The noisy babble of hundreds of people engaged in
innumerable, unrelated conversations filled the air of
MegaTokyo's huge airport terminal, the staccato bark of
announcer broadcasts occasionally cutting across the hubbub.
Huge wall-mounted flat-panel video screens flashed
information on airplane departure times, arrivals, and
delays at the milling throngs of people crowding the
building, the information sometimes prompting some people to
either make panicked sprints for loading gates or throw up
their hands in disgust. The mix of sound and light combined
with the press of the crowd was almost enough to disorient
even the most experienced international traveler.

     Sylia Stingray winced inwardly as somebody else bumped
into her for the umpteenth time, and again squashed the urge
to belt the next offender in the solar plexus. There were
worse crowds to have to endure, after all - nobody in their
right mind tried traveling on one of MegaTokyo's commuter
trains during rush hour unless they had no other choice. She
could live with the airport crowds...for a little longer,
anyway.

     The leader of the Knight Sabers was dressed in one of
her customarily elegant outfits, a frilled white blouse and
neck scarf accentuated by a light blue jacket and skirt with
matching handbag. Her blue-black hair was neatly styled, and
her dark brown eyes were concealed by dark glasses, adding
to the air of calm that surrounded her. So far, she had been
able to retain her nearly immaculate appearance despite the
chaos around her, no mean feat in the densely packed airport
terminal.

     Sylia's gaze raked the incoming streams of people, the
latest group of arrivals from some of the international
flights that had just landed. The object of her search
didn't seem to be inside the building yet, and she sighed to
herself as she was jostled yet again by the crowd. She
wished he'd hurry up and get off his plane so that she could
get out of this damn place; it was like being caught in a
herd of cattle around feeding time. As she turned her head
to look for him again, a familiar voice spoke from off to
her side, cutting across the airport's noise.

     "I know you haven't seen me in a while, Sis, but I
didn't think I'd changed that much."

     "Mackie!" The smile that broke through Sylia's usual
cool reserve was genuine and warm as she turned towards the
source of the voice, a young, gangly-looking young man in
his late teens with straight black hair, and brown eyes that
matched her own. Her younger brother managed to shove his
way past the last person between them, and grinned at her as
he stood in front of her. "Welcome home," Sylia told him,
trying to take in all the changes she could see in him. "How
did your final exams go?"


                    SkyKnight Productions
                      Proudly Presents
                     A NonTechnical Film
                       MegaTokyo 2035
                      The Knight Sabers
             "The Bubblegum Zone - Episode #11"
           Copyright (c) 2000-2004 Bert Van Vliet


Chapter 1:

     "Okay, try flexing your hand now."
     Ethan Hollister glanced sourly at the doctor and the
physiotherapist standing nearby, and concentrated on making
a fist with his left hand. Sweat sprang out on his brow, and
the skin on his face tightened as he fought to keep from
swearing out loud at the angry throbbing that erupted in his
arm as the fingers of his left hand twitched and began to
curl. He'd made it halfway when he had to stop; the pain was
just too intense.
 
     The physiotherapist, a younger woman with shoulder-
length blonde hair and wearing the universal white lab coat
that all physicians seemed to have, nodded encouragingly.
The doctor, a short, stocky individual with brown hair,
frowned and glanced from Hollister to the medical monitor
sitting next to the blonde man. On the screen, several lines
danced erratically.

     "You're still experiencing pain when you try moving
your hand?" the doctor asked, although his tone was more of
a statement than a question. Hollister nodded, his lips
compressed in a thin line.

     "It's like somebody's operating on the arm again,
without anesthetic," he informed the two medical
professionals.

     "The neural interface between your nervous system and
the arm needs some finer tuning, it seems," the doctor
frowned again at the monitors. "Those extra cybernetic
implants that you insisted on are complicating things to the
point that it's hard to pinpoint exactly where the problem
is." The doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I
wish you'd gone with the standard therapy instead of opting
for prosthetic replacements."

     "Your opinion has been noted," Hollister said coldly.
His left arm had been mangled in an explosion beyond almost
any hope of ever regaining full use of it. If he'd taken the
doctor's advice and just gone with the standard therapy,
he'd have had over a year of operations and rehabilitation
to look forward to, and no guarantee that he'd ever have
even close to full use of the arm back. Hollister hadn't
been satisfied with that - what was the point of bothering
to repair something if you couldn't get any use out of it? -
and had opted for what amounted to some experimental
surgery.

     Since a large part of the bones in his arm had suffered
multiple fractures, they had either been replaced with or
spliced with a material that closely resembled the
lightweight ceramic endoskeleton material used by certain
human-like boomers. As well, his muscle fibers had been
interwoven with myomer fibers, the 'muscle' fibers used in
most boomeroid actuation systems. It didn't give him
increased strength in any way - they'd have had to replace
his entire skeleton, or at the very least his shoulder, to
do that. The joints of the human skeleton just weren't
intended for the load that super-strength would put on them.

     Initially, the doctors had been worried about his body
rejecting the implants, but it seemed that his physiology
was accepting the artificial parts without question. The
biggest problem right now was that the implanted microchips
meant to provide him with control over his new muscles
seemed to be causing painful feedback along his nervous
system.

     "These things take time," the physiotherapist spoke up.
"Even though you're treating it like one, your body isn't
just a machine - you can't just tighten a few bolts and have
everything working again."

     "I haven't got time," Hollister spat. "I've already
lost far too much because of this arm, and your job is to
help me make up for that loss in as short a time as
possible. Am I making myself clear?"

     "Mr. Hollister," the brown-haired doctor gave him a
cool glance. "Threatening or even killing us won't make your
arm heal any faster. You opted for this procedure knowing
full well that it was still not fully tested.  You can be
pissed off all you want, but the fact remains that you can't
force this to go any faster than it already is. Now shut up
and let us do our jobs."

     Hollister glowered sullenly at him for a long, tension-
fraught moment, then nodded, reluctantly acceding to their
ministrations.
                            ****
     Priss yawned as she squinted blearily at the mirror
while pulling her long brown hair back into its accustomed
ponytail. Either her coordination was really off this
morning, or else her hair was just being obstinate on her.
It was proving to be exasperatingly difficult to get it to
stay put as she tried tying it back, although she supposed
she was still shaky enough from her stomach's violent
rejection of breakfast for it to be a factor in making it
difficult.

     She quickly squelched that thought when she felt her
stomach lurch in warning again, but after a tense moment or
two of waiting, it subsided. Priss sighed again, and gritted
her teeth as she went back to work on her hair. Eventually,
she managed to subdue it, although there were probably a few
defiant stray hairs that were still loose. Once she got into
her stage costume and wig, nobody would notice them.

     Priss glanced at her reflection in the mirror again,
critically assessing her appearance. She still looked like
she always did, an attractive young woman with red-brown
eyes and long brown hair. She noted with approval that her
figure, accentuated by one of her usual form-fitting
motorcycle suits, still looked pretty good. Although she was
probably going to have to look into getting a new bike suit,
she noted to herself a moment later as she stretched a bit;
either it was her imagination, or this one was getting a bit
snug around the waist on her.

     She peered closer at her reflection, but didn't see any
new lines in her face. However, there *were* some dark
smudges under her eyes, mute testimony to just how tired she
was getting from all the practicing and recording sessions
she'd been doing with the band lately. Three or four hours
of sleep just wasn't enough for the frenetic schedule she'd
been keeping during the day, not with regular nightly
performances added on top. She was going to have to talk to
the rest of the band about starting up a bit later in the
morning than they currently were. She was extremely grateful
that there hadn't been any Knight Saber outings required
lately - she'd probably have passed out on her feet inside
the hardsuit.

     Stifling another yawn, Priss stepped out of the
bathroom, and headed for the kitchen, her sock feet making
soft whisking noises against the carpeting. She glanced
around Bert's apartment again as she walked over to the
steaming coffeepot and poured herself another cupful, adding
cream and sugar. She took a cautious sip and waited for a
minute or two to make sure her stomach wasn't going to rebel
on her again. Thankfully, it stayed quiet this time. She was
going to have to see about getting herself checked out;
lately she'd had quite a few mornings with an upset stomach.
Either she was coming down with something, or it was time to
switch fast-food restaurants.

     Dismissing the matter from her mind for the time being,
she carried her coffee over to the couch and carefully sat
down with it. Sipping carefully at the hot beverage, the
attractive rock singer stared blankly at the slightly dusty
bookshelves across from her, her mind wandering over some
well-worn paths.

     It had been over two months since Bert had left on his
'vacation', and even though she'd been getting a regular
stream of old-fashioned postcards and the occasional phone
call from him, she'd found herself really missing his
company. She'd accepted the level of intimacy between the
two of them quite some time ago and had finally allowed
herself to open up to it fully. However, at the same time it
was still mildly annoying to find that she'd 'gone soft' -
she'd never been this affected by somebody's absence in a
long time.

     Living in his apartment while he was away was helping a
bit, but not much, since practically everything kept
reminding her he that wasn't around. She stayed put though,
since the trailer she'd been living in up until now could
best be described as uninhabitable. Staying here was the
most practical option.

     Before he'd left, Bert had asked her to move into his
newly reconstructed house in the MegaTokyo suburbs with him,
and she'd agreed. Most of her stuff was now packed in boxes,
which were crammed into every inch of space in the trailer,
including the space her bed normally occupied. She hadn't
thought that she'd had all that much stuff, but once she'd
tried sorting and packing it, the volume had seemed to
increase exponentially. She just hoped she wasn't going to
need to go back there and look for anything - the avalanche
would take days to dig out from under.

     At the moment she had more pressing concerns, like
getting to the morning's recording session on time. She
really hoped that this deal the band had managed to land
worked out; it would be thoroughly disgusting to have gone
to all this effort to have it flop. Besides, if CD sales did
well enough, the extra money would certainly be nice. It was
getting near time to overhaul her bike again, and that was
one thing that Bert was *NOT* going to do when he got back.
Doc Raven was more familiar with her bike, and he didn't get
innovative with tune-ups, either.

     Sighing to herself, Priss hauled herself out of the
couch and began preparing to head off to meet the rest of
the band. It was going to be a long day.
                            ****
     Sylia sipped at her cup of coffee as she turned the
page of the newspaper she was reading, her eyes traveling
across the lines of the news with practiced ease. The
morning's news was nothing spectacular, just more of the
same politics, scandal, and crime that usually occupied the
news. There were a couple of cautiously positive editorials
about the ADP and the restructuring it had undergone in
recent weeks, but it didn't say anything she hadn't already
heard. And since she had an inside line to what was going on
at the ADP, she wondered what the newspaper editorial would
have said had the author known all of the details of that
restructuring.

     Folding the paper, Sylia set it aside and stared
thoughtfully into space as she took another swallow from her
coffee cup. The improved situation at the ADP headquarters
was due mostly to the intervention of one middle-aged man
who had supposedly been a retired public security officer.
The fact that both she and Nene had been unable to uncover
much in the way of detail about Aramaki's past left her with
some uncomfortable suspicions, and the rather sudden
disappearance of some suspected infiltrators within the ADP
ranks wasn't helping to allay them. He couldn't have done it
all by himself, but there was no sign of an accomplice of
any kind.

     However he'd done it, she had to admit that Aramaki had
managed to salvage both the morale of the ADP staff and
forces, and their efficiency. Although the city government
was still fighting over budgets for the force, the ADP had
definitely managed to improve the mileage they were getting
from their current equipment. It was quite impressive,
actually, and it indirectly helped her by not having to
deploy the Knight Sabers every time a boomer went rogue.

     That in turn had given her the time to indulge in some
long-needed suit upgrades and redesigns, tasks that she'd
had to put off because of the urgency of the crises that
they'd been facing at the time. There'd even been some free
time to indulge in some research of her own on assorted
topics, and that was something that had been rare indeed in
the past.

     It was remarkably quiet all over, in fact, especially
since Hollister and his forces appeared to have gone into
hiding. Sylia was too experienced in the ways of the world
to even briefly entertain the notion that the blond man had
been killed in the firefight at that warehouse a couple of
months ago. She'd only believe he was dead when she saw the
body, and even then she'd probably still have doubts.

     Sylia shook her head suddenly, irritated at herself for
dropping into a dark, brooding frame of mind; that was not
the way she'd intended to spend the morning. She glanced at
the clock and frowned slightly - the morning was wearing on,
and there was still no sign of Mackie yet. She hadn't
thought he'd looked all that tired after his flight, and
although they'd spent a good deal of the previous evening
talking, they hadn't been up all night. Considering that one
of his usual habits for the morning had always consisted of
trying to surprise her while she was still not quite
dressed, she was mildly surprised that she hadn't seen him
by now; she doubted that university had changed him *that*
much.

     Uneven, shuffling footsteps dragging against the hall
carpeting became audible as Sylia sat there pondering her
brother's unusual absence. Mackie appeared in the doorway to
the kitchen, tousle-haired and bleary-eyed, stumbling
slightly as he made his way over to the kitchen table where
Sylia was sitting. Sylia's eyebrow twitched upwards at her
brother's appearance, but she didn't comment openly.

     "Good morning, Mackie. Would you like some coffee?" she
greeted him.

     "Hm? Oh, yeah, don't get up, I can get it myself," her
brother replied muzzily, yawning hugely as he detoured
towards the coffee machine. "How're you this morning?"

