Sydney - Commercial District

One of the areas hardest hit by the 2205 attack by the CRF, the group now known as the Mavericks. It not only suffered structural damage from the bomb's explosion and resulting thrown debris, but the economical cost was also great. Without places of business, companies had no place in Sydney to make commerce happen and as such, the city was hurt. In the present day, most of the structures are complete or just having the finishing touches put onto their frames. The place is alive with activity of businesspeople, constantly working to still improve the economy of Sydney.

Gemini Man [Aussie] [RM]

East <E> leads to Sydney - Northern Downtown.

West <W> leads to Sydney - Historical District.

South <S> leads to Sydney - Business District.

((Gemini Man

A young human man in his mid-twenties, somewhat rugged. At six foot in height, he has a well-muscled but not large build. He's dressed in tailored tan slacks, and a short-sleeved, off-white suit-shirt. He's wearing no tie with this, and the shirt's unbuttoned a bit at the top. As a jacket, he's also wearing an overshirt of a dark-brown, natural leather, somewhat worn and faded, if he hasn't tossed the shirt off or over his shoulder. He has what looks like cowboy boots on his feet, tucked under his pants.

He's generally clean-shaven, but has a hint of a shadow coming in as if it's been about a day. His hair is brown-blonde, and scraggly, just long enough to be tied into a tail above his neck. His eyes, a jade-tone green, are very expressive. Other than the occasional crooked, infectious smile, there's no way to tell that this is Gemini Man, which was likely his intention. He put some work into this.))

Gemini Man has been out and about for around three days now, which hasn't given him a lot of time to check in with the latest news as to who is irritating who, or what is going on with the family at large. He thinks of it as a book tour.... the first of more than one, if all goes well, and if people aren't asking the wrong kinds of questions. He's in his disguise--the one called Greg, Australian accent and all. And with him is the human woman, Lisa--the trained speechmaker, the would-be martyr.

It's Bodyguard's Day Off...since 'Greg' has assured her that he's capable of taking care of her, as well, when her reploid friends aren't around.

They're both almost famous now, and can't walk down the street without a few people asking questions, recognizing their faces. Greg's charming and thankful, but Lisa does the talking. She's been trained to, whether she realizes it or not.

It's midday and somewhat overcast when the two turn for the front of a ground-floor restaurant downtown, double-checking the wait times.

Bowie wanders through the business district of Sydney. Why is he here, pray tell? First, it's much warmer here than in Moscow, and he'd like to be able to feel his toes again. Second, the market for American West antiques is better here than in either Moscow or San An these days, and so the extras he's willing to spare from his collection fetch a better price. Third, he feels like taking a break from cooking, and thought that his sweetheart might enjoy take-out. Thus, with a slightly fatter wallet than he had upon his arrival in town, he heads in the direction of a restaurant that Alloy recommended.

Gemini Man is alert when guised...and notices Bowie coming close, almost immediately. He frowns, and takes a step toward the door of the restaurant, hoping the Hunter honestly isn't coming this way. Perhaps he won't notice Lisa, after all--she's fairly unassuming without a reploid guard standing by. She notices the change in her date's posture, and, glances over her shoulder at him, questioning without words as to what exactly he's avoiding.

Unfortunately for Greg, Bowie is heading in their direction. In fact, his destination appears to be the very same restaurant. Also unfortunately for Greg, he's not the only one watching the surroundings...albeit for different reasons. "Afternoon," he says pleasantly as he approaches them and the door. "Miss Faulkes, innit?"

Greg immediately looks right at Lisa, hoping she'll do her part in carrying the conversation. She returns that pleasant smile, folding her hands and giving Bowie a nod, and a light squint of her blue eyes. "It is..." She examines Bowie with a continued squint, before nodding to him. "Ah. I remember you. You were present last week...weren't you? It's hard to see through the lights."

