Chapter Twenty-Five - Ramen Break

“Certain traditions are fated to fade away. Sometimes they are kept alive by historians and dedicated practitioners, but as technology moves on and culture shifts, the need for some traditions just ceases.

Some, on the other hand, especially those that were able to adapt, to become commercialized and commodified, not only survive, but thrive. New cultures adopt them, they become a symbol of something greater, and in so doing, are immortalized, at least for the moment.

When I was a young man in Japan, I, like many others, enjoyed the quick and dirty foods of the convenience store and street vendors. None of these more than the ramen that kept me fed through years of schooling and bachelorhood.

That is why, when I saw the rise of automation, I saw my chance to take on an old tradition, a symbol, and help it evolve into something new.

It was a grand risk, but I believe the rewards have been worth it.“

--Minato Watanabe, CEO, founder, and sole employee of Automata-Ramencorp International

***

Because of the way the building was laid out, the mercs’ place was set at the end of this long corridor. To one side was a long wall with nothing on it but a few little vents and a couple of cameras. Along the opposite side was a Korean nail salon, of all things.

Gomorrah and I never got to that corridor, of course. When we reached the building the mercs were staying at, we went up a few floors and picked some seats at this shitty little android-operated ramen stand.

The bot behind the counter wasn’t one of those fancy models trying to look human. It was just a cheap assembly of hard plastic over poorly-oiled actuators and servos. Most of the cooking was done through a conveyor system, so all it had to do was handle the transactions and put bowls in front of customers.

Gomorrah paid.

I slurped up a few freshly overboiled noodles and blinked as my eyes watered from the heat on my tongue. “Ah, okay,” I said. “So, the front entrance is obviously a no-go.”

“Obviously,” Gomorrah said. She opened her third pack of spicy sauce and dumped it into her bowl. “There’s brazen and then there’s brazen.”

I nodded and spun my chopsticks around, ignoring the ads scrolling along their sides. “Yeah. So that leaves my first less-dumb idea. We, or at least I, go in by the windows on the outside.”

“You’re not afraid that they have those monitored?”

“All of them?” I asked. I shrugged. “Yeah, you know what, they might. They had some pretty good gear, and it took a lot to track them to here. Wouldn’t surprise me if they went overboard with the safety stuff too.”

“Could your Myalis disable the security?” Gomorrah asked. “My AI isn’t strong with that, but I have a few points to spend.”

I can. While we’re playing telephone, do you mind if I connect with Gomorrah’s AI directly?

“Go ahead,” I said.

Gomorrah looked at me quizzically for a moment before her mouth twisted. “Ah,” she said. “Pleased to meet you, Myalis,” she said.

The ramen bot juttered, then spoke with a familiar voice. “A pleasure to meet you as well,” Myalis said.

The bot shifted to the side, its head, which was a boxy thing with a pair of sensors and a couple of gang-tags sprayed across it, turned towards me and spoke with a new voice, masculine, and smooth. “Greetings, Stray Cat, I am Atyacus, Gomorrah’s AI assistant.”

“Oh, uh, hey,” I said. I waved to the bot. “Are you two just... going to share a body?”

“It does simplify things to a degree. We’re sharing data as we speak, and most Vanguard do seem to enjoy having something to address physically while they speak,” Atyacus said. He--and it definitely sounded like a he--had a cultured sort of voice. Like one of those fedora-wearing guys in those black and white movies.

“Cool,” I said. “While you’re in there, can you get me another bowl of ramen? I wanna try the pork one.”

It was Myalis that replied. “What is Lucy going to say when she tries to pinch you and finds more than she bargained for?”

I glared. “I won’t get fat. I’ve got an orphan’s metabolism.”

“Is that even a thing?” Gomorrah asked.

I shrugged. “Sure. So, the plan? We use Myalis to shut off security, then I slip in through a window?”

“Do we even need to enter the building at all?” Gomorrah asked.

