PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY
An AU Battle of the
Planets/Star Blazers crossover
By Frederick P.
Kopetz
Inspired by “Yuki
Wildstar” and Gail (Fluffy) Kopetz.
The origin of this fic: My recent partner-in-fanfic-crime,
beta reader, and Visions Project fellow author “Yuki” and I were going along in
a chat session and the incredibly wacky idea of putting the worlds of Nishizaki/ Matsumoto and Yoshida together
again in a fic occurred to both of us. I have done this before, with Star
Blazers & Speed Racer (Attack and Counterattack, and my
current ongoing Unexpected Allies). With my Speed Racer site
delayed for now, the idea of doing another fic appealed to me in a crazy
fashion.
So, we have this tale.
Please don’t kill me…it’s a very alternate universe.
This, again, will be not only in an
alternate
Thus, this is obviously very much of an alternate
universe. As in my Star Blazers fics, I mix elements
of Yamato and its translated series of Star Blazers, in here, you
will also see elements of Science Ninja Team Gatchaman and Battle of
the Planets mixed together, partly in the weird historical background I am
coming up with for this tale…(Prin, Mark & Jason
are my favorite BoTP charas).
So, prepare for a long, strange trip. Buckle in. I
finally will be writing some characterizations for the G-Force team that have
been in my head for maybe 20 years or so. You will either have fun, think I am
very, very weird, or both.
Oh, copyrights. Battle of the Planets/Gatchaman
is © 2008 by Sandy Frank Productions/Tatsunoko Studios. Star Blazers/Yamato
is © 2008 by Voyager International. No copyright infringement intended nor is
any profit to be made from this story. I am crazy. This is just for fun.
And thanks to Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, and the Rolling
Stones for some great songs from which I quote briefly in this chapter. (I.E, “Piano
Man”, “Talking World War III Blues” and “
PROLOGUE:
A HUMILIATION ON SPECTRA
NOVEMBER 2209
Planet Spectra
was no one’s idea of the garden spot of the universe.
Spectra
was a polluted dump of a planet located in the Crab Nebula in an area of space
that had just avoided active invasion by either Gamilon or the Comet Empire in
the great galactic wars of a few years ago that had raced around it.
The
Spectrans’ role in the conflicts created by Gamilon and the terrible Cometine
Empire had been to act as jackal-like scavengers on the conflicts, selling arms
to both sides, being a haven for both Cometine agents and rebel agents, and as
a base for slavers under the disgusting military dictatorship run by the House
of Ibn Zoltan.
The
government of Spectra was one of the stranger governmental structures known in
the Universe. As a Gamilon battlecruiser, escorted by forty destroyers,
penetrated Spectran territorial space, the new Imperial Envoy, Baron Schava, thought, From
what I have heard about this place, it’s as much of a dump as the R’Khell
territorial worlds. Religious fanatics. They worship the House of Ibn Zoltan
and the will of an intelligent computer known as The Great Spirit. The Great
Spirit is supposedly some kind of god? Yes, right. Primitives? As our Leader
tells us, “I am the one and only god that matters to our Empire.”
Finally,
as his battlecruiser, surrounded by its destroyers, came in for a landing at
the Spectran Capital of Karakora, Baron Schava felt very uneasy, even with his fleet showing the
might and power of his Empire. His ship came down on a landing platform near
the edge of the smoggy, dirty-looking city while the Gamilon drums-and-trumpet
anthem The Gathering of the Fleets
played in the background as ordered.
The
brown-armored members of the Gamilon militry legation
there that guarded the consulate raised their arms in salute, chanting, “Schava, Schava, Schava, Schava, Schava. Schava” in the Triple
Salute usually reserved for Leader Desslok and other great heroes of the
Empire.
At the
platform, there stood a small party waiting for Schava.
One of them was a tall, strange-looking Spectran with Caucasian-looking skin in
a bizarre orange and red costume (Schava would not
have called his getup a “uniform” since, to him, it was not a proper uniform), surrounded by a few Troopers, who were
strange-looking men all clad in green and brown uniforms with long brown hair
coming out of their weird-looking helmets.
“I am Schava,” said the Baron as he saluted in his green and
black uniform and presented his riding crop. “You are?”
“Malnax. First Envoy and Aide to the house of Ibn Zoltan. I
am afraid we have had a little military coup since we were told you were coming
from Gamilon to negotiate the promotion of your Legation to an Embassy and open
proper diplomatic relations with Spectra. We have a new Lord High Secretary.”
