“You didn’t stop yourself from killing Sharon,” Vicki replied, the faintest tinge of coldness in her voice. “Why---”
“NOT MY HANDS!” Hannsen sobbed. “ANYTHING BUT MY HANDS! PLEASE!”
“I should,” Vicki whispered. “I really should…” Her grip on his hand tightened, just a bit…
“Please,” Hannsen pleaded---no mocking, no sarcasm now. Just pure, raw pain.
To his horror, Vicki‘s face was no longer blank, expressionless….now, she was smiling. “How does it feel?” she asked. “Tell me, Hannsen…..what‘s it feel like to be the victim?” Her words were almost…conversational in tone, as if she was asking how he liked his breakfast that morning. “You feel scared, right?”
“YES!”
Pain shot up his right arm. “You feel completely, totally helpless?”
“YES!” Tears---damnable stupid tears---streamed down his face. Never before, in his entire life, had he felt this weak…not even when he’d been arrested and dragged off to the drunk tank for the night, before the first of the many trials meant to keep him in prison until he finally shuffled off the mortal coil. That was nothing, compared to this…now, he felt small, insignificant, and utterly hopeless.
“You’d give anything to get out of this right now, up to and including your own soul---”
“YES, G__DAMNIT, YES!” .
Once again, Vicki‘s response sent waves of fear up his spine: She giggled. “Well, now you know….”
The smile vanished, just as the Field Agent‘s eyes blazed red. “Now you know how she felt.”
Hannsen felt himself being flung to the ground, the unforgiving concrete smashing into his spine with the force of a sledgehammer. “Now,” Vicki stated, “you know exactly how Sharon Wilson felt when you put a Colt Python to the back of her head and pulled the trigger. You know exactly what it felt like for her to be on the brink between life and death…” A smirk crossed her features. “…but in this case….I think death is too good for you…”
Her next words were truly horrific: “…and you deserve something a bit more…severe.”
-----------------------
“You can turn it off now....I think we all get the point.”
Ted Lawson stared at the monitor before him, shaking his head. “I...I still can't believe it,” he muttered. “I mean, she could've just read him his rights, slapped the cuffs on him---maybe kicked him around a little bit, but....this is just....” He turned away. “It's like I'm watching her in a nightmare, and I can't wake up.”
“This is a nightmare,” Oberon muttered, his gaze locked not on the monitor, but on Vicki herself---strapped into a chair in the center of an observation theater, wires trailing out of her back panel (and through a conveniently-placed hole in the back of the chair) to connect to the monitoring system. “You're damn lucky we got in there when we did, Theodore---if that security camera footage was leaked to anyone else...” His head turned the slightest degree as his unfeeling stare leveled at Ted. “We'd be in a Hell of our own making.”
Anything Ted could've said was drowned out by Hannsen's scream from the monitor.
-----------------------
“Don‘t,” Hannsen whispered. “Just…just don‘t….please…kill me now and be done with it, if you want, but just end this!” He stumbled backwards, praying (an act he wasn‘t really that accustomed to) that V.I.C.I. wouldn‘t try to break his hands; “PLEASE!” he sobbed.
V.I.C.I. stared down at him, her expression neutral.
“This….this is what you want, isn‘t it?!” he screamed. “I killed your roommate, and you show up here to break me in half…WELL CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE OFFICIALLY BROKEN ME!” Once again, his words descended into sobs.
“No.”
Hannsen couldn‘t bring himself to look up.
“You’re not broken. Not yet.” V.I.C.I. knelt down, to stare right into his eyes. “But you will be.”
Her grip closed around his ankle, and for the briefest moment, Hannsen expected her to hurl him across the room again. “Just do it,” he moaned. “Throw me into the window, or put me through the ceiling, and BE DONE WITH IT!”
“You don’t get it, do you, Hannsen?” V.I.C.I. inquired. “I’m not going to kill you---I’ve said that enough times already, but you still refuse to accept it…so I guess I have to spell it out for you. This isn’t an execution, or torture, or anything else you could possibly think it was…”
Her voice took on a decidedly-sinister edge: “It‘s justified retribution.”
Mere seconds after he realized what the gynoid meant, something in Hannsen's ankle snapped.
-----------------------
Ted wanted to cut the power to the monitor right at the moment of Hannsen's scream, to rip the headphones off and storm out of the room altogether...but the hand on his shoulder and the voice at his ear kept him from leaving. “Not yet,” Oberon murmured. “We must see this through to the end....”
-----------------------
“You…you‘re not supposed to do this,” Hannsen whimpered. “Heroes don‘t torture people….they don‘t throw them into lockers and kick the crap out of them…heroes…are supposed to….” A pained, terrified sob fought its way past his lips. “HEROES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE GOOD GUYS, DAMNIT! YOU‘RE SUPPOSED TO SLAP THE CUFFS ON ME AND DRAG ME TO THE POLICE…” He tried to raise himself up on all fours, only to fall to the floor with a thud.