     "Better than you seem to be," Sylia observed with a
slight smile. "Bad night?"

     "Not really," Mackie shrugged as he poured a cup of
coffee and carried it back to the table, slouching into the
chair across from her. "It's just hard changing my schedule
around; I was pretty nocturnal at university for a while,
mostly because then I could get a lot of work done in the
labs."

     "Really?" Sylia's brow creased slightly. "Didn't they
give you lab time as part of your courses?"

     "Oh, yeah, sure they did," Mackie hurriedly gulped a
mouthful of black coffee and swallowed it. "But some of the
stuff I was working on I didn't want to have to answer a lot
of questions about."

     "What kind of stuff?"

     "Well, I was working on finding some better polymer
substitutes for boomer musculature," Mackie started ticking
projects off on his fingers. "I was also working on some
fuel cell technology to see if I could improve the mass to
power generation ratio, there were some design simulation
runs for the improved Highwaystar design I wanted to try
out, and...."

     Sylia stared at her brother for a moment as he talked,
seeing for just the faintest instant the ghostly image of
her father superimposed over him. Mackie had apparently
inherited their father's knack for invention ... and his
tendency towards being a workaholic. While there was nothing
immediately wrong with that, Sylia didn't want to see her
brother become exactly like their father had been - totally
absorbed in his work.

     Although she'd known that her father's work was
important, Sylia had never been able to totally quash the
faint residues of resentment she'd had as a young girl -
resentment over the fact that some heap of complicated
biomechanical circuits and power systems had been more
important to her father than his family. Sylia shoved the
memories to the back of her mind with an effort, and studied
her brother more closely.

     "Was that really necessary?" she asked him. "Hiding
your extra projects like that, I mean."

     "Well, yeah, I think it was," Mackie replied. "I was
doing stuff that was beyond the engineering classes I was
enrolled in, and I didn't want to have to sit there and
explain how I was able to do what I was doing. Besides, I
didn't want anyone trying to copy my ideas; you wouldn't
believe how much that happens to some people." He suddenly
grinned slyly. "It was worth it though, especially when I
saw the looks on the faces of the faculty people when I was
finished and had patented most of the designs."

     "You've already patented them? Why?" Sylia blinked in
surprise.

     "Because," Mackie's grin got wider, "it gave me some
leverage when I applied to write the exams to transfer into
the Master's degree program; after all, if I've got some
designs on the books then I'm obviously capable of doing the
work required, wouldn't you say? I haven't seen the exam
results yet, but I'm pretty sure I passed them all." Sylia
blinked again.

     "Isn't that rushing things a bit?" she inquired.

     "I didn't feel like waiting for six more years," Mackie
shrugged carelessly. "Come on, Sis, I could've done the
undergrad program in my sleep. I'd already learned a lot of
that stuff from you, Doc Raven, and my working on the
hardsuits. I had better access to information from all of
your enterprises than I ever had while at university - and I
learned a lot more as a result."

     "Hmmmm," Sylia looked a bit dubious. "While I don't
doubt your technical knowledge and abilities, there are
undoubtedly others who will; they'll likely try their best
to interfere with you in whatever way they can. Especially
the senior students."

     "Probably," Mackie nodded, then grinned. "After dealing
with rogue boomers and the stuff we've had around here,
though, I don't think I'm going to sweat it over a few
miffed graduate students." His grin widened as he took
another swig of his coffee. Sylia sighed and shook her head
as she looked at him.

     She was trying to think of some other way to approach
the issue when a soft knock at the door to her apartment
interrupted her line of thought. Glancing at the clock as
she rose, Sylia was pretty sure she knew who it was going to
be. Mackie was still inhaling his coffee and appeared not to
have heard the knock; he didn't even appear to notice when
Sylia got up to answer the door.

     Mackie was still swallowing the last of his coffee when
Sylia returned to the kitchen, being followed by a slender,
young woman with green hair and blue eyes. She was neatly
dressed and very attractive, and there was an air of
friendly cheer surrounding her. Mackie nearly choked as his
coffee went down the wrong way when he saw her, and he
suddenly became acutely conscious of his own unkempt and
scruffy appearance.

     "Anri, I'm sure you remember my brother Mackie," Sylia
introduced the new arrival, only showing the tracest flicker
of a smile as Mackie tried to surreptitiously smooth out his
hair while hurriedly standing up, nearly dumping his chair
over backwards. "He's back from attending university in
Germany for a few weeks of vacation."

     "Hello," Anri smiled shyly and bowed politely, and
Mackie suddenly found himself wishing desperately that he'd
taken the time to clean himself up. "It's nice to see you
again."

     "Uh, um, hi," Mackie flushed a little. "It's nice to
see you again too. How're you doing?"

     "I'm fine, thank you," Anri replied. "How long are you
going to be home for?"

     "At least a couple of months, although I can stay a bit
longer. It'll depend on my exam results, but I'm pretty sure
I aced them all."

     "Is university interesting?" Anri asked, a wistful
expression flitting across her mobile features for a moment.
"I've always heard a lot of people talk about how much they
enjoyed going."

     "It has its moments," Mackie grinned and shrugged.
"It's a lot of work sometimes though."

     "Anything worthwhile usually is," Anri replied, her
expression serious. "I found that out when I started working
on my nursing credentials."

     "You're a nurse?" Mackie seemed surprised.

     "Well, I like helping people," Anri smiled shyly as she
explained. "It's ..... I just like making people feel
better, that's all."

     "Well, there's nothing wrong with that," Mackie
grinned, then glanced slyly at his sister. "And I'll bet
that having a nurse around probably helps keep certain
people bandaged up, doesn't it, Sis?"

     "It has advantages," Sylia admitted, with just a ghost
of a smile as Anri giggled. "Although we've been fairly
light on injuries in the past few months, actually. I'm
rather relieved."

     "I'm not complaining either," Anri observed innocently.
"I usually have to threaten Priss with something to get her
to sit still while I'm trying to treat her, and it's a
relief to not have to bully her into something." Mackie
chuckled, and Sylia's smile was more open this time.

     "Well, we'll leave you to your own devices for the
morning, Mackie," Sylia told her brother. "Anri and I have
some work to do at Doctor Raven's place."

     "Anything I can help with?"

     "Not this time," Sylia demurred. "Most of the work is
already done; we're just fine-tuning Anri's hardsuit
settings." There was absolutely NO way she was going to let
him anywhere near the training facilities when she was going
to be fitting another woman with a softsuit. She didn't
think for an instant that her brother's lecherous leanings
had totally disappeared, and she made a mental note to make
sure to check the changerooms for hidden cameras later.
"Anri's hardsuit is going to be a model based on emergency
field medicine requirements, so I need her input on the
medical-related systems."

     "Okay, no problem," Mackie sighed, looking vaguely
disappointed and inadvertently confirming Sylia's hunch
about some of her brother's intentions at the same time.
"I'll probably go back to bed for a while then."
                            ****
     Nene hitched irritably at the harness holding her
shoulder holster in place under her uniform jacket as she
walked along the hallway, wishing it didn't chafe quite so
much sometimes. She still hadn't quite gotten used to it,
even after almost three months of having to pack it around.
She had entertained the idea of a hip holster a couple of
times - since she was almost always in uniform it wouldn't
have seemed out of place - but a couple of sly comments from
certain people about 'Nene the gunslinger' had quickly
scotched that idea. She'd quickly decided that the shoulder
holster was just fine, after all.

     The slender red-head paused for a moment and glanced at
her reflection in a nearby office window, appraising her
appearance. As usual, her uniform was clean, neat, and a
perfect fit, even with the almost imperceptible bulge the
holster was causing. Pleased and somewhat reassured by that
observation, Nene continued on her way to the offices
inhabited by the Investigations department.

     Ever since the reorganization the ADP had undergone,
the investigation division had been extremely busy. While
the bulk of the ADP forces still dealt with 'routine' boomer
disturbances, the Investigative division had been freed from
some of the constraints it had been operating under. While
they still checked into the root causes behind a particular
incident, there was now remarkably little political pressure
from the higher-level brass. That in turn meant that for
some incidents they were able to accumulate evidence
pointing towards corporate negligence - whether deliberate
or accidental - and actually stand a decent chance of
getting a conviction.

      GENOM, of course, had so far managed to duck anything
more serious than a verbal warning. That was due in large
part to its practice of hiding behind whatever subsidiary
company had been the initial scene of the boomer incident,
and then throwing selected members of the company's
management to the wolves. Slimy and underhanded, but very
effective - and GENOM certainly wasn't about to run short of
sacrificial executives either.

     Nene was mildly surprised that Leon hadn't been
snapping and snarling about that lately - he lived for being
able to pin GENOM to some kind of boomer incident, and had
never taken it well when he'd been either unable to or
prevented from doing so. And that kind of underhanded tactic
would be just the thing to start him fuming.

     After some further thought, she decided that Leon was
probably just happy that the politicking that had been an
almost routine part of their investigations had disappeared.
That alone was probably more than he'd ever even dreamed of,
given the hassles he'd had in the past.

     Of course, to be fair to Leon, he did also seem to have
matured somewhat in the last few months. Whether it was
Aramaki's influence or the added work that had been involved
in getting the ADP's morale back to where it belonged, Leon
seemed to have steadied down a little. Nene had been a bit
surprised by that; she'd always privately figured that Leon
would never change. His firebrand antics - especially with
several of the upper brass - were almost legendary in the
ADP offices.

     She finally reached the door to the Investigations
office and paused for a moment, listening. It sounded quiet,
so there was a good possibility that Leon and Daley were out
again going over an incident scene. If she was lucky, that
would mean some peace and quiet so she could get her own
work finished off.

     Sometimes found it to be a little hard concentrating on
her mundane work.....the extra duties she'd been given by
Aramaki to make sure the ADP's network was secure were far
more interesting, and sometimes it was a fight not to get
lost in tweaking the computer code here, or tightening a
protocol there. And then there was the fact that she got
access to supposedly sensitive information that was *very*
interesting reading.... she sighed to herself and reached
out to open the door.

     Stepping through into the office, Nene glanced around
as the door closed behind her and permitted herself a small
smile when she confirmed that the office was indeed empty.
With a relieved sigh, she loosened her tie with one hand as
she walked over to her desk and dropped the file folder
she'd been carrying to her desktop with a soft rustle of
papers. Shrugging out of her uniform jacket, she hung it
over the back of her chair before seating herself and
settling back into it.

     It wasn't quite comfortable enough to work, though, and
after a moment or so of slightly irritated fidgeting, she
pulled her sidearm from its holster and tossed it into the
top of the In-box where her paperwork usually accumulated.
Feeling much better, Nene opened the file folder she'd
dropped, pulled out a pen, and started going through the
reports it contained. After a page or two of reading, she
pulled a notepad from a desk drawer and started jotting
notes on it as she read along.

     Nene became so engrossed in the report she was reading
that when the door to Aramaki's office banged open, she was
unable to keep from jumping in her seat. As the flustered
red-head looked up from her work, an extremely irritated-
looking woman wearing an ADP uniform with sergeant's
insignia stalked out of Aramaki's office. Violet eyes
flashed briefly at Nene from a face framed by short black
hair as the woman jerked open the door to the hallway and
left, not quite slamming the door behind her.

     Nene blinked in surprise as she sat there, fragile-
seeming quiet slowly creeping back into the office. She
glanced uncertainly from the door to the outer hallway to
the door on Aramaki's office - now slightly ajar - while
wondering just what had been under discussion that could
cause Sergeant Kusanagi to storm out of Aramaki's office in
that manner.

     As she sat there wrestling with her curiosity, the door
to Aramaki's office opened again, and Aramaki himself came
out, sighing and rubbing at the bridge of his nose wearily.
When he noticed the young red-head seated at her desk,
paperwork spread out on her desk while trying hard to look
professionally unconcerned, his expression quirked into a
crooked half-smile.

     "Was there something you wanted to ask, Nene?" he
inquired. "A question about that report you're working on,
perhaps?"

     "No, sir, I'm managing quite well, thanks," Nene
replied, hesitating the barest fraction of a moment before
adding, "Is everything all right, sir? Sergeant Kusanagi
looked a bit....irritated about something."

     "She's usually irritated about something," Aramaki
observed dryly, shaking his head ruefully. "No, nothing's
wrong. The sergeant is just having some minor difficulties
with an investigation she's conducting at the moment.
Nothing to concern yourself about." Aramaki glanced at the
clock on the wall and straightened his tie. "I'll be in
meetings all afternoon if there are any emergencies
requiring my attention. Leon and Daley are out investigating
some rogue boomer reports out in the east end of the city,
so you'll have the office to yourself for the most part,"
Aramaki grinned slyly as he glanced at her. "Do try and stay
out of trouble while I'm gone."

     "Of course, sir," Nene replied loftily, adopting her
'sweet and innocent' expression without missing a beat. "I
wouldn't dream of doing anything else."
                            ****
     "Okay everyone, that should do it for the night," Linna
called out, ignoring the covert groans and sighs of relief
that came from everyone. "All of you did extremely well, but
we've still got some rough spots in the routines we'll need
to smooth over. We'll pick it up again in the morning, say
around 10:00 A.M., okay?"

     Without waiting for agreement from the assembled
dancers she'd been putting through their paces, Linna turned
and walked over to the benches sitting in the wings of the
stage, a satisfied smile playing about her lips. Behind her
amid the general noise of people packing up for the night,
she could hear a few people theatrically complaining about
how tired they were and the locations of their assorted
aching muscles.

