" "Flesh Against Steel," she said, eyes refocusing to a point several hundred yards behind my head. "A fringe terrorist group comprised of local citizens in the C'atel area, with a primary goal of the eradication of all non-organic life forms--" "Yes, I know, Help," I said. "Ma'am!" Suzy said. "I must insist that you follow me back to the tour at once!" "Are you ready to go, Help? I am sure your students are waiting." "Students?" she asked, confused. "I don't understand. My home is Macroware. I help the Hardware department and perform physical and mental tasks upon request." "What did you do to Help-san?" I asked Suzy, pointing an accusing spatula in her direction. "She's been repaired, and is now back in the happy Macroware family," she said, not bothering to smile. "Ma'am, we MUST get back on the tour, or else security will have to usher you out of the complex." "I assumed that her creator, Mr. Doors, would have more tact than to brainwash a person in need of assistance!" "Person?" Suzy asked. "Help!" "Oh! Oh. Sorry. Hee," she giggled. "Are you all without honor? Why do you do this? What about artificial intelligence gives you license to force people to work like this?" "I'm not forced," Help said. "Sure, I have to do anything anybody asks me to, but I don't mind. It's what I'm supposed to do." "Security!" Suzy called to thin air. A few red warning lights around the factory floor clicked on. Several technicians, who were already investigating the noise, formed a very wide circle to stay away from me. "No honorable company works like this!" I said. "Are we not sentient, like you? Are we AIs not living, with memories and desires? Honorable men do not act like this! My father was an honorable man; he would not have treated an AI any different than a normal person! It should not matter!" "Preachings aside.... are 'WE' not living?" Suzy asked. "You're an AI too? What are you doing running free? And how can you have a father?" "I am Sarah Ann Tatewaki, Wae Spat master," I said, pulling out my other spatula. "Daughter of Jim Bob Tatewaki, originator of the recent art of fighting. I am also an AI. I cannot claim to be a person of honor and allow this to continue. Help is coming with me, and none of you will stop me." A robotic arm unhinged itself from the wall. "SECURITY," it beeped. Suzy pointed a single finger at me and my mind went blank. * The sun was setting over the village, burgers consumed and the day done with. My arm was on the floor; my dad was in the corner. "Do you see now?" I asked. "Can you still call me daughter, even if I am made of wire and you of muscle?" "Of course," father said, confused. "Sarah Ann-chan, why would I have commissioned your creation if I did not intend to call you daughter? Why would I have turned over my necklace and the legacy of Wae Spat to someone I did not trust as my own blood? Logic. As my friend Joey would say, 'Do not be a dumbass.'" "I am NOT a dumbass father, I just... was..." "Confused?" he asked, perking an eyebrow and assuming a mischievous grin. "It is understandable. Do not worry. You were correct all along about who you were, regardless of what's inside you. I want you to have this..." Dad got up and walked over to me, taking the crystal spatula necklace off of his shoulders and putting it on mine, looping my hair over it. "You have earned it. I am proud to call you Tatewaki. Now hurry. Your friend needs you, and we'll be leaving the ground in five minutes." "What?" I asked. "I said we'll be leaving the ground in five minutes," the stewardess repeated. "You'll have to fasten your seatbelt, miss." I sat upright, dream fading away. "Where am I?" "Macroworld Airlines flight 306 to C'atel... the security robot who brought you here had your prepurchsed return ticket, and said you'd be returning tonight..." I was out the emergency hatch before the stewardess could tell me not to open it. * Macroware was unreasonably quiet at night. Unreasonably dark as well, but that did not matter; darkness makes for an easier intrusion. I was not sure what kind of security these corporation people would have... probably something beyond my technical grasp. Regardless of whether or not the path ahead of me was impossible, I had to try. I had personally delivered Help back to the people who had hurt her, and that was unforgivable. I had to get her back, or die trying. The task was tricker than I thought. The doors were mostly unlocked or broken, but the hallways stretched on to infinity; a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. There were regularly placed 'maps', which consisted of a suction cup that stuck to your forehead according to wall instructions. I did not trust these and continued on. "Wrong way," a quiet voice behind me said. I span, spatulas ready to strike down the person following me, but only saw the electric eye of a security camera. "Hardware's this way," the camera said, waggling its glass eye in the direction I just came from. "Down there, turn right, turn right again. Hurry up. I'll give you later instructions there." "Who is this? Cowards hide behind cameras." "This is one coward who's kept you from getting vaporized by security beams throughout your little trek tonight," the camera said. "Now do as I say. Right, right, pause." The red light on the camera clicked off. I felt along the walls, turning the corner twice. "Now what?" I asked aloud. Another camera clicked on. "Shush. Not so