“Then I guess I’m not a hero,” V.I.C.I. murmured. “No matter---time to finish this.”
“DO IT, THEN!” Even in his pain, Hannsen managed to drum up one last note of defiance in his voice. “Go ahead, Agent Lawson…” He tried (and failed) to keep the sob out of his voice. “FINISH ME!” Blood and tears trailed down his face in equal measure; “FINISH ME,” he demanded, “NOW!”
V.I.C.I. paused. “You really want me to finish you?”
Hannsen nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he waited for the end---
-----------------------
It was hard to tell who's scream was louder---Ted's, or Vicki's.
One was terrified, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack that would've broken the will of a lesser man; the other, a sobbing, shrieking wail of fear, regret, guilt and shame rolled into one. Even as the two screams filled the air, the monitor erupted in a shower of sparks---as did every light in the room.
A few minutes later, the emergency lights kicked on...
....revealing Ted in the observation chamber, helping tear the straps off of the chair as Vicki clung to him like a drowning man to a life buoy
“Never let me do that again,” the brunette gynoid pleaded. “No matter what it takes....”
“Even if it takes DeCommissioning you?”
Vicki had to force herself to look up at Oberon. “I don't know...”
“It won’t take that,” Ted insisted, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears. “This…this was just a minor issue, nothing a simple---”
“Nothing a simple patch couldn‘t fix?” Vicki finished tonelessly, staring into her creator---her father‘s eyes. “Is that all it’s going to take? You’ll just write some new software and install it to my internal hard drive--into my mind---and then we can forget all about this ever having happened?” Her voice, angry as it was, sounded more hurt than anything else. “This isn’t a hardware issue or a software issue, Dad….”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “….this is a personal issue.”
“Agreed,” Oberon stated, stepping forward into the observation chamber. There was no trace of a smile in his expression, no glib snarkiness in his words; the set to his jaw seemed to add twenty, maybe thirty years to him, and his eyes---narrowed, unwavering and (in this particular instance) cold---held the fury of an exploding star held in check only by some miraculous force of nature. “And that, Agent Lawson, is precisely the reason why this committee has been convened---to determine the full extent of your….attack on Matthew Emmerich Hannsen, and if it constitutes a clear and present danger to your fellow ALPA Field Agents, your family and friends…” His expression darkened. “….or to your own safety and well-being. Furthermore, we must decide what course of action to take---”
“IT DOESN‘T MATTER!” Ted thundered. “Don‘t you people GET IT?! Hannsen knew he was setting himself up for a fall as soon as he put that Colt Python to Sharon‘s head and pulled the trigger!” Even as he raged, sobs permeated Ted‘s words. “This….it‘s not her fault….” He hugged Vicki close.
Oberon‘s reply was chilling in its simplicity: “Whether it is or isn‘t her fault is no longer relevant.”
At this, Ted pulled away from Vicki, and did something the brunette gynoid had rarely---if ever---seen him do.
He got angry.
“So you‘ve made up your mind already?” he murmured, slowly walking towards Oberon. “You’re going to crisp her CPU, nuke her hard drive and wipe out everything that makes her who she is?” Every step brought a new, more aggressive edge to his words; “You’re just going to sit there, and fill out paperwork,” he continued, “and choose to end her existence without even giving her the chance to defend her actions?!” Before the security personnel had time to react, Ted closed the gap between himself and Oberon, grabbing the ALPA Chairman by the shoulders. “You’re just going to sit here, fill out forms and then kill her?!” he snarled. “THAT’S what you’re all going to do?!”
“If you‘re trying to threaten me,” Oberon whispered, “it won‘t work….”
Again, his voice turned cold. “And if it comes to it, we will kill Vicki.” He turned on his heel, ready to leave…
What happened next shocked every single official, Field Agent and security officer present: Ted, who‘d simply stood there as the Chairman turned and began to walk out, tackled Oberon to the floor and began beating the living crap out of him.
“Dad, NO!” Vicki was halfway out of the chair as soon as Ted got a running start. “Don’t---”
“YOU THINK YOU CAN THREATEN MY DAUGHTER?!” Punches hammered into the back of Oberon‘s skull as Ted, pushed to the very brink of sanity and reason, finally lost everything remotely resembling “his cool”, to the horror of all present. “YOU WILL NOT KILL VICKI! DO YOU HEAR ME?! YOU WILL NOT KILL HER!”
“Dad, just let him go,” Vicki pleaded. “Please…”
Instead of following his daughter‘s advice, Ted continued beating Oberon senseless.
Or, to be more accurate, he continued punching Oberon in the back of the head, unaware that the other man was about to unleash a fury of his own.