     Linna wasn't bothered by the griping, though. By now,
both she and the other dancers had worked together long
enough to establish a good rapport. As a result, she could
tell when they were just complaining out of reflex, rather
than actual dissatisfaction with their situation. There was
a lot of good-natured razzing that went on during a typical
day, and it served to help keep everyone comfortable with
each other. So far, anyway.

     Humming quietly to herself, Linna reached the bench
where her duffel bag was sitting and scooped it up. She
paused for a moment, and glanced contemplatively at the bag
as she considered what to do next. She had a fresh change of
clothes in the bag, and the theatre did have showers in
behind the dressing rooms - but they were awfully small and
cramped, in her opinion.

     She decided against using the theatre facilities
finally; she was tired, and wanted to be able to relax at
home, and having a nice, hot shower in the privacy of her
own bathroom would go a long way towards accomplishing that.
Her mind made up, she quickly checked her bag to make sure
her belongings were still there and intact - especially the
keys to her apartment - then slung it over a shoulder. With
a quick wave to the few people who were still milling around
the now-darkened backstage, she headed for the back door of
the theatre building.

     Stepping out into the slightly cool night air, the trim
dancer let the door close behind her, pausing and listening
for a moment to make sure that the lock clicked into place.
Taking a quick glance up either end of the side-street to
make sure it was clear, Linna sprinted across the street to
the other side and began briskly walking in the direction of
her apartment building. Normally, she'd have tried to catch
one of the innumerable buses streaming around the city, but
she was still feeling pretty pumped from the day's routines
and workouts, and decided that walking off the excess energy
would be better for her.

     As she emerged onto the main street and sidewalk, neon
and fluorescent lights twinkled and blazed in a frenzied
kaleidoscope around her, accenting the assorted signs and
billboards that were plastered all over the city. Even in
the late evening, this section of the city was still alive
and buzzing with activity as people streamed into and out of
the arcades, restaurants, and other entertainments scattered
all over. Linna hardly noticed it anymore; she'd become so
accustomed to it over her years of living here it was just
part of the background to her.

     Not everyone was that inured to it though; newcomers
were always noticeable because of the bemused expressions
that they always wore when they first encountered the
frenzied energy of MegaTokyo's night-life. It was almost
overwhelming to encounter a city that never seemed to quit
operating - sometimes recklessly so -  at high-speed. The
ones that couldn't handle the frenetic city life never
stayed long and went to calmer locales.

     Linna glanced skywards as she walked, but there wasn't
much to see; although a few very bright stars twinkled in
the sky above, the light from anything else was drowned out
by the intense glow generated by the city. The refractory
effect created by the omnipresent air pollution over the
city didn't help any. As she watched, the blinking lights of
a low-flying airplane zipped across the night sky, like some
kind of man-made meteor.

     With a sigh, she returned her gaze to more earthly
concerns, just in time to avoid bumping into another
pedestrian on the sidewalk, his arms loaded with grocery
bags. If she'd still been gazing at what there was of the
night sky, she'd probably have run into him. She chided
herself for her inattention, and focused on getting home so
she could enjoy that long hot shower she'd promised herself.
Eyes narrowing in purposeful determination, she lengthened
her stride and quickened her pace.

     A half-an-hour or so later, Linna arrived in front of
her apartment building, breathing easily, but slightly
sweaty. She glanced up the street as she pulled out her
keycard to her building, swiped it through the reader, and
punched in her entry code. She frowned slightly to herself
as she pulled open the door, glanced up the street again,
then shrugged and went inside. Nodding in greeting to the
security guard stationed in the front lobby, Linna stepped
into a waiting elevator and hit the button for her floor.
The doors closed, and she turned her thoughts towards
relaxing for the rest of the evening as the elevator headed
skywards.

     Outside the apartment building, the man she'd noticed
reading a newspaper near the bus-stop wadded up the
newspaper in disgust and pitched it at a nearby garbage bin.
Of moderate height and build, he was neatly dressed in a
dark suit and overcoat. Pulling a slim cell phone from his
pocket, he punched in a number and held it to his ear as he
waited for it to connect.

     "Hello? Yeah, it's me," he spoke into the receiver. "I
missed her; she wasn't on her usual bus and she's entered
her apartment building. What?! Well how the hell was I
supposed to know she was walking?! What happened to the
jackass on your end who was supposed to be watching for her
in order to let me know when she left work?!" The man
glanced upwards at the building as the phone squawked in
reply, his mouth twisting in annoyance.

     "Well, she's inside now," he retorted irritably. "We're
just going to have to wait until tomorrow then, aren't we?"


Chapter 2: The Next Day...

     Katherine Madigan stared broodingly across her spacious
office, her chin resting on one hand, and the well-manicured
fingernails of her other hand tapping a staccato rhythm on
her desk top. The reports she'd been sifting through sat
frozen on the screen of her computer terminal, forgotten for
the moment.

     For some reason, she couldn't seem to focus on the task
at hand. There was a restless, dissatisfied feeling working
its way through her, and it was ruining her ability to
concentrate. She'd tried ignoring it, but without much
success. What was especially galling was the fact that her
analytical abilities didn't seem to be helping her in
attempting to isolate a cause for it. She'd always prided
herself on those abilities, but this time they had seemingly
deserted her.

     It was maddening.

     The last time she'd felt anything even close to the
preoccupation and frustration that was dogging her lately
had been several months ago. Questioning her judgment on any
activity related to Hollister, Quincy had temporarily
removed her corporate responsibilities and left her to sit
in the effective solitary confinement of her own thoughts
while awaiting his final decision on her fate within GENOM.

     During that period - in between bouts of dread over
what Quincy was going to do to her - Madigan had caught
herself wondering about her future and her life in general.
It had been unsettling to suddenly find herself dissatisfied
with her lot in life, and equally unsettling when she'd
realized just how little impact her removal from the company
would have. She didn't like feeling expendable, and had
gained sudden insight into how some of her underlings felt
at times.

     Since her reinstatement, she'd tried to keep the newly-
discovered dissatisfaction with her life under tight wraps,
sealing it away in the back of her mind in what she hoped
was an ironclad vault of emotional control. Apparently,
however, the iron had finally rusted through and the errant
thoughts had escaped to slither gleefully through her mind.
It was ruining her efficiency, and that in turn was making
her temper shorter and shorter as the day wore on - as a few
people had unfortunately discovered.

     Madigan sighed finally, and concluded that she wasn't
going to get any work done until she could do something to
clear her thoughts. Straightening up in her chair, she
closed the report file she'd been reading, and logged out of
the computer network. She scooped up the scattered array of
printouts and papers that littered her desktop, stuffing
them into a slim attach‚ case without really caring about
whether they got crumpled up or not. Snapping the case
closed, Madigan picked it up and strode briskly towards her
office door.

     Her secretary - a rather meek-looking young woman with
long brown hair, blue eyes, and glasses - glanced up from
her computer in surprise as the lavender-haired exec strode
from her office. Madigan gave her instructions to reschedule
the couple of appointments that she still had pending for
the day, and to forward all phone calls to her voice mail.
With that, Madigan left the office suite, and headed for the
wing of luxury suites that many of GENOM's executives called
'home'.

     Thirty minutes later, and she was settling back into
the couch in her living room with a cup of coffee. She
stared darkly at the wisps of steam rising from it as if
they were to blame for the mental funk she seemed to be
stuck in at the moment. There had to be something she could
do.....this was not a natural state of mind for her and it
was driving her crazy trying to get rid of it.

     Madigan closed her eyes for a few moments, forcing
herself to calm down before she succumbed to the urge to
start cursing aloud. She took a cautious sip from her
coffee, and again began sifting the possible reasons that
she was distracted at the moment.

     After several minutes of intense thought, she came to
the conclusion that GENOM was part of the problem. Or
rather, it was the fact that her entire life revolved around
GENOM....as she'd discovered during her brief period of
suspension. For some reason, that was no longer enough for
her. But why?

     She was certainly well-paid for her work, and had
accumulated a tidy sum as a result, but what good did it do
her? She never went anywhere except on company business, and
it was rarely a social call when she descended from the
heights of the Tower to investigate something. In fact, it
had been so long since she'd even done something as simple
as going to a restaurant of any kind, she couldn't quite
recall the event.

     She glanced around at her apartment, again noting how
spartan the decor was, and again feeling that odd chill at
the realization that her life could be neatly packed into a
couple of moving boxes if it became necessary. She didn't
care for the feeling at all, but try as she might, every
aspect of her life she examined was tied to the company in
some way.

     Kate's expression became slightly anguished as she
wrestled with that concept. Why, why, WHY wasn't that enough
anymore? She had a career that she was good at, and she had
the trust of the Chairman. By extension, that meant she had
unequaled power within the corporation....but she already
knew that power was fleeting at best, especially since it
depended entirely on being in Quincy's good graces.

     Outside of the corporation, she had nothing, and was
almost less than nothing. Her entire being was defined by
GENOM's limits. The more she pondered her situation, the
more certain she became that she needed to do something
about it. The question, though, was what?

     Madigan stood and carried her coffee cup over to the
apartment window, and stood there for a long time, lost in
concentration as the sun inched closer to the horizon.
                            ****
     "Hey, Linna, you didn't tell me you'd found a new
boyfriend!" Hiromi's sly voice intruded on Linna's thoughts
as she stuffed her gear into her duffel bag and zipped it
up. "When were you going to let us in on the secret?"

     "What secret?" Linna glanced over at her friend,
frowning. Hiromi was one of the main dancers for the theatre
company, and had gotten there through a lot of hard work on
her part. When they'd first met, Linna had been dubious
about Hiromi's talents as far as dancing was concerned. In
her admittedly biased opinion, she'd thought that Hiromi
was a bit too flighty to have the required discipline to
stick to the hard work needed. However, Hiromi had more than
proven her wrong - even going so far as to badger Linna into
staying late and giving her some extra tutelage - and in the
process the two women had become very good friends. "I don't
have a boyfriend....at least, not one I'm aware of."

     "Oh, right," Hiromi nodded sagely, reaching up and
pushing the bangs of her shoulder-length, glossy black hair
out of her eyes. "Then why is there a cute young guy wearing
an expensive-looking suit in the front lobby asking to talk
to you?" She cocked her head inquisitively, her eyes
twinkling with suppressed humour. "You're going to have to
show me your technique if you're reeling them in without
even trying."

     "Hiromi," Linna shot her friend an exasperated glance,
"I haven't had the time to even *think* about trying to date
anyone, let alone trying to get a steady boyfriend. I'm
telling you, I don't know who he is."

     "Well, he came in just before they closed things up and
asked to speak to you," Hiromi shrugged, adjusting the
shoulder strap of her own duffel bag, and pulling the zipper
of her red windbreaker up a bit further. "Want me to tell
him you've left already?"

     "No, I'll go see what he wants," Linna sighed, grabbing
her own jacket from nearby and shrugging into it. "I'd
rather not be wondering all night about it." She grabbed her
duffel bag and squared her shoulders resolutely with another
sigh. "Let's go and get this over with."

     The two women left the backstage area, hopping down
from the front of the stage into the auditorium area where
row upon row of empty seats gaped sightlessly at the
darkened stage. The quickly made their way up one of the
aisles of the theatre, to the doors leading to the front
lobby.

     As she entered the front lobby of the theatre, Linna's
eyes fell on a fairly tall, slender man with light brown
hair, dressed in a dark suit and an overcoat. As she
approached him, Hiromi trailing her, Linna gave him a quick
assessment and decided that he looked harmless enough; she'd
certainly never seen him before now. And he was sort of cute-
looking....although the way he regarded her as she
approached did make her feel a little uncomfortable for some
reason.

     "I'm Linna Yamazaki," she stated as she walked up to
him. "I understand you wanted to talk to me about
something?"

     "Ms. Yamazaki," the man bowed to her. "My name is Ken
Takayama and I work with the MegaTokyo Securities Trading
Bureau," the man pulled a wallet from an inside pocket and
flipped it open to reveal his credentials and ID. Linna made
a mental note of some of its details to check on later as
she glanced at it. "I was wondering if I could ask you some
questions about the period you were employed by Amarok
Stockbrokers as a securities trader at their Shinjuku
office. There have been some, uh, incidents there lately,
and we're trying to gather all the information we can about
the company."

      "Well, I think I'll be going," Hiromi suddenly spoke
up. Leaning towards Linna, she stage-whispered, "Try and get
him to take you to dinner; maybe you can find something more
interesting to talk about than money." With a sly grin and
sidelong wink at Linna, she headed out the front door and
onto the street. The man blinked in confusion as she left.

     "I'm sorry, did I come at a bad time?" he asked. "I
don't mean to...."

     "It's all right," Linna assured him, casting a glance
loaded with dire promises of retribution after her friend.
Hiromi merely grinned again impishly and waved at her before
vanishing into the crowd of people moving along the
sidewalks. "My friend was trying to be cute, that's all."

     "I see," he replied dubiously, his tone implying
otherwise. Shaking his head, he seemed to gather himself.
"Is there any place around here where we can discuss your
former employers?"

     "They're about to close up the theatre for the evening,
so we can't stay here," Linna told him, chewing her lower
lip thoughtfully. "There's a small coffee shop down the
block; if we can get a corner booth we should be able to
talk without any interruptions."