“Oh?”
sneered Schava in the strangely-accented,
arrogant-sounding clipped military tones used by so much of the Gamilon high
military clique. “Who is the new ruler?”
“A young
man named Malax Ibn Zoltar, a son of the Great Spirit
himself.”
“Hmmh?” said Schava.
“They say
that he has a mother but no father. They say that he is more intelligent than
any Spectran who has ever been born to date,” said Schava.
“He is a very forceful man and he is a Prophet of the Luminous One. He took
control of the Spectran Secretariat in a round of assassinations and actions of
sabotage. You would do well to watch your words around him. We go to meet him
and the Luminous One now.”
“Like I
am impressed,” said Schava.
A while later, Schava
found himself in a control room flanked by a few Spectran troopers, watching as
an oddball figure in a purple and red uniform and cloak genuflected before a
round screen. “What is your bidding, Master?” he said in a strange, somewhat
high voice.
“You
will let me speak personally to Schava, Zoltar. This
is my business. You cannot interefere.”
“What is
this?” hissed Zoltar. “I am your viceroy, your chosen, and…?”
“Silence!”
said the Great Spirit. “Remain on your knees! Schava,
stand forth!”
“If you
think I am impressed by these so-called theatrics…” began Schava.
A weird
whining noise filled the room as the screen in which the odd lifeform which was
the Great Spirit began to gleam insanely bright. All of the indicators went
bright white, and Schava fell to his knees, screaming, as a strange sonic vibration poured into his
brain. For a moment, the Gamilon felt as if he was going to have a stroke.
Then,
Zoltar smiled and nodded as the lightshow ended and the Great Spirit said,
“RISE!”
Schava stood up with a strangely blank, slack
look on his face. “Your bidding is?”
“Now that is a bit more to my liking,” said
the Great Spirit. “This is what you will report back home to your people; that
we are technologically advanced, but we have nothing your Empire would want,
and we are in some need of foreign aid and materiel. You will make sure an
alliance is signed that is to our liking. And, you will tell your Leader
Desslok nothing of our conversation today.”
“Nothing,”
said Schava.
Zoltar snapped
his fingers in front of Schava’s face. “Excellent, O
Luminous One! He came here thinking we would be crushed under his boots and
become his lackeys. Turnabout is fair play, now, isn’t it?”
“Beware
of the Lady Astrena,” said the Great Spirit. “Nothing must happen here that
would make her begin snooping about with her mind-energy. If she does so, our
little plan will be revealed.”
“And if
you do that, I’ll make sure I break you neck like an old tree limb,” said
Zoltar. At that, he began to laugh insanely.
PLANET EARTH
The
ONE MONTH LATER
Riker
Kane, the new Minister of Science of the Earth Federation, and advisor to a
nascent inter-species team known as the Intergalactic Science Organization, sat
looking at the young man who sat ramrod-stiff before his desk. “An unconventional force?”
The
young man nodded his head.
“Well,
the thing is, Earth Defense has one already. Two if you count the
“Have
you ever had a look at a tool kit, Kane?” said the young man in his suit. “In a
repair shack, you have sledgehammers. Blunt force. The Earth Defense Fleet.
We’re building a second-to-none space navy now. And you might have a circular
saw. A major pool tower. Big, strong, obvious. Ready to rip at boards.”
The
young man picked up a model of the famous space battleship Argo from off Kane’s desk. “The First Star Force. Gunboat diplomacy
at its prime. Major force. They go in, they really investigate, take names and
numbers, deal with the threat like a sharp, nasty tool. But, the most famous
space battleship in two galaxies is a little bit hard to hide. A 64,000 ton
space battleship can’t really go in totally incognito. Oh, they can send in
away teams. But if anyone sees their weapons or that arrow on their uniforms,
they know that major trouble may not be far behind. And the roar of one big
wave motion gun is not exactly a whisper,” said the mustachioed young man
through his glasses. “More like a baseball bat to the back of the head, when
maybe a quick stab in the back with a shuriken
is what we need,” said the young man as he pulled something out of his suit
jacket’s inner pocket and began to play with it. It looked like a big feather.
“Found this in an underground city some time ago. Old Unification Wars souveneir, maybe from about…oh…2053 or 2070? Long time ago.
The historical records are so blurred, though. But if I can dig hard enough, I
think I will find a precedent,” said Dr. James Byron Anderson.
“Why?”
“I think
Earth had to deal with other garbage before Gamilon even started attacking
space-borne shipping long ago. The Unification Wars obscured many things from us.
Many things were lost to History as we know it. World War III and Space Wars I,
II and III tended to do that to us. I also found hints Gamilon was not the
first alien race we had First Contact with. We met other aliens before-who
fought in the shadows…”
“So what
are you thinking of?” said Kane.