“Sir, step away from the Chairman now,” a helmeted Field Agent ordered, “or we will use force.” Four other Agents raised their Beretta CX-4 Storm rifles, their fingers hovering outside the trigger guards in preparation for a shoot to kill order they almost prayed they wouldn’t get. “Mr. Lawson, we don’t want this to end in bloodshed---”
“Dad,” Vicki wept, “it’s over….just---”
A strange, low growl cut her off, and it took her a few seconds to realize that the source of that growl was none other than Oberon himself. Like a figure of Hercules, shrugging off the forces of Hades, the armor-clad ALPA Chairman threw Ted off of himself, rising to his feet in a fluid, almost graceful motion. Without even pausing to glance at the Agents (or Vicki), Oberon stormed over to where Ted lay, coughing and wheezing---and grabbed him by the throat.
“Never lay a hand on me in anger again,” he growled, lifting Ted against the wall, “or I will END you---”
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Vicki shrieked. “He….he was just….” Her voice broke. “He just wanted to help me…”
For a full three minutes, the only sound in the room was Vicki Lawson, sobbing quietly.
On the dot of the fourth minute, Ted Lawson fell, gasping, to the floor as Oberon half-staggered away.
Nobody moved to stop Vicki as she ran to kneel at her father‘s side; “I‘m sorry,” she whimpered, crying into his shoulder. “Dad….this whole stupid thing….” She buried her face in his shoulder, no longer caring that an entire room full of people had now turned its attention to her. “I‘m sorry….”
“I know.”
The words came not from Ted, or even from Oberon; the crowd surrounding the observation room had parted to reveal the Man in Grey, who entered the chamber and knelt next to a visibly-shaken Oberon. “Ted, rash as his actions were, only acted out of love for you, Vicki Lawson,” he rasped. “Had the need arisen, he would more than likely have thrown himself in front of a train if it meant saving your life…” He offered his hand to Oberon; “The Chairman,” he added, “only meant to---”
“Don’t.”
Even as he stood, it was easy to see that Oberon‘s rage had given way to something far worse. “There is no excuse,” he breathed, “for what just happened here…none.” Even as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, the ALPA Chairman sobbed quietly. “This meeting is over,” he finally croaked. “All paperwork, recordings, notes and such….I want all of them tossed in the incinerator before this day is through. Vicki, Ted…stay. The rest of you…”
Fifteen seconds later, the room outside the observation chamber was empty.
As soon as the door shut, Oberon fell to his knees and wept.
“I….I‘m, ah…..” Even as she beheld the scene and tried to apologize, Vicki found it virtually impossible to say something that wouldn‘t cause the entire situation to flare up again. “This…I just…”
After a few more seconds of groping for words, she simply sat there in silence. Ted was still half-sprawled on the floor, trying to catch his breath; Oberon, with the Man in Grey standing beside him, had incorporated a chant of sorts into his weeping. Even as she calmed herself, Vicki‘s auditory sensors informed her that the half-wailing chant was in Latin, and was the same phrase over and over.
“Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.”
So he‘s saying “through my fault, through my own fault, through my most grievous fault”…but why?
“Do you hate me, Vicki?”
The question startled the brunette gynoid. “Ah, I don‘t---”
“Do you, Victoria Ann-Smith Lawson, hate me?” Even without the sobbing, there was something in Oberon‘s voice that sounded…defeated. “In the span of the past ten minutes, I‘ve threatened to kill you, tried to kill your father and announced to a room full of people that I have no qualms about DeCommissioning you if it came to that…all I want to know, right now, is if you hate me.”
Once again, Vicki was at a loss for words. “I…what?!”
Slowly, Oberon rose to his feet. “He‘d probably be laughing his arse off right now, if he wasn‘t in Casualty,” he muttered. “Hannsen, I mean…if he‘d known what kind of insanity would‘ve come out of…well….”
“I get it.”
“Figured you would.” After a deep, shuddering breath (that sounded uncomfortably like a sob), the Chairman held his hand out to the Man in Grey, who presented him with his sunglasses. “I‘d hate me, if I were in your position,” he remarked. “Not that I‘m trying to encourage you, or anything…it‘s just…” He shook his head. “If I‘d had my way, Matthew Hannsen would‘ve been given the chair after his first trial, instead of being carted off to the first of many penal institutions that crumbled under his influence. ‘The weed of crime bears bitter fruit’, indeed….” He let out another deep breath. “When I said I would kill you if I had to,” he continued, “it wasn’t meant as a threat, or a boast, or a challenge. In this job…sometimes, you have to do things that you don’t exactly enjoy. In the ALPA, that often includes DeComm assignments. Had the order been handed down for me to personally DeComm you, Vicki…I’m not going to lie---it wouldn’t have been my first.”
This time, the words came easy: “Guess that means nobody gets special treatment, then…”
Not surprisingly, Vicki‘s attempt to lighten the mood didn‘t exactly work out as planned. “Matthew Hannsen got special treatment,” Oberon spat, “and look where it got him….that‘s not even remotely on-topic. I believe the question was whether or not you hated me for saying I‘d kill you if it came to that.”
“We get the point,” Ted groaned (Vicki suspected he was trying for a yell). “Just…can we please leave?”
