From Philip Yff 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.anime.misc,rec.arts.anime,alt.fan.bgcrisis
Subject: [BGC][Fanfic] Out of Balance--Chapter 1
Date: Sun Nov 30 18:22:37 EET 1997
Organization: Original Zippo News Service [http://www.zippo.com]

Out of Balance--Chapter 1
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     There's no one I'd rather have by my side in
a tough fight than Priss.  When I'm not fighting,
though, it would be wiser for me to stay as far
from her as I possibly could.  The sad truth is
you can't spend much time with Priss before she
picks a fight with someone.  But, Priss is my
friend.  I enjoy her company.  I can't just turn
my back on her and, besides, she needs me.  I just
stay on my toes so I'll be ready for the
inevitable scuffle.
     Lately, life had been good.  We'd defeated
Largo.  A relaxed Sylia had just returned from
Europe with Mackie.  Maybe things had been too
quiet.
     "Linna," Priss had said, "Let's go to
Kamakura today."
     "Kamakura? Why"
     "Why? Why do you always have to ask why? 
Kamakura's a fine resort city."
     "I always ask why, Priss, because there's
always something you don't tell me."  I said
pointedly.
     "I'm doing my next gig in Kamakura."
     "And?"
     "And I need to take some things over to the
nightclub and thought you might like to come
along."
     "And I've got a new car that would be just
perfect for the job."
     "How nice of you to offer. Thanks, you're a
good friend, Linna."
     "Well, you have to buy lunch," I said,
cursing myself for once again allowing Priss to so
easily bully me.  Surprisingly, Priss agreed to
foot the bill for lunch without argument.  I
should have smelled a rat."
     I loved my new car.  It was the latest model
Genom Stingray. I had known Sylia and especially
Mackie would get a kick out of my choice of model. 
I'd thought the name was just coincidence, but
Sylia told me her Dad had designed the AI for the
prototype.  When he died before it went into
production, the program development team pushed to
have the car named after him.  I was surprised,
but Sylia said Genom was not always as heartless
as we made it out to be.  Priss just snorted in
derision.
     Anyway, it didn't take much to persuade me to
show off my new car.  Kamakura was a lot nicer
than MegaTokyo, and Priss was paying for lunch.
     I revved the engine. I could see Priss was
impressed, but her comment was, "Why did you have
to buy a Genom?"
     "I didn't buy a Genom, I bought a Stingray.
Besides, Genom lowered the prices on their
consumer lines after that rapid succession of PR
disasters. They needed to build public confidence
back up."
     "You've got enough money. You didn't have to
go consort with the enemy."
     "What do you mean, I've got the money? I got
taken to the cleaners when the bottom fell out of
the stock market. And I don't consort with the
enemy. All I did was buy a car."
     "You don't know what it's like to live hand
to mouth. So what if the stock market crashed. You
still made enough of a killing to make the down
payment on your new aerobics club. And you didn't
just buy a car. You bought a Genom."
     I decided to change the subject before Priss
got completely out of hand. "I haven't heard any
of your new songs."
     Priss didn't answer right away. "I've only
written a couple."
     "We've really been busy, haven't we?"
     "It's not that. I just haven't had the
energy."
     "You? No energy? No way!"
     "I need to be angry to write. Anger makes me
strong. I fuels my passion. It brings my songs to
life."
     "Yeah right, Priss! Everybody says how quiet
and restrained you've become.  Just last week, you
went an entire day without getting into a major
altercation."
     I expected Priss to violently object to my
sarcasm, but she just sat there. A solitary tear
slowly rolled down her cheek. "Not angry, Linna--just
sad and helpless."
     Priss's response was sobering. She still had
not gotten over Sylvie's death.  I had tried to
tell her Sylvie had been a boomer. Sylvie had
killed--often and brutally. Sylvie had deserved to
die, and Priss who loathed all boomers should have
welcomed the opportunity to eradicate the
abomination who had pretended to be human. But
even I, who had not been close to Sylvie, felt
regret when Priss fired the shots that ended
Sylvie's life.
     I often envy Priss's strong convictions and
passionate intensity. Priss says I am shallow and
unfeeling.  Maybe I am.  But there are advantages.
I sleep easy at night. There are no ghosts that
haunt my dreams.
     Traffic was light and we arrived sooner than
I had expected. "Hey Priss, this is a real high
class joint.  How'd somebody like you manage to
land a gig here?"
     "What do you mean--somebody like me? I've got
talent!"
