Private Dean must have had a criminal background as a carjacker and chop shop employee. She helped Dave to remove the doors and shell that he could apply a layer of kevlar. They removed the racing seats as well that Dave could wrap them in kevlar. Afterwards, an assistant added foam cushions and set about sewing microfiber covers. Dave suggested a charcoal color to keep in line with the rest of the interior.
The armored seats were something new. Dave had never thought to do that before. However, should the armor at the rear of the vehicle fail, the double layer of kevlar would protect the driver and the passenger. Armoring the Bughatti took up the better half of a day. Since it was a mid-engine car, the firewall was behind the seats. Armoring the firewall provided even greater protection against pursuing vehicles. However, armoring the front of the passenger compartment required some ingenuity and a lot of time. Armoring the floor, though optional, proved less difficult as Dave just laid a layer of kevlar below the carpeting.
Earlier, he had phoned the manufacturers of the bullet resistant glass and gave them the dimensions for the windshield and windows. He wanted superior protection at the front and rear. The sides would be less armored as he still wanted to lower and raise the windows. The car was not to be equipped with guns. He was already pushing the curb weight of the vehicle. If one needed to fire at the enemy there were three basic steps. See window. Lower window. Fire out aforementioned window.
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The second day found Dave at the garage early. Parts he had ordered waited for him in boxes. Several titanium bars were stacked along the side wall. The Bugatti looked as naked and exposed as the girls in one of Barett's magazines. The doors, hood, and trunk had been removed. Each lay in a designated spot, awaiting the finishing touches before reassembly.
Harris had poured a lot of money into the car. Granted that money came from drugs, prostitution, extortion, blackmail, and theft, but that didn't matter now. The car was in Dave's possession. The grand tour car had a permanent 4-wheel drive. Four superchargers boosted the 1000 plus brake horsepower of the 8.0 liter engine. It had seven speeds with a top speed of 250 mph. Even losing speed to a few modifications, the car would be fast.
Harris had installed racing tires, racing seats, ceramic brakes, the works. Even the stereo was a perfect compromise between size and quality. Often stereos depended to much on the bass at the expense of mid and high range. This presented a car with the prototypical Boom Boom, but the vocals were muddy. Dave like just enough Boom to feel it in his seat. Yet, he liked to hear the vocal (even if he could not understand them most of the time). He liked to hear the other instruments as well, particularly distorted guitar or synthesizers. He turned on the stereo, having attached his CAF-player (Compressed Audio File) to the cigarette lighter. The player shuffled between punk, goth, prog rock, and indie to techno, synthy pop, new romantic, and electronic body music.
Dave pulled up a stool to a nearby workbench and scrawled out a diagram and a few equations. Today he would install the roll bar and the prow. He chose titanium for the strength to weight ratio. He checked his math to ensure that the roll bars would fit within the frame of the car. He also played with the location of the prow, determining how it might affect the dynamics of driving. The cylindrical shape was strong, presenting little drag.
He set to work, using a manual bender to shape the tubular titanium to fit along the front bumper. He set about attaching the prow to the bumper by welding a section of the titanium to each plate, thereby dispersing energy directly to the shock absorbers housed in the front end. This would prevent dents or cracks in the bumper as well as provide the prow the maximum support. He had to be careful, though, as heated steel could presumably cause the gas in the housings to expand and rupture.
Just as he bore out two holes in the bumper, Private Dean arrived.
"Cor, at it already, are you? Not much sleep for you then, innit?"
"Sleep is overrated," said Dave.
"So, why are you in so early then?" asked Dave, batting her question back at her.
"Didn't get the chance to talk before."
Dave wore his black combat jumpsuit, ideal for situations like this. He could wear it over clothes, it came in useful when doing mechanical work, and if necessary provided camouflage for night ops. "Oh, yeah? What's on your mind?"
Dave set a couple of ramps before the front tires. Catching on, she climbed behind the wheel and eased the Bugatti forward, elevating the front end. Dave signaled for her to stop. She shut off the engine and engaged the parking brake. "They sending you off alone?" she asked.
Dave smirked. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Seems a bit bonkers to send you out on your own. Must be an important mission to have them pay for the mods."
Dave caught her drift. "Thinking I need back up, huh? Thought maybe you could be assigned?"
He fingers traced the outside circumference of the steering wheel. She looked away, fidgeting.
"You really are hungry, aren't you?" he asked.
"I'm going absolutely spare. I feel like Jane bloody Austen cooped up in this castle. That's not me. I didn't join the bleedin' Army to go trotting about Crowe."
"I understand the desire, believe me. I can't sit and wait, either. I have to tell you, though, watch yourself. They're watching you. Keep out of trouble. Show up at your post. Say yessir and noma'am, and you'll be reassigned in no time.
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "I suppose so," she said, still sounding dejected.
Dave put on a welder's helmet. "Come on, then," said Dave. "Lend us a hand."
She held the prow in place as he welded it onto the bumper plates. She looked away from the brilliant light of the torch. The weld was strong. Hopefully Dave wouldn't need the prow. He wasn't holding his breath.
He climbed out from under the car. He raised the visor and winked at her. "Now we work the back end."
"You certainly have a lot of armor back there."
Dave slipped in behind the wheel and backed off the ramps. "With a car this fast one doesn't worry much about enemies to the front."
She nodded appreciatively. "What's her top speed?"
"250 miles per hour, probably 220 to 230 with the extra weight. Still, that's about as fast as a formula 1 racer."
"Might as well strap a rocket to your back," she said as she moved the ramps to the back wheels.
Dave eased the Bugatti in reverse up the ramps, raising the back end. Just about. She must run hot, though. Otherwise why would the engineers equip her with ten radiators? Ten!" Dave got out of the car, slapping down his visor as he climbed under the car once more. She held the titanium bar up while he welded it to the rear bumper plates. Again it was a precaution. However, he had been in enough road battles to know it was better to have such protection than to go without.
Soon the rest of the team arrived. With their help, Dave installed the roll cage, even having time to cover the bare metal with a foam cushioning. Of course it was a deep blue to go with the charcoal interior. The filled the tires with foam, making them resistant to bullets as well. Granted too much damage would still rend the rubber off the rims, but the tires would last far less time if filled with mere air.
They made good time. Dave was impressed and even said so before departing. He informed the colonel of his progress, bit the lance corporal adieu, and headed out for the glass manufacturer.
On the road the Bugatti felt a bit heavier, though not at all sluggish. She responded well to his control, better at high speeds as the air sucked beneath the car siphoned through slats at the back, creating a vacuum affect that practically glued the car to the road. Meanwhile, air drafting over the car fed to the rear spoiler adding additional downforce. Handling was a dream.
At the glass place, Dave watched as they drove his car into the workshop. It took some time to install the windows as, apparently, his was a high priority task. Dave liked being a priority.
Assured the Bugatti was in good hands, he ate at a local family restaurant. There he observed the lives of ordinary British citizens, something he had precious little experience with since coming to the British isles.
The restaurant was far different than any back in Cali. Firstly, the children were well behaved for the most part. Secondly, conversations were not boisterous and loud, but sober and subdued (if the patrons spoke at all). Men wore gray and brown flannel suits. Women wore conservative dresses. Children wore dresses or a kind of suit with short pants. Dave felt like a tourist. He stood out in the clothes he had selected. He had thought the outfit on the conservative side, but now he looked like a rock star stopping for a bite while touring through town.
Dave's dress shirt was a satiny forest green, the tie a deep wine color. His slacks were black and he wore dress shoes and socks to match. He wore his hair in a faux hawk that was starting to get a little wild. He needed a cut.
The server brought him his salad. Dave found it difficult to eat healthy in Britain. Even the chicken in his salad looked greasy. The dressing fell somewhere between syrup and lard. He tucked in anyway, though certain his intestines would complain later that night. Hopefully Germany would be better. Probably not. Germany was home of the frankfurter, the hamburger, bratwurst, sour kraut, and the jelly dough nut.
He ate alone, quietly. Had his brothers been there, he would be talking animatedly to Barett about politics and culture. With Utah, Dave would steer clear of the topic of religion, an issue that generally led to heated arguments, and focus on cars and guns. He would likely discuss the pros and cons of traction control, or maybe nature, another shared interest. With Rick, it was technology, particularly electronic equipment. Of course, he could speak to any of his kin about girls, though Barett tended to get a bit graphic.
Dave left the restaurant and retrieved his car. The new windows had a semi-dark tint. Dave approved. A little added privacy was a good thing.
He drove out of town. Dave was accustomed to turning heads as he drove through a town, but England was different. Instead of jealous or appreciative looks, the most common look was one of annoyance or disgust. The brits looked at the car as one would at a women wearing a red dress at a funeral. The car was audacious. It growled and roared. It had suggestive curves.