Oberon gave a tired nod. “They‘re waiting in the war room anyways. As of right now, all disciplinary hearings are hereby postponed indefinitely, pending further notice.” He tried for a smile, but only managed a halfway decent smirk. “Should give the pencil-pushers something to whinge about for the next few weeks…”
Silence.
“Right. Everyone to the war room…we can continue this fascinating conversation on the way there.”
The lights in the observation chamber clicked off as its last four occupants left.
Even as she tried to wrap her head around what she‘d just seen, Vicki refused to view her situation as “dodging the bullet”. Even after repeated assurances from Tell, Anton, DuBraul and others that she had no need to fear a DeComm, the brunette gynoid was more afraid of herself---and if circumstances would ever emerge that would lead her to go that far again. She’d taunted Hannsen during the fight (it wasn’t a fight, she reminded herself, it was the closest I’ve ever come to killing someone), mocked him mercilessly and even considered breaking his hands….
Again, the memory of Chopin‘s Raindrops in the elevator flitted through her processors.
“Why is Hannsen nicknamed the Maestro?” she quietly asked, without speaking to anyone in particular.
“He always loved classical music,” the Man in Grey replied, his voice still a hoarse, near-grating rasp. “Even in the Great Dirty World Wide Web days, he found time to practice. He didn‘t just play it, either---a few of his fellow hackers claimed that he wrote an entire concerto. If he hadn’t been a hacker…”
Vicki nodded silently, hating herself even more for what she’d done (and for what she'd almost done).
“Alicia saved most of his music,” the Man continued. “After he killed his father, Hannsen wasn‘t allowed to bring any of his compositions with him to prison; the GDW3 considered destroying them. Alicia had to break into the house at night, smuggle out as much as she could and then claim that rivals of the group were trying to steal evidence…her reasoning, of course, was that Hannsen may have hidden code for future projects in the sheet music itself.”
The pregnant pause barely allowed Vicki to form the inevitable question on her lips---
“He didn‘t, in case you‘re wondering. There was no hidden code on any of the sheet music.”
Well, that was just boring. “So….did Alicia and Hannsen….I mean, were they…..”
“They were close. Very close.” A tinge of regret marked the Man‘s next statement: “Some believe that Alicia could've easily persuaded Hannsen to give up his life as a hacker and potentially go legit, had it not been for his father. If he‘d let the boy live his own life…” He couldn‘t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“How many others knew?” Vicki asked. “About Hannsen and Alicia....did anyone--”
“We had our suspicions,” the Man replied softly, “but chose...not to act on them. Relations between the ALPA and the House were...different than they are now; Alicia was under our employment as a temporary Field Agent to discern Hannsen's motives, his plans...anything and everything he might have tried against us.”
Sounds a lot like the way things are now... “I'm guessing Celeste wasn't a fan of this approach?”
“She had her own issues to tend to at the time. Her daughter had been---”
“Taken,” Oberon stated, the suddenness of his voice startling the brunette gynoid. “Taken, by me, for the sole purpose of proving that machines and humanity can co-exist peacefully. I found her a good home, left her with a wonderful, loving family that gave her everything she'd ever possibly need to make her own way in the world...and Celeste tried to have me killed.” He chuckled mirthlessly; “Blasted maternal instincts of hers kicked into overdrive,” he muttered. “Very nearly ended me, to be honest...and after it was all over, she had the bold-faced cheek to ask if I still loved her.” He shook his head at the absurdity of the idea.
Vicki, on the other hand, didn't find anything absurd about it. “Did you?”
Oberon stopped in his tracks, considering the question. “To be honest,” he whispered, “I don't remember.”
Without another word, he continued down the corridor, prompting the others to follow him.
More than a few of the individuals who'd witnessed Vicki's interrogation in the observation room were waiting for the group in the War Room---Clive DuBraul, Anton Malvineous, Sascha “Tawny” Burton, Ayla Bishop, Kevin Gayle (who'd healed nicely from his encounter with Faceless a month prior), Blair Murphy (who'd similarly overcome the injuries dealt to him by the Butcher of Lake Gilmour) and---last but definitely not least---Joan and Jamie. Also present were more than a few individuals who hadn't witnessed the interrogation---including, most surprisingly of all, Harriet Brindle.
“Harriet?!” Vicki gasped, every remaining shred of fear within her processors evaporating in an instant.
“Yep,” the redheaded Aavyl Cybernetics executive beamed. “Miss me?”
Oberon finally allowed himself a smile as the two friends embraced. “What are you doing here?” Vicki asked, still trying to comprehend why, exactly, her nosiest of old neighbors had somehow gained admission to a secure ALPA facility. “I...I thought you were---”
“Majoring in journalism?” Harriet offered. “I was---still am, to be honest...but then Dad gave me some advice...”
