Crossover, Chapter 2: Starting from Nowhere
Gally’s body was not real. Her body’s feeling of "pain" was much less receptive than that of a soft and flesh one—a tougher threshold of pain. Damage or mutilation of her solid body made for almost no pain at all, her body of mechanics. Limbs could always be replaced, and damage to a cyborg’s body could be repaired about as easily as any factory-made machine. Still, Gally still did not feel too well.
Gally did not feel well because her brain was still human, could still feel pain. Gally was still "human" in that her brain is of living tissue. Unlike the powered down Vicki by her side, Gally’s brain was warm and living with the circulatory fluids of nourishment. Her brain really could die of a loss of oxygen, could starve or die of thirst. Gally could die. Gally could feel sickness. She could also lose her sanity. Despite the inhuman body she had, Gally remained "human."
She felt a phantom sort of "sickness" now. It was sickness that she felt throughout herself, even into her somewhat unfeeling body. As ordinary people who lose arms still believe they can "feel" their missing limbs, Gally "felt" as if her artificial body were as sick as a flesh one. The small cyborg-girl, lying face up, let out a breath. The air flowed out of her synthetic and armored throat, a sigh very comparable to a human one. Her deliberately huge, almond-and-cinnamon toned eyes opened. Gally’s brain regained more full consciousness. But instead of leaping to her feet, she lie there and listened for any enemy movement. If anyone or anything moved, she could react--leap out of the way or defend herself.
Vicki, a wide step away on the marble floor of this vast office also began the steps back to "consciousness." The robot-girl’s systems began to power up, or go through a "warm" rebooting sequence—the normal programmed subroutines Dr. Lawson installed to take over whenever Vicki undergoes a major shock to her systems. After being flipped through a ripple in time and space because of the "warp," that was shock and trauma enough for Vicki to need a gentle rebooting of her programming.
Far inside Vicki’s personality and Artificial Intelligence programming, very basic and important programs began to check her power systems with diagnostics. Electronic signals flickered off and on everywhere in her body, especially in her head and torso. Hardware checks were cleared. Energy systems were "OK," especially the nuclear battery systems. Mobility, as with Vicki’s artificial muscle tissue and the hardware that controlled it, was "OK." Cooling systems were "OK"; the liquid coolant flowed through her skin as very cold blood to prevent overheating. Vicki was fine save for that temporary malfunction in her programming.
After moments, Vicki’s "personality emulation programming" and Artificial Intelligence came back online. Then Vicki’s body forced her to feel a bit off-balance as a safety measure. If she became too fully active too quickly after a de-facto shut-down, her body could malfunction again. Vicki waited until she felt better, then sat up.
With her knees to near her chin, Vicki looked slowly around. Her own brown eyes looked at this vast space, going left At least, the immense room seemed like an office: Beside the beige and shiny marble floor, there was a desk set before immense and panoramic windows. Red curtains speckled with black hid those immense windows. The curtains, they were warmly illuminated by the glow of the lamp on the desk—the only source of illumination in this office that seemed over fifteen yards wide and long. And the flat computer monitor with the keyboard set before it, the computer terminal on the desk, gave off only a faint blue glow.
She herself was in an area of the office where the light showed. The foot-high and shaded lamp did not do a great job of illuminating the huge place. Outside of a circular region fifteen or so feet wide, the office was in darkness. Vicki’s eye’s scanned the gloom. There was the desk and the computer terminal. And those were the curtains. Also, there was the marble of the floor. Then, Vicki’s eyes darted down and looked…. There was a body!
No, the body could not have been real. For one, the four-foot body was too small and doll-like—the full womanish shape of sinuous long legs, slender torso and breasts in a form-fitting body suit. Was that leather? From the neck down, save for the arms, the girl-woman thing’s body was suited in the dark material. The calves and feet were in cloth boots, topped with hard knee-guards. And the bare arms were metal: They had the same shape and slenderness of a gymnast’s arms, though the arms were metal that gleamed dully in the gloom. The metal seemed to go beyond the shoulder, seemed to be the entire body, as far as Vicki could see. And the "doll" had a face. Large eyes were open. Vicki could look and feel lost in such large brown eyes.
The metal-bodied thing’s face was beautiful, seemed more elven than Vicki’s own—Japanese? Then, Vicki listened. She could even hear breathing. Whoever built the metal-bodied doll in the athletic gear must have put some sort of power source in it. Could it talk?
