Got the time b
Wake up, got another day to get
Through now, got another man to see
Gotta call him on the telephone ay-o
Gotta find a piece of paper
Sit down, got another letter to write
Think hard, gotta get a letter just right
Little ringin' on the telephone oh no
Gotta write another letter
No such thing as tomorrow all we want
TWO THREE GO
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
If I tell ya what I'm doin' today
Will you shut up'n get outta my way
Someone ask me what the time is I don't know
Only know I gotta go now
No time, tryin'a get a watch repaired
No time, never got a thing to wear
Little ringin' on the telephone oh no
Hear a ringin' in my head now
No such thing as tomorrow all we want
TWO THREE GO
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
No such thing as tomorrow all we want
TWO THREE GO
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
If I tell ya what I'm doin' today Will you shut up'n get outta my way Someone ask me what the time is I don't know Only know I gotta go now No time, tryin'a get a watch repaired No time, never got a thing to wear Little ringin' on the telephone oh no Hear a ringin' in my head now No such thing as tomorrow all we want TWO THREE GO Time Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head
No such thing as tomorrow all we want TWO THREE GO Time Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head Time Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head Tickin' in my head
Gryphon arrived at his new apartment home shortly before five-thirty, tired out from the long trip and wishing nothing more than to get a long shower and collapse on the couch to watch TV. He pulled into the garage, got out of his car, locked everything securely up, and went inside.
Inside, the apartment looked just about exactly like their old one; Trauma Team apparently used the same plans for all their employee complexes. Even the poster placement was the same. Carson wasn't much for decoration, and neither was Tycho, which left all the common wall space in the apartment to Gryphon; which suited him just fine. A huge holographic Dirty Pair poster adorned the wall behind the TV, and several other anime-related holos and flats adorned the walls, as well as a neat blueprint of the U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC-1701).
Around six his shower was done; coming downstairs in bathrobe and towel, he flipped on the TV and, flopping down on the sofa, started searching the channels. There were a lot of channels in Tokyo, and his limited understanding of Japanese allowed him at least the knowledge of what was on... and then he saw a face from his past, flipping onto channel 3. A nice face indeed, that of a very pretty blonde woman, her hair longish and stylishly ratty, dressed in one of those keen Eiji leather armor cloaks with the Macross lightstripes on it, a semi-casual shirt and tie, and not-too-awfully-tight jeans. A face he knew all too well.
"Oh my God," he whispered, then jumped to his feet and shouted, "CORY?!"
"Problem?" asked Tycho as he clomped down the stairs.
"Look!" Gryphon shouted, pointing.
Tycho walked over and cocked his head curiously at the TV. "That's Cory Emerson," he said. "How odd."
"Yes!" Gryphon answered. "It is! But what in hell is she doing in Tokyo?"
"Looks like she's reporting the news," the big 'borg answered, and let himself down into his reinforced armchair. "Come on, what network, come on," Gryphon muttered, staring intently at the screen. Presently the stylized neon "CNN" appeared in the corner. "CNN! Wow, she really has hit the big time. She always knew she would...wow...it'd really be cool to talk to her again..."
"Why don't you give her a call?"
"You bet I'm gonna give her a call," Gryphon answered, bounding to the cyberterminal in the corner and jacking in. Directory Assistance couldn't give him a number for a Cory Emerson, but they could give him CNN's number...and that would have to do. He jacked out and dialed frantically.
"CNN," the woman's voice at the other end.
"Hi," Gryphon said, trying to keep his voice even. "Do you have a reporter on staff there by the name of Emerson, Cory Emerson?"
"Yes, we do."
"Great. I don't imagine you'll give me her home number, I don't blame you; so could you please do me a favor and give her a message for me?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Would you please tell her that Gryphon called, and have her call this number." After giving the operator their new number and thanking her profusely, despite the operator's pessimistic "If she makes it to her messages tomorrow" proclamation, Gryphon hung up and paced up and down, a bundle of tension. Finally, he ran upstairs and dressed, pulling on jeans and one of his numerous airbrushed armor t-shirts, this one sporting Kaneda from Akira walking toward his bike.
Then, running downstairs, he pulled on his old British Knights and shrugged into his armored leather jacket. Suddenly he remembered something that he had always known, but not consciously remembered for a long time; Cory had given him the jacket for Christmas, the last Christmas they were together. Eight years ago. He smiled, slapped his Safematic cap on his head, and opened the door.
"I'm going for a drive; I have to blow off some energy."
"If she should call while you're out--" Tycho began.
"Give her the car phone number," Gryphon called behind him, and he was gone. Moments later the throaty roar of his car's engine echoed in the wake of the mighty machine's passing. (grin)
Gryphon drove the old-fashioned way tonight; unjacked, without his smart goggles, not even using the HUD. Just him, the car and the road. He found one of those ubiquitous Tokyo expressways and opened her up, Anthrax blasting in his ears and memory racing across his mind.