“She's next in line to lead Aavyl Cybernetics,” DuBraul explained. “Considering Aavyl's place in the ALPA's power structure, it made more than enough sense for her to be here for this strategy meeting...which, by the way, is about to begin.” He gave a brief Father Christmas smile; “I'm sure you two will be able to reminisce about old times after the briefing,” he added, “but for now...”
“I get it,” Vicki replied, too stunned by Harriet's inexplicable presence at the meeting to complain. “Ah, where do I---”
Harriet gestured towards a row of chairs near Lawson's Eleven. “I took the liberty of reserving our seats.”
“Just like in high school,” Vicki murmured, grinning. “Oh, and you never commented on...well, y'know, my new look....” She gestured to her face.
“Oberon told me about it. Something about you getting involved in a fireworks accident?”
At least he didn't give her the full story... “Something like that, yeah.”
“Well, I like it. Sort of takes the years off, makes you look a hell of a lot younger than you are.”
If only I could tell you why, Harriet.... Vicki managed a smile. “It's a lot better than looking older than I am, right?” she teased. “I mean, could you picture me with wrinkles and crows' feet?” The two shared a giggle as the lights dimmed, and for a few brief moments, everything else---the DeComm hearing, Hannsen's plan being brought to fruition without him, the explosion of tempers between Oberon and Ted---was naught but an already-fading memory.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this strategic/tactical discussion will now begin. Please be seated.”
DuBraul's voice prompted Vicki and Harriet to take their seats, watching and listening intently as the meeting commenced. “As all of you are well aware,” he stated, “Matthew Emmerich Hannsen's plans, as of late, have been far-reaching, severely damaging and difficult---if not impossible---to trace. However, due to the actions of our own Field Agents---including Field Agent Vicki Lawson---we have now been able to determine Hannsen's course of action, and the measures he would've taken against us had Agent Lawson not...incapacitated him.”
The faintest shudder ran through all present; just as quickly, it faded, leaving only silence in its wake.
“Aaron Cardwell of Tentrex Electronics has compiled a report on the threat that we now face,” DuBraul continued, “and he has chosen to present this report in person. Mr. Cardwell, if you would...” The President of the ALPA stepped aside, allowing Aaron to take the floor.
Even in what had to be the most dire circumstances she'd found herself in for the past few weeks (or even months, she reminded herself), Vicki couldn't help but be impressed that Aaron was looking rather well for someone who was still on the rise to become CEO of a Fortune 500 contender. “Thank you for extending this opportunity to me, sir,” he stated, shaking DuBraul's hand before turning his attention to the audience. “Now, I'm sure most of you remember the Drake Bradford incident from last year---specifically, near the start of last October. For those of you who didn't get the memo, Bradford unleashed a small army of fembots on San Jose State University, for the sole intention of recovering a gynoid that he claimed was 'missing' from one of his shipments. Earlier this year, the surviving fembots from that incident---together with an entirely new group of fembots---attacked SJSU again, their mission this time revolving around the capture or neutralization of one Kirsten Sanderson.” He paused, glancing around the room; “As of last month,” he continued, “the ALPA had issued a statement claiming that all of Bradford's fembots had been neutralized, contained or reprogrammed.”
A slow, quiet sigh punctuated the statement. “Unfortunately for all of us, that's no longer the case.”
On cue from DuBraul, several large screens running Apple's KeyNote software descended from ceiling mounts at strategic points in the room, allowing all present to view the data Aaron had collected. “With the help of several independent sources, Tentrex has confirmed that Bradford's initial order of fembots was the first of an intended series---throughout the last few years, Hannsen and his affiliates have been ordering fembots in groups of 21, more than likely to put blame on William J. Rengold III. From what we've been able to gather, the fembots Hannsen ordered use the same combination of Dr. Franklin's original designs mixed with the most cutting-edge modern materials....along with something Franklin himself never would've dreamed of.”
The screens all turned red, showing an internal view of one of the fembots' processors, BIOS syntax and programming. “According to the information we've received,” Aaron continued, “Hannsen's plan was---and still is---to have these fembots run through a cycle of physical/mental stimuli that would push them to and over the threshold of a red ring event.”
Worried murmurs, whispers and gasps sounded throughout the War Room. Even Harriet was shaking her head and clenching her fist, muttering angrily about Hannsen's apparent stupidity. Guess I'm not the only one with a grudge against Hannsen, Vicki realized. Or even the only one who's dealt with him before....
“Unfortunately, our sources were unable to determine the exact nature, extent or scale of Hannsen's scheme,” Aaron admitted. “Due to his...current condition, interrogation is out of the question---even though his health remains stable, extradition or any other form of bringing him back to the States for trial are out for the time being. With that in mind, we've been forced to comb through his last few contacts, searching their connections and such for any pertinent information.” He gave a defeated sigh. “The progress has been...minimal.”
Don't look at them, Lawson...don't you dare look at any of them....if any one of them are even thinking of looking at you... Vicki allowed her glance to sweep the room as quickly as possible to see if anyone was giving her the stink-eye; lo and behold....nobody was even glancing in her general direction.