Vicki looked around, glimpsing back and around to find out if anyone else was around. Vicki took a look at the desk: The seat in the gloom seemed empty. Another look left, then behind, and she did not see anyone. Then, with something like fearfulness, Vicki reached out with her left hand—reaching for the face, closing in to feel the seemingly realistic face.
"Kya-haii!" shouted Gally as she snapped her legs out and flipped herself to her feet. Vicki’s robotic reflexes allowed her to jerk back her arm and scramble back just as Gally began to move. After scrambling back, Vicki was on her butt, supporting herself with her arms and her legs bent. Gally stood, alert and ready.
Gally was a bare four yards away, fists clenched and arms held straight down. One of her pseudo-leather clad legs was before her, the other back. It was one of the deadly stances Gally used for her fighting style—known as the most deadly fighting style in existence. She breathed in a patterned way, perparing for a strike.
"I demand, who are you? Speak, and explain this place! Speak to me, or fight me. Whichever, just make your intentions clear!" shouted Gally, her realistic face in anger as her solid body seemed to tremble with intermingled fear and anger. The strange and seemingly taller "girl" before her looked weak, fear watering in her synthetic brown eyes. Gally stared, expecting something. Fear filled Gally with every passing moment. Why was it so dark here?
She’s not talking in English, and she’s going to kill me if I don’t give an answer! The fearful thought scampered through Vicki’s computer brainworks. To Vicki, Gally spoke gibberish. The language of Scrap Iron City was the result of many centuries of change over from English, German and even Japanese. Gally speaking was like an astronaut trying to use 21st century French to speak to a citizen of Ancient Rome. As Gally spoke in a version of intermixed English-German-Japanese that evolved over centuries, Vicki had no immediate way of understanding.
"Please, I do not understand," pleaded Vicki, her personality emulating "fear." "Do you speak English?" asked Vicki. Her electronic memory began processing the language, trying to understand the cyborg-girl. But there was just too much difference for her computers to understand anything. At the least, Vicki’s computer processors—her "brain"—did detect that Gally asked Vicki her name.
Gally saw confusion in Vicki’s face—and heard Vicki’s gibberish. What trick of technology was this? Was the girl from the rumored Martian colonies? Or was she a bandit, a wild thief from the lands outside of Scrap Iron City, beyond the Hydro-Walls? In that case, care was needed here.
Gally executed a swift backflip, machine quick with her extremely agile and lithe metal body. Her body curled into a backward-turning form in mid-air, revolved several times. Then, Gally extended her legs and landed several yards further back. She sensed she was now more near a wall and was more in the darkness outside of the office desk lamp. The distance between the two allowed her to consider the girl in the blouse and jeans. Gally was unsure if there was any place to run.
Vicki, still seated, slowly extended a hand, and Gally went into that stance again. Gally then began making motions across her own body. She a knife-quick movement across her back and across her arms—too fast to distinguish, but involved too-swift movements touching her arms and back. She could not find her blade. "Where is my weapon? What happened to my Damascus-strong blade?" Gally tried to draw her weapon again, but could not; the weapon was simply not there.
"What are you saying? Did you lose something? I don’t know what it is, but I did not take it," said Vicki, now audibly nervous. She then went to her knees and held out both hands—the pale and synthetic flesh of palms straight out. Gally again went back into a basic stance, a martial artist's way of standing before a confrontation. Gally thought of what the strange girl before her could do. Was the girl going to use Hertza-Haeon—a Martian martial arts technique that could send destructive sound waves into Gally’s body to destroy her? Before the girl could act, Gally did a quick dash at Vicki.
A quick flashing crack of lightning and thunder exploded in the room. It was so loud and flared so bright that neither of the two, Gally or Vicki, could determine if the thunder were from the outside or the inside. Gally felt herself fall and tumble over her own legs. And Vicki felt herself become paralyzed as well.
Then, Vicki recovered and went to one knee—kneeling. Gally also regained power enough to move. Maybe that was a new variation on the Hertza-Haeon skill that existed from Gally’s time? Perhaps caution would be best again. Gally went to one knee just as the female did. Vicki spoke first.
"I do not know your or know how I came to this place. But please, please…do…not attack me. I…have…done…nothing…wrong…to…you," said Vicki very slowly—hoping to be understood. The stuttering was real as her computer-brains were running to try to find a way out of this situation—intact. But Vicki was suddenly understood by the metal-bodied girl. Gally’s eyes flickered in surprise, then she spoke back. Gally said, "I am…lost, too." Then, Gally paused and stared. "Are you a full-flesh human?" asked Gally cautiously.