     "Fair enough," he nodded, then grinned faintly. "Since
I'm inconveniencing you, I'll buy the coffee."

     "Sounds good to me," Linna nodded. "Shall we go then?"
                            ****
     "Hey, Priss!" The voice cut across the low-level hubbub
of the 'Hot Legs' backstage area, drawing Priss's attention
away from the two technicians tinkering with an amplifier
console and its associated wiring. The show was over for the
evening, and they were trying to isolate the feedback
problems they'd been having with a couple of the speaker
units. "Got a minute?"

     "Sure, Masato," Priss turned away from the two techs,
mopping at her still sweaty face with one end of the towel
draped around her neck. The blonde wig she customarily wore
during performances was tucked under her other arm. "There
some kind of problem?"

     "I was gonna to ask you that," the burly bouncer
replied, glancing at the activity near her with cursory
interest. Brown eyes regarded her with veiled curiosity.
"Your boyfriend go and get himself in trouble or something?"

     "I sure as hell hope not," Priss tried to read Masato's
expression. Although she'd known him for a while, he'd never
been all that friendly towards her. Although, come to think
of it, he was never all that friendly with anyone at the
nightclub, including his co-workers. He took his job very
seriously, and it was difficult to talk to someone who
looked at almost everyone like they were a potential
troublemaker he was going to have to get rough with. "He's
out of the country as far as I know; has been for weeks.
Why?"

     "There was some broad asking around about him tonight,
although not by name," Masato shrugged. "It was the
description - tall guy with red hair and green eyes. That
sounded pretty much like the guy you've been stepping out
with."

     "Yes, I guess it does," Priss agreed, frowning to
herself. "What'd she look like?"

     "Trouble."

     "You say that about damn near everyone," Priss snorted.

     "Yeah, but this time I mean it," Masato shook his head.
"She was a pro; you could see it in the way she handled
herself." He hesitated for a second, then added, "And she
was packing heat; it was very well hidden, but she had a
shoulder holster under the left armpit."

     "A gun?" Priss felt a chill run through her veins.
Given the events of the not-so-distant past, armed people
inquiring after her friends usually meant one thing:
Hollister's goons. Her eyes narrowed grimly. "Tell me what
she looked like. Now."

     "About your height, glossy black hair that wasn't quite
shoulder-length, violet-coloured eyes, black leather outfit
with a trenchcoat over top. Oh yeah, and a hot figure,"
Masato grinned at the image his memory conjured up for him.
"She was a looker, even if she did come across as a cold
fish. Man, she was really built!"

     "I got that part already," Priss noted dryly, one
eyebrow twitching upwards as she folded her arms across her
chest. "Anything else?"

     "Well, she gave me the creeps," Masato offered. "That's
about it."

     "Gave you the creeps?" Priss echoed, frowning again.
"How?"

     "I'm not quite sure," he confessed. "It was something
about her eyes. I didn't really have a chance to figure out
what it was exactly."

     "Did she get anything out of anyone?"

     "Nope," Masato shook his head. "The only ones who'd
really know anything about him - and you - were backstage,
and I made sure she didn't get back here. I don't think she
got anything out of the customers either; most of them were
sloshed enough that they were positive they'd seen all kinds
of redheaded people lately."

     "I suppose that's some help," Priss muttered, more to
herself than anyone else. Now who the hell could it be? She
knew that so far as Sylia had been able to determine,
Hollister believed Bert to be dead and had called off all of
his flunkies. In addition to that, due to the aftermath of
the shipping yard brawl between the Knight Sabers and the
reconstructed Battlemover, Hollister had gone to ground
somewhere; they hadn't seen or heard even a whisper of
activity from his shadowy group.

     "Thanks for the heads-up, Masato," Priss gave the
bouncer a quick smile of thanks as she forcibly brought her
attention back to the present. "I'll keep an eye out for
her; maybe I'll try and find out what she wants."

     "Just be careful," the bouncer warned. "She didn't
strike me as the social type."

     Priss nodded, and he turned and left. She watched him
leave, an uncomfortable suspicion starting to gnaw at the
back of her mind as she mopped her face again with her
towel. Somebody inquiring at the nightclub about Bert meant
that they knew about her relationship with him; that was the
only reason they'd have come to the Hot Legs looking for
him. He'd made sure to keep as low a profile as possible
whenever meeting her there, so it was highly unlikely that
even regular patrons of the club would know what he looked
like.

     Of course, the band knew about him, and the backstage
workers did as well, but there wasn't really anything that
they could've done about that. At any rate, Priss was pretty
sure that nothing more than gossip or rumour would have
gotten out to the general public from them. No, if someone
knew enough about her and her red-headed lover to be
inquiring around the club, then the they'd have to have been
keeping either him or her under surveillance, and had seen
them entering and leaving Hot Legs via the backstage
entrance.

     Priss let out an exasperated breath, and brushed sweat-
slick hair out of her eyes. She'd managed to control the
incipient paranoia that had been threatening to develop
those few months ago when it had suddenly seemed like
Hollister's goons were hiding in all the nearby bushes, but
if this kept up, then she was definitely going to go nuts
imagining conspirators hiding everywhere.

     Shoving the concerns into a remote corner of her mind,
Priss decided that it was high time she left for the
evening. With a quick farewell to the two technicians, she
picked her way gingerly through the tangle of audio
equipment and cabling, making her way to her dressing room.

     Closing the door behind her with a sigh, she dropped
the blonde wig on its stand as she passed by it, and walked
over to the makeup table and mirror tucked in the back
corner of the room. The next few minutes were a familiar
routine, as she changed from her concert persona and garb
into her more normal, everyday appearance and clothes.

     The comfort of routine helped to soothe her troubled
thoughts somewhat, and she felt almost calm as she zipped up
her jacket, absently patting the slight bulk of the pistol
she kept tucked in the concealed pocket in the lining.
Reassured by the presence of its solid weight nudging her in
the side, Priss grabbed her helmet and gloves from the
corner by the door and left, banging the door closed behind
her.

     The cool night air settled around her like a chill
blanket, enfolding her with the typical sounds and odours of
the sprawling mega-city. Priss grimaced to herself in
distaste as she walked towards where her bike was concealed
in the shadows; judging by one of the ranker smells present,
a patron of the nightclub had been gloriously sick in the
back alley after drinking too much. Hopefully, he'd kept it
away from her bike....she'd polished it up earlier in the
day, and it would be a royal pain to have to do it over
again.

     Her bike was where she had left it, undisturbed as far
as she could tell. Swinging a leg over the bike and settling
herself into the seat, Priss took another quick glance up
the alleyway before pulling her helmet on. For a moment
there, she'd felt like she was being watched, but there was
nobody visible anywhere.

     After some fussing with her hair to get the helmet
settled comfortably, Priss moved the bike off its kickstand,
keeping it balanced and upright as she cranked the engine
into life. The engine snarled defiantly beneath her,
shattering the relative quiet that the alley had been
enjoying. Taking one last glance up and down the alley,
Priss pulled on her gloves, and settled herself into the
seat a bit more as she reached out and almost lovingly
grasped the handlebar grips and controls. With only a slight
squeal of rubber on asphalt, the racing bike shot out onto
the street and away into the neon-lit night.

     As silence returned to the alley, one shadow detached
itself from the others, moving just enough to be able to
watch the departing motorcycle. Violet-coloured eyes flashed
coldly in the darkness as a stray gust of wind tugged at the
flap of the dark-coloured trenchcoat the shadow was wearing.
                            ****
     "No, I dealt mostly with technology stocks," Linna
shook her head, taking a sip of coffee. "Even at that, I was
dealing with small investors. There was a whole other
division that dealt with the big corporate accounts, and
they pretty much kept to themselves."

     She set her cup down as she flicked a quick glance
around the nearly deserted coffee shop. She hadn't been in
this particular cafe before, but had heard about it from
some of her co-workers. Like they'd said, it was small and
cozy, with a few tables out in the center of the room,
subdued lighting, and soft music playing in the background.
Small niches with room for two or three people were at the
back of the cafe, providing both seclusion and intimacy, if
desired.

     "Pretty stressful environment, I take it?" Ken asked,
absently stirring his coffee. Linna nodded.

     "They had a burn-out rate that was incredible," she
told him. "Our department was bad enough - we had to hire
about four or five new people a month to make up for the
people leaving - but those guys were easily going through
double that, sometimes triple.  I guess dealing with
billions and billions of yen was just too much to handle,
although they did have a few people who never seemed to get
fazed by it."

     "Some people thrive on risk," he nodded."Unfortunately,
it gets them into trouble sooner or later."

     "Is that why you wanted to talk to me?" Linna queried.
"Somebody got themselves into trouble?"

     "That's part of the reason," he nodded. "We're
currently canvassing former Amarok employees to see what
they knew about the company's operations. In your case,
there was another reason for talking to you." Ken hesitated
momentarily. "Did you keep any of your access codes for
Amarok's computer systems when you left?"

     "Did I what?!" Linna stared at him. "Of course not!! I
made sure I handed all those in, and I made sure that they
erased all the key cards I'd used. Why?"

     "A few weeks ago there were several electronic funds
transfers out of some special accounts the company had set
up," Ken's eyes met hers levelly. "The access codes used to
do that included one of your old codes from when you last
worked for Amarok."

     "They were supposed to have purged those from the
system!"

     "Obviously, they didn't," Ken said dryly. "Yours
weren't the only old codes that got re-used, though; there
were two other former employees whose codes were co-opted.
Evidently, Amarok's in need of better network
administration."

     Linna sat in contemplative silence as she digested the
information. She'd always been scrupulous at keeping her
transactions clean and above board (well, except maybe for
that little bit of insider trading with Zone corporation's
stock) and finding out that someone had stolen her identity,
however briefly, to conduct some kind of shady deal was
upsetting.

     "You said that somebody had transferred the money out
of some special accounts," she suddenly noted, glancing over
at Ken. "What was so special about them?"

     "Oh, the fact that they're not on the books anywhere
might be considered special," Ken replied, a faint touch of
dry irony in his voice as he leaned back in his chair and
took a sip from his coffee. "We're still sorting out where
the money went *to*; we haven't had a chance to figure out
where it originally came *from* yet. My personal hunch is
that the money was either surplus profits from some insider
trading going on, or else it was there to be laundered."

     "Laundered?" Linna cocked an eyebrow curiously. "You
mean the Yakuza were using Amarok as a front?"

     "I never said that," Ken replied warily. "I just said I
*think* that's what it's from. There've been plenty of
companies that have been used for money-laundering in the
past, so it's certainly not impossible." He glanced around
the coffee shop as if expecting to see somebody pulling a
gun on them. "In this day and age, it could be anyone;
globalization, you know.....it doesn't have to be local
crooks."

     "I guess you're right," Linna nodded. "What are you
going to do?"

     "Keep looking; that's all we can do, really," Ken
grinned tiredly. "If we keep looking under all the rocks,
something should turn up eventually."

     "Well, I wish you luck then," Linna shook her head. "I
don't think I'd have the patience for that kind of work."

     "It has its rewards," Ken deadpanned. "After all, it's
not every night I get to have coffee with a beautiful
woman." Linna flushed slightly, then laughed.

     "Thanks for the compliment," she told him with a smile,
"but you're going to need to polish the delivery a bit."

     "It got a laugh, which is what I was after," he replied
with a smirk. "You were looking awfully grim there for a
while."

     "Most people are when talking to the cops," she shot
back, still smiling a bit. "Sign of a guilty conscience, I
guess.....everyone starts thinking about what they have or
haven't done whenever somebody official shows up."

     "I find it hard to believe you'd have anything to feel
guilty about," Ken remarked gallantly. "Besides, I'm not a
cop, I'm just an accountant acting like one." Linna laughed
again, then glanced at the clock on the cafe wall.

     "Well, as enjoyable as it's been, I think I'd better
get going," she told Ken as she reached out and gathered up
her jacket and duffel bag. "I've got to get an early start
tomorrow, and it's going to be a long day."

     "There's another kind?" Ken quipped as he stood with
her. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to me; I really
appreciate it. Have a good evening."

     "Good night," Linna replied. With a friendly nod to
him, she turned and left the coffee shop.

     Ken watched her leave, a faintly wistful expression on
his face. It disappeared behind a look of tired resolve as
he sighed and pulled out his cell phone.


Chapter 3: One Week Later...

     Madigan sat and listened to the low-level paper pusher
nervously drone on about the progress his department was
making towards bringing their security procedures up to the
corporate standards, trying hard not to let her expression
of cold detachment slip. Part of her mind was intently
picking his every phrase apart, and directing her hand in
making notations on her notepad about his report, but the
rest of her mind was carefully going over the preparations
she'd put in place, checking and double-checking to make
sure she hadn't forgotten anything.

     She again felt a surge of almost giddy, excited
anticipation, and ruthlessly quelled it before it could
crack her composure. Ever since making the decision to go
ahead with her plan, she'd had to tightly control herself
and her emotions. She didn't want anyone else to know what
she was up to, especially anyone that she worked with on a
regular basis, and something approximating a cheerful mood
from her would definitely have raised questions that she
didn't want to answer.

     She was, she had to admit, enjoying the thrill
associated with her plan; it had been a long time since
she'd been able to claim to be excited over something. Of
course, she also hadn't really done anything to be excited
about, once you looked closely at her life of the last few
years. Her life had fallen into a rut, and she hadn't really
realized it until recently.