Cory Emerson. The name alone brought back a flood of memory; seeing her face and hearing her voice on TV had slammed the control rods of his mental reactor completely out of the core. She had been speaking Japanese, but the voice was the same; cool, melodic, tough. A reporter's voice, through and through and out the other side.
They had met in nursery school; been friends all through childhood. When they reached high school it seemed natural for them to start going out, and their relationship metamorphosed into something different, though their friendship remained undamaged by the romance--a neat trick if you can manage it. They were a couple all through high school; there was never anyone else for either of them. They were voted Class Couple their senior year, and everyone who saw them said they looked quite good together, except her parents, who didn't like him. She didn't particularly care what they thought; her senior year, she practically lived on his couch. (Or so his parents thought.)
They were very different people; Cory with her ambitions, and Gryphon with his driver's heart. Cory knew from the start what she would be: a reporter. Not just any reporter, but the best, blowing the lid off corporate injustice and civil iniquity. She started early, getting a foothold in the CNN hierarchy by interning with them before even finishing high school. Gryphon, on the other hand, was indecisive about his future, not knowing quite what he wanted, when the answer was in front of his face the whole time; Gryphon lived to drive. It was his life and it was what he did best.
(Because of the fact that Cory's life was ruled by schedule, order, and the not-enough-time-in-the-day rush of a young up-and-comer a lot of the time, and Gryphon's by the need for speed, Gryphon once jokingly proclaimed "their song" to be Anthrax's cover of "Got the Time". It stuck.)
So, at the end of their last summer together, pushed apart by separate fates, they tearfully said their goodbyes and moved away, Gryphon to Night City and Cory to God knows where. They sent a few letters and made a few phone calls, but continental drift set in, and eventually they completely lost track of each other.
Gryphon did his best to forget; he didn't know what Cory had done. There were a couple of times in Night City when he thought he was in love again, three he could think of. One relationship just ended--they decided it wasn't working.
Another lover turned on him when she found out his background; she was a petty social climber and felt his common background would drag her down. She tried to kill him, then just sort of went away. Gryphon didn't particularly give a fuck one way or the other for her, and tended to ignore her.
The third died in the car crash that cost Gryphon his right arm. Thinking back on it in the hospital, Gryphon had realized that he hadn't loved any of them, nor they him. He hated himself for doing what, in the hopelessly romantic side of his mind, amounted to betraying Cory. It sometimes annoyed Gryphon that he was so much the romantic...it certainly took all the fun out of fast affairs, to the point where he never bothered with them anymore. The only people who really understood him were Tycho, Carson, and...Cory...
Cory had, in fact, done just the same as he. She was a career woman, and though she still loved Gryphon, she felt it best to just try to forget him. Like Gryphon, she almost succeeded, but for the tiny everyday reminders that brought a strange, fnorded sensation to the back of her mind. She had a few boyfriends in college and later in life, but she never could quite forget Gryphon, or how special they had been together. She too was something of an anachronism, a true-love woman in an age of cheap lust and fast sex.
Gryphon had no way of knowing this; he drove about, listening to music far too loudly and wondering what Cory would do when she received his message. He started to worry that the operator would even pass it along; Cory seemed pretty important by now, perhaps the woman had thought him just another besotted fan. He realized that paranoia was beginning to set in and tried to force himself to calm down.
Muttering something about "bonehead" to himself, he drove home after an hour or so on the road and made himself go to sleep. She'd call. She had to.
Gryphon fell asleep with his arms wrapped around his jacket, remembering the two summer weeks a year they spent at his grandfather's camp up in the woods, fishing, swimming, boating, going for walks in the woods, and by junior year...other things. He suddenly found himself wishing very much he could go back to the summer of 2010 again.
Gryphon awoke slowly, as always; got out of bed, pulled on his bathrobe, and went downstairs to the terminal, to log into the Net and read his email and news. It was around noon. At noon-fifteen, the phone rang, almost startling him right out of his skin. By the second ring he had grabbed it.
"Hello?" Gryphon said, forcing himself to sound calm.
"Hello," replied a woman's voice. Familiar. In English. "Gryphon?"
Gryphon's heart leaped. It was her, all right. "I know you..." he said slowly, a smile spreading. "Don't I?"
"I think so," the woman replied. "Your full, real name is Benjamin Donald Hutchins. You were born June 20th, 1996, and graduated near the top of your class from Stearns High School, Class of 2012. You're an anime fan and the king of the American Angelheads--but you don't like the American Angels."
"Cory!" Gryphon cried. He was very happy, to say the least.
"Ben," Cory replied. "How are you?"
"Fine, wonderful," Gryphon replied. "And you? God, Cory, it's been a long time."
"I'm fine--what are you doing in Tokyo?"
"I work for Trauma Team--my team got transferred a couple of weeks ago. Besides, I was sick of Night City."
"You? Trauma Team? I can't picture you a medtechie."
"No, I'm a pilot. I fly the AV-4 for Trauma Team 261."