"I’m human," voiced Vicki quite confidently as she put a hand to her sternum, close to her neck. "But what about you? Is that your real body, or a sort of costume? I’ve never seen armor like that before. And it looks hard to put on."
"This is my body! Ido Daisuke himself crafted this body from a fallen berserker. I’m a cyborg, just like many other people in Scrap Iron City. You must be from the outlands, speaking the way you do," said Gally feircely, trying to replace fear with anger.
Another flash-crack exploded in the room. Both females, the gynoid and the cyborg, flinched. Then, when their senses cleared from the brief overload, they looked to where the lightning came from in this vast and marble-floored office. Now, lounging in the bucket seat, was a dark suited man (?)—a medium build, light skin on a square jawed face. Dark hair and dark eyes to finish, he seemed Native American.
I'm glad that the translation-induction works. Now, they'll understand any spoken language--for now, thought Thunderhorse. He then said, "Language is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? With it, understanding can be sought. Peace can come as people come to understand each other. And then…" Mr. Thunderhorse paused. He continued, with one hand pointing at Gally and another at Vicki, "there are cases where misunderstanding can possibly lead to conflict." The man behind the desk bowed. "I am Thunderhorse, and this is my office. I am properly addressed with the title of mister before my surname, but address me as you plese."
Gally slowly rose. Vicki also did, perhaps more stiffly than the cyborg girl. All that same, Gally made no move to either Vicki or the man behind the desk—a polished oak-and-sycamore desk with just a lamp, a flat computer monitor built into the desktop, and a wireless keyboard. The entire situation and scenario, it all seemed strange. Why all of this? Was this caused by someone from the outlands, caused by someone near Scrap Iron City? Could that man behind the desk be the infamous Desty Nova, a skilled and controversial scientist from Gally's own time?
Mr. Thunderhorse regarded Gally, looking into her eyes and into her soul. "You know, I bet you wonder where this place is, I know. You're wondering where you are. But you should instead ask when you are." Gally tilted her head slightly, waiting for more explanation. Vicki simply stood. he dark-suited man behind the desk smirked. "Time, what is it? It belongs to a world of stuff. Time is for your stuff, your place. Time is for reality. Wake up: Mabye this is not reality! This place is so far beyond your time period that it could even be a place in your dreams!" Gally gasped, and Vicki contemplated the situation. Clearly, Thunderhorse’s capabilities stretched into the uncanny; Gally realized that Mr. Thunderhorse may have understood her thoughts
"Who are you? Why did you kidnap us?" asked Vicki. "This place, what about it? Why did you kidnap us and bring us into this dark place?" Maybe, Vicki’s anger hid the anger programmed into her.
"Please, don’t interrupt!" said Mr. Thunderhorse, leather creaking as he sat. Gally also wanted to throw multiple questions at the man behind the desk, but she held fast to where she stood, waited for an opportunity to strike, if she could. The man behind the desk then continued.
Slightly swiveling, Mr. Thunderhorse took a glimpse at the flat computer monitor on his desk, then began speaking again. "Since I'm the only one here with etiquette enough, I'll have to do the rest of the intros."
He pointed with his left hand, at Gally. "Vicki, this is Gally. At least, that is the name she uses. She seems to have misplaced her real name, along with the rest of her memories. Gally is a cyborg from the 30th century, from a time more far along human history than your own years. Her body has been replaced with an all-metal and deadly one—the capabilities of her body depending on her own personal development.
"For a ‘living,’ Vicki, Gally is a bounty hunter. Or, in the vernacular of her time, a ‘Hunter-Warrior.’ Think of her as one of many people who have replaced the police, because her time and place really do need something like the police. That is because her time period, Scrap Iron City, is not pleasant. You will find that out for yourself, provided you survive this interview."
This is too unbelievable, thought Vicki, the tolerances of her programmed sense of logic being tested. I am dreaming, thought Vicki, her banks of processors trying to analyze the situation. Wait, have I ever dreamed? The artificial girl realized she never dreamed before. This was probably a first dream. After Vicki ended that thought, Mr. Thunderhorse pointed right. He looked left, speaking to Gally.
"And Gally, meet Vicki—a surprisingly sophisticated humanoid robot out of the 20th century. A gynoid. ‘Vicki’ is the phoneticized version of the acronym ‘VICI: V. I. C .I.,’ ‘Voice…Input…Child… Identicate.’ But accept her name for what it is: Everyone calls her that. Created by Ted Lawson to resemble a young human female, and very often upgraded, Vicki now approaches a state of increased human fidelity. That is, her personality becomes more ‘human’ by the year."