“Something,”
said the serious young thirty-year old man as he turned his face towards Kane’s
chubby face, set off with prematurely grey hair. “Something a little different.
In there fast, like a shadow…out like a dream.
Like…ninja. Special saboteurs. Plausible deniability. They won’t be Earth
Defense. Trained by them, maybe, but not on the military payroll. War orphans,
trained from childhood. Anti-terrorists. Sneaks.”
“You had
your Ph.D in astrophysics at twenty-eight from
Harvard, second Ph.D in applied engineering at thirty
from MIT, and you’re working on an M.D. right now at
“Including
the lady I hear you are in competition with to be valedictorian?” said Kane.
“She’s
beside the point, even though she can be useful to our plans. In
“Be
careful,” said Kane. “I think I can get you enough funding for stage one.
However, if the Defense Council gets suspicious, your funding gets pulled. Be
very good. And very careful.”
“I’m
intend to be both,” said
“Around
the
“Like?”
said Kane.
“Where
do you think I found this?” said
“Yes?”
“I have
a gut feeling maybe it is not all over yet…”
Later
that day,
Under
the tutelage of a Doctor Rengo Nakajima, his class group of five men and four
women were examining a young boy who had recently been found badly hurt in
“Now,
we’ve been trying for days to get the boy to open up,” said Doctor Nakajima in
a whisper as the group huddled some distance away from his bed. “He barely
seems to speak Standard English, and he…”
“All
right, sir,” said one of the medical students in the group, a tallish young
red-headed woman named Serena Skollar. She had been
married until recently, and had suffered a rather nasty divorce. “Do we have an
interpreter here?”
“We
won’t need one,” said Nakajima imperiously. “Most everyone can speak Standard.”
“Maybe
not,” said
“What
would that be?” asked another medical student, a young man named Thomas Spiros.
“Didn’t
you do your homework?” said a young honey-blond student. “I have three kids and
I find time to do my homework.”
“So what
in blazes is the answer?” said Spiros.
Nova
Wildstar threw her blond bangs out of her eyes and said, “He speaks Italian. My
Italian is getting better. Doctor Nakajima, I think Anderson and I should speak
with him. Jim, I believe you know some Italian?”
“Some?”
he huffed. “I’m fluent.”
“Well,
let’s go and talk with him, then,” Nova said.
Doctor
Nakajima looked at the boy and said, “Tell them your name.”
“Doctors,”
muttered the dark-haired boy.
Nova
stepped forward and asked, in Italian, “Che cosa è il vostro nome, prego?” (What is your name, please?)
The boy bitterly responded, “Il
mio nome è Jason Giorgio
Asakura… shithead!” (My name
is Jason Giorgio Asakura…shithead!)
Nova responded very mildly, “Ora,
quello non è un senso molto piacevole
comunicare con signora.” (Now, that is not a very nice way to talk to a lady.)
The bitter 10-year old boy named Jason responded with, “Voi didn' la t appena vede i
vostri genitori uccisi davanti voi alcuni giorni
fa dagli assassini dello Spectran… voi blonde
brainless!” (You didn’t just see your parents killed in front of you a
few days ago by Spectran assassins, you brainless blonde!)
Nova shook her head and said, “Brainless?
Voi un ragazzino molto maleducato!” (Brainless?
You are a very rude little boy!)
“You have a point,” Nova said. “Jason,” she said in English while grapsing his chin as he tried to turn away. “What is
Spectra?”
Jason stared at Nova and
“What do
they look like?” said
“Diavolo…the damned devil..”
hissed Jason.
“Do you
want to fight them?” said
“Yes, I’ll
fight them,” said Jason. “And stop lookin’ at me like tha…you two. I can speak
Goddamned English.”
“Your team?” Nova said.
“Long story.
I work for people, too. Let’s just say this boy is my possible first recruit.”
“For what?”
Nova said as she turned on her white-booted foot and motioned
“The C-225 cerebonics project,” said
“You…are
considering using a child as some kind of guinea pig?” Nova hissed.
“Yes. As a
counter-terrorist measure.”
“The War on Terrorism,” Nova sighed.
“Everyone’s justification for inhumanity. My God, people have not stopped using
that line since 2001! A regular space war, that’s one thing. But, an irregular
war on some enemy who is so shadowy that…”
“That’s the
next kind of enemy we might be fighting,” said
“Earth
Defense can pick him up, then,” Nova said. “I can arrange it, I…”
“He’s not
going into the military. He will be an agent of the Intergalactic Science
Organization, Galactic Security Unit.”