"Yes ma'am," Bowie confirms with a nod. His voice would be a giveaway, even if she didn't see his face. "Ah wus curious 'bout whut ya had t'say. Still am, actually." Though his attention on Lisa, he does cast a glance at Greg.

Lisa, still smiling, offers a handshake. "I'm glad to hear it. We're always eager to spread our message to people who are really willing to listen."

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so, Greg offers a shake and a smile as well. He's...of course, trying not to be rude. Breaking disguise is normally par for him within the first ten minutes when he's NOT serious, but today he is.

"I didn't catch your name..." says Lisa.

"You're a Hunter...aren't ya?" asks Greg just a moment thereafter.

Bowie shakes both their hands, his grip strong but by no means crushing. "Name's Bowie," he answers, "an yes, Ah'm with the Maverick Hunters." Whether the name would mean anything to Lisa would depend on whether she paid any attention to all the press Kalinka's received the past several months. Hopefully she hasn't.

"You'd be our first famous convert, if ya are," says Greg, with a nod. Of course...he's aware of the press, the situation, the whole bit, but doesn't bring any of it to Lisa. He waits for her response...

And she gives it. "Good to meet you." She thinks for a moment about the name...she has, in fact, heard it before, but it will take her a moment to place it. "I'm glad we had some very good questions at the last conference. I hope I did a good job giving you an answer..."

Bowie nods. "Ya did, but Ah thank yer answers brought up more questions...." He glances from Lisa to Greg and back again. "...Ah'm not keepin ya frum anythang, am Ah?"

Decisions, decisions. Gemini was so poor at answering yes/no questions, and Lisa is looking to him at this point for a definite answer. "Aw, if you have questions, we can talk over lunch," he answers.

"If that's all right..." Lisa adds, proabably to both of the men.

Bowie raises his eyebrows a bit in surprise at the invitation, certainly not expecting it. "Long as Ah'm not bein trouble." He moves to open the door for them, so at least he can be a polite pest.

Greg lets Lisa go first...ladies first, after all. Then, he walks in just after. "Not a problem with me if it isn't with 'er. Her birthday, after all."

Lisa winces, and nods.

"But she loves to talk about our project, I'd say more than I like to write about it."

"Happy birthday, then." Bowie follows in after them, the door swinging shut behind them. "Ah'd be happy t'join ya."

"Thank you," Lisa responds happily.

The ups and downs of getting and waiting for a table don't take particularly long, since it isn't crowded enough to warrant a wait time. There isn't much more conversation to be hand until drinks are ordered... The 'two humans' sitting next to each other on their side of the table. "I'm payin," says Greg, waving a hand across the table.

(We hate Bowie.)Oo

Bowie begins to object, but something in Greg's expression tells him that the man's going to insist. "All right. Thankee." He peruses the menu until he finds a sandwich to his liking, then orders it and a soda when the waitress stops by. "So. Um." Articulate public speaker he's not. "Ah wunnered why y'all thank that the best solution to the war an the Maverick Virus is stoppin reploid production?"

Lisa reaches for her water glass, and responds cordially. "And I'm wondering why you've chosen that line of questioning, as, it's rather broad. Greg's addressed most of the number crunching of the matter in his book. The personal reasons are different for almost everyone."

Greg does his best to look humbled, and rubs the bridge of his nose, even if that is a very normal subject to come up, at the start of one of these conversations.

"I think it protects reploids..." Lisa says, then asks, "Don't you?"

"Statistics don't tell the whole story, ma'am," Bowie says. Though his smile wavers from time to time, his tone always remains civil. "Ah wus more curious about whether ya had any personal reasons fer it. Me, Ah don't know if it protects us or not. One hand, sure, it keeps us frum goin Maverick, but askin a whole species to stop replicatin is a bit drastic, innit?"

