NOTE: THIS POSTING COLLECTS ALL FIVE PARTS OF THE "ETERNAL GHOST" GitS/Highlander XOVER FANFIC WRITTEN BY THOMAS PRICE. IT FEATURES REVISIONS AS SUGGESTED BY ASTUTE READERS AND AS A BONUS HAS A PREVIEW OF MY CURRENT FIC-IN-PROGRESS, "SONS OF LIBERTY," AN APPLESEED FANFIC. ENJOY!!! --TP -------------------------------------------------------------------- Intro: Ladies and gentlemen, this is my first fanfic. And I know you’ve read those very words before. I have no idea why I decided to write this, except it stemmed from a dinner conversation between me and my good friend Victor Wisniski who helped me with some of the finer points of swordplay in this story. We thought it’d be cool to do a crossover fanfic, but which one? How about two warriors from opposite schools of war. Nah, better yet deal with immortality as 1) spiritual (Highlander’s quickening) and 2) technology-based (GITS’ cybernetics). As always, thanks to Masamune Shirow for creating such a fine universe to imagine in, and Gregory Widen for creating the character Connor Macleod. Assumptions: The true Shirowphile will recognize that the date puts this story in the GITS timeline between chapters 6 (the one with the mad Tomlis androids) and 7 (the Soviet gold chapter), thus it is before Kusanagi merges with the Puppeteer. Weaponry is standard to GITS universe. As for Highlander, one can notice that the flashback to WWII occurs immediately before a similar sequence seen in the Director’s Cut of Highlander. Dedication: To all those who suffered through the second Highlander movie hoping that Macleod in the future would be cool. I hope that this tale satisfies that hope. ** - replaces italics [] - soundtrack suggestions *** ETERNAL GHOST **** by Thomas Price (AnimeLink) (tprice@newssun.med.miami.edu, http://members.aol.com/tprice1995/anime.html) with assistance from Victor Wisniski (darkoni or danguard@aol.com) [recommended soundtrack: "Cascade," Future Sound of London] The night in Newport. A perpetual dusk caused by the light of a thousand buildings and the fog of industrial pollution that cloaks the city in a seemingly impenetrable way. This is the world of the new breed of man and machine, of technology and its victory over the natural law. But still predator and prey continue the ages-old battle. Such is the life of Motoko Kusanagi and her comrades, responsible for preventing the prey from succumbing to the ravages of the predators of this information age. And some say she is the best. But there are others. Others who have played the game far, far longer than she. 01 Null Result 6.11.2029 Newport, Japan 2100 hours local time Daisho Cybernetics. Its monolith stands tall in the center of Newport city, its walls hold the technology of the next century’s information networks. It is a vital corporation to Japan’s ability to compete in the global market. And right now all that defended its entry was an electronic security system and a tired-looking, overweight security guard sitting at his desk and watching a sumo match on TV Tokyo. The security guard looked up from his desk. The tall, blonde man before him was definitely not Japanese, but of some European cut. His immaculate clothes, a tan suit with a lightly-colored paisley vest underneath and a jewel-tacked gray tie, seemed to be from a time of cultured aesthetic long past. "Can I help you, sir?" the security guard asked in his Osaka-accented Japanese. [recommended soundtrack: "Devil’s Advocate," The Rolling Stones] The European smiled and walked around the large entry area, studying the video cameras and security measures, then proceeded to walk towards the elevators. This got the security guard to get up from his chair and put his hand on his taser. "Sir, this area is restricted. You’ll have to show me some identification," this time the guard speaking in heavily-accented English. Turning around, a smile in his face, the European effortlessly removed a black-chrome blade in the style of an epee from underneath the back of his jacket. The guard immediately fired the taser’s charge at the man, but it did no good as he swiftly evaded the attack and countered with a few expert swipes of his blade. The guard fell to the ground in several pieces, and the man turned back to the elevators. The alarms would begin ringing a few minutes later. In twice that time, the police were on the scene. ***** [recommended soundtrack: "Dig Your Own Hole," Chemical Brothers] The huntress exited her spider-like fuchikoma and stood up straight to examine the scene. The thin datafilm jumpsuit she wore left little to the imagination, with a few pieces of thin kevlar to obscure the more provocative elements of her anatomy in the name of decency rather than protection; the vision of a modern valkyrie, a cybernetic answer to Brunhilde and other warrior women of mythology. She is Major Motoko Kusanagi, and she has been named among the best in her line of work. And right now she was wondering why they’d call in section nine to handle what appeared to be a simple strong-arm trespass by a single perp. *Batou, head up to level four and block his escape.* *Hai, Major.* Several times before, Kusanagi and her team had been called in to stop some assault on this complex to eliminate some data thief from another company or a private concern. But this call had been strange from the beginning. A single man had entered the complex and had killed all security agents who tried to stop him from advancing. Kusanagi had arrived and followed a trail of bodies to the center of the Daisho building where the computer core rested. No evidence of weapons discharge except from the sidearms of the building’s security teams. As she approached the deeper recesses of the computer area, the bodies of scientists, casually dispatched with deep cuts of a strong blade, began to turn up. In all cases, each victim had a look of horror on their faces. Someone who could kill people by beheading them or otherwise, many in a single stroke so swiftly she had never seen that level of expertise before. *Nothing up here, Major.* *This looks very unusual Batou. I don’t like this, I think this could be a new type of cyborg. These cuts are too precise for a normal human. Get back down here and regroup. I think he’s--* There...next to the core. A single figure sitting at a terminal with the bodies of dead security guards and technicians strewn about the room. Tapping on the keys, his back turned, a blade resting against the side of the terminal. A blood-drenched blade. Kusanagi required less than a millisecond to make the call, and fired several shots with efficiency into the perpetrator’s back. Blood burst from pierced flesh and he slumped forward onto the terminal, his hands fallen to his side. *Batou, got him. Come to my position and commence a sweep to make sure he doesn’t have any accomplices.