Dave was just coming to know the legendary British nature, the stiff upper lip, the staid and reserved attitude, the repression.
It got better as Dave drove through Brighton, a mainstay of the British youth and location for beach parties and music festivals. The English Channel lapped at the sandy beaches. Piers reached out into the ocean as if trying to touch the French shore.
Dave made his way to the nearest cross channel ferry. His was not the only grand tour vehicle. A Jaguar, an Aston Martin, an Alfa Romeo, even a Ferrari. Granted there were many Citroens and Renaults as well.
Dave got out of the vehicle and went to the deck where he could overlook the sea. Other drivers did the same. Unbeknownst to the vacationers and businessmen, they were exposed. The ferry was a tactical disaster. Dave was stuck there. If the enemy was to strike then, there was very little Dave could do other than save his own skin. He would have to leave the Bugatti, confident in that the security system made the vehicle useless without the proper key. Of course, he could arrange for the car to sink to the ocean floor if need be.
However, such bleak thoughts were not something Dave tended to dwell upon. Instead he entered conversation with the drivers of the various sports cars. They talked cars, what tracks were good, what parts were best for the least price, that sort of thing. They were headed for the French Riviera, playground for the decadently rich and famous. Dave was headed in a different direction.
He took comfort in that they didn't know what to make of him. He was educated, yes, but somewhat uncouth. He had style, but came from the Americas. He had the nicest car of them all, but did not come from money. He was (gasp) a mechanic.
Nevertheless, Dave fit in. That was his nature. A social butterfly, Dave could rub shoulders with thieves, soldiers, fools, and kings, yet he never really belonged. He wore isolation as his mantle. Growing tired of the scene, Dave returned to his car, put on his headphones, and took refuge in music - sweet, blissful music.
They reached the French shore. Car by car, they rolled onto French soil. However, there was some delay with customs. Dave was fortunate. He had official papers that pretty much were a giant, green okay stamp from the British government. The machine parts, the blueprints, even his guns and ammo were sanctioned.
The French had close ties to England. It gave one hope, seeing that two countries that long ago engaged in a hundred years' war could get along so well. The same was true for Germany and the rest of the E.U. The French customs officer nodded and let Dave pass.
He drove through cities and along streets that he dared not attempt to pronounce. His navigational instincts led him west towards Germany. In a few hours he came to another customs depot at the German border. Dave showed his passport and the official documents stating his business.
The German agent was far more regimental, taking his duties very seriously. However, in the long run Dave was allowed into Germany and soon made his way onto an autobahn. Finally, he could really go full bore. The West German countryside sped by. In no time he was doing up to 180 mph. Fuel burned quick at that speed. He pulled into a gas station within a city along the Rhine. The Bugatti purred like a cat about to get a saucer of milk.
At another pump, a red Porsche 911. A female white rabbit worked the nozzle as her friend cleaned the windshield. The friend appeared human, but showed some feline traits in her movements. The weather was unseasonably warm. As such, the rabbit wore a short skirt and a tank top, while the cat wore short shorts and a short sleeved shirt tied in the middle to form a short of bikini top.
The cat saw Dave's car and trotted over. "Schon," she said as she drew her slender fingers over the aerodynamic hood. "Wunderschon."
Dave smiled as he fed the Bugatti gallons of Premium benzine. "Danke," he said.
The rabbit finished filling the tank and quickly ran up to her friend's side. "Wie shnell?" she asked.
"Er, sehr schnell. Zwei Hunderd MPH," he said, clumsily.
"MPH?" said the cat. "Anglische?"
"Nein. Americanishe," said Dave. This was really testing his limits. He should have prepared more. Luckily, he hadn't needed to.
"Yankee, welkommen to Deutschland. My name is Else," said the cat.
"Und my name is Katja. Is a funny name for a rabbit, ja?"
"I suppose so." The tank filled, Dave set the nozzle back in its housing. He took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his hands, then offered a hand in greeting. "My name is Dave. Pleased to meat you."
They each shook his hand, then went back to admiring his ride. "911 eh?" Dave said, feeling the weight of silence unbearable. "I used to have a 911. The first car I ever owned."
"Take us for a ride," said the cat. Dave was in Germany alright. It was not a question, not a request, it was a demand.
Normally Dave resisted when someone told him what to do. He was a Sagittarius after all (on the cusp of Scorpio). Sadges did not like being told what to do. However, in Else's case he would make an exception.
"Okay, sure. I just have to pay first."
"Und me, too," said Katja. "I vill go vit you, ja? In your car?"
"The more the merrier," said Dave. Then, as an afterthought, "But there isn't much room. It's just a two seater after all."
"Zat's okay," said Katja. "Else sit on lap."
Dave paid inside. Katja must have paid at the pump, for she had simply parked the Porsche near the station. Dave came back to the car expecting to find the smaller Else sitting on Katja's lap. Instead, Katja was in the passenger seat while Else waited on the driver's side.
"Oh Boy," thought Dave. He smiled at her as he opened the door and climbed in. He made himself comfortable before Else climbed in after him and sat on his lap facing the windscreen. She helped him to buckle up, though the seat belt was at its limit. She had to snuggle in closer that the latch would catch and lock. Dave checked his reach for the pedals and the stick shift. He checked his mirrors as well.
"Okay, American Cowboy, drive. Drive schnell!" cried Katja.
Dave made his way out of town and back onto the autobahn. It was early in the evening and the sun hung low in the sky. Dave floored it, quickly shifting through gears until they were racing at or above 200 MPH. He weaved between vehicles, occasionally slowing for a turn or congested area.
Meanwhile, Katja squealed excitedly, her eyes wide and a smile on her face. Else (or was it the engine) purred. She ground herself into Dave's lap, taxing his concentration. However, above all Dave was a professional driver. He kept to the line. Eventually he had to make his way back to the gas station. Having given the Bugatti close to all it had, the tank had been depleted. Dave had to fill up again.
He pulled in at the pump. If it wasn't for the German women (if in their early twenties they could be called women and not girls), Dave would have imagined the event as a kind of deja vu.
Else unbuckled the belt, opened the door, and climbed out. "Danke," she purred. "Zat vas much fun. She goes very fast."
Katja, too, thanked Dave, even leaning across to kiss him on the cheek. Her long rabbit ears were tied in a bow. She put a hand to his cheek and wiped off some of her lipstick from his fur. "You drive very vell."
"Danke," said Dave. He, too, exited the vehicle. Katja came around the car to Else's side. They stood arm in arm and watched Dave expectantly. Dave milked the scene, pretending to ignore them as he filled the tank once more.
outiFinally Dave acknowledged their presence with an expectant look, a look that seemed to say, "You wanted to say something?"
Else went first. "You seem to be ze party type."
Katja followed suit. "Ja. Ve are goink to zis party in Schweiz. If you can be zere, ve vill have lots of fun, ja?"
Dave considered the offer. "What kind of party?" he asked, just to cover his bases.
"Ve are, how you say, models?" said Katja. "Zere vill be photographs taken, but also makink with the skiink and partyink."
Dave knew the type of party that the girls were describing. Back in his race track days, he had even gone to one, though he was a mere 15 years old at the time. There was drugs, sex, liquor, the whole scene. He shouldn't have been there. In fact, he didn't have that great of a time. It got worse, though, when the police raided the suite. Their driver handed Dave a baggy of cocaine, hoping that they would let Dave go as he was so young. The police nabbed Dave anyway. Luckily the driver fessed up and confided the cocaine was his. Dave went free. Shortly after, his brothers came and he hooked up with them.
"Models, huh?" thought Dave. It was cliche, the whole threesome with models thing. In fact, if Dave wasn't mistaken, it was the most common of male fantasies. In other words, it was rote and rather vanilla. Besides, Dave didn't go for the menage a troi. A third party tended to spoil everything, from business deals to sex. No, it was better between one man and one woman. That way the energy between them had no interference. There were no distractions.
On the other hand, it was flattering to think of two girls fighting over him, vying for his attention. However, even then it was not truly about him at that point. It was a battle between the two women, he was just the trophy. Of course he was tempted, even so far as almost suggesting a motel room or even a romp in the gas station bathroom.
No, too tacky.
"I'm sorry," said Dave. "I have some urgent business to attend to. I'm afraid it shall occupy all of my time while in Germany. I thank you for the offer, though, and am truly flattered." Barett would disown him if he knew.
The girls put on pouty faces, much practiced. "Zat is too bad," said Katja.
"Ja," said Else, then she reached into her purse and retrieved a notepad. She scribbled down the address of a ski resort and the lodge number. "In case you change your mind." She handed him the slip of paper, then kissed him goodbye.
It was an okay kiss, but lacked something. Perhaps it was the passion missing. It was a long kiss, prolonged not to extend the joy of the kiss, but to put on a show for Katja. She broke off the kiss, held Dave's hand for a second more, then slinked away.
