Metal glinted coldly under the harsh glare from the
overhead floodlights, reflecting the beams into crevices all
over the vast, cavernous room.  The subdued hum of
electronics was everywhere, as several men in workmanlike
uniforms bustled around complicated banks of monitors and
computer panels. A few of the men crawled around on a large
platform that was supported by squat, powerful-looking
hydraulic cylinders, ministering to the large, armoured
shape that occupied the lift. Here and there one of the
technicians passed a scanner over open armour plating,
nodding in satisfaction at the readings before closing and
sealing the access panel.  The chest of the large mech was
sitting open, revealing an oblong cavity inside.
     Only one figure in the room was not participating in
the fevered activity.  Tall with straw-blond hair, the grey-
suited figure stood quietly in the shadows by a computer
console.  Arms folded across his chest, Ethan Hollister
watched his men work, his icy blue eyes cool and intent,
missing nothing.  Occasionally, his gaze flicked to the
platform, and a faint, self-satisfied smile tugged at the
corner of his mouth.
     Thick metal doors slid open at the far end of the room,
and four men wearing dark blue body armour and white helmets
with opaque visors trooped through, dragging somebody with
them.  The motion and sounds of their approach drew
Hollister's attention.  An unpleasant smile cracked the calm
veneer he usually cultivated.  Very shortly, a plan he'd
been working at for a long time would finally come to
completion.
     And then, he had some scores to settle.
     The lead guard saluted as the group came up to him.
Hollister's eyes traveled to their prisoner, and again an
unpleasant smile appeared as he looked at the captive.  It
had taken a lot of trouble to acquire her, and even more
trouble to hold her; she'd already tried to escape twice,
and had injured several of his men during the attempts.
     The seemingly groggy captive the guards held was a
fairly young-looking woman, wearing a grimy, snugly-fitting
khaki uniform with short sleeves.  Her long blond hair was
pulled back into a ponytail, and she was blindfolded.  Her
hands had been shackled behind her back, and the guards were
holding her up by her arms.  She was very attractive-
looking, despite the dirt and bruises, and she had a figure
most men would kill for the privilege of merely being near.
Hollister wasn't most men.
     "Put it in," he said tersely, jerking his head towards
the mech.  At his words, the captive suddenly came alive.
     "NO!!" she screamed, surging upright, struggling
frantically to free herself and kicking out at her captors.
"Let me go!!!" One wild kick connected with the groin of one
of her guards, and the man dropped into a groaning heap.
     Her desperate escape attempt ended as quickly as it had
begun; the guard standing behind her pulled what looked like
a short club from his belt, and casually slammed her across
the back of the head with it. A loud electrical crackle
sizzled through the air, and blue sparks raced all over the
young woman's body; she dropped limply to the floor,
convulsing helplessly.
     At a curt, impatient gesture from Hollister, the
remaining guards picked her up again, and started dragging
her towards the hydraulic platform.  Despite the charge from
the stun weapon, she still tried to put up resistance.
     "No! Please!" her voice carried to Hollister, sounding
choked and desperate.  "Please, just let me go!! I
haven't..."
     "Shut up, bitch."  The bored command from one of guards
was accented by the flat crack of a slap across her face.
Hollister remained aloof, the only indication of his
interest in the proceedings being the cold fire of ambitious
desire in his eyes.  He watched coldly as the guards hauled
the crying woman up to the mech, unshackled her, and then
manhandled her into the concave cavity in the chest of the
machine.
     "No!! NOOOO!!!!" The despairing, agonized wail overrode
every other noise in the room for a moment, causing a few
technicians elsewhere in the room to exchange uncomfortable,
uneasy glances.  Loud, metallic snaps and clacks came from
the machine, and the guards stepped back.  Choked sobbing
continued to drift from the machine.
     "The sexaroid is secure, sir," the lead trooper
reported.  At his boss's curt nod, they descended from the
platform, collected their still-groaning and writhing
compatriot, and left.  A triumphant smile spread across
Hollister's face as he turned to a white-faced technician
nearby.
     "Prepare the sexaroid for the preliminary testing," he
instructed, "and inform me when it's complete."  The
technician nodded, swallowing uneasily, and reached out to
key in several commands to his computer.
     Hollister turned and strode from the room, leaving
behind the heartrending crying coming from the large mech.

                    SkyKnight Productions
                      Proudly Presents
                     A NonTechnical Film
                       MegaTokyo 2035
                      The Knight Sabers
             "The Bubblegum Zone - Episode #10"
              Copyright (c) 1996 Bert Van Vliet

     "NO! Absolutely not!" Priss said flatly, her hands on
her hips.  Her entire face bore a look of grim resolve as
she glared down at the current source of her displeasure:
someone's body, clad in grease-splotched blue jeans and an
equally stained sweater.  The majority of the upper half of
the person was underneath a large machine, and shielded from
the immediate effects of her glower.
     "But why not?" Bert's voice replied, sounding like it
was coming from the innards of the device he was working on
as it reverberated eerily among the metal parts.  "You did
admit that it was fun the last time."
     "Motorcycling is safer!" she retorted vehemently.
Irritated sparks flashed in her eyes as she looked
disgustedly from what she could see of his body, to the
machine above him.  I should've known. The resigned thought
briefly registered in the back of her mind as she looked at
the vaguely familiar shape. The colour wasn't the same
anymore, but the overall configuration of the large gadget
left no doubt as to what she was looking at:  the WarHorse.
     Now predominantly dark blue trimmed with silver flames,
the high-speed jet cycle had undergone a few changes, and
not all of them merely cosmetic.  It was a bit longer than
it had been the last time she'd seen it, and the wings had
been spread a little wider for greater lift.
     The yawning turbine intake had been replaced by several
streamlined air vents, built into the nose of the hull.  By
far the most noticeable change was the fact that the flying
machine now mounted visible weaponry.  Six, one-shot torpedo
tubes jutted threateningly from its snout, and twin laser
cannons were mounted on the top of the front faring, just in
front of the vehicle's windshield. Even with the armament,
it still looked like a souped-up jet-engine with wings and a
seat attached.
     "Drag-racing highway patrol cruisers is safer?" came
the dry reply.  A grunt of effort came from under the bulky
flying machine as he started worming his way out from under
it.  "At least I don't have to worry about losing my license
on this thing."
     "Nobody in their right mind would give you a license
for that thing!" she shot back, nettled.  "And at least the
ground's a lot closer!" Remembered nausea assailed her as
she recalled how she'd been duped into accepting a ride on
its maiden flight.  It had been an utterly wild experience,
frightening and exhilarating in terms of speed, and the
cheerfully reckless abandon of its pilot. Normally, she
didn't mind speed thrills; she was hopelessly addicted to
the adrenaline rush of racing her bike around the city.
However, this was a bit different.
     The problem was that the somewhat comforting knowledge
that the ground was right below her was absent when soaring
around on the supercharged jetbike.  The high velocity and
high altitude the jetbike used meant that the slightest
mechanical difficulty, or piloting mistake, had the
potential to turn whoever was riding the sky-cycle into
something resembling a squashed can of tomato paste; there
wouldn't be time to jump off and use hardsuit flight systems
to escape if they hit something. She shuddered, and quickly
forced her mind away from the subject.
     Bert finally succeeded in crawling out from under the
WarHorse, and stood up, shaking his head in amusement,
smiling wryly. A few oily smudges marred his nose and face,
and his hair was a sweaty, tangled mess.
     "I can't see much difference between falling from a few
hundred feet up, or falling off and skidding on your face
along the pavement," he noted mildly.  "Both would hurt, and
probably have the same results."
     "I'm not going up on it, and that's final," Priss
declared flatly, slashing her hand through the air in a
negative gesture. "I mean it, Bert." She looked levelly into
his eyes, and saw regretful acknowledgment appear in them.
     "Okay," he sighed, giving up.  "It wasn't going to be
right away anyway; Sylia wants to discuss some other
modifications first."
     "Considering the way she reacted when you first built
the damn thing, I'm surprised she let you work on it again."
     "She suggested it, actually," Bert grinned.  "I guess
with Sylvie running the store, she's had more time to look
at some of the projects she's wanted to do for a while."  He
patted the slick metal hull of the jetbike.  "She even gave
me some improvements to try on this baby here; I think if it
works out, she's going to allow it to be used on some
missions." A sly grin appeared.  "In fact, I think Sylia was
considering a motoroid-convertible version."
     "Oh my God," the attractive singer groaned, slapping a
hand over her face as she looked heavenward.  "No way.
Never. Uh-uh.  I'm sticking with my old motoroid, thanks,
and I don't give a damn what's been improved!!"
     "You're taking all the fun out of this!" he protested,
artfully looking hurt.  She didn't buy it, and didn't reply.
Seeing he wasn't going to get a rise out of her, he grinned
slyly again, and gave up.  Glancing at the battered clock
hanging on the wall, he snatched up a relatively clean rag
and carried it over to the can of hand-cleaner sitting on
the cluttered counter.  Scooping up some of the soapy-
feeling cleaner, he started scrubbing his hands clean.
     As he worked at some of the more persistent stains, he
glanced over at Priss out of the corner of his eye.  Seeing
that he'd given up on baiting her, she'd leaned against the
wall and was apparently lost in thought.  Her red-brown eyes
were gazing absently at nothing, and her lips were pursed
slightly as if she was contemplating something not to her
liking. His gaze ran appreciatively over her, quietly
enjoying the look of her in her usual form-fitting red and
black leather bike suit. Flushing slightly, he returned his
attention to cleaning his hands; now wasn't the time to
start having amorous thoughts.
     "Finished?" Priss's voice asked him.
     "Yup, that was it for the day," he sighed, stretching
and yawning hugely as he turned towards her.  He grinned at
her and tossed the hand-rag into a nearby bin as she walked
up to him. "Feel like going to dinner?"
     "Sure," she agreed readily, then grinned herself.  "You
buying?"
     "Looks like it," he replied dryly.  "I didn't get
fleeced by another speeding ticket." That wisecrack earned
him an irritated glance; he'd warned her about the speed
trap the THP had set up along the Bayshore highway, but
she'd forgotten, and had been nabbed doing well over 60
kilometers per hour over the limit. Since then, he'd been
getting in sly digs at her when he could; watching her fume
was kind of fun, if risky.
     "Just go and get cleaned up," she told him, putting a
hand on his chest and shoving him back as he started to lean
closer to her.  "I'm not going out with someone who looks
like they just fell into an oil pit."  He chuckled, and
bowed slightly.
     "Your wish is my command," he proclaimed with a smirk.
"I'll be back in about twenty minutes, unless you want to
wait in the apartment?" He glanced quizzically at her.
     "I'll wait here," she told him.  "Go on, go get cleaned
up."  He nodded and left.  "Smartass," she mumbled under her
breath as the door closed behind him. She couldn't really
say too much about his wisecracks, since she was guilty
herself of the occasional potshot at him. After a moment,
her irritation crumbled and disintegrated; she just couldn't
stay pissed off at him for very long either, not over
something that minor.  Given how close they'd become, she
knew it was just an obscure way of him expressing his
feelings for her.
     Priss idly strolled around the shop, humming some of
her songs to herself as she sorted through some pleasant
memories, just letting herself relax. As she wandered
around, looking at the scattered clutter, she found herself
standing in front of the WarHorse again.  She scowled at the
jetbike, seriously considering kicking the damn thing; she
hadn't told anyone, but she was positive that her ride on it
had given her an almost pathological fear of flying at high
altitudes. She'd even had a nightmare about falling off of
it, and had woken up drenched in sweat.
     A sudden thought struck her, and a slow, wicked grin
spread across her face as she looked at the blue flying
machine.  Casting a furtive glance at the door to the shop,
she quickly hunted around for the can of silver paint he'd
used to paint the jetbike's trim. She carefully pried open
the can, then found a small brush.
     Kneeling next to the big machine, she judiciously
applied a few strokes approximately where the machine's gas
tank should be, then gazed critically at her work.  Nodding
in satisfaction, she finished the additions, then quickly
touched up the other side of the gas tank as well.
     Grinning in smug triumph, she sealed the can again,
cleaning the brush and putting it back. After taking a brief
glance at herself to make sure there were no telltale paint
flecks on her clothes, she gave her handiwork another smirk.
Deciding that she did need to get cleaned up a bit now, she
left the shop, heading for Bert's apartment; it was the
closest, and it would keep him from coming back until after
the paint had dried.
     As the door closed behind her, the shop lights
glistened wetly on the WarHorse's new lettering:
                       THE KNIGHTMARE

                            ****
     Paper rustled quietly as Hollister shuffled through the
file folder on the cluttered desk in front of him.  Page
after page skimmed under his intent gaze, a gaze which
gradually turned to resigned disgust as the data he sought
still continued to elude him.  He closed the folder, shoving
it aside, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
     After a moment, he stood and walked over to a small
side-cabinet, opening it and pulling out a bottle filled
with an amber liquid.  Pouring a glassful, and adding some
ice, he carried the liquor back to his desk and sat down.
Kicking off his shoes, he propped his feet up on the corner
of the huge oak desk he was sitting behind, and sat sipping
his drink while he stared with a dark brooding look into
space.
     "I'd heard that rank hath its privileges," a voice
remarked dryly from the doorway.  "I didn't realize that
you'd taken it quite so much to heart."  Cold blue eyes
snapped up to where the voice had come from, then thawed
slightly.
     "If you've got it, why not use it?" Hollister shrugged,
waving the man at the door in.  "Care for some brandy?"
     "I've got another poison, thanks,"  the gaunt, elderly
man replied as he tiredly shuffled across the carpeted
office, sinking with a grateful sigh into the leather
armchair across the desk from Hollister.  He dug into the
capacious pockets of the slightly-rumpled lab coat he wore,
and came up with a pipe.
     "At least I'll still have my lungs with this,"
Hollister noted, raising his glass slightly. At the same
time, he reached out and pressed the switch on the
strategically located air freshener nearby.  It began to
whir quietly as he leaned back into his chair and took
another swig.  Doc gave the device a slightly amused smile
as he stuck the pipe in his mouth.
     "I wouldn't worry about lung cancer, Ethan," he mumbled
around the stem of his pipe as he fished tobacco out of
another pocket and started packing the pipe with it.
"Diseases can't get someone who was born to be hung." Sly
mirth flickered in his expression for a moment.
     "Pardon?" The ice was back in Hollister's eyes, and Doc
sighed to himself.  The man had no sense of humour about
some things. That was one of the things that made it so
difficult trying to deal with him; his emotional armour was
tight and nearly impenetrable, making it impossible to get a
feel for how he'd react to something. His years in the
espionage world also meant that you could never be sure what
his personality really was like.
     "What I meant," Doc explained carefully as he struck a
match, and began stoking his pipe into life, "was that for
someone who gets himself involved in as many dangerous
business operations as you do, cancer should be the last
worry on your mind.  Besides, you know they've got excellent
treatments for that sort of thing now."
     "Humph." The blond man didn't reply, and sat nursing
his drink for a few moments in silence as blue clouds of
smoke began to fill the airspace around the old scientist.
     Puffing contentedly on his baseburner, Doc glanced
around at the comfortably furnished office, taking in the
rich finish of the wood paneling on the walls, the mahogany
bookshelves, the thick, soft carpeting...the entire place
reeked of luxury.  It was a curious anomaly, since Hollister
normally didn't seem to concern himself with creature
comforts, not outside his office at least. Maybe he'd
decided to start using some of the vast wealth he'd been
accumulating. At length, Hollister sighed and sat up,
dropping his feet back to the floor while setting his empty
glass aside.
     "Was there anything in particular you needed?" he asked
the billowing smoke cloud across the desk from him.
     "Hmm? Oh, yes, there was.  This came in for you; I
picked it up on my way over."  Paper crackled and rustled,
then a long white envelope appeared in the haze, extending
towards the desk.  Hollister irritably snatched it out of
the proffering hand, and tore it open.
     "You're welcome," Doc noted dryly, watching as the grey-
suited man extracted some folded pages and began scanning
them intently.  The slow smile that appeared on Hollister's
face made him turn cold with dread for an instant.
     "Perfect," the blond man stated, tucking the pages
neatly into the file folder he'd been reading earlier.
     "Mind if I ask what that was?"
     "Just confirmation of a hunch I had," he waved the
matter aside with his hand.  "I'll be able to follow up on
it now without any problems.  Now then, how's the
synchronization testing going?"
     "Slowly," Doc replied with a sigh.  "We can't rush
this; we've only got the one sexaroid, and replacing her
would be a real pain. It has to go perfectly the first time
we try for the full linkage, or we'll kill her. Getting back
on Genaros in the near future to appropriate another one is
out of the question right now."
     The old scientist carefully kept his voice and
expression neutral as he spoke; normally, his work didn't
bother him all that much, but this time it was different.
While he didn't think of sexaroids as anything but a
different type of boomer, it took a conscious effort to
ignore the sobbing coming from the prototype battlemover.
Not even gagging her had helped, and it was beginning to
wear on his nerves.  He must be getting old if the
simulacrum of a tearful young woman could get to him.
     That, or else it was the fact that his heart really
wasn't in this project.  Or in the whole operation, for that
matter.
     "We've got time," Hollister's voice sounded unusually
relaxed. "And I've got some other projects to work on in the
meantime."  He patted the file folder near his elbow almost
lovingly.
     "Like what?"
     "I'm glad you asked," Hollister smirked. "It's like
this...."
                            ****
     "He's healed, physically at least," the doctor told
Madigan.  "Mentally, well... he's still got a few rough
spots."
     "Explain," Kate Madigan ordered crisply. The striking
GENOM executive was wearing her usual dark business suit,
her lavender hair hanging neatly, swept back over her
shoulders.  "What `rough spots'?"
     "Well, he tends to stammer a bit," the doctor shrugged.
"And he's developed a nervous twitch.  And he seems
inordinately fearful of something; we've never quite been
able to determine of what, but he's constantly checking over
his shoulder."
     "But he is fit to release?" she asked, glancing through
the thick observation window.  Inside the sealed medical
room, a black-haired man lay tossing and turning restlessly
on a bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets.  It had been
approximately two months since they'd run Stryker through
the Deep Psychology Scanner in an effort to find out who his
employer was.  They'd finally gotten an answer, but had
nearly ruined the man's mind in doing so.
     "If you mean in terms of physical condition, yes, he is
fit to release," the doctor said guardedly.  "His mental
condition is still undetermined; I would recommend that he
be kept here under observation for a few more days at
least."
     "Rest assured he will be watched," Madigan assured him,
hiding a smirk. "I will send someone around to collect him
later.  Please see to it that he is properly clothed and
discharged.  Further, I want all of his medical records
forwarded to me." The physician bowed, hiding his unease at
her orders, and she turned and left the medical wing of the
Tower, walking briskly.
     Several minutes later, she stood outside the massive
doors to Quincy's lofty office.  After a brief knock, she
swung open one door slightly and stepped inside, casting a
coolly measuring glance around the office.  Nothing seemed
amiss; she closed the door behind herself, and strode across
the room towards the elderly-seeming Chairman, her high-
heeled shoes clicking loudly on the hardwood flooring.
     "Yes?" the craggy-faced old man rumbled as she came up
to his desk.  Icy blue eyes glinted at her from under shaggy
white eyebrows.  "What did you have to report?"
     "Stryker will soon be released," Madigan replied.  "I
have arranged for him to be given his instructions by his
escorts before he leaves the Tower."
     "Ah," Quincy leaned back in his chair, leaning his
elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers in front of
him.  "And you have made the proper arrangements for when he
contacts this Hollister fellow?"
     "Yes sir," she nodded.  "He will be under surveillance
at all times, and a pair of C-55E boomers will be following
him to apprehend Hollister when the contact is made."
     "You seem positive of success," Quincy noted.
     "He will not get away," Madigan stated flatly, unable
to keep her expression from souring slightly.  "I have
assigned some of our best operatives to the case.  Hollister
will not escape us, and we then we will have all the answers
we need from him."
     "Don't allow personal feelings to influence you on this
matter, Madigan," Quincy warned, his expression turning
flinty. "What happened between the two of you is in the
past; this is the present.  If you cannot be objective in
your decision making, then I shall assign the operation to
someone who can be."
     "I won't allow my personal feelings to interfere with
the performance of my duties, sir," she replied stiffly, her
posture rigid. Quincy's eyes bored into hers for a moment,
as if searching her soul for sincerity.  After a moment, he
relaxed and nodded slightly.
     "Very well.  Keep me informed."
     Madigan turned away from the old man and walked rapidly
across the room to the doors, opened them, and left the
room, closing them behind her.  Once she was safely out of
the Chairman's sight, she let the internal fury that had
been seething under her calm exterior boil over, distorting
her face with a mask of rage for a moment.
     Some unidentified, unfortunate clerical worker happened
to be passing by when her brief transformation occurred, and
he immediately evacuated the area lest her wrath fall on him
by unlucky chance. Watching the nameless worker flee in
terror restored her equilibrium, and her expression cleared.
Adjusting her jacket and smoothing her blouse out, Madigan
headed for her own office.
     She had a lot to do, and limited time to accomplish it
in.

THE NEXT DAY....