     Eat, sleep, work, and plot - that had been the extent
of her typical day for almost longer than she could
remember. She'd become a corporate drone like thousands of
others in GENOM, the only difference being that she got paid
a lot more than they did. It was past time for a change -
she needed to get out and do something more with herself.

     Not out of the company - she'd already decided that
would never be an option - but definitely out of the rather
sterile embrace of the corporate environment, out into the
broader confines of 'normal' society. She needed to "get a
life", as she'd heard somebody phrase it once. She needed to
find something else to define herself with other than her
job and Quincy's dictates.

     That need had led to her plan: to set up an apartment
and identity outside of the confines of GENOM, an identity
that she could use as a periodic escape from the pressures
of her job.  It would have to be an outside identity - there
was no way she'd be able to get the privacy or anonymity she
wanted by operating from within the company, and she really
didn't want anyone else to know what she was doing. She was
wise enough to know that pride was part of the reason, but
at the same time she had no desire to become the subject of
the office gossip-mongers.

     There were risks, of course, but there always were to
any plan. She might be recognized by somebody familiar with
GENOM's upper management, but she wasn't really worried
about blackmail of any kind, so that one was minimal.  There
was the outside chance that she could be involved in an
accident of some kind - she had been in a protective
environment up until now, after all - but she wasn't overly
worried about that one either. Her biggest fear was that
she'd find herself in a situation where she'd have to resort
to revealing her identity, thereby destroying all the work
she'd put into her little project. By now, she'd become
rather attached to her alter-ego.

     Madigan suppressed the small smile that tried to quirk
at her lips. If anyone in the past had accused her of
sentimental attachment to, well, anything, she'd have made
sure they were exiled to bureaucratic Purgatory somewhere in
GENOM's fringes. And here she was being concerned over the
well-being of someone who, technically speaking, didn't
exist yet. The irony was exquisite.

     The department functionary was finally winding down his
dissertation, and she sighed inwardly as she summoned up her
usual icy demeanor.  Once she got rid of this twit, she'd be
able to devote her full attention to her project again. She
glanced quickly at her notes, confirming what she'd jotted
down.

     "You evidently didn't read the corporate policy
carefully enough," she told the man flatly. "Confidential
information has been misplaced in at least three cases that
I am aware of, and six people who have NOT been cleared by
security have access to sensitive documents. Additionally,
certain budget allocations still have yet to be adequately
explained, and the equipment that your department allegedly
purchased is still physically unaccounted for. You have one
week to correct those deficiencies, or I will be forced to
personally intervene and audit your department myself. Have
I made myself clear?"  The stunned bureaucrat started to
stammer out a feeble attempt at  protest, but Madigan's icy
glance stopped him before he could more than squeak.

     "Get out. Now," she told him. "Or a replacement for
your position will become one of the 'corrections' that will
be implemented to deal with this situation."

     Madigan watched in quiet satisfaction as the man all
but fled her office. After the door closed behind him, she
sighed and stretched, rubbing at a kink in her neck. It was
hard work maintaining an emotionless facade - any visible
sign of discomfort ruined the effect, after all - and
listening to hours of excuses and blame-shifting didn't make
it any easier to pull off.

     Shoving the lingering discomfort to the back of her
mind, Madigan opened one of her desk drawers and extracted a
slim folder from the very back, where the average person
would be unlikely to accidentally stumble across it.
Flipping the file folder open, she gazed at its contents: a
driver's license issued to her new alter-ego, the paperwork
for the apartment lease taken out in her alias's name, and
some other documents she'd needed to establish the reality
of her new identity.

     Madigan traced a finger over one of the documents,
almost caressing it as she felt again the quasi-guilty
thrill associated with the thought of carrying out her plan.
The official ID cards and license hardcopies had been the
hardest thing to arrange covertly. While the electronic
documentation had been the work of mere moments in the
computer system to set up, the only possible catch had been
in getting the hardcopy license issued and sent to her
without having to personally pick it up.

     Most government agencies were insistent on the person
to whom a license was being issued to show up personally to
receive it, but luckily, she'd known who could be
'influenced' to overlook the usual procedures. Once she'd
convinced him that the IDs had been required, and weren't
intended for any kind of illegal dealings, her new identity
had been delivered to her in a sealed package within a
couple of days - far faster than the weeks that an average
citizen had to wait.
 
    "Soon," she purred to herself as she held up the photo
ID card and looked at the picture on it. "Very soon."
                            ****
     Priss glowered at the speeding ticket crumpled in one
clenched fist, sparing a baleful glance for the small Honda
mini-patrol car as it pulled away from where she'd been
stopped. It just wasn't fair. How the hell could one of
those miserable little junkheaps go that fast? Just her
luck: she'd been pulled over by probably the only souped-up
car in the 'normal' Tokyo police department.

     Sighing in disgust, Priss stuffed the ticket inside her
jacket and pulled the zipper up a bit further, making a
mental note to never use the Bokuto region as a shortcut
again. About the only positive thing about this ticket was
that at least she wasn't in danger of another license
suspension. Well.....not yet, anyway. Maybe she could get
Nene to pull a few invisible strings for her to make sure it
stayed that way.

     With another sigh, Priss restarted her bike's engine,
and after a careful glance up and down the street, she
pulled out onto the main road and gunned the throttle. The
protesting squeal of spinning tires soothed her mood a bit,
and she relaxed as the streetlights began to whip past her.
She shifted gears and settled herself more comfortably into
the bike seat as her reflexes took over and steered the bike
towards her destination.

     As she drove along, part of her mind handled the usual
problems of driving in MegaTokyo - like avoiding cars
cutting her off with inattentive lane changes - and the
remainder of her thoughts busied themselves with going over
the events of the previous week. It had been insanely busy
with the final recordings for the band's CD, so busy in fact
that Priss was positive that they must've missed something.
Everyone had assured her that everything they'd wanted to
record had made it onto the disc's play-list, but she still
couldn't shake the feeling that something had been
overlooked.

     That preoccupation lifted a bit when it suddenly dawned
on her that a car had been quietly and unobtrusively pacing
her bike for the last ten minutes, matching both her speed
and turn directions. It was just visible in her rear-view
mirror: low-slung, with recessed air scoops in the front
hood and a streamlined body. It was very obviously souped-up
for speed - much like her bike - and in the gathering gloom
of early evening, its dark colour made it almost invisible,
even with the streetlights.

     Now completely alert, Priss carefully watched the car's
image in her mirror while trying to simultaneously maintain
a relaxed appearance and pay attention to the road in front
of her. The driver was very practiced, she noted - staying
just at the range needed to keep her in sight, even if she
turned a corner. They were even managing a few lane changes
to keep from looking too obvious about their tailing.
Although there were a lot of black or dark blue cars in the
city, she *knew* after several minutes that this was the
same car tailing her; its silhouette was unique enough to
guarantee that.

     Priss scowled to herself as she fought down an
unaccustomed surge of panic. First it had been that snoop at
the club, and now this. She fervently hoped that this wasn't
the signal that heralded the reappearance of Hollister's men
in the lives of herself and her friends. While Hollister had
been beaten the last time out, the personal costs to certain
people had been harsh, and she didn't want to see that
happen to them again.

     "So now what do I do?" she muttered to herself. Sylia
would know what to do, or at least be able to suggest
something to throw them off the scent; the problem was that
she couldn't just pull over to phone her. Anything out of
the ordinary would tip her shadows off, and besides, they
might decide to try grabbing her if she stopped somewhere to
use a phone.

     They're not going to get that chance, she decided
grimly. If they wanted to try and snatch her, then they were
going to have to work for it. If she lost them, so much the
better; if they kept up, it would prove that they didn't
have friendly intent, and she could risk signaling Sylia
with her watch if she really got in over her head. Hunching
down over the bike's handlebars, Priss settled herself into
her seat, glanced once more at the reflection of the car
stealthily tailing her, and then gunned the throttle.

     The exultant howl of the motorcycle's engine almost
drowned out the squealing tires, and Priss fought
momentarily to keep the bike from popping an inadvertent
wheelie. Rubber screamed shrilly as her bike's tires spun
for a second before gripping the asphalt and hurling her and
her motorcycle forward. Streetlights whipped past in a rapid
succession of white blurs as she accelerated, then banked
hard right around a corner. Skill and grim determination
prevented the bike from skidding out from under her, and she
revved the throttle again, throwing her bike down the side
street she'd veered on to.

     Thankfully, the traffic was light as she shot back onto
a main traffic route - normally the Tokyo streets at this
time of night were still densely packed with commuters
straggling home on the tail end of the rush hour. With the
unusually sparse traffic, she was able to maneuver around
the slower cars without too much difficulty. If she was
lucky, there wouldn't be any stray cop cars in the area
looking for speeders; she didn't really need to get pulled
over again, especially not now.

     Flicking a glance at one of the overhead street signs,
Priss banked hard left down another side street, narrowly
missing an unsuspecting green Honda hatchback that had
started into the intersection. An angry yell and a blast
from a car horn followed her, but quickly faded into the
distance as she sped onwards.

     A few blocks, and several hair-raisingly near-
collisions later, she shot up the on-ramp to the Tokyo
Bayshore loop of the city's freeway system. Priss smoothly
merged with the traffic flow, and quickly worked herself
into the inner, higher-speed passing lane of the highway.
For early evening, the traffic was a lot lighter than usual,
and Priss finally began to allow herself to relax a bit. She
hadn't seen any sign of her shadowy pursuers for several
minutes, and she finally began to allow herself to believe
that she'd managed to give them the slip.

      "Sylia's going to want to know about this, that's  for
damn  sure," Priss muttered to herself. She had  a  sneaking
suspicion  that  the black car was somehow  related  to  the
woman Masato had said was asking about her and Bert back  at
the  club; Sylia would probably want to know about  that  as
well. Priss sighed heavily to herself; it looked like things
were about to get interesting again, and not necessarily  in
a good way...
                            ****
     Linna  glanced around the front lobby of the recreation
centre  as  she entered, letting the heavy plate glass  door
bang  closed behind her. As she'd expected, there  wasn't  a
lot  of  activity for an early evening, although  she  could
hear  muffled music with a definite techno-beat to it coming
from upstairs. A fitness class, probably.

      Just before leaving on his enforced vacation, Bert had
arranged  for a fairly extensive renovation of his building,
one that made it a bit more attractive to people who weren't
quite  as  specialized in their interests  as  he  was.  The
renovations had finally been completed about six weeks  ago,
and  looking around, Linna had to admit that he'd made  some
good  decisions.  The ground floor had  undergone  the  most
radical change by having the archery range stripped out  and
moved  to an upstairs location. With the space freed  up  by
this change, the front lobby had been changed into more of a
lounge  or waiting area, with clusters of comfortably padded
chairs gathered around low tables.

      Old  magazines  and books were piled untidily  in  the
center of some of them, and other reading material had  been
stuffed unceremoniously in several bookcases that lined  the
west wall. A couple of drink and snack vending machines were
wedged  in between those, just in case anyone really  needed
something  to  eat  after  a  workout.  Some  potted  plants
scattered  around  the area added the finishing  touch.  The
entire  front  lobby  had  been transformed  from  dark  and
vaguely  gloomy  to  bright, cheery, and spacious-looking  -
just  what was needed to entice people to come in and  check
things out. The lobby renovations had only used about three-
quarters  of  the  old  archery range  space,  however.  The
remaining quarter had been used to create a small office  at
the  back of the building, with a small private room  beyond
that.

      The office was nondescript, with a simple wooden desk,
two  padded  chairs,  and a couple of  filing  cabinets  for
whatever records there were. The adjoining room had the feel
of  a cramped living room - two couches, a coffee table, and
some bookshelves had been somehow stuffed into it. Intending
the room solely for the use of himself and his friends, Bert
had basically relocated the upstairs library room to the new
downstairs  space,  ignoring the fact  that  not  everything
would fit very well.

      The  upstairs portion of the recreation centre  hadn't
changed  nearly as radically as the downstairs, however.  It
still had a combination exercise and weight-training room, a
room  that  was outfitted like a small martial arts  dojo  -
complete  with  wooden  practice weapons,  floor  mats,  and
sparring  equipment - a studio suitable for either  aerobics
or  dance  instruction, and change rooms with  showers.  The
archery  range now occupied the space that had been  housing
the  video arcade; Bert had stripped that out once it became
clear  that there just wasn't a demand for it, not with  the
sophisticated  3D virtual reality game facilities  all  over
the city.

     The  lobby lounge was mostly uninhabited at the moment,
with  only  one or two people flopped in the easy chairs.  A
sound  reminiscent of a dull saw grinding  its  way  through
wooden boards was coming from one of them, and the other was
sinking  lower in his seat as she watched, his head  bobbing
forward as he drifted towards sleep himself.

     She shook her head in bemusement as she started walking
towards  the stairs to the upper floor, thinking that  there
had  to  be  better places to catch up on sleep  than  here.
After  a  moment or two of thought, she realized  that  they
might  be  waiting  for  someone upstairs  in  the  presumed
aerobics  class.  They  looked  like  they  could  use  some
exercise themselves, she noted critically to herself, eyeing
them  while passing their table. If there was one thing  she
knew...

     "Ms. Yamazaki, I trust you are well?"