Lisa laughs lightly, which is a very nervous response. "I'm... I'm actually sorry. It's hard for me to remember you're a reploid." He doesn't look like most of the reploids she speaks with normally or has worked on in person. And now she remembers where she heard his name before, also...so it's that Bowie. She blinks, slowly, and tries again, but prefaces with: "I don't mean to insult you, or suggest that reploids can't make their own choices. Many of my closest friends are reploids, if you don't realize."

Bowie takes no offense. "'Sall right. Ah know Ah don't look much like a typical reploid. A lot a us police models look pretty human. An Ah apologize if Ah sounded arrogant. Many a mah close friends are human. Really, Ah'm tryin t'see thangs frum yer persepctive."

Lisa just nods. She's about to open her mouth to answer, when Greg takes initiative.

"Do you think you have the right to re-produce?" he asks.

"Reploids an humans have the same rights an responsibilities," Bowie says evenly. "So yes, Ah thank we have the right to reproduce."

Greg makes a broad gesture. "Historically, human reproduction hasn't always been a right, so that's a parallel you can't really draw."

Lisa cuts in at this point, mostly because she feels Greg is taking the conversation the wrong direction. "I think a better question is, is a reploid reproducing a reploid the same thing as an entire factory creating reploids by the hundreds?"

Bowie replies to Greg first. "When Ah wus first created, Ah didn't enjoy the rights Ah do today. The UN's edicts changed that. Now, we're meant t'be equals unner the law." He pauses to take a sip of soda before moving on to Lisa's question. "Well, we can't exactly reproduce the same way humans can, so there's no real way we can outside a some kind a production facility."

"It seems ta me like you're confusing the issue," says Greg. He's a master, of course, of the double-teamed conversation...even when he isn't playing both sides. "You're thinkin'...about having a reploid built spitting-image of you and your sweetheart. I'm guessing, right?" He turns for a moment to handle the waiter, who's arrived, clipping off a quick, "Sixteen ounce, rare, baked potato. And I said rare."

"Fried shrimp, I think," adds Lisa.

"Turkey sanwich on rye, an a side a chips, please." Now that the business of ordering is out of the way, Bowie turns back to the conversation. "Meybe one day," he admits, "when we're both ready fer that kind a responsibility. But this isn't just about the two a us," he says, making a negating gesture. "It's the fact that we're learnin we're not jus soldiers an police an factory werkers an such. We're people. Ah'd like t'thank that when mah time comes, thare'll still be reploids around after me t'carry on. If that makes sense."

"No one tried to suggest there wouldn't be," says Lisa. "Since your lifespans are by nature unlimited, it's likely the same reploids after you will be carrying on."

"And at the end of the war," adds Greg, "Then, things go right how you want them again. But we're plannin on ending the war fast, not letting it get out of hand any more. You see...by the time you're ready for that 'responsibility...' " (By the time someone finally shoots Kalinka and puts her out of her misery, you ridiculous hillbilly that I have a huge desire to spill beer on...) Greg clears his throat. "Then the war's over all right."

Simian Monk arrives from the Sydney - Business District.

Simian Monk has arrived.

"Pardon mah sayin so, but Ah don't remember thare bein any bans on human reproduction durin any a the World Wars." Bowie's tone continues to remain pleasantly civil. "Not even World War Three drug on as long as this war has. Unless Repliforce has an ace up its sleeve, Ah don't see this war endin within the next year or two."

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Hunter Discussion Simian Monk transmits, "Has anyone heard from Greg Blake or Lisa Faulkes lately?"

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Bowie transmits, "Wouldja believe Ah'm havin lunch with em?"

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Hunter Discussion Simian Monk transmits, "Actually yes, mind if a 'reporter' joins you?"

"Not worldwide, but in individual countries I know there has," Greg counters. "And of course being Australian, a ban at home was all I was really aiming for, until someone came to Lisa with thoughts of the United Nations. Which we entertained." Greg shrugs. "Because, why not, frankly? Though about that 'ace in the hole' you're mentionin... Do you think that curing the Maverick Virus has anything at all to do with how many numbers of Repliforcers there are in the world? And if they had that kind of 'ace,' couldn't it end within a couple years just like that?"