     "Hey, has anyone seen the Chief?!" Leon McNichol yelled
across the hubbub of activity stewing in the ADP offices.
His question went unanswered as everyone else concentrated
on trying to complete their workload before quitting time.
     Sighing disgustedly, the tall inspector started weaving
his way through the desks, deftly avoiding tripping on power
cords and the like. You can never find anyone when you
really need them, can you?! he fumed to himself. Damn it,
the Chief knew he had some things to discuss with her, so
why had she disappeared?!
     As he stalked along, a familiar blaze of colour in the
sea of blue uniforms off to his right drew his attention.
Smiling slightly, Leon veered over to where Nene was
absently poring over what looked like some old investigative
reports.  The young red-haired woman was completely absorbed
in her task, and didn't even notice as his shadow fell
across her reading material.  Even clearing his throat
didn't alert her to his presence.
     Leon watched her for a moment, but she remained
oblivious, slowly turning pages with one hand, the other
hand lifting a cup of coffee to her lips occasionally.
Sighing again, the brown-haired inspector put his hands on
the desk and leaned down, until his head was level with
hers.
     "Nene, have you seen..." he started to say, but didn't
get any further, as the young red-head jumped in extreme
surprise, giving a small shriek and inadvertently splashing
the remainder of her cup of coffee straight into his face.
     "Oh God!! I'm sorry Leon!!"  Nene blurted, frantically
hunting around for something to mop up the mess with. "I
didn't see you there!!"  Finding some napkins, she quickly
blotted up the coffee that was threatening to stain the
scattered paperwork on her desk.
     For one long moment, Leon stood there listening to the
strangled snickers coming from other desks nearby,
reflecting on how Fate just seemed to have it in for him at
times. He had begun to wipe the back of his hand across his
dripping face when he was quietly presented with a napkin by
a sheepish-looking Nene.
     "Ummm....sorry about that," she apologized quietly.
"You startled me."
     "I'd noticed," Leon assured her dryly, taking the
offered napkin and sponging off his face.  "What was so
riveting that you didn't hear anything?"
     "The Chief gave me some reports to check over," she
replied, sighing. "I'm trying to get them done as quickly as
possible, and I guess I just lost track of everything."
     "Speaking of the Chief, do you know where she is?"
     "She's in meetings for the rest of the week," Nene
informed him.  "She's trying to get the city council's
approval for some heavier equipment for the armour squads.
With the new boomer models that have shown up, even they
should be able to see that we're under-equipped."
     "I wouldn't lay odds on that," Leon replied sourly.
"The pencil-pushers have never been able to see past the
ends of their offices, and all they care about is whether or
not they have a public relations mess to deal with."
     "Well, she seemed optimistic," Nene shrugged.  "At any
rate, she won't be back before Friday.  Was there something
you needed help with?"  Bright green eyes looked at him
curiously.
     "It's not that important, and I'd better let you get
back to your reports; I know how much you enjoy reading
them," Leon replied blandly. Nene rolled her eyes as he
grinned and moved off, his expression returning to a more
serious demeanor as he made for his desk at the other end of
the offices.
     Better equipment for the suit squads would be good news
for a change, and they could certainly use both.  The newer
C-55E boomers could sneer at the current ADP K-17 armour
suit and it would likely fall apart.  Boomers with armament
heavier than that particular model required military
intervention, mostly because they were all too likely to be
military models.  He briefly prayed that the beleaguered
city would be spared that kind of a rampage; based on the
last scuffle with one of the newer military models, an A-12,
the toll from such a fight on the citizenry and the city
itself would be astronomical.
     The tall inspector's gaze drifted across the offices
again to where Nene was sitting.  In the back of his mind,
he'd noticed that she'd apparently recovered from her
problems of a few weeks ago and pulled herself together.
The despondent air that had clung to her was gone now, and
she looked back to normal again. At the same time, it was as
if she'd aged a bit, becoming a bit more serious and not
quite as bubbly and cheerful as she had been in the past.
No, aged wasn't quite the right term ... matured, that was
it.
     Surprised, Leon examined that perception more closely,
and found it to be true.  She seemed more mature and self-
assured now; before he'd always thought of her as a kid, but
that label didn't seem to fit her anymore. Evidently
something positive had come out of her supposed boyfriend
troubles.
     Leon scowled blackly at his desktop at that thought.
Boyfriend troubles...he still hadn't been able to confirm
his initial suspicions about her boyfriend. His records
appeared spotless, and his current business, a recreational
facility of all things, seemed to be a legitimate
enterprise.
     Originally, he'd gotten a membership at the place in
order to do some covert snooping around, but was finding now
that he actually enjoyed dropping by to unwind at the end of
a long day. It was a grudgingly made admission, and even
more difficult to make since the real reason for his
disgruntlement was that he hadn't found anything even
slightly suspicious at the place.
His earlier supposition that the tall red-headed man was
involved in some kind of shady operation was rapidly
withering and dying without proof, and he couldn't escape
the feeling that someone was laughing up their sleeve at
him.
     "What are you hiding?!" Leon muttered to himself.  He
knew something wasn't right about that guy; he could feel
it, and he hadn't survived this long on the force by
ignoring his hunches. After a moment he gave up in disgust,
forcing himself to concentrate on something else. It was
better to wait, observe, and see if time brought him
anything he could use.
                            ****
     "Taking a rest break already?" Priss taunted, an evil
grin on her face.  "Boy, you are out of shape!" She folded
her arms across her chest and leaned against the mirrored
wall of the exercise room.
     "Why don't you give it a rest?!" Linna snapped
peevishly, wiping a hand across her streaming forehead.  "I
told you already that all the smartass remarks weren't
necessary."  Sighing, she straightened up from her crouched-
over position, wincing as her right leg throbbed a bit below
the knee. The black-haired young woman was wearing her usual
blue spandex dance outfit with pink leg warmers and a short
T-shirt over the top, and an irritated expression.
     "Hey, now you know how I felt when you were browbeating
me into a recovery," her friend grinned.
     "There is one major difference," Linna gritted, going
through some warm-up stretches again.  "I haven't been
bitching about my injury the entire time I've been trying to
recondition it!"
     "True," Priss admitted easily.  "But you didn't think
you were going to get off scot-free, did you?"
     "Hope springs eternal," Linna retorted dryly. "I'd
thought you were improving in that regard." She braced
herself with one hand on the railing running the length of
the room, and began a second set of limbering-up exercises.
     Priss watched, wincing. There was no way she could do
some of those stretches; she just wasn't flexible enough.
Of course, she hadn't been training most of her life for a
career in dance, either. Her physical condition was good
enough for her chosen singing career, and she was quite
happy with that.
     "So how long until you're back dancing?"
     "Another couple of days, and I can get back into some
easy routines," came the distracted reply. "I don't want to
rush it; the bone's healed, but the muscles are still a
little shaky."
     "I know what that's like," Priss returned wryly.  "At
least the muscles in your case weren't the main culprit."
     "No, but when you've got to stay flat on your back for
nearly three weeks, you lose a lot of conditioning," Linna
shrugged. What had originally been a straightforward broken
bone had developed complications that had required some
minor surgery, and the ultimatum that she could not put
weight on her leg for any reason whatsoever for at least two
to three weeks. "I think that was the worst part: having to
stay bedridden for all that time."
     "I know," Priss grinned evilly again.  "All of us had
to put up with your lousy temper while you were stuck there,
remember?"
     "Yeah, well, I'm sorry."  Linna flushed, looking away.
"I just can't stand being inactive; I've got to move, or I
go nuts." As if verifying her statement, she stepped out
onto the mats in the center of the room and started a couple
of simple leaps and twirls.
     "Got any moves you can do without becoming airborne?"
Priss asked pointedly as Linna got set to try another leap.
"I'm supposed to make sure you don't bugger yourself up, and
you're  supposed to be taking it easy and not jumping around
yet." Linna shot her a dirty look, but started keeping her
feet on the mat as she worked on a few dance steps. Priss
resumed watching from where she was comfortably leaning
against the wall, and after about ten minutes, a sweating
Linna came to a halt.
     "You can join in anytime," she noted between deep
breaths.  "A little exercise wouldn't kill you."
     "No, but trying to do what you're doing might," Priss
snorted.  "I get enough exercise other times, so don't worry
about me."
     "Oh, I'll just bet you do," the black-haired dancer's
tone was loaded with implication. The sly grin on her face
left no doubts as to what she was referring to, either. "How
is Bert, by the way?"
     "Oh, he's fine," Priss replied offhandedly, feeling her
cheeks warm up just a bit. "Why?"
     "Except for the days when he's running this place, I
don't see him that much.  I figured you get to see a lot
more of him."  Linna's grin widened just a bit, but Priss
ignored the bait. By now she'd gotten used to the chaffing,
and was able to control herself pretty well with regards to
that particular subject. She was a lot more comfortable
about things, although she still felt a bit awkward around
Nene. Which reminded her....
     "How's Nene doing?"  The change of subject sobered her
friend instantly.
     "She's a lot better," Linna reported seriously.  "She's
still feeling a little hurt, but at least she's going out
now. We've been cruising the malls occasionally to do some
shopping, sometimes with one of her friends from work."
     "Naoko?" Linna nodded in reply. "My condolences," Priss
said dryly.  She'd heard about how talkative Naoko could be,
mostly from Bert.  A quick grin sped across Linna's face.
     "She's not all that bad," the trim dancer briefly
defended the ADP officer. "At least she was concerned enough
about Nene to privately ask me if I knew whether everything
was okay or not."
     "So she could report back to the gossip-mongers most
likely," Priss snorted, then smiled ruefully. "Sorry.  I'm
glad Nene's feeling better, I felt ... feel kinda ...
uncomfortable around her at the moment, so I haven't seen
her much."
     "Afraid she hates you?"
     "It's not a question of fear," Priss shot back
defensively. "I'm going out with the guy she dated for
nearly three years...how would you feel in that situation?!
Damn it, she's still a friend, I hope, and I don't want to
... to seem like I'm rubbing it in or something. She's been
through enough as it is."
     "Well you can't avoid her forever," Linna sighed.
"Especially not when we're working. Maybe you should try
talking to her a bit more often; that might thaw some of the
ice."
     "I can't think of a way to do it that won't sound
contrived," the brown-haired singer replied glumly, kicking
at the mat as she stared down at it. "We never really hung
out together that often, not outside the Sabers anyway, and
it's going to look phony if I start trying now."
     "I've got an idea," Linna stated, a slow smile
spreading across her face. "It'll get everyone together
actually, and it won't sound contrived in the slightest."
                            ****
     "Tell me," Sylia sighed, glancing up from the
blueprints displayed on the LCD screen her desktop
contained; silvery schematics glowed brightly on the black
screen.  "Do you know what the term `overdesign' means?"
     "Yeah," Bert replied, puzzled.  "Usually it means
taking the worst-case scenario into account, and designing
enough extra capacity into a system to be able to handle
something worse than the worst case.  Why?" He picked up his
mug from where it was perched on the corner of the desk and
took a swig of coffee.
     "Because you've taken that concept and liberally
applied it to your hardsuit," Sylia informed him. "Almost
excessively so in some cases."  She glanced down at the
schematics again, shaking her head. "For example, you've got
enough sensor packages in here to nearly rival Nene's
hardsuit. Is that really necessary?"
     "I like being able to see things," he retorted
defensively.  "What is this, an audit?!"
     "Of sorts," she nodded, brushing some stray blue-black
hair out of her eyes.  "Up until recently, I haven't had the
time to pay attention to the suit designs as much as I would
have liked to." That, and the fact that until her injured
shoulder had completely healed from their last mission, her
uncle had flatly refused to let her work at all.
Overprotective hadn't even begun to describe the way he'd
fussed over her ever since that last outing. She quickly
shook off the mild irritation that nudged at her at the
memory; she wasn't a child anymore, and she wished he'd
remember that occasionally.
     "Now that I've got the time," she continued, "I've been
working on some redesign concepts.  However," she shook her
head again, "I suppose I should have kept a closer eye on
what you were up to, regardless of how busy I was."
     "I'd like to point out that you did say I was free to
modify my suit when improvements came along."
     "Yes, but I didn't expect you to turn your suit into a
weapons platform," she pointed out.  "Defensive upgrades are
all well and good, but is it really necessary to be carrying
quite so much ordnance?" It was an ironic situation to find
herself in: arguing the need for less weaponry with someone
who originally had been worried that he was carrying too
much firepower.
     "GENOM certainly thinks so," he replied stiffly. "Those
new A-12s are easily equal or superior to me in firepower,
especially because of those Gatling cannons they're
carrying."
     "But we're not trying to match them one-on-one, or at
least I'm not," she parried. "We're a team. And mobility can
count for a lot more than raw firepower."
     "You're not seriously suggesting I take some of my
stuff out of my suit, are you?!" Bert stared at her
incredulously.
     "Not all of it, no," she sighed.  "But scaling back
some things wouldn't kill you.  You're not supposed to be a
one-man army, you know."
     "But..." his voice trailed off as his mind fought to
come up with logical arguments for leaving his suit the way
it was. Most of the reasons he could come up with weren't
based on any fact other than the one that he felt unarmed at
the idea of trimming his weapons down.
     "There's also a practical reason for downsizing your
hardware," Sylia informed him.  Pausing, she took a sip from
her own glass of orange juice nearby.  "What are you going
to do if you have a power failure?"
     "Panic."
     "That's one option, I suppose," Sylia's lips quirked in
a faint smile. "I meant more that in your case in
particular, if your motive systems lose power, you're going
to be a sitting duck. Our suits can still move fairly easily
if they have power problems.  You, on the other hand, will
find yourself carrying almost two-hundred pounds of bulky
armour. You may be in good shape, but not that good, my
friend. Your suit needs to lose some weight."
     "I haven't had a power failure except after getting
really chewed up in a fight," he protested.  "That's not
going to happen."
     "Your hardsuit is a linked set of complex mechanical
and electrical systems; failures will happen at some point
in time," Sylia said sternly. "I'm sorry if it offends your
engineering ego for someone to say that about one of your
creations, but it's the plain truth."
     "I'm not totally blind to the possibility of system
failure due to normal, non-combat functioning," Bert
gritted, his teeth clenched and fires flashing in his eyes.
"And this isn't about my `engineering ego'.  I've gotten
used to that suit, and the way I fight in it. My combat
style uses the fact that it's bulky and armed to the bloody
teeth; if I have to change styles now, I'm going to run into
problems in a fight.  It takes time to adapt to different
equipment, time we can't afford right now, especially not
with the increased boomer incidents and job offers we've had
recently."
     Sylia sat back in her chair, reluctantly conceding his
point.  He did indeed tailor his fighting style to his
hardsuit construction; despite Linna's sometimes intense
tutelage, his combat technique was still basically armoured,
no-holds-barred brawling.  Some martial arts did creep in
now and again, but by and large his offensive strategy was
based on over-powering whatever he encountered with either
weapons or raw strength. In a way, it was a curious anomaly
in someone who'd perennially worried about being too
powerful.
     He was also right about the time factor; with boomer
rampages maintaining a steady flow, they couldn't afford the
time it would take for someone to relearn how to fight in a
different suit. And with several recent lucrative job offers
under consideration, she was reluctant to have anyone at
less than their best.
     "All right," she sighed.  "We don't have to strip
everything out, but I do have some suggestions I'd like you
to at least consider."
     "Okay," he grumbled, his mouth twitching irritably into
a grimace.  "I'll take a look at them. Don't expect miracles
though."
     "Wouldn't dream of it," she replied dryly. She
considered him thoughtfully for a moment. His gaze lifted to
meet hers, and trepidation filled his face as she continued
to silently study him.
     "Uh, Sylia?  Why are you looking at me like that?" he
finally asked, fidgeting nervously.
     "I'm trying to decide if you can take more bad news."
     "Why not?" He threw up his hands in resignation. "Give
it to me now...that way I can stew about it and get it over
with."
     "I think it's time we also called a stop to your
constant upgrading of the suits, yours in particular," she
informed him quietly. "In the first place, piecemeal
upgrading the armour whenever the latest innovation comes
along is just asking for something to malfunction when we
can't afford it." She held up a hand, forestalling him
before he could protest. "I know you're doing it because you
think it's your responsibility to make sure we have the best
protection possible, but it isn't.  The final responsibility
for the suit designs is mine, not yours."
     "But..."
     "I appreciate the concern," she told him, trying to
soften the blow a bit with a smile. "Really I do, but you're
also unintentionally complicating things for me when I try
working on the suits myself." She sighed, and shifted around
a bit in her chair. "I was doing a systems check the other
day on Linna's suit, for example, and I found some circuits
I couldn't identify at first. It wasn't until I checked in
your sets of blueprints that I found out you'd modified the
controls on her knuckle-bomber systems. I shouldn't have to
double-check everything to make sure I know what's been done
to the systems."
     A slightly injured silence fell over the office as
Sylia picked up her glass and took another sip of juice. She
watched Bert over the rim of her glass for a moment, noting
his expression. He was trying to maintain an expressionless
mask, but there were vague traces of confused hurt
flickering in his eyes, and one hand was tightly clamped on
the armrest of his chair.
     "It's not that you've done anything wrong," she gently
assured him, setting her glass down. "I suppose I'm partly
to blame myself; I was too busy at other things to give my
full attention to the suits. I don't want you to stop
inventing things when you get ideas, I just want to be able
to have the final say in what gets added to the hardsuits."
She sighed again. "And besides, we literally can't afford
constant upgrades; we don't have unlimited capital at our
disposal, no matter what it might seem like. All right?"
     "Fine," he ground out reluctantly after several long
moments. "I'll stop with the upgrades." Sylia could hear his
disgruntlement despite his effort to mask it, but let it
pass without comment. She knew how much he genuinely enjoyed
puttering with the suits, but it was time to start
exercising some of her command authority in order to bring
the technology race back under control. At least that way,
she'd have a better idea of what was going on.
     "I will still want your input on some new suit designs
I'm considering," she told him. "But they won't need to be
built for some time yet." She noted that his expression
thawed a bit at her words; no matter what his current mood
might be, the mention of new designs was enough to get his
mind off of whatever was annoying him. The technophile in
him wouldn't let him stay grouchy for long.
     "Okay, okay," Bert sighed.  His hardheaded practicality
wouldn't let him entertain a grudge, especially not when he
could see the sense in her arguments. Okay, may there was a
little bit of wounded pride in there somewhere; after all,
he'd never had any systems failures yet that weren't combat-
related. Well, if she didn't want him upgrading the suits,
maybe he could play with the motoroids...
     Reaching out, Sylia tapped a finger on the viewscreen
in front of her, startling him from his reverie and drawing
his attention to the new schematics that had flashed onto
the screen.
     "Now about these motoroid systems here...."
     Then again, he sighed to himself as he looked at the
plans and listened to his boss, maybe not.

THREE DAYS LATER ....

