🚀 go-pugleaf

(continued from part four...)
                                   ***********

     From where the M.E.C.H.A. jet was currently hovering, somewhere on the
outskirts of Bob City, Dr. Science looked up from the damage reports he was
going through.  The autorepair was on track, it could take care of itself.
Once he improved it with the results of the new research he was doing, it would
be even better...
     "Time to determine what I've missed during that battle," Dr. Science
decided.  He punched some keys and heard the familiar garble of audio-video
tape winding backward, checked the repair computer once more, then glanced up
at the bank of monitors which displayed telemetry feeds from the team's mecha,
camera views, and network news footage.  On the main monitor was the
confrontation between Bulletproof and Scholarman.  Someone was saying
something, but Odd couldn't quite make out what it was.
     "Amplify audio on monitor seven by two hundred percent," Odd commanded.
     "...live pictures from the Revolution itself!"  It was the voice of Radio
Free Hero, the mysterious entity that flaunted the FCC and showed up wherever
something superheroic was happening.
     "Scholarman.  Surrender.  Now."  It took a moment for Odd to place the
voice--cold, hard, with a metallic ring and a hollow echo.  Bulletproof.
     "Okay."
     Dr. Science hit the screensaver on the computer and turned around.  The
instant his eyes hit the monitor, he knew somehow that despite all the
information, the telemetry, the footage he'd gathered, this was the most
important event to happen this day.  This would be the telling moment.  Would
the Revolution live or die?  He watched it play itself out right in front of
him.
     As Dr. Science watched, his keenly analytical mind replayed the
conversation over and over again.  Scholarman's comparisons were apt, and he
was a convincing speaker, while Bulletproof seemed...out of it.  And then
Bulletproof shot Scholarman in the back.  That, for Dr. Science, was the final
piece of evidence he needed for the proof.  The Revolution was rotten at the
core, run by a coldly-logical machine and an armored man whom no one had ever
seen out of his suit and who obviously wasn't thinking straight.
     He inspected the telemetry from the replacement Cyclone he had dispatched
to Link.  It seemed to be performing capably, all things considered.  When
he'd first received the request from Link for it, he had been puzzled - Link's
Cyclone hadn't been damaged.  But then, he replayed the segment of the battle
against Ginsu World Class, and realized it had been destroyed earlier.  There
was so much to keep track of - some things were bound to slip past even his
keenly watchful eye.  (And the watchful eye of a certain overworked editor...)
Some things he could afford to ignore.
     The shooting of Scholarman was not one of those things.
     In a sense, Dr. Science felt a little better now, knowing who was in the
wrong--but it was, as Odd had felt before, something of a Pyhrric victory.
All those lives lost, heroes discredited, all to demonstrate the validity or
invalidity of a cause.  Odd shook his head sadly.  Would people never learn?
Perhaps not, Odd thought upon reflection.  That was one of the things that
made human beings what they are.
     "A re-approach of the battle site might be called for under the present
circumstances," Dr. Science decided.  "The medical facilities on board might
be required upon completion of the conflict."  Odd moved to the pilot's seat
and reprogrammed the autopilot, then returned to his damage report analyses.

                                   ***********

     When Bulletproof shot Scholarman, Ariella nearly fainted.  Fortunately,
she was wearing sentient power armor who was able to keep her balance.  "We
have to get to him!" Ari gasped.  "Maybe there's something I can do!"
     By the time they were able to make their way to where Scholarman had
fallen, his wounds had been partially healed enough so that he was stable.
Summer caught the briefest glimpse of a cloaked figure vanishing into the
shadows, but there was no time to ask questions.  Summer tapped into the Bob
City emergency radio channel (Best Broadcast Band in Bob), gave the location,
and said, "We need an ambulance here quick!"  Then, looking around at all the
carnage, she added, "Better make that a couple of dozen ambulances.  Get them
here immediately!"
     Ari and Summer knelt beside Scholarman's prone figure.  "Don't worry..."
Ariella said to the unconscious Sorcerer Superfluous.  "You're going to be all
right."