Vicki thought this whole business was growing more mad by the minute. Who could ever say her father "made" her? Vicki heard the term ‘gynoid’ before, but not to describe herself. Gynoid, Vicki tried to define for herself, was a sort of robot? In fact, the memory block was put into place to prevent Vicki from exploring (and discovering) her own inhumanity.
Then, Mr. Thunderhorse looked at Vicki. "She is all synthetic, though, save for perhaps the hair which chemical synthesizers in her scalp make. Outside, Vicki’s skin is made of a slightly elastic plastic that resembles human skin. Vicki's skin can resist much, Gally: shock, heat and many corrosive chemicals. Below that, her ‘flesh’ is that of sythetic muscle tissue. That would be a substance called ‘myogel.’ Gally, unlike your full metal body, Vicki’s body was deliberately designed to resemble that of a living flesh person’s body. However, when the need arises, her body can switch to a backup nuclear battery. Vicki does not need to eat." She's a replicate, thought Gally.
"Gally, you have a human brain. You need to eat. Not as occasionally as a flesh person, as only your brain needs food and water. But still, you need to consume. There is no living brain in Vicki. She seems more a ‘human’ than you do on the outside, but Vicki is a robot." Here comes the interruption; I can hear the gynoid’s programming stirring in protest right now, thought Mr. Thunderhorse. He then swiveled his seat to Vicki.
"And you are crazy," said Vicki stiffly. "Where do you get off, kidnapping me and that girl? Then, there is your insane story." Mr. Thunderhorse leaned forward on the desk, intent on listening to Vicki try to explain it all away. "Your story, cyborgs out of the 30th century, and robots, and me being something called a ‘gynoid,’ it is all crazy.
Vicki stiffened. "You do not exist," continued Vicki, pointing to Gally. Gally pouted her lips into a fierce frown. "That has to be costume, like something out of a Japanese comic or anime. I do not care how well it fits: It's still a costume." Vicki's logic refused to accept Gally as being a cyborg. "Doesn’t it hurt to wear that, girl?"
Gally responded, her voice low with shame and sadness. Her bare metal arms hugging herself, Gally said, "It hurts with you just trying to explain my existence away. It hurts, hearing you talk that way about me—about the body given to me. What is to keep me from doing the same, trying to explain you away, false-girl? This seems like a puzzle. From whom, that is something to truly figure out." She unwrapped her arms, then pointed at Thunderhorse. "And there is one person in this room who knows much. He does not ask questions, but provides answers."
Gally faced Thunderhorse. "Mr. Thunderhorse, you are the only one sure of anything here. Now, give me some answers, please. First, were is here? This has to be a Factory building, someplace in Scrap Iron City. That, or you have studied with Nova and have manipulated reality."
Mr. Thunderhorse threw up his hands in mock frustration, then rolled his eyes. "I am not a friend to that Desty Nova you think about. Also, this is not your Scrap Iron City, Gally. Not at all. In fact, this is not anywhere close to what you know, reallly. Didn’t I say this was nowhere? If I tried to explain where you are any more extensively, you could go a bit more insane than you already are. Berserker-bodied girl, I mean that: You really could go more insane. Don’t doubt that." Mr. Thunderhorse then crossed his arms. "Nice try, metal girl," said Vicki.
Gally spoke again. "Okay, you seem sincere in that answer. For now, I will accept ‘Nowhere’ as an answer. Now, who or what are you, Mr. Thunderhorse? Are you human at all, or just a replica?" This is me gaining advantages over you, Mr. Thunderhorse: It is at least knowing what you are, to know where you stand and what your interests are, she thought.
His arms still crossed, Mr. Thunderhorse spoke to Gally through a smirk on his face. "Who, what, why am I? Here am I, here and why? Consider me an appointed person, Gally. I have been appointed for a task by the powers-that-be. At least, I have been appointed by one side of the powers-that-stand-for-now. Who I am is of no consequence. What I am? At least consider me a person. And you probably want the ‘why’ part of it. Why I am here in nowhere and why you and the gynoid are here in Nowhere will deserve answers later."
Vicki became angry, her simulated teenage female personality emulating "anger" at the continued beliefs of the two before her. "I don’t believe you two! I think you two are both crazy. Why can’t either of you give a clear and coherent answer, something solid and definite?" asked Vicki. "None of this seems logically coherent!"