Back in the center of the room, Aaron gestured to DuBraul. “The events that took place at Björn Aaberg's compound in Dawley, Birmingham UK have been scrutinized, analyzed and researched as many times as necessary, but we've been unable to find any further information related to Hannsen, DuBraul and any further connections between the two. The only evidence we have from Hannsen himself linking them is the notebook he left behind during his first incarceration...”
DuBraul continued in this manner for twenty minutes, and despite the severity of the situation, Vicki actually felt...bored. Just a few minutes ago, Ted was beating up Oberon....and now this.
“...and at this moment, we now turn our attention to the actions of Vicki Lawson.”
Those fifteen words snapped the brunette gynoid out of her reverie. Oh, scrap.....
“Agent Lawson, please rise.”
Once again, Vicki felt every eye in the room staring at her as she stood.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” DuBraul stated, “had it not been for the efforts of Agent Lawson and her teammates during their mission in Dawley, Matthew Emmerich Hannsen would have escaped to cause further chaos within our sphere of influence. We also cannot ignore the fact that our Field Agents were able to disrupt the sale of weaponry to individuals whose actions, while not directed in our direction specifically, would still have been more detrimental to the rest of the world. For these accomplishments, the ALPA extends its gratitude to Agent Vicki Lawson, Agent Eric Reuben Reaves, Agent Sarina Meston, Agent James Lucas Lassiter, Agent Jonathan Dashiel, Agent Kylie Lynden, Agent Jennifer Larssen and Agent Robert Delmaire.”
Vicki felt as if her feet had been rooted to the floor as the various ALPA dignitaries applauded. Just a few minutes ago, she realized, some of these people were deciding whether or not I should be decommissioned, and now....this?! A cursory scan of the crowd showed that every smile was genuine, every presence in the room grateful for Vicki and her allies having deposed an arms dealer and a hacker...
….but the look on Oberon‘s face told a different story: You did what needed to be done, Agent Lawson, and for that, we thank you....but you're not off the hook yet.
A few short minutes later, after the meeting had ended, Vicki watched the assembled masses leave the room, many of them still chatting about the commendation she'd just received. None of them seemed to care that Matthew Hannsen was now in hospital because of what had transpired between himself and Vicki; they barely even paid her any mind (other than the predictable nod, wave or other quick acknowledgement of her presence in the room). Do they even know? Did Clive even tell them about what happened? Does anyone else here even---
“Something on your mind, Miss Lawson?”
DuBraul's voice nearly scared the brunette gynoid out of her wits; it took her a little over half a minute to collect herself and form a coherent reply. “I was just....wondering---”
“Why none of the people who you just saw leave this room seemed to care that you nearly beat a man to death with your bare hands?” DuBraul finished, arching an eyebrow. “Simple---I didn't tell them. At the moment, it's better if they didn't know the full details of what happened in Dawley between yourself and the Maestro...”
“Better for me?” Vicki angrilly cut in, “or better for you?!”
If the words had any impact on DuBraul (which they didn't seem to---the man simply stood there arching his eyebrow and regarding Vicki with a quizical stare), he was doing a damned good job of hiding it. “You think I was acting out of my own best interests?” he replied. “Let me tell you a little secret about the ALPA and the Coalition, Agent Lawson---our own worst enemy is fear. If word of what you did to the Maestro had leaked, then everyone on both sides would either be calling for your head, or saying we should reform our rules...and at this stage of the game, both choices would be needlessly counter-productive. Re-writing the rulebook would do nothing to change what's already happened, and scrapping you---”
“I get it,” Vicki growled, her rage slowly giving way to shame. “I....I just....” Almost instinctively, she buried her face in her hands. “Sometimes I don't even feel like myself,” she muttered, after DuBraul had guided her to a nearby chair. “It's like...something happened, after July 9....and part of me just...”
She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
“The notes about your upgrade by Lawson's Eleven are still being studied,” DuBraul informed her. “If any kind of irregularities, anomalies or discrepancies between your former neural pattern and your current configuration are detected, you'll be the first to know.”
Vicki allowed herself a weak smile. “Thanks.”
The Father Christmas smile returned to DuBraul's face. “It's the least I can do for someone whose track record has become something bordering on legendary in the ALPA,” he replied. “As for...” He paused, turning away to cough. “As for what happened...” He stopped again, the coughing now taking on a hacking, almost hoarse sound. “You'll have to forgive me,” he apologized. “Blasted allergies acting up again...”
“That didn't sound like an allergic cough to me,” Vicki mused. “Are you okay, Mr. Pres---”
“You don't have to use my full title,” DuBraul chided. “'Mr. DuBraul' or 'sir' will suffice...” He eased himself into a chair, his cough now taking on a bronchial, almost liquidy (or would that be “snotty”?) sound.