* She walked towards the man to examine him and was surprised to find no obvious signs of cybernetic augmentation. An anomaly in the world of mercenaries these days, but not fitting her assumed profile of the perp. Yet the blade seemed to match the modus operandi. Then, impossibly, the man with six gunshot wounds to the back, lifted his face off the keyboard and looked her straight in the eye. A flawless English accent spoke words that augmented the chill running down her cybernetic spine. "Shooting a man in the back. How unsportsmanlike." He moved faster than Kusanagi had even believed it was possible. Before it registered, the man had picked up his sword and neatly bisected her Seburo assault rifle, leaving her defenseless. She backpedaled further away and pulled an eight-inch combat knife from her belt, gripping it in her left hand. The man seemed to smile at that. "Come on then. You plan on killing me with that letter opener?" Kusanagi quickly thrust at the man, the knife extended at a perfect angle with her outstretched arm, the motion a blur. It was an attack that few men could have evaded easily even if they were enhanced with cybernetics. Thus is was a surprise when the tall man neatly sidestepped the lunge and turned on his heels to counter with a swift strike at her back, severing the servo circuits to her legs. She fell to the floor, unable to stand. The man’s footsteps echoed in the silence as she tried to get up, struggling against her injuries. She could feel the edge of his blade against her neck. "Major!!" Batou’s voice in the stairwell...he must have been alerted when his link showed that she was injured. The man looked down at her for a moment, then up at the approaching figures. He kneeled down and whispered in her ear before turning around and walking away unhurried. "Be seeing you." ***** [soundtrack suggestion: none] Aramaki puffed on his cigar as he watched the technicians repair the major’s body. The short, ape-faced man chief of section nine had a lot of problems to deal with after the night’s debacle. Not only had this man humiliated section nine by defeating its best agent, but he had slaughtered two dozen Daisho employees. It was looking bad. Batou watched as they rebooted his partner’s interface and her eyes blinked in response. Satisfied that she was going to be fine, he turned to Aramaki. "Anything?" Aramaki took the cigar from his mouth. "This is going to make section nine into the laughing stock of the public security bureau. One man with a sword took down our best and section six is having a field day labeling us incompetent. Not only has our budget been put at risk but we may even loose some resources if they decide to give section six more authority." Batou turned back to watch the major get up and stretch her legs, testing the new servos. "What can we do, sir?" Aramaki shrugged. "We wait." ***** [soundtrack suggestion: "Teotihuacan," Noel Gallagher] The night air greeted Kusanagi as she left headquarters, and continued to dance through her hair as she put her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and walked to her car. She opened the car door, jostling the drops of rain that had settled there and sending many of them to the ground. The welcoming smell of coach leather greeted her as she got in but she was too distracted to even notice such a simple pleasure. Nor did she notice a shadowy figure watching her as she pulled out of the police garage and headed home. Kusanagi was tired. Dead tired. The night’s events had gone contrary to all her training and lessons on terrorist attack. The man she had faced seemed more a mass murderer than a terrorist. But he had a purpose to what he had done. The data records indicated the man had stolen data on the intricacy and networking of the global communications network, with emphasis on nodal architecture and interfaces. He seemed to be awfully interested in the most important nodes of the global net. *But this guy had no cyberjacks or neural hardware,* she thought. *So what did he want with that data?* The elevator’s drone almost lulled her to sleep but the chime that sounded as she arrived on her floor broke the spell. She opened her eyes to look around the corridor, checking for threats as was her usual routine, then walked towards her apartment door. Her boyfriend from section one was on assignment, so it’d just be her, alone in the apartment. All thoughts of loneliness stopped when she reached her door and saw that it was ajar. Quickly, she scanned for signs of a booby trap or other surprise, but she found none. Then she pulled her pistol and clicked off the safety, cautiously entering the apartment. It was dark inside, the pale blue of the city lights illuminating the furnishings with a ethereal hue. "Relax, Major Motoko Kusanagi of public security section nine." *What?* Kusanagi aimed the gun at the sound, which was coming from a shadow sitting in her living room. The shadow moved slowly and turned on a light, illuminating him. He was European, that was for sure. His hair was a faded brown, neatly trimmed and naturally coifed. His attire was unusual: a loose robe over a simple tunic, loose slacks over tabi-style boots, all in the same shade of midnight blue. Every scrap of clothing was fastened by intricate knots... there was not one piece of metal in the entire wardrobe, indicating the kind of simplicity of style that only the truly affluent could afford. His arms rested on the armrests of the chair, his hands lifted so that she can see he was unarmed, but within reach was a sheathed sword. Kusanagi raised her pistol and trained its sight on the man as he rose from the chair and stood up, and slowly walked into the light so she could better appreciate him. *European with a sword. Just like the man from Daisho, but this is a different person.* The man nodded as if he could read her thoughts. "I see that you met Southern at the Daisho building tonight." Kusanagi shrugged. This could just be a plot to learn what she knows and determine how much section nine knew in the bargain. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." The man moved towards her, seemingly unconcerned that the major was lifting her pistol to keep track with his approach. "Yes, you do. The Englishman with an epee who slaughtered people at Daisho. Precision strikes with a stout blade. Perhaps a few beheaded with a single strike. Well dressed man wearing a suit in an autumn style common to England back in the 1930s. You shot him and he got up as if nothing happened, slashed you across the back with uncommon accuracy, severing the mechanics that provide motion to your legs." She couldn’t help it as a look of surprise came over her face. No one knew what had happened to her...no one in the public at least. But only she and the dead employees at Daisho had seen the man, seen his weapon. Kusanagi stared at him for a moment, then lowered her pistol. Looking into the man’s eyes, his attire, his manner...the perfect tone of his Japanese that she had only heard before when a member of the Diet would give a speech...it spoke of years of culture even though the man was apparently a foreigner. And the fact that the other man, Southern as this man had called him, walked up from being shot with armor-piercing rounds in the back...even a cyborg wouldn’t have survived that. "Who are you?" she asked. The European smiled and replied in his perfect Japanese. "I am Connor Macleod of the Clan Macleod. I was born in the year 1518 in the village of Glen Finen on the shores of Loch Sheal, and I am immortal." END PART 01, Rev.1b 12/19/98 NEXT: PART 02: Mobius -------------------------------------------------- 02 Mobius "So this man, Kenneth Southern, is immortal like you?" Macleod nodded. Kusanagi took another swig of her Kirin and looked at the man who sat across from her. "Gomen, but you have to feed me a better story than the one you’re giving me now. How could you be immortal? How could you not die?" Macleod looked at her. "I’ve asked that of myself many times. Is it an energy force that binds our form? A curse of some type, of pure magic? Is there a genetic difference? An answer would be welcome, but isn’t necessary. The answer won’t change what I am." Macleod leans forward to look into her eyes. "Or what he is." "So let me get this straight. You’re over five hundred years old, and this Southern is..." "He’s three hundred, give or take a decade." He chuckled softly, but deeply from the throat. "He was a pirate in the Caribbean back when the slave trade flourished, and was hunted down by the Spanish navy. When he was captured, his native England wouldn’t lift a finger to help him out of the Spanish prisons, and he stayed there for five years before he was killed by hanging. The day after he was hanged, his body disappeared from the gallows and, to this day, he has walked among you as an immortal." "So you know this man...you’ve met him before." Macleod nodded. "I met him before..." ***** [soundtrack suggestion: "Du Hast," Rammstein] 14.04.1943 Paris, France 2200 hours Macleod hated this. Captured by the Nazis when trying to get out of France. The Germans were destroying everything that had made this country such an ideal refuge for him, and now here he was, a prisoner of a fellow man from the British Isles serving the Reich. "Care for some wine? A relatively unpopular vintage, but it has a most pleasing bouquet." "You’ll forgive me if I decline. I would prefer not to drink with a traitor to humanity, a man who would side himself with such barbarians." Southern chuckled. "What do you care of humanity? They are but toys to our whim, lesser creatures on this world we have inherited. Side with the strong and use their backs to bear yourself to a greater glory I say. Side with the weak and end up without your head. Besides, I am a man of taste, Macleod and the Germans have an impeccable aesthetic." Macleod sneered at the man and strained against his bonds. Southern had tied them well but he could feel them loosening under the pressure. Cautiously, he leaned back in the chair and took on the appearance of relaxation as he pulled against the bonds quietly, in smaller more subtle movements. Then he started lauging. "Why are you laughing Macleod?" "Because I am going to kill you." Southern got up, taking his chalice into his gloved hands, sipping the delicate, vintage wine. He slowly strode over, the light shining off of the silver threads of Southern’s black Waffen SS uniform. There was an amused smile on his face. "Will you, Highlander? And how will you do that." "Like this," Connor proclaimed as he removed his hands from his bonds and reached for Southern’s neck, only to be stopped by two alert stormtroopers aiming their submachine guns at his head. "If you want to kill me we should do it as our kind always does." Southern snapped his fingers and an officer carrying a long wooden box entered, placing the box on a table and snapping it open. Inside, two sturdy epees rested on blue velvet. "The Epee. Not your favored weapon, is it? But then, better than facing me with your bare hands." Macleod sneered as Southern picked up one of the blades and hefted it, then made a swipe at his head. Connor swiftly retrieved the other blade and blocked the swipe deftly. "That’s the spirit!" The two fought on with the soldiers watching around the room. Southern had good form, and was obviously an expert fencer. An unfamiliar blade was a liability to Macleod, since the balance was different than his favored katana, but the length was the same so his range was not much different. The beginning of the battle went poorly for Connor as he struggled to gain a modicum of proficiency with the epee, while this type of blade was apparently Southern’s best weapon. Quick, precision snipes with the blade forced Connor’s back against the wall, forcing him to be on the defensive. Soon, however, he figured that his problem was in trying to adapt to Southern’s style and blade rather than rely on his own skills, so he then took up a two-handed grip and applied a more Eastern style. Utilizing the shorter, more powerful slices of a kendo-style attack mixed with the flourishes of a highlander’s broadsword cut, it took minutes to weaken Southern’s one-handed attack and disarm him. His sword at Southern’s throat, Macleod snarled. "There can be only one." Southern quipped. "Don’t be so sure, Highlander. SHOOT HIM!!" The room filled with the metallic clicking of a dozen weapons being readied for firing. Macleod realized the trap he was in and dropped the sword, running for an exit just as the firing erupted behind him. ***** [soundtrack suggestion: "Orbitus Teranium," Brian Transeau] "So you’ve been in search of him ever since." Macleod sighed. "It’s not that simple. As immortals, we can sense when another is close, and we are drawn to fight so that, in the end, there can be only one." "Why?" Kusanagi asked. He shook his head. "I can’t tell you that reason. I used to