     "I want results," Madigan icily informed the person at
the other end of the line. "Not excuses. You led us to
believe that you could contact Hollister again. That is the
only reason you are still breathing. Don't force us to re-
evaluate what there is of your position."
     "But I told you already," Stryker's voice whined in her
ear, "I can't force him to respond to messages left at the
contact points. Even if he does become interested, there's
no guarantee it'll be him personally."
     "Think of a way to persuade him to check it out
himself," she ordered tersely, her grip tightening angrily
on the telephone receiver. "You claimed to know something of
his business dealings; use that knowledge to flush him out.
And I suggest you do it soon...our patience is wearing
thin."
     Madigan slammed the receiver down disgustedly, cutting
off the fixer's sniveling reply. The doctor had been right
about his mental condition; the man had turned into a
groveling coward. Of course, if she'd been patient, they
could have waited until Stryker had recovered a bit more
first...
     Kate irritably sloughed that thought off with an
irritated toss of her head, the motion sending a wave
rippling through her long lavender hair. They couldn't
afford to wait; Hollister was a serious threat, one that had
to be stomped on at the earliest possible opportunity. She
knew only too well what the arrogant bastard was capable of.
The Chairman might know the facts of what had happened, but
he'd never met Hollister, never had to deal with the smug,
condescending...
     The loud crack of something snapping jerked her from
the haze of churning fury she'd been unconsciously sinking
into. Glancing down at her hands, she found that they and
her desktop were covered in dark blue ink.  Luckily, no
reports had been underneath the luckless fountain pen she'd
been holding, or else they'd have been ruined.
     Growling at herself for her loss of control, she
grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her desk and
mopped up the mess, pitching the ruined pen into the
wastebasket.  Rising slowly from her seat, careful not to
touch her clothes or anything else, she walked across her
office to the small private washroom adjoining it, and
cleaned her hands off. Her normally calm features looking
like a thundercloud, she stalked back to her desk and sat
down behind it.
     After a few moments, she managed to restore her
composure somewhat. Such a loss of control was unforgivable,
and she resolved to prevent it from happening again. In the
privacy of her office it could at least be concealed; if it
happened when she was in the Chairman's office, such a
serious loss of face would undermine her position with him.
So far, he hadn't indicated that he was displeased with her,
but he very rarely let even his closest subordinates know
the entire truth of their position...until it was too late.
     The coldly beautiful exec leaned back in her chair,
brooding. She was positive that her position was secure;
she'd proven beyond any doubt that she was loyal to the
company, and Quincy in particular. But there was still
enough flexibility for someone in the command hierarchy to
supersede her, or at least equal her. And the last thing she
wanted was a rival.
     The surest way to make certain of her future was to
show Quincy some quick results on the Hollister affair.
Although she literally saw red whenever she thought of the
blond man, if she could deal with it with something like her
old efficiency the Chairman's misgivings might be silenced.
     With a grim smile, she reached out and picked up the
phone again.
                            ****
     "Watch the power feed to the linkages," Doc directed,
checking some of the figures jotted down on the notepad he
held in one hand. "If the fluctuation goes over 2%, shut the
damn thing down immediately; we can't risk burned circuits."
     "Understood," the youthful technician replied, nodding.
Doc divided one last glance between his notepad and the
control readouts, then moved down the walkway, giving some
last-minute instructions to the rest of the scattered techs
at their posts. With the preparations finished, he carefully
climbed down the short metal ladder to the ground level of
the room; his agility wasn't the greatest anymore, and his
bones ached enough some days without having to add broken
ones to the effects of old age.
     With a weary sigh, the old scientist stuffed his
notebook into a voluminous front pocket on his rumpled lab
coat, and began walking towards the central focus of the two-
tiered room, the large hydraulic platform supporting the
recumbent form of their new battlemover model. His mouth
tightened slightly in distaste as he drew closer to the vast
heap of wiring, actuators, and red-grey armour plating.  As
he approached, a muffled and choked sobbing noise slowly
became audible.
     Damn, but I hate this project. The thought briefly
surfaced in his mind before he could stuff it back into
hiding. He couldn't afford regrets, not now. He'd gone too
far to ever hope there was a way out.
     His face wooden, the elderly scientist climbed the
steps leading up to the platform, and walked around the
perimeter, coming to the cavity in the chest of the war
machine. Armour plating and internal mechanisms jutted
towards the ceiling, poised to snap closed over the hole in
the machine's body. The muffled sobbing came intermittently
from the interior of the large machine, where the body of a
young woman being held down by metallic straps could be
seen.
     Doc stared soberly into the interior of the
battlemover, watching wordlessly as the young woman strained
periodically at her bonds, trying to escape the inevitable.
Ever since she'd been captured, she hadn't ceased her
attempts to escape, and they had become even more frantic
since she'd learned what was planned for her. It hadn't done
her any good.
     The old man sighed and pulled his pipe out of a pocket,
stuffing it full of tobacco and lighting it. Hollister
didn't like him smoking around his pet projects, but
Hollister be damned; he needed something to try and soothe
what was feeling more and more like second thoughts. A bit
of smoke wouldn't melt any circuits.
     Leaning against the railing, Doc puffed quietly away as
he stared at the sexaroid imprisoned inside the battlemover.
It certainly looked human, although maybe just a little too
perfect in terms of fullness of figure. There was no outward
sign that it was anything but what it looked like: a very
attractive young woman.
     He knew from his own work however that underneath its
skin was a lightweight composite skeleton, myomer
musculature, and several biotechnological systems that very
closely approximated the operations of the analogous organs
in the human body. In fact, the systems incorporated into a
sexaroid probably represented the future of prosthetics for
human patients with diseases or damaged major organs. They
were, after all, organic in nature, and the 33-S series in
particular required human blood for repair of serious
injuries to their systems. It shouldn't be a great extension
to design similar ....
     Doc irritably yanked his mind off that line of inquiry;
there was very little chance he'd ever be able to return to
his old life of cybernetic and biotechnological research, no
matter how much the possibilities excited him. Dwelling on
it would only depress him further with lost opportunities.
     All right, so it was a machine.  Then why the hell was
hearing some machine sobbing in a pretty good approximation
of utter despair unsettling him so much?! He chewed
contemplatively on his pipestem as his eyes roved unseeingly
over the open mechanism in front of him.
     The problem was that the emotional responses he'd seen
from the 33-S boomers he'd encountered lately had thrown
doubt on the idea that they were `just a machine'.  Well ...
in his mind anyway. His associate didn't appear to have any
doubts on the subject. To him, the 33-S was an expensive
wind-up toy with some useful features.
     Doc had run into some pretty sophisticated AI
technology in his time, but none of it had ever come close
to approximating the reactions he'd seen from the sexaroids.
They responded exactly the way a normal human woman might
respond if thrust into the same situations, even down to the
point of having hysterics. One that he'd encountered had
even showed the symptoms of the severe trauma normally
exhibited by rape victims, and no emotional emulation
software he'd ever seen had been that good. The old
scientist suddenly found himself wondering uneasily if there
was perhaps more to the equation than had first appeared.
     There were personality overlays of course; GENOM had
perfected  a process for scanning someone's brain patterns
and duplicating them in a boomer's AI and body. Although
that particular little innovation was kept under tight
secrecy, it was common knowledge to some people, and guessed
at by others. Could that be how the sexaroids were made to
be more human-like than standard boomers? And what had
happened to the original subjects that had been scanned?
     The old scientist re-packed and relit his pipe, adding
to the blue-grey haze that was slowly expanding out from
where he was leaning. Whoever the original subjects had
been, it was doubtful that any 33-S using such a template
was still the same as the original person, mentally
speaking; they'd have been exposed to a much different
environment, and it was a person's experiences  that shaped
their personality.  The sexaroids were self-aware, and were
undoubtedly affected the same way by whatever they'd
endured.
     There was the possibility that they weren't merely
personality templates. Doc uneasily recalled some vague
reference he'd come across once, indicating that there was a
biotechnological method for duplicating the human brain and
nervous system, with all memories and experiences intact.
The only drawbacks were that when the process was completed,
the original human body was dead, and there were no
guarantees that the new boomer wouldn't be insane as a
result of the process. A highly illegal field of endeavor,
it had been abandoned early on...supposedly. 33-S series
boomers did have a mostly organic brain, supplemented by
microchips and circuitry. It wasn't impossible then that ...
     Doc snorted to himself, chiding his imagination for
getting carried away. Considering the rather carnal reasons
that the sexaroids had been created, he doubted that anybody
would utilize a process that expensive just for the purpose
of producing some cheap thrills. He sighed, causing a large
plume of blue smoke to roll forth.  All that thought and
analysis, and he still couldn't say why he was unsettled.
     "Doesn't really matter," he muttered aloud, partly to
himself, and partly to the helpless occupant of the
battlemover a few feet away. "We're both trapped by
circumstances."
     "You always talk to yourself, Doc?" Hollister's voice
inquired coolly from somewhere outside the smoke cloud
around the old scientist. Only long practice kept him from
jumping in startlement.
     "It's the best way to get an agreeable opinion," Doc
replied calmly, smirking around his pipestem as Hollister
came into view, pipesmoke curling around him. The old
scientist's mind raced as he studied the cold visage of the
blond man. Had he really overheard what he'd said? Did he
suspect anything? Damn it, he was getting old if he was
going to start musing out loud!
     "True, I suppose." Hollister's chuckle had a slight
edge to it. "So what are you doing up here?"
     "Monitoring the system checks," Doc shrugged. "Somebody
has to nursemaid the techs if they get in over their heads."
For the thousandth time, he wished Hollister wasn't so damn
hard to read. "No problems so far."
     "Good," the blue-suited man replied with unmistakable
satisfaction. "How about the GD-45? Will it be ready on
time?"
     "Yep." Doc nodded, sucking on his pipe and finding that
it had gone out. "By the end of next week you'll be able to
go on your little hunting expedition."
                            ****
     Priss pulled away from him slightly, breathing heavily.
Looking up into his face, she brushed a gloved hand across
his forehead, sweeping his hair back out of his eyes.
     "That was some kiss," she noted breathily.  "Your day
go that well?" With her free hand, she reached up and pulled
off the blond wig she was still wearing, tossing it in the
general direction of the table and stand where it normally
sat; a soft thump, followed by the sounds of various bottles
and other paraphernalia falling over indicated success of a
sort. The attractive singer was still clad in her revealing
leather stage costume, having just completed another
concert; the cheering and applause from the enthusiastic
audience had finally died off, allowing relative quiet to
return to the backstage rooms. She placed her arms around
her lover again, holding him close as she waited for a
reply.
     "It wasn't the greatest day I've had," Bert admitted
with a sigh, his gaze briefly flicking around her dressing
room before coming back to her.  It had become something of
a ritual for them since they'd started going out together;
after a concert, they'd meet backstage and go into her
dressing room for a quick, or not so quick in some cases,
kiss. "I had to spend all morning fixing one of the floor
tracks for the archery targets; some inept jackass put an
arrow into the track itself and buggered up the retraction
mechanism. How the hell could someone miss the target that
badly?!" he fumed.
     "You poor baby," Priss commiserated, hugging him a bit
tighter and kissing him in consolation. His arms tightened
around her in return as he responded in kind, and the room
was silent for a few moments. "Not everyone has your exalted
skill at archery, you know," she reminded him when they
parted finally. "And accidents happen. Do you know who did
it?"
     "No," he growled disgustedly. "If I had, I'd have made
them help me fix the damn thing."
     "That's probably why they didn't tell you when it
happened." A wry smile quirked at one corner of her mouth.
"You should see the look on your face right now; `pissed-
off' doesn't even begin to describe it."
     "Sorry." He tried to smooth his expression out, and
achieved moderate success.
     "That's a little better," she approved, reaching up and
patting his cheek gently. "You've only mentioned the
morning; what happened this afternoon?"
     "I had to spend several hours dismantling parts of my
suit," he replied sourly.
     "But I thought you liked working on your suit?" Priss
asked, frowning.
     "Not when I have to strip stuff off of the damn thing."
     "Strip off?" she repeated. "As in `take out'?"
     "And the lady wins the prize," he sighed. "Yup, I had
to take a few things out and scale back a bit on my weapons.
Sylia doesn't think I need all the hardware I've been
carrying."
     "What the hell?! Since when did Sylia start thinking we
have too much hardware?!"
     "Since she's had the time to check over the designs.
I'm also supposed to stop upgrading everyone's suit whenever
I feel like it, so she can keep track of what's been added
and when." He grimaced sourly. "I suppose I can see her
point, but I still hate taking stuff out of my suit; now I
fell like I'm undressed or something."
     "Undressed, huh?" she murmured with a lazy smile,
raising an eyebrow suggestively as she trailed her fingers
lightly down the side of his face and neck; maybe some
teasing would cheer him up a bit. He flushed slightly,
fidgeting.
     "So what did you have to take out?" she asked.
     "Nothing too major, I guess. Some sensor packages I
really didn't need, and my solid fuel boosters were the main
systems. The armour plating needed to be trimmed down a bit;
I guess I'd gone a bit overboard with the thickness in some
places, and I had more than I needed."
     "If it wasn't anything major, then why are you standing
there looking like you've been robbed?" she queried him,
raising an eyebrow quizzically.
     "Because I didn't need to do it," he snapped peevishly.
"I've never had anything malfunction yet, and I prefer to be
equipped for every possibility. So what if my armor is
heavier than everyone else's?! I..." He caught himself
before he could start ranting, and sighed deeply again.
"Sorry; didn't mean to snap."
     "That's okay," the brown-haired singer assured him,
recognizing the traces of a bruised ego when she saw one. "I
understand." Somewhat, her mind added silently; it wasn't so
much the fact that he'd had to reduce some of his suit
systems that was bugging him, but the inference that he'd
made some design mistakes somewhere in putting in so many
systems in the first place.
     She didn't understand the more esoteric suit workings
herself, and didn't really want to. She knew enough to keep
her suit systems up and running during a fight, and as long
as they worked perfectly while she pounded on boomers, she
was happy. Her lover, on the other hand, wasn't as carefree;
he put a lot of effort into the suits, especially his own.
It had become an extension of himself rather than a piece of
equipment, and in some convoluted and obscure way he felt
that the order to revamp his suit equated with a personal
criticism of some kind.
     She sighed to herself as she looked at him; holding him
the way she was, she could feel the slightly angry tension
that was still riding him. If he was going to be any kind of
bearable company tonight she needed to get his mind off his
supposed problems. Well, there was one way that had worked
in the past...
     Priss slid one hand up his back to the back of his
neck, and pulled him down towards her as she stretched up
and kissed him. Her lips melted into his as his arms pulled
her a bit closer. As she held him in a passionate embrace,
she slowly felt the tension leak out of him. A faint,
triumphant smile tugged at the corners of her lips for a
moment before she devoted her full attention to him again.
After a few long, very enjoyable moments, she pulled back to
catch her breath.
     "That...was...fantastic," he rasped. She noted with
satisfaction that he looked a little glassy-eyed as he tried
to get his own breath back. After a moment he succeeded, and
smiled down at her. "You really are beautiful."
     "I know," she admitted deadpan. "It's one of my many
charms." She grinned impishly at him as he laughed.
     "Modest, too," he noted lightly, giving her a gentle
squeeze. "I think you've been spending too much time around
me."
     "That's a possibility," she conceded blandly. "Want me
to stay away?"
     "Never!" She found herself seized in a tight hug again
as she was soundly kissed.
     "I'd better get changed," she told him, glancing at the
wall clock. "We're not going to have a chance to get dinner
if we don't get out of here soon."
     "Okay, okay," he sighed, reluctantly releasing her and
stepping back. "I'll wait outside."
     "Lipstick first," she reminded him with a grin. He
flushed, and irritably wiped off his mouth with a
handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket, stuffing it back
when he was done. "We'll have to see if we can't find a
colour that looks good on you," she teased him. "That way
you won't have to worry about wiping it off when ..."
     "Just nevermind," he warned her. She chuckled and
patted his cheek impishly before turning towards her makeup
table.
     "You know," Priss glanced slyly over her shoulder at
him as she pulled off her gloves.  "I can't understand why
you've never taken me up on my suggestion that you help me
change."  She smirked as he blushed uncomfortably; in some
ways he hadn't changed, and she hoped he never did. He
wouldn't be nearly as much fun to tease if that happened.
     "There's a time and a place for everything," he told
her, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her.
As she tilted her head back to look at him, he kissed her
softly on the lips.  "And this definitely isn't the place
for something like that.  I'll meet you outside."  Giving
her one last light, lingering kiss, he turned and left the
room, closing the door behind him.
     "Spoilsport," she muttered, then smiled to herself and
started changing her clothes.
                            ****
     Nene sighed in relief as she shambled wearily through
the door to her apartment, pitching her purse carelessly
across the small foyer of her cubbyhole apartment to land on
the couch. Closing the door behind her, she shrugged off her
uniform jacket while trying to step out of her boots at the
same time, nearly ending up in a heap on the floor as her
balance wavered. Grabbing at the wall to remain upright, she
finally got her jacket off and hung it up. Sighing again,
she padded towards the couch, flopping on it lengthwise as
she loosened her uniform tie.
     She stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting
the silence of her surroundings soak into her and replace
the tension from the long shift she'd just completed. There
were days she genuinely enjoyed her job, and then there were
days when she could quite cheerfully shoot half of her co-
workers, today being a prime example. She was positive that
she'd gone through several reams of paper just to complete
reports that others hadn't seen fit to finish off. Given her
own neat-and-tidy tendencies, having to clean up someone
else's mess grated on her, especially when it was due to
laziness on their part. The fact that it had done nothing
but add to the workload left to her by the Chief had
stretched her normally cheerful demeanor to the breaking
point; if she hadn't gotten off work when she had, she was
positive that she'd have snapped.
     The slender young red-head stretched luxuriantly on the
couch for a moment, weighing her options for the night.
First on the list was a nice long, hot bath. She'd worry
about keeping busy after that. Standing up, she walked over
to her bathroom, closing the door behind her.
     An hour or so later found the young red-head
comfortably snuggled on her couch in her favourite fuzzy
bathrobe with a mug of hot chocolate keeping her company as
she drowsily watched TV. Her mind wasn't really on the
newscast that was showing though, instead just aimlessly
wandering from thought to unrelated thought. The thought
briefly surfaced that maybe she should do something other
than just sit there, but she couldn't even summon up the
ambition to move right now.
     Part of the problem was lingering depression. Even
though it had been a little more than two months now that
she'd broken up with Bert, she still found herself longing
for some way to patch things back together with him. It
wasn't until they'd stopped seeing each other that she'd
realized just how lonely things suddenly seemed. Linna and
Naoko's efforts to keep her active and entertained had
certainly helped keep her from totally collapsing
emotionally, but it couldn't replace the sudden hole that
had been left by nearly three years of being together. She
felt it more at night than any other time.
     Nene took a gulp of her hot chocolate, trying to
alleviate the sudden soreness of her throat as tears stung
the edges of her eyes. The ache was still there, even though
she tried not to think about it, the dull pain from what
felt like a portion of herself being ripped away. She
couldn't really blame it on anyone other than herself, no
matter how much she might have wanted to; the root causes of
their breakup had been born out of misunderstanding and
hurt, mostly hers.
     She flushed guiltily as she remembered some of her
thoughts and actions at the time, and spent a moment or so
mentally lashing herself for acting so irresponsibly. The
damage had already been done however, so it was a pointless
exercise. If she wanted to move on, she was going to have to
put it behind her, and at least try and forgive herself.
     With a sigh the red-haired young woman stood up from
the couch, hitting the switch on the remote control to turn
off her TV. Silence fell over the small apartment as she
shuffled into the kitchenette and rinsed out her mug,
leaving it sitting in the sink. Flicking off the lights, she
yawned and went off to bed.

FOUR DAYS LATER ....