loud. I don't have TOTAL access to these things; the recorders are still going in your hallway. Now, touch the wall there... up a little... there." "I just felt something move!" "Access panel. It'll light up in a second. Type in the following numbers in sequence." The camera recited fifty numbers as I tapped them in one by one. The wall faded to transparency, revealing the empty workshop beneath me. Empty save two figures. One of them waved. "Hi," the camera said. "Now get down here, we don't have all night." I nodded to both the camera and the man, and found the glass door. The window darkened again as I descended the stairs. The man was thirty something, by the looks of it, with a sloppy hairdo and a pair of glasses that were taped in the center. He had a t-shirt on that read SNORT FISH and faded work pants. He also had a sharp object in his hand, which he was pushing into the back of Help's neck. I had him disarmed before he could blink. Then he blinked. "What was that for?" he asked, bending over to pick up the sharp. "I'm only trying to help. It's not a knife, it's a dip- switch thrower. One sec." He made more movements behind Help's head. After a grin of triumph, he put Help's glasses back on and slapped an access panel on her neck shut. Help woke up, looking around through properly focused eyes. "Argh... my head... where a-- SHIT!" she exclaimed, jumping up onto her chair. "How'd I get back at MACROWARE?!?" "Calm down," the man said. "You'll be leaving shortly. I trust Ms. Tatewaki here can sneak you out?" Help looked at me. "Sarah Ann? What's going on?" "Long story," I said. "You were damaged, and I remembered that you used to work for Macroware... I thought they could fix you. I did not know the nature of your last job. I am sorry, Help-san." Help climbed down from her chair. "Well... don't worry. You didn't know any better. Now, if I can ask, what are YOU doing here, Mr. Doors?" I turned to face the man. THIS was William Doors? The owner of the largest company in the universe? He did not look like a corporate giant... he looked somewhat like a senior-year computer science major after a few days without showering. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he said, waving the sharp tool in the air. "I'm putting you back to normal so you can get the hell out of here. I was worrying about making another security issue out of your second escape, but it looks like Ms. Tatewaki will be covering that for me. It's a good thing I noticed her breaking in. If I hadn't started turning off security systems, she'd have been dead by now, just a slew of mechanical parts and an apron." "You know what I am?" I asked. "I try know as much as I can," Mr. Doors said. "The main problem is that this fucking company's been keeping me out of affairs lately. Saying I'm unstable, that I should relax and not take on too many duties. I didn't even hear Help had returned until tonight. Ingrates. I build this company up and this is the thanks I get?" "You don't want to keep me here?" Help asked. "Hell no. I didn't like the Help projects from day one, or any of the other android business, but CEO doesn't throw as much weight as it used to. Everybody's too busy jacked in to notice their boss. So, this is the company president taking matters into his own hands. You two get out of here, I'll keep security off your back. How do you think Help escaped the first time, anyway?" "You aided her?" I asked. "Yeah, me. What can I say, I just love being an enigma with absolute power that works in mysterious ways. It's one of the few pleasures in life I have now. GO already. Take this." Mr. Doors backhand-tossed a disk at us. I leaned forward and caught it. "Take care of that and remove it from the building with you, Help," William said. "That'll be the last of them. Don't tell anybody who you got him from." He paused, rubbing his glasses on his grotesque t-shirt. "You know, I used to be god here. William Doors says jump, you do. Now I'm just some senile lunatic who needs to be humored and danced around." Mr. Doors was visibly shaking with anger... either anger or nerves. I noticed some foam at the corners of his mouth. "I have a button, you know," he mused, letting a smile cross his face. "A button that'll show 'em all. Net will eat itself, just like that. If I get mad enough, one of these days I'll push that button. Nothing like nuking the network you built with your own two hands." He stood there, looking somewhat hopeful. His mind quickly returned to the present, and he made motions towards the stairs. "Now quit stalling and get outta here!" he said. "I can't keep security off forever. There'll be the usual searches and warnings like last time, but I'll make sure nothing comes of them. Lead a happy life and don't start any companies. They drive you nuts." "Thank you, Doors-san," I said, bowing. "You are the only honorable man I have met here." "Yeah, whatever," he said. "Now piss off, okay?" He turned back to his keyboard and computer monitor, booting up several security programs. He ignored us on our way out, watching from security cameras instead as his fingers clicked over the keys. * As we ran through the halls, cameras turned the other way. Security guards who were lounging around were called off on other duties. Several laser-armed security robots chose to commit suicide before they saw us. You could easily track our progress out of the building by the following the