"Two sixty-one. It figures, doubly so," Cory said, an amused tone in her voice. "Some things never change. I'll even bet your ID number is 101761," she surmised.
"I see why you're such a good reporter," Gryphon replied, grinning. "Are you free sometime, can we go out and get something to eat? I'd really like to see you again. It's been so long."
"I'm too busy for lunch today," Cory answered, "but I should be off work by five...how about supper tonight, around six?"
"Sure," Gryphon replied. "Where?"
"You feel like Italian?"
"Anything. The important part is seeing you again."
"You haven't changed. Okay, Italian it is. Do you know where Yahagi's is?"
"Yahagi's? Strange name for an Italian restaurant."
"Yes, but the food is excellent, and Shogo-san is a dear friend of mine, so we won't have a problem with reservations."
"You know I trust you implicitly in matters of the stomach," Gryphon said, his smile deepening.
"Uh huh," Cory replied, her voice still happy-sounding. "But do you know where it is?"
"No, but my car does," Gryphon replied. "Trust me, I'll be there, at six."
"You'll be there by six-fifteen, then," replied Cory. "And wear a tie, Yahagi's is a nice place, okay?"
"You bet. And I'll be on time this time, I mean it."
"Uh huh. I'll see you there. I have to get back to work now--sorry to cut this short." Her voice softened a little, becoming less chatty and more personal. "It really is good to hear your voice again," she said.
"You too, Cory. You can't even begin to believe how happy I am right now."
"Oh, I can imagine. I have to go--see you at six!"
"At six," Gryphon promised, and set the phone back in its cradle. Then he leaped in the air, punched at nothing, and shouted, "YEEEHAAA!"
"What the fuck--?!" demanded Carson as he bounded down the stairs, one of his numerous weapons at the ready.
"What was that?!" seconded Tycho as he crowded out of his room as well.
"Sorry, guys--I'm just really happy. That was Cory--she returned my call! We're going out for dinner tonight. It's been eight years, Tycho--eight years!"
"Cory?" Carson asked. "Cory Emerson?"
"Yeah!"
"What the hell is she doing in Tokyo?"
"She's a reporter for CNN, quite important too, I guess. I saw her on TV last night and almost had a mental meltdown right there on the couch."
"Cool," said Carson. "Just don't go yelling like that anymore, will you? Could've given me a heart attack."
"Yeah, right," Gryphon replied with a sardonic grin. "If you had a heart."
"Hey, I had a heart--I needed the money, give me a break," Carson replied.
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
"Watch it, Gryphon," Carson said. "You're lucky you're not people, 'cause I hate people, and I'd have to hurt you."
"I'm coming with you," Tycho announced.
"You're what?"
"I'm coming with you. If anything goes down, you might need me."
"I'm going out to dinner with an old friend, Tycho, it's not like I'm making a meet to ditch some hot guns."
"She's a big time reporter now. It's been eight years. People change. Corps recruit. Militech doesn't like you. Understand?"
"Not Cory. Never Cory."
"Sure, sure. I'm coming anyway."
"Fine, whatever." Gryphon ran upstairs. "I'm going to shower. No! First I'm going to wax Maximilian, then I'm going to shower."
"Calm down, Gryphon, you're stressing," Tycho said calmly.
"I AM NOT STRESSING!" Gryphon shouted. "Now get out of my way. Where the hell is the Turtle Wax?"
"In my room."
"What the hell is it doing in your room?"
"I used it."
"Oh." Gryphon dashed upstairs and came down a few minutes later in the coverall he wore when working on the car, carrying a bottle of Turtle Wax and some rags.
After giving Maximilian the Deathmobile a good tuning, adjusting, oil change, cleaning, vacuuming, de-kippling, washing and waxing, Gryphon went upstairs and took a long, hot shower.
"There'd better be some hot water left when he gets done," Carson said to Tycho in the living room, "or I'll be pissed."
"Doesn't much matter to me," Tycho replied, changing the channel. As luck would have it, he went to channel 3, and there was Cory giving a report.
"That's her," Tycho said, pointing.
"No kidding? Nice." Carson popped the tab on a beer. "Why the hell did he ever break up with her?"
"It's a long story," Tycho said, a tiny trace of humanity creeping into his voice. Only with his closest friend, Carson, and his brother, Gryphon, did Tycho show what humanity he had left under the six hundred plus pounds of metal grafted to and/or completely replacing his flesh.
"I remember the night they broke up, though...I was home for the weekend. It was silly, actually...neither of them wanted to do it, but they both thought the other did, you know? Our folks were blind, like they usually were; I was the only one who noticed. I suppose I should've said something then, but I didn't think it was any of my business."
"Yeah, I understand," Carson replied. "Gryphon can get awfully mean when he thinks you're sticking your nose in where he doesn't think it belongs."
"Well, besides that, I was going through some changes... that was the weekend before I went into Militech and had this done." He indicated his body. "Truth to tell, I really didn't give a fuck about anything or anyone. I was just home to get my shit and leave."
Carson nodded.