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Bowie transmits, "Ah don't mind, but Ah can't ask 'em if ya want t'keep yer cover."

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Hunter Discussion Simian Monk transmits, "I have an idea."

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Hunter Discussion Simian Monk transmits, "But before anything. Where are you?"

[Radio: (B) H-Chat] Bowie transmits, "Restaurant in Sydney. (provides address in Commercial district)"

Bowie nods slowly as Greg speaks, waiting until he's finished before speaking again. "If Ah remember mah history, Repliforce wus founded to combat Wily's army. The Maverick Virus didn't show up till later. Now, if the army has a fast way a endin this war, Ah'm all fer it. Too many humans an reploids alike have died already. But if thay don't, then lord knows how long it'll drag on."

Of course it was only a matter of time before the family came into question. 'Greg' handles this by taking a sip of his water, setting it down, and making a quip. "I don't really think the Repliforce has been the best of solutions in the matter of handling Wily's army, either, do you? Even if a lot of good has come of the Repliforce, their job's more complicated than that now anyway."

Ding. Ding. The bells on the door of this restaurant ring as someone opens the door. It usually doesn't bug anyone. Walking in the door is the reporter from the New York Tribune, Recorder Primate. He walks in seeming to be hungary. In his shirt pocket is datapads and other assorted writing utensils. He begins to look for a seat when he sees Lisa Faulkes and who thinks to be is Greg Blake. Unknown to Lisa and Greg that this is Simian Monk. He walks over trying to play his part as a reporter go at it with full speed, and initiates conversation with Lisa, "Afternoon Lisa! Remember me?" Being the 'reporter' he is acting as all reporters do. Get what info they need.

Bowie concedes, "That's true. Still, fightin a war on multiple fronts isn't easy, an a lot a thangs that happened that no one's expected." Like random Stardroid visitations, for example. "Ah really don't see any better solutions, though...." He trails off as the reporter walks through the door and approaches Lisa and Greg, then gives the pair a sympathetic smile. Ah, the pitfalls of celebrity.

Lisa glances back and forth and back...from the reporter, to Bowie, then finally to Greg. He just nods, and, so, she stands up, and reaches for another chair.

Greg gives the new figure a very suspicious eye, before remembering precisely what it was he'd promised the guy...before he'd run off in a huff. Well, this SEEMED like an all right time for that, since he was here anyway. He turns back to Bowie, and keeps on talking on the same vein. "Given that you are a 'Maverick Hunter' like you said, where are your priorities going ta be?"

Recorder Primate accepts the chair with a smile. He accepts it from Lisa and pulls up. Completely nosy and boderline inconsiderate, but not quite. What'd you expect from a reporter who just happened to stumble on at-the-time celeberties. As he waits for the waitress or waiter. He listens to the conversation ready to put in his own questions once he caught up.

"Same as thay've always been," Bowie answers. "Protectin those that can't protect themselves." He scoots his chair over to make room for the reporter. "Afternoon, sir," he greets civilly.

Fair enough answer. So Greg nods, with affected impartiality. Really, if the brat was going to take offense at him at all, he thinks, he should change his function to Robot Master Hunter and be done with it.

"As for my personal reasons, since, we're sidetracked, you may not understand how difficult it is to create," Lisa says, turning to Bowie. Well, at least the Hunters aren't being doubleteamed anymore.

"You're here for my interview. I'm terrible at 'em. Buy you a beer?" Greg asks Simian.

Recorder Primate grins a bit, "Yes, sorry that I had to jet last time but something came up and I forgot to send you a message. Terribly sorry." Then he pauses as the question for drink is asked, "Nah, beer isn't my taste." Simian in his mind almost said it was disgusting but that was him not recorder. "But I will accept a glass of pepsi." Then like a reporter asks briefly, "I was wondering, what drove you to write the book, The Spiraling Cycle?"