Katja took her turn saying goodbye. She, too, kissed Dave full on the lips, even pressing her slender body against his, their belly's touching. Dave kissed her back, just to show how good a kisser he was. She melted a bit, going weak in the knees. Dave broke the kiss first. Else seemed a bit put out.
"Thanks again. I will be there should I become available," he lied.
They left. Else was asking Katja what happened with the kiss. That was the last thing Dave heard. He paid for gas and then drove off. He hoped to make it to the hotel before midnight, Some hotels charged a fee if you were not checked in on the specified day.
In retrospect the kiss from Katja was exactly what Dave thought would happen. She tried to outdo her friend. This explained the body contact. Of course she hadn't expected Dave's kiss back to be so skilled. Dave like to shatter expectations.
As the Bugatti roared towards Berlin, Dave considered their offer and what it meant. Chances were they thought he was a dealer. He looked the part. How else could he afford the car. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time strangers thought he was carrying. Perhaps it was a sex for drugs deal they were expecting. Dave didn't know for certain. If anything, such a party would have plenty of drugs already. He just didn't know.
He was proud of himself for resisting the temptation. Perhaps a few years ago he would have just went with it, but not today. He had matured. It helped to know of his condition. It allowed him on occasion to see his impulsiveness for what it was, a flaw in his dynamic. he was proud of himself indeed. What was it Nietzsche wrote?
If we train our conscience well, it will kiss us as it bites.
Conscience. That was not a word used in a positive sense as far as Dave was concerned. Maybe Dr. Towelly was wrong. Maybe Dave could be treated.
Still, the thought of the two girls stayed with him. It had been awhile. God, he missed Fisher. That was the second day now. Her absence felt like a void, not a cold void, but like a Hell complete with all consuming flames of lust and desire. He missed her terribly. Thoughts of his lover pushed aside thoughts of the models. In his heart and mind, there was no comparison. Comparing any woman to Fisher was like holding a candle up to the sun.
Dave pined. Dave drove. The city lights of Berlin burned brightly on the horizon. Soon, he drove along the city streets, deep into the heart of Berlin.
Dave made his way to the Radisson Blu Hotel in downtown Berlin. The rather functional looking building stood near the river Spree, and not far from the famous Friedrichstrasse and Potzdammer Platz, a section of Berlin rebuilt after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Indeed, Checkpoint Charlie, now an open air museum, was not far off.
The building's design was circa 1960 to 1970, being of a very simple and straightforward design. However, it was a five star establishment with all of the amenities.
Dave elected not to have valet service. He knew what happened with valets enough to trust his car in his own hands. He found a decent enough spot in the car park, then made his way to the lobby. There, a comically rotund dachshund took his information and gave him his key. He had no real need of a bellhop, so he carried his bags himself up to his business class room. He set his bags on the floor and pulled apart the curtains of the only window. He had a view overlooking the river. He admire the city lights dancing and swaying in the gentle current.
Even at close to midnight on a weekday, the city was alive. He opened the window a crack to let in the sounds of Berlin. He undressed and climbed into bed. Between thoughts of Switzerland, Fisher, and what tomorrow had to bring, Dave let the noises of the river and the city lull him to sleep.
In the morning Dave showered, blow dried his hair, dressed, and went out for breakfast. After coming back to brush his teeth, he set out to meet Dr. Weisehund. The Fraunhofer Society for the Advancement of Scientific Research had a number of institutes in Berlin, and many more throughout Germany. Dr. Weisehund was apparently the chief researcher at a major institute in Berlin. it happened to be close by.
Dave drove the short distance just in case he needed the car. He was on a mission after all, and had to be prepared. The institute looked like something out of Buck Rogers or Logan's Run. If it hadn't been obvious that the building was as large as life, one would have mistaken it for a low budget model. Firstly, the building was irregularly shaped. Some metal lattice work was left exposed and many sections jutted out. All this contrasted with a large, curved series of windows that faced the river. On top of this, the building was stark white except for a few panels in a canary yellow. In the 1980s, the building would have looked futuristic. Now it looked outdated, retro, bordering on the laughable.
Of course, this was just Dave's opinion. Surely others could hold the building in high esteem.
Dave entered the main lobby and approached the guard desk. He gave his name and that he was there for the doctor. The guard called it in. "Nur ein moment, bitte," said the guard, implying that Dave should wait for the good doctor to come down.
Soon the lanky women came out of an elevator. She walked with a long, confident stride, her lab coat sashaying with each step. She was a white German shepherd, closely approaching full human, though with snowy fur and a long snout. She offered her hand as Dave stood to greet her.
"My name is Dr, Weisehund. I am chief researcher at the institute of Berlin. You must be Lt. Coontail. I had expected a man in uniform. No matter. I suppose under the circumstances that secrecy is required."
Dave smiled during the doctor's prolonged greeting. She must have been in her late forties or early fifties, though quite refined and fit despite her advanced age. "Pleased to meet you, doctor," said Dave.
"Those are the parts of the device and the schematics?" she asked, acknowledging the two cases Dave had with him. The schematics he kept in an attache in his left hand. The parts sat in a case by his feet.
"Yes, you are correct."
"Come. Bring them along. I shall sign you in."
Dr. Weisehund signed Dave into the record sheet and the guard handed him a visitor badge. Dave, in turn, allowed the guard to inspect the cases for security reasons. Dr. Weisehund need not have explained, but she did so anyway.
"Security is of the utmost importance to the Society. Several governments and industries depend on us to protect the secrecy of their technology. Indeed, we are funded in part through government grants, but mostly from business revenue."
The doctor scanned her badge and went through the first security gate. Dave followed. She continued as if giving a tour. She must do this often, thought Dave.
"The society was founded in Munich in 1949. Our primary goal is the advancement of applied science, whether medical, engineering, chemical, or electronic. The fields are many. The greatest scientific minds join the society to further not only the study, but the practical applications of scientific study. That is why you are here, is that correct, lieutenant?"
"Yes, and you can call me Dave."
"I would rather not."
She stopped at an elevator and pressed the button to go up. She looked expectantly at the display showing the floors. Dave remained silent, as if not wanting to break her concentration. As the doors opened and they entered the elevator, she continued.
"You may have noticed a number of humanoid canines in German, especially Berlin. The institute was one of the first to develop human-animal hybrids. As Germany has been known for breeding exceptional hounds, canines were an obvious choice."
"Wait. Let figure this out. You work at the same institute that created your breed, I mean your -- ah, hell, whatever you want to call it," said Dave.
"Correct," she said. "Keep in mind that the society also established provisional rights to be given their new creation. Those that violated their rights could no longer do business with the society. This greatly reduced the number of abuses."
"Sure, but it did not stop the abuse of those products already sold," said Dave.
They reached their floor. The door opened.
"Sadly no," she said. They walked out into a long, curved corridor. The great window over looking the river was to their left side. "When the population eventually stabilized, the society ceased production. Over time, hybrids were granted even more rights, including education. Just recently, humans and hybrids have been allowed to marry. In some cases the genetic structure is similar enough that the couple can bear children. Ah, here we are."
They arrived at a conference room. He opened the door for her and followed her inside. Several scientists were already seated and waiting. Dave stood for a second, not knowing whether to sit or to head up to the podium. She helped him out by presenting her arm to the end of the table. Indeed, he was to give a presentation.
"Lt. Coontail," she said. "Please tell us what you know of this device.
Dave had not anticipated giving a presentation. However, he rolled with it. He opened the case with the parts so that they could be on display. One of the scientists reached out to inspect a circuit board. Dave scolded him, "Uh-uh-uh. No touching! Those have been cleaned so that there is no contamination during the inspection."
The human brought his hand back, looking rather sheepishly at the other scientists. Near the podium was an elaborate overhead display system. Taking out the schematics, Dave laid out an overall blue print of the weapon. He clicked on an on switch and the image was displayed behind him on a screen.
"You realize that I am just a glorified delivery man. I had not expected to give a presentation."
"You did witness the detonation of a similar Device, did you not?" asked a sleek looking black cat. His yellow eyes were stern and piercing.
Dave said, "Well, yes. Yes I did."
"Then describe to us how it works."
A pointer lay near by, so he grabbed and toyed with it as he studied the blue print. Turning his head to the scientists, he said over his shoulder, "Sorry. This is the first time I've had a look at the internal workings of the device."
"You have not inspected the schematics?" asked the cat.
Dave faced the scientists. "I have had experience in being a courier before. Believe me. You do not want to look at the package, especially when delivering for either the government or the mob."
They just looked at him.
"Hello?" he said. "Don't any of you watch gangster films? The Godfather? Anything? Is this thing on?" he asked, tapping the microphone. It was not on. The German sense of humor was just as the British described.