“A secret
organization acting in the shadows? Please. We have enough secrecy going on
these days. Sometimes, I think it was a shame to begin building a Federation of
Planets out of the
“We’re not
talking about this any more, Commander Wildstar,”
said
Nova
Wildstar nodded. She went out to speak with the others and finish the exam.
Later, she
protested to Doctor Nakajima, not knowing she would not see Jason Asakura again
for the next ten years, and she would not hear much of “Spectra” again for the
next nine years.
However, nothing
else was ever mentioned to Nova Wildstar again about the C-225 project. She
thought it was a dead issue.
She was not
aware that she had helped set the ball rolling, so to speak.
All with
one scientific paper written while she had been in
II. TALENT NIGHT
Earth: About Eleven Years Later
NORTH AMERICA: THE
JILL’S PLACE
September 6, 2221
“So what’s going
on here tonight?” asked a boy with rather messy hair and buck teeth who looked
to be about eleven years old. He had on an odd but cute outfit; he wore a
T-shirt with the number “4” on it, striped pants, and loafers. He was a young,
genius ISO Security officer known as Ensign Apprentice Keyop Jupiter.
“
“Okay,
Princess,” he said as he wiped his mouth, glad that his annoying stutter had
almost faded with age. “Hitting the drums in the ready room is one thing; hitting
the skins in front of paying guests…not a Big Ten in my current mood.”
“You’re
sounding like Jason,” said the dark-haired beauty as she came out after
playfully slapping Keyop in the head with a bar towel.
“Hey, stop
that! That’s child abuse!” yelled Keyop.
“I found
you as a baby, when I was four in one of Spectra’s first attacks….so, I’m
virtually your sister! Be quiet, would you?” said Princess. Princess’ real name
and title was Lt. Traci Yussupov. She was Russian-Japanese and had tenous links to what remained of one of the old Russian
noble houses, and had a major liking for the novel The Princess Bride when she had been younger. That was how she had
picked up the nickname by which she was known by most of those around her.
Princess’
wristband communicator went off a moment later. She could tell from the
flashing white color that it was Mark. “Be back in a minute,” she said.
“Okey-do-dokey,” said Keyop, who almost slapped himself when some of
his stutter came back.
In the back
room, Princess turned on her unit and said, “Commander, you are late, sir.”
“I’ll be
there in a few,” said Commander Mark Anderson of the ISO, their commanding
officer. ISO Security was a smallish paramilitary organization, but there was
talk that it might someday become the combined military service of the now
eighteen planetary members of the Federation. Of course, governmental forces on
many planets did not think much of having their militaries combined into one
massive force; for that matter, many members of the Federation had still not
given up their traditional imperialistic Spheres of Influence yet.
“What’s the
hold-up?”
“Traffic,”
growled a now somewhat more fully-grown Lt. Cmdr
Jason Asakura’s voice over the communcator’s
speaker. He was now twenty-two, and he was the second-oldest of his team by a
few months.
Princess
laughed at that. “You mean to tell me that the Eagle and the Condor of G-Force
are stuck in a traffic jam?”
“Yeah,”
said Mark.
“Spectra
Mecha?” said Princess.
“Nah, this
jerk in a truck hauling chickens!” said Jason. “The driver is loose in the
street arguing with this Latvian cab driver while chickens are running around
loose.”
“Birds of a
feather, all right,” giggled Princess.
“Would you mind
running out here to help us catch the chickens, Swan?” demanded Mark. “I don’t
think this is a good place or time to transmute.”
“I’ll keep
the drum kit warm for us and just tell Jill to move up the next few acts,” said
Princess. A rather fat fellow came into the back room a moment later while
stuffing his face with a hamburger. “Not as good as spaceburgers,
Princess, but these’ll do.”
“You and
your food, Tiny,” laughed Princess as she looked at Lieutenant Desmond “Tiny”
Harper. He was called “Tiny” because…well…”tiny” he was not…being a big,
massive mountain of a nineteen-year old.
“Oh, yeah,
there’s a two-girl act outside that wants to see ya.”
“Where?”
“Standin near the far table, Princess.”
Keyop
looked out and grinned. “Cute. One girl might be some kind of weird agent,
though?”
“How da ya know that?”
“Trenchcoat, Tiny.”
“That’s
silly, Keyop,” said Princess. “I sometimes throw on a trenchcoat
in civvies.”
Princess,
Tiny and Keyop went outside, in just enough time to see two rather striking-looking
women standing near the glass doors.