"What you want to say is that it does not compute," said Mr. Thunderhorse, sarcastically, to Vicki the robot. Vicki then said, "No… Yes! No, that is not how I want it." The data buffers in Vicki's "mind" began to reach capacity. If she didn't stop to think about this, her mind would automatically go into a temporary shutdown to clear up the facts. "Oh, everything said here has been absolutely ridiculous." Vicki finished, and Mr. Thunderhorse smiled, then let out a snort through his nose. Indeed, convincing the cyborg and gynoid to the authenticity of their current situation was more a chore than he originally intended.
"Do sit down. You both are being rude and obnoxiously narrow-minded," said Mr. Thunderhorse. The room dipped into deep darkness, and a thunderclap exploded d somewhere outside of the window, exploded behind the man at the desk. When the desk lamp turned on again, Gally and Vicki both were floored--on the floor. The two then sat up, sat on the floor.
"I gave you two the ability to understand each other’s languages; wasn’t that kindness? I could expend some resources to just brainwash you…" said Thunderhorse, pointing to Gally. "And reprogram you…" said Thunderhorse, pointing to Vicki. "I could do that to get you two to believe me, time travel and all. But that would ruin your efficiency and could scramble your thinking processes."
Thunderhorse stood to his six feet, "Let me be blatant. Do you two have any choice but to listen to me? I could easily just keep your bodies incapacitated in punishment. What if you, Vicki, were stuck without the ability to lift your plastic self off of the floor? And you, Gally, you would probably love being trapped in a body that won’t move." For demonstration, Mr. Thunderhorse thought of them both becoming unable to move, the implants in his brain reading the mental commands he pre-set earlier.
With the commands given, devices set in the ceiling and floor sent precisely controlled pulses through the two before his desk. Then, both Gally and Vicki fell onto their backs. "I can do that," he said, before thinking of them being fully mobile again. Again, the implants in his head sent commands to more machinery. Cyborg and gynoid both were able to move again.
"Now, with a seriously captive audience, let me explain this." He leaned back, the leather bucket recliner cushioning, and then he interlaced his fingers. A gentle roll of thunder rumbled outside. This was important, important explanation as to why
Thunderhorse had to bend the rules of reality and pull those two here. It cost him money and tested the strength of equipment to get them through time, and to this office. He did much to get them here--for good reason. It was a reason for humanity, for decency in history.
He began the briefing. "From the way you two behave, I will have to start at a beginning, if not the beginning. No one in this place even knows when the beginning was. But let me start from the point that matters.
"Many, many millenia beyond your own times, technology continued to develop. Somehow, despite wars and disease and just stupidity, techonology continued to flourish. Humanity continued a quest for perfection of science. That quest eventually made for grand advances in computer technology, nanotechnology, physics and even quantum-mechanics. Technology approaches god-hood."
A stronger roll of thunder galloped outside and seemed to echo through the room, along with a strong gust of wind that could be heard from behind the curtains, the curtains over the yards-high windows behind Mr. Thunderhorse’s illuminated desk. "Humanity began to split apart. Still, despite technology of near god-hood into the passing millenia, people could still disagree. People disagreed as to wether humanity should continue at all!"
Vicki, standing, crossed her blouse-sleeved arms and refused to believe this. Gally, standing opposite Vicki, crossed her metal arms over her midsection, the sound of metal on metal. Gally then put her left metal hand on her soft chin: listening and thinking to the words coming from the person at the desk. Mr. Thunderhorse continued; at least, one of them was being well-convinced.
"So now, people now are divided into two forces. One side wanted to keep humanity around, keep history alive. This side said that we, humanity, deserves to exist. For better or worse, human progress is good. Or so the side believes. You can call that side the force of 'good,' if you believe in such relative terms.
"On the other side of the divide, there are people who want suicide for humanity--an end to human progress and an end to history. That side wishes for a suicidal end to the human race. Call that side 'evil,' if you please--the suicidal side of humanity that The Cloaked Man works for. It is the suicidal faction of this society."
Then, Thunderhorse's face twisted in anger; he spoke. "A jerk, a moron, then decided to ruin history! He perfected time travel before our side could even get started on it! He managed to use nanotechnology to make a portable means of time travel. With that, he hopes to serve his side. What we have now is a fool stepping into history, your home-realities, and decided to interfere against humanity. I'm talking about that damned Cloaked Man.
"The fool is not strong enough to just wipe out history and humanity with one blow. No, that evil jerk can only get humanity to die a slow death. By doing certain things in history, he can make history evil. Nudges here, nudges there. Just the right nudges in the right places, and evil could win with humanity."