Dave moved on. "Okay. Judging from the schematics I will have to reevaluate my original hypothesis." Now he was talking their language. "It seems the detonation device did not result in one explosion, but rather a series of micro-explosions. Furthermore, I had postulated the device was supersonic. I stand corrected. On closer inspection I would guess that the device is subsonic."
Dave pointed at the diagram of the sphere. "The micro-explosions create a series of pressure waves that feed into these channels. The channels do not increase the frequency of the wave pattern, but rather the opposite. Subsonic waves are produced by these openings here. Three per quadrant, making twenty-four over all. They behave similar to the sub woofer of a stereo system. The spherical shape ensures the device is directed against all possible targets."
"Kvatch," said another scientist. It was a german curse word, a very mild one akin to 'hogwash' or 'rubbish.' "If this was a sonic weapon, the openings you describe would have membranes very much like a drum or the speaker system to which you referred. What of the supposed electromagnetic pulse that occurred as described by other witnesses?"
"Well, as for the membrane, have you ever blown a speaker? At that amplitude a membrane would simply tear or rupture. Also, I think any EMP was not the original intention of the weapon, but a side effect of a kind of self destruct sequence," said Dave.
"And what makes you say that? The E.o.H. has dropped a similar weapon on the former United States. Could this not be a smaller version of the same device?" asked the same scientist.
Dave put down the pointer and grasped the podium with both hands. "The original device of which you speak did not kill anyone. This 'clean bomb' as it has been called took out an entire village as well as a military unit."
"A subsonic wave pattern could not kill that many people," said the human. "Perhaps it is nuclear."
"If so," said Dave. "The radioactive source had to have an extremely short half life because Empire troops were on the ground shortly after. I stand by my first impression. The weapon is sonic. I have said too much. My assignment was to bring the parts and schematics to Dr. Weisehund, not argue engineering. I am just a mechanic after all. If you would excuse me."
Dave took the schematic off the table and placed it back in his attache. He did not bother with turning off the display machine. He also reached across the table and closed the case with the parts.
"Hold on," said the cat. He opened a panel, revealing a computer monitor that he lifted on a concealed platform. The edge of the table turned to reveal a keyboard. He logged in, selected a program, and quickly entered various streams of data. His computer information displayed on the screen where Dave had been standing.
The screen showed a minimalist rendering of a street, a family, a building, and the spherical weapon in the sky. He ran the program, simulating the weapon's effects. He continued to dial down the frequencies. The windows in the building indicated that they had shattered. Soon after, the outline of the child turned red, then the woman, and soon after the man.
"Red means dead, right?" asked Dave.
The answer was obvious.
Just the same, Dr. Weisehund said, "I would not place much faith in that simulation. The data is incomplete. We know neither the exact amplitude or frequency of the wave pattern. However, my curiosity is piqued."
She stood up. As a sign of respect to their senior researcher, the other three scientists stood as well.
"I will go with you to England. First and as agreed to, the institute will run test on the parts you have brought to us. We will also upload the schematics into our computer system. As many of our instruments our currently in use and as inputting and correlating the computer data is a time and labor intensive affair, it will be at least two days before we will have results. Yet, I will see this device in person." She held out a hand to Dave. "Now, we will deliver the parts and the schematics to the proper departments. After that I believe you wanted to evaluate our security team, correct?"
"Richtig," said Dave.
Dave walked past the doctor and opened the door, having to hold the attache under his arm to do so. Afterwards, se led him to the elevator and to each of the departments, including an IT center complete with cubicles, computer geeks, and cutting edge operating systems, hardware, software, and peripherals.
Rick would have had a nerdgasm had he been there. Dave wished he had been.
The labs were deep below the institute. Dr. Weisehund had reclaimed her status as tour guide as she led Dave from place to place. "The research laboratories are underground for several reasons, the least of which is safety. Should something untoward happen, an accident of some kind, whatever danger can be contained. The second most reason to have the labs underground is for security. Access to these areas is very limited, discouraging not just terrorists but also corporate spies."
"I see," said Dave, only half listening. His mind was still on what had taken place in the conference room. Finally he said, "Just what the Hell happened back there?"
"Excuse me?"
"That impromptu presentation. What was that, some kind of test? I was not informed that I would be required to form some opinion regarding the device, or that I was to present that opinion."
They stopped in the hall. She finished his argument for him. "Yes, that is right. You are just a mechanic after all, correct? Your government says otherwise. They asked you for an opinion. We did the same."
Dave smirked, nodded. "Uh-huh. You say we, but..."
"Very well, yes. It was a test. I wanted to see what mettle you were made of, to see if you were as quick minded as they say. If I am to go with you, I must trust my life to you, yes? Just as you wish to evaluate our security, I deserve the same level of reassurance, if not more."
"All right. All right," said Dave. "Still, that was a pretty mean trick. I am not college educated like you. My passing interest in science and engineering is self motivated. I mean, some electrical and mechanical stuff I learned from my father, but the rest is books, television programs, trial and error."
"I apologize. Perhaps it was a mean trick, but a necessary one, at least for my own sense of mind. Ah. And here we are. We are a trifle late. The security team will be expecting us. Shall we?"
This part of the underground complex was not as secure as other areas they had been. What had once been a number of rooms used for storing computers had been converted into a fitness area for the researchers. Not surprisingly, the place was relatively empty.
Dr. Weisehund scanned her badge, entered her PIN and opened the door to one of the rooms. "We use this room to record test data on sporting equipment. When not otherwise in use, the security team is allowed access for training."
She entered with Dave following behind. The room was quite long with many lights above. Most of them were off, making the room as well lit as the average basement family room. The wall to the right was painted in red and white segments measuring distances in meters, decameters, and decimeters. They must shoot high speed footage there. However, what dominated the immediate space was a square, blue mat, the kind used for wrestling.
Near the mat stood two security guards, a doberman and a German shepherd. Each had highly evolved physiques, but not in appearance. Each looked like the jackal-headed god, Anubis.
"Lt. Coontail, this is Herr Messerschmidt and Herr Brauneaiger," said Dr. Weisehund.
"Guten Tag," said Dave. Mr. knifesmith and Mr. browneyes nodded curtly in reply. Dave decided now was as good a time as any. He abruptly seized the doctor about the neck and pretended to go for a gun.
Messerschmidt without hesitation likewise pretended to go for a gun. "Bow! Bow!" he yelled as e fake fired at Dave.
"Nice reflexes, but why two shots?" asked Dave, letting the doctor go.
"Ze first to injure. Ze second to kill," he said. His voice was a deep growl, his vocal cords also not as highly evolved. It was general knowledge that the less human the hybrid, the more of its animal abilities it retained. With these two it was likely advanced hearing and smell. It looked also as though each had a dangerous set of fangs.
"What if I had a dead man's switch, or had been wearing a bomb?"
Messerschmidt looked to his junior team member, signifying that he answer. Brauneiger snapped his heels attentively and said, "You'we body language did not suggest zat you had a switch. Also, we did not smell a bomb upon you'we pewson."
Scary as the two security experts were, the speech impediments tested Dave's reserve. He did not even break into a smile.
"Twy again," he said. "If zat is alwight wit you, doctow."
She nodded her consent. Dave gently seized her about the neck. She elbowed him in the gut and, before he could recover, slipped from his hold, seized his arm, and executed a waterwheel throw. Dave went with it, breaking his fall on the mat. He looked up at the doctor.
"Jujutsu?" he asked, knowing the answer.
She nodded. "It is required of all senior researchers. Our knowledge is highly specialized. There are those that would wish to exploit it."
Dave got to his feet. "I practice jujutsu as well. What school was that, by the way?"
"German jujutsu, of course," she said.
"It vas ze fiwst mawtial awt fwom Asia bwought to Gewman soil," said Messerschmidt. "It has evolved ofer time to incowpewate ze Gewman chawachtew."
"Timink und pwecision," added Brauneiger.
"Well, color me impressed. Keen senses, martial skill, small arms training, I think I've seen enough here," said Dave.
"Nein. Zat ist not zo impwessive," said Messerschmidt. "Officew," he said to his junior. "Tuwn awound."
Brauneiger pivoted and stood at attention. 'This should be interesting,' thought Dave.
"Subject is male, slightly ofer afewage height un veight. He has vight fuw mit pink undewtones. He has blue eyes and tufts of fuw at his jaw. He has a high fowehead und blonde hair that is messy. His tail is half as long as his pewson and has awound fifteen stwipes in total, colowed black und vight. He appeaws to be wight handed..."
"Zat is enough, sawgeant," said Messerschmidt. "Now, fow second demonstwation. Please to be sayink somezing untew youw bweath."
Seeing that Dave did not quite understand, Dr. Weisehund translated. "He means whisper something."
Dave muttered something so inaudible that even he barely heard it.
Brauneiger said, "Ich liebe dich. Du liebst mich nicht."