think I knew the answer, but now I’m not so sure." "Well, if you can sense when he is near, why don’t we just ride around and pick him up?" "Because," Macleod began as he rose from his seat and walked towards the window, looking out at the lights of the nighttime Newport skyline. "Because about twenty years ago, when the global net became a true cyberspace, the wireless datastreams and communications systems began to overwhelm our ability to sense the Quickening, the force of nature that ties all immortals together…perhaps the source of our power." He turned to look at her. "There has not been a Gathering since I faced the demonic Kurgan almost a half of a century ago." "A Gathering?" "The Quickening draws us together at certain times, to fight and reduce our numbers. Into each age new immortals are born, but the numbers are kept thin with the Gathering. However, our numbers must be increasing since we are no longer drawn to each other." Kusanagi nodded. "Because of the communications net broadcasts. So you don’t know how many there are." Macleod shook his head. "No. And it’s the cloak over the Quickening that is causing Southern to do what he is." He walked to Kusanagi and looked straight into her eyes. "He wants to stop the broadcasts that are keeping us from sensing it." "But the only way he could do that is..." Kusanagi stopped in midsentence and stared at Macleod, her brows raised in horror at the implication of what Connor had just said. END PART 02, Rev.1 11/22/98 NEXT: PART 03: Southern Cross Comment: Yes, I know that the chair scene was taken right from True Lies. But hey, it works here. Why mess with something that works, right? and as for why Connor isn't the only immortal? I use the universe created by the Highlander TV series. Let them try and explain it. I know this was a short chapter, so I'm releasing three at the same time. It's short too, gomen. (TP) ------------------------------------- 03 Southern Cross [soundtrack suggestion: "Instruments of Darkness," Art of Noise (Prodigy Mix)] 7.11.2029 Newport, Japan 0200 hours local time Kusanagi and Macleod stormed into section nine’s computer core, moving fast and trailing behind them a string of irate late-night computer technicians who were demanding to see the Highlander’s identification. Eventually, their ire caused Aramaki to arrive, upset at being waken at such an ungodly hour. Upon entering the core’s operations room, he wasn’t surprised to see Major Kusanagi working on the Daisho case, but he was surprised to see a man with her. "Major, who is this man and what is he doing here?" Kusanagi looked at Aramaki, then at Connor, who shrugged and turned around to face the chief. "I’m Detective Macleod from New Scotland Yard investigating the assailant involved in the incident last night," he said in English accented in a light Scottish brogue. Aramaki looked at him, then at Kusanagi, then back at Macleod. "Is that so?" Macleod chuckled. "No." Aramaki looked at Kusanagi, who just shrugged and turned back to the computer terminal. Aramaki shook his head , said "keep me posted," and then walked out. Motoko looked quizzically at Macleod for a moment, then dismissed it. Anyway, she had bigger things to worry about as she tapped codes into the console and then turned to him. "Connor, it just isn’t as easy as pulling a plug, you realize. There are quite a few backup systems and failsafes that he’d have to destroy first, so we don’t have any one really good likely target for him to hit next." Macleod leaned back and thought. "I see. But there has to be a way of taking out all those systems at one shot to prevent them from repairing the damage if he just jumped from one site to the next." Kusanagi nodded. "Yeah. That’s a good theory, but in practice there isn’t really one key target to hit. I mean, the datastreams themselves are duplicated many times over, and the central computer cores are like a giant RAID array, you could drop a nuke on one and it’d still hold intact data. A lot of governments have tried to figure out a tactical strategy involving the disabling of the net, but no one’s ever been able to work it out." "What about a virus?" "Too many virus hunting programs," Kusanagi retorted. "Besides, there’s so much ICE and firewalls out there, they aren’t as effective as they were back in the twentieth." Connor frowned and studied the network schematic in front of him. There had to be a way to disable the whole thing that Southern had come up with, and if they could figure it out he knew they’d be able to catch him. "Major, show me the data he swiped from Daisho again." Kusanagi nodded and called up the info, which began to scroll down the screen slowly. Connor read the data as it came up, scanning the lines for anything unusual. The data included node addresses, alternate routing for network links, satellite frequencies, data on replacement superconductor shipments, power bills, estimated subscription costs... "Stop!" Kusanagi pressed a key on the console and froze the data. "What?" Connor stared at the screen. "Son of a bitch. SON OF A BITCH!" ***** [soundtrack suggestion: "House Full of Bullets," Joe Satriani] Connor couldn’t help but feel the warrior’s thrill at the sight of the contents of the room Kusanagi had just opened in front of him. The armory. True, he had a personal armory in his house in the islands, but that was just claymores and pikes, swords and the occasional musket, handgun, or rifle. This was a modern arsenal, filled with the evolved descendants of the weapons that had ended the day of the sword and bow. Seburo assault rifles in various configurations were neatly stacked against fluorescent panels. A glass display held pistols of various manufacture and design. Locked cabinets no doubt held ammunition for the weapons. In the center of the room, larger weapons rested on storage stands. A triple-reinforced window to one side permitted a view of the mechbay below, with spidery Fuchikomas in various states of repair and recharge. Kusanagi walked in nonchalantly as Connor took in the site, and picked up a Seburo MN23 rifle, checking the chamber to see if it was loaded, then unlocking a cabinet and pulling some spare clips from it. "Need anything?" she asked. "Huh?" She smiled. This guy wasn’t a professional mercenary, that’s for sure. Yet something about him told her he was a warrior of considerable skill. "Do you want a weapon?" He looked back at her, smiling and patted his coat. "Got one." She shrugged as she opened a case and began to undress, exchanging her civilian garb for thermo-optic camouflage and lightweight ballistic