     A knock on the door distracted Bert's attention from
the novel he'd been intently reading, and he closed the book
with a slightly irritated sigh. Setting it aside, he pulled
off his reading glasses, tossing them on top of the book as
he stood up. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he walked
across the room to his apartment door, opening it as another
knock sounded.
     "Hi!" Linna greeted him brightly, dropping her hand as
the door swung inwards. "Got a minute?"
     "Sure, come on in," he replied, smiling. "Want a cup of
coffee or something?" he asked as he stepped back.
     "That'd be fantastic." She gave him a grateful smile as
she shut the door. "It was a long day today, and I could
sure use a boost from something hot." He noted that she was
wearing a track suit over her spandex exercise outfit, and
had a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. As always, her
hair was tucked neatly under a brightly coloured headband.
     "Make yourself comfortable then, and I'll get the
coffee," he told her, turning and walking over to his
kitchen area. A few minutes later, he set a steaming mug in
front of her on the coffee table, placing the sugar and
cream within easy reach. Taking a swig from his own mug of
the steaming brew, he carefully sat back down in his chair.
     "Oh, this is heavenly!" Linna sighed blissfully, taking
a slow, appreciative draught of her drink. "We were so busy
today, I didn't even have time for lunch."
     "Another show coming up?"
     "No, half the people at work are down with the flu or
something," Linna made a face. "That means everybody's got
to fill in here and there for someone else; I got shanghied
into helping move props around all morning, and then in the
afternoon I had to grind everyone through the practice
routines."
     "You look like you survived," Bert commented mildly,
stifling the grin that wanted to form. Linna snorted.
     "I wasn't doing the routines myself," she informed him.
"They're too complicated for my leg to take yet, and the
doctor threatened to break my other leg for me if I tried
anything even remotely like that yet...."
     "Sounds familiar," he muttered to himself.
     "...so I basically spent all afternoon standing around
watching everyone else and giving orders," she finished,
sighing and taking another drink.
     "Isn't that what choreographers are supposed to do
though?" he asked. "I mean, I thought you had to watch
everyone to make sure they're in the right spots and so
forth."
     "That is a large part of what I do," Linna admitted.
"But I still like to go through the routines with the rest
of the dancers at least once; if I can do them, then they
can't say that I don't know what I'm asking them to do." She
gave him an impish grin, then sighed and looked sour. "But
until the doctor says it's okay, I can't do any of the
simple warm-up routines, let alone the full-blown ones."
     "I still don't see why you're complaining," he noted
with a sly grin. "At least you got some fun out of barking
commands at your trainees." Linna shot him a glance that
spoke volumes about her tolerance for smart remarks at the
moment, and his grin widened.
     "So what brings you down to the catacombs?" he queried,
deciding a subject change might be the wiser course. "If
you're looking for Priss, she's not due back from her
rehearsal for a while yet."
     "No, I saw her yesterday," Linna shook her head. "I had
a favour to ask of you."
     "Shoot." He took another slurp from his mug, watching
her over the rim.
     "Can we borrow your kitchen next week?"
     "My kitchen?!" Bert echoed, his eyebrows hitting his
hairline in surprise. "What for?!"
     "Well..." Linna hesitated. "Will you swear to keep
absolutely quiet about this?"
     "Linna!" Bert looked wounded. "You should know by now
that I can keep my mouth shut about some things. What's
going on that's got to be so secret?"
     "We're giving Sylia a surprise birthday party next
week," Linna told him. "And it won't be a surprise if you
walk around until then with that idiot grin plastered all
over your face," she added crossly.
     "Sorry," Bert pulled his face straight. "So you want to
make a cake down here and then take it up?"
     "We're going to make the whole dinner down here," Linna
corrected him. "We'll pick up the ingredients ourselves, and
then whip everything together."
     "Just a second...who's `we'?" Bert asked, a sudden
alarm bell ringing in the back of his mind as visions of
something exploding in his apartment flared up.
     "Priss, myself, Nene, and maybe Anri," Linna told him,
unknowingly confirming a part of the suspicions that his
sudden dread had been based on. "Why?"
     Bert floundered in a mental quandry for a few seconds
as he tried to frame a reply. Of the group of people she'd
just mentioned, the inclusion of one person in particular
worried him the most: Priss. Since they'd started their
relationship, he'd learned at least one thing about her that
he'd never really considered before: her skills in the
kitchen weren't the greatest.
     He supposed it was partly that she'd never had the
opportunity to really learn how to do more than simple
cooking; a lot of what he knew had come from asking his mom
a myriad of questions while she'd been preparing a cake or
something similar. During his stint at university, he'd had
ample opportunity to test his culinary skills, and had
acheived moderate success. Okay, maybe it hadn't always been
perfect, but it had been edible at least. Priss hadn't had
those kinds of opportunities, and as a result was limited to
easily prepared foods. If it came from a can or was
microwaveable, she could handle it.
     A slight wave of guilt went through him at that
thought; it wasn't her fault, after all, and she did try
hard....but it was the occasional results of the trying that
gave him the jitters. He knew now a part of the reason why
she ate out at fast food joints so often: less of a mess to
clean up afterwards, and no risk of something exploding
while heating. Of course, to be fair, her trailer really
didn't have enough space for a real kitchen....
     "Hello? Earth to Bert?" Linna's voice intruded on his
thoughts. "Are you still with me?"
     "Huh? Oh, yeah," he shook his head slightly, mildly
irritated at himself for letting his mind wander.
     "So why did you want to know who's going to be in on
this?" Linna asked again. "Afraid something might happen?"
     "Well...yes, frankly," he said uncomfortably, squirming
in his chair. "I'm not really worried about you or Nene,
but I don't even know if Anri has been near a kitchen
before, and Priss sometimes has a few...difficulties... with
cooking."
     "I promise I'll keep an eye on them," Linna assured
him. "If they make a mess, I'll make sure that it gets
cleaned up."
     "Well..." he hesitated for a long moment, then heaved a
deep sigh. "All right, I guess you can use the kitchen," he
told her. "Just don't blow anything up, okay?"
     "Trust me, I know what I'm doing," she told him with an
angelic smile, then collapsed into helpless giggling.
     Somehow, that didn't exactly reassure him.
                            ****
     The late night hum of activity in the ADP offices was
muted as everyone quietly worked at their assorted tasks.
For some of the officers, it provided a welcome break from
the hectic daytime grind; boomer incidents never seemed to
happen at three o'clock in the morning, and the paperwork
somehow didn't seem quite as pressing.
     Nene stifled a yawn as she saved the file she was
working on, then logged out of the  ADP database. She
stretched wearily as she glanced at the wall clock, heaving
a sigh as it told her she still had another three hours to
go before her shift ended. Three hours...and she'd already
completed her assigned workload. She could ask around and
see if anyone needed help with anything, but she didn't
really feel like it at the moment.
     The slender red head looked around the office, stifling
another yawn. She really hated shift changes; while she
could adjust to working night shifts after a couple of days,
the transition period always made her feel tired and worn
out. However, there wasn't much she could do about it; she
didn't have the luxury of being able to pick when she could
work.
     After a few minutes of contemplative staring at her
patiently waiting terminal, Nene decided to do some poking
around in the records databases. One of her Knight Saber
duties was to keep Sylia appraised of any interesting
tidbits of information that might pass through the ADP's
hands, but lately she hadn't had the time or the opportunity
to fulfill those particular duties.
     The red-haired hacker cast a furtive glance around the
office again; it was quiet enough at the moment that nobody
would likely notice what databases she was accessing. The
last thing she needed right now was to answer awkward
questions about why she was in data files that she really
didn't have the proper clearance to access.
     Satisfied that nobody was about to come over to her
desk, she quickly accessed the occurrences files, skimming
through them and looking for anything that might be either
interesting, or out of the ordinary. All of the boomer
incident reports were unremarkable, and there didn't appear
to be any GENOM-related investigations going on. All in all,
an utterly fruitless effort.
     Nene sighed disgustedly, irritably blowing a forelock
of hair out of her eyes as she stared at her computer
screen. What else was there to search? She'd covered the
usual databases she investigated for Sylia, and she hadn't
been given any other instructions.
     She hummed tunelessly to herself for a moment as she
considered her options. Her file-sifting hadn't taken nearly
as long as she'd have liked it to, and she still had almost
two hours before quitting time. Reaching up, the young red-
head loosened her tie a bit, and then hunched over her
keyboard. A minute or two of clattering keys later, and
she'd accessed yet another database.
     Nene flipped through file after file in rapid
succession, checking for anything curious. She didn't
normally check the MegaTokyo Spaceport Authority files, but
there was the chance that GENOM might be routing some of
their `research material' out to Genaros, where they could
experiment without fear of intervention. Genaros was pretty
much owned by the corporate conglomerate after all...
     A file flicked past her view, and she stopped, her
curiosity piqued as she saw the word `kidnapping' go
flashing past. Scrolling back in the list, she found the
file again and started reading it. The details were
extremely sketchy, but it appeared that a group of armed men
had grabbed a female station worker and escaped with her in
a stolen cargo shuttle. That was it; no identity on the
armed men, and no identity on the kidnap victim.
     Nene frowned as she stared at the file, her every
investigative instinct telling her that something was wrong
with that report. Stolen space vehicles were big news, but
not even a whisper of a theft from the space station had hit
the local networks. The only way that could happen was if
somebody very powerful was squelching any evidence that
anything had happened. The question was, why? Why would
someone want to conceal the theft?
     The frown creasing the young woman's brow deepened as
green eyes stared intently at the file, as if trying to will
an answer to appear. The last time a space vehicle incident
had occurred on Genaros, it had turned out to be a shuttle
carrying illegal armaments, the D.D. Battlemover in
particular. There were no indications in the file that the
shuttle had been anything but empty, however.
     Nene chewed contemplatively on her lower lip as she
again slowly scanned through the file. She found it very odd
that the kidnapping victim wasn't identified in the report
beyond a physical description; it was almost like whoever
was writing the report didn't care about one woman being
snatched from her duties. Nene's eyes widened as she
abruptly remembered the other after-effects of the Orca's
crash landing: the spate of `vampire murders' that had
stirred the city into a near panic. What if the woman who'd
been snatched wasn't a normal human?
     Mind racing, Nene looked furtively around the office
again. Nobody appeared to be about to come over to her desk
area, so she turned back to her terminal, and carefully
started accessing the personnel files for the space
facility. There was the chance that the woman who'd been
kidnapped was a sexaroid, and if that was the case, then
there were several reasons for keeping it quiet. The first
and likely foremost reason would be that GENOM wouldn't want
it noised around that there still were sexaroids around, and
that they were, ahem, utilizing them in some of their
operations. The second reason would be to prevent a city-
wide panic at the news of a renegade boomer being loose,
especially one that might require human blood to stay alive.
     The third possibility was that the kidnapped sexaroid
possessed the necessary hardware for superweapon linkage,
and there was only one organization she could think of that
had revealed open interest in exploiting that aspect of
their physiology: Hollister's shadowy group.
     Nene shivered slightly as she worked at sidling
unnoticed into the Genaros databases, her mind flitting back
briefly to the research data Sylia had shown the rest of
them before they'd gone out after Hollister. The inhumanity
of the re-created battlemover was apalling, and the threat
it posed even more so. If they'd managed to acquire a
`pilot', then it was likely that they had a working
prototype ready for testing.
     The red-haired hacker quickly wiped some sweat from
where it was trickling down her forehead as she soothed a
watchdog program into believing that she had perfect right
to be accessing the files she was opening. The sentinel
became quiescent again, and then she was in.
     Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, Nene called up the
shift duty rosters for the massive space station as she
glanced at the clock on the wall: forty-five minutes until
she was off-shift. With luck, nothing that required her
attention would happen in that time. Mentally crossing her
fingers, she began skimming the long lists of names,
concentrating on the dates surrounding the kidnapping.
     Even a list with such a narrow scope was huge however.
The young ADP officer could feel time sliding through her
fingers like sand as she tried to identify anyone who might
have suddenly dropped out of the duty rotation. It was just
too much data to try and analyze in a hurry, and she
reluctantly conceded defeat...for the moment.
     Nene cast a quick glance around as she swiftly
downloaded a copy of the files she was interested in; once
she'd figured out who the person was that had been
kidnapped, it would be relatively easy to get back into
Genaros's personnel files and get a copy of her file.
Hopefully, the victim's background file would explain why
someone had taken an interest in her.
     The disk containing her copy of the data files popped
briskly from her terminal's drive bay, and she scooped it up
and pocketed it. After another rapid check to make sure her
file tampering hadn't been detected, the red-haired hacker
eased her way out of the systems she'd infiltrated, and then
severed her connection to the network.
     Heaving a silent sigh of relief, Nene mopped a sleeve
across her forehead, leaning back in her chair. She rubbed
at her eyes as a wave of weariness swept over her. Despite
what many people claimed about hacking, it required some
real hard work in order to accomplish, especially to get
into the databases she'd just cracked into. The effort and
the lateness of her shift almost guaranteed that she was
going to sleep like a log when she got home....
     "Hey, Nene, going to work a double shift or something?"
Naoko's voice intruded on her yawning and stretching.
Surprised, she looked up at her brown haired friend, who
held out her jacket for her with a grin. "The shift ended
about six minutes ago," Naoko added.
     "I'm coming!! Just a second!!" The lassitude that had
been settling over her quickly evaporated as she jumped up
and fished her handbag out from the depths of her desk
drawers. Tucking it between her knees, she shrugged into her
jacket, at the same time shutting down and turning off her
computer. The screen flicked off as the two young women left
the office area.
                            ****
-    The door to her office swung open as she sat carefully
going over the report on the day's test results. Scowling in
irritation at the interruption, Kate looked up at the
intruder. Her scowl deepened at the sight of the blond-
haired man lounging insolently in her doorway. Tall, and
wearing a light blue-grey suit, he directed an appraising
glance around her office. Finally his gaze came to rest on
her, and the faintest trace of a sly smile pulled at his
face.
     "Ms. Madigan," Ethan Hollister greeted her cordially.
"And how are you this afternoon?"
     "I'm busy," came the wintry reply. "And I don't
appreciate people barging into my office whenever they feel
like it, especially independent `contractors'. What is it?"
     "I had something I wanted to discuss with you," he
shrugged carelessly, stepping into her office and closing
the door behind himself after taking a quick glance down the
hallway. "And it's not like you've got a secretary to make
appointments with."
     "Make it quick then," Madigan closed the report folder
in front of her. "I've got a lot to do."
     "Still trying to impress the bigshots, huh?"  Shaking
his head disbelievingly, the blond man strolled across her
office and stood gazing out at the buildings across the
street. "Hoping to get promoted back to Japan?"
     "What I want is none of your business," she told him
flatly. Standing up, she smoothed out her skirt and turned
to face him, her face hard. "You said you had something to
discuss. State it, or get the hell out."
     "Or you'll do what?" His face suddenly had a taunting
grin on it as he glanced at her. "A junior executive, and a
woman at that, complaining about me? They'd laugh you out of
the boardroom." Kate glared stonily at him but didn't reply.
Even though it thoroughly galled her to admit it, the smug
bastard was right; he'd ingratiated himself too well with
the board of directors to be threatened by her. He grinned
mockingly again, as if divining her thoughts, then turned
back to the window, becoming sober again.
     "Europe has many opportunities at the moment," he said
after a minute, gesturing at the street. "And it's
opportunity that I wanted to talk to you about."
     "I'm listening," she replied shortly.
     "It's been interesting to see this particular aspect of
boomer technology develop," he observed, almost idly. "But
it's unfortunate that your company can't develop some of the
more promising applications."
     "I can't discuss classified information with you," she
said frostily. "Please leave." He chuckled.
     "Your determination is admirable," he complimented her,
a crooked smile appearing. "It's almost on a par with your
beauty."
     "Pardon?!" The utter incongruity of the compliment
caught her flat-footed, and threw her into disarray. "I.what
did you.what's that supposed to mean?" Kate was unable to
keep from flushing, unconsciously running a hand through her
short lavender hair in nervous reflex. She retreated a step
as Hollister stepped closer, uncomfortably close. His ice-
blue eyes bored intently into hers.
     "It means exactly what it says," he replied, his voice
smooth. "You're attractive and you're no fool, either."
Madigan was unable to look away as he continued speaking.
"You're extremely thorough, and you've got the knack for
isolating and identifying problems. You've got a keen
intellect, and when you combine those with your looks,
you've got great potential. My organization can use someone
like you; you've got ability  that's never going to get used
here." Fear of something nameless surged through her at the
look in his eyes; even though his mouth was smiling, his
eyes were as cold as ice fields. She found that she couldn't
look away as he stepped right up to her.
     "Come with me," his voice was low and hypnotic. "I need
you."
     "I ... I can't ." she started to deny him, when he
leaned forward the last few inches separating them and
kissed her on the mouth. Kate tried backing away from him,
but he stepped after her, backing her into the wall as he
kissed her. A moment later, and she felt his hands on her
body. Her hands clenched into fists as she tried shoving him
away from her, a muffled noise of protest escaping her.
      One of his hands slid from her waist, moving upwards,
and she felt him touch her breasts as his other hand started
sliding around her back, pulling her closer to him. She
squirmed in his grip, and tried to pull away; both his touch
and his kiss were icy cold, and without any semblance of
feeling or warmth. He held her tightly as the hand fondling
her breasts moved higher, and began unbuttoning the throat
of her blouse.
     Anger exploded amidst the confusion and fear in her
mind, clearing the paralysis that had gripped her. A sudden
surge of strength allowed her to shove him backwards, and
for good measure, she rammed a knee at his groin. Hollister
swore, staggering backwards and allowing Kate the
opportunity to sprint for her desk. Jerking open the top
drawer, she grabbed at the gun she kept there. Hollister
straightened up as she leveled the slim automatic at him.
     "Going to shoot me, Kate?" he asked conversationally.
His demeanor was unruffled, and except for a slight wince
when he started walking towards her, he didn't appear to
have been hurt by her attack. Another taunting grin flashed
across his face. "Go ahead then; pull the trigger."
     "Just who the hell do you think you are?!" she spat,
her voice thick with rage, her hands shaking as she pointed
the gun at him. "How DARE you touch me like that!! I don't
care who you are, NOBODY uses me like that!! I am NOT that
kind of a woman!"
     "Oh please, spare me the speech." Hollister's tone was
bored as he continued to walk towards her. The gun muzzle
pressed into his chest as he continued to advance. "If
you're so offended, just shoot me." Madigan's teeth
clenched, and her eyes narrowed in fury as her finger began
to squeeze the trigger.
     She wasn't entirely sure what happened next, but there
were two numbing impacts, one on her arm, and the other
somewhere on her body. The gun dropped from nerveless
fingers as fire raced through her arm from the elbow down,
but she couldn't even scream because somehow Hollister had
one of his hands clamped around her throat. She could barely
move as numbing pain washed through her, and dimly she
wondered what he'd hit her with.
     "That wasn't very nice, Kate." The grin on the blond
man's face seemed more like a snarl baring his fangs. He
shoved her back against her desk, his hand still tightly
gripping her neck; sparks began to flash in front of her
eyes as she struggled to draw adequate breath. "It's a pity
you didn't take me up on my offer; I could've offered you a
lot more than you'll ever get out of GENOM's pissy little
operations." His grin slid back into insolence as he reached
up with his free hand and caressed the face of the terrified
executive. "And you'll never know what you missed." He
jerked her close, and kissed her on the mouth again before
roughly shoving her away.
     The shove collapsed Kate into her office chair, where
she sat gasping hoarsely for breath as her strength slowly
returned. Bitter fury burned in her eyes as she watched
Hollister calmly straighten his tie, and start  walking
across the room towards the door.
     "You ... you son of a bitch!!" she rasped, forcing
herself to her feet. She wasn't entirely recovered however,
and stood swaying, her hands braced on her desktop. He
flashed her an amused smile.
     "I'd wait another five minutes or so before I'd try
walking," he advised her as he opened the door and tipped
her a derisive salute. "See you around, Katie."
     "BASTARD!!!" The door closed behind him, neatly
stopping the paperweight she'd hurled at him. It banged
loudly on the door, then dropped to the carpeting. Madigan
took a step, intending to pursue him, but her legs folded,
pitching her to the floor. She pounded a fist impotently
against the carpet as angry tears began leaking out of her
eyes.     -
                             ****
     Madigan's teeth clenched as she stared out the window
of her apartment, memory relentlessly replaying the
humiliating events of several years ago.








                            ****
     "Hey, has anyone seen where I put the flour bowl?"
Nene's voice asked, as bowls and pots clattered. "I know I
set it down somewhere around he...." There was a loud bang,
as if something had been dropped, and the air was suddenly
filled with a choking cloud of a white powdery substance.
     "I think I found it," Priss's voice wheezed in reply,
as the room broke into fits of coughing and sneezing.
                            ****