"That is from Lou Reed, is it not?" asked Dr. Weisehund.
"Uh, yeah. I believe so."
"Don't look so surprised," she said. "The youth always think that the have discovered Rock & Roll. That music has been around for over one hundred years. They same is true for sex. Every generation acts like it invented the act."
"Uh, yeah," said Dave. "I'm even more impressed. You can turn back around now." Then to the doctor, "So, they are to escort you home and guard you there."
"Correct. The vehicle is armored. My home is very secure. If you would like a driving demonstration we would have to go elsewhere. You may also inspect my home if you desire."
"No. That won't be necessary. Thanks again for the demonstration."
They left the room. On the way back to the elevator it suddenly occurred to Dave. "Eier means eyes, not eiger. What does eiger mean?"
"Excuse me?" said the doctor.
"Oh, nothing."
Dave headed back to the hotel. There he contacted HQ and gave them the SitRep. He had successfully handed over the schematics and parts. The Society was in the process of recording and studying them. Also, Dr. Weisehund had agreed to come back with Dave once the research was complete.
After that, he had nothing of importance to do other than await the doctor's next call. In the meantime Berlin was his for the taking. Dave was never very good at cooling his heels. He was like that urban myth about sharks, that if they did not keep swimming they would sink and die.
Dave changed into some trunks and went down to the indoor swimming pool. There were very few guests at the pool other than some kids and elderly folks that all stuck to the shallow end. A placard requested that all hybrids shower before entering the pool. That made sense. No reason to get too much fur everywhere. Dave showered, then climbed the tower. He dove in, executing a somersault and a twist just to show off. Once in the pool, he swam the width. He did laps, swimming freestyle before doing the butterfly, breaststroke, crawl, and backstroke. having completed four laps of each, he dried off, went back to the room, and got dressed.
The thought of German Jujutsu intrigued him. Dojos throughout the world offered instruction in one form of jujutsu or another. Dave had popped in to many of these dojos for a quick lesson, expanding his repertoire. He headed out into the city, eventually coming upon a martial arts supplies store. He ogled the shiny weapons and lengths of staves before finally choosing a jujutsugi. It had a dark blue top with a black bottom. As with the judogi, the material was quilted to absorb the impact of falls and throws. However, unlike a judogi, the uniform was a tighter fit as the sleeve was not required to be so wide or open.
Dave purchased the gi and headed back to the room to change. He looked a sight as he walked out of the lobby and to the car park. Tourists and businessmen turned their heads, wondering if he was crazy or an instructor at the hotel.
Finding a dojo did not take long. Kyu ranked jujutsuka were warming up under the guidance of a senior student. Dave located the sensei in an office. Dave knocked politely and, in Japanese, requested that he be allowed to attend a lesson.
The sensei shook his head, then said, "Ich verstehe nicht."
"Sprechen sie Anglisch, Sensei?"
"Yes. How may I help you?"
"I am an advanced student of jujutsu. I have been taking the opportunity to further my studies by attending lessons around the world."
"Is that so?" asked the burly-looking ram. "What forms of jujutsu have you studied?" He was obviously a former cop.
"My first was Goshinjutsu, then the Small Circle school, then the Willow school. Lastly, I studied Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in Brazil."
The ram's eyes grew wider and wider with each school that Dave listed. However, he replied with, "Well, you will find that German Jujutsu is much different than these other schools."
The ram stood from his desk and walked up to Dave. He laid a congenial hand to Dave's lower back and led him out into the main training area. All the while, he was telling Dave about the German school of jujutsu. "German jujutsu started in the the tradition of the ancient Japanese style, however, over the years we germans have developed it into a more eclectic style. We have adopted elements from escrima, muay thai, wing chun, and judo amongst other styles. It has come to be quite an international martial art. We have even developed a form for competition. It is based on three phases of combat. The first phase is distance fighting and consists of long hand attacks and defenses. The second phase is grappling, and forms the crux of the style. The last is ground fighting with techniques taken from judo."
"What are you instructing in at the moment, sensei?"
"I like to cover a broad aspect of techniques each lesson, but I stress self defense methods above all. These mostly consist of atemi-waza, kansetsu-waza, and strangleholds as well as defenses against holds, knives, and even guns."
The students finished their warm up exercises and soon formed an orderly circle around the mat. They sat as one entity, taking a kneeling stance in the order of their rank.
"I don't know about a lesson for you. I'm not so sure I have anything to teach you as you are so advanced in your training. How about you guest instruct. Consider it a cultural exchange. If there is something of our style that you carry with you when you leave, all the better, ja?"
"I would be honored, Sensei. What would you like me to teach?"
"Perhaps start with a demonstration with my top student, ja? We can move on from there."
Dave bowed to the sensei. The ram moved onto the center of the mat, addressed his students, and introduced their guest instructor. That was Dave's cue. He bowed to each corner of the dojo and, barefoot, stepped respectfully onto the mat. This was a side of Dave people rarely seen, one of quiet respect.
The ram called his best student forward. He explained in short what was to commence and did so in English and German so everyone present would understand. "I will call out an attack. One of you will carry out the attack, the other will execute a defense. Then, you will rotate. The next person will attack and so on. I want light contact."
Dave payed attention. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware of the students kneeling around the ring. Most were human or canine, but there were a few other 'domesticated' animal along with some farm animals and even a few exotic animals.
Once finished with the rules, the ram stepped back and assumed the referee position. Dave and the human student bowed to the ram, and then to each other.
"Rising knee!" the sensei called out in German. Dave recognized the word k'nee. Dave turned his hip to block the kneecap. Meanwhile, he seized the student's top and, using his hip as a fulcrum, pulled him off balance. Eventually, Dave managed to throw the student to the ground.
"Very good. Well executed hip throw."
Dave helped the student to his feet. Again they bowed.
"Snapping kick," the ram said in English.
Dave raised a knee. The student made to perform a low grasping block, anticipating a kick to the lower body. Dave instead performed his signature 'lightning kick,' a very fast diagonal, snapping kick to the head. he held off making contact just fractions of an inch from the student's head.
"Stop," said the sensei. He asked the student to step aside. Then to Dave he said, "Again."
Dave let out with the same kick. The ram blocked high, grasped Dave's leg, and while stepping forward pushed his heel into Dave's supporting leg. Dave toppled. The ram was soon atop of him, grasping his collar and holding a fist to indicate pommeling his downed opponent. He described what he had done in German for the benefit of the class, then assisted Dave in getting up.
The student reclaimed his position. More bowing.
"Thrust punch!"
The student lunged forward with a corkscrew punch. Dave seized it in a grasping block, leaped up, entwined in his legs the student's torso and exposed arm, then brought him to the ground in a magnificent sacrifice throw. Dave immobilized the student in a Brazilian arm bar.
"That is Brazilian jiu-jitsu?" asked the ram.
"Hai, Sensei," said Dave.
"Show the class in detail. I will translate."
For the next half of an hour, Dave taught the class not only how to execute a proper arm or leg bar, he also demonstrated several sacrifice throws. He concentrated mostly on drop throws, a very fast and effective method for bringing down an opponent by simply seizing him and dropping with him to the ground. He demonstrated shoulder drops, hip drops, leg drops, and foot drops.
The benefit of the drop throw is that it was effective against larger opponents. Furthermore, getting the opponent in a submission hold after the throw was quick and easy. The class was already familiar with sacrifice throws, but nonetheless it was good to see techniques from other schools.
Afterwards, Dave watched as the jujutsuka practiced what they had been taught. Meanwhile, both the sensei and Dave corrected postures or gave pointers. In particular, Dave showed how the arm bar could be used to immobilize, injure, or incapacitate and opponent depending on how much pressure was applied to the shoulder and/or elbow. This was the aspect of jujutsu Dave liked best, the freedom to vary the deadliness of an application.
In the last half hour, the students sparred. Dave observed their technique, noticing how smoothly they approached each phase of combat. Dave took notes, seeing how he could better merge his taekwondo with his boxing, wrestling, and jujutsu.
When the class ended, Dave bid his farewell, though promising that if he were still in Berlin that he would drop by for another lesson. He headed back to the hotel once more to change for the third time that day. He felt like an actor or rockstar with all the costume changes.
Dave changed back into his dress slacks and green, satin shirt. However, he left the shirt open and untucked over his charcoal colored, square-necked wife beater. He completed the ensemble by strapping a pair of combats to his feet.
He had been in Europe over a month now and had still not ventured into the club scene. Frankly he hadn't had the time. With the debriefings, profiling, training, and settling he had undergone over the last few weeks, there was little time for anything else. The only club he managed to go to was the Treadle and that was after hours.