“I'll keep that in mind,” the brunette gynoid dryly replied. “Now, then, about that cough---”
Even as he wheezed, DuBraul managed a chuckle. “You're persistent...I'll give you that.” He shook his head, as the cough subsided. “The Doctor told me I have the rest of this year, maybe three months of the next to put my affairs in order,” he stated, no longer smiling. “Never smoked a day in my life, never had any exposure to asbestos or anything else that could cause mesothelioma...and yet my lungs are the first part of me to start giving out.” He sighed; “It's always been heart problems, in my family,” he admitted. “My father, my grandfather and his father before him---all of them were stricken at one point or another by what we called the Heartbreaker's Curse. There was some long-winded explanation about former lovers passing on, and how that was supposedly connected to it....whatever it was, I always thought I'd die of a coronary before my lungs stopped working...and you can stop staring at me like I'm about to drop dead right here,” he finished, smiling.
His advice was lost on Vicki, who stared, eyes agog. “You're dying?! You're in charge of the ALPA, and you're suffering from lung failure?!” She shook her head. “That's....how do you....who else knows? I mean, what if you keel over and---”
“Funny how you thought I had my own interests in mind by not telling anyone about your encounter with Hannsen,” DuBraul interjected, “and yet you seem to be more interested in my well-being than your own fate if the word should get out....” He smiled again. “I'm on three different medications to regulate what's taken hold of my lungs, so I won't be 'keeling over', as you so charitably put it, any time soon.” His smile faded as he glanced around the room. “It's still painful,” he quietly added. “Nights are the worst...sometimes, I'll just be laying there, letting sleep take hold...and then every breath feels like razors slicing through my lungs from the inside. It's hard to describe exactly how much it hurts---”
His sentence ended abruptly as Vicki pulled him in for a hug. “Ah, Agent Lawson?”
“I'm sorry,” Vicki whispered. “For yelling, and for accusing you of being a self-serving jerk, and for everything I did wrong in Dawley....” She pulled away, not bothering to hide the tears as she looked DuBraul in the eye; “I don't want to lose anyone else,” she admitted. “After Sharon, and Raquel.....”
Bitter, bloodstained memories nearly overwhelmed DuBraul as he returned the embrace. “I know.”
The two were sitting in silence, remembering things they'd both sworn to forget, three minutes later....just as Oberon (still clad in his full armor) entered the room. After a moment of silence, letting Vicki and DuBraul gather their thoughts, he cleared his throat (as quietly as possible). “I take it you've told her?”
“I have.”
“Good. And Vicki, you have a somewhat better understanding of---”
“I know he wasn't being selfish,” Vicki stated, her voice a few measures above tonelessness
“Fair enough. Now, then....if you'll both come with me, we have much to discuss. The general brief---which you just sat through---only covered the bare basics of what's going on....and I have a feeling you'll want to hear the full dossier before we make our next move. If you'll follow me...”
As she followed DuBraul and Oberon, Vicki couldn't help but think of the utter chaos that had unfolded mere minutes ago. “Ah, don't hate me for asking this, Chairman Oberon, sir, but....”
“You're wondering if my ill will towards Ted is still an issue.”
Okay, is he a psychic?! “Well, I was thinking about that, but---”
“Rest assured, Vicki, that I only lashed out at Ted because he lashed out at me. I tend to react impulsively when someone comes against me in anger, even if their actions could be considered justified. Granted, I can understand why Ted wanted to throttle me---I had, after all, rather casually threatened to end your existence if the need arose---but he was as much in error as I was...” A brief chuckle punctuated Oberon's sentence. “In case you're wondering, I'm not still pissed off at your father---far from it, as a matter of fact. Even though it was a poor time for it...we both needed to vent.”
That's....reasonable. “I guess I can forgive a momentary lapse of reason from both of you,” Vicki admitted. “I just never thought I'd ever see Dad lose his cool like that again.” Her thoughts briefly turned to the defining incident (before the encounter with a pre-Faceless William J. Rengold III) that became a deciding factor in Ted forming Lawson Robotics. “It was...scary, to be honest.”
“Being scared is actually a good thing, in this case,” DuBraul mused. “If you'd have thought he was in the right, it wouldn't exactly have looked all too good for you, especially after what happened in Dawley.”
“I get it.” Wouldn't want people thinking I liked watching Dad beat the crap out of the Chairman...especially after I put Hannsen in the emergency room. “So, this whole plan of Hannsen's....what exactly does it involve, other than turning a bunch of Franklin-designed fembots loose, and how do we stop it?” More than anything, the brunette gynoid wanted to smash the Maestro's plans to bits, wreck every single fembot he'd obtained---
“There is no plan....not yet. Right now, we can only wait.
Vicki froze in her tracks. “We.....wait?!”