                                   ***********

     The Dalek's eyestalk followed Wonder Grunion's every movement as he
approached.  Though all of the counter-Revolutionaries were glad he was there,
only the Superuser seemed willing to speak to him out of turn.
    "Glad you could make it, Wonder Bruce."
    "Excuse me?"
    "Whoops, sorry. I'll explain later."
    "That ought to be interesting. So. You are Benedict Arnold?"
    "That is correct."
    "I see. Well, I have only one thing to say to you. Actually, it's more a
question that a statement."
    "What is the question?"
    "Who died and made you God?"
    "That question is not logical."
    "Oh, and I suppose declaring war on mages is, eh?"
    "Affirmative. Projections based on available data indicate that magic users
will ultimately threaten the Earth's survival if left unopposed."
    "Really now. And what did those projections say would happen if we left
monomaniacs like you unopposed?"
    Benedict balked for a moment.  He knew perfectly well what his own plans
were, had the Revolution succeeded.  But his internal psychological profile of
Wonder Grunion, and most of the others present, strongly advised against
telling them of his plans to establish a ring of low-orbiting satellites to
detect the use of magic.  And, after today's carnage, they *certainly* would
not take well to hearing his plans to create a new breed of robots that would
wander the countryside, seeking and exterminating all magic-users
automatically, cleanly, and efficiently.  No, that would not do at all.  Better
to let them think he had no plan...
     "That data is unavailable at this time. Further analysis would be requi--"
     "I meant that rhetorically!"
     "Explain."
     "It was a rhetorical question, as opposed to question that I really wanted
you to answer."
     "My logic banks are unable to distinguish between them."
     "Then you have no right to be making life and death decisions with them,
now do you!"
     "My decision was consistent with available data.  Do you deny that the
magic user known as Radian might have destroyed the Earth?"
     "No."
     "Do you deny that another magic user might someday pose the same threat as
Radian did?"
     "No."
     "If the Earth is to survive, the threat of magic-induced destruction must
be eliminated.  The only way to eliminate all possibility of another such
incident taking place is to eliminate all those capabile of wielding magical
powers."
     "Ah. And I suppose that makes me a threat too."
     "Affirmative. Radian was a trusted member of the crimefighting community,
as are you.  Radian controlled vast magical powers, as do you.  My calculations
indicate a 46% probability that you might someday become the next Radian."
     "Well, at least the odds are in my favor. Look, I don't quite know how to
break this to you, except to come right out and say it: you're wrong. Your
methods, you're motives, everything: they're all wrong."
     The Dalek had anticipated this response.  It was a common trait of nearly
all non-cybernetically enhanced organic lifeforms:  the strong belief in their
own ability to tell right from wrong.  But surely Radian should have reminded
them of their own cliches dealing with absolute power and corruption.
Absoulute power had corrupted Radian into the Dark Goddess.  The mere
possibility of absoulute power had corrupted Davros, his own creator, many
centuries ago.  Couldn't they tell that *nobody* could be trusted with the
power of magic, a power that could grow without limit?
     "Negative! Negative!  All data supports my assertions!  All calculations
are exact to fifty decimal places!"
     "I don't care how accurate your calculations are, you mechanized glob of
snot, you're still wrong!"
     He was persistant.  And he was a mage.  A powerful mage, one well versed
in the ancient lores of magic.  One of Benedict's biggest regrets before
initiating the Revolution had been his failure to locate and converse with a
significant mage to gather more data about magic.  He had taken these gaps in
his research into account in his simulations, and allowed a generous error
factor in favor of allowing the mages to live.  But even that had not been
enough to balance the equations, all analysis had still overwhelmingly favored
extermination.
     But still...Benedict could rarely resist the possibility of adding
knowledge to his database.
     "Explain!"
     "First of all, it would be impossible to do away with all mages, since
everybody has within them the capacity to shape magic in some way.  And I mean
everybody.  Everyone in this room has the potential to become a mage.  Even
you!"