Finally Dave had a night to himself. He ventured down Friedrichstrasse. Other than his species was foreign to Europe, he fit right in. We walked around the Pottsdammer Platz just taking in the city. There were many clubs he could hit, Berlin being the DJ capitol of Europe. There was the infamous Kit Kat Club, the topic of the musical Cabaret. The club had grown even more permissive since its hey day during the Weimar Republic. Currently it was not uncommon to witness public acts of sex.
That was not Dave's scene. He had gone to a similar club in North America and had given the participants what for, basically telling them how they cheapened the experience by making it a public spectacle. He was about eighteen years old at the time.
Dave found himself instead drawn to E-Werk, a techno club near former East germany. It had been converted from an actual electric power station. A number of patrons mulled about outside, forming a semblance of a line. In line were death rockers, vampires, victorian goths, faeries, gothic Lolitas, ravers, punks, and even a number of rivet heads like Dave. Intrigued, but not wanting to wait in line, Dave walked around. When the line started to move, that was his cue to go in. Besides, he didn't need to be up front for the performance. The acoustics were better in the back of a concert hall anyhow.
So Dave walked around the building, admiring its unusual architecture. It was essentially two buildings linked by several catwalks. The concert hall was in just one of the converted buildings. As Dave made his way behind E-Werk, a van pulled around the corner, its wheels squealing. A head popped out of the driver side window. "Mein Herr, kann sie mir helfen, bitte."
Dave had stopped and was observing the van with just a little interest. Dave said, "Ja, naturlich."
The driver managed to reverse the van so that the back end was directed towards the back entrance of the club. He put in in park and jumped out. He at first appeared to be another rat or mouse, but the upturned snout gave him away. He was a bat hybrid.
He explained in German something or another too quickly for dave to catch on. Dave, instead, offered a hand in greeting.
"Dave Crockett Coontail," he said.
The bat stopped ranting and said, "American! My namen ist DJ Blut. As you can see I am running late. In Deutschland lateness is a sin, yes? I am blameless. There was this accident on the road. I am here now, so if you would be so kind as to help in making the carrying of equipment."
"Sure. I know a little about electronics. I could probably help you set up."
The bat opened the back doors to the beat up VW van. A number of cases were stacked neatly and strapped in place. The bat left Dave to fend for himself as he headed up to the back door to E-Werk. The bat knocked loudly on the metal door. A security guard, dog of course, answered. The spoke in German, the DJ making allowances for his own lateness, the guard giving him grief just the same.
Dave grabbed to heavier cases and came up to the arguing Germans, quickly becoming the next topic for debate. Finally, DJ Blut managed to settle things and assure the guard tat Dave was with him. Together they brought in his equipment.
Inside, a number of VIPs were already sipping on absinthe, the green faerie. They were celebs, models, local business execs, none of them part of the scene. They were there because they could be, not because they actually wanted it. Dave knew the type and generally despised or pitied them. He despised the fact they got preferential treatment and pitied the fact they found no love for the music played for them.
The VIPs heckled as they set up, their plastic like girls laughing as if they had been paid to, which was likely. Their German was languid and smug like the speech of a roman emperor. It was like Nero or Calligula taunted them, only with a lot more phlegm.
Of the equipment Dave helped setting up there were many items of interest. For one, there was a laptop computer, the nexus or nerve center in the arrangement. Next was an external hard drive containing the library of compressed digital audio tracks. A second back-up drive stood by in case of a crash. Aside from many leads, cords, and cables, there was a surge protector with battery back-up. The most remarkable equipment for Dave next to a combination synthesizer/drum kit was something that looked like a miniature set of turntables. The device looked homemade. It looked like something Rick might have designed, only less sleek. Dave figured the cannibalized look of the item was as much aesthetic as functional.
"What is that for?" asked Dave.
"Diese? Is something I made to overlay and play with digital tracks. It is like vinyl disk turntable, only smaller."
"Wow. Looks like you're gonna put on one helluva show. Break a leg."
"Dankeschon."
DJ Blut did a quick sound check, playing prerecorded digital tones in bass, mid range, and treble. He then played several vocal tracks, many checking for resonance, consonance, and that sort of thing. Finally, he signaled to the doormen that it was go time. The doors open and the flood of patrons poured through, each pausing to hand over the cover charge and receive a black ribbon around the wrist.
Dave waved to the DJ as he made his way onto the floor. DJ Blut put on a set of headphones and waved back. As the crowd started to build up, DJ Blut initiated the first track in his playlist. A bass drone built up in intensity. The tsk tsk of hats emerged as if from beneath the drone to signify the rhythmic pattern of the track.
Those on the dance floor nodded their heads or tapped their feet to the beat. Dave, too, found himself nodding along. As the floor filled with a number of goths, punks, rockers, and ravers, the song broke out in full force. It was "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division. It was an homage to the gothic dance scene, the first breakthrough hit of the premier goth band. Cheers broke out. The club came alive in waving arms and gesticulating bodies.
DJ Blut had added element in, subtle, but there just the same. He pumped it up with a few extra beats per minute on top of some additional electronic bells and whistles. The mood was stark, austere, German.
Even the band name had some deeper meaning, Joy Division being the codename given to German prostitutes that serviced nazi soldiers.
There was an overlap between the end of the song and the next track. DJ Blut slowed the end of the song to meet the BPM of the next song, a song Dave did not recognize. It reminded him of Depeche Mode, only German and contemporary. The vocalist crooned over melodic synth music mixed with distorted guitar. Meanwhile, the DJ's signature dark, electronic touch added nuance while grounding it within the framework of the set list.
Dave would later find out that the song currently playing was from a band called Auslander, or outsider in English. They were one of the leading bands within the German darkwave scene, darkwave combining elements of synthpop, new romantic, and gothic music.
This choice bit of music appealed to a broad spectrum of patrons. Ravers with glow sticks or butterfly wings grooved sensuously to the lazy beat. Meanwhile, a number of rivet heads and cybergoths had found Dave as if drawn to a kindred spirit. The man was dressed in urban camouflage trousers, a concert T, and had numerous piercings in his face and ears. He looked human. With him was a more highly evolved she-wolf in a tight, latex one piece. She looked like a secret agent. Their friend, a white poodle, dressed like some futuristic dominatrix. She wore an arm band that, tough reminiscent of the SS, was actual an amalgam of a peace symbol and the anarchy symbol.
Dave rolled with it, dancing with the poodle as the couple danced nearby. The poodle was not the best dancer, though what she lacked in talent she made up for in sensuality, thus appearing to be a better dancer than she was. Dave was himself not a professional dancer, though he knew a few dances e learned from Fisher. That woman could dance, though none of the styles found in E-Werk that night.
Nearby, a number of Victorian goths had planted the backs of their hands to their foreheads in expressions of remorse, their kin having a flare for the dramatic. Similar goths instead grasped at the air with ghostly elegance as if trying with their dainty fingers to pluck the very notes from the air.
DJ Blut knew his audience well.
DJ Blut looped the last bar of the song. Over this he laid out the foundation of another song. As this played, DJ Blut welcomed the crowd to E-Werk. He introduced himself and generally worked up the crowd before treating them to an original track of his own creation, well, mostly original. He had 'borrowed' some riffs from other songs, but it took a learned ear to recognize them, for he presented them in an entirely new fashion. There were no vocals except those taken from movies and television. Once the fundamentals had been laid out, the DJ stepped up to his synthesizer and played a live melody.
The music was bold, stark, crisp, and penetrating. The beat was strong, the bass line pounding. The content was bold as well, being excerpts from television news programs regarding kidnapping, extortion, prostitution, murder. Tracks from movies played counterpoint, showing a how much the glorified fantasy world of cinema strayed from reality.
The music dared you to like it. It challenged Dave. It asked him to accept the true horror of everyday life. It bade him to stare into the void, to not be afraid, but to still find life beautiful.
Not everyone got it. Most there just thought of it as another dance track. Dave understood. It was cathartic. Only by embracing the concepts of mortality, sorrow, and dread could one appreciate life, joy, and hope. There was an exchange. Dave had to give himself over to the music so that it could not only caress him, but infect him.
The poodle sensed that she no longer had Dave's attention. He had moved on. She may have not even been there.
The rest of the show was more of the same. There were classic tracks and contemporary tracks occasionally punctuated by an original piece. This went on for four hours, covering techno, industrial, metal, rock, pop, anything dark and danceable. About two hours in, DJ Blut brought it down by playing slower, smoother tracks, giving the crowd a respite before the next bombardment of audio. All the while, he linked track to track, overlapping and fusing them. His signature stark sound permeated the whole show.
Dave felt fortunate that his sweat glands were located in his ears, also that his fur not only kept him warm, but cool as well. He danced well into the early hours of the morning. Fleetingly, he thought of the models now in Switzerland. This was better, worlds better than just some one night stand.
After the show, Dave Coontail hung around so he could help DJ Blut pack up. As they were gathering up the equipment, Dave complimented him on the show.