armor. "So you pretty sure about this, Connor?" Connor nodded as he walked over to the window and looked down on the impressive mechbay. "Yeah. All those places receive power from the Nerima facility. Somehow, that’s got to be the key." "But how exactly?" she asked as she pulled on a long coat and slung the Seburo over her shoulder. "That I don’t know." She pulled the slide back, putting a round in the chamber, and looked at Connor as she thumbed the safety. "This is one hell of a hunch." Connor chuckled. "Trust me." END PART 03, Rev.1 11/22/98 NEXT: PART 04: Divide Overflow -------------------------------------------------- 04 Divide Overflow 7.11.2029 Nerima, Japan 0415 hours local time [soundtrack suggestion: "6 Underground," Sneaker Pimps] Footsteps echoed off of the pavement, slick from the evening rain. Connor walked calmly, his eyes scanning to the left and right, a small part of his mind waiting for that feeling of vertigo that hit him whenever an immortal was nearby. It had been decades since he’d felt it, but he knew that if he was close enough, the Quickening could be sensed even over the background hum of the information net. The hum. It was more like a deafening roar, like trying to listen to someone whispering while standing near a waterfall. Sometimes it seemed like it was toying with his sanity, the feeling of being "cut off" from the others. A darkness. Connor found his mind wandering to events long since transpired. In particular, the memory of a hunting expedition in Africa. So vivid was the recall that he could swear that he heard the primal beat of a hunting prayer being beaten on a drum-skin somewhere in the alleyways of this city. And even with the ozone smell of rain and the gritty sensation of pollution filling his nostrils, he could smell the more ancient scent of jungle soil and blood. Dozens of meters behind, a spidery form jumped from building to building, following the Highlander. The fuchikoma, piloted by Kusanagi, kept a single sensor on Macleod at all times. She took the time to study him, this man of mystery who was personification of the passage of time itself. A warrior of consummate skill earned from years of experience. Strike that, *centuries* of experience. The man was unlike anyone she had ever met before and, somehow knowing that there were such men like him alive in the world today...it opened her up to the possibilities that maybe there was more to it than just whispers in the circuits, ghosts in the machine. There truly might be a single, unidentifiable quantum that might be the spark of life itself. More than a ghost, an eternal ghost. A soul. Connor shook his head as he felt it. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream, his muscles filling with blood and his lungs breathing more deeply. His pupils were dilated and his visual acuity approached that of a predator. Different than it had been those many years before, different than all those other times he had felt it before. Instead of the vertigo, the queasiness that usually came with it, this time he felt tense with a primitive anticipation...a predatory anticipation. Yes, he could sense it and it seemed as if the scent filled the air. It was the strongest sensation he had ever felt. He had felt the Quickening. Southern was now his prey. Connor regained his composure and spoke softly into the small communicator the major had given him. "He’s here." Kusanagi quickly broke her philosophical train of thought to reply. "Roger." Connor looked up at the sign above the door he stood next to. *Pacific Electricom Nerima Fusion Power Facility -- Authorized Personnel Only* [suggested soundtrack: "Dead Cities," Future Sound of London] He opened the door slowly and looked around. The air had a metallic taste, one that Connor knew all too well. The lights were out, but the illumination provided by Nerima’s skyscrapers cast a blue, dim light to the scene in front of him. Southern had outdone himself this time. The bodies of security guards and technicians alike were strewn about, cut down as weeds by a machette without so much ceremony one might expect. Southern’s technique had begun to decay to a more primitive style now as he reached his goal. The highlander walked through this scene of death steel of jaw and stern of purpose. He silently unsheathed his ancient sword from its scabbard and gripped it tightly in his right hand, holding it parallel to his leg. While the elaborately carved ivory handle of the Masamune sword was still intact, the blade itself had been replaced with the satin chrome of ceramic and impregnated titanium. The edge, sharpened to a two-molecule thick point, seemed to glisten with an electric glow as millions of photons were scattered by the gravitational forces of two titanium atoms set so close in proximity. The blade itself was a modern masterpiece, an edge of both science and art and the pinnacle of a swordmaker’s craft. Thoughts ran through his head, as they always did before a duel. It had been a long time since last he pulled his sword, and now he was surprised at how all the old feelings came back again. Southern was a dangerous man, an immortal who not only knew their ways, but the ways of the mortals; of their technology. A dangerous adversary in a setting that clearly put him at the advantage and Connor at a disadvantage, surrounded by machines and electronics to which in his myopia he had never learned to use. Now that decadence, that aloofness, might cost him his head. His only hope was that Kusanagi would compliment his failings; that her ability with the machines would be enough so that the both of them would be more than a match for Southern. And, as the thoughts ran out so too did time for at the end of the lighted hallway was the Facility’s control room, and Southern at the altar of technology therein, surrounded by the carnage his blade had wrought. *And so it begins,* he thought as he walked into the light and revealed himself and his blade to his prey. END PART 04, Rev.1 11/28/98 NEXT: PART 05: There Can Be Only One -------------------------------------------- 05 There Can Be Only One [suggested soundtrack: "Sweet Feather," Yoko Kanno (from Macross Plus Soundtrack II)] Southern felt it, the sensation not unlike vertigo that was the Quickening. He felt it and smiled as he turned around and leaned against the computer terminal he was working on, sword an arm’s length away on the panel, crossed his arms on his chest and met Connor’s stare with his own. "Hello Highlander." "Hello Southern." Southern noticed the blade in Connor’s hand, but his expression gave no