One woman
was maybe 5’ 8” in the dark brown high-heeled pumps she had on, and Tiny
smiled. She seemed to be a looker. She had on a baggy old brown-colored leather
or vinyl trenchcoat that came down to about her knees
but couldn’t quite hide the fact that she was slender and lanky. At the open
neckline of her trenchcoat, she had on a very light
tan turtleneck sweater. She had a heart-shaped face that Tiny had seen
somewhere; on some actress, maybe? She had honey-blonde hair that went down to
her shoulders, a nose with a cute little pout at the end, small bow-shaped
lips, and pretty dark shades that looked expensive. Tiny guessed she had on a
skirt under her coat; the legs he could see from the knees down were bare, had
shapely calves, and a subdued pink pedicure showed through her open-toed pumps.
Something about her spelled “money”.
The other
woman was the one Tiny was tempted to ask out. She was taller than her friend,
almost six feet tall in her heels. She was also a blond, but her hair was a
lighter golden shade than her friend’s. She had sharper features, piercing
sapphire-blue eyes, and full lips with red lip gloss on them. She wore a top in
bright red with purple trim at the collar and cuffs, had on a cross-shaped
pendant and cleavage, and dark purple pants that showed off long, lanky legs
most men would die for. She wore bright fire-engine red sandals that matched
her top, and her toenails were also as red as a fire engine.
“Ah, ladies?”
said Tiny. “Here for the
“Yes and
no,” said the first woman in a quiet, refined alto voice. “Kathi, are we
playing tonight?” she said as she looked at her friend.
“If you get
enough drinks in me I might be up to some fun,” said Kathi in a pleasant but
strange clipped-sounding voice that Tiny had heard somewhere else, but could
not place. “Now, I have the mouth organ for our number. You’ll do…”
“Piano and
vocals,” said the other woman as she smiled at Tiny.
“She’s
Kathi,” said Tiny. “What’s your
name?”
“Just call
me Dawn,” she purred. “I’m sort of
taken, though.”
“Just as I
am sort of taken,” said Kathi. She motioned Dawn over to a table and sat down,
putting a hand over Dawn’s. Tiny saw red fingenails
that matched the toenails on Kathi; but he saw no nail polish on Dawn’s fingers
at all. Now how come this babe only has
her toenails done but not her fingers? Tiny thought. Trenchcoat, glasses….weird Spectra goon, maybe? One of these girls is workin’ for
Spectra, or my name is somethin’ else….
Tiny had
things pegged wrong, of course. While one girl was connected with Spectra, it
would turn out he had the wrong one…and was at least fifty percent off.
Princess
came out a moment later and said, “Would you two like something to drink before
you play?”
“Lager and
lime for me,” said Dawn.
“A Bloody
Mary, double Vodka, please,” snapped
Kathi in a somewhat hard voice that Princess disliked. “Shaken, not stirred!
And what is Spectra been up to, lately?”
“Well, if
you heard the news, they had the Demon Five abducted a while back. I like them.
But Zoltar got away again,” Princess said.
“Oh, did
he?” teased Kathi. “Crying shame, that. I’d like to see what he looks like
under that mysterious mask. Wouldn’t you?”
“Zoltar is
an evil sociopath,” said Princess. “I’ve never quite been interested.”
“Ah, but he
has that air of mystery about him,” said
Dawn as she nodded and smiled ironically at Kathi. “He strikes in the middle of
the night, always has that mask on, always scurries away at the last minute
like a roach…”
“More like
a centipede, I’d say,” teased Kathi. “Half his mecha look like bugs. The other
half, well, you don’t want to know what he fantasizes about. Except that it is
my guess that it is pretty weird.”
“There’s
going to come a day when the Federation will get sick of Spectra,” said Dawn.
“Don’t you think so?”
“They are sick of them,” said Princess.
“That’s why we have G-Force and Galaxy Security.”
“Nice kids,
G-Force,” said Dawn rhetorically. You
don’t remember me; good, she thought. At
least not like this. Incredible what a trenchcoat can
do for a girl. “But there might come a time when the Federation might pull
in bigger guns than just G-Force.”
“Now,
when’s that?” said Kathi.
“Let’s say
they pull something off that is so outrageous that you can’t ignore it. Then
they promote themselves from terrorists
to galactic empire. When we have to
deal with out-and-out empires, now,
we have much bigger things to use than birds,” said Dawn. She whistled a few
notes of a haunting anthem that Princess couldn’t place. “And we have much
nastier weapons to use; if called upon. I bet Zoltar would love to know he’s
putting his head in a noose if he keeps this up. Right?”