     "I'm sorry.  I was just kidding. You have got
talent, and I am your biggest fan. Have I ever
missed one of your performances?"
     "Vision called in a favor," Priss said
softly. "Thank you."
     Priss got out of the car and quickly began
unloading the things she had brought. She wasn't
supposed to have known about Vision. And how did
she figure out I was the one who asked Vision to
help?
     I found out why Priss had agreed so readily
to spring for lunch.  As soon as we walked in the
door, a suave gentleman approached and introduced
himself as Matsumoto, the manager. He ushered us
to a table and said he'd have Priss's stuff put in
her dressing room.  He summoned a waiter and  told
him to take our order for a complimentary 
lunch--anything we wanted.
     Priss, in typical fashion, ordered a plain,
rare steak--which wasn't even on the menu--and a
beer. Sylia would have been proud of me. I took
advantage of the master sushi chef and the sake
was without peer.
     Priss laughed. "I swear, Linna..."
     Nonchalantly, I took a sip of the warm sake
and said, "What is it?"
     "You know what it is. You're blushing like a
schoolgirl. If horse manure cost 10,000 yen a
gram, you'd be stuffing your face with it."
     "How rude! I'm just showing my appreciation.
You're the one who's being unrefined--demanding
what amounts to a raw slab of meat. You might as
well have ordered a synthetic hamburger."
     "Well, I hope the club has a good turn-out
tonight, so your appreciation of their cuisine
does not set them back too much."
     I was embarrassed, but I wasn't going to let
Priss intrude on the enjoyment of the meal. I
admit I'd gotten a little carried away--I'm a
sucker for free food--and it was delicious.
     At the end of our repast, I made a point of
thanking the sushi chef profusely.  He was a
dignified middle-aged gentleman who bowed and
modestly downplayed his talent. Meanwhile, Priss
was making a fool out of both of us. When I got
back, she was telling the manager she would play
an extra set to make up for my overindulgence in
food and drink.  Matsumoto-san, naturally, was
taken aback by Priss's lack of couth. Smoothly, he
said no remuneration was necessary.
     "It's a pleasure to demonstrate what slight
culinary skill we might have to such beautiful and
refined ladies."
     I knew he was talking about me.  All Priss
had done was wash down a piece of cow with some
beer. I nudged Priss in the back. She glared at
me, and I'm sure just to annoy me said, "Well, I
owe you one Ojisan.  If you need a favor just
ask."
     I cringed at Priss's lack of decorum, but the
manager took his newly acquired avuncular status
in stride. "Well, I have a fourteen year old
daughter, Haruko, who loves your compositions.  An
autograph would not be too much to ask for?"
     "Really! How does she know about me. I only
play in clubs and don't have a CD out yet."
     I poked Priss.  Apparently, she couldn't tell
the manager was just allowing her to save face.
Matsumoto-san probably didn't even have a daughter
or, if he did, she was probably married with kids
of her own."
     "I let her play the demo," Matsumoto-san
replied. "She says you're a lot better than the
idol singers with the big contracts."
     He sure knew how to get on Priss's good side.
"Bring your daughter in tonight.  She can watch
backstage and I'll introduce her to the band. And,
of course, she'll get her autograph."




Out of Balance--Chapter 2
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     When we got outside, I stared in horror at my
car. Two bikers were sitting on the hood and one
on
the roof. They were wearing leather jackets with
heavy metal studs. I just knew they were
scratching
the paint. Half a dozen of their friends were
standing around. Judging from their expensive
machines, these weren't hoodlums, but upper class
youths who got their kicks by being in a
motorcycle
gang. After all, this was a real high class
neighborhood.
     Priss looked at me and then charged into the
middle of the group. "Get off the car," she
snarled. Without waiting for an answer, she
grabbed
two handfuls of hair and hauled off one of the two
goons sitting on the hood.
     I had long suspected Priss's brain had
absolutely no connection with her mouth or any
part
of her body. What did she expect those jerks to
do?
Calmly allow themselves to be abused by Priss and
then thank her for the badly needed lesson in
manners.
     The goon on the roof leaped to his feet. I
cringed at the thought of what his boots were
doing
to the finish. The recalcitrant whom Priss was
enthusiastically helping off the hood started
yelling like the spoiled brat he was. His buddy
tried to pull him away from Priss who maintained
her vice-like grip on his hair. This made him yell
even more loudly. Priss was immediately
surrounded.