Vicki harumphed. "Okay, Mr. Thunderhorse. Let’s say humanity does fall into the side of this ‘evil.’ What then? Will the forces of good come galloping on in like some sort of heroes, and save humanity? Aren’t the good guys, the people on the side of ‘good,’ supposed to stop ‘evil? And don’t the ‘good’ always come out and win?"
Gally interjected. "Good, evil, I think both sides are just interested and have purposes to serve. Vicki, the side of ‘good’ does not always come in to help; ‘good’ does not always have to help. There are opposing sides to all fights, not quite one side that ‘always’ wins. It is just the side with superior fighting ability wins, not always the side of good, whichever side is ‘good’ at the time."
"That is a better analogy, Gally," said Mr. Thunderhorse, nodding in approval. "Indeed, between yourself and Vicki, you probably have an excellent understanding of the way of things. Note that I use ‘evil’ and ‘good’ as just convenient labels. I could have just called one side ‘red’ instead of ‘evil,’ then called the other side ‘green’ instead of ‘good.’ ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega.’ ‘Left’ and ‘Right.’ Sides to disagreements are just sides, Vicki. No side is fated to win."
This was becoming more ridiculous to Vicki’s logic programming and stored knowledge. Her personality emulation programming made her give a light soprano laugh, and she slowly shook her head. How long would this stupid "conflict between good and evil" mess last? Vicki even began to doubt this place. She wanted to find the door to this office (wherever it was), break it down and look for the camera crew or whomever that controlled this setup. This had to be a made-for-television setup! Maybe this office was just a set on which a television show was being made!
"Mr. Thunderhorse, may I look around and at this place?" asked Vicki. He nodded. "Go on. If it helps you become more open-minded to what I say to you, please do. Just try not to hurt yourself too much in looking about." Then, a five-foot circle of bright spotlight-light from nowhere centered on Vicki—illuminating her as well as the floor immediately around her. She looked up and just saw darkness; there seemd to be no source of that light.
Vicki walked away from Mr. Thunderhorse’s desk, going to the right and looking for the wall. She faound it. Closer, she could see the wall on this side was made of long and foot-wide wooden paneling. It was probably oak or sycamore (somehow)—all the way down to the solid marble floor. The long wooden paneling seemed to stretch to the ceiling. She continued to slowly walk, and walk, and walk. Vicki calculated thirteen yards before she came to the far end of this ill-lighted office—an immense office. She walked along the wall opposite the illuminated desk at the other end, looking along the floor. A metal giant’s left foot and calf blocked her path.
Vicki gasped, and Mr. Thunderhorse chuckled at the other end of the office. Vicki looked up, and saw that the entire robotic statue before her was made of white metal, a robot resembling a seven-foot man in armor. The giant robot just stood; it was probably deactivated. Vicki stepped around it the metal giant, then came to two tall wooden doors. In the indirect illumination of the spotlight, Vicki saw the double doors made for a doorway that was four yards wide and probably a good sixteen feet tall. On the other side of the doorway was another robot of the same make, another giant of armor. But this one was in dark gray. In the gloom barely lit by the spotlight on her, she saw that the door was flanked with two mechanical guardians.
There were the tall doors. There were no handles, so she could not pull the doors open. Then, Vicki's logic processors tried something else: She quickly tried to shove open the door--but, nothing. Her palm only slapped the right door, though. The sound rebounded. Vicki tried again, struck both doors with both her palms—her inhuman strength behind the double blow. A brief echo skittered along the walls and floor. Still, nothing happened. Were those doors wooden?
Gally, dimly seen in the light of this office-place, turned to face the robot girl at the far end of the office—the artificial girl in the spotlight. Vicki’s eyesight was just barely better than the resolution of human eyesight, but she could see that Gally watched with somber interest. Did Gally want to escape as well? Mr. Thunderhorse, better illuminated at his desk, leaned forward. His tan complexion was better seen when he leaned into the lamp's light, and square jaw worked as he spoke.
"Go on, take time! There is plenty of time here. But, I fear, your colleague here only has human patience. She things through a living brain, something with only so much tolerance!" Vicki shrugged. Another solid-hitting double-push at the door, and Vicki did not try again.
This time, she walked along the other wall, the one that formed the side of the office to the left of Mr. Thunderhorse’s desk. As with the left half of the office, the right side was done with the same wooden paneling. There was no leaving here through force; the only way out was the way in. And the strange man behind the desk was that way out. Vicki walked back to her previous position, the soles of her sneakers plodding on the solid marble.