Kathi gave
her friend a dirty look and said, “Now, that would be genocide! You know what those maniacs in that old wreck of a ship
did to Gamilon! Oh, they had to, but…”
“I’d say
Gamilon started it years ago, we finished it,” said Dawn as she clapped her
hands hard. “You were in diapers, then, I’ll bet, Kathi. Old Gamilon before it
was remade was a place that would make the stories of Spectra seem like a
garden spot by comparison. Storms. Sulphuric acid rain. Volcanoes. A pitiable
world, but Desslok had his reasons.”
“How do you
know that?” said Kathi. “Do you have his phone number or something? Or do you
lay Desslok out on the couch once a week and give him psychotherapy, Doctor?”
“I’m not
about to tell you how I know about Desslok,” said Dawn as she played with her
coaster.
Then, the
doors opened, and Jason and Mark ran in.
Jason was
the taller of the two, with the more craggy appearance and wild eyes burning
with anger. “Damned CHICKENS!” he yelled. “I wish that I had some weapons.”
“Now,
Jason, calm down,” said Mark, who looked tall, boyish and handsome but who
somehow sounded like a prig at times. Then, he looked at Princess. “Princess,
who are these strange women?”
“Dawn and
Kathi,” said Princess. “They’re a duo and they’ll be performing in a few
minutes.”
“Don’t I
know you from somewhere?” Mark asked as he looked at Dawn.
“Is it wise
to go into that here?” said Dawn as she winked at Princess and made her turn a
little red. “It was a long time ago,” she said to Princess. “I think he was
playing with action figures when I last met him.”
“What about
you?” said Princess. “Weren’t you playing with action figures, too?”
The
youngish-looking woman chuckled a low, musical chuckle and said, “Dear. You
look a bit young, but the first thing you should learn is, don’t probe a lady
about her age.”
“Especially
not me,” snapped Kathi in a harsh
voice that made Mark’s ears perk up. He had heard a voice like that before, but
it made no sense in the current context, especially coming from a pretty woman
in Jill’s Place.
“Where do I
know you from?” snapped Mark.
“We do not
want to get into that here, either,” said Kathi.
The doors opened
again, and a slightly boyish-looking man in a grungy Defense Forces flight
jacket, watch cap, and jeans came into the café’. He had on sunglasses, too,
but they were brown, revealing a hint of hard eyes. However, when Dawn saw him,
Princess could not help noticing a visible, enigmatic smile coming to her face
as she nodded to the man. He nodded back once with almost the same sort of
gruff samurai nod that Mark used on occasion. Taking a table on his own, he
nodded to a waitress as she took his drink order.
“I”d better get back behind the bar,” said Princess. “See
you guys later.”
“Nice
talking with you,” said Dawn.
“My
pleasure,” said Kathi stiffly.
A few
minutes later, after two really terrible bands played, Princess stood before a brick
wall by the stage of the recently renovated Jill’s Place and said, “Our next
act is a pianist and harmonica player. Two lovely ladies, who call their act
“Opposites Attract.” Ladies and gentlemen, please meet Dawn on the piano and
Kathi on harmonica.”
Dawn nodded
and immediately began a glissando on the piano as a few people nodded and
cheered in recognition of the rather old 20th century piece being
played by the youngish-looking pianist (who was really forty-three but very
well preserved). Then, Kathi began playing an angry, mournful harmonica in
counterpoint with the song as Dawn began to sing in a beautiful, wistful alto,
“It’s Nine O’Clock
on a Saturday…. Regular crowd shuffles in….there’s an old man sitting next to
me…makin’ love to his tonic and gin…”
Dawn
continued with, “girl, can ya play me a
melody…” (changing the gender of the singer, herself, of course) “Not really sure how it goes…”
It soon
became obvious that Dawn had changed Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” subtly to “Piano
Gal”, but she otherwise did a good job with the classic, just making a
subtle change when she spotted her friend at the bar nursing a Sapporo beer and
she sang with a nod to him, “Now Mike at
the bar is a friend of mine…he gets me my drinks for free…and he’s quick with a
joke…”
“They’re
buddies,” said Jason.
“Who?” said
Tiny.
“Miss Trenchcoat and Mister Sailor there,” said Jason. “They know
each other from someplace.”
“He’s
military,” said Mark. “The way he’s leaning against the bar. Looks like he’s
reconnoitering the place.”