"What time is it, anyway?" asked Tycho at length.
"Dunno." Carson checked his skullwatch. "It's--shit! GRYPHON! Get outta the shower, buddy--it's five-thirty!"
"SHIT!" The shower slammed off and the door opened quite abruptly; downstairs they could hear Gryphon bounding out and snagging a towel on the way to his room. Tycho rose from his seat and headed upstairs; he knew the routine.
"Where the hell is--" Gryphon was saying, dressed in underwear, white t-shirt, and socks, as he rooted through the pile of clothes on his floor.
Tycho picked up the white dress shirt from the back of the chair and held it out, open. "Your shirt?"
"Thanks, Tycho, you're a lifesaver." Gryphon shrugged into the shirt, buttoned it, missed one, cursed, did it again. Tycho next located his black dress pants, suit coat, and finally his tie, and handed them all to him one by one. Adjusting the tie, Gryphon pinned it in place with his Robotech Defense Force tie tack and went back into the bathroom to brush his hair.
They bounded downstairs (well, Tycho didn't really bound, but he kept up with Gryphon, who was well and truly bounding), Gryphon pulling on his best footwear, his black Pumps, and simultaneously snagging his keys from the endtable. Then he grabbed his heavy gray overcoat and matching hat, put them on, and made to open the door.
"Good luck," Carson said.
"Thanks, Carson. I mean it. Come on, Tycho--we're late!"
"What else is new?" Tycho said calmly as they entered the garage. "You're really stressing. Here." He reached up, unjacked his stress chip, and pressed it into Gryphon's trembling hand.
"Thanks." Gryphon slotted the sliver of silicon into the chipjack on the side of his head, next to the one that made his TechHair his original shade of light brown and the one that gave him a rudimentary knowledge of Japanese culture. He visibly relaxed. "Ahh. I'll have to give it back when we get there, though--if I'm chip-relaxed, I won't be myself, and we can't have that."
"Oh, heavens no," Tycho deadpanned. Tycho pretty much deadpanned everything. With a chiseled metal face, there wasn't much else he could do. "What a tragedy it would be for you to meet Cory in a relatively sane frame of mind."
"It would," Gryphon said as he tossed his hat into the back seat and strapped himself into Maximilian's driver's seat. "A total and complete tragedy. I want to be me."
"What if she's not her?"
"What do you mean?"
"People change. Look at me."
"Somehow, I don't think Cory's cyberpsychotic."
"Hey! Neither am I...yet..."
"Yeah, but you'd probably go if I so much as polished your face."
"So don't polish my face."
"Right." Gryphon flipped switches and turned the key; Max's powerplant snarled into life. The garage door opened. The digital dash sprang to full power. Gryphon pulled on his helmet, checked all the smartgoggle attachments, and jacked into the cybercontrol system, then backed straight out of the garage and roared away into the night.
"This calls for some special music," Gryphon said with a grin, and slotted a CD into the player on the DeathStereoTM. Anthrax's old cover of "Got the Time" started blasting out of the 200-watt monstrosity, complete with bass subwoofered directly into the computer-controlled gas-active suspension system. To Gryphon, jacked into the car, it was as if the bass was resonating right off his bones. People at red lights tossed auto-repair business cards in Tycho's lap; Gryphon dusted them.
It was a rather long drive to Yahagi's, as time ticked preciously away; Gryphon was doing a good 55 mph up a 25-mph street when he spotted the two barriers marking the valet- parking zone in front of Yahagi's coming up on the left. Grinning fiercely, he jerked the wheel to the left, slammed his foot down on the brake, and shifted his balance, in the process shifting the entire car's balance. The Gryphon 2100 MkII Roadmaster slewed hard, skidding on its solid-rubber tires, in a flawless bootleg turn, then slid sideways between the two barriers, aligned perfectly with the curb.
The Roadmaster's active suspension vented some overpressurized, evaporated fluid; with a tremendous sigh, a huge cloud of blue vapor swirled up from under the car. Gryphon stepped out, hat on head, looking tremendously cool in his overcoat and huge cloud of blue smoke. Then Tycho got out of his side, wearing a huge pair of pants, an equally huge raincoat, and a hat, looking like a Volkswagen Bug II trying to be inconspicuous in a crowded mall. The parking attendant scowled at Gryphon, but shuddered at the sight of Tycho and quickly parked the car.
Gryphon grinned and went into the restaurant. Cory was waiting in the "hi, I'm waiting for my table" area that all nice restaurants have, wearing a suit that almost matched his own (but for the skirt, he supposed) and that Eiji lightpanel cloak. He had to laugh, he was just too happy. Reaching up, he yanked out the stress chip, tossed it to Tycho, and strode over to her, arms wide.
"Cory!" he called.
"Gryphon!" she replied, both accepting and returning his warm hug. With a sudden flash of "DUH", Gryphon realized something that he supposed on some level he had always known; he still loved Cory, just as much as he always had.