      "I'm fine, thank you." Linna turned towards the voice,
clamping  viciously down on her nerves and  forcing  herself
not to jump. Damn it, but she hated when he did that! And he
knew it too - she could just see the faintest trace of a sly
smile threatening to play around his mouth.

      "Did  you  require  assistance with anything?"  Fujita
Goro,  the facility manager, asked politely. He was  a  tall
man,  although not quite as tall as Bert was, and much older
- a neatly cropped mane of silver-grey hair gave him the air
of  a  distinguished elder. Lean and wiry,  he  always  held
himself ramrod-straight, which prompted Linna to wonder  why
he  always  carried a cane with him - she'd never  seen  him
lean  on  it  all that much. "As you can see,"  he  gestured
towards the dozing men nearby, "we're not exactly busy right
now."

      "No,  thank you," Linna managed to reply with a polite
smile.  "I'm just here to get in some weight-training."  The
thing that really gave her the creeps about this guy - aside
from  the fact that he could somehow move like a ghost  when
he  felt  like  it  - was his eyes. Deep-set  in  a  narrow,
angular  face  with prominent cheekbones,  his  eyes  always
seemed to be evaluating you, like a wolf sizing-up its prey.
The   look  disappeared  behind  a  sympathetic  smile  that
softened his appearance only slightly.
     "Ah, your leg is still bothering you? I can recommend a
good  physiotherapist if you'd like, " he  offered.  "We  do
have  a  list  of  specialists in  sports  injuries  in  the
office."
      "I'm  fine, thanks," Linna repeated. "I just  want  to
keep my conditioning up, that's all."  That much was no lie,
at  least; strength was at least as much of a requisite  for
dance as balance and agility were. "There's always room  for
at least some improvement."
      "True,"  he  nodded.  "Enjoy your  workout  then,  and
please, feel free to call me should you require assistance."
With  a  bow, he turned and walked away from her, apparently
heading  towards the office at the back. Linna  watched  him
for a moment, sifting his words to see if there was a hidden
meaning or not. Shrugging to herself in dismissal, she  made
her  way  to the stairs and bounded lightly up them  to  the
upper level of the building.
                            ****
     "No, I didn't get a bloody license plate number," Priss
sounded  annoyed.  "It's a bit hard  to  read  numbers  when
they're  behind you and you're trying to get the  hell  away
from them, isn't it?" She flounced back in the couch, taking
a  noisy  slurp from the cup of coffee she was holding.  She
had  the distinct impression that Sylia felt she should have
at  least tried to get a plate number before taking off, and
that  by failing to do so she was somehow being remiss.  She
didn't really care.

      "I  see,"  Sylia  sat  back in  her  chair,  her  gaze
contemplative. "Well, I can check around, but  there  are  a
lot  of  modified black sports cars around the city. Finding
the one that chased you will not be easy."

      "I  know that," Priss growled. "I'm not worried  about
them;  I'm worried about whatever asshole sent them.  You're
sure Hollister isn't back in action?"

       "Positive,"   Sylia   replied  easily.   "Hollister's
organization can best be described as dormant right now."

     "Dormant? How so?"

       "They're  apparently  not  carrying  out  any  active
operations,"  Sylia explained. "They're not even  responding
to  any  of their past customers - a great many of whom  are
apparently  in need of a fresh supply of munitions.  As  you
can  probably  guess, this has caused  no  small  amount  of
consternation among those customers."

      "Oh." Priss looked momentarily at a loss for something
to say. "How'd you find that out?"

     "Oh, I have my ways," Sylia smiled mysteriously, taking
a sip from her own cup of coffee. Priss recognized it as her
'I  know,  but I don't need to tell you' look, and  let  the
subject drop.

     "There's another possibility, Sylia," Priss reluctantly
spoke, forcing the words out. "There might be somebody  else
other  than Hollister trying to follow me so that  they  can
find Bert."

     "What makes you say that?" Sylia set her cup aside, her
calm gaze meeting the troubled one of her friend. "Something
else  happened,  I take it?" The faintest line  of  a  frown
creased  her  brow.  "I  need to know  about  these  things,
Priss," Sylia noted mildly. "Especially if I'm to be of  any
use in protecting you."

      "I  know,  I  know," Priss' agitation  showed  in  her
motions as she swept her bangs back out of her eyes with one
hand  while trying not to dump the coffee cup in  her  other
hand.  "I  didn't  think it was that  important  until  this
happened; ease up, will you?!" She was more shaken than  she
was  letting  on,  Sylia realized. Shadows  of  past  events
seemed  to flicker at the edges of her vision for  a  second
while she waited for Priss to continue speaking.

      "Somebody  was  at the club looking  specifically  for
Bert," the singer's tone was flat, unemotional. "They didn't
get  any information on him from anyone there, but the  fact
that   they  were  there  at  all  means...."  She   paused,
tightening  the grip she was using to hold her  emotions  in
place.  "It  means  that  whoever  it  is  knows  about  our
relationship."

     "That does make sense," Sylia nodded. She could see the
unspoken fear Priss was bottling up - fear that things  were
going  to  go to hell again, fear for herself, and fear  for
what  could  happen to Bert. Although she and  Priss  didn't
talk  about  it,  both women knew how  close  he'd  come  to
snapping the last time, and the toll it had taken on them in
holding things together. "Did you get a description?"

      "Yeah.  Tall  woman with shoulder-length  black  hair,
stacked,  and  weird  violet  eyes.  Likes  wearing  leather
bodysuits.  Oh yeah, and one of the bouncers  said  she  was
packing a gun."

     "Weird violet eyes?" Sylia's eyebrow quirked upwards at
the description. "The colour could easily be contact lenses,
but weird in what way?"

      "They  couldn't say, other than the way that  she  was
looking at them gave them the creeps. Everyone I asked  said
the exact same thing."

      "Really," Sylia sat back looking thoughtful. "And  she
hasn't been back?"

     "If she has, I haven't heard about it." Priss shrugged.
"Just  because nobody's seen her doesn't mean that she isn't
there, though."

      "True enough," Sylia nodded. "Ask around a bit more if
you  can manage it, and let me know if anyone else sees  her
around."

      "Right." Priss knocked back the rest of her coffee and
dropped the mug onto the coffee table; Sylia managed to keep
from  wincing at the way the porcelain mug clattered noisily
on  the  tabletop, and was relieved to see  that  it  didn't
break. "I'll see what I can scare up at the club. There's  a
few nosy types who might have seen her around."

      "Ask quietly," Sylia warned. "We don't want whoever it
is  being tipped off that we may be on to them. Oh,  and  no
matter how tempted you might be..."

     "No solo actions," Priss finished her sentence for her,
her  mouth twisting in annoyance as she stood up and started
to  turn  away. "Yeah, yeah, I know that already.  Come  on,
Sylia, I haven't done anything like that in months."

      "Eleven  months,  one  week, four  days,  and,"  Sylia
glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  wall,  "twenty-two  hours.
Approximately."

      "What  the  hell?!"  Priss stared at  Sylia,  slightly
agape. "You mean you're keeping track?!"

      "Not  really, but it sounded good," Sylia  deadpanned,
one  of  her small smiles appearing. "Actually, you've  been
very  well behaved over the last while. I'm quite  proud  of
you."  Priss stared at her friend and sometime  boss  for  a
long moment, before a crooked smirk appeared.

      "Well-behaved,  huh?"  she snorted  in  mock  disdain.
"That'll be the day."

      "Hope springs eternal," came the mild rejoinder. Priss
rolled  her  eyes,  gave  Sylia a farewell  wave,  and  left
without  bothering to reply. Sylia merely smiled to  herself
and took another sip from her cup.
                            ****





<INSERT MORE STORY HERE.... ^_^ >





















     Priss stifled a yawn with one hand as she pushed open
the basement apartment door with the other, stepping into
the darkness and quiet beyond. A second yawn seized her as
she let the door swing shut; she shook her head irritably as
she fought it off, shrugging out of her leather motorcycle
jacket and pitching it at the chair she usually flung it
over. As she turned towards the rest of the apartment, it
suddenly dawned on her that the apartment was neither dark
nor entirely quiet the way it had been in the evenings for
the last few weeks.

     The lights were on in the kitchen area, and she could
faintly hear something burbling away in a large pot on the
stove, emitting a mouth-watering aroma. Despite that, what
immediately caught her eye was a large bouquet of red roses
sitting prominently on the coffee table in the center of the
couch and easy-chair area of the room, flanked by a couple
of lit short, thick candles. The stereo system wedged into
the bookshelf was playing a symphony of some kind, and Priss
dimly recognized it as being one of the classical music CDs
that Bert occasionally listened to. Everything combined to
fill the apartment with a sense of well-being, a sense
of....of being home.

     Glancing around the apartment again, Priss slid out of
her boots and kicked them into a corner by the door before
padding over to the coffee table and the bouquet it held.
Picking it up, she cradled it in an arm, noting that the
roses were still slightly damp with moisture, as if they'd
just been painstakingly gathered from a rain-wet garden.
Their delicate fragrance tickled at her nose, and she held
the blossoms closer, taking a deep breath.

     As the scent of the roses surrounded her, she noticed a
small card tucked into the wrapper holding the flowers and
extracted it. It took a bit of effort to get it flipped open
with one hand, but when she had it open finally, she snorted
at the short message it contained, a smirk pulling at her
lips.

     Tossing the card onto the coffee table, she gently set
the flowers down after one last, lingering breath of their
fragrance and turned towards the kitchen area. Okay, if the
flowers were here and the lights were on, then he should be
here somewhere......

     As she started towards the kitchen, a tall man walked
into the room, coming from the bathroom area, his head
enveloped in a damp towel as he vigorously scrubbed at his
hair in an effort to dry it. Barefoot, he was dressed in a
pair of dark blue shorts and a white t-shirt. Even with his
head wrapped in a towel, she recognized him instantly, and
was across the room even before she realized it.

     Bert let out a startled squawk as the brown-haired
singer collided forcefully with him and wrapped him up in a
fierce embrace, yanking the towel away from his grasp and
pulling his head down towards hers so that she could kiss
him. After a moment of stunned surprise at her unexpected
greeting, she felt his arms go around her in reciprocal
fashion as he returned her kiss. For one long, blissful
moment, they forgot about everything else - until the need
for air intruded on their reunion, and they broke apart with
a gasp.

     "Well," Bert cleared his throat a bit, and took a deep
breath as he relaxed the tight grip he'd had on Priss; her
arms were still looped around his neck as he smiled down at
her. "That was some greeting - maybe I should go off on
vacation more often."

     "You go off for almost four months again, and you'll
get shot when you get back," Priss growled at him in mock
anger, the warmth in her eyes belying her words. "Why the
hell didn't you come back sooner?" she asked accusingly,
dropping an arm to poke him in the side. "You could've...."
She stopped, blinked, and then poked him in the side more
forcefully.

     "Ouch! Hey!!" Bert twitched away from the poke. "What
are you trying to do, put holes in my side?!" he admonished
her, intercepting her hand with his own.

     "What did you do during your vacation, bodybuilding?"
Priss raised an eyebrow as she stepped back a pace and eyed
him critically, noting that aside from being sun-browned and
relaxed looking, the tall red-head also looked extremely
fit. His grip had been a lot stronger than she remembered as
well. She had a sudden suspicion that he'd been doing more
than merely relaxing while he'd been away.

     "Farm work," Bert shrugged. "I don't know that I'd call
it body-building, but it's definitely a good workout."

     "You mean you spent your vacation working?" Priss's
expression was somewhere between 'I don't believe you' and
'It figures'.

    "Among other things," he replied evasively. "I didn't
really consider it work, though. It was pretty relaxing,
actually."

     "You're getting as bad as Linna," Priss pointed
accusingly. "Saying that working out is relaxing."

     "Hardly. I refuse to go jogging at six in the morning,"
Bert noted, his tone dry.

     "Good. Otherwise you'd be sleeping alone," Priss told
him bluntly.

     "Oh, really?" Bert's grin was sly as he stepped towards
her, reaching out and hooking an arm around her waist,
drawing her closer again. "You'd really let something that
minor get in the way of our relationship?"

     "Whether or not that's something 'minor' depends on
your viewpoint," Priss told him haughtily. "I hate early
morning exercise."

     "Oh, really?" Bert repeated, before tipping her chin up
with his other hand and kissing her on the lips again.
Priss's body became pliant against his, and she sighed as he
withdrew his lips from hers. "I seem to recall you being a
very enthusiastic participant in certain kinds of early
morning exercise," he noted, another sly smile forming. "In
fact, as I recall, you were the prime motivator."

     "That's different," Priss actually coloured. "That
doesn't, uh, doesn't..." She floundered around mentally,
trying to find a justification that wouldn't sound lame.
Bert chuckled first at her expression, and then at the
annoyed glance she shot him.

     "God, I missed you," he told her fondly, reaching out
and caressing her face, running his hand through her hair.
"I really did want to come home sooner, but I had to finish
some of the things I'd started while I was over there."

     "I missed you too," she admitted, her mouth quirking
into a rueful smile as she looked up at him. She was about
to say something else when a plaintive rumble came from her
stomach, and she flushed in embarrassment.

     "Skipping lunch during practice again?" the tall red-
head sighed and shook his head. "What are we going to do
with you?"

     "Well, I smell something cooking, so you could try
feeding me," she replied flippantly.

     "Oh, but of course, my lady," he stepped back and bowed
formally to her. "Your wish is my command."