                            ****
     The night hung inky-black curtains of dampness across
the sprawling city. In several dimly-seen locations, faintly
glowing streetlights and signs tried to pierce the murky fog
that was cloaking the city in darkness, without notable
success.  Cars moved cautiously through the streets and
highways, carefully navigating the tangled streets as their
drivers tried to get home without mishaps.  The thick night
air seemed to muffle sound itself, and the normally
boisterous city was muted,  as if it was waiting for
something to happen.  It was an unsettling night, full of
semi-palpable menace.
     A crimson beam tore through the darkness,  briefly
casting harsh shadows over the dark side street; a blue
combat boomer collapsed into a smoking heap as its chest was
blown out through its back in a spray of nutrient fluids and
armour shards.  A silver-and-blue garbed hardsuit advanced
towards the smoking remains, its helmet swiveling around as
the suit carefully probed the darkness for any new foes.
Finding none, it sighed, partly in relief, and partly in
annoyance; he'd been hoping that there would still be a
couple of boomers to thump.
     "SkyKnight to Saber Prime," Bert radioed.  "I've just
mopped up the last one; I think that accounts for them all."
     "Good work,"  Sylia Stingray's voice replied over the
helmet communications channel.  "Any problems?"
     "Not at this end," SkyKnight replied, looking around
again.  "It's awfully quiet out here, though.  I.... hello?
Hello?!"  SkyKnight reached up and tapped the antenna wings
on his helmet irritably, as the signal from Sylia suddenly
disintegrated into loud, squealing static.  "Sylia? Anybody
there?!"  he tried again, switching to the backup frequency;
no response. Static hissed malevolently at him from that
channel as well.  Bert frowned at his helmet display as his
suit computer declared every system fully operational.  If
everything was fully operational, then why had his
communicator just died?
     Uneasy suspicions began crawling around his mind as he
stood there, still trying to re-establish communications and
running systems checks; he'd never had an equipment
malfunction before, not as immediate and as total as this
one seemed to be.  At least, one system had never just
suddenly quit functioning without warning.
     The surrounding darkness suddenly felt oppressive and
menacing as he realized he was momentarily isolated from his
friends.  Common sense abruptly re-asserted itself,
banishing the momentary flash of fear he'd felt;  the smart
thing to do would be to get back to the rest of the team
right now, before anything happened.
     SkyKnight stepped forwards, his flight wings snapping
into extension on his back.  The whine of jet turbines being
brought to full power began to pulse through the air.  As he
ran through a last, quick preflight check, something clanged
in the darkness behind him.
     As the silver-and-blue Knight Saber started to spin
around, a long, snake-like metal tentacle flashed out of the
darkness, and wrapped itself around his armoured neck.  A
second tentacle followed it at almost the same time,
wrapping around the legs of the startled hardsuit at knee
level.  SkyKnight was easily jerked off of his feet by the
tentacles to hang suspended in mid-air, in front of a large,
dark grey mech.  The mech was a four-legged robot, with a
large cannon assembly hanging from the front.  As SkyKnight
struggled to free himself, the cannon began lining up on
him, and an ominous blue glow began to form in the gaping
maw of the gun.
                            ****
     "SkyKnight!!  Do you read me?! SkyKnight!!  Damn it!!"
Sylia swore in frustration, angrily shutting off the dead
channel, spinning around towards Nene's red and pink armour
suit.  The sensor antennae built into the slender red-headed
girl's suit were all extended, and the suit was humming
audibly with the effort and energy it was putting into
scanning for SkyKnight.  As Sylia turned, the familiar blue
and green shapes of Priss and Linna came into range, dusting
themselves off from the brief scuffle that had just ended.
     "It's no good, Sylia,"  Nene reported before Sylia
could ask.  "I can't get any kind of signal at all.  There's
some kind of a massive jamming field around; it just kicked
in, and it's blocking out everything.  I can barely detect
our own hardsuit transponders, and we're standing right next
to each other."
     "Do you know which direction he was broadcasting from?"
Priss queried, stepping forward and taking a quick look
around again.  She needn't have bothered; the mangled,
smoking remains of the ten C-55E boomers they'd fought
earlier weren't going anywhere, and there was nothing else
out there to see except the night.  Nene nodded.
     "He was transmitting from northwest of here, a
kilometer or so out," she replied.  "I can't really be sure
if he's moved or not since then, though."
     "Well then let's get the hell going!!  What are we
waiting for?!"  Priss snapped.  With that, her jump jets
propelled her off into the darkness.
     "Priss!"  Sylia tried calling her back for a moment,
but it was a useless attempt; the blue hardsuit was already
far ahead of them.  "Come on!"  Sylia ordered.  "Let's not
get split up any further than we are now!"  It looks like
it's going to be one of those nights, Sylia sighed to
herself.  Why could nothing ever work out simply, without
all the extra hassles, anymore?!
     The three remaining Knight Sabers sprang into the air
on quietly hissing jets, and sped off into the darkness
after Priss.
                            ****
     "Damn you, you godforsaken bastard!" SkyKnight snarled
under his breath, thrashing around again and trying to pry
loose the slowly constricting coil around his upper torso
and neck.  It was no good; he couldn't get any leverage at
all to use his hardsuit strength to get free.  Using his
jets was also out of the question; the mech had far too much
mass to budge.
     The tentacles gripping him seemed to be covered with
some kind of high-tensile steel compound, and the actuators
were fantastically strong, putting some serious pressure on
his suit; it was getting hard to breathe as the cable around
his neck began crushing the armour.  He couldn't even begin
to get it pried loose from his throat.  He also couldn't
figure out just what the strange mech holding him was after;
despite having armed its weapons, it hadn't tried to kill
him outright.  Not yet, anyway.
     As he vainly wrenched at the clinging cables again,
SkyKnight suddenly realized that the mech holding him looked
vaguely familiar.  It was very large, with four  segmented
legs.  The body looked reminiscent of a futuristic space
fighter, except that there was no transparent cockpit
canopy, just a swiveling sensor pod mounted on the front.
All in all, the mech looked like a giant crustacean. It took
a minute or two, but he finally recognized it:  The GD-42?!
Impossible!  Damn it, what the hell was going on here?!
     "SkyKnight to Saber Prime!!"  Bert tried transmitting
again.  "I need some help now, damnit!!"  There was no
response to his frantic entreaty; static hissed at him
mockingly from the helmet comm.
     Beginning to panic now, SkyKnight deployed his right-
hand lightsaber grip, preparatory to slashing through the
cables.  As the handgrip extended, though, whoever was
piloting the mech noticed the action, and took steps to
prevent its prey escaping.
     "AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGHHH!!"  With a brutally wrenching
jolt, the two tentacles snapped the silver hardsuit between
them into a taut, stretched-out position parallel to the
ground.  At the same time, one of the mech's legs swept out
and up in a devastating kick, slamming into the silver
Knight Saber's spine, and bending him backwards around it as
the tentacles maintained a tight hold on him.
     White light flared agonizingly in Bert's vision, and
his breath deserted him.  Stunned and gasping, he was unable
to do anything to lessen the impacts that followed. The mech
released his upper torso, and proceeded to use the grip it
had on his legs to flick him through a nearby brick wall,
twice, in different locations, like someone cracking a whip.
Loud clangs and crunching noises sounded in his ears as the
numbing collisions with the wall battered him into semi-
consciousness.  Sparks flickered through his sight, and
darkness began edging his perceptions; his suit hadn't been
breached, but the physical shock alone was deadly enough to
cause serious harm.
     There was another clang as the mech dropped the silver
Knight Saber to the pavement for a moment. He flopped around
on the ground awkwardly, gasping and coughing, fighting to
get his wind back. Had he been able to think clearly,
SkyKnight could have used the opportunity to escape, but he
was too groggy from the pummeling he'd received to even try.
     As he automatically tried to roll over and get up, one
of the metallic tentacles slithered down again, and wrapped
itself around his arms and upper body, tightly pinning his
arms to his sides.  The tail end of the tentacle again
encircled his armoured neck and applied a tight choke-hold.
The second tentacle entwined itself around his legs.
     Its prey thus securely restrained, the greyish mech
lifted the battered silver hardsuit up, and carried it off
into the darkness.
                            ****
     "Whatever it was, it must have taken Bert with it,"
Linna noted quietly.  Her helmet visor swiveled around as
she looked around at the crumbled masonry near where a dead
C-55E lay splattered across the pavement.  Huge holes were
in a nearby wall, but it was obvious that they had been made
by physical impacts.  Large fragments lay scattered all
over, but there was no sign of a firefight; whatever had
grabbed SkyKnight had managed to do it without creating a
disturbance, and that by itself was disturbing.
     "He was definitely here," Priss declared.  "Look at
this!"  She pointed, and Sylia followed the direction she
was indicating; silver paint had been scraped off onto the
stone of some of the masonry and brickwork.
     "Damn it,"  Sylia muttered to herself as worry
intensified.  She hoped he was all right, but couldn't shake
the feeling that they'd better locate him, and fast. She
glanced skywards for a moment. "Sylvie?" she radioed the
distant KnightWing. "Anything on your end?"
     "Negative," came the reply. "I can see your
transponders on the scopes with no problem, but Bert just
isn't showing up."
     "Roger that. Keep scanning." Sylia sighed, stifling the
urge to swear. Why did everything always have to be
difficult?!
     "Sylia!"  Nene called, beckoning with a hand.  She was
standing out and away from the damaged building, her posture
indicating that she was looking at the ground.  Sylia,
flanked by Priss and Linna sprinted over.  Nene indicated a
large, vaguely greasy-looking stain on the pavement where
something had eaten into the concrete.
     "That stuff matches one of the chemical compounds from
that shoulder gun of his,"  Nene explained.  "If it's a
steady leak and it lasts, we can probably track him with
it."
     "Do it," Sylia ordered.  "We've got to find him.
Fast."
                            ****
     "You open his goddamn helmet!!  I'm not touching that
thing until I'm bloody sure it's safe!!"
     "He's trussed up like a turkey, you spineless dipshit!
He can't do anything to you!"
     "If you're so friggin' sure, YOU open it then!!"
     Bert opened his eyes, wincing as sharp pains lanced
into his head from where his neck had been wrenched around.
The view in his helmet viewscreen was upside-down, and after
a moment, he realized that whoever his captors were, they'd
hung him up by the heels. He'd have to get loose quick, and
then get the hell out of wherever it was that he now found
himself.
     As SkyKnight started to squirm, the horizon in his
helmet screen flipped right side up, and sudden crushing
pressure on his suit immobilized him.  He realized that the
mech was still holding him captive, and the voices that he'd
heard must have come from down on the ground.  He had
started to try to over-power the tentacles gripping him,
when the end wrapped around his neck suddenly squeezed and
twisted, as if the mech was trying to pry his head off.
     "I'd suggest you quit trying to escape," one of the
voices he'd heard earlier commented.  "You'd save yourself a
lot of pain if you do.  Are you gonna behave now?"
     "S-s-screw y-yourself, y-you asshole," SkyKnight
gritted, trying desperately to get enough air as the pain
from his abused neck began to mount in intensity and his
hardsuit began to creak ominously from the stress.  Damn it,
if only he could just get enough slack to get a hand free...
     "I'll take that as a yes, then,"  the voice replied.
SkyKnight's stomach seemed to flip briefly as the mech
whipped him downward, slamming him roughly into the ground.
The cable arms twisted around, and he found himself forced
into a kneeling position on the asphalt, still securely
bound by the steel cables.  The mech quit trying to use his
head like a champagne cork, and he sighed in relief to
himself as the pain and discomfort receded.  He looked
around, finally interested in just who his captors were.
     Two men in dark blue or black clothes, wearing light
helmets with semi-opaque faceplates that made identification
impossible, stood several feet away, near a large,
nondescript transport truck. It looked like they were in an
old abandoned warehouse somewhere, but there were plenty of
derelict buildings in MegaTokyo, so that didn't give him any
helpful information.  A grimy set of fluorescent light
fixtures provided sickly illumination from nearby, and a
battery-powered lamp glowed cheerily by the truck.  One man
held a large rifle-like device, and the other held a small
gadget that looked like a portable scanner.  The man with
the scanner was pointing it at him, frowning at the
readings.
     "This damn thing is useless," the scanner wielder spat,
stuffing the offending device into a belt pouch.  "I can't
get a useful thing out of it; we'd get more by looking at
him visually."  The rifle-carrier shrugged.
     "We're supposed to wait anyway," he replied.  "Relax;
he's not going anywhere."
     "Confident, aren't you?"  SkyKnight put in.  The two
men looked at him briefly, then ignored him.  That, in a
way, was worse than being captured.
     Bert ran a quick system check of his suit as he sat
there helplessly; it helped keep worry at bay, and he wasn't
sure just how badly he'd been worked over anyway.  His body
said that it had indeed been a severe beating; he ached all
over.
     His stomach plummeted as a glaring red message flashed
onto his viewscreen. The rough treatment had damaged the
heat sink system that provided all of the cooling for his
suit systems; he now had maybe thirty-five percent of the
cooling capacity needed for trouble-free operation.
That his shoulder-mounted weapons had been wrenched from
their mounts had only added to the internalized damage. He
now ran the risk of overheating and blowing out his suit
powerplant if he tried anything beyond just fleeing.
     Bert began to sweat as he realized that whatever he
tried now was going to have to work the first time;  the
likelihood of having his powerplant blow due to overheating
wouldn't allow any second chances.  And it stood a good
chance of failure anyway; he couldn't avoid using any
weaponry to get away, and his weapons systems were by far
the hottest parts of the hardsuit when operating.
     SkyKnight tentatively tensed himself to see how
attentive the robot was.  Very attentive, he noted a moment
later, wincing as the cables gripping him squeezed
warningly, then released.  Shit! Bert swore mentally.  In
all the tight spots he'd been in during his career, this one
looked the most hopeless, and it was a little hard not to
panic.  He swore at himself several times, in scorchingly
unflattering terms for getting caught with his guard down in
the first place.  Damn it, one would almost think that by
now, given everything that had happened in the past, he'd
keep a warier eye out for trouble, especially since he knew
that there were people gunning for the Knight Sabers.
     As he sat there stewing over his predicament, slow and
steady footsteps sounded out in the darkness beyond the
warehouse door, drawing nearer, and there was the dull thud
of someone extremely heavy shadowing the lighter footsteps.
Two people, then.  SkyKnight tried once more to see if he
could get a hand free, and resisted the impulse to cry out
in combined frustration and anger as the mech's tentacles
again squeezed him slightly, then relaxed.
     A light-coloured shape appeared in the darkness,
gradually resolving into a tall, well-built man in a grey
suit with blond hair and steely-blue eyes.  Immediately
behind him walked a bulky, blue-armoured C-55 boomer,
evidently acting as a bodyguard.  SkyKnight recognized
Hollister immediately; his muscles tensed and he tried to
break free once more,  the sudden urge to physically
dismember the blond man taking over.
     SkyKnight managed to suppress an enraged shout, as the
tentacles binding him tightened again.  Red waves of pain
swam through his sight, and after a moment of infuriated
thrashing, the silver Knight Saber relaxed again, wanting to
cry and howl in fury at being held helpless.  A noise
suspiciously like a snarl did escape his bound form, though,
and he glared at Hollister, the man who'd once sat smirking
and joking while he'd been writhing in total agony.
     That, combined with everything that had happened when
the rest of the Knight Sabers had gone after him, made
SkyKnight want to kill the grey-suited man as slowly and as
excruciatingly as possible.  He wanted Hollister to suffer
as greatly as everyone he'd injured had.
     Caution suddenly cut through the veil of anger running
rampant through his mind, as the sudden strangeness of the
way he'd been captured struck him.  It had been very
smoothly and quietly accomplished, as if his captors didn't
want the rest of the Knight Sabers involved.  A vague,
amorphous suspicion of what was going to happen began to
form in the back of his mind, and fear began to wrap cold,
clammy tendrils around his backbone.
     "Excellently done, gentlemen,"  Hollister's suave, cool
voice complimented the two guards standing nearby.  The grey-
suited man ran an appraising gaze over the silver hardsuit.
"We've acquired exactly what we were after, with no problems
and no fuss."
     "Thank you, sir,"  they chorused.  Hollister didn't
acknowledge them further, but walked over to stand a few
feet away from the restrained SkyKnight, the blue boomer
shadowing him.
     "Mind telling me what this is all about?" SkyKnight
asked, trying to sound like he didn't know what was going
on.
     "Don't play innocent,"  Hollister advised coolly.  "I
think you know exactly what this is about.  You're one of
the Knight Sabers, SkyKnight I believe is the sobriquet you
use, and I believe I have some unfinished business with
you."
     "I still don't know what you're talking about.  I'd
remember meeting scum like you if I'd....AAARGGH!!"
SkyKnight's voice cut off, turning into a pained yell as the
mech tried turning his spine into a pretzel, bending him
over backwards.  The pressure eased, and the tentacles
forced him again to a kneeling position.  Hollister had an
amused smirk on his face, and Bert's gauntleted hands
clenched in helpless fury as the smug bastard shook his
head.
     "Let me tell you a story,"  Hollister began in a folksy
manner.  He pulled up a nearby crate and sat down.  "Here's
the condensed version:  A few months ago, my partners and I
acquired some sexaroids for a project we were working on.
At the same time, we ran into someone with red hair and
green-brown eyes who'd been helping them, but we couldn't
identify him.  A short while later, he escaped, helping the
sexaroids to escape at the same time, and in the process he
destroyed one of our temporary operating locations.
Sometime after that, my partners and I found ourselves
confronted by the Knight Sabers, whom we'd never
inconvenienced in any way whatsoever.  They trashed yet
another of our operating locations, and I found myself
wondering just why they'd taken an interest in our little
business."  Hollister paused, looking thoughtful.  SkyKnight
remained silent, sudden dread of what was coming gnawing at
his guts.
     "I checked back on the history of the Knight Sabers,
what there was of it," Hollister continued, "and found out
that they'd been involved with a sexaroid-related incident
before: that D.D. Battlemover fiasco that SDPC botched big-
time.  The coincidence was a little too neat for my tastes;
further checking revealed that no remains of the battlemover
pilot had ever been found.  That of course, led to the
conclusion that one of the sexaroids we'd acquired had been
the one involved with the battlemover, which explained why
the Knight Sabers intervened:  they evidently considered her
an ally of theirs for some reason.  However, since we were
very secretive in how we acquired the `roid, there was no
way for them to have known it was us," Hollister paused,
staring intently at the now rigid silver suit.  "No way,
that is, unless one of them had been involved earlier.
Since their membership at the time was four women and one
man, it wasn't a great leap of logic to conclude that the
red-haired irritant we'd dealt with before must be
SkyKnight."
     "You're smoking drugs, buddy," SkyKnight said, managing
to briefly ignore the sudden dryness in his mouth and the
tight feeling in his guts that had appeared as he'd listened
to Hollister.  "I don't know anybody with red hair."  Oh
God, somebody had finally figured out who he was, or thought
they had.
     "Go ahead, keep bluffing," Hollister said smoothly.  "I
know that when we pry that helmet off you, we're going to
find a red-haired pain-in-the-ass inside that suit, and then
we can really get down to business."
     "You went to all this trouble just to find out who I
am?"  SkyKnight stalled, mentally bracing himself for some
kind of action.  He couldn't just sit there and let them
expose him; his mind raced frantically, trying to find
something to try.
     "Not quite," the blond-haired man replied.  "We were
interested in your suit technology anyway, and this was just
icing on the cake, really.  If I'm right, and I know I am,
then we're going to get a great deal of satisfaction out of
wringing what you know out of you.  This time I'll be able
to do it properly, and you're going to sing like a canary
when we're done."
     "You're out of luck, then.  I can't carry a tune in a
bucket."
     "Fine. Make stupid jokes,"  Hollister sighed.  "You
won't be laughing much longer, I promise you."  With that,
the grey suited man stepped forwards, his hands reaching
towards SkyKnight's visor.  SkyKnight jerked his head away,
and tried yet again to get free, but the cables entwining
him squeezed him into immobility.  The pressure was so great
he could barely breathe, even with his armour's protection.
Hollister's mouth twitched in an almost-smile at his effort.
     "You can't get away," he informed Bert.  "Just accept
it."  His hands grasped the red-eyeslotted visor, and tried
to open it.  Hollister frowned as the visor remained
stubbornly closed.  He stepped closer to the imprisoned
hardsuit, braced himself, and reefed on SkyKnight's helmet
again, pulling up on the visor with one hand, shoving down
on the suit with the other.  Other than bending Bert's head
back, he couldn't budge the helmet.
     "Open that damn visor,"  Hollister ordered flatly,
stepping back as an irritated expression at being thwarted
appeared.  "Open it now, or we'll tear it off."
     "Screw yourself, jackass,"  SkyKnight retorted
defiantly.  He gave quick thanks that he'd managed to talk
Sylia into using helmets with visors that could be locked
down. Trying to find out who was inside their hardsuits was
a favourite pre-occupation of a lot of their enemies, and
sealing the visors partially eliminated that risk. Now the
hardsuit helmets could only be opened by the suit's wearer,
or another Knight Saber with the proper access codes.
     "Fine, be obstinate,"  Hollister snapped.  He made a
curt gesture to the boomer nearby.  "We'll just rip it off,
then."  The towering biomechanoid clanked forwards, red eyes
flaring balefully.
     "No!!  Goddamn it, NO!!"  SkyKnight started thrashing
again, ignoring the pain that began to build as the mech
tried to control him.  The boomer would probably break his
neck trying to pull off the helmet while he was helpless,
armour or no armour.  It was do-or-die time, Bert realized;
this was his last chance to try to escape.  Gritting his
teeth, he threw full power to all his suit systems, then
gave the emergency overdrive command to his suit computer.
     Instantly, power hummed and crackled through the suit's
myomeric musculature, temporarily tripling its output.  The
interior of his hardsuit quickly became uncomfortably warm,
almost hot, as his powerplant began to overheat from the
sudden demand.  Bert threw everything he had into one last
heave; the tentacle holding his arms at his sides sheared
with a protesting metallic shriek and a flurry of sparks. A
blue-white energy blade sizzled into existence split seconds
later as SkyKnight slashed off the end of the other cable
binding his legs.
     A tremendous clang resounded in his ears as he was
thrown backwards, past the grey mech towering over him, by a
driving uppercut from the C-55.
     The silver Knight Saber rolled, twisted desperately to
his feet.  Four crackling red energy beams blasted through
the air, and bisected the now-charging biomechanoid,
dropping it instantly into a smoking heap.  SkyKnight
quickly dodged a leg swipe from the mech, and began
sprinting for what he thought was the exit, ignoring
everything else except the need to escape certain disaster.
     As he ran, Bert was prayed fervently that his suit
would hold out just a little bit longer; it didn't.  There
was a sudden power surge from his malfunctioning systems,
and the suit actuators burned out along with most of the
other essential systems.  SkyKnight staggered, tripped, and
fell heavily to the floor with a ringing bang as the suit
suddenly became dead weight on his limbs; he saw stars
briefly as his faceplate smacked into the concrete flooring.
Without the suit motive systems, he was left with nearly two-
hundred pounds of armour plating and circuitry on him that
had to be moved manually.  Given time, he could still move,
but time was a luxury he didn't have.
     "Well, well, well," Hollister's voice said
contemplatively from somewhere behind him.
"Technical difficulties?  That's too bad."  There was a
grunt of effort, and he felt himself being turned over to
lie on his back, staring up at the rafter-laced ceiling
overhead.  A smirking Hollister towered over him, the grey
mech looming even larger behind him.  The smirk disappeared
when Hollister, bending over, again tried to open his visor,
and found it still sealed shut.
     "Stubborn, aren't you?" he observed.  Sighing, he
straightened up, turning towards the armed men standing
nearby; they'd been caught by surprise by the sudden flurry
of events, and hadn't had a chance to move.  "We'll have to
improvise;  get me one of the demolitions charges, with a
timer."
     Inside his suit, Bert began to really sweat, as fear
began shredding his mind.
                            ****
     "Sylia!!!"  Priss hissed angrily.  "What the hell are
we waiting for?!  We've got to get him out of there now!"
She pulled back from the shattered windowframe she'd been
peering through; through the aperture, the Knight Sabers
could see a silver-clad form laying on the floor, with a
large mech standing menacingly over him.  They'd arrived in
time to see his last-ditch escape attempt, and were now in a
quandary over how to proceed.
     "Shut up and let me think!!"  Sylia shot back tightly
as her mind raced.  "We can't just charge in with our guns
blazing; that mech is too powerful to challenge directly."
     "They're gonna either kill him or find out who he is,
damnit!!"
     "I know that!!" Sylia snarled, rounding angrily on
Priss' blue hardsuit.  "But we've got to have some kind of a
plan first!"
     "Think fast, then,"  Nene's voice cut in, a slight
quaver evident in it.  "They've just put something on his
suit that my sensors say is a bomb."
     Sylia swore softly to herself, feeling time steal away
from her like sand through her fingers. Part of her did want
to just charge in like Priss wanted to, but a blind charge
wouldn't help SkyKnight; they had to have some kind of
plan....
     "Sylia, what do you want us to do?" The note of urgency
in Linna's question drove the fear and concern from her
mind, leaving a fatalistic resignation in its place. So much
for not blindly charging in.
     "All right," Sylia said crisply, "this is how we're
going to play this: Linna.."
                            ****
     "This is what's called a `shaped charge',"  Hollister
explained, as he bent down and placed a flat, black,
rectangular object on SkyKnight's chest armour.  The device
stuck immediately, as if being held in place by some kind of
adhesive.  By tilting his head, Bert could see a digital LED
readout on the end of the gadget.  The timer started running
as he watched.
     "Marvelous invention,"  Hollister proclaimed, stepping
back.  "A shaped charge directs most, if not all, of its
force into one blast in one direction, sparing the
surroundings any damage from the explosion.  It's all
directed at your chest right now, by the way."
     "Great,"  SkyKnight croaked through a now thoroughly
dry mouth.  Somebody help me, please! a terrified voice
pleaded in the back of his mind.  I really don't want to
die, especially not like this!
     "Of course," the blond-haired creep suggested casually,
"you could just open your helmet for us, and then we could
shut it off, sparing you a very unpleasant death;  I don't
really know if the blast will penetrate your armour plating,
but the physical shock from the concussion will turn your
vital organs into thick jelly.  I don't imagine that feels
very nice."
     SkyKnight wavered for a moment, almost surrendering as
the prospect of his imminent demise loomed very large and
ugly in his mind.  He wanted to live, desperately, but he
didn't really believe Hollister was telling the truth.  At
the same time, however, he didn't want to go through another
torture session, which was what would undoubtedly happen.
He also couldn't betray his friends; if they got a positive
ID on him, then there was a very real possibility of someone
tracking down the rest of the Knight Sabers based on that
information.
     "Go to hell," SkyKnight replied wearily, letting his
helmeted head drop back to lie on the floor.  "You're not
getting anything from me, you bastard."
     "Suit yourself,"  Hollister shrugged carelessly.  "We
can ID the remains, then."  Turning, he walked away, out of
his field of vision.
     "Damn it, somebody help me..." Bert whispered to
himself as he imagined the LED timer on the bomb spinning,
counting down the seconds until he met with oblivion. It
couldn't end like this! At least getting killed in a fight
with a boomer had some vestiges of dignity to it. Anything
had to be preferable to sweating the last five....four
minutes of his life away because some sadistic bastard
wanted him to crack.
     It was more than his own life on the line though, and
that was about the only thought that was keeping him from
giving in as the dwindling numbers on the bomb timer
flickered away. If it was time for him to cash in, he could
at least  make sure that the Knight Sabers didn't go down
with him.
     "You don't have much time left, you know," Hollister's
voice mocked from somewhere off to his left.
     A faint flicker of anger suddenly burned in the back of
his mind, igniting a few coals of stubborn defiance; all
right, even if the explosives did kill him, at least he'd
still be trying to move when the bomb went off. He wasn't
going to just lie there and let the smart-mouthed bastard
spout off.
     Bert swallowed against a dry mouth again as he tried
moving his dead suit, but couldn't get the leverage
necessary to roll over to a crawling position; his suit was
just too bulky and awkward when unpowered to be easily
moved.
     Maybe he could get a hand up to the bomb and remove it
instead? Gritting his teeth, SkyKnight worked at moving his