"It's so good to see you again," Gryphon said, releasing her. "God, you're still just as beautiful. I can't believe it! You, here in Tokyo...incredible."
"You haven't changed a bit," Cory replied. "You're still five minutes late, you still drive like a maniac, and you're still the same old flatterer." She gave him a quick kiss, just about all that was socially acceptable in the foyer of an Italian restaurant in downtown Tokyo. Then she saw Tycho.
"Who's this?" she asked, appearing calm despite the huge 'borg's appearance.
"You remember Tycho--oh, sorry, I forgot, he got that name later--my brother, Bill?"
"Bill? You're in there somewhere?"
"More or less," Tycho rumbled. "Good to see you, Cory." Tycho leaned close to Gryphon and murmured, "I'll be in the bar if you need me."
"Somehow," Gryphon replied quietly, "I don't think I'll be needing your help tonight."
"Good luck."
"Thanks." Tycho stood back to his full eight foot four and headed off to the bar.
"Wow, what happened to him?" Cory asked as the maitr-d' led them to their table.
"He had it done on purpose, believe it or not. Bonehead. Went to Militech and said, `Hi, I wanna work for you, borg me.' I would've tried to talk him out of it, but I was depressed around then, and I didn't really give a damn."
"What've you been up to?" she asked him as they took their seat. "Other than driving for Trauma Team?"
"Oh, this and that...collecting more anime...building up more kipple...building Maximilian the Deathmobile...trying to forget you..." He smiled. "I want you to know something, Cory, right now, and make of it what you will. You know I hate messing around with the indirect route, and you know I'm a hopeless romantic. I still love you, Cory, and I always have. I don't know how you feel--odds are I won't like it when I find out--but I wanted you to know that."
Cory smiled. "You too, huh?" she asked, semi-sadly.
"Huh?"
She reached across the table and took both his hands in hers. "It was the same for me. I'd see something, almost every day, and it would remind me of you...I had a couple of boyfriends in college, but part of me almost felt like some sort of cheap slut for it...like I was betraying you or something..."
"Yeah," Gryphon replied, surprise spreading over his face. "Yeah, that's exactly how it was. Well, I suppose it's a little different...I never had a boyfriend...but what--?"
Cory laughed. "So here we are, Gryph, two hopeless romantics in an age of opportunists. I think we're safer together in a world like this...don't you?"
"You...you mean...?"
"I was just thinking about you the other day...wondering if I should try to track you down...hell, I'm a reporter, I could do it, with enough time. And then I get into my office this morning, and there's your message...it was like something..."
"...ordained it," Gryphon finished slowly.
"God, you're already doing it."
"What?"
"You're finishing my sentences."
"Hm...how'd you ever become such a famous reporter, if you never finish a sentence?"
"Shut up and order," she said with a smile.
The meal was over soon enough, and they were sitting and talking in that post-meal way that people tend to do. "Where do you live?" Cory asked.
"Trauma Team provides housing for their employees...I live over on some street with an utterly unpronounceable name, near the main TTTokyo facility with Tycho and one of the solos from my team. Nice guy, for a borderline cyperpsycho--Carson D. Carson's his name, believe it or not. You'll have to meet him sometime. You?"
"I live a couple of blocks down the street...it's a nice apartment. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but I'm, well...comfortable."
"I could be, I suppose...but the TT housing is free and not too bad, and it gives me more money to spend on my car."
"You and your cars. What is it this time, an old Camaro? Some pre-unleaded iron monster like that Pontiac?"
"No, it's a great car. You'll have to meet it--I've had it for a couple of years now. It's my own design. Well, mine and Kenichi Sonoda's."
"Well..." She stood up. "Shall we go?"
"What about the bill?"
"It's taken care of. I told you, Shogo-san is a good friend of mine."
"Okay...I suppose I should go tell Tycho where I'm going, so he doesn't worry--he gets awfully paranoid sometimes."
In the bar, Tycho looked down as his watch beeped. "Hmm," he observed, mentally, as he looked at it. "It's God knows when. Gryphon's taking a while..."
"Tycho!" Gryphon called. Tycho looked; he was standing in the door to the bar. Tycho stood and clomped over to him.
"I'm heading out...do you mind awfully walking home?"
"No, I suppose not...it's for a good cause." Were Tycho still capable of smiling, he likely would have.
Gryphon grinned. "Thanks, chummer, I owe you one."
"Wow...this is some kind of car."
"Yeah...ugly as sin, isn't it?"
"Well...I didn't want to say anything, but..."
"It's ok, Max knows he's ugly." Gryphon patted the front fender of the Roadmaster (which the attendant had dropped off and then run away from at all possible speed) affectionately. "I built him to be ugly. To scare the hell out of people. Hop in."
"Ok--wow, big seat. For Tycho?"
"Yup...just hit that blue button there, it'll inflate the supports in the middle of the seat so you can sit down and not disappear. Make sure you strap in." Gryphon closed his door with a slight hiss; Cory's did the same as she closed it. There was utter silence, save for the dull purr of the engine; the outside world was completely cut off.