     "And while we're eating, you can tell me just what you
were doing that kept you so busy that you couldn't come back
when you'd originally said you would," Priss added, trying
hard not to roll her eyes at his sudden extravagance of
action. "For somebody who said over and over again that they
hated being forced to go on vacation in the first place, you
sure weren't in any hurry to come back."

     "And I told you, that was partly the circumstances I
managed to get myself into," Bert told her, casually sliding
an arm around Priss's waist and guiding her towards the
kitchen with him. "I couldn't just leave in the middle of
the harvest, you know."

     "You mean you actually *were* working on a farm?" Priss
glanced over at him, incredulous. "What the hell for?"

     "Nostalgia, partly," Bert shrugged. "At least, I think
that was part of it." He gently disengaged himself from her
and went over to the stove to check on the pot that was
burbling quietly on the back burner. "Remember, I grew up on
a farm."

     "You never told me that," Priss blinked in surprise.

     "I didn't? I'm sure I did," Bert frowned.

     "No, you never did say much about where you grew up,"
Priss disagreed, looking at him with questioning eyes.
"Beyond some things that happened at high school and
university, you never really did say much about your family.
Why not?" She folded her arms and leaned against the
counter. Bert paused, a wooden spoon in one hand, the other
reaching towards the lid of the bubbling pot.

     "I'm not really sure," he said slowly after a moment.
Turning towards the pot, he lifted the lid and gave the
contents a quick stir before putting the lid back on and
setting the spoon aside. "Although maybe part of it was
....well, emotional, I guess."

     "Emotional?"

     "Well," he hesitated a moment, then sighed. "My parents
were still alive when I ended up in MegaTokyo, and we'd
always been a close family. Suddenly being cut off from them
was partly why I might have seemed a bit obsessed about
hardsuits and the like - I was trying to keep from thinking
about them and throwing myself into whatever was available
in order to keep busy." A rueful smirk appeared. "You know
what I mean - my standard defense: deny there's a problem
and then work like hell to keep from thinking about it."

     "And here I was thinking that it was just because you
were some kind of techno-geek like Mackie," Priss
deadpanned.

     "That was a factor, too," Bert gave her a quick, rueful
grin before sobering. "Back home, my support mechanism for
dealing with things was to head home to the farm and just
think about whatever was going on - you'd be amazed how much
thinking you can do when splitting wood. Anyhow, Mom and Dad
were always there to talk to; I didn't necessarily always
agree with their advice, but always having them there was
reassuring in ways that I can't even begin to describe. It
didn't sink in at first, I guess, but as time wore on the
fact that I'd had that support rather abruptly removed
didn't sit too well. I couldn't exactly send them a letter
to let them know I was okay either - I don't think the
postal system handles inter-dimensional mail just yet." He
spread his hands in a shrug. "So rather than confront it, I
buried it. That's partly why I picked Canada to lay low in
for a while - I decided it was past time to come to terms
with it, and I went back to the area where I grew up to do
that." The pot on the stove burped suddenly, the escaping
steam rattling the lid, and the tall red-head rummaged in a
nearby cupboard for some bowls.

     "What did you find?" Priss asked, sitting down at the
kitchen table as he placed two bowls of the hot stew on it,
along with a basket of crusty rolls and some butter. "When
you got home, I mean."
 
    "I found out that they're right - you really *can't* go
home again," Bert sighed, his expression shading towards
melancholy. "At least, you can't when it wasn't there, not
in any way that you remember, at least." He sat down himself
and stirred his stew absently for a moment or two. Priss
remained silent, letting him take his own time.

     "The farm itself was there," he finally said, lifting
his gaze to meet hers, "but it wasn't owned by anyone in my
family anymore. The person living on it bought it twenty
years ago from somebody else with the last name of 'Van
Vliet', but I didn't recognize the first name. I guess it
could've been a cousin - I did have a few living in the
general area - but as far as I could find out, my parents
had never been in the area. So if there *is* another 'Bert
Van Vliet' wandering around this universe, he didn't grow up
in the same area I did, which means that he's probably a
very different person than I am."

     "Which is probably a good thing," Priss noted lightly.
"I'm not sure that the universe could take two identical
versions of you in the same place."

     "Flatterer," Bert reproved her with a smile. "Eat your
dinner before it gets cold."

     They ate in companionable silence after that, and Priss
concentrated on her food with single-minded intensity. She
*was* hungry - she normally didn't have second helpings, but
after a long day of practice and recordings with no break,
one serving hadn't quite filled her up. She ignored the
amused glance that Bert gave her when he refilled her bowl
at her request, and quickly polished it off, sitting back
with a contented sigh when she was done.

     "Something to drink?" the tall redhead inquired
solicitously as he stood up and swept the dishes off the
table and into the kitchen sink with a clatter. Priss was
mildly amazed that nothing broke or cracked. "I took the
liberty of restocking the fridge earlier."

     "I hope you actually put more than snacks and soda pop
into it this time," she noted as she considered his
question. "Knowing you, you've probably got tea made
already, but I feel like having a beer right now."

     "By strange happenstance, I just happen to have a few
in the fridge," he smirked. "If you'd like, I'll bring it
out to you in the living room."

     "You sadist," Priss moaned as she levered herself out
of her chair. "You're just doing that because you know I
over-ate and don't want to move."

     "I can carry you, if you'd like," he offered, straight-
faced.

     Priss's flat glare spoke volumes about her opinion of
that suggestion, and she went out to the living room.
Settling into the couch with another sigh, she propped her
feet on the coffee table and waited. A few moments later,
Bert appeared with a tray balanced precariously in one hand,
and a towel draped over his other arm like a waiter. On top
of the tray, a mug of foam-topped beer was threatening (in
her eyes, at least) to slide off and spill onto the carpet -
or her.

     "Your drink, my lady," Bert presented her beer to her
with a flourish and a bow. Priss tried not to flinch when
the tray dipped in her direction, and was reasonably
successful.













<After the kidnapping.>
                            ****
     Kate Madigan woke from a hazy pain-filled nightmare
about a horrific car crash, only to find out that it hadn't
been a nightmare after all. Her head throbbed dully, and she
could taste blood from a cut somewhere in her mouth. Her
right side ached abominably, and a sharp, gnawing pain was
eating into her leg below the knee. When her eyes fluttered
open, she discovered that she was sitting upright in a
chair, her head hanging forwards, her hair a disheveled mop
limply hanging down.

     When she attempted to lift her head, agony knifed into
her as fire seemed to erupt from the left side of her head.
She winced, closing her eyes as they watered in pain, and
then dimly remembered hitting her head on a fragment of the
wrecked car. Evidently she'd lacerated her scalp, although a
concussion was possible as well, a clinical part of her mind
noted. Hopefully, the damage wasn't that serious.

     When she tried lifting her hands to gingerly probe the
injury, shock and fear washed through her, prompting a surge
of adrenaline that cleared her foggy mind immediately. Her
eyes flew open, and she looked down at herself, finally
noticing the details that had escaped her the first time.

     Her jacket and shoes were gone for one thing, and she
was sitting on a metal chair clad in only a thin blouse and
skirt. The chill from the room was already eating into her,
but that was minor compared to the Arctic breeze that
suddenly seemed to be coiling in the pit of her stomach at
the realization that for her, the nightmare was just
beginning.

     Kate swallowed against a dry mouth as she stared down
at the straps securely holding her upper body and legs to
the chair. Her arms had been pulled behind her and tightly
handcuffed, and her hands had already gone numb from the
steel cutting into her wrists. As she tried again to get
free, she noted that the chair was bolted to the floor. It
was rather crude, but she recognized an interrogation room
when she saw one.

     Her head flew up as footsteps sounded in the corridor
outside the room. She tried valiantly to scrape together
some remnants of courage, or at least dignity, as the door
handle started to turn. Whoever was holding her wasn't going
to get the opportunity to see her plead for anything, that
was for damn sure.

     The door swung open, and a tall, blond-haired man
stepped into the room. The shock of recognition sluiced over
her like a bucket of cold water, and Kate realized that
things were far, far worse than she'd imagined.

     "Hello, Katie," Hollister drawled, an amused smile on
his face. Only his eyes didn't share the emotion; the blue
depths were cold and appraising as he looked at her. "Having
some problems?" She had to swallow to get enough moisture
into her mouth in order to speak.

     "What.where am I?" she asked, her voice croaking
slightly.

     "My place," Hollister replied casually. "I heard you
were in the area, so I decided to invite you over." He
suddenly grinned nastily. "After all your attempts to find
me over the years, I figured it was the least I could do.
I'm touched that you went to all that effort to find me,
actually; I didn't know you still cared."

     "The only thing I care about is whether or not I get to
see you have your head blown off," she snarled in reply, her
teeth clenching as anger took hold, overriding the fear. The
arrogant bastard hadn't changed at all; the supercilious
remarks were proof enough of that. His mocking smile only
infuriated her further.

     "Still the same old Katie," he sighed, shaking his head
ruefully. "Striving for unattainable goals." He walked over
to her and reached out, tipping her face up with a hand.
"I've seen you looking better," he noted critically, turning
her head from side to side, like someone assessing something
for sale in a marketplace. "But I'd say you're still pretty
good-looking. For an office lady."

     Madigan's face turned crimson, and she furiously jerked
her chin away from his grasp, ignoring the wrench of pain
that stabbed through her at the movement. She sat staring
stolidly ahead, refusing to look at him standing over her,
although she could sense him smirking. She was startled when
the straps binding her to the chair suddenly loosened and
fell away.

     "Stand up," his voice commanded, a hand under her
armpit reinforcing the order as it lifted her up from the
chair. She was unable to keep from crying out as both cramps
from her muscles and pain from the slash she'd gotten on the
lower leg from the car wreckage attacked her. Her knees
buckled, and she would've fallen if Hollister hadn't quickly
put an arm around her waist.

     "Get your hands off of me," Kate gritted, trying to
jerk away from his grasp.

     "That's hardly the way to thank someone who just kept
you from falling on your pretty little face," he reproved
her mildly. "But, if that's the way you want it." He
shrugged and stepped away from her; she had to fight to
maintain her balance as her injured leg threatened to give
way under the removal of his support. She struggled
defiantly upright though, and stood glaring at him. He was
unaffected by her scathing look, and merely politely
indicated that she was to precede him out the door.

     "Where are we going?" she asked evenly, finally
regaining a measure of her usual calm. Her fury seemed to be
doing nothing but amusing him, and it would be a cold day in
Hell before she'd give him any more amusement. "If you're
going to kill me, then spare me the theatrics and do it."

     "Kill you?" Hollister said in feigned amazement. "Why
would I want to do that? You're a lot more useful to me
alive." A sly smile played around his mouth as his eyes
traveled up and down her body suggestively. "Perhaps in more
ways than one." Kate ignored the implicit threat in his
comment, and stared levelly at him, waiting for him to
continue. "We're going down the hallway," he informed her.
"The doctor will fix you up so that you're not bleeding all
over my base while you're here. So, shall we go?" After a
long moment of silence, Madigan slowly limped over to the
doorway, nearly losing her balance several times.

     "Could you at least take these things off?" she
inquired calmly, tugging at the manacles still holding her
arms behind her. "I'll have an easier time walking if I can
use my arms for balance."

     "I'm sure you would," he replied easily. "But I'm not
giving you enough balance back so that you can try hoofing
me in the nuts again. Sorry, but the handcuffs stay on."

     Kate gave up, and slowly shuffled out into the hallway,
the cold from the floor tiles eating into her stockinged
feet. Hollister followed her, closing the door to the room
she'd been in. Solicitously taking her by the elbow, he
started guiding her down the hallway while she tried to
ignore the way his touch made her skin crawl. They walked in
silence, although Madigan's eyes roved constantly, hoping to
find something, some detail that might give her hope of
escape.

     The blank slate-grey walls and closed doors were
unrevealing however, and she felt the weight of cold despair
begin to settle at the edges of her mind; she was a long way
away from the security and comforts of GENOM's domains, and
she felt very small and powerless suddenly. She didn't care
for the feeling at all.

     "This door here," Hollister's voice spoke in her ear,
and he steered her towards a short side-corridor, ending in
a door bearing a white sign adorned with a red cross. He
courteously opened the door for her, revealing what looked
like a small hospital ward, and ushered her through.

     The air in the infirmary was somewhat warmer than the
hallway, a fact that a small part of her was extremely
grateful for. The dozen or so beds along the far wall were
all unoccupied, and neatly made up. Shelves of medicines and
drugs were everywhere, as well as various kinds of medical
charts. There was an antiseptic tang to the air that all
medical facilities seemed to have in common.

     "Wait here a second," her grey-suited nemesis informed
her. "I'll find the physician."

     "Like I have a choice in the matter," she muttered
bitterly to herself as he walked away from her to the far
end of the room. She closed her eyes against the pain and
physical discomfort eating into her as she slumped against
the end of one of the beds, wishing it would all just end,
that she would wake up and discover this was all a bad
dream. Unfortunately, it remained all too real. For one
brief moment, the tantalizing option of giving up entirely
flickered in her mind. It vanished as she heard voices at
the far end of the room.

     Kate opened her eyes and straightened up, her jaw
clenching. Hollister hadn't beaten her yet, and she wasn't
about to give the arrogant bastard the satisfaction of
seeing her crumble. As long as she was alive, there was
still the chance she could escape.