arm while sweat poured down his face. With agonizing
slowness, the silver-armoured arm began to lift and bend as
he clumsily moved a hand towards the device on his chest.
     "NOW!!!" The sharp command echoed in the cavernous
warehouse unexpectedly, startling him.
     Two streaks of colour, white and green, flashed over
top of him, propelled by hissing thrusters as they whipped
through his sight. A moment later, the thunder of gunfire,
and the hissing and crackling of laser beams filled the air.
There were several explosions, and a choked scream that
subsided into an agonized moaning.
     "Son of a bitch!!" he heard Hollister's voice suddenly
howl over the din. "Get them damn it!!"
     The roar of heavier weapons fire suddenly drowned out
all other noise; evidently, the mech had joined the fray, as
flashes of blue energy began lancing through the
increasingly smoke-clouded warehouse.
     "Shit!!" Bert snarled out loud as he tried desperately
again to move. He was a sitting duck out in the open like he
was, and the bomb timer was still running.  He had two
minutes left before things got messy, for him anyway. His
fumbling gauntlet was unable to detach the explosive sitting
on him though; it was stuck tight. Damn.
     That left trying to get away as his only real option;
with a grunting heave that sent screaming waves of pain
racing through his muscles, he managed to roll over and flop
onto his stomach as the raucous clamour of battle continued
to racket around him.
     Panting for breath, the silver Knight Saber began to
laboriously try and crawl towards where he thought the
warehouse exit was. Dimly the thought crossed his mind that
he had a rough idea of what Atlas must have felt like while
carrying the sky on his shoulders. Damn it, he could really
use some help here...!!
     "Hang on, we're here," a familiar voice came to his
ears, as he felt somebody take him by the arms and drag him
along the ground.  After what seemed like an eternity, Priss
finally succeeded in getting his dead weight hauled around
the corner of the doorway, out of sight and out of the
warehouse into the loading yard beyond. With a heave, the
blue-hardsuited woman flipped him around so that he was
sitting propped against the wall.  "That good enough, Nene?"
     "Yup, now just give me a sec...I've got to get a look
at it," Nene replied, as her red-pink suit knelt in front of
him. Reaching out, she gingerly examined the explosive stuck
on the silver hardsuit as her suit sensors hummed, scanning
intently.
     "I have never been so happy to see anyone in my entire
life," SkyKnight told her feelingly, as an intense wave of
relief spread through him. It died quickly when she swore,
something the young red-headed woman didn't normally do.
     "I can't defuse it in time, Priss!" Nene called over
her shoulder, sounding vaguely like she was going to panic
right there; he couldn't really blame her, since he felt the
same way. "It's a shielded electronic mechanism, and I can't
jam it. Even if I could get it open, I'd need a lot more
time to defuse it than we've got!" Bert glanced down at the
device, dreading what he was going to see.
     Sixty seconds to go.
                            ****
     Sylia flipped through the air again, boosting herself
into the rafters of the warehouse as streamers of cannon
fire from the grey mech below lashed out at her hurtling
shape. Gritting her teeth, she flipped around in mid-air,
hitting a roofbeam feet-first, bending her legs to absorb
the shock. Without losing any momentum, she immediately
launched herself into another flying dive to another section
of the warehouse as heavy slugs tore through the air she'd
briefly occupied.
     Sweat streamed down her face as she twisted and dodged
through the smoky air. Her suit wasn't really designed with
these kinds of acrobatics in mind; Linna's hardsuit was the
one with the extra flexibility, but staying in constant
motion was about the only way to avoid getting nailed by
that mech down there. It was incredibly fast on its feet,
and with its weapons. Its combat ability was nothing to
sneer at either; while tracking Sylia and trying to shoot
her down, it was also keeping Linna busy with its secondary
weapons systems. Somehow they had to disable it, even just
temporarily...
     Her mind racing, Sylia banked sharply on her flight
pack, ducking behind yet another roofbeam as a crackling
blue energy beam seared the air just behind her.
                            ****
     The flashing green shape of Linna's green hardsuit
vaulted and somersaulted end over end across the warehouse
floor, evading the coiling and snapping metal tentacles that
were lashing out in an effort to snare her. She wasn't
having a much easier time than Sylia was in staying out of
harm's way, especially since the mech was using weaponry
designed to foil her one advantage: mobility. If she got
snagged by those tentacles, it was game over for her.
     Panting for breath, the green-armoured Knight Saber
bought herself a few seconds by
diving behind a support pillar, rolling smoothly to her
feet. She used those precious seconds to examine her foe
while catching her breath, trying to see if she could
isolate some weaknesses of the mech's design to exploit.
     Her brief respite ended as the mech stepped around the
pillar, snapping its tentacles towards her again while
blasting another fusillade at her leader off in the
distance.
                            ****
     "It's no good!" Priss grunted as she staggered
backwards from SkyKnight. "I can't get a decent grip on the
damn thing, and it's stuck tight. Shit!!" The blue hardsuit
dropped to her knees beside him as she again pried at the
bomb casing on his chest armour. "We've got to get it off
him!!" Her voice sounded like she was on the verge of total
panic. "Nene?! Can't you do anything?!"
     "No!" came the agonized response as the red-pink
hardsuit stood wringing gauntleted hands. "Burning out the
timer is all that's left, and I didn't think I'd need the
EMP cannon tonight!!"
     "Well we've got to try something else!!" the blue
hardsuit declared frantically, wrenching again at the black
device. "Shit, it's gonna kill him!!"
     "Shoot it off," Bert said wearily, dropping his head
back against the wall. A kind of sorrowing resignation
filled him as he sat there. There'd been a few things he'd
liked to have had time to do....
     "What?!" Priss and Nene exclaimed in perfect sync.
"You're nuts!" Priss snapped. "That'll just ..."
     "I'm screwed either way!!" SkyKnight snarled back. "If
you don't try, it sure as hell will go off, and I'll be just
as goddamn dead anyway!! SHOOT IT!!" The LED readout in the
device on his chest clicked down with implacable finality.
Fifteen seconds...fourteen....thirteen...
     "Priss, for God's sake!" he pleaded. The blue
hardsuited woman reluctantly raised her arm, placing the
muzzle of her arm-cannon against the side of the explosive
casing as the weapon's capacitors began to whine urgently.
     Six...five...four...
     "Wait!" Nene suddenly shrieked. "Shoot the timing
device!"
     There was a brilliant, actinic flare of orange-red
light.
                            ****
     "Sylia! I've got an idea!" Linna's voice crackled in
her ears as she ducked yet another blast of gunfire from her
mechanical assailant. Her own return fire glanced harmlessly
off the slick grey armour of the mech as she shot upwards in
another twisting flip through the hazy air.
     "I'm listening," she panted into the comm channel. "But
try and make it quick; we're going to have to retreat soon.
I can't keep this up much longer." They really needed the
motoroids to be able to have a chance to compete with this
thing; the motoroid exoskeletons mounted heavier weaponry,
and gave the added luxury of heavier armour, both of which
would have been nice to have right now...
     "Can you get a shot at that thing's sensor pod on top?"
     "Maybe," Sylia replied warily, watching as Linna
backflipped a few  times to get out of reach of the mech.
Another laser blast tore through the air towards her, again
forcing the white hardsuit to dodge aside behind a support
beam. "It's not going to be easy to do, though."
     "I'd noticed," came the dry reply. "I need to get
closer to that thing, under it in fact."
     "Under it?" Sylia rapidly analyzed the idea with cool
precision. "You think it's got a soft underbelly?"
     "That, or at least no weaponry that can get me under
there," Linna agreed. "Everything on that thing is designed
to attack to the front or the sides; I don't think they
thought of somebody getting underneath it. I might be able
to cripple it enough for us to get out of here without
having to fight a running battle." The green hardsuited
dancer ducked and gracefully spun away from another whipping
tentacle. "If you shoot the sensors, that might give me
enough of an opening to get in there."
     "Okay, get ready then," Sylia replied tersely. "On the
count of three..."
                            ****
     Linna tensed, licking her lips nervously as she kept
just out of reach of the mech's writhing appendages. Even
though her idea sounded reasonable, she was not nearly as
sure about it as she'd have liked to be. Unfortunately,
extended contemplation was a very distant luxury at the
moment.
     "One," Sylia's voice counted over the comm. Linna shook
herself mentally, taking a deep breath as she cleared her
mind. In her mind's eye, she rehearsed what she was about to
attempt. It had to be perfect the first time; the war
machine looming over her wouldn't allow room for error.
     "Two." Linna skipped back another couple of steps as a
steely tentacle lashed through the air again, and then
poised herself to spring.
     "THREE!" Sylia's voice cracked over the channel. As
Linna surged forwards, she caught a glimpse of a white
hardsuit erupting out of the smoky rafters overhead,
dropping downwards in a spiraling power dive, twisting
around streams of laser and projectile fire. That was all
she had time to see, as she shot forwards on her jets, using
their thrust in place of the normal run that would accompany
her next move.
     As she'd anticipated, the mech speared a pair of
tentacles towards her; sweat broke out on her brow as she
used her jet-generated momentum to vault forwards over the
snapping cables into a handspring off the warehouse floor.
The world whirled crazily as the athletic Knight Saber
continued her forward cartwheeling, each flip avoiding the
mech's grasp with mere centimeters to spare. Above her, she
could hear the thunder of laser cannons, but couldn't tell
whose they were.
     An armour clad leg suddenly swept out towards her in a
sideways swipe, and a wave of icy shock swept through the
hardsuited dancer's mind; she hadn't expected it to do that!
Reflexes and conditioning took over immediately after that
initial shock; with utter coolness the green hardsuit
vaulted forwards again as the leg sped towards her. Timing
it perfectly, she somersaulted through the air, even briefly
placing her hands on the metal appendage for a pivot point
as it passed under her.
     Panting hoarsely, Linna rolled to her feet, and then
realized she'd made it; above her was a vast expanse of
machinery and armour plating, supported by four crablike
legs. Whatever was piloting the mech seemed to realize that
it now had a real threat to deal with, and began dancing the
machine around, trying to get her out from underneath it.
She almost snorted in amusement; given the complexity of
some of the dance routines she choreographed and performed,
keeping pace with a lumbering mechanical hulk was absurdly
easy.
     "Sylia, I made it!" she radioed, all the while keeping
under her bizarre dance partner as it clanked around
urgently. If it wasn't for the fact that a misstep might
kill her, it might even have been fun. "I'm going to see if
I can take it out from here."
                            ****
     "Finally!" Sylia rasped in reply, gulping in huge
breaths as she shot backwards into the rafters again on her
flight pack. Orange-red streamers of energy sliced through
the air from her gauntlet cannons, laying down a cover fire
for her retreat. "That thing almost had me a couple of
times." She shot sideways abruptly, avoiding the raking
beams the mech fired back at her.
     "You okay?!" her friend's voice came back immediately.
     "Scorched, but fine," the leader of the Knight Sabers
assured her. "Just hurry up down there; my power reserves
are nearly shot, and I don't know how much longer I can
last." She took a quick glance at her once-white hardsuit;
burn marks and scrapes from near-misses marked most of its
surface. Well, diving in headfirst had seemed like a good
idea at the time...
     Sylia winced as an incautious movement rubbed her
armour against the shallow gash on her left hip. Apparently
the mech had armour-piercing ammunition; a slug had torn
easily through her armour plating, grazing her. Since she
had to pay attention to what her foe was doing, she hadn't
been able to check on how serious it was. At least it didn't
feel like it was bleeding...
     "Okay, Sylia!" Priss's voice blared over the comm
frequency suddenly. "We're clear and we got rid of the
bomb!"
     "How is he....?" Sylia hated herself for doubting, but
it had to be said.
     "He's alive, but I won't vouch for his mental
condition," Priss replied, a faint touch of dryness in her
tone. "He's a bit .... shaken up right now. We've called
Sylvie, so the KnightWing should be here shortly."
     "Make sure she doesn't bring the plane within range of
that mech," Sylia warned sharply.
     "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," Sylvie's voice
cut in, adding a moment later, "Trust me."
     Sylia wasn't sure whether to laugh or start panicking.
                            ****
     "Right about .... there!" Linna jumped upwards, driving
her knuckle bomber into the underbelly of the mech, aiming
for what looked like some kind of control conduit. The metal
plating covering the machine's innards blew apart in a very
satisfying manner from the impact of the weapon, revealing
the interior machinery as she dropped back to the pavement,
again resuming her dangerous waltz with the combat machine
as its movements became more frenzied in trying to oust her
from such an advantageous position.
     The green-hardsuited woman examined the exposed wires,
circuitry, and other unidentifiable gadgets as she almost
absently kept pace with the mech. She wasn't an engineer,
but it looked like this particular conduit ran from a
control center to one of the legs. If she could cripple the
mech by damaging its motive systems, they'd have a much
easier chance of getting away. Well, time to get at it then.
     Gritting her teeth, she sprang upwards again, leading
with her knuckle bomber, energy crackling from the weapon's
discharge ports as she ramped up the power feed to it. Her
hardsuit arm sank into the mech up to the elbow as the
resulting explosion churned deep into the delicate machinery
inside, and she quickly yanked her arm back out, dropping to
the pavement and bracing herself for any reaction from the
mech.
     The reaction she got was not what she'd been expecting;
the mech stopped dead in its tracks, and she could hear
rumbling from within the big mech. The green-armoured Knight
Saber noted that the body of the machine was trembling
occasionally, in accompaniment to muffled thuds from within.
It didn't take her long to realize that she'd set off some
kind of feedback reaction inside it, and a slow grin spread
across her face.
     "I don't know what you did, but good job," Sylia's
voice crackled from her helmet speakers. "Let's get out of
here; we've already got Bert."
     "Just a second," Linna replied, glancing upwards again
at the mech's undercarriage. "I want to add some insurance,
and since it's being kind enough to hold still...."
     Monomolecular ribbons slid with a sibilant hissing from
their earpiece housings on her helmet; she'd gotten sick of
having her neck wrenched by opponents who managed to get
ahold of them, so she'd insisted that Sylia make them
retractable. Linna spun into motion, whipping the suddenly
charged ribbons around in a deadly arc, striking out at one
of the mech's legs behind the knee, where the armouring
appeared almost non-existent.
     The whistling ribbons sliced easily through the back of
the joint; a split second later, it sheared in a shower of
sparks and smoke before an explosion wrecked it entirely.
The green suited Knight Saber shot out from under the mech
on her flight jets as the big machine began to topple over
sideways.
     As the mech crashed to the ground, it tried a last
burst of cannon fire at its fleeing assailant; Linna winced
as a few of the shots whizzed by in uncomfortably close
proximity, but made it out the door of the warehouse into
the friendly embrace of the night. Darkness quickly
swallowed the fleeing green hardsuit.
                            ****
     "The GD-45 is critically damaged, sir," the technician
at the monitors said uncertainly, looking up from his seat
at the figure leaning over him. Hollister's face was cast
into sharp relief by the flickering light from the bank of
control panels and viewscreens in the back of the small van.
Combined with the baleful expression on his face, he gave
the appearance of some demonic apparition.
     "How badly damaged?" The quiet question carried an edge
of steel to it, but the glare that accompanied the inquiry
was directed at the viewscreen displaying a picture of the
downed mech.
     "There's no chance that we can salvage it before the
ADPolice arrives," the technician replied reluctantly,
watching his boss nervously. "If the transport truck hadn't
been destroyed, we might have been able to do it, but...."
he waved a hand helplessly. With the mech unable to move
under its own power, the only way to get it anywhere was by
tractor trailer transport. The warehouse firefight had been
brought to the attention of the ADP however, and there was
no chance at all that they could get another truck before
the police arrived.
     "Fine." Hollister's voice was chillingly cold. "Give me
the data you collected during the fight." He pocketed the
small floptical disk that the technician handed him, then
stared for a moment at the monitors again. Flashing red
letters ran across the bottom of the viewscreen showing the
mech, giving a detailed rundown of what systems had
sustained damage. The blond man's jaw clenched briefly.
     "Give Team Two the go-ahead for their op," he directed
the technician. "We're cutting our losses here." With that,
he reached towards the console, and keyed in a code
combination on a small panel. The panel flipped up,
revealing a large button.
     "But sir!" the technician protested, wide-eyed and
stammering as he looked from Hollister's outstretched hand
up to its owner. "We haven't recovered the pilot yet!
He's..."
     "He's fired," Hollister cut the man's protest off in an
icy voice, and pressed the switch.
     The image signal from the warehouse dissolved into
snarling static.
                            ****
     "Everyone's aboard; let's get out of here!" Sylia
ordered as the KnightWing's loading ramp snapped closed
behind Linna as she scrambled into the main cabin.
     "Roger!" Sylvie's acknowledgment was followed by a
sharp rise in g-forces as the plane arrowed almost straight
up, climbing for the high atmosphere. Linna was forced to
grab wildly for some kind of a handhold to keep from being
flung to the back of the cabin, and even Sylia had to make a
hasty grab for something to keep from being dumped
unceremoniously out of her chair.
     "Sorry about that," Sylvie's apology was about a second
ahead of the intended reprimand. "The ADP choppers just
entered the area, and I didn't think we should stick around
to get identified."
     "Okay," Sylia sighed, pulling off her helmet, taking
immediate relief from the delicious coolness of the cabin
air on her face. "Just try and give us a little more warning
the next time, all right?" She swiped a gauntlet across her
forehead, pushing her sweat-soaked hair back out of her
eyes, glancing down the cabin as she did so.
     A very beaten-up silver hardsuit was lashed down at the
back of the cabin. It was covered in gouges and cracks, and
a large sooty-looking burn mark covered most of the chest
armour. Nene's red-pink suit was kneeling next to the
damaged silver armour, and she was carefully scanning it to
assess the total damage. The suit's former occupant was
seated a few feet away, his elbows on his knees and his face
buried in his hands.
     A blanket had been draped across Bert's slightly
shaking shoulders, partly to ward off the chill from being
clad only in a softsuit, and partly in an effort to relieve
shock. Priss was sitting next to him, her helmet off and her
expression concerned. As Sylia looked over at them, the
young singer's gaze lifted to meet hers. Her red-brown eyes
glanced sideways, then back, and she shrugged slightly.
     Sylia stood up, and carefully made her way back to the
pair. Swiveling one of the KnightWing's seats around, the
white-hardsuited woman sat down across from Bert, exchanging
another concerned glance with Priss.
     "What happened?" she asked quietly, her glance shifting
between the two.
     "The bomb wasn't nearly as powerful as we thought,"
Priss replied equally quietly. "There was just enough of a
charge inside it to scare someone with a big flash, but
there was no way it would have caused any damage at all; it
wouldn't even have cracked glass." Anger flickered in her
eyes as she scowled suddenly. "The sick bastard was probably
hoping he'd crack under the threat of dying."
     "That's the way he operates; he enjoys seeing people
suffer," Bert's voice mumbled as Sylia opened her mouth to
respond. "He gets his kicks out of watching people squirm."
The tall red-head hadn't moved, and still had his head in
his hands. "I don't suppose anyone was kind enough to shoot
said sick bastard for me while they were down there?"
     "We didn't really get much of a chance," Sylia replied.
"We were too busy trying to avoid the mech."
     "And I didn't see him, or I would have," Priss added,
flames leaping in her eyes again. "You can count on that; I
owe the sonofabitch a couple myself."
     "Great." Bert huddled deeper into the blanket. Sylia
glanced at Priss, and took a deep breath.
     "Bert?" she asked gently, "can you tell us what
happened after we lost radio contact with you?" She watched,
concerned, as he heaved a sigh and sat up, dropping his
hands. Haunted greenish-brown eyes met hers, and she noted
how haggard he looked now; it was almost like he'd aged
years in the last hour or so. After the briefest of
hesitations, Priss slid an arm around him, trying to offer
some support.
     "I got the shit beaten out of me," he replied
succinctly. "I didn't even get the chance to fire back. The
mech just grabbed me and that was it."
     "I can sure believe that," Priss muttered, shuddering
in remembered pain at the results of her own ill-fated
combat mech encounter.
     "When I woke up again, I was in that warehouse, hanging
like a side of beef," Bert continued hollowly. "I...I
couldn't do a damn thing, and my suit was buggered up enough
that anything I tried was going to likely fry my systems on
the spot. Then Hollister showed up." An expression of
uttermost hate appeared, and for a second his eyes seemed to
glow with their own inner fire. "There he was, right in
front of me, and I couldn't do anything about it!" His teeth
were clenched, and his entire body had gone as taut as a
coiled spring as he recounted the events.
     Sylia stifled the immediate urge to shove herself
backwards in her seat to get away from him. "And then what
happened?" the white hardsuited woman asked quietly. As
abruptly as the flash of rage had appeared, it vanished,
being replaced by another haunted, almost terrified look.
Priss sucked in a sharp breath at the swiftness of his mood
swing, and the unexpected direction it had taken.
     "Bert?!" Sylia was shocked by the sudden change as
well. "What's wrong? What is it?!" Bert looked over at her,
and Sylia could see bone-deep fear at the backs of his eyes.
     "He's figured out who I am," came the strained reply.
                            ****
     Pale, sickly light washed down from the moon overhead,
illuminating the wispy tendrils of fog hanging in the air.
The dark shape of a building loomed large in the ethereal
setting, an island of shadow surrounded by streamers of
light. Not even a stray breeze rustled the leaves of the
surrounding forested area, and the night air was hushed.
     The droning roar of engines shattered the quiet of the
night as two black streamlined shapes shot overhead. The
larger of the two dropped towards the ground first, coming
to rest in the small clearing next to the house. The smaller
and sleeker aircraft remained airborne, skimming the
treetops as it pulled tight circles around the house.
     Sliding doors clanked open, and a stream of lightly-
armoured, black-clad men was disgorged from the helicopter
that had landed. Ducking low to keep away from the chopper's
still-churning rotors, the squad of men rushed towards the
darkened house. As they neared it, two pairs of men split
off from the main group and vanished around either side of
the house in a flanking maneuver, weapons at the ready. The
main group dropped into a defensive stance, coming to a halt
about twenty feet
     "All clear," a voice crackled over a radio frequency.
"No vehicles. Nobody here."
     "Roger. Proceed," a nasal voice crackled back. One of
the shadowy figures gestured, and a blindingly brilliant
streak of blue light lashed out from the weapon one of them
held. The flash from the searing explosion of the back door
of the house threw everything into harsh relief for an
instant, as if someone had just taken a snapshot of the
scene. With another rush, the swarm of black clad men were
across the deck behind the house, and in through the back
door.
     Once inside, they fanned out throughout the house in
pairs. Dust swirled and eddied around them as they
overturned furniture and rooted through cupboards and
closets. Ten minutes later they regrouped in the main living
room of the modestly-furnished house. A couple of them
flopped on the couch in disgust, while some of their
comrades searched the room further.
     "Nothing. Absolutely squat," one of them spat, swearing
as he turned away from the large brick fireplace at the end
of the room. "Just what the hell did he think we were going
to find here?! Allergies?!" The man sneezed violently as he
inhaled some of the dust his cohorts had kicked up.
     "Shut up!" the apparent leader of the group snarled.
The shadowy figure turned to another man holding a compact
scanning device. "Well?"
     "Behind there." The scanner operator pointed. "The
bookshelf."
     Multiple blazes of laser energy speared through the
gloom of the room, blasting the indicated furniture into
flaming splinters laced with fluttering pages of paper.
Behind the resulting charred heap of debris stood a large
steel slab, the faint seam running around its perimeter the
only indication of the fact that it was a door.
     "Get that garbage out of the way, and bring in the
plasma torches," the squad commander ordered. "And tell them
we've found it."
                            ****
     The pitch black darkness of the basement room was
broken by the baleful flash of a red light that began
strobing urgently in the control panel it was mounted in.
Circuitry and long-dormant relays hummed with renewed life
as the program driving them began to respond to the
circumstances that had activated it. Monitor viewscreens
flickered fitfully as they lit up, bathing the cluttered
room with eerie luminescence.
     Algorithms churned through the system's central
processor, finally arriving at a decision. Power was routed
to the transmitter arrays, and two pre-arranged, coded
signals were sent. One signal was beamed to a far-distant
telecommunications array connected to another computer
system.
     The second signal was directed to the first floor of
the house above.
                            ****
     "I can't cut this goddamn thing any faster!" hissed the
man kneeling in front of the steel wall.  "Whatever the
alloy is, it's too tough to just carve through it!" With
that, the man flipped down the protective visor he was
wearing, and returned to his work. Blue light flared again
as he applied the energy beam of his cutting apparatus to
the doorway, lengthening the jagged rip he'd already put
into the metal. Roughly one-third of the doorway had been
cut through.
     "Shit!" The leader spun on his heel and stalked away,
fuming. Time was marching on, and they had to get clear of
the area in at most another forty-five minutes. The next
routine police chopper was scheduled to fly by in that time,
and the only way to avoid discovery was to shoot it down.
That in turn would bring the regular police running, and
likely the ADP as well. Damn it, they had to hurry...!!
     A steely, rasping noise from the darkness of the next
room caught his attention. Eyes narrowing, he made a hand
signal to some of his men as he advanced cautiously towards
the room. Firearms were readied, and a pair of the armoured
men moved in front of the one operating the cutting gear as
their leader stealthily advanced.
     He stopped at the doorway, peering carefully into the
room. Well, IR wasn't picking up anything... Reaching up,
the mercenary fiddled with a control knob on the side of his
helmet, tuning his visor to a different imaging method.
     Something moved in the gloom in front of him, and even
as his weapon came up, metal glittered coldly in the semi-
darkness. There was a solid, wet-sounding `thunk' as
approximately four feet of edged steel drove through the
unfortunate man's chest, puncturing his body armour easily.
He was dead before he hit the floor, sliding off the long
blade that had impaled him.
     Gunfire  and energy beams lanced through the room,
turning it into an inferno of destruction.
                            ****
     The muted rumble and throb of the KnightWing's engines
as it drove for home was the only noise inside the cabin as
a slightly scorched-looking datadisk slid from a console
slot. Reaching out, Nene quietly plucked the disk from the
slot and sat, absently turning it over in her fingers for a
moment. The young red-head reached up and irritably brushed
aside a stray lock of hair that had decided to drop into her
eyes as she looked up at her silent leader standing nearby.
     Sylia was still staring at the now-blank viewscreen, a
pensive frown creasing her brow, her armoured arms folded
across her chest. Despite her vaguely worried expression,
there was an aura of intense concentration around her. She
hadn't moved during the entire viewing of Bert's flight
recorder data, focusing totally on what it had contained.
     Nene's glance slid sideways to where her green and blue
battlesuited teammates were standing, also in uneasy
silence. Both Linna and Priss looked slightly pale from what
they'd seen and heard, and were unsure of whether or not
they should say anything. Their gazes met hers briefly, and
she could see the same unease she was experiencing mirrored
in their eyes.
     Everyone's gaze returned to Sylia, although Nene noted
out of the corner of her eye that Priss kept glancing down
the cabin to where Bert was hunched over in a seat. The
hardsuited rock singer kept fidgeting slightly, and biting
her lip every time she looked at him, her expression
uncertain and uneasy.
     "Sylia?" Nene finally spoke up, the silence suddenly
seeming to grate abrasively on her nerves. "What are we
going to do?" Sylia blinked, and seemed to come back to them
from somewhere infinitely distant. Taking a deep breath, she
looked around at the rest of the team.
     "Nothing," she replied calmly. "We wait."
     "Nothing?!" Priss exploded. "Whaddaya mean,
`nothing'?!?! The bastard's figured out who he is! We can't
just sit still! Damn it, he's sure to try and get him when
he's not in his armour now!"
     "Hollister has come to a conclusion based on
coincidental facts," Sylia replied evenly. "He doesn't have
proof that his theory is correct; carrying on as if
everything were normal is the best option since it won't
provide further grounds for suspicion."
     "But shouldn't Bert at least lay low for a few days?"
Linna asked. "If Hollister has figured out who he is...."
     "To the best of my knowledge, Hollister hasn't located