“Unfortunately,” the ramen bot who was currently Myalis said. “We do. Other than their connection to the water and power grids of the main building, I can detect only one communication line into the building. Specifically, to a router on the topmost floor.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

A square opened in my vision, footage, live I guessed, of the back of a cubical. There were a few posters pinned to the wall, and a calendar, but not much else.

“That’s the most I can get from it. The rest of their network seemed to be wired, and it’s a closed loop. I can access one of their printers, but they haven’t used it for anything very sensitive.”

“Okay, so we need to get in, then we can connect to their network?” I asked.

“You might not necessarily need to enter the building,” Gomorrah’s AI said. The whole sharing a body thing was weird. “If my colleague only requires access to their network, then it’s possible, likely even, that some of their wiring is in their walls. In which case you could connect to their security with nothing more than an incision.”

I rubbed at my chin, then poked at some sort of pseudomeat flowing in my ramen broth. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “Gomorrah, can you manage that? Like, do you have something to see wires?” I noticed that the lower part of her mask was raised for the first time. It made it look like her mouth was right over her nose.

“I can manage,” she said after she finished chewing delicately. “Will you be coming in from the outside at the same time?”

“That depends. I do like the image of rappelling down the side of their building and busting in through a window, but, well, I’ve got bombs too. Those would work on their front door, I think.”

“Are you really choosing based on which one makes you feel cooler?” Gomorrah asked. The disappointment really came through when she wasn’t wearing a mask.

“No?” I tried.

The nun sighed and got to her feet. “Where would be the best place to try and cut through the wall?” she asked the ramen bot.

The robot shifted, then Myalis came through with a reply. “I suspect... here.”

The wireframe of the building returned, now with a blinking red circle on the floor with a garage.

“That’s two down from the front door,” I said. “It’ll mean if they try to run, you’ll be there.”

“We could pinch them in, keep them from making a run for it,” Gomorrah said.

I nodded. “I really wanted to try the windows. Oh well. Get into their system with Myalis’ help, then if we can spot the girl, we leave and call for the big guns. No girl means we break in and ask them all some questions the old fashion way.”

“The old fashion way?” Gomorrah asked.

“With high explosives,” I replied.

She shook her head and started to walk off. “I’ll keep in touch,” she said. “Atyacus, you staying in that bot?”

“Of course not,” the ramen bot said.

I turned to it a moment later. “So, any idea of what we should be doing?”

“Have you tried our two for one special? Two meat flavour packs for the price of one!” the bot said.

I rolled my eyes, tipped the rest of the broth in my bowl down my gullet, then did the same to Gomorrah’s leftovers because wasting was a sin, then I got up and moved off. “We need somewhere to hide in the meantime,” I said. “Somewhere close to the baddies’ front door.”

The nearest business is a nail salon. There are a few other stores on the same floor.

I brought my hands up and looked at my nails. “You know, I’ve never really cared much for nails. More of a Lucy thing. Can I even paint my cyberarm’s nails?”

The nails retract to allow plasma cutters to deploy.

“I bet they don’t have that colour at the salon,” I said. “Right, let’s go waste some time then.”

Some ten minutes later, when I walked in--with Myalis fudging the results of any camera looking my way, of course--the little old lady behind the counter took one look at my organic hand, then started babbling.

“I don’t speak, uh,” I looked to the nearest poster, which was covered in some Asian writing. “Squiggles.”

I think that might be racist.

“Is it racism when you’re mocking someone’s language?” I asked.

Yes.

“You learn something new every day,” I muttered. “So, lady, can you make my fingers pretty? I need to look extra girly before I go blowing things up later.”

You don’t strike me as the girly type.

I grinned. “Well, If I’m real lucky, and Lucy’s in the right mood, these fingers might end up somewhere girly later.”

Disgusting.

The lady didn’t know why I was chuckling, and somehow, that only made it funnier.

***