     Again, Benedict had considered this possibility before ever planning the
Revolution.  Considered it, and discarded it:  in the millineia-long history of
his race, no Dalek had ever developed the ability to work magic.  Even amongst
the more humanoid populations they had conquered, magic had rarely sprung up
spontaneously- either a planet already had mages to exterminate when the Dalek
battlefleets arrived, or it never had them.  And once under Dalek rule, mages
had never spontaneously re-appeared on a humanoid world.  Admittedly, the mere
presence of the Dalek subjugation army would likely influence the data, but
Benedict had no other source for planetary-population information, so he had
been foreced to extrapolate from what he had.
     "Negative!  Negative!"
     "Don't argue the point with me: I'm the Scaly Sorcerer Surpreme, and if I
tell you that everybody has it within them to become a mage, then you'd better
believe it.  So you see, in order for your plan to work, you'd have to kill
everybody, including yourself.  I bet you never factored that into your
calculations, did you."
     The fishlike being had made a point- his credentials and sources of data
were far superior to Benedict's own.  And although there was a significant
chance that the mage was allowing his emotions to affect his judgement, he
would have to re-evaluate the likelyhood of the re-emergence of magic and re-
run the simulations with the new data once he got back to MooseLodge.  That is,
*if* he ever got back.  Or, for that matter, if the Grunion were even telling
the truth in the first place.
     "You are presenting non-quantifiable data!"
     The Sorcerer looked puzzled.  "I'm what?"
     "You present data to be accepted as fact, without independant
confirmation.  All data used in my calculations have been obtained from
multiply redundant sources and filtered for bias.  In your current emotional
state, there is a 51% probability that you have allowed your emotions to
significantly affect your statements.  Additionally, there is a lower but
statistically significant chance that you are attempting a deception.  This
data cannot be accepted as valid for analysis."
     "Well, if you choose not to believe me, then fine: don't. You're still
wrong."
     Benedict cursed inside his armor shell.  He had been hoping that last
speech would make Wonder Grunion offer to show Benedict his library of magic
texts.  Biased or not, they would provide a wealth of data for additional
analysis.  If only he'd had time to prepare a better profile on the Grunion.
For now, all he could do was try to keep leading the fish on....
     "Explain!"
     "Mage or no, we're dealing with human beings here.  Well, and Daleks too.
And anthropomorphised fish... In any event, people are illogical by nature:
trying to build a logical model of a person is a waste of time.  So is trying
to model a group of people."
     Benedict had often encountered this particular arguement before.  It
always annoyed him.
     "Negative!  Biological systems are complex but still inherently logical!
The preceived illogical behavior is merely the result of insufficient data for
proper analysis!  Behavioral patterns can be predicted using suitably complex
statistical models!"
     "People are not just biological systems!  You can't predict human behavior
by plugging numbers into a formula!"
     "Negative! Is is possible to simulate the erratic behavior of humans!"
     "Oh really. Then I suppose that means you can tell when a particular
human is going to be happy.  Or sad.  Or silly."
     "Silly?" said the Superuser, turning to T.  "Any idea what he's talking
about, Bruce?"
     "I haven't the faintest notion, Bruce." T replied.
     "Me either, Bruce," said Andy Awesome with an awesome deadpan delivery.
"What about you, Rainy Day Sheila?"
     "It's a complete mystery to me, Bruce," Rainy Day Woman replied.  "Maybe
Mighty Bruce knows."
     "Don't look at me, Bruce" said Mighty Dog, "I'm only in charge of the
sheep dip."
     *These people are in desperate need of lives.* groaned Kyoko.
     "See what I mean?" said Wonder Grunion, "Can you honestly tell me that
it's possible predict behavior like that?"
     This one was original, Benedict had to admit to himself.  Normally, at
this point in this old arguement, his human debater would have started siting
references to great poets, musicians, or works of literature.  The Dalek
already had his canned rebuttals to these.  But even this example could be
predicted:  he had long ago determined that the "Bruce" and "Sheila" remarks
over the radio had been some sort of primitive code set up by the Monty Python
Powers of the Masked Bruce.  That he had been totally unable to decypher it