     And then he'd get every single cent of the payback he
so richly deserved. She'd make sure of that.

     She shoved that thought into a dark corner of her mind
as he returned, a middle-aged man with brown hair and
wearing a white lab coat in tow. The doctor was carrying a
small kit of some kind and a syringe filled with a clear
liquid. She eyed the needle apprehensively as the doctor set
it aside on the endtable by one of the hospital beds.

     "There's two ways we can do this, Katie." The sound of
Hollister's voice snapped her irritated gaze over to him. He
was standing nearby, his arms folded across his chest as he
watched the doctor open the small kit and start removing
unidentifiable packages. "Either you can cooperate with the
doctor like a good girl, and let him work on you, or we can
hold you down and drug you into it." His face was guileless
as he looked back at her, which immediately made her
suspicious, but there wasn't much she could do about it if
he wasn't telling her everything.

     "I'll co-operate," she said expressionlessly.

     "Thank you," the doctor answered briskly. "You'll have
to sit down on the bed there; I can't examine you while
you're swaying all over the place." She didn't bother to
reply, but wearily shuffled around the end of the bed,
sitting down on the side. A moment later she felt his
fingers gently probing at her scalp as he made several
'Hmmm' noises. She winced as he moved his attention to her
leg for a moment, but stifled the outcry that wanted to
come.

     "This will help with the pain," the physician informed
her as he picked up the syringe he'd brought. Reaching
around behind her, he pulled up one of her sleeves. After
some careful consideration, he slid the steel needle into
her arm, pumping the contents of the syringe into her.
Nothing appeared to happen immediately though.

     "I thought you said that it would help with . the.
the." she started to say, but an abrupt buzzing in her head
made her speech start slurring, and she suddenly felt pretty
good.

     "How long, doc?" Hollister asked, coming over and
standing in front of her, tipping her face up with a hand.
His face seemed to be swimming in her vision, and her eyes
were having problems focusing. It didn't really bother her
though; all that mattered was the fact that she couldn't
feel anything through the thick, warm blanket that seemed to
be settling over her mind. The absence of the pain that had
been gnawing at her was almost delicious.

     "Another minute or so before she loses consciousness,"
she heard. "Then I can properly clean and stitch up those
injuries. She should be tractable now, though."

     "Good." Hollister stepped around behind Madigan and
unlocked her handcuffs, removing them. The doctor pulled her
arms around front of her, and examined the puffy, reddened
flesh on her wrists where a few trickles of blood could be
seen from where the cuffs had cut into her skin.

     "I'll dress these as well," the doctor told Hollister.
"They're not all that important, but it's better to be safe.
Excuse me while I get the rest of my equipment."

     "Sure thing, doc," Hollister's gaze didn't leave the
rapidly fading woman as the doctor strode away. "I'll get
some fresh clothing sent over for her when you're done." The
chill smile on his face should have worried her, but in her
current state it was hard to attach any significance to
anything. Madigan's eyes rolled up in her head, and she
slumped over on her side on the bed.

     "Sleep well, Katie," she heard as darkness dropped over
everything.
                            ****


















                            ****
     "What in the world is taking him so long?!" Priss
fumed, pacing agitatedly back and forth across the
antechamber leading to the hardsuit storage bays. The heels
of her hardsuit's armoured boots rapped loudly against the
ceramic tiles covering the floor, and Sylia was beginning to
find it mildly annoying. Despite that, she kept silent and
merely waited, leaning against one of the side control
consoles. She knew exactly where Bert was, and knew he'd be
along shortly. Besides, Priss always was impatient before a
mission.it would be unusual if she didn't have something to
fume about.

     "You know Bert," Linna remarked, rolling her eyes.
"It's a new suit for him; he's probably still drooling over
it before putting it on." The green hardsuited woman
adjusted the grip she had on her helmet in order to keep it
from slipping from where it was tucked under her arm and
clattering to the floor. "That, or else he's checking
something over."

     "Yeah, but we're on a tight schedule here," Priss
objected, red-brown eyes flashing in exasperation. She
shoved at her helmet's visor, but it was already open as far
as it would go. "He hasn't got time to do a bloody tune-up
on the damn thing! Besides, Sylia said it was ready to go,
right?" She turned towards their leader for confirmation,
and Sylia nodded wordlessly.

     "Your point being?" Linna asked wryly. "Since when has
that stopped him from playing around with his suit?"

     "He'd better not be 'playing around'," Sylia finally
remarked. "We did the final system checks yesterday after
his simulator runs. He told me he was just going to get a
couple of his weapons modules."

     "I want to see what this new suit looks like, myself,"
Sylvie spoke up. "You've been keeping it awfully hush-hush
for some reason."

     "He insisted," Sylia shrugged. "There were some
substantial changes to the armour's overall configuration,
and he said he wanted to surprise you."

     "Uh-oh," Nene muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.
She knew what that was likely to mean. Next to her, Anri,
clad in her light blue hardsuit, stifled a giggle at Nene's
tone of voice.

     "Is this a bad thing?" she asked lightly. "I always
thought surprises were supposed to be fun."

     "You obviously haven't been on the receiving end of any
of Bert's 'surprises'," Priss snorted. "The usual result of
getting one of them is the urge to strangle him because of
the way he went about delivering it."

     "This is the voice of experience speaking, I presume?"
Sylvie deadpanned, giving Priss an angelic smile when the
blue hardsuited woman gave her a look. After a moment, a
grudging smile crept across Priss's face. She'd started to
reply when the heavy clank of armoured boots from the
hallway outside became audible, the sound slowly becoming
louder as the footsteps drew closer to the doorway.

     "Well, finally," Priss muttered, turning towards the
door. As she did so, the door to the hardsuit room slid open
. and a white cloud of cold vapour rolled into the room. The
hallway beyond the door was almost completely obscured by
the haze. The assembled Knight Sabers stared for a moment,
in varying degrees of surprise as they tried to make sense
of what was happening.

     "So, what do you think?" a familiar, electronically
modulated voice asked, as a dark shape appeared in the haze.
There was a hissing noise, like someone releasing the
pressure valve on an air tank, and the white fog swirled
away from the figure and dissipated, leaving a gleaming,
silver and blue figure standing just inside the doorway.

     It was very definitely SkyKnight, even if the physical
appearance had changed slightly; there was no way anyone
could mistake the design for anyone else. Sleeker and more
streamlined, the armour still managed to project the vaguely
ominous aura that had surrounded his older suits, mostly
because the red helmet eyeslot was still there, glowering at
everything. His chest armour, while still looking heavily
plated, was flatter, more faceted to give better angles of
deflection for weapons fire.

     His arm and leg armour was more streamlined as well -
the excess armour plates that had been attached had been
removed, and the bulky thrusters that had been built into
the calves of his armoured boots had vanished. The suit's
legs were now smooth and streamlined, with blue chevrons
where the other Knight Sabers had stripes of their
respective highlight colours. Despite the streamlining, his
armoured boots still sported the heavy-looking treads he
preferred.

     His shoulder pauldrons, once rounded and close to the
shoulder, now jutted out a bit more, and had gone from dark
blue to mostly silver with a dark blue stripe running
laterally across them. Neatly nestled in next to one of them
was a modular weapon mount with a compact device of some
kind snugly attached to it; his usual big railgun appeared
to have been shelved in favour of something with a lower
profile. His arm vambraces still sported the dual particle-
laser assemblies he preferred, but they too had been
streamlined to look more compact.

     Anyone who had seen the original armour design would
not have been able to doubt that it was SkyKnight standing
in the room. However, there was one change beyond any of the
others that was attracting the gaze of everyone present: a
long, dark blue cloak was hanging from SkyKnight's shoulder
pauldrons, billowing out restlessly behind him.

     For a long moment, stunned silence permeated the room,
and at least a couple of jaws dropped. Nene took one look,
and then slapped a hand over her face in disbelief. Sylia
closed her eyes and began a slow mental count to ten,
attempting to squelch that urge to strangle Bert that Priss
had mentioned only moments before.

     "I don't believe this," Priss stared agape at the
silver and blue hardsuit standing in the doorway. "Tell me
I'm dreaming. Did you know about this?!" she demanded as she
spun towards Sylia.

     "Not about the cape, no," Sylia replied, raising an
eyebrow as she glanced from Priss to the object of her
disbelief. "As I recall, I vetoed that part of the design
because it wasn't fully tested." She gave SkyKnight a cool
glance as he pulled off his helmet, revealing a huge grin.
"I trust you can explain this?"

     " 'Wasn't fully tested'?!" Priss repeated
incredulously, interrupting Bert as he started to reply.
"You mean you actually LET him suggest adding a cape?!"

     "He did give me a somewhat feasible idea for a flight
system that incorporated a cape," Sylia admitted, the
faintest ghost of a smile starting to play around her lips
at Priss's expression. "I didn't feel that it would be able
to handle the usual rigours of a mission, however, so I
vetoed it." She glanced back at Bert, who had tucked his
helmet under his arm and was standing there in obvious
amusement. "I believe you were about to explain?" she
prompted him.

     "I just wanted to see what the suit would look like
with a cape," he shrugged, another broad grin appearing on
his face. There was a flash of amused deviltry in his eyes
for a moment, a look that Sylia hadn't seen in over a year.
She decided to reserve judgment until later as to whether it
was a good thing or not. "Besides," SkyKnight's grin
widened, "I was kind of curious what Priss's reaction would
be."

     "Why, you.!" Priss spluttered indignantly. After a
moment or so of struggle with herself and her natural
tendencies, she sighed and gave up, throwing her arms up in
the air in defeat. "Well, so much for hoping he'd grow up."

     "Hey, I resemble that remark," Bert quipped, managing
to somehow acquire an air of wronged innocence. At the back
of the room, Nene and Anri gave up and started giggling
helplessly. Nearby, Linna was shaking her head in rueful
disbelief, and Sylvie was watching Priss in growing
amusement while trying hard not to burst out laughing. "But,
I guess since I've had my curiosity satisfied." He reached
behind himself with his free hand, gathered a fistful of the
cape material, and yanked. It came free from his shoulder
pauldrons with a pair of metallic clanks, and he snapped the
cape through the air like someone cracking a whip. The cape
billowed out for a moment, spun by the momentum his action
had given it, and then doubled back on itself, ending up
folded over SkyKnight's free arm.

     "See?" he waved the bundle of metallic-looking cloth at
Priss. "Easily taken care of."

     "So what did you change on your suit?" Priss decided to
ignore the cape and his attempts to get a rise out of her,
and folded her arms over her chest. "It certainly looks a
lot lighter."

     "You can thank Sylia for the design changes and
upgrades," Bert informed her, his armour creaking as he
bowed in Sylia's direction and straightened up. "I gave her
some of the ideas I'd had before I went off on vacation, and
she was the one who found ways to incorporate them into my
suit."

     "Such as?"

     "Well, you've no doubt noticed that it's more
streamlined," Bert replied, looking down at his armour.
"Sylia wanted to trim down the weight, and between cutting
down on some of the excess armour plate I'd packed on and
removing the boot thrusters, that accounted for a fair bit.
Those aren't exactly new changes, but until now we'd never
had a chance to really redesign the whole suit. Sylia did
that, from the frame on up."

     "I also felt it was a better idea to have SkyKnight's
armour appearance more closely resemble that of the group,"
Sylia spoke up. "While I have no doubt he'll still be
something of a loose cannon at times ."

     "Hey! I'm getting better at the teamwork!" Bert
protested.

     " . making his suit blend in a little more with the
rest of the team's will, I hope, lessen the tendency of
people to assume he's an independent." Sylia ignored the
interruption as she shot Bert a knowing glance. "Provided he
can keep from doing any solo grandstanding and drawing
attention to himself, it should help somewhat."

     "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Bert muttered
under his breath. Sylia merely smiled sweetly at him, and he
continued his explanation with a sigh. "My flight pack got
redesigned as well - the wings fold together more compactly
than before, and the jet housings were streamlined for less
drag when flying. Oh, speaking of flying, we did cut back
the power a bit - I can still fly, I just won't be racing F-
16 jet fighters anymore." A sly grin suddenly appeared on
his face again. "That's what the WarHorse is going to be
for, after all."

     "You built a flying horse?" Linna looked confused. "Why
on earth did you do that?"

     "You didn't!" Priss's expression could best be
described as appalled as she spun towards Sylia. "Please
tell me you didn't!"

     "Didn't what?"

     "You actually approved that ...that..."

     "Jet-cycle?" SkyKnight suggested.

     "....that flying contraption of his for field use?"
Priss ignored him, her pleading gaze fixed on Sylia.

     "I did," Sylia confirmed her fears. "After he made the
modifications I suggested for maneuverability and ease-of-
control, I saw no reason not to approve it. The WarHorse can
cover more ground more quickly than a wheeled motoroid, and
while it may not be able to convert to a humanoid form..."

     "Not yet, anyway," Bert interjected with a knowing
smirk.

     "....its weaponry systems make up for that lack of
flexibility," Sylia finished, ignoring his interruption.
"We've already added a launching bay to the KnightWing for
it." She glanced curiously at Priss. "You're not going to be
the one piloting it, so I don't see why you're getting so
upset over it. Is there a problem?"

     "You're damn right I'm not going to be piloting it,"
Priss snorted, aware that Bert's grin was widening, making
him look like some kind of an armoured Cheshire cat. "That
thing is a menace to local, national