“The only thing we really can do, I'm afraid,” Oberon admitted. “If we overplay our hand now, we could easily play right into Hannsen's trap---and undo months of hard work. And yes, I know what could happen if we wait too long, as well...it's a tricky one, this little game of ours---”
“THIS ISN'T A GAME!” Vicki screamed, no longer caring that Oberon and DuBraul were now staring at her. “I nearly killed Hannsen–-beat him to death with my own hands---and now I find out that he's got a whole army of fembots waiting to run roughshod over San Jose at any given moment...but you two are telling me that our best option is to just sit here and wait?!” She stared at the Chairman and President of the ALPA as if they'd lost their minds.
DuBraul managed to keep his cough from escalating as he spoke: “We don't know what exact programming alterations were made to the fembots, of if they've been physically altered---chipsets taken out, put in, anything along those lines. Until we can get a full scope of what Hannsen did to them, we can't risk making a move against them.”
“It's worse than that, actually,” Oberon added. “They may be infected---”
“Then put me in a tank and I'll run them over,” Vicki insisted. “I want them gone. I want Hannsen's stupid plan gone. I want every trace of everything he's ever done to be wiped out....” She blinked the tears away, forcing herself to continue. “I don't want anyone else to lose anything or anyone else because of him. I'm sick of feeling like I don't even know who I am anymore...I'm sick of these stupid outbursts....” She stared at the floor, a sense of defeat washing over her. “I just want to have my life back.”
Neither Oberon nor DuBraul could think of anything to say in response to that.
“All of this,” the brunette gynoid continued, “the missions, the codenames, the gear---I thought it was what I wanted when I joined the ALPA....but....this is the third time I've nearly lost control. Faceless and I nearly killed each other at Silicon Dynamics, and then I snapped at the Starlet Dolls concert....and now this....”
Her voice broke as she held up her hands, staring at them in horror: “I don't feel like I'm still me anymore!”
DuBraul bowed his head as Vicki sank to her knees, her horrified gaze still locked on her hands as if they were covered in Hannsen's blood. Oberon, however, did something that surprised even the usually-unflappable ALPA President: he smiled. “Victoria Ann-Smith Lawson,” he murmured. “I've said it before, countless times, and I feel it only necessary to say it once again: you truly are your father's greatest creation.” He knelt beside the brunette gynoid, gently embracing her. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” he whispered.
Vicki's only reply was a wailing, barely-articulate sob with the word “can't” somewhere in the middle.
“This isn't you breaking down, mentally or physically,” Oberon assured her. “This is exactly what separates every sentient android and gynoid from all other machines on the planet: you can feel. And as strange as it may seem, what you're feeling now is proof that you are, in fact, still you.” He pulled away, allowing Vicki to see his smile. “You're not broken,” he added, “and I can most assuredly tell you that you're not infected with anything other than an ailment common to humanity: extreme guilt.” He helped Vicki to her feet; “You're scared out of your mind at what you did,” he continued, “and that's perfectly understandable---and a very good sign, in this case, because it means your personality, your ethics, are still intact.”
Even this was small comfort to the gynoid Field Agent. “But....I enjoyed...what I did....”
“You let yourself get out of control,” Oberon corrected. “You must understand, Vicki, that Matthew Hannsen's actions were intended to provoke you. He wanted you to snap, to lash out at him and try to attack him...he just didn't expect you to fly as far off the handle as you did. The Starlet Dolls incident---same thing; you saw a close friend take a bullet, and you let emotion take the place of logic. As for Silicon Dynamics...as loathe as I am to even remember that incident, you were in the right---Faceless was threatening the entire facility.”
“So...I'm not insane?” Vicki quietly asked after a few seconds of silence.
Again, Oberon smiled. “Far from it...we can run an ALPA-standard SAN check, if you want proof....”
“How long will it take?” The question came out as a near-gasp, with just a smidgen of hope in each syllable.
“It won't keep you here for the rest of the day,” DuBraul replied. “If anything, it shouldn't be more than ten to twenty minutes. As long as your core personality profile and other imprtant settings haven't been altered by external influence or significant trauma, you'll be cleared to continue your duties as a Field Agent.”
A ten second pause.... “And what about my life outside the ALPA?”
“As annoying as it is to admit this,” Oberon stated, “that may be out of our hands---the pencil-pushers up on the Hill, with their oversight committees and other such nonsense, will want inquiries and all sorts of other stupidity for a full year or so after this is finished, and we may have to, ah, limit your area of operation as a Field Agent in the meantime. You'll keep your license, of course, but in all likelihood, you won't be allowed to travel outside Silicon Valley---or at least outside of the United States---for a while.”
The pause was noticably shorter this time. “I think I can live with that.”
Oberon nodded. “Well, in that case....let's go make sure you're mentally sound, shall we? The next briefing won't be for another few hours; the reps from the base at Stepford were just getting out of a holding pattern, last time I checked...”
For what felt like the first time that day, Vicki allowed herself a smile. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Chairman.”
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Because of the length of this particular entry in the series, Valley of the Damned will be broken up into parts, with each individual part having room for its own comments, compliments and constructive criticisms---so feel free to leave any of the above here while I prepare to add Part 2 this afternoon.
, can't wait to read more. 