Dawn
continued singing as Mark caught more slightly different lyrics as she sang, “…he says, Novelle, I believe this is killin’ me…as a smile ran away from his face…well I’m sure
that I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place…”
“She keeps
on changing the words a little,” said Jason. “Is it because she’s a girl, or is
it some subtle code?”
“She’s
older than a girl, maybe early thirties,” said Mark. “And Miss Harmonica there
looks younger than she does. I don’t know where she got those clothes from…”
“Bleep-bp..”
muttered Keyop. “Spectra Rummage Sale? Dig those weird purple pants…”
“That’s not
nice to say about a woman,” said Mark.
“She looks
sorta like….oh, this is nuts…Spectra hasn’t done crap for three weeks now,”
said Jason in a whisper.
Kathi went
crazy with her harmonica while Dawn banged hard at the piano and sang, “….and the microphone smells like a beer…and
they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar and say ‘gal, what are YOU doin’
here?’...”
Mark nodded
along and smiled shyly at Princess as they finished up and drew applause. They
got up, bowed, and someone yelled “encore, ladies!”
“Let’s do that one,” said Kathi.
“No,” said
Dawn.
“Yes,” said
Kathi. “I can play my harmonica. Get your guitar.”
Dawn nodded
and got an acoustic guitar and strapped it on while Kathi leered at the crowd
with a demented-looking grin and stepped up to the mike. She said, “Our next
number is another old one, really old, called “Talking World War III Blues” by Bob Dylan, God rest his soul. I
will be singing, while our girlfriend here gives you some finger-picking…”
Dawn began
to play chords and pick strings as Kathi laughed and blew her harmonica into
the mike as she began to sing, “Some time ago a crazy dream
came to me…
I dreamt I was walkin' into World War Three…I went to
the doctor the very next day…”
As she blew her harmonica,
Jason said, “I think that lady singing there is a mental case….”
“Why do you say that?” said
Mark.
“Considering we’re fighting
a low-level war…”
Kathi continued with, “Well, the whole thing started at 3 o'clock
fast…It was all over by quarter past…I was down in the sewer with some little
lover…When I peeked out from a manhole cover…”
“Maybe we’re all nuts,”
said Tiny.
More singing, strumming, and harmonica playing went on while Kathi
just weirded out the crowd with the following rap while Dawn looked at her and
shook her head while playing the guitar, “Well,
I seen a Cadillac window uptown…And there was nobody aroun’…I
got into the driver's seat…And I drove 42nd Street…In my Cadillac…Good car to
drive after a war…”
“She’s kind of funny,” said Mark.
“No, kind of sick,” said Jason. “Although sometimes, I like sick…”
Jason chugged down a beer and said, “I’ve gotta say something…”
“Jason, don’t,” said Princess.
“Hey, baby!” yelled Jason. “Who was the last guy you played for?
Zoltar?”
Kathi just laughed, tootled away on her harmonica again, and
repeated, “Well, I remember seein' some ad…So I turned on my Conelrad…
But I didn't pay my Con Ed bill…”
The song ground on to its strange end as a few people booed.
Later on, G-Force left
while they let Dawn and Kathi look at their trophies. They won
To no one’s surprise, Dawn left
with her guitar case and Mike,
bidding everyone goodnight while Kathi walked around and then said to Jason,
“Like to go out anywhere?”
“No, thanks, not tonight.
Got a race next day and I’ve gotta get some sleep.”
“Too bad,” grinned Kathi as
she put on her lipstick again. “It would have been…”
Then, a cell phone rang in
her purse. “Excuse me,” she said. “I must go and freshen up a bit…”
She went into the ladies’
room as she said, “Yes?” into the phone (which had a few extra buttons on it
for encyrption, all very illegal). She was inside a
toilet stall while she worked on touching up a chipped toenail with some
polish.
“My Lord,” said the rough
voice at the other end. “We want you at
“Brock,” mumbled ‘Kathi’,
“Someone might hear you. The line is secure, but you do not blurt out our
plans. I am still in the civilians’ place. Unfortunately, my murder target
slipped away on me…”
“I thought you wanted her abducted,
Lord.”
“I was leaning towards
poisoning, but I could never get the powder out of the heel of my disguise.
Another opportunity lost to us.”
“The scanners are ready…”
“Good. If we find anyone
with substanial cerebonic bionics,
it might be one of those G-Force brats,” whispered Kathi. “I have to go,” she
said as she hung up.
Princess had just come into
the bathroom to wash her face.
She looked oddly at Kathi
and finally brought herself to say. “Are you all right?”
“Preoccupied. How did my
friend and I sound tonight?”
“Good, but your song was a
little odd. Almost…morbid.”