She was more than a match for any three of them,
but all nine were too much to handle.
     "Oh hell," I thought. "I'd better do
something."
     I really had hoped to take it easy after that
fine lunch. I slowly walked over to one of the
bikes. Standing next to it, I pressed the ignition
and revved the engine as loudly as I could. Sure
enough, that got their attention.
     I killed the engine so I wouldn't have to
shout. "Stop it!" I commanded calmly but firmly.
"Let her go!"
     As I had suspected, these goons were as dumb
as Priss. They forgot about her and, without any
coordinated effort, rushed over to deal with me. I
nimbly hopped onto the seat of the bike and kicked
the first goon to reach me in the throat. The
force
of the blow predictably knocked the bike off the
kickstand. It fell obstructing my next would-be
assailant. Meanwhile, I had used the dynamics of
my
kick to jump sideways into the path of the third
glutton for punishment. In his clumsiness, somehow
his groin collided with my knee.
     His companion extricated himself from the
toppled motorcycle and looked over at his two
friends uncertainly. I wondered if he saw the same
subtle irony in their predicament that I did. One
was clutching his neck, the other his crotch, but
both were wheezing in exactly the same manner. He
should have been forewarned by the plight of the
not so dynamic duo but testosterone triumphed over
common sense. He swung at me wildly.
     I stepped forward purposefully, my precise
interior counter attack deflected his blow and
slammed the heel of my hand upward against the
bottom of his nose. The beauty of my control
brought tears to my eyes. I had taken him out of
commission without breaking his nose. There were
tears in his eyes, too, but he was too preoccupied
with his discomfort to appreciate my martial arts
form. 
     What I had used is normally taught as a
killing technique.  Maybe I'm just a wimp, but
these high speed death blows just don't appeal to
me.  Death is so final.  I've had to learn them in
order to earn my martial arts ranking.  Yet, I've
always taken a perverse pleasure in deriving a 
non-lethal alternative to each deadly technique.  
     This stupid jerk was yelling profanities at
me. He obviously did not appreciate my generosity.
The reason he was still in the land of the living
was the precision I had used. The move was
designed
to kill by driving cartridge into the opponents
brain. Yet, I hadn't even broken his nose. Young
men always seem incapable of expressing an
appropriate degree of gratitude. I felt he owed
me,
so I didn't hesitate to knock him around a little
bit more.
     With a sweeping kick, I knocked the sniveling
goon's legs out from under him and shoved his
falling torso into the path of another overeager
challenger. The new arrival crashed to the ground.
Unfortunately, he started to scramble to his feet
as I was stepping over him. My instep and the side
of his head tried to occupy the same space. He
didn't try to get up again and the expression on
his face looked blissfully peaceful.
     I hoped he had not seen up my skirt.  I was
trying to be ladylike. The last thing I wanted was
for a bunch of hormonally overactive males to
start
gossiping about the color of my panties. The
thought of it irritated me. I grabbed a greasy
ponytail and yanked down, twisting my torso to put
the full weight of my body behind the pull. At the
same time, I brought my knee up sharply against
the
side of his rapidly descending head.
     Two unsportsmanlike  jerks tried to sandwich
me between them. I stepped aside so I could deal
with them one at a time. I seized the one on my
left by his collar bone and pushed hard with my
thumb against a pressure point. His knees turned
to
jelly and I had to struggle to hold him up. This
was important. I sensed one of the group had hung
back and was aiming a pistol in my direction.
Before I had to use my human shield, Priss
disarmed
the pistol wielder and knocked him out with the
butt of the weapon he had just been forced to
relinquish. Like I said, there is no one I'd
rather
have by my side in a fight than Priss. Of course,
most of the fights I find myself in, like this
one,
are ones my hotheaded friend starts.
     I could now safely discard my human shield. I
let go and let him crumble to the ground. I smiled
sweetly at the one remaining ‘threat'. He looked
in the direction of the motorcycles, figured out
to
get to them he would have to get by me, turned
around, and ran off. He looked over his shoulder a
couple of times. I responded with a courteous
wave.
     I was pleased my hair and clothes were still
neat and I had not worked up a sweat. I walked
over
to my car, trying not to look to see if there were
any scratches on the hood and roof. "We did it,"
she said with forced bravado. "We make a good
team."
     "We sure do," I responded sarcastically,
pulling a mirror out of my purse and handing it to
Priss. "Next time, hit the bad guys with your
fists
and not your face."
     "There were nine of them," Priss said
somewhat
defensively.
