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Explain to me why I'm doing this again, the Major's voice rang clear and strong inside Batou's head.
Because I won a bet, he replied, lightly fingering the etching on his mug.
By base-dealing.
You knew I was dealing from the bottom of the deck, he defended himself while checking on her location. The Major's figure glowed on his internal map, heading towards him and only fifty meters away.
I wasn't familiar with the concept.
Stop playing word games! You didn't know what the concept was until Saito told you, but those sharp eyes of yours never miss a trick.
If I knew you were cheating, why didn't I play to win? For someone that seemed to be complaining, the Major sure sounded amused...with him? Batou drained his beer and ordered another.
We made an open-ended bet and you knew that if I won, I'd go gentle on you. Maybe that bit of mystery was enough to intrigue your Ghost. Besides, how often have you been to a place like this?
He glimpsed a familiar form edging through the bystanders and for the hundredth time Batou adjusted the knot of his tie; his fingers had mastered the unorthodox weaving after the first run-through of the training vid but it didn't seem properly fastened. He downed the drink the waitress had just handed to him and slammed the glass on the table; using his eyes and map as a guide he launched himself from his seat, leaving startled, jostled patrons in his wake, roughly casting apologies over his shoulder until he intercepted the Major near the entrance.
"There's a first time for everything," the Major mused, eyebrows uplifting slightly.
Batou coughed and stood a little straighter. His ponytail was neatly doubled up and slicked back; a flick of his arms bounced the antique cufflinks anchoring smartly-pressed shirtsleeves against his wrists. The front of his single-breasted suit smoothed down nicely, much better than the double-breasted one he tried on at the shop where he wasted how much time arguing with the assistant robot...
"Indeed," he rumbled, then the millisecond passed and his cyberbrain resumed its normal operating mode. "Dinner and drinks first, or a dance?"
The Major gazed across the wall-to-wall wooden floor, a bona fide vintage almost unheard-of anymore. Couples cast muted shadows illuminated by the carpet of stars overhead, moving languorously to the breathy melody containing idiosyncrasies only attainable by human musicians, not androids. She tugged Batou's hand.
"We're here now," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, you won the bet."
Now or never. Batou placed her hand on his shoulder, gathered the other in his and waited silently. Listening for the beat was more difficult than he'd imagined, for the universe contracted inexplicably from the world he inhabited, to the nightclub crowning the needle-nosed skyscraper, to his palm resting in the hollow of the Major's cool, muscular back.
He ventured forward into the Major's space, one, two...and bumped into her unyielding form.
They stopped and began again, two tanks jamming one another, pushing and pulling, the Major's black sheath hanging in lank folds from her frame.
"We're not getting this at all," he muttered with a huff.
"I studied the process before I arrived," she replied. "You could let me synchronize our movements."
"That's no fun." They collided abruptly, whole step countered by half. Batou placed his hands on her bare shoulders and sucked in a calming breath.
"Okay, turn off everything except your basic neurotransmitters," he growled. "You can listen, move, see. And no talking or arguing."
Ruby lips pouted into a soft pucker, then her face slackened into blankness. Batou lifted her hand; the fingers flopped and every sinuous joint flexed, synthetic knuckles popping lightly as the movement waved through her arm.
"Much better," Batou murmured, reaching for the rest of her.
They glided together uncertainly, shoes clicking lightly on the polished wood. Batou ducked his head in regret after tripping an indignant dancer, then guided the Major to a less-crowded spot.
But we'll never be perfect.
Each tap became steadier than the last, blending with the pianist's chiming chords and the sad lyrics wafting around them.
This isn't marksmanship class, he countered, plum hair tickling his chin as the Major's hand slid up his sleeve, molding itself around his tricep. Perfection can't be measured here.
But we'll be forever striving for it...a Zeno's Paradox with no goal in sight.
Batou stalled for a moment as she raised her arms, encircling, enveloping him whole and he twirled easily, bending around her yielding curves.
Zeno's Paradox? he asked, puzzled.
You're given a head start and I chase you. But every time I reach the spot where you've been, you've already moved on. I aim for the second point and you're still ahead of me. I'll always have a ways to go. I'll never find you.
He stumbled against her, then relaxed and recovered, fingers brushing the output ports gracing the nape of her neck, the gap between skin and silk at her fleshy hip.
Leap for the spot in front of me and we'll reach the end together.
Their gentle embrace matched the music and Batou flowed with her, the song almost over but wishing it would continue forever and it would, deep in his internal memory.
If only it were that easy.
Batou leaned forward and the Major's body dipped without resistance, totally trusting his strength for support, her expression no longer a blank slate. Her eyes were dark, luminous, wide-open and looking so deeply into his the input sensors twitched as he attempted to blink. The last wistful refrain slipped away and he reached up with his free hand to touch her cheek tenderly...
...The Major's thumb plunked down below his eye.
"You're bleeding."
Muted pain receptors made no difference, and Batou winced at the synthetic fluid oozing sluggishly out of his cracked skull casing, escaping the insistent pressure. He shrugged. "It's part of the risks of this job. Someone had to cover you."
A medic bowed and took the Major's place, applying polymer to the wound as public security officers scurried about. Emergency vehicles efficiently formed their own line, ferrying wounded passengers and would-be hijackers from the scene, flashing strobe lights overlapping the runaway bullet train Section 9 had just collared, looming motionlessly on the cluttered railroad tracks. The Major frowned. "You're the one always complaining about how expensive these cyborg bodies are and yet you're careless with your own. Don't play the hero next time."
"What happened this time?" a Tachikoma called.
The Major's steady gaze pinned him to the spot, and even though Batou knew shushing her was impossible he tried anyway.
"Nothing serious, Batou was grazed by a stray bullet," she answered.
The other Tachikoma lifted their heads. "Really?!" "Where?" "Is Batou-san all right?"
Get away now! But his attempted escape was thwarted by the swarming sentient tanks. Tachikoma here, over there, everywhere. Their anxious fingers touched his jacket, limbs, even the top of his head while they fussed and clucked over him and Batou did his best to reassure them he'd be more cautious in the future.
You're so far in front of me that watching your back is all I can do, he called while trying to extricate himself.
She was studying some figures with Togusa and the old man, but her response was immediate. That's where I intend on staying. The best way to win the race is to make it a "no contest" from the outset. The next time, I lead.
And tossing a sympathetic look his way while heading for the bullet train, the Major smiled gently before disappearing inside.