"Here," Gryphon said, tabbing a couple of controls on the DeathStereoTM. "Remember this?"
"What--" Cory got no further as the throbbing bassline from "Got the Time" filled the car. She laughed. "Yes! How could I forget--this is our song!" She put her hand on his as he rested it on the shifter knob, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. When the song was done, she said, "Ahh...my life is still like this, Ben. Maybe even worse. Christ, there just isn't enough time in the day! And the people I work with--graaah, I've never seen such a collection of clowns in my life! How CNN ever became the network it is I have no idea, if they've always had people like this...I do the work of any four of them..."
"Wow...you sure you want to do this? I mean, if you're pushed for time already..."
"Of course. I need to relax a little. You always relax me. Do you still give back rubs?"
"I haven't in a long time...bet I haven't forgotten, though..."
She smiled. "Mmm...we'll find out when we get home..."
Gryphon smiled. Maybe this Tokyo thing wouldn't be so bad after all?
"Can I use your phone?" Cory asked suddenly.
"Sure, go ahead."
"Thanks." Cory picked up the receiver and dialed. "Hi, Yuriko--it's Cory. Yeah. Listen, can you tell Giles I won't be in tomorrow? Yeah, yeah, I know he'll have kittens, what else is new? Uh huh. Bullshit--we don't need the data on the Militech thing for another three days. I put in overtime all last week enhancing tape on that fuckup with Trauma Team, I have at least one day off coming to me. No! Look, Yuriko, just leave him a message for me. Tell him I'm taking the day off, I've earned it, and if he tries to make a stink about it, I'll personally rip out that decaying thing he calls his liver! Ok? Thanks, Yuriko. See you Wednesday."
"Wow," Gryphon muttered as Cory hung the phone up. "Rip tear shred destroy kill... *SNARL*...ouch! Glad I'm not Giles, whoever the poor bastard is."
"Don't spare him any pity," Cory said, disgust in her voice. "Giles Mason is my boss. He's a lecherous, incompetent, alcoholic ass, and he rides my back mercilessly 'cause I won't go to bed with him." She shuddered as if the mere thought made her ill.
"I take it that is just not an option?" asked Gryphon with a sardonic smile. "Hmm, we don't take our career very seriously, now do we, Ms. Emerson? Here you have a perfect opportunity for a truly meteoric career--"
"Which I happen to be having without the companionship of Giles Mason, thank you," said Cory with a smile of her own. "The day I have to sleep with someone to advance in my career is the day I take up professional knitting."
"You can't knit worth shit."
"Exactly."
"Wow, you really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" He extended his right hand. "Welcome to the club. Frustrated, angry individuals who wish 90% of the human race would just go off somewhere and quietly die."
"Amen," Cory replied, shaking the proffered hand. "Even here in Japan, I'm surrounded by idiots. Why the hell they ever transferred morons like Giles to the Tokyo bureau I don't know. I mean...shit. You don't want to hear about this!"
"You know me better than that," Gryphon said with a wounded tone. "Of course I want to hear about this. If you don't talk to somebody about it, you'll wind up snapping and killing Giles with a pencil or something, and then what'll happen to this career of yours? You must be doing something right, to get such acceptance, an outlander here in Japan who challenges the almighty corporations."
"Most of that is just hype...they're making a big deal about what happened over at the Arasaka complex last weekend. I was in the right place at the right time, what can I say? I got lucky."
"What went down at Arasaka?"
"Don't you know?"
"No--until yesterday I was on a ship from Night City."
"Oh. A ship?"
"Yeah. Think I'd leave Max in the hands of some airline baggage department? I think not."
She laughed, then continued, "Anyway, yeah--big doings at the Arasaka complex last Saturday night. An Arasaka AV-6 blew away a Trauma Team, and I got it on tape."
"What?!"
"They were removing a carded patient from Arasaka grounds. It was a legit broken-card response. The TT AV-4 was outside Arasaka's perimeter when the Arasaka '6 came roaring out, and let off a spread of missiles. The Team pilot tried to dodge, but...boom."
"Why the fuck would Arasaka blow away a Trauma Team?"
"The patient they were removing was an Arasaka research engineer killed in an extraction attempt by Militech solos. Two of the solos were on the '4 that got blown away, and three more got away in an R.E.O. MeatWagon Ambunaught that managed to blast its way through the gate at the perimeter."
"Shit...Arasaka, Militech, Trauma Team, and MeatWagon? Have some corporate rivalry. Jeez. Why were you there?"
"I had a tip Militech was going to try an extraction from Arasaka, probably from one of the Militech guys who wanted a little coverage. I was just outside the fence, using night gear and all that other crap--a lot less convenient than the headcam, but the headcam can't see half a mile away at night. The job went bad; the engineer got hit and broke his TT card. A couple of the solos were pretty poor off, I guess, and had MeatWagon accounts. Then the ambulances showed up. Potshots all 'round, and the only people that made it out alive were the Arasaka AV jocks and the MeatWagon Ambunaught."