had in no way kept him from appriciating it.  The code was still in effect, so
of course Superuser had turned to it when he felt it was necessary to display
human "silliness".
     But there was no need to go into that.  This time, he had a far more
effective counterpoint.
     "I am familiar with this manner of behavior.  Silliness is chaotic in
nature, but can be predicted.  I have successfully done so in the past."
     "And now you're asking _us_ to take you on faith."
     "Negative.  I have evidence."
     "What sort?"
     "My partnership with Space Moose."
     The Superuser looked towards Rainy Day Woman.  "You know, he's got a point.
Anyone that can deal with a guy who extinguishes fires with giant cupcakes has
*got* to be familiar with silliness."
     The Dalek cut back in, feeling himself gain ground.
     "The difficulty with predicting human behavior does not invalidate my
projections.  Their unpredictability only makes human mages all the more
dangerous.  You reasoning is still unacceptable.  My analysis stands: the only
completely effective solution is extermination."
     "And therein lies your final and most devastating mistake. You neglected
to examine the precedents."
     "Negative: I have conducted a thorough analysis of the Radian incident
 as well as simila--!"
      "I'm not talking about precedents dealing with mages, I'm talking about
precedents involving... extermination.  You're not the first one to try it,
you know.  And Elvis help us, you probably won't be the last, either.  If you
had really examined all of the data, you would have seen immediately that your
'completely effective solution' was doomed to failure."
      Not this old arguement again.  Hadn't Wonder Grunion ever watched Dr. Who?
Didn't he realize that he was talking to a _DALEK_??  What better expert on
mass exterminations could the fish possibly ask for???  Why, before he had
turned on Davros, Benedict himself had headed the destruction of five major
solar systems...
      Wonder Grunion took Benedict's silence to mean he was examining data.
      "It isn't pretty, is it?"
      Some days, Benedict really regretted not having facial expressions, as he
had to spell out everything directly.
      "You are correct.  Past extermination attempts on this planet have all
failed to produce the intended result.  This data would indicate that genocidal
exterminations are not logical."
      "You're right: they aren't.  Do I really have to spell it out for you?
What you're trying to do is wipe out an entire class of people simply because
they see things a little differently than most.  That is morally and, at least
here, legally wrong.  Yes, some mages have been corrupted by their power.  Yes,
some of them have turned to lives of crime.  Yes, some of them even dress
funny.  But that isn't because they're mages. It's because they're people."
      Benedict almost interrupted, but sensed that the Scaly Sorcerer Supreme
was building up to a major speach.  Given his rather insecure tactical
situation, the Dalek opted to remain silent and let him speak his peace.
      "Oh, certainly, you might be able to win certain individuals over to your
cause with your logic and your calculations, or maybe even gain some public
support by manipulating the media.  You might even get away with it for a
while.  But eventually, other people will see through your lies and rhetoric
and rise up to oppose you.  Many of them will even go so far as to lay down
their lives to make sure you're defeated. And do you know why?
     "If you were to ask the people gathered here, they'd tell you it's because
they're heroes and it's their duty to protect the innocent at any cost.  And I
applaud their selflessness.  But the fact is that deep down inside, they're
afraid they might be next.
     "Everybody's different in some way, you see.  And if somebody were to
suddenly decide to kill everyone who was 'different,' then it would only be a
matter of time before everyone started to feel threatened.  One day it's
blacks.  The next day it's Jews.  Then mages.  What next?  People with brown
eyes?  People with blue eyes?  People who drink Zima?
     "That's where you made your biggest mistake, Benedict.  People are more
afraid of being persecuted by fanatics than they are of even the most
devastating super-natural menace.  History has proven that, and that's why we
have people like these who have dedicated themselves to keeping such stupidity
from ever happening again.
     "The people of the Earth have learned their lesson, Benedict.  Now it's
your turn.  Now if all of you will excuse me, I have some healing spells to
cast."