     "So? You didn't have to fight all nine at
once." I started the car, swerved to avoid a
comatose goon, and headed home. "As a matter of
fact, you didn't have to fight any of them."
     "They were damaging your car!"
     "They did more damage to your face. A girl
has
to get her priorities straight."
     "What they did was wrong!"
     "You need to get laid more often."
     "What!?"
     "You've got way too much nervous energy. Most
women find ways to relieve it other than to pick
fights with big gangs of bullies. Let Leon take
you
out. He's been after you for a couple of years."
     Priss, who was too stupid to grab hold of the
best thing that had come her way and which was
hers
for the taking, naturally had nothing to say. I
was
still irritated at her because of this latest
blowup, so I thought I'd twist the knife a little.
"Leon's got a car. He could have driven you here
today. And don't say he was working. You know he'd
drop everything in an instant the minute you were
to give him a call."
     "Maybe I wanted to go with you."
     "I'll always be your friend. I've stuck with
you this long for reasons beyond my comprehension.
I'm always going to be there when you need me. But
you need a boyfriend now.  When you trashed up
your
place, you should have given Leon a call. ‘Hello,
Leon, can I sleep over at your place.' ‘Sure,
Priss.  I thought you'd never ask. I'll chill a
bottle of champagne.' ‘No, you idiot! It's not
that
way.  I'm sleeping on the couch. My trailer's
being
repaired.' ‘You think I didn't know that? I read
the police reports. I also got a dozen phone calls
from my buddies informing me the girl of my dreams
had been charged with disturbing the peace again.
Come on over.  I'll even sleep outside if it'll
make you happy. Anything to be near you!'
     "That's enough, Linna," Priss said tightly.
     I knew I had gone a little too far. "Thank you
for protecting my car," I said to make peace.
"It's
my baby. Maybe Dr. Raven can take care of the
scratches. But you worry me, Priss. One of these
days, you're going to get yourself killed. And for
heaven's sake, next time don't jump in the middle
of a bunch of bad guys.  Make them come to you and
pick them off one by one."
     Before Priss could respond, the video monitor
blinked on and Sylia's face appeared. "Linna, is
Priss with you? I need both of you over at the
lingerie shop. Nene's already on her way."




Out of Balance--Chapter 3
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     When we got to the Silky Doll, Nene gawked at
the bruises on Priss's face. "I heard about the
ruckus at your trailer," she said, "but I had no
idea you'd been injured, Priss."
     "This happened only an hour ago," I
interjected smugly.
     "What happened?"
     "Priss didn't like people sitting on my car,
so she asked them to use her as a punching bag."
     "Where were you?"
     "Great!" Priss exclaimed. "Okay! I got beat
up and Linna got me out of a jam."
     "Way to go Linna!" Priss was always giving
Nene a hard time about not being tough enough, so
Nene was always pleased to learn of chinks in
Priss's armor.
     Sylia handed Priss a couple of  ice packs.
Sylia, unlike me, did not exactly disapprove of
Priss's antics. The fire raging in Priss's heart
was her strength as well as her weakness. Besides,
Sylia liked Priss. Although she would never admit
it, now that Mackie was growing up, Sylia needed
to
find another adolescent to mother or be a big
sister to. I'm the one who's super reliable, but
it's obvious to me Sylia cares more for Priss and
Nene. That's okay. I'm used to be taken for
granted.
     Sylia walked over and poured herself a cup of
coffee. Oh, oh. That was part of her ritual
whenever she wanted to inform us of some new
development. Before she could start, Nene who was
looking at the screen of a small digital
transmitter squealed. "Guess what! Some boomers in
Kamakura attacked a group of nineteen and twenty
year old young men. They said four big, ugly
boomers appeared out of nowhere and beat them up
for no reason. They said they couldn't describe
the
boomers except they were the ugliest things they
had ever seen, especially the behemoth that had
inflicted most of their injuries. They said,
though, the boomers were wild and clumsy and that
they virtually incapacitated them and forced them
to flee."
     "Step into the training room, Miss AD Police,
and I'll show you just what I did and you can
judge for yourself how wild and clumsy I was."
     "I didn't mean to imply you were wild and
clumsy," Nene said innocently, moving close to
Sylia.
     "Just big and ugly," Priss said. "Don't be in
any hurry to leave, Nene. I'll help Linna teach
you some self defense techniques in case you run
into some of these big, ugly, wild, and clumsy
boomers."