Bowie didn't come up with the name of the organization. He's just a member. As Recorder talks with Greg, he continues his admittedly sidetracked conversation with Lisa. "No ma'am, Ah've never tried to build a reploid mahself," he admits.

Lisa responds: "You're from an atmosphere where people design reploids... one at a time, with great care. It's not totally uncommon, but I'll say I envy it. I was an engineering assistant in a factory. During peak operation, we would create from fifty to a hundred reploids in a week, and we certainly weren't the largest around."

"Mavericks," says Greg. "Want another answer?"

The waiter arrives with the food, and, what was ordered, is arranged on the table.

Recorder Primate nods, it was easy enough to remember, he continues. Hit hard and fast, "How did the Mavericks drive you to write this? Care to share an experience." Yes it may be kinda cruel and Simian hated being like this.. if someone has very high reploid empathy you can feel the hate for asking these kind of questions.

Bowie shakes his head, correcting. "Ah wus built in a factory. Met the design team jus once, Ah thank." He peers at his order for a moment, then remembers that 'chips' means fries, not potato chips here. "Pass the ketchup please?" he requests of Greg. Back to Lisa. "Anyways, Ah'm aware most a us are mass-produced in batches."

"Not really," says Greg. "Kinda personal," he adds. So much for that. But he does pass ketchup.

"Again, I'm sorry. Considering who you currently work for, I thought the small production was more in line with your experiences," says Lisa to Bowie.

Recorder Primate nods and sips from his Pepsi. Then he asks his next question after the small sip, "How did you come across Ms. Faulkes here? And if they do pass this cease reploid production act, how will it benefit you? Yes I know that it would make you happy, but do you get any physical benefit?" He sips from his Pepsi and takes his datapad out, this he had to record.

'Sall right," Bowie assures. He twists off the cap to the bottle and dallops ketchup on his fries. Chips. Whatever you wish to call fried strips of potatoes. "Ah've seen reploids produced both ways. Can't say whether one way's better than the other."

Greg shakes his head. My, this was a suspicious type. Good man. (Less Reploids = Less Repliforce = Less people in my way when I set explosives on government buildings and start running major protection rackets against nations.) "No personal benefit," he says. "It's what I think's for the good of the world." He cuts into his steak and shrugs. "I'll bother you with our relationship if you REALLY want," he also adds, looking at Lisa. Wait, it's like that? Her blushing seems to indicate that it is.

She coughs. "Controlled production is best," she says.

Being the "reporter" he delves right in to that subject, whether it had any effect on his mission or not Recorder asks, "Oh. I wasn't aware, how did you two meet?" Bah, Simian could at the moment not care about a mate for himself he had much more important things to worry about.

Bowie quietly ignores Greg's last comment and the blush that follows from Lisa. He's not ignorant about human relationships, but neither does he want to dwell on them just now. "Jus because the bulk a us are produced in factories doesn't mean production can't be controlled."

"But it isn't!" says Lisa with such strength that she pounds on the table.... a sort of startling breach of composure for her.

"It was while I was doing my research," says Greg. Another one of those wonderful 'none of your business' answers he's developed pretty well.

Bowie remains composed and cool as a cucumber. "Jus because people aren't doesn't mean that thay can't. Don't get me wrong, ma'am, Ah don't thank uncontrolled growth is good fer reploids or humans, an Ah do thank the current way a doin thangs should be changed. Meybe it should be taken out a the hands a the corps. Ah dunno. At the least thare should be more oversight, an reploids havin more say in how many a us thare are."

Normally as Simian he wouldn't even have flinched at the outburst, but he was Recorder he jumps back a bit.. trying to feign timidness. Then regaining his composure he turns back to Greg. Damn... this is going to be harder than having Lisa opening up Simian thinks to himself. He sips from his pepsi trying to think of another question.. sheesh playing undercover with someone like this is harder than trying to catch a monkey in his own habitat. "What are you planning to do next to get more public appeal?"