                                   ***********

     The battle was over, as far as Ray Sterling knew. The tac-radio, which
chattered quietly in his ear, reported only one still-active firefight, and
that one would last only as long as it took one of the Counter-Revolutionary
heavies to get there. The Revolutionaries were either dead, fled, or
surrendered.
     Ray, to be quite frank, was faced with a decision. He was standing behind
a tree, in his CVR-3 armor, looking at Wayne's back as the Invid pilot kneeled
over the fallen form of Tornado -- Marie, Ray corrected himself. Wayne's Royal
Command Battloid, somehow still functional despite the damage Ray had
inflicted on it, stood watchfully over its' pilot. Ray had hidden his Cyclone
bike a few meters away, with its' engine off so that it wouldn't register on
the RCB's sensors. He _should_ take the two of them prisoner, but he had
stopped, listening to Wayne.
     "Marie?!" he was saying, a plea, almost. "C'mon, wake up..."
     Ray thumbed the safety of his H90 Gallant energy pistol. Wayne was wearing
armor -- a low-intensity blast should stun him without killing him.
     "C'mon... be okay..." Wayne pleaded quietly, a storage panel on his suit
opening and deploying micromanipulators which scanned over Marie as Wayne
popped the emergency latches on her suit.
     Ray remembered himself, on his first mission, back when he was just a
nameless extra in Robotech.  Remembered himself, on a failed mission, trying to
rouse a fallen pilot, his friend.  Not willing to admit he was dead.  It was
the Invid, maybe even these _same_ Invid that he was staring at now, who had
killed his friend.
     "Alive, but, geez, they really put y'out, huh?" Wayne muttered to himself,
peeling a small tricorder-like device out of its' packaging and scanning over
Marie's torso, now free of the bulky armored chest-plate.  Ray was surprised
that he felt somewhat relieved that Marie, one of his old enemies, hadn't died.
     "This is Bruce to Bruce Sterling." a voice came over the tac-net.  "You
found the Shiela I told you about yet?"
     Somehow, despite the fact that the voice was almost the same as all the
other Bruces and Shielas speaking with outrageous Australian accents, Ray
identified the voice as belonging to Roger of Force Ten -- he sounded pissed,
for some odd reason.
     "No," Ray lied, "But I'm almost to where you told me to go."
     "You need back-up, Bruce?"
     "No, Bruce. I'll report as soon as I find out anything. Bruce out."
     Ray looked back to Wayne and Marie -- Wayne had her out of her armor,
now, but she was still out cold. Looked in pretty bad shape, too -- Roger must
have pummeled her pretty badly.
     "Dammit,"  Wayne was muttering -- Ray's helmet enhanced it so he could
hear -- "I can't read the displays on this freakin' thing!"
     Wayne tossed the tricorder-like device aside, and gestured to his RCB.
The mech's remaining hand -- a construction with enough strength to shatter
reinforced concrete in its' grip, closed over Marie, lifting her up into its
cockpit. A moment later, it grabbed up her smashed armor and put that in, too.
     Wayne paused, and Ray tightened his grip on his H90 -- he had Wayne in
his sights, so even if the Invid did spot him...
     "Thanks, dude." Wayne said, quietly, before turning and doing his
trademark anime-style leap into the cockpit of his RCB. The thing staggered,
then lurched into the air, staying just above the treetops as it flew around
the outskirts of Bob City, headed south.
     Ray thumbed his H90 back onto safe. He knew he would meet up with those
two again -- they would probably fight, maybe even kill, him.  But maybe Wayne
would remember that Ray hadn't taken them down when he so easily could have.
Maybe.  Ray walked over, picked up the tricorder-like device, examined it.
"Hm. Cheap plastic... 'Made in Taiwan'?!  What the?!  A 'Toys R Us' price
sticker?!"  Ray blinked, looked upwards.  "Wayne, you idiot.  No wonder you
couldn't read it, it was a toy replica..."

(concluded (yay!) in part six, following...)