"You should see when I have the lights hooked up," said the bat.
"You put on a light show, too? Remarkable."
"I have this software that controls the lights in time with the music. However, it takes awhile to set up properly. I just did not have enough time."
"That's too bad. By the way, I loved your original stuff. What do you call that? Electro-industrial?" asked Dave.
The bat nodded. "We call it Endzeit Electro."
"A subgenre, then? Endzeit. End time. Like what, Armageddon? The apocalypse?"
Again, the bat nodded. "There are just a few of us in the scene. There is Corpus Canine, Rathaus, and Der Wermacht. Corpus is more symphonic. Rathaus is more experimental and Der Wer is big on guitar."
They conversed further, Dave complimenting him on his encyclopedic knowledge of music. As they headed out to the van, a line of fans were waiting. A few of the security staff stood by to make sure DJ Blut wasn't mobbed. Someone behind the line was yelling out. he sounded angry.
"What is he saying?" asked Dave.
The bat seemed all to accustomed to this sort of treatment. Warily, he said, "He is calling me, what is the saying? A hack."
"A hack?" Dave set the cases he had been carrying into the back of the van, then walked up to the line. "What do you mean calling him a hack?"
The human answered in German, possibly insulting Dave in the process. Dave was pretty sure. He could have gotten angry. Instead, Dave gestured for the human to cross the line. "Come on, there is no need for that. Let's discuss this in a calm and reasonable fashion."
The guards must have assumed that DJ Blut had granted Dave the authority to do this, for they did not stop him. The human seemed wary as though Dave might roll on him at any moment. Nevertheless, he followed Dave until he, Dave, and the Dj had formed a triangle near the back of the van.
"Now, make your point. DJ Blut, interpret for us if you would, please."
The DJ presented Dave's request. The human answered, gruffly, but not in a threatening manner. Funny how meeting your opponent face to face calm calm one's ire.
DJ Blut translated, "He says that I'm unoriginal, that all I do is steal other peoples music."
"Tell him that is not all you do," said Dave. "Tell him you also treat that music, give it nuance, extend or remix it to better fit the dance club scene."
The DJ gave Dave an odd look as if to say 'who the hell are you and how did I get myself into this.' just the same, he did as asked.
The human responded once more. DJ Blut translated, "He says that is the problem. I, what is the word, corrupt the music he loves. It is fine as it is and who am I to change it."
"Uh-huh. Ask him which are you, an unoriginal hack that only plays other people's music or an artist that alters other people's music for his own purposes," said Dave.
The human replied with, "Both."
Dave countered with, "He cannot be both. Either he is unoriginal and does not change the music, or he is original and does."
The human asked Dave to explain.
Dave said, "The poet Alexander Pope described originality as the ability to combine to or more previously existing concepts in a new way. There is no such thing as true originality. All concepts borrow from previous concepts. Art is in itself a progression of rebellion and revival. Baroque music rebelled against classical. Punk rebelled against disco. Meanwhile, new romance revives the crooning, big band style of the '40s. Symphonic metal adapts the pageantry and performance of classical opera."
DJ Blut had to translate this little by little. The human had wanted to interrupt, but Dave would not allow it until he point had been made. Finally, Dave said, "Listen, this could go on all night. How about you help us pack up and then we can discuss over dinner. My treat."
The human agreed much to the DJ's surprise.
Later, the three of them sat in the booth of a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant. From the window, DJ Blut could keep an eye on his van. Berlin, like London and the Manhattan of old, was a city that never slept.
"Back to the topic of originality," said Dave.
The human, Dieter, put forward his objection, claiming that a rebellion against or an emulation of a kind of musical style was original, but using the same melody was not.
Dave countered with, "I see your point. However, there are only so many notes that can be played. Furthermore, there is a finite number of combinations in which those notes can be arranged. Take into consideration combinations that would sound unpleasant to the ear and you have a limited amount of melodic choices. I think this is why people who do not like a particular type of music, say country-western, heavy metal, or rap, claim that it all sounds the same. Those that enjoy that genre can pick up on subtle differences, DJ Blut's remixes, although owing much to the original artist, has enough subtle differences to be original in my mind. I think the argument is not whether or not he is original, but whether or not you care for his music. That brings to mind for you. Why go see a DJ perform remixed versions of your favorite songs if you do not want to hear them altered? Did you expect him to play the original tracks? You might as well have stayed home and listened to the radio or your album collection."
The human had to concede to that point, admitting that perhaps it was more that he didn't care for how DJ Blut remixed the tracks than that he did it at all.
DJ Blut had grown confident enough to defend his own position, putting forth his own opinions regarding music, performance, and art in general. Of course, he kept Dave informed by interpreting whatever he couldn't understand.
Eventually Dieter left. He still didn't care for the music, but at least he went away respecting the artist.
"That was something," said the bat.
"Think of it this way. His friends and family are likely to have similar tastes. Next time one of them criticizes your music, he can say that he doesn't like it either, but he respects you just the same. He can say that it may not be for everyone and that does not make it de facto bad music."
"Do you always resolve problems with philosophical debate?" asked DJ Blut.
"Not always. It is nice, though, when cooler heads prevail."
The conversation went on as they discussed musical influences and favorite artists.
"I have something for you that you may like," said the DJ.
"Oh yeah?"
"I have a backstage pass to the Ubermaus concert tomorrow night at Tresor. I am booked at E-Werk that night, so I cannot attend."
"A backstage pass, huh? How did you manage to get that?" asked Dave.
"I remixed a track off their new album, a song called 'Tiergarten.'"
"Isn't that German, for zoo?"
"Sort of." The Dj fished around in his jacket pocket and retrieved the pass. it had a blue box with a white A in it, clearly indicating all access.
Dave took the gift. "You're sure this is okay?"
The bat nodded. "If you see the band, tell them that I am sorry I could not attend. You will like them, I think."
Dave asked, "What are they like?"
"You will see."
Dave finished his iced tea while the DJ worked on a second cup of coffee. When they had to part ways, Dave said, "Hey, if you're ever in Sheffield look up a club called Flood. I'm part owner. Your stuff is novel, exciting, controversial. We're trying to expose the public to knew forms of music."
"Are you the talent scout, too?"
"No. I'm more a silent partner. However, I couldn't resist the opportunity. There is no pressure. You can refuse right now if you want."
The bat shook his head. "it is an intriguing offer. Sheffield is with live music what Berlin is to the DJ scene. I will consider it."
"Fantastic. I suppose this means Aufviederseh'n?"
"Aufviederseh'n," said the bat.
Dave slept in the next morning. He got up, showered, dressed, went for breakfast, came back and brushed his teeth. Things were getting strangely routine in Europe. Having danced most of the night, Dave had had considerable exercise for his lower body. He went to the hotel gym and worked his upper body, doing bench presses, arm curls, and the like.
Still he had had no call from Dr. Weisehund. As such, he kept his promise to drop in for another jujutsu lesson, this time concentrating on aspects of the small circle school. He illustrated how to keep one's movements fluid, moving from application to application is a single motion. Furthermore, he stressed using the pinky side of the hand for delivering holds and throws as this rotation was more natural. Similarly, he demonstrated how using the preferred direction of a joints movement made joint locks and throws easier as the opponent's body was naturally designed to move in that fashion and, therefore, offered little resistance. His instruction was again well received and he bid a fond farewell to the sensei and the class.
Not wanting to go back to the hotel for yet another change of wardrobe, Dave wore his jujutsugi as he went on a shopping spree. He hit the alternative shops, finding a killer punk skirt for men, some angry looking boots, a coat reminiscent of the one he wore as an agent, and several other items of clothing.
He changed into the items bought, walking out like something out of Road Warrior. Next he hit an alternative barber shop for a much needed cut. He had seen a hairstyle the night before and it appealed to him. He told the English speaking stylist to shave the sides to the fur, to even out the top, and to really work in some gel and back combing to get the hair to stand high and strong.
By now it was getting late. He picked up dinner and dropped off his gi before heading for Tresor. Still, he had no idea what Ubermaus was about. Seeing the line, Dave felt comfortable in his choice of armor (that is, concert clothing). He fit in quite well. He recognized a few faces from the night before, but did not bother in entering conversation. Instead, he checked his cell phone for messages. A text from Barett signaled that he was going to be out of town. Meanwhile, Utah had texted that he had returned and was now in Scotland. There was no message yet from the Institute.
Dave had shown up late, arriving just as the show was about to start. He was used to the L.A. and San Francisco scene, where shows started up to an half hour late. However, this was Germany, and timeliness was everything. It was not long before the line started to move and they were led inside. Just a short while later, the opening band took the stage.
They were a Front 242 cover band going by the name U-Men. Dave was only somewhat familiar with the original Belgian electronic body music. The show was decent, but had little surprises. This was not uncommon. Cover bands were en vogue no matter what country one called home. It was like Dr. Weisehund had said, every generation acted as if they had discovered rock & roll. The Beatles, the Stones, Zeppelin, The Who, you name it. The bigger the band, the more cover acts there were.