clue as to if he was concerned or not. "So you’ve come to help me then, have you?" Connor walked towards Southern, but stopped at a certain point walking in an arc that kept him an equal distance from the man. "Help you? Help you with your plans of ruling the world? Help you kill millions of people just to satisfy your own ego?" Southern chuckled. "Really Macleod. I’d thought you’ve done some growing up since our last chat. I thought you’d realize that what I do benefits us both." "How does disabling the global network help us both? The Quickening will return, and there will be hundreds of unchallenged immortals killing each other, and eventually they will come looking for you and me." "Disable the net?" Again he chuckled. "Is that the limit of your vision? Disabling it is only part of the equation, my friend. Disabling it for a brief nanosecond will allow me to access every system in the net for one brief moment as they all reboot their power sources. And then..." "And then?" Macleod asked. Southern chuckled as he motioned towards the main terminal and rested a finger on a silver interface cable. A cable which he traced upwards from the terminal with his finger to the point at which it inserted in the base of his skull. "Marvelous work some of these cyberdoctors can do, isn’t it? Nanotech probes kept the wound open long enough for the interface to set, and then the leads set rather quickly." Connor eyed him suspiciously. This was something he had not anticipated...it meant that the motive was not as clear as he thought. "What are you planning to do?" Southern chuckled. "My good fellow, you cannot begin to fathom what I am about to do. Have you even to begun to understand why the Quickening has been dampened these last decades? Why we have been but blind mice scurrying about, bumping into each other but not knowing who we were?" "The hum that the net creates..." "Wrong!" Southern leaned closer to Macleod, who took a cautious stance, sword still at his side but his other arm crossed over his waist so that both hands rested on the hilt. "Highlander, the Quickening itself has merged with the cyberspace of the net! The souls of mortal men is what had sustained the Quickening for eons, and now that those souls...those ghosts...reside on the net, the Quickening has followed them there and become trapped, trapped within countless miles of fiberop and circuits." "So you intend to free it? Is that it?" "No. I intend to enslave it." For a brief moment, Connor’s face flashed with horror. For a brief moment. The mask of rage then began to form on his visage. "Ah, so you do understand. And for all this time I had taken you for an ill-mannered, uneducated Kilt. But you do see now, don’t you? When the power goes out and all the nodes out there send a signal for a power reboot, the receipt signal they get will be my ghost transmitted in every direction possible. I will merge with the net, and thus the Quickening itself. I will know where all the immortals are at once, and I will control them. I will make them fight each other until they are all dead. All but one." "But one?" "You, Macleod. You will be my avatar. My earthly king." Macleod laughed. "Why would I do such a..." "You will accept, or you will die." [soundtrack suggestion (clip): "A Sai En," Yoko Kanno (from Macross Plus Soundtrack II)] With that, Southern clicked a few keystrokes and a monitor began to display a countdown timer. Ten minutes sped downwards towards enslavement of the world at the hands of a madman. A voice of a friend long gone but hardly forgotten seemed to ring in Macleod’s ears. *What are you waiting for, Highlander? Do you want to live forever?* And the battle began. ***** Kusanagi had heard the entire conversation over the communicator. While some of it was beyond her reasoning, much of it she understood. *Fuchikoma, analyze the program,* she telepathically commanded her steed. *Analyzed,* it replied. *99.7% probability that current target SOUTHERN program MULTINODAL WORM will perform as claimed. Set with two sequences, primary is termination of power supply via cascade of power facilities tied into global information network, secondary is transmission of power reboot confirmation with trojan SOUTHERN GHOST program.* *How do we stop the program?* *Terminate primary signal at source before transmission.* *In other words,* Kusanagi thought, *blow up the computer.* ***** [suggested soundtrack: "Prince Charming," Metallica] The blades met with a resounding clash, the sparks from the collision illuminating the faces of the combatants like a strobe. They locked eyes with each other for a brief second, then swung around and clashed again. The two opponents were well-matched, and it was not clear who would be the victor. Macleod chose his style well, countering Southern’s fencer’s assault with feints and turns more suited to a claymore than a katana, but somehow making the moves work with the smaller blade. The duel raged as Southern backed Connor into a corner by a scaffolding. Connor swung himself onto the scaffolding with one hand, then ran across the catwalk jumping over a gap and landing on a platform above his opponent. Sword extended, Connor jumped down but missed as his opponent ducked the swing and pivoted low to the ground, forcing Connor to back-flip to avoid getting slashed...the maneuver causing Connor to hit his back against a protruding steam valve and loose his grip on his blade. Southern then swept Connor from his feet with a roundhouse kick and approached the dazed highlander with blade outstretched. Southern lifted the blade up and sneered with his assumed victory. "There can be only one." Just then, glass shattered from the skylight and a large shape seemed to descend along a filament of wire as thin as a spider’s gossamer strand. The Fuchikoma revealed itself by the light of its own main cannon which fired a shell at Southern’s feet, knocking him into the air and away from Connor, who took only minimal damage from the shot. "Get up, Connor!" Kusanagi’s voice broadcast from the Fuchikoma’s public address grille, carrying a sense of urgency to which Connor responded quickly by jumping to his feet and bringing his sword to bear just as a recovered Southern brought his down towards Connor’s neck. The swords clashed and sparks flew as the two adversaries stared each other in the face. The Highlander smiled as he broke the lock and jumped back a few paces, standing next to the descended Fuchikoma. He looked at the large spiderlike machine and chuckled. "What kept you?" Kusanagi fumed silently in her cockpit. She didn’t want to