Bert in his civilian life," Sylia stated. "Until that
happens, the best way of handling this is to carry on
normally. If he does know where Bert works during the day, a
sudden disappearance will only confirm his suspicions."
     "Oh, so you're gonna use him as bait then?!" Priss
retorted savagely.
     "What would you have me do, Priss?!" Sylia snapped,
finally revealing some traces of strain. "Hunt down
Hollister's organization and destroy them? Fine....do you
know where they are?! How many men there are? What kind of
ordnance they're carrying? Well?!" She glared hotly at the
younger woman, teeth clenched. "I'd like nothing better than
to put them out of business, but we can't right now, so just
get used to the idea. You're not the only person here that's
concerned about him, thank you very much!"
     "Sorry," Priss apologized grudgingly, smoothing out her
stormy expression. "I didn't mean it that way..."
     "If you're quite finished discussing me behind my
back," Bert's sardonic voice floated over to them, "do I get
a say in this?"
     "Of course you do," Sylia replied simply as she turned
around to face him. He stood up as she walked over to him,
keeping the blanket wrapped snugly around himself. "This
concerns you more than anyone, after all," she added,
looking critically at him as she waited for some kind of
response. His eyes met hers for a brief instant; she could
see the internal strain he was under mirrored in them.
     "I don't think Hollister knows my `normal' identity
either," he said slowly. "If he did, he wouldn't have tried
what he attempted tonight." He paused, taking a deep breath
as he fought to retain a calm appearance. "Based on that
assumption, I don't think I should just vanish either, not
right now at least."
     "But what if he does know?!" Priss asked, shoving
herself in next to Sylia. "Damn it, I ..." She suddenly
flushed bright red, right to her hairline as she realized
what she'd been about to say out loud. "I ... just don't
want anything happening to you," she mumbled.
     "I don't either," he replied. "Especially since I know
what would happen." He barely controlled the shudder that
rippled through him as his hands clenched.  After a moment,
the seizure passed, and he became relaxed again. "But would
you go into hiding if you were in my place?"
     Priss was silent for a long moment, as conflicting
desires warred within her. The tough, fighter part of her
was opposed to the hiding idea; it wanted to go and hunt
down Hollister and blow the bastard away with extreme
prejudice, not cower somewhere hoping to stay hidden. On the
other hand was the selfish urge to tell him yes, she would
go into hiding; she loved him and didn't want to either lose
him, or have to watch him go through more psychological
problems if he were caught and interrogated again. Her
shoulders slumped finally.
     "No," she admitted painfully. "I wouldn't." Bert gave
her a tired smile and sank back into his seat, rubbing at
his eyes wearily as the long night started to catch up with
him. The shrill scream of an alarm from the communications
console brought him leaping back out of his seat in
startlement, and he had to make a quick grab to keep from
losing his blanket.
     "The intruder alarm?!" Linna winced, clapping her hands
over her ears as she backed away from the source of the
awful noise. "Now what's happening?!" Sylia sprinted to the
console, throwing herself into the seat next to Nene. She
quickly punched a few keys, then frowned slightly.
     "It's not coming from my building," she told them as
she hit another button. "It's being relayed from..outside
the city." With those words, a map of the city flashed onto
the screen, showing a red blip located in one of the richer
suburbs of MegaTokyo. The location was fairly isolated, and
bordered on what looked like a park or wildlife preserve.
     "Shit!" Priss sucked in her breath sharply. "Isn't that
Bert's house?!"
     "Burglars?" Linna queried, then caught sight of Bert's
ashen grey face. "I take it that means no?"
     "The only security system at my place that's directly
wired to Sylia's system is the one for my basement lab," he
told her, sounding like he wanted to be sick. "Casual
burglars wouldn't set it off, because they wouldn't be able
to even find the entrance. That alarm means that somebody's
trying to break into it."
     "What exactly were you keeping there?" Sylia asked, her
head swinging around to pin him with an intent gaze.
     "Some odds and ends of junk, my computer, and," he
hesitated, then sighed, looking even more dolorous, "and
there's a hardsuit there as well."
     "This is not good," Nene murmured in the tense silence
that followed his statement. She didn't need to elaborate
further; their hardsuit technology was what gave them the
edge over their foes. If someone else were to get hold of
it.
     "Sylvie!!" Sylia tabbed the intercom switch. "We need
to change course for the outskirts of the city, right now!"
     "We can't," Sylvie's voice filtered back. "We've got
just enough fuel to get home; if I have to go too far off-
course now, we'll be walking. Our detours tonight cost us a
lot of fuel." Bert staggered backwards and dropped into a
convenient seat, his expression numb.
     "How fast can you refuel?" Sylia asked, shooting him a
swift glance.
     "Fifteen minutes," their pilot replied promptly. "Half
that if I can get some help with the hoses."
     "You've got it," Sylia promised, motioning to Priss and
Linna, then jerking a thumb towards the KnightWing's
cockpit. "How long until we land?"
     "About five minutes."
     "Roger that."  Sylia cut off the intercom, started to
turn towards Bert, then paused to look at Nene. The young
hacker was sitting quietly in her seat, watching her former
boyfriend with a mixed expression of worry and concern. When
she noticed Sylia's scrutiny, her expression shifted,
becoming calm and businesslike.
     "How badly is his suit damaged?" Sylia queried. Nene
grimaced, and keyed up the results of her analysis on the
screen.
     "It's not good, Sylia," she replied, understating the
data that was scrolling by on the screen. "Most of the
control circuits burned out from power surges when his
powerplant overheated, and some of the myomers in the
musculature were also damaged." She shook her head. "It's
got stress cracks in the frame from the pounding it took,
too. It won't be operational anytime soon if that's what you
meant."
     "Damn it," Sylia swore softly, then sighed as she
looked over at Bert, who'd quietly been  listening, his face
as expressionless as stone. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay
back at HQ," she told him. "With your suit out of it, I'm
not going to risk you getting yourself killed."
     "I'm going," he retorted, his voice flat. "This is my
problem as well as yours. Besides, I do have a suit."
     "Oh really?" Sylia's eyebrow quirked upwards, and her
tone turned a few degrees colder. "I'm in command here,
mister, not you; if I say you're staying, you're staying.
And just where did you get a second suit?" If he'd gone and
built himself a new one, against her express orders...
     "It's my older one," he shrugged. "It may not be up to
our current standards, but it's better than nothing." Bert
cocked his head at her curiously. "What's the fuss? We've
always kept our old suits for emergency backups, right?"
Sylia looked uncomfortable.
     "Normally I wouldn't object," she said slowly, "but if
these are Hollister's men again, taking old technology
against them might not be the best idea under the
circumstances." Bert shrugged again.
     "It's armour," he replied. "So it's a little clunkier
than current tech; at least it'll keep my hide intact." A
wry smile suddenly pulled briefly at his mouth at that
remark. "And besides, you'll need me to get past the
security safeguards on my lab, assuming they haven't been
breached."
     "All right," Sylia reluctantly relented, sighing. "Just
don't go charging off by yourself, okay?"
                            ****
     The blood-smeared merc slumped against the wall, his
breath rasping hoarsely as he tried to hold his
submachinegun steady with one hand. Blood dripped steadily
from his other arm, which hung limp and lifeless at his
side, owing to the vicious slash across his bicep. His gaze
never left the doorway to the room, where a pile of what
looked like crumpled metal plates lay in an untidy  jumble.
A foot or so away from an outflung metal gauntlet lay a
bloody sword.
     Shaking uncontrollably, the wounded man slid down
against the wall to a sitting position. A few feet away from
him, the other survivors of the carnage that had taken place
worked at the unpleasant task of cleaning up the bodies; the
order had come from Hollister that no identifiable remains
were to be left behind. A sudden resounding crash made
everybody start and look around wildly, expecting another
attack.
     "Okay! I'm through!" A jagged, man-sized hole gaped in
the steel door they'd found before all hell had broken
loose; the cut piece falling inwards was what had startled
the surviving mercenaries. The torch wielder stepped back
from the hole, snuffing out the plasma torch he'd been
using, and began packing up his tools; he'd managed to keep
working during the bloody fray that had erupted, although
he'd almost gotten skewered a couple of times.
     "Search the basement, and take what you can carry,"
came the crisp command over their helmet radios. "And make
it fast; you've got ten minutes before the next police
patrol gets here."
     Stifling the screams that wanted to come from the
jarring of his mangled arm, the injured mercenary struggled
back to his feet, tottering over to the hole and taking up a
guard position next to it. His comrades glanced at each
other, and then began carefully entering the dark hole one
at a time, weapons readied.
     Unnoticed by anyone, a metallic gauntlet flexed and
curled a few times, before the arm it was attached to
started slowly sliding across the floor towards the nearby
sword hilt. The ravaged pile of armour plates shifted
slightly, and coldly glowing blue eyes lit up inside the
helmet.
                            ****
     Long black hoses snaked across the hangar floor,
vibrating as jet fuel was rapidly pumped through them into
the sleek plane. A dark green hardsuit stood poised next to
the pump control panel on the wall, and a blue hardsuit
stood underneath the jet, shifting agitatedly from side to
side. Out of the way of the hurried fueling, a white
hardsuit paced impatiently back and forth, its blue-visored
helmet turning occasionally to glance down a dimly lit side
corridor.
     Running footsteps clanged hollowly on the flooring as
Sylia spun towards the noise. A moment later Nene's red-pink
suit sprinted into view from the far end of the corridor.
Sylia waited impatiently as the hardsuited young woman
charged up to her, trying to adjust a shoulder-mounted
projector of some kind as she did so.
     "Okay, I'm ready, Sylia," Nene reported breathlessly as
she skidded to a stop in front of the Knight Sabers' leader.
She shifted her armoured shoulders, reaching up and again
adjusting the compact EMP cannon sitting on her shoulder.
After not having had it available when it would have been
useful, she'd decided that carrying it along `just in case'
might not be a bad idea. "It still feels weird carrying that
thing up there, though."
     "Well, that can't be helped right now," Sylia replied,
then glanced irritably down the corridor again. "Where is
he?! We're almost ready to leave again!"
     "Well, he was already in his old suit when I left the
equipment room," Nene said hesitantly. "He said he had to
get something else though, but he wouldn't say what."
     "Marvelous," Sylia sighed disgustedly, throwing up her
hands and pacing again. Clangs and whirring noises from the
KnightWing announced that Priss and Sylvie had started
disconnecting the fueling hoses. "If he's not back in the
next two minutes, I'm going to..."
     An explosive blast of air whipped down the hallway,
carrying with it the loud whine of engines of some kind. The
droning intensified to deafening levels, and dust began to
swirl through the air as even more displaced air rushed from
the corridor, approaching the force of a small gale as a
long aerodynamic shape floated into the main hangar from the
side corridor. Coloured dark blue and silver, the winged
torpedo-like vehicle was hovering on downward-directed
exhaust streams, exactly like a Harrier jumpjet.
     As Sylia began a determined march towards the flying
machine, landing gear unfolded from recesses in its
underbelly like spindly insect legs. The WarHorse landed
gently a moment later, and the snarl of its engines fell
silent. SkyKnight stepped down from the seat, and stood next
to it as Sylia approached. As the white hardsuited woman
stalked towards the silver suit, Sylvie ran up the entry
ramp of the KnightWing, heading for the cockpit.
     "This is NOT the time for playing with your other
projects," Sylia told him flatly when she reached him. "Just
what the hell do you think you are doing?!" Behind her, the
KnightWing began to rumble ominously as Sylvie started its
engines again and began pre-flight preparations. Air stirred
restlessly in the hangar as Priss, Linna, and Nene boarded
the plane, leaving Sylia and SkyKnight staring at each
other.
     "You did say you were uneasy about my using my older
suit," Bert's electronically filtered voice replied. "I
figured taking the WarHorse would balance out any firepower
discrepancies there might be." The rumbling of the jet
engines rose to a scream, and the KnightWing began to move
slightly, taxiing towards a takeoff position.
     "All right, fine." Sylia suppressed the urge to grab
him by the throat and just drag him bodily onto the plane.
"We don't have time to argue about it now, but don't you
dare outpace the KnightWing on the way there, got that?!"
     "Loud and clear," he assured her. She nodded curtly,
and sprinted for the loading ramp of the ship as he swung
one leg over the seat of his jet cycle and began his own
take-off preparations.
     Hydraulic cylinders closed the entry ramp behind her,
sealing the sleek plane shut. Jet engines howled, and the
KnightWing shot down the short runway at the end of the
hangar, abruptly springing upwards and vanishing into the
night sky.
     With a much quieter rumble, the WarHorse lifted into
the air, hovering for a moment while its pilot made some
last minute adjustments. Finally, SkyKnight leaned forwards,
grasping the handgrips for the jetbike's controls while
making sure he was firmly mounted. Despite the
circumstances, he couldn't quite keep an excited grin from
forming as he gunned the throttle, blasting the WarHorse and
its rider out into the skies in pursuit of the KnightWing.
                            ****
     "Come on!!! MOVE it!!!" snapped a voice. "We've only
got about four or five minutes left!!"
     "You try carrying this goddamn thing then!!" one of the
men carrying what looked like a blue-black suit of armour
wheezed back irritably. "It's not exactly light!" He swore
again as he tripped on the long cape that was attached
somehow to the suit's shoulders, nearly dropping his end of
the load.
     "Damn it, pull that stinkin' thing out of the way!!" he
snarled aloud. "I don't need any more back problems than
I've got already!!" He panted for breath, sweat dripping
down  his face and splashing onto the inside of his helmet
visor as he and one of the other soldiers awkwardly
manhandled the armour suit up the stairs. Damn thing felt
like it weighed nearly two hundred pounds, and some stupid
jackass just had to go and put a cape on it...! Finally the
two mercenaries managed to lug the heavy suit into the
wrecked living room of the house.
     "Okay, we're up," one of them reported in relief. "We
should be out in another couple of minutes."
     "Was there anything else down there?" a new voice
inquired over their helmet radios.
     "We didn't have time to really check, Mr. Hollister,"
the interim squad leader replied, motioning the suit-bearers
to get out of the room. "There was some computer equipment,
but nothing else readily transportable."
     "Fine. Get back here on the double," Hollister's voice
suddenly had a touch of eager anticipation in it. "And make
sure you handle that suit carefully."
     "Roger that," the lead mercenary replied, watching as
the suit was carried out of the room, towards the back of
the house. "We're...." his voice died off as a metallic
grinding noise came from somewhere behind him. He turned
slowly, unwilling to find out just what had made the noise.
     His fears were confirmed as he finished turning; the
suit of plate armour that had attacked them when they'd
found the hidden basement had re-animated itself, and was
slowly climbing to its feet. Burn marks and bullet holes had
turned the once-silvery steel plating into something
resembling a scorched sieve, but evidently it hadn't been
enough damage to permanently stop the thing. Weaving
unsteadily, the suit of armour began a slow, plodding march
towards the remaining mercenaries. The long swordblade it
held glittered with dire promise.
     "Out!!! Everybody, GET OUT!!! NOW!!!" It was hard to
tell who the panicked shout came from, but everyone in the
room swarmed for the doorway at the same time, resulting in
a traffic jam of struggling men. One finally managed to
squeeze through, and began sprinting for the back door with
every ounce of speed he could get. The pile of struggling
soldiers behind him fell through a moment later, just as a
whistling swordblade slashed through the air, cutting deep
into the doorframe and wall above them.
     All semblance of dignity forgotten, the terrified
mercenaries dove for whatever exit they could find,
abandoning their weapons and hurdling the kitchen counters
or scrabbling frantically along the floor. One man dove
headfirst through a window, bare inches ahead of the
swordstroke that turned the countertop he'd briefly knelt on
into kindling wood.
     The last of the thoroughly demoralized mercenaries
burst out of the house, pursued by the clanking, lumbering
armoured shape. As the mechanical knight shoved its way
through the back door, two men near door of the waiting
transport helicopter opened fire, covering the disorderly
retreat, and the two men staggering under the burden of the
hardsuit they were carrying.
     Bullets whanged and ricocheted off the animated armour,
but its forward march didn't falter as it began bearing down
on the slowest of the escapees, the men carrying the
purloined suit. The sword it carried seemed to flicker
hungrily in the night as the blade came up and back, poised
for another swing as soon as it was within reach. One of the
fleeing mercenaries ran back and started assisting the two
men as they tried hurrying across the uneven ground.
     The two riflemen backed towards the helicopter, firing
steadily as the last of their comrades stuffed the armour
through the door, and then scrambled onto the chopper. Rotor
blades churned the air as they dove onto the chopper
themselves, slamming the doors closed.
     The dark helicopter lifted ponderously into the air,
away from the implacably advancing suit of medieval armour.
A moment later, its faster escort swooped around to flank
it, and the two helicopters climbed higher, disappearing
into the ragged, moon-lit clouds above.
     For a long moment, the robotic knight they'd left
behind seemed to be staring fixedly at the sky after them.
With a creaking movement, the battered suit of armour
dropped its sword to the ground point-first, and crossed its
gauntleted hands on the pommel as it waited for a new
opponent.
                            ****
     Wind whistled shrilly past two flying shapes as they
sped towards the outlying districts of MegaTokyo, moonlight
glinting off of their metallic surfaces. The KnightWing and
the WarHorse were traveling at fantastic speeds through the
night sky, but to Bert it seemed as if they were crawling
along the ground at an agonizingly slow pace. He was
positive he could sense their unidentified opponents
slipping from their grasp.
     "Sensors are picking up two contacts, moving away from
us," Nene's voice reported over the comm channel. "It's hard
to say from this distance, but I think they're attack
helicopters."
     "Don't even think about speeding ahead to try and
engage them," Sylia's voice crackled in SkyKnight's ears
even as his gauntlets began tightening on the handlebars of
his jetbike. "If those are the same kind of attack choppers
that Hollister had at his base the last time, you wouldn't
stand a chance in an air battle."
     "But I might be able to stop them from getting away..."
Bert started to reply, but Sylia wasn't about to buy it.
     "You might also get yourself killed," she retorted
shortly. "We didn't go to all that trouble earlier tonight
to have you go and get yourself blown out of the air later
the same night!"
     "But Sylia!" he protested, glancing at the dwindling
blips on his helmet viewscreen. At the moment, he was being
piped the information from the KnightWing's sensor suites,
since the WarHorse didn't mount that kind of long-range
sensor gear. His fingers twitched again on the throttle and
weaponry switches. "I've got to stop them!!! If they've
gotten anything from my house...."
     "Then we'll have suffered a minor setback," she replied
quietly. "It can't be helped now; what's done is done, and
..."
     "A MINOR SETBACK?!" SkyKnight threw a disbelieving
glance at the barely visible, midnight black jet below and
slightly ahead of him, as if Sylia could somehow receive the
effect of his incredulous look. "How the hell can you say
that?! I..."
     "That is an order, SkyKnight," the calm, steely reply
cut him off in mid-sentence. "The KnightWing is not a high-
performance jet fighter; you might be able to catch them,
but we can't. We're sticking together, and I expect you to
respect that order. Clear?" The channel went dead before he
had a chance to reply.
     Swearing savagely to himself, SkyKnight watched
helplessly as the blips on his display screen slowly faded
and vanished entirely.
                            ****
     The remainder of the flight passed in stony silence. In
the back of Bert's mind was a smoldering resentment at
Sylia's rather peremptory order that he stay put. Damn it,
he could have stopped them!! His jetbike was far faster than
conventional air vehicles, and a lot more maneuverable. It
would've been a snap to shoot them down..
     He again stifled the panic that threatened to erupt at
the thought of Hollister gaining even some of their hardsuit
technology. He could already do enough damage with what he'd
created himself; the thought of having someone as ruthless
as him being able to supply the highest bidder with superior
combat suits was even more frightening. How could Sylia call
this a minor setback?!
     Chilling fear knifed into the confused turmoil his
thoughts had turned into; Hollister. One of his worst
nightmares had re-entered the picture, and in such a way
that he'd been powerless to do anything about it. The
operation to capture him had been almost contemptuously easy
to accomplish, and had left him feeling scared, vulnerable,
and exposed. He found himself suddenly doubting if he was
even all that safe in his `normal', everyday life, and
squelched that particular line of thought before it spiraled
off into paranoia.
     Trailing wisps of cloud rushed past him as he and the
KnightWing broke through a cloudbank. Below them was spread
the outskirts of the slumbering city, scattered houses of
varying sizes in the midst of large stands of trees. In the
moonlight, it looked like the landscape of a shadowy dream
world, but he knew he wasn't dreaming; what he was likely to
find was all too real.
     Impatience finally took over. SkyKnight guided his
jetcycle towards the earth in a power dive, the souped-up
engines screaming exultantly as he angled for one particular
house that was even darker than the surrounding
neighbourhood. He pulled up into a low skim over the
treetops as the house zipped closer.
     "Bert!" Sylia's voice over his helmet speakers
reprimanded him almost immediately. "I said not to go
charging in by yourself!"
     "There's nobody there anymore," he retorted irritably.
"They got away, remember?" He bit off the sentence before
his tone could turn any more acidic. After a moment, he
regained a small measure of his equilibrium, and continued
speaking in a more reasonable tone of voice. "It's my house,
Sylia; I've got to find out what happened. We're not picking
up anything from there anymore, so it's a safe bet that
they're gone."
     "And what if they've left booby traps?!" his boss
demanded. "Ones primed to get anybody who comes rushing in
after they've left?"
     "I don't think they had the time to do anything that
elaborate, Sylia," SkyKnight replied wearily.   "They likely
wanted to just hit and run.they would not have had that much
equipment with them, or the time to set it all up." Strained
silence fell over the channel, and he could just picture
Sylia's face at the moment: not happy.
     The hurtling jet cycle broke over the edge of the sea
of trees surrounding the isolated house, and dropped sharply
towards the ground as he cut the forward thrust back. Jets
whined as exhaust flattened the grass, stopping the flying
machine and its armoured rider a few feet above the ground.
Slowly, the WarHorse began coasting towards the darkened
house.
     SkyKnight's redly glowing eyeslot swept the nighttime
scene before him, but both his sensors and the ones built
into his jetbike found nothing. Above him, a roaring whine
began to grow louder as the KnightWing caught up to him,
banking overhead and starting its landing cycle. The silver
Knight Saber debated with himself for a moment, and then
landed his flying machine, killing the engines as it settled
down on its landing gear. After casting a glance back at the
lowering jetplane, SkyKnight swung off his mechanical steed,
and began marching towards the house.
     A humanoid shape became visible in the moonlit darkness
as he neared the structure, and he slowed for a moment as he
ran a more detailed scan of the shape. It registered as a
metal hulk, with some trace electrical activity, but not
enough to indicate functioning circuitry of any kind.
     SkyKnight adjusted the nightvision capability his visor
provided, and the blurred outline of the robotic figure
resolved into what looked like a suit of medieval armour.
Bert recognized the battered shape, and a grim smile briefly
played across his face; at least part of his automatic
safeguards appeared to have worked. The question was, how
well had it worked?
     The silver-garbed hardsuit reached the stationary
knight, and stopped in front of it. Now that he was standing
close enough to it, he could see the myriad holes and burn
marks that had scored and perforated the entire surface of
the once silvery steel. Faint smoke trails were still rising
from some of the holes, and the unmistakable odour of burnt
circuitry reached his nose, even through the filters in his
helmet.
     The robotic knight he'd built as a protector for his
house didn't respond to his presence though, and even as he
scanned it, the last flickers of power that had been buried
deep within the wrecked automaton died completely. Reaching
out, the silver Knight Saber gently grasped the hilt of the
sword that the armour had been holding, and pulled it away.
Moonlight flashed on the sword as he held it up, tilting it
so that he could see the blade fully. A dark stain was on
part of the blade's edge, and another grim smile crossed his
face.
     "What the hell is that?!" Linna's voice coming out of
the darkness behind him startled him. He whirled, and very
nearly lashed out with the long blade he held. After a
confused second or two, he lowered the sword, sighing.
     "Please don't do that to me," he told her as her green-
hardsuited form appeared in the darkness. "I've had a bad
enough night as it is." He really needed to get some rest
soon; this night felt like it was turning into one of the
longest he'd ever endured. With everything that had
happened, he could feel his grip on his self-control
slipping slightly. A moment later, the hardsuits of the rest
of his teammates appeared from the darkness.
     "So what is that?" Sylia's voice echoed Linna's
question. Her helmet tilted as she looked at the dead robot
standing nearby.
     "That was my last line of defense," SkyKnight replied
wearily. "I don't know how effective it was tonight,
though."
     "That suit of armour you had standing in the front hall
was a boomer?" Priss asked disbelievingly. "Why the hell
didn't you ever tell us?!"
     "It wasn't a boomer," he snapped shortly. "It was a
robot, a very simple automaton with one directive: protect
the basement lab. If anyone found the lab, it was supposed
to have activated and driven them off. Otherwise it was just
a harmless hallway decoration."
     "Just driving them off?" Sylia queried.
     "If they were just lucky burglars, yes," he replied.
"However, it was also programmed to respond forcefully to
armed intruders. Judging by its appearance, I'd lay odds
that Hollister lost some men tonight." A mild satisfaction
spread through him at that thought, and a distant part of
his mind was repulsed by it. He ignored it, and sighed as he
glanced at the shot-up automaton. "I guess we'll have to
take it with us when we leave; it'll raise too many awkward
questions if the cops find a combat robot lying around."
     SkyKnight stepped up to the dead robot, and hoisted it
over his shoulder, still gripping the sword he'd taken from
it with his other hand. Without a word, he vanished into the
darkness, in the direction his teammates had come from. The
Knight Sabers waited tensely for him, the wind hissing
quietly in the trees and grass.
     After a few short minutes, the heavy crunch of his
stride heralded his return. The moonlight flickered off the
silver-clad Saber as he strode past his waiting comrades,
and began walking towards the house again. At Sylia's
gesture, the team fanned out and followed him.
                            ****
     Flickering light illuminated the room as SkyKnight
flicked the switch. Ominous sizzling could be heard coming
from the shattered light fixture in the ceiling, and the
glow from the remaining intact bulb was fitful at best. He
stepped into the room, followed by Priss's blue-armoured
form.
     "Holy shit," Priss's voice sounded awed as she stared
around at the room. "That must've been one hell of a fight."
SkyKnight didn't reply, but crunched across the debris-
strewn carpeting towards the jagged hole that had been cut
into the wall. Nene and Linna shoved into the room past
Priss to see what she was talking about, and a low whistle
came from Linna.
     There were blast marks from bullets and beam weapons on
almost every inch of the walls, although most of the fire
seemed to have been directed at the far end of the room;
there wasn't a doorframe anymore, just a ragged semi-
circular hole. Dying wisps of smoke trailed upwards from
heaps of debris that might have once been furniture.
     "Anything, Nene?" Sylia's modulated voice drifted
through the door behind them. A moment later, her white suit
stood framed in the hacked-up doorway to what had been the
kitchen.
     "What? Uh, no, Sylia," Nene replied, once she'd
recovered her voice and glanced at her scanning readouts.
"We're the only ones here. No foreign objects, either."
     "Bert?" Priss's quiet voice broke into the blackness of
his thoughts as he stood in front of the melted hole leading
to the basement, his gauntleted hands clenching and
unclenching. She stepped up to him, hesitantly placing a
hand on his armoured shoulder. "You okay?"
     "Not....really," he replied after a moment, still
staring fixedly at the black hole in the wall. His mind was
weltering in a complex mire of emotions, none of them easily
categorized. Seeing the ruin of what he'd considered his
sanctum from the rest of the world had left him feeling
violated somehow, exposed. Compounding the mental anguish
was the pained sense of loss; he'd really put a lot of
himself into this house, and now it was wrecked beyond any
hope of recall. "I...can't really.... I ...."
     "I understand," she quietly assured him, giving his
shoulder a squeeze. "We can talk later, if you want."
     "Thanks." A part of his mind was quietly grateful to
her as she stepped back, allowing him a measure of privacy
at the moment.