Tresor was an underground club in a very literal sense. One had to go down into the basement of the building to see the show. U-Men played for just under an hour as if, knowing they were the opening act, they did not want to dally about. Nonetheless, a number of people left after the opening act, clearly showing their loyalty to 242's music and, quite frankly, little else.
After they left, the guitar techs and other crew came on to switch out the instruments and go through sound checks. Joining the stage was a film screen, which caught Dave's interest. This would be a show after all.
The first to take the dark stage was a short, female mouse. As she stepped up to the keyboard, an eerie light spotted her. She dressed in the gothic Lolita fashion, a black and white baby doll dress with a red bow at her back. She wore another bow in her hair between her large, round ears. She lay her hands upon the keys, at first just playing a fifth chord and holding it. Just the same, the crowd roared.
Second to take the stage was another female, a white duck also in a baby doll, this time in a light blue. She took her seat upon the stool behind the drum kit. As the mouse played a melody, the duck joined with light hats, gently tapping on the symbols.
With a basic rhythm set, a bloodhound took stage. He wore a red sweatsuit with white running shoes. He took a wide, anchored stance and proceed to up strum on his electric bass guitar, complementing the beat. The duck soon added snares and toms.
Forth was another white duck in a faux military uniform. He took up his guitar and complimented the melody set by the synthesizer. The cheers roared for each band member, but culminated in the loudest cheer when a disembodied voice broke through the speakers. It was as deep as a well and as gravelly as a country road. In German, the voice sang the first verse. As the final member, a brown mouse in overalls, walked onstage and took up a rhythm guitar, the whole band went into a blistering, guitar driven chorus.
This was the structure of the song. The verses were lazy, melodic, and even a little groovy, but the chorus brought you to your feet. Behind the band, their logo danced about in time with the music. Against a rust colored background, several gears combined and separated in various combination only to merge into something approaching the logo of a prominent, pre-plague, animated film production company.
The name of the song was "Guten Tag." From Dave's weak German he managed to make out what the song was about. Each verse was about someone having a hard time, either at work, in their personal life, or what have you. The chorus broke in, claiming that you should wish them Good Day.
It was a play on German words and phrases, Guten Tag being an everyday greeting as well as something deeper. The song suggested that by wishing someone a good day and actually meaning it, one could, perhaps, inspire them to have a good day.
The same word play followed in many other songs that evening. Dave picked up on only a few elements. However, what really grabbed his attention was the band's use of familiar Disney films and shorts. The band in itself borrowed somewhat from the Disney mythos.
It was not derisive or sarcastic. Even still the cartoons of old, the Tex Avery, the Loony Toons, etc. appealed to modern day hybrids. It boggled the mind to see the human concept behind anthropomorphic animals years before the actual science of it. More and more, special interest groups claimed the cartoons were offensive and stereotyped certain species of hybrids. Just the same, hybrids watched and laughed. Somehow hybrids connected to the cartoons on a level above even the modern films and television produced by hybrids.
Ubermaus explored these themes mostly by using Disney's work. At one point, the lady mouse on keyboard sang a cover of "Trust in Me" from The Jungle Book. Dave knew the tune as Siouxsie & the Banshees had covered the same song on an album.
The mouse's haunting, ethereal voice was worlds apart from the lead singer, adding a beauty & the beast quality to their brand of new German metal, a kind of tanz metal or dance metal.
The crowd swayed in time with the seductive ballad, even breaking out lighters to signify the beauty inherent in the performance.
Ubermaus played two encores. The first encore consisted of a couple of rocking tunes, clearly from their earlier albums. They also played a waltz like tune called "Prince Charming." Aside from the love song elements, at least from what Dave could tell, the song explored the dichotomy between seeking true love and being an independent woman. It balanced being feminine against feminism.
The final tune they played was surely their first breakthrough hit, a traditional polka done in their distinctive, tanz metal form. The song was called "Juche!"
Juche is the German word for yippee or hurrah. Even with the crowd singing along, the lyrics were simple and clear enough for Dave to pick up on. As with many hit songs, it was deceptively simplistic.
The song was an account of a German in a pub with several other Europeans. A rough translation went something like this:
Hans asked the Englishman, "Do you like sauerkraut?"
The Englishman said, "No, I like fish and Chips."
So Hans said "Then drink! Then drink! Juche!"
Hans asked the Parisian, "Do you drink beer?"
The Parisian said, "No, I drink champaign."
So Hans said "Then drink! The drink! Juche!"
This went on for several more verses, covering Spain, Italy, and Sweden. The final verse brought home the message. This was more than just another pub song. Despite the jumping crows up front, or the slap dancing Germans in the back, this was a political song.
Hans asked everyone, "Do you enjoy freedom?"
They all said, "Yes, everyday. Everyday!"
So Hans said, "Then dance! Then dance! Juche!"
They played on for awhile, extending their signature song for several additional minutes. Eventually, each band member left in the order they arrived. First the keyboardist left, then the drummer, the bassist, the lead guitar. Only the lead singer was left. He had taken up the lead guitar melody for a short while, then stopped playing. He simply kept singing with the crowd, "Juche! Juche!"
Finally, he stopped. The crowd kept on, shouting "Juche!" until the rest of the band came back onstage. Together the five hugged, then bowed or curtsied. They waved or blew kisses and left the stage. The crowd kept shouting even after the house lights came on. Finally, the crowd dispersed like water down a drain.
Dave stayed behind as did several other all access fans. Seeing the souvenir shops open, Dave headed that way, hoping that many of the items would still be available for purchase. At the very least he had hoped to get his hands on a CD.
Dave purchased three CDs. "Phantastik" was their debut album. The cover featured an illustrated version of the lead singer waving a wand. Below him a throng of people had their arms raised high. Shackles on their wrists broke apart under his spell. It was a simplistic cartoon in four color reminiscent of the propaganda poster of the Soviet era.
The second album, "Cinderfella" was a comical representation of the band done in a similar style. The lead singer, Mick M, was scrubbing the floor. The ducks and the hound were pointing fingers and laughing while, to the side, the lady mouse held a glass slipper.
Their current album, "Rose Red," featured not the band, but the faerie tale character, but in the same four color style. On the back a bonus track cited DJ Blut as a featured artist.
Dave also purchased two T-shirts and a tour hat. The first T-shirt had displayed their first album cover. On the back was a line from one of their songs, "ALLE SIND FREI" or everyone is free. The other shirt was from their current tour and on the front displayed the rust colored background with the iron gear logo. On the back read the tour dates and locations, Berlin being among them.
The tour hat was a khaki colored cap that read "ubERMAus" in a triangular pattern.
Dave hung around with about twenty-five other fans until the band came strolling out. The five came up and chatted freely with the circle of fans. Fans that had brought gifts or made favors handed them over. Many pictures were taken. Dave had another fan take pictures for him on his phone. One was with the guys from the band, the other with the girls. Dave also had all three CDs signed. At this point, Dave brought up DJ Blut.
"Yeah, he is truly sorry he couldn't make it. He asked me to send you his regards," said Dave.
They got to talking. Dave found out that of the five, only two were German. Mick M. and Herr G. (the hound) had founded the group. Brother and sister, the Ducks, ailed from Bristol, England. The duck had changed from his military attire into a cowboy hat, duster, boots, wester shirt, and jeans. All were black. The fascination with cowboys was not uncommon in Britain. However, a black, feather boa through the look out of whack, firmly planting the duck as a rock & roller.
The other mouse was dutch and had married Mick M between the first and second albums.
Dave did not linger long. he bid the band farewell and set out for the hotel. Chances were his next day would be a full one.
That's it for chapter 3. The musical artists were loosely based on actual musicians. Also, German jujutsu is a real thing as is the Fraunhofer Society. I've always found that subplot more fully defined the character more than the action oriented scenarios. Just the same, there will be more of that to come later.
I have been interested in Dave's heavy involvement in the music scene. Does he Identify with the music, or is it something that defines how he feels. It seems like more than just a hobby or like with Dave. But at the same time he seems really analitical about the whole thing. More like he is planning on writing a critics paper on the performance, then what he really likes about the music. Is that how he views it ?
Dave is analytical. He thinks very deeply despite appearances to the contrary. The things he likes most, i.e. cars, martial arts, women, music, he analyzes the most because they are most on his mind.
So, to answer your question, Dave both enjoys how music makes him feel and appreciates it from a critical perspective. Dave can get emotional disconnected from events. That is a symptom of his disorder. Through music, though, Dave can make that emotional connection. It may be that music will play an important role in the treatment of his condition. Finding the correct emotion to attach to behavior is key to sociable behavior.
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