Greg raises a brow at Lisa, and...she shies back, after the outburst. He clears his throat. "Continue to be sane and honest." (Lie, silly.)

Lisa starts on her food, and, nods to Bowie, becoming calm again. "Thank you. I feel that way too. Right now, human beings, specifically, the UN, still have the most control over the numbers of your own race, if you realize."

Bowie nods to Lisa. "Ah know. That wus all right at first, seein as it takes time even fer reploids t'learn an unnerstand about the world. But we've been around for whut, thirteen years or so? Meybe it's time we can an should start takin control over it."

Recorder Primate then follows up with his next question, "Why would you wish to hamper the Repliforce's numbers? Because studies show that Repliforcers do not often go maverick it is just civilian reploids. Would you settle for just civilian production? Because I mean the Repliforce needs to have numbers to compete in this war... we wouldn't want master or maverick control would we?"

"Your studies might be different from my studies," says Greg. "But I'll also tell you that when Repliforce does go Maverick...even supposing that it's rare, which it isn't... Repliforce goes Maverick with," he ticks points off on his fingers, "heavy weapons, and intel on the army that was built to destroy it from the start. I don't like that much."

"I think so..." Lisa nods. "I would like for production to be shut down for now, but of course Reploids should have the same vote as I or anyone. There are plenty that feel the way I do about it."

Bowie starts in on his food as well. Not that he really needs to eat, but there is something to be said for food's social aspects. "Guess we'll have to agree t'disagree on that. Don't like the idea a it being all or nothang."

Recorder Primate finishes his drink, he had one last question before he had to compile all of this, "What makes you so sure that the Repliforce will go maverick? When the UN clearly has a leash on them?"

The disguised Robot Master gives the disguised Hunter a very suspicious eye, as he takes one of the last bites of his meat. He swallows...and says, "I'm surprised you're sure of that fact. Any reploid can go Maverick. Right?" Maybe there's a bit of distrust of the whole race in his statements, even if not in hers.

"At least you can see our point of view, Bowie." Lisa would say 'Mr.,' but that doesn't seem correct in any way.

Bowie nods to Lisa. "An Ah hope ya can see mine, Ms. Faulkes." He considers adding his opinions to Greg's conversation with the reporter, but thinks better of it. It is an interview, after all. Once he finishes his sandwich, he folds up his napkin and sets it next to the now mostly empty plate. "Thankee both fer yer time an fer lunch. Ah should be goin."

The primate nods quietly, then he smiles a bit, "Thank you for you time Mr. Blake. Would you like a copy of the article once we get this published?" The Hunter is finished, maybe Bowie could shed more light. Anyways Simian got the feeling he was starting to be a object of suspicion.

Gemini Man was too. What else was new? "If ya could, no pressure," says Greg.

"You're welcome, Bowie. It was very nice to meet you," says Lisa.

"And..." Greg meets his eyes for the first time in the conversation, and narrows his own...ever slightly. There's a hint of malice that's difficult to place. "Good luck with your girl."

"Nice meetin ya too," Bowie replies as he stands. He locks eyes with Greg for the briefest of moments, that smile of his fading entirely for those few seconds. He's used to the prejudice against human-reploid relationships, and so simply takes it as that. "Thankee." He steps away from the table and heads for the door.

Simian Monk rises from the table also, and extends his hand to Greg, "A pleasure Mr. Blake on meeting you. You'll be hearing from us soon." Whether or not Simian receives the hand shake or not he'll allow enough time for it and turn to the counter pay for his drink and leave.

Gemini Man does shake the ape's hand...since it's offered...but not Bowie's, since he already did. And with that, they pay the bill and part.

Gemini even pays real money today. Just in case.