go into the fact that a power plant’s magnetic field played havoc with her sensors, and all the shielding in this place prevented her from tracking Connor’s communicator. "Don’t get me started." "Never mind, Major," he said as he blocked another attack by Southern and replied with a parry of his own, "disable that countdown!" Kusanagi slid the Fuchikoma over to the central terminal and ejected, severing the cybernetic links with her mecha and setting it to full independent mode. The Fuchikoma responded by panicking and then hiding behind a large metal console, as is the usual Fuchikoma response to a bizarre situation such as two men dueling with each other while computer panels blow out under power surges. Kusanagi plugged into the central terminal and quickly dove to the problem at hand. She knew she’d have to work fast... "You’re better than I thought, Highlander," Southern quipped. He brought his sword around as he spun on his heel, the blade extended fully in line with his arm. Connor met the blade with his own, crossing the swords in a dueler’s salute. Southern smiled for a moment as his unused hand darted under his coat for a moment, a moment in which a gunshot rang out as Connor felt a bullet slam into his chest. Southern withdrew his hand from his coat, holding a smoking Mauser pistol. [suggested soundtrack: "Run, Shoot and Jump," Eric Serra (Goldeneye Soundtrack)] "Sorry I can’t stay and continue this more sporting-like, but I have a world to conquer." Southern ran over to the console Kusanagi was feverishly working at and fired off a few rounds at her. She replied by firing off a burst from her rifle, but he slid down on his side like a base-runner and slid along the ground under her line of fire, grabbing the interface cable that had fallen from his ‘jack when he had begun the combat with Macleod. Firing a few more shots from the Mauser, he ran for cover behind the terminal and slid the cable back into his ‘jack. Kusanagi exchanged fire with Southern as the countdown ticked down to its last seconds and a warning light began to flash on the console. "Connor! He’s downloading!" The stunned Macleod shook his head and grabbed his sword, running towards Southern who was busy firing at the major. Southern turned his attention at the last moment towards the oncoming Highlander. "There can be only one." [suggested soundtrack: "Trip Like I Do," The Crystal Method (f.f. past intro)] Southern barely managed to block Macleod’s first strike with the Mauser’s metal barrel. He dove for his dropped sword as Macleod brought the sword down on the interface cable, severing it. Southern dropped the gun and rolled as he retrieved his blade to bring it up just as another Macleod strike made contact. Arching his back, he flipped back onto his feet and the blades met again, the loud noise of contact echoing off of the walls of the control room. Southern pulled the remnants of the interface cable from his jack and leveled his sword in salute. "Let’s finish this once and for all, Highlander." Macleod similarly saluted and simply nodded. There are some who would say that, throughout history, there are memorable battles. Hannibal’s push into Italy. The British fleet sinking the Spanish Armada. The Battle of Britain. Would this one be looked at any differently just because only two men faced each other? As the swords clashed and the delicate dance of a duel progressed, Kusanagi watched in a sense of awe at the combat of two masters of the art. Connor’s style, with the broad sweeping motions of the East mixed with the snaps of a more Scottish style against Southern’s fencing arcs mixed with the downward slice of a Germanic broadsword style. Every moving blade would meet the other, and though the two moved constantly they moved in concert keeping a constant distance between them. Connor began to rely more on more sweeping strokes of the blade with body movement to evade Southern’s lunges, but soon a victor began to emerge. Southern, his attention divided in too many places, his emotions out of control thanks to his desires, began to tire and switched to putting more power and less finesse in his strikes. Macleod took advantage of this and began to twist his body so that each attack was evaded and cost Southern more and more of his balance. Strikes that would have killed a mortal man at once became a liability to the attacker, and it was not much longer until Southern had lost total control of his motions. Then Macleod took a quick offensive, and with a lighting thrust impaled Southern’s shoulder, forcing the man to drop his arm. A second strike drew the blade from his hand and the man who would have ruled the world was forced into the corner. Southern sneered at Macleod. "Your love of the mortals will be your undoing, you know." Macleod nodded solemnly at his opponent. "It already has been." Southern watched stoically, without emotion, as Macleod thrust the blade into his chest, and he fell kneeling to the ground. The Highlander then brought up the blade and prepared for the coup de grace, but this time there would be no expletive or witty retort, but a simple silence, an honor shared between combatants, a shared feeling of being out of place with this time, this future. Southern closed his eyes and prepared to meet oblivion. And Macleod brought his blade down. A strange feeling of static and ozone seemed to fill the room as Southern’s body fell to the ground. A pulse of energy was released as the computer terminal exploded and bright blue bolts of electricity seemed to fire at Macleod. The Highlander screamed in pain as the energy poured into him. Mists formed from thin air and enveloped the body of the slain immortal and the victor alike, the vapors charged with energy which seemed to coat Macleod with lethal force. Steam valves opened themselves and then shot from their bolts with explosive force, and computer panels and gauges exploded in showers of sparks. Kusanagi ran to her Fuchikoma and got in quickly as the explosions got more and more violent and barely made it out as the fusion core itself blew. The explosion sent the Fuchikoma flying into the trees a hundred meters away. It took twenty minutes for the fires to die down. Police and fire department officials alike were glad that the primary core hadn’t blown, that the safety shutdown had cut in one millisecond before the auxiliary core went critical. News officials calmed the public down over the evening news, telling families across Japan that Nerima had been a cold fusion facility and that there was no radiation to worry about, that the explosions were not