     "Boomers aren't the only mechas you have to
worry about," Sylia said provocatively.
     "What do you mean?" Nene inquired quickly,
anxious to change the subject.
     "Genom has been seriously weakened. There are
at least three major corporations that might seek
to capitalize on this weakness."
     "Genom, weak? I wish!" Priss retorted.
     "I didn't say weak. I said weaker.
Corporations are predators. They hunt down and
devour weaker entities. Genom is a lucrative
prize, but the window of opportunity to go after
it
is very small. Genom will not present easy
pickings. The risks are huge, but the rewards are
phenomenal.
     "How do you know all this?" I asked.
     "You remember telling me about the car you
bought?"
     "My car?"
     "Yes. I told you it had been named after my
father. When you told me about it, I was curious.
You bought it far too cheaply. I had Nene dig up
some data. What we found out was that Genom was
liquidating its inventory of consumer goods to
underwrite its future strategic initiatives. In
six months, Genom will have recovered and once
again be virtually invulnerable."
     "One of the things I did," Nene said proudly,
"was to do a comparative analysis of electronic
traffic between government agencies and Genom. A 
few months ago, the amount of data transfer
indicated there was an unethically strong
connection between Genom and government. That has
now changed. Genom's government supporters have
curtailed much of their interaction with the
corporate giant. They're trying to distance
themselves from what they now view as a powder
keg. To compensate for the weakening governmental
links, Genom has been scrambling to diversify its
interests and establish connections with other
companies. Meanwhile, government officials are
biding their time waiting to see who will win the
upcoming corporate battles."
     "I'm impressed," I said and I was. Nene was a
flake but her grasp of space age information
technology was second to none. "So you found out
the names of the companies trying to make an end
run against Genom by analyzing the data?"
     "Absolutely. And our prospective client has
substantiated my conclusions."
"Our client? Sylia?..." I said reproachfully.
     "Yes, a request for our services has been
tendered..."
     "You'd never guess who has asked us for
help," Nene interjected. "Quincy!"
     That woke Priss up. "Quincy!" she yelled. "No
way!"
     "If Genom falls, the city and the entire
country will be thrust into chaos. We have to
maintain a sense of equilibrium," Sylia said
calmly.
     "Hey, Priss," I said. "What's the big deal?
This is our chance to infiltrate Genom and destroy
it from within."
     "We're not infiltrating Genom," Sylia said.
"If we accept this assignment, we'll act in a
responsible manner in accordance with out charter.
We'll protect the fragile peace that exists today
and prevent it from being destroyed by greedy
predators who act with complete disregard for the
consequences."
     Priss was sputtering incoherently, so I put
her thoughts into words. "Sylia, you've grown
soft. What are you thinking of? Have you forgotten
you formed the Knight Sabers to fight Genom?"
     "I established the Knight Sabers to protect
MegaTokyo and Japan. I wanted its citizens to live
a better life. At times, we came in conflict with
Genom. Today, the well-being of MegaTokyo depends
on maintaining balance. If Genom disintegrates,
there will be an implosion to fill the vacuum and
the entire city, country, and world would be at
risk. The key word is ‘balance.'"
     "You need to try on the new suits," Mackie
said, fortuitously changing the course of the
conversation. "The weapon systems are somewhat
improved.  However, the main advantage is that by
incorporating more light-weight alloys, I was able
to squeeze seven minutes of flight time for
Sylia's and Linna's suits and three minutes each
for Nene's and Priss's. This should go a long way
to eliminating one of our primary 
vulnerabilities--aerial combat.
     I immediately jumped up. The last thing I
wanted was a war between Sylia and Priss. "Let's
go," I said grabbing Mackie by the arm. "Besides,
I was curious to see how the new suits tested out.
     Sylia who obviously had not wanted Nene to
let the cat out of the bag without proper preamble
was right on our heels. Priss desperately wanted
to continue the argument but she had lost her
audience. She said something unladylike loudly
enough for us all to hear and reluctantly brought
up the rear.
     Mackie had not wasted the time he'd spent
studying in Europe. The suit I put on did not look
radically different from my old one except for
being somewhat more streamlined. However, it felt
completely different. It was superbly engineered.
It had exceptional ‘balance' if I could use
Sylia's favorite word in a different context. When
I moved, I couldn't even tell I was wearing a suit
of mechanized armor. I did a back flip and landed
in a low split.
     "Showoff!" Nene said, reminding me I had a
score to settle with her.