Kathi laughed. “It made
people think. Don’t you have to admit that?”
Princess nodded. Then,
Kathi got a cigarette pack out of her purse. “Want one?”
“I don’t smoke. Interferes
with my wind. I run and do some martial arts,” said Princess.
“Name?” said Kathi. “I see
Jill is not here tonight?”
“Oh, my name is Traci.”
“Traci,” said Kathi.
“Pretty little name.”
“Thank you. Do you play
anything else?” said Princess.
“Some guitar. That Dawn is
better at it than I am.”
“How did you two meet?”
said Princess.
“A little less than a year
ago at Abbey Road Studios in
“You know them?” said
Princess.
“In a manner of speaking,”
said Kathi with no small irony as she thought of how she had used that night to
spy on both them, and the accursed
Terran officer. “Dawn’s little sister, let us call her
“She looks so young. How
could she have had children?” said Princess.
“People do what suits them.
I have my children, too,” said Kathi. “I…”
Then, her phone rang again.
“I have to go,” said Kathi. She walked off without a goodbye, by-your-leave, or
goodnight.
Rather rude, Princess thought. Not like Dawn.
She’s funny, reminds me of someone a lot nicer. This one reminds me…sort of…of
Zoltar’s sister Mala…strange…maybe I should tell the team…
III. OPERATION ROACH MOTEL
EARTH:
THE
New
September 6, 2221
Kathi smoked another
cigarette, waiting nervously for her pickup.
Finally, the shimmering of
a warp fade-in appeared for a moment in the park, and a small plane appeared
and came to a quick landing near a grove of trees.
Kathi took off her heels
and ran towards the plane, climbing into the aft place of the small ship.
In the forward place of the
plane sat Brock, the long-deposed ruler and freaky dictator of Planet Mir.
Tonight, he was not in his unform; he wore a three-piece suit, opera cape, and
a fedora that, if possible, made him look weirder than he did in his Spectran
officer’s uniform.
“Where were you tonight?”
said Kathi as she climbed in.
“La Boheme,” said Brock. “I like opera,
you know. Better than that folk-rock that you fancy…”
“I almost had her dead,”
said Kathi as they took off, and shimmered out in a warp.
“Who?” said Brock.
“You know who,” said Kathi
as she slipped her sandals back on. Then, she reached under her sleeve and
thumbed a small bracelet with the cat-like Spectran skull on it.
It was one of Spectra’s
newest inventions; a counterpart to G-Force’s birdstyles.
Kathi shimmered for a moment, distorted, and then Brock smiled as he looked in
the aft place….
…and saw Zoltar grinning at
him.
“Nice job, Lordship,” said Brock.
“It would be disturbing had you not confided in me your true nature.”
“We only speak of that in private,” snapped Zoltar. “My gender, we
speak of only in private. The fact that there really is no discrete person
known as Mala, my “sister”, we only speak of in private. As is the fact that I
am far older than I look. A mutant. Made by the Luminous One long ago,
discarded, left for dead in a lava pit and then pulled out by the Great Spirit
in his previous incarnation, cast through time, and then brought back again. I
divulge what I am to only a few! ARE WE
CLEAR?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“The Great Game,” mused
Zoltar. “The race from which the Luminous One came…toying with life. Giving us
the mecha and designs, making me what I am, and giving the Terrans…”
“Aren’t you really an
Earthling?” said Brock.
“SILENCE!” screamed Zoltar.
“I was born in madness one hundred and eighty years ago in a laboratory pit.
The Great Spirt and his race supplying both sides, and letting us loose to
fight in the chaos of the Wars of Unification on Earth. Gatchaman gave his
miserable life in that war. Then, he sees to it that the technology is spread
out, and the Game begins again, new cast of characters after Earth gets dragged
screaming like a baby into the Galaxy by Gamilon planet bombs. They think it
will be more fun, this time, I bet. Not syndicates fighting on one world but a
battle of planets. Demented but amusing. Am I amused or am I filled with hate?”
Zoltar then began to laugh as the plane parked inside the newest Spectra Mecha
they had docked with.
A Roach.
A Giant Cockroach, maybe
eighty meters long.
Zoltar and Brock’s seats
undocked from the escape plane and went up a lift into the master cockpit of
the Cockroach as Zoltar laughed and put on an 8-track tape.
It was the Rolling Stones’
version of “Harlem Shuffle”. Zoltar
turned his music up loud as he began to make his Roach emerge from its bunker
in
He screamed when he found
the rest of her.
Zoltar did not care.
He would have bigger fish
to fry tonight.
…TO BE CONTINUED