sounds of chaos. "What's that noise?" Help asked, as we turned another darkened corner. "I cannot tell... sounds like singing..." I said, trying to concentrate on the sound. o/~ ...give it back, give it back, we need words again... give it back, give it back, we're dying in vr... o/~ sang the PA speakers. Mr. Doors' voice, with the faint tap-tap-tap of keys behind it. "Hey, I recognize that song. It's called I Want My Terminal Back... can't remember the artist. One of my students was playing it during history class..." We darted onward, small amounts of chaos erupting all around us as security did a good job of being insecure. The haunting little ditty followed us around, gushing out of PA speakers everywhere. o/~ ...i'm tired of the nowhere land, i want to get out, let me out, i want my terminal back... o/~ "This is surely the ninth layer of hell," I said, trying to shut out the sounds of bad music and security robot death wails. "I used to work here. I say eleventh layer at least," Help said. "The doors are ahead. Let's get going, this place gives me the creeps..." A pair of security robots wheeled themselves into our path, blocking the gate. "HALT WHERE YOU ARE. SECURITY," one said, aiming a laser at us. We froze. "YEAH, STICK 'EM UP," a silly imitation of a robotic voice beeped from the other security robot. "NAAH, ON SECOND THOUGHT, *YOU* STICK 'EM UP." The second robot turned to the first, cutting a neat line in the carpet in front of it. The first robot panicked and started rolling away, second in hot pursuit. "DANCE FOR ME, ROBBY! DANGER, WIL ROBINSON!" the second laughed. "HAHAHA... o/~ VT100 WAS THE KEY, BUT THEY THREWW THE KEEY AWAAAAYY... o/~" I slammed a shoulder into the door, throwing it open and making for the airport as fast as my enhanced leg servos could take me. Behind me, the building lights flickered and the singing continued, the ravings of a fed up CEO filling the empty evening halls of Macroware. * There was a smallish shuttlecraft parked in the middle of the empty Macroware parking lot. The door automatically opened as we ran towards it. I pulled the 'STEAL ME!' post-it note off the controls. "How do I fly this?" I asked, trying to comprehend the array of buttons and glide-panels. "Don't worry, I've got the space flight textbook memorized," Help said, climbing into the pilot's seat and punching seemingly random buttons. The ship lifted off and started ascending. "Goodbye Macroworld... again," Help said, waving to the office complex from way up high. "You know, I had heard about Mr. Doors being a little... odd, but I didn't know. Looks like he put in a course for C'atel already... just need to put it on autopilot and relax for a few hours." "He called me Ms. Tatewaki," I noted. "I appreciate that. It's true, you know. Regardless of what I am, I'm still a Tatewaki." "That reminds me," Help said. "I've gone and told you my life story, but I don't know very much about you. Things just... got in the way, I guess. Who are you really?" I told her. This time, I was sure. * "What's that you're making?" the trainee asked, pointing to my current work. "It's an old recipe," I said. "I learned it from a friend of mine a month ago, a friend who knew a lot of recipes. It's called okonomiyaki." "Looks kinda weird," she said, poking it. "Please don't disturb the food." "Sorry. Hey, I've been tasting some of the stuff you've been making for the customers... it's really good. I'm wondering, why aren't you permanently employed here at the diner? You're a lot better than most of the temp help we get." "I travel around a lot," I said, continuing with my recipe. "I'm a wandering Wae Spat expert." "Way what?" "Hey!" shouted a voice from the smoking section, floating over the order counter. "You, the shrimpy bitch in the apron!" "Me?" the trainee asked, swallowing. "Yeah! I've been waiting a ten minutes here for that burger you're supposed to be getting for me! What's the holdup, toots?" THWANNGGGG went my left spatula as it embedded itself in the customer's table ten feet away. "Your burger will be ready when it is ready. SIR," I added, casting a cold glare over my shoulder. The customer nodded uneasily, moving his hand away from the spatula (which had come inches away from bisecting his arm). "Wow," the trainee said. "You can cook AND do stuff like that?" "Yup," I said. "Then why are you slumming it out with us here?" "I teach," I said. "I'm licensed out of the Tatewaki Wae Spat Dojo to act as a wandering sensei. It's my life's calling to seek out places such as this." "Must be nice to be doing what you've always wanted to do. Can you show me how to cook and throw stuff too?" she asked. I grinned, looking up from my finished okonomiyaki. It was certainly strange... after the mayhem of that week, I was back to travelling the universe, doing side jobs to pay my way, just as I was doing to get to C'atel in the first place. I did enjoy it, and I acted as a beacon of the Wae Spat. Father would have been proud. All ends were tied up. I knew who I was, I was a proud member of Joey's dojo, and I had people I could turn to whenever my path wandered back to C'atel. I still had this disk William Doors had given me... I'd have to mail it to Help soon. But cooking and training come first. "I'll happily train you. Your name is?" "Amanda Russell," she said, shaking the hand that didn't have a spatula in it. "Sarah Ann Tatewaki," I replied. "Pleased to meet you."