Vicki again stood yards from Gally. Thunderhorse again leaned back and away from his desk. There he gave a small laugh. Speaking to Vicki, he said, "Now that you’ve become a bit more receptive to what I say, less narrow-minded, we can get down to the business of this. Are you two ready?" Gally gave a curt nod of yes. Vicki shrugged. Thunderhorse began to explain.
"Now, you two are also both very appropriate to stopping that person because you both come from important places in history, in time and space. Vicki, your home of America in the 1990s is one of the focal points of history. It is one time and place that the ‘evil’ person has to nudge into the side of evil. That evil being has to just make some events turn out as so one side wins, the side which best represents evil. Some crimes, accidents or whatever will have happened or will happen, and the evil being can just interfere with the outcomes. Gally’s home of Scrap Iron City in the 2900s is also of extreme importance."
Mr. Thunderhorse looked solidly at Gally. "Gally, your home time and place of 30th century Scrap Iron City is another focal point in reality. You refuse to declare disagreeing sides among humans as ‘good’ or ‘evil,’ which tells something about the conflict between the sides: In the absence of a coherent form of government, ideologies of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are not so solidly set in place in Scrap Iron City.
"But there is more danger to Gally’s time as well. As some people in Scrap Iron City have found ways to manipulate aspects of reality, humans like the so-called Desty Nova and perhaps Jashgun have made reality slightly more bendable and more potentially ‘evil.’ There could be more trouble in Gally’s time, then, as the evil being from ‘Another Place’ can push Scrap Iron City and the rest of humanity over to ‘evil.’
"That is a spoiler. It serves the purpose, though! Imagine the fun that The Cloaked Man can have with technology and science from Gally’s time, if allowed to continually tinker with it! Unlike Vicki’s time, that evil being could easily topple the callously careless rulers over Gally’s society and establish a tyranny of fierce control. This makes for Gally’s time being vulnerable to that evil person’s efforts.
"Then again, Vicki’s time is also important. America of the 1990s is a time and place preceding a new millenium. Vicki was created in and lives in the most powerful and stable countries of her time. But outside, the world edges on violence and evil. Conflicts between nations over territory and rightfulness of ethnicity continue.
"Vicki, imagine The Cloaked Man trans-warping to the Middle East to trigger a conflict against Iran or Israel. Israel, as you know, has nuclear weapons; Iran has chemical warheads—secretly stockpiled for a last-ditch situation. A war there could turn most of Earth into a nuclear and toxic wasteland. Or imagine the evil being using his or her abilities to interfere with the American President. Then, the evil being could just start an entire age of worldwide tyranny! Think on it, Vicki!"
Mr. Thunderhorse laid both tan-red fists on the desk, in the light of the lamp. "That introduction out of the way, you now have information you need for your mission. Your mission is simple: You two must stop The Cloaked Man's plans. Stop him before he can nudge your time periods into evil situations. Acting together in your respective home-places in time and space, you have a better chance of winning. You two can act together and turn enough events over from having ‘evil’ outcomes in history to ‘good’ outcomes. Some tasks to turn events to good count for more good than others. Some tasks just help good a bit, and others immensely help stop and spite the evil being done."
Mr. Thundehorse then taped the flat and upright computer screen on his desk, the only other thing on his desk besides the lamp and the keyboard. "From here, I will detect and decide which time period you two will head to. But don't worry, you two will most probably just have to alternate between Scrap Iron City of the 30th century and Southern California…circa the end of the 20th century. Then, there is the question of spatial placement instead of just temporal placement: With my skills and equipment, I can get you somewhat close to where you have to go. I cannot get you to exactly where you must go; closeness is the best I can do with the karma energy reserves available for my use. It’s budgeting. Sorry." Gally's eyebrows went up. Did Thunderhorse just say that he works with karma? Somehow, Gally still suspected someone known as Dr. Nova to appear….
"Now, you two are against a person from the side of ‘evil,’ the side of interference. This means that he will be quite willing to use any necessary means to succeed in making evil win in each event. He will use the technology he has to make money and hire people. He will have people hurt--and killed. This will mean that both of you will be in danger. You could be destroyed—either or both of you." Gally’s expression did not change much. Vicki hugged herself, a show of emulated "fear."
"Now let me tell you about some rules. Once you have been warped into the time and place, you will not be able to receive direct communication from me. You will be on your own, until you complete your task of stopping ‘evil’ and helping ‘good.’ Also, you will face destructive danger by our enemy. The Cloaked man being will use violence directly, but I suspect that he will often resort to hiring locals to cause trouble in history. Innocent bystanders or not, you'll have to stop The Cloaked Man--even if it means harming the locals he hired. As said, either or both of you could be damaged—damaged to the point where you do not function. That would be death."