<LATER>


     "Nene?!"  SkyKnight tore the door off the van, not even
bothering to try using the handle to open it.  Metal
squealed in protest as it tore beneath his assault.  Light
flooded into the grimy interior of the van, revealing a
limp, red-haired form laying on the floor.
     "Nene!!" SkyKnight was inside in an instant, kneeling
by her side.  Nene's eyes were closed, and she was extremely
pale-looking.  She'd been tightly bound and gagged, and he
gently cut the ropes holding her with his swordblade, and
gingerly eased the gag out of her mouth.  He cradled her
slack body in his arms, trying to keep from shaking as he
carefully bore her out of the van, over to a patch of nearby
grass.  He eased her body onto the ground, stretching her
out, and again knelt at her side.
     "Come on, Nene," he pleaded quietly, shaking her
shoulder gently but insistently.  "Please wake up."  Her
head lolled slackly to the side, and there was no response
from her at all; in fact, she hardly appeared to be
breathing.  Icy fear lanced deep into his vitals; gritting
his teeth, praying he was wrong, Bert ran a detailed scan on
the young woman.  The ice in his guts abruptly exploded to
fill every fibre of his being with numbing fear.
     Nene was just barely alive; her pulse rate was
dangerously low, and her breathing wasn't much better.
Based on his limited experience with medical matters, he'd
have said she was very close to going into a coma, if she
hadn't already.
     "Oh God NO!" he burst out in denial as the thought
struck him with brutal force.  "Nene!!  Come on, wake up!!"
Everything started turning blurry as his eyes filled with
tears; in the back of his mind, something stirred and began
to rumble ominously.  "Wake up, damnit!!"  He started to
reach forwards to shake her again, but a white-armoured arm
appeared and gently restrained his reaching hand.
     "Easy," Sylia's modulated voice said from above and
slightly behind him.  "Priss and Linna are getting an
ambulance.  Just take it easy, and try to keep calm; shaking
her isn't going to help her."
     "Keep calm?!" he snarled, surging to his feet and
whirling towards her, gauntlets clenching in fury.  Sylia
involuntarily stepped back a pace as he towered over her.
"You expect me to keep calm?!  Nene's laying there,
just...just...and it's...my..."  SkyKnight's gauntleted
hands slammed into his helmet as he grabbed wildly at his
head, arching backwards, obviously in distress.  Everything
suddenly seemed to be awash in flames of burning anger, as
the rumble in the back of his mind exploded into a deafening
roar.
     Concerned, Sylia started to step forwards, but was
driven backwards a moment later, ears ringing from the
enraged howl that burst from SkyKnight's armoured form.  The
savage bellow was laden with white-hot fury, overlaid with
guilt and grief, and it seemed to shake the ground itself.
Sylia was positive it was heard all over MegaTokyo, since
everything seemed to stand still for a moment after the
echoes from the cry died out.
     "HOLLISTER!!!!! YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!! YOU'RE
DEAAAAAAD!!!!!!"
                            ****
     "My oh my, you're really scaring me," Hollister
chuckled derisively, leaning back in his chair. With a smug,
self-satisfied smile, he reached out and pressed a switch,
killing the transmission link to the remote surveillance
devices in the distant van.
     The image of a white battlesuit confronting a much
larger silver one was replaced by the blankness of a dead
screen as Hollister stood up from his desk console and
walked away.
                            ****
     "Bert!!  For God's sake, snap out of it!!" Sylia
pleaded.  SkyKnight didn't appear to hear her, but marched
inexorably towards the KnightWing, and the smaller, dark
blue vehicle with silver trim sitting next to it.  She
shoved on his chest armour again, trying to stop him, but he
continued to walk forwards as if she wasn't there.  The
treads on Sylia's hardsuit boots were leaving ruts in the
ground from the effort she was exerting in trying to stop
his advance; he was pushing her aside like her hardsuit
wasn't even there.  "This isn't going to help Nene!" she
tried.  "I realize you're upset, but please, going on a
rampage isn't going to help!"
     "I'm going to kill him," SkyKnight replied, an eerie,
flat tone to his voice.  The words were evenly spaced, and
chilling in their utter finality.  They were also the only
words Sylia had been able to get out of him for the last few
minutes.
     Behind them, two bewildered paramedics were carefully
easing a stretcher containing a comatose red-haired young
woman into the back of an ambulance, under the supervision
of a pair of hardsuits, one blue with red stripes, and the
other olive-green.  Priss and Linna had more or less
hijacked the ambulance in order to get it there, and once
the gravity of the situation had hit them, the paramedics
had lost their objections and immediately taken over,
stabilizing Nene's condition as well as they could.  They
hadn't been able to shed any more light on what was wrong
with her, other than to say it appeared to be an allergic
reaction to something.
     "SkyKnight," Sylia said sharply, her tone becoming
hard.   "This is a direct order:  Stop right now, and power
down your suit."  The silver hardsuit ignored her, still
stomping forwards like an automaton, gauntleted hands
clenching and unclenching.  Sylia braced herself again,
trying to halt him, but again, her suit alone wasn't strong
enough; he'd built his suit up too well, she realized. She
made a mental note to make damn sure his suit was rebuilt
into less of a juggernaut when this was over.
     The shrill wail of an emergency siren cut through the
air as the ambulance carrying Nene raced off towards the
city core, and the promise of better medical facilities.
Priss and Linna spun sharply as the ambulance left, and
began sprinting towards where the confrontation was taking
place.
     SkyKnight continued to march forward, shoving his white-
hardsuited leader back and ignoring everything but the
burning ache for revenge. His implacable advance had brought
him to within thirty feet of the KnightWing, and the
WarHorse sitting next to it.  Since reasonable entreaty had
failed, Sylia decided to try a different tactic, although a
cold feeling ran through her at the thought of the reaction
it might provoke.
     "SkyKnight!  Either stop right now, or I swear I'll
fire," Sylia ordered, sticking the muzzle of her palm-
mounted particle lasers into the front faceplate of his
helmet.  She let the guns run to full charge, and braced
herself, sweat running down her face.
     The silver battlesuit stopped in its tracks.  Very
slowly, SkyKnight's helmet tilted to look down at her, his
red eyeslot beginning to burn brightly.  Sylia felt another
cold wave of fear run through her as the looming battlesuit
in front of her stared silently, reeking of menace.   There
was a taut, dangerous feel to the air suddenly.
     "Get out of my way, Sylia," SkyKnight said hollowly,
his voice sounding like it was an effort speaking.  "Either
get out of my way, or shoot."   His hands clenched, and he
started shaking.  "Go on, shoot me goddamn it!"
     "You don't mean that," she replied. Just behind the
silver suit, she could see Priss and Linna's armour-clad
forms moving cautiously up behind him.   "I know you're hurt
and upset, but going off the deep end isn't..."
     There was a loud clang, and the world rocked crazily.
Sylia saw bright stars briefly flare in her vision as she
hit the dirt, helmet first, landing a good ten feet away
from the silver Knight Saber.  Gasping partly in surprise
and partly in pain, she rolled over shakily, clambering back
to her feet.
     As she tottered upright again, she could see a flailing
multicoloured tangle of hardsuits as the rest of the Knight
Sabers tried to subdue their enraged comrade. Priss had
grabbed SkyKnight from behind, and Linna was gripping one of
his arms. A blur of red and gray jumped into the fray as
Sylvie charged over from the KnightWing. All three of the
women tried to throw him off balance in order to gain the
upper hand and hold him, but they weren't encountering much
success; their silver-armoured teammate was slowly shaking
them off, swearing viciously the entire time.
     "Bert!!  Stop it!!"  Priss shouted over the angry
curses searing the air.  "This isn't going to help Nene!!"
She was gradually losing her grip on him, and so were the
other Knight Sabers;  SkyKnight was so enraged, he'd cranked
his suit into overdrive and was easily overpowering
everyone, regardless of the consequences it was going to
have on his systems, and on his friends.
     "GET OFF ME!!" The savage bellow that came from the
silver hardsuit sounded barely human, and utterly vicious.
"I'm going to kill him!!  He's not going to get away with it
again!!  I'LL KILL HIM FIRST!!!"  With a surging heave,
SkyKnight hurled everyone off of him and resumed his
relentless march towards his jet cycle as his hardsuited
comrades landed in a clattering heap.
     "SkyKnight! This is your last warning!!" Sylia shouted
at him.  "I'm not going to let you do this, so stop right
there!!"  There was no reply.  She hadn't really expected
one; in the back of her mind, she'd known that there was no
other way.
     "I didn't want to have to do this," she told him,
bracing herself in case her words did succeed in provoking a
response. "But you're not giving me much choice in the
matter." His implacable march didn't falter by so much as a
step.
     When Sylia had first designed the hardsuits, she'd
taken certain precautions to make sure that, should it
become necessary, she could stop somebody from taking their
suit on a revenge rampage before they went too far. Each
suit had master codes hardwired into its CPU, codes Sylia
could use to access and shut down all of someone else's suit
systems. At the time she'd designed that particular safety
feature, she'd thought she might have to use it on Priss at
least once, but that hadn't been necessary.  Instead, years
later, she was going to have to use it on someone who had a
perfect right to be angry, but couldn't be allowed to run
loose.
     Circuits hummed as Sylia's comm system transmitted the
proper access protocols to SkyKnight's suit.  The remote
access link was accepted by his computer  systems without
question; her access codes guaranteed that much.  Sylia
looked one more time at SkyKnight, hoping he'd come to his
senses, but such was not to be.  He was mere steps away from
his jet cycle, and in a few more seconds, he'd be on it and
taking off.
     "I'm sorry, but I can't allow it,"  Sylia said quietly.
The silver-blue hardsuit suddenly stiffened as the Knight
Sabers' leader shut him down, locking out his access to the
suit controls at the same time.   There was a resounding
clang as SkyKnight toppled over like a lightning-struck
tree, smashing faceplate-first into the ground.



<MUCH LATER.....>




                            ****

     -ACCESS DENIED. PASSWORD INCORRECT-
     Sylia stared in disbelief at the glaring red letters on
her viewscreen for a moment. Impossible!! The shutdown codes
were hardwired into the suit
     "That won't work this time." The flat statement brought
Sylia's stunned gaze flicking up from the readout to the
silver-armoured form standing at the end of the hall.
SkyKnight's hands flexed a couple of times as he shifted his
stance in a vaguely threatening manner.
     "I figured out how to block that code trick of yours,"
he informed her, his tone cool and matter-of-fact. "If you
want to stop me, then you're going to have to do it the hard
way."
     "Bert, this isn't going to help anyone; please don't do
this." Sylia was vaguely pleased that her voice remained
steady and controlled; her nerves felt anything but steady
at the moment. The last thing she wanted was a fight, but if
she couldn't remotely close down his suit, then that really
was the only option left to her if she wanted to keep him
from leaving.
     "I can't take it any more," SkyKnight's modulated voice
replied hollowly. "I've got to do something; I can't just
sit around and pray Nene gets better. If..." His voice
faltered for a moment, then strengthened. "WHEN she
recovers, I want to be able to tell her that bastard is
dead."
     "So what are you going to do?" Sylia asked curtly.
"Just storm around town and hope you find him? Smash into
some waterfront dive and hope to be able to scare someone
into revealing his whereabouts?"
     "If that's what it takes...."
     "And what if they won't, or can't, tell you anything?"
she cut him off shortly. "What will you do then? Break their
arms? Legs? Start killing them?" He flinched slightly at her
last sentence, then his helmet shook in violent denial for a
moment.
     "I'll think of something," he replied tightly. His
gauntlets tightened into fists. "I can't see where you've
been any great help in locating him, so I'll do it myself."
Sylia jerked at the verbal slap; inside her helmet, brown
eyes narrowed and became hard.
     "SkyKnight." The steely edge in Sylia's voice made him
glance back over his shoulder as he turned towards the
doorway. The twin muzzles of her palm cannons looked back at
him, gaping black and ominous. "This is your last warning,"
the white hardsuited woman told him in a flat, icy voice.
"Put that suit back. Now."
     "Going to shoot me, Sylia?" he inquired almost
conversationally. The two hardsuits stood staring at each
other for a moment. Sylia's stance didn't waver in the
slightest, but she didn't fire. A quick scan told him that
her guns weren't charging up.
     "Didn't think so. Excuse me, I've got a slimy bastard
to go exterminate." The silver-blue battlesuit turned its
back on her and started to duck through the doorway.
     "Damn you!!" Sylia spat angrily. She hadn't wanted it
to happen this way, but now she had no choice. Circuitry
hummed urgently, and a split second later, twin lances of
coruscating laser energy slashed through the air of the
room, slamming square into the back of the silver hardsuit.
     Smoke and shards of silver armour plating flew
everywhere as SkyKnight was hurled forwards by the
unexpected blast. The silver Knight Saber smacked facefirst
into the wall opposite him, and then collapsed in a clanging
heap on the floor of the hallway. Wisps of smoke drifted
from the scorched hardsuit as it lay there.
     Sylia stared grimly at the fallen figure, lowering her
arms and putting her weapons systems on standby; maybe now
he'd be willing to listen to reason. Her shots hadn't caused
serious harm - his suit was carrying too much armour for
just one shot to hurt him - but it had wrecked most of his
back-mounted flight system. The wings were in pieces all
over the floor, and the minature turbine exhaust ports were
slightly melted-looking. If he had any flight capability
left, it was going to be very limited. As she scanned the
downed suit, assessing its condition, SkyKnight stirred and
very slowly pulled himself to his feet.
     "Well?" the leader of the Knight Sabers asked her
rebellious teammate. "Are you going to put that suit back,
or do we have to continue with this idiocy?"
     "I haven't even started yet," SkyKnight rumbled, just
before he sprang at her.



{Anyone taking bets?  ^_^ }