     Imagine implying I was wild and clumsy not to
mention big and ugly. I couldn't let our
relationship get out of balance. I thought if Nene
considered me a showoff, I'd put on a real show.
     "Mackie," I said, putting my arm around his
shoulder's for Nene's benefit, "Activate that VR
combat program you installed--set it to max."
     I knew Mackie would not comply with my
request
to set the virtual reality simulator to
its maximum setting. But at least I would be on
record for asking. 
     I stepped into the chamber. The lights
dimmed. A dark green glow illuminated the interior
to better contrast the virtuoids. Mackie had said
although the virtuoids were electronic and could
not physically affect me, the background program
was interfaced with the battle suit's central
processing unit or CPU and would interpret
simulated hits as actual blows. At some point, I
wanted to test this aspect of the simulation by
deliberately absorbing a hit. However, today, I
just wanted to remind those who took me for
granted of my credentials.
     Five boomers appeared. They were still
dormant. I could tell that from the digital time
keeper which had not yet begun counting off the
milliseconds. The boomers' propulsion jets flared
a deep red, and they lifted off. The quality of
visual resolution was astounding. They actually
appeared to be flesh, blood, metal, and 
twenty-first century armored plastics. 
     When the light emitting diodes on the time 
keeper changed from red to amber, I sprang into 
action. I'd already mentally plotted my weapon 
systems to their targets.
     A casual, feminine toss of my head sent the
two mono-molecular filaments to their targets.
Each one, with unerring accuracy, decapitated a
boomer. The thirty millimeter cannon in the heel
of the left hand of the battle suit took out a
third. A flick of my wrist sent an explosive laser
shuriken to disable a fourth. And, just because
I'm the showoff Nene accused me of being, I used
my mechanized suit's enhanced speed and strength
to leap up, hook my right leg around the fifth
boomer's neck, and physically break vital
connections to disable it. I looked unobtrusively
at the timer. It had stopped at 0.872 seconds.
     Nobody said anything. Everyone just stared at
me in shock. I could tell even Sylia was
impressed. Her upraised visor revealed wide open
unblinking eyes. My lowered, darkened visor hid my
smirk. I couldn't remember the last time I had
dented Sylia's aristocratic composure.
     Taking off my helmet, I walked over to Mackie
at the controls. "I think I've almost got the hang
of this new suit," I said. "It's a pretty easy
transition from the old one. Give me a couple more
work-outs and I'll have it down pat."
     "Brilliantly executed," Sylia said. "I do
trust, though, you'll avoid unnecessary physical
contact except in controlled training situations.
Don't take unnecessary risks in real life. I must
admit, you seem to get better all the time. It's
almost as if you've been practicing on your own."
     "I roam the streets at night hunting down
stray boomers," I joked facetiously. I had been
practicing with my old martial arts instructor,
but I couldn't tell that to Sylia. She would think
it a breach of security. Then, because I couldn't
resist, I turned to Mackie and asked innocently,
"Was I able to finish in under five seconds?"
     Nene threw her helmet at me which I caught
deftly. "Careful Nene! Don't lose your head.
People might mistake you for Priss."
     Priss didn't say anything. My demonstration
of skill had caught her off guard. She prided
herself on her toughness.  I conceded she was
easily ten times as tough as I was. Priss, though,
was into raw power. She couldn't quite accept the
fact that skilled precision was often more
effective than brute force. I hadn't wanted to
erode her confidence, but I was still upset at her
for her most recent near-suicidal shenanigans.
     I started to take off my suit. Since I was
still the center of attention, I said, "The
manager of the Imperial Club in Kamakura is
setting aside a table for us tonight. We should
all go and watch Priss perform."
     I turned to Nene. "I'd better go to the gym.
I'm carrying about half a centimeter of fat on the
bottom part of my buttocks.  I guess I'm getting
out of shape. I'd better do something about it
before people start calling me big and ugly."
     I regretted the implied snipe as soon as I'd
said it, but Nene had asked for it. I was in my
leotard now and Nene looked at me wistfully. I
kept my body rock hard--something Nene could never
do--her affinity for sweets was as strong as her
aversion to heavy exercise.
     I grabbed Priss and bullied her into joining
me for a workout. She wanted to go home, rest, and
nurse her battered body, but I convinced her if
she did that, she would just stiffen up. She knew
I was right and grudgingly gave in. Afterwards, we
soaked in the whirlpool.
     "Damn, Linna! You're so good now you could
take out a couple of boomers without a