Thunderhorse leaned to type in a few more items. "Oh, and I can give you just one guarunteed edge over the time-travelling opponent you are up against. If one of you is destroyed, the other may continue and complete the task. When the task is done, and the key event has been turned from evil to good, you will both warp to the next time and place; my equipment will reconstruct either of you physically after a trans-warp.
"Yes, that even means that Gally can be revived or Vicki reactivated. A caveat is this: At least one of you must continue to function." He tapped the upright computer monitor on the desk. "My equipment is only capable of reviving both of you upon completion of your task, and provided that one of you remains functioning.
"If both of you are defeated, then I lose track of you when your power sources shut down." He then inerlaced his fingers. "Then, there is no hope for either of you, none at all. But you would not care, as you both would be 'dead.'"
Vicki emulated "fear," wrapped her arms around herself. Gally tilted her face forward, a look of determination. Mr. Thunderhorse took a look at the computer monitor on his desk, the flat screen that awaited commands. "Okay, without hesitation, away you go." Vicki tried to take a step back. Gally’s electro-mechanical body tensed. A rippling portal of absolute darkness opened large enough to hold the two, and they vanished.
Several minutes after the two left the office, Mr. Thunderhorse waited and stared at the monitor. Someone else had to deliver something, promised he would deliver something. And he never failed before. The Good Man always delivered.
The tall double doors at the end of the office clicked opened on frictionless hinges. In walked a tallish, gray-haired man with a face just going soft with hints of wrinkles. In a blue sweater, a windbreaker and pressed pants, he seemed a competent and active man despite his perceived age. The Good Man held a clear orb in his left hand, not quite visible as he approached Mr. Thunderhorse’s desk. Mr. Thunderhorse thought of a seat, and something was then in front of his desk.
Mr. Thunderhorse nodded greetings, and The Good Man stood before the desk. The Good Man, gray hair and a-smile, then sat close to Mr. Thunderhorse’s desk on a blue reclining seat that matched Mr. Thunderhorse’s own—a seat that was now just there for The Good Man. He then gently placed the clear and fist-sized orb on the desk—the orb made of some sort of crystal or glass.
"Do you have something to hold this useful thing here?" asked The Good Man, holding a fist-sized orb. Mr. Thunderhorse thought for a moment, the implants in his head detecting something requested. Nanobots in a desk drawer put something together. Thunderhorse then opened that drawer, something that now contained a circular ring-stand. He placed the ring-stand of three inches high before The Good Man, and he placed the orb on the stand.
"That will be a help to what you have to do, Thunderhorse. If you want to help those people out, it should be a helpful guide. Look into it," said The Good Man. Mr. Thunderhorse looked as much at it as into it. "It’s clear now, right. But let me turn it on." The Good Man glimpsed at it, and the orb took on a slightly reddish tone—as if it were filled with diluted blood….
"Now, here’s how it works. We thought about the problem, with the potential level of interference by The Cloaked Man. That orb detects the amounts of good and evil, the level of interference by The Cloaked Man in human history. The depth of color will tell you how things are going: green is for 'good,' red is for 'evil.' If the orb turns completely one color or the other—and you will know—then the girls you sent will have won or lost. It’s that simple."
Thunderhorse stared at the orb on his desk, how it had a light red and translucent tone to it. That means that The Cloaked Man was still at work in human history, acting to make ‘reality’ turn evil and against humanity. Unless Gally and Vicki acted soon, that orb could easily turn completely red….
Then, The Good Man reached into a side jacket pocket. He pulled out two color photographs, wallet-sized photographs. One photograph was a bust photo of Vicki, showing her head and tops of her shoulders. In the photograph, Vicki was shown in a red pinafore and seemed unusually somber-faced. The other photograph was of Gally, again of head and the tops of shoulders—metal shoulders below a pale face. Large brown eyes from the elven-faced cyborg-girl seemed to stare from the photograph. The Good Man took another look at the photographs, then placed them in front of Mr. Thunderhorse.
"Those two photographs will tell you how well Vicki and Gally are doing. Wherever they are in time, those two photographs will more accurately tell you if they are still alive. It probably beats having to translate all of those equations on your monitor!" Thunderhorse nodded. "When one of your crusaders falls, her power source destroyed, her photograph will lose its color completely—become black and white. If one photograph fades to grayscale, you at least have the other one! But if both photos become gray, well…." The Good Man shrugged; Mr. Thunderhorse understood that too well. Really, Vicki and Gally both had fair chances; the equations said so.