nuclear but just the toroidal power accelerators themselves blowing their transformers. The power company reported that the explosion had been a terrorist attack, and the resultant electromagnetic pulse from the transformer explosion had caused the millisecond outage all global information net customers had experienced. Kusanagi didn’t remember much of what happened after the explosion since the pulse had also affected her memory of the event, but she could remember a shadowy figure walking out of the fire. She could swear, though it might just be a glitch of her damaged memory, that the figure bowed to her before walking off into the shadows. And Kusanagi could say, with reasonably certainty, that she had seen the best in one who had been playing the game far, far longer than she. THE END END PART 05, Rev.1b 12/19/98 END ETERNAL GHOST As always, C&C is welcome, unavoidable, and sometimes loathed too! Get me at tprice@newssun.med.miami.edu. Comment: Yes, that voice he hears is Ramirez's. AND NOW….A PREVIEW OF “SONS OF LIBERTY,” SOON TO BE COMPLETED (EST. MARCH 99) Disclaimer: Deunan, Briareos, Olympus and other characters and places mentioned here are property of Masamune Shirow and are used in fond tribute with no profit on the writers part intended. Ah, my second fanfic. Ladies and gentlemen, hold on for the ride... ============================== Appleseed: The Sons of Liberty ============================== by Tom Price (tprice@newssun.med.miami.edu) website: AnimeLink -- http://members.aol.com/tprice1995/anime.html 2130: After the Announcement of Poseidon and Olympus’ plans of a unilateral "monarchy" >>>Chapter 1: By The Dawn’s Early Light<<< August 19, 2130 -- 0200 hours local time Near Savannah, Georgia -- Inside Imperial Americana The sky was a silk black, the kind of starless and moonless evening that can only happen in the south when the humidity is just right that the air itself becomes a tangible thing. On such a night, even the loudest sound is dampened by the heavy atmosphere, and so it is with little surprise that the incoming Huey UH-1H transport helicopters, antiques from an age long gone, were able to cross the swampy terrain without alerting the attention of their target. The Hueys looked as if they had just come out of a time warp, not only by being antiques themselves, but by the markings they bore; the words "UNITED STATES ARMY" were prose from another century, yet they stood freshly painted on the Hueys’ weathered metal skin. The sound dampened further still as black figures jumped from the craft as they barely touched the ground, signaling each other with outstretched hands and fingertip signals, moving quickly across the terrain towards the west and into formation as the helicopters broke off and flew towards the north. The soldiers bore the old flag of the United States on their shoulders; the red, white and blue of old glory, and carried the weaponry to match -- ancient M16A1 assault rifles, HK MP5 SMGs, and the occasional silenced sniper’s rifle. The troops moved towards the crest of a ridge which overlooked a fenced-in compound controlled by camouflage-painted landmates. Searchlights swept out over the land from the corner-perched guard towers, and the proving grounds within the fence itself were well-lit revealing the numerous buildings within, two VTOL aircraft resting on landing pads near hangars. The base was identified by a large sign near the central entrance as Fort Jackson, Georgia. The platoon leader signaled for his radioman and called base to tell them that his unit was in position and ready. The unit’s two snipers nodded and, hunched over, headed towards the treeline. Using metal hooks and elastic ropes, they climbed trees and set up hides in the branches, then unslung their rifles and aimed, awaiting further command. There were sixteen such platoons on the ground that night, but they were only to play a minor part in the evening’s events. They were only to be the occupying force. Across the horizon two squadrons of A-10s, resurrected from the scrapyards they had been interred in, hiding behind a cover of false radar and sensor echoes provided by escorting Wild Weasel aircraft, headed towards the base. The troops on the ground had only to wait a few moments before the show began. And oh the seats they had. Snipers took out the watchtower sentries and their searchlights as the roar of the A-10s penetrated the damp air. Thunder shook as they broke formation and opened fire with their massive Avenger cannons on the unsuspecting landmates, tearing them to shreds. Sporadically, anti-aircraft fire opened up as the troops inside the base were alerted to the attack. The VTOL pilots managed to run to their planes and take off, but F-22s, hidden with their stealthy design, popped in from the south and met them in air-to-air combat. The VTOLS were no match for the pre-war interceptors in mint condition. Surviving landmates scattered chaotically along the battlefield, some falling prey to the ground forces’ anti-armor weaponry, others cut down by the weapons of the A-10s. Small arms fire erupted as the larger weaponry was eliminated and the Imperial Americana troops grabbed whatever arms they could and fired into the air. As if on cue, the US ground forces stormed over the ridge and descended from all sides onto the base, covered by the shield of their snipers’ gunfire. The ground attackers soon made their way into the grounds of the base, and the fighting turned into short gunfights building to building, but even as the US forces took the base on the ground, Imperial Americana military alert sounded in nearby bases and aircraft and enemy armor was mobilized. Imperial air superiority fighters took off and met, to their surprise, mint-condition F-15C Eagles in full pre-war US markings, and met with force indeed as the resulting dogfights were both a spectacle to behold on the ground and decisive in the air, with those fighters bearing the mark of Old Glory taking more than an equal share of kills, even as some A-10s came to their aid. The Thunderbolts continued along their flightpath though, on towards interception of the Imperial armor that was headed towards the base. And then further still... Before the sun set again, three major military bases deep within Imperial Americana had been taken and secured by the antique troops, and the entire world had to stand up and notice as a jubilant Washington announced to the world the re-establishment of the Constitution of the United States, the given sovereignty of her borders, and a new beginning for global democracy. TO BE CONTINUED!