"Wow. So you burned Arasaka's ass for blowing away a Trauma Team AV."
"Got them good, too, I guess...TT's suing them for unreasonable amounts of money."
"Worried about reprisals?"
"Not especially. Arasaka knows that if anything happens to any CNN Tokyo personnel in the near future, CNN will start supporting Militech's bid to get a facility in Japan, and Arasaka just does not want that to happen."
"Christ, have some politics. I couldn't stand it all if I were you. Me, I love my job...it's quite simply a combination of everything I love to do best, except of course that an AV-4 doesn't have decent wheels. Other than that: I get to fly real fast and real recklessly, I get lots of fun lights and sirens to play with, I can go anywhere I have to go to reach the patient, and I can blow up anything that tries to get in my way."
"Sounds like your dream job. Dangerous, though."
"True. By the way...where are we going? Or would you prefer to drive about aimlessly until dawn? I haven't done that in this city yet."
"No...let's go back to my apartment and have some hot chocolate or something. It's early yet."
"As you wish, m'lady. Where's your apartment again?"
"Nice," Gryphon commented as he stepped into the living room.
"Shoes," Cory ordered, pulling off her low heels one at a time.
"Oh, of course," Gryphon said with a grin, taking off his BKs. The entire living room was carpeted in a lush pile of light blue.
"Ahh...I hate heels," said Cory as she padded across the living room and up two wood-paneled stairs to the open kitchen and on back to what he took to be her bedroom door. "I'll be right back...make yourself comfortable."
Gryphon obliged, hanging up his coat and hat, then taking off his suit coat and loosening his tie before sitting down on the enormous brown leather couch.
"I simply must get one of these," he murmured to himself as he sank into the soft and--surprise--heated couch. "Mmmmmm." He let his head sink back against the cushions and tried to get rid of some of the "surreal day" feedback in his head. The couch almost made him want to fall asleep right here...
A hand brushed the long hair back from his forehead. "Tired?"
He opened his eyes to see Cory, looking completely un-formal in a t-shirt and shorts, leaning over him. "Past your bedtime?"
"No...it's this couch...and I've been having a very surreal day. I haven't even been up for twelve hours yet, I can't be tired."
She sat down beside him, leaning on his shoulder. "Well, I'm tired. I had the world's worst day at work today; the only good point was finding your message somewhere amidst my cluttered mail spool. Work is such hell sometimes."
"But you love it," he said, putting his arm around her. "I feel the same way about flying for Trauma Team. It's a lot of stress, and some of the situations don't come off well at all, but I can't imagine life in another job. Unless maybe it was 24-hour delivery."
"You haven't gotten any less silly."
"It's my defense against my memories."
"Memories?"
"Yeah...I haven't had a good eight years, all told. I started refusing to deal when we broke up and Bill went off to get himself turned into a tank; so I started drifting around. I ran out of money and wound up in Night City. Goooood choice...arr. For something to do, I took up guitar; the only things I could do well were drive and play guitar. Neither seemed to be a decent career option. I had a girlfriend for a while; she tried to kill me when she found out I didn't have a job. 'Bout then I started wondering if it wouldn't be nice for 90% of the population to just go away."
Cory nodded; she could understand that feeling all too well. "Yeah...I knew a guy in college like that. Real snob, nice family, etc., etc. He once came up to me at a social and said, `Miss Emerson, you are a very beautiful woman-- would you do me the honor of telling me what great noble house of Europe gave rise to such a noble face and figure?'"
Gryphon choked. "Ack, like have a line." He made a gesture and noise like a 3500-ton can of SPAM dropping onto concrete.
Cory wrinkled her nose. "Tell me about it. Anyway, I told him I was descended from such luminaries as a starving, drug-addicted poet, the bastard son of a Norwegian prince and some random maiden, and a family of Polish revolutionaries, and he turned white as a sheet and made some hideously fake excuse. Avoided me for the rest of the year, then transferred away--felt like he had made some horrible social blunder his family could never recover from. People like him I can do without. But you were saying--?"
"Oh yeah. So I met this guy, Tengu, who was starting up a band and wanted me to be his guitarist--it seems I got drunk or chipped or something one night and started playing guitar in some bar, totally at random, and he liked my sound. So I started playing guitar in a retro band and trying to scrape my life together. Things were going good--I landed a job driving for Domino's and between that and our gigs I made an ok living.
"Then my uncle died and I got enough cash together to build my dream car; I called it the Gryphon 2100 Roadmaster. Thought I fell in love with the drummer from the band. We were driving one night and a Trauma Team AV-4 hit my car."
"What?!"
"They couldn't help it; I was cresting a hill and there it was, pouring smoke out of a big hole in its side with a MeatWagon Medimaster on its tail. I tried to dodge, but...yeah right. The thing plowed right into the right side of the car and totally destroyed it."
"The drummer--"
"Puree."
Cory winced. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I found out later the bitch was planning on marrying one of the roadies as soon as she had enough money together--a lot of which she was getting from me."
"Ouch. Cold..."
"Yeah...I woke up in a hospital with a metal arm and a reeeally pissy mood. And then Rico, the roadie, comes in and starts ragging me 'cause `I got his fiancee killed'. I don't think I killed him, but then again, I don't remember, and no one will tell me."
She squeezed his shoulders with an arm. "If you didn't, you should have."
"Hmm...well anyway...I was really close to just giving up on people then. Women I thought I loved betrayed me-- although thinking back I don't think I really loved either of them--people I trusted took advantage of me; total strangers hit me with combat aerodynes. I was not having a Good Life. And then a rep from Trauma Team came to visit me. He said the tapes of the accident from the AV-4's cameras had shown clearly that I was a very skillful driver, and he wanted to know if I was looking for a job. He also offered his condolences."
"So you went to work for Trauma Team."
"Uh huh. Flying the AV-4 for Team 261 in Night City. My life was good; I had a cyberlink, finally, and it was paid for; I was out of debt; I worked for a corporation that didn't do everything in its power to own its employees. I was lonely, but that was ok, I've been dealing with that for eight years now. I met Bill again--strange coincidence, he was Caryn's replacement as Wyvern's drummer--and moved into an apartment with Carson, and life was moving right along."
"And?"
"And, Tycho--Bill--got fired from Militech, and his replacement starts stalking him, `making sure he doesn't go cyberpsychotic'. Basically, whether he is or not, according to this neo-Nazi asshole, he is. Tycho now has a termination order outstanding with Militech. That's one of the reasons we moved to Japan. On the other hand, I built another car, an improved version of the first one, and I can almost forget that my right arm isn't real if I try hard enough. And then I turned on the TV, and there you were, and here we are."
"Hmm...well...I finished my internship with CNN halfway through college, waited 'til graduation, and took a job with them. I started work in the New York bureau, and got transferred out here a year ago after I started digging a little too deep into the affairs of the mayor's office. Out here they thought they could keep me quiet, but that's not the case. Too many corps."
"What about your personal life? If you don't want to tell me, I understand, but--"
"It's just that there's nothing to tell, that's all. I went out with a couple of guys, they were all assholes after I got to know them, big deal. I gave up on dating a couple of years ago. It isn't worth the trouble; the average guy is a jerk and I don't have time to weed through them looking for someone special. Too much work to do. Besides, I get the sneaking suspicion there's only one person special for me." She gave him a kiss.
"Hmm...maybe it works out somehow. If we really are the world's last surviving romantics, it makes sense we should be together."
"Maybe you have a point there. More proof of the fundamental interconnectedness of all things?"
"Could be." Gryphon paused, his face sobering. "Are you absolutely certain about this? I don't want you to feel like I'm pushing you into something you don't really want."
"We had the magic, once. We can get it back." She kissed him again.
"Optimist." He smiled and cracked many knuckles. "Now then. I believe you wanted a back rub."
Carson was sitting bored in the living room, casually tossing spikes into the holotarget on the far wall, when the door opened and Gryphon half-bounded in, narrowly missing being decapitated by a flying spike of metal.
"Yow! Watch it, Carson--you could've put an eye out. What's up? Where's Tycho?" He shut the door and stepped into the room, pocketing his keys and headbanging to whatever song was stuck in his mind.
"He went to the store--it was his turn to buy milk. It's three-thirty in the afternoon..."
"I know what time it is--and the sun is altogether too loud today," Gryphon replied, jumping over the couch to the middle of the room, then went into the kitchen. "Time, got the time tick tick tickin' in my head," he was singing quietly to himself.
"Have a nice night?"
"Uh huh," Gryphon replied from the kitchen. He returned moments later chowing on a nuked chicken and cheese sandwich. "I didn't think she'd want to get back together, but damn, am I glad I was wrong."
"You got back together? Awriiight! My man!" Carson said, extending a hand and slapping Gryphon's shoulder. "Pretty lady, my friend, I envy you."
"Thanks, Carson...I--"
The door opened and Tycho walked in, carrying several dozen gallons of 2% milk.
"Hi, Tycho," Gryphon said.
"Hi," Tycho replied. "So?"
"So?"
"So?"
"So we're back together."
Tycho put the milk down on the table, walked over, and carefully shook Gryphon's hand. "I was hoping."
"Thanks. Hmm...I'm going to get out of these clothes, and then take a very long drive and listen to music far too loudly. Have a great day, gentlemen, what's left of it," he cried as he bounded three at a time up the stairs.
"He's gone," Tycho rumbled.
"Completely lost it," Carson replied.
"Absolutely, blindly and totally in love again."
"Looks good on him, really."
"Yeah...we'd look damn silly that way, but he carries it kinda well."
"Of course, we're going to have to act like it absolutely and totally annoys and sickens us."
"Oh, of course. It's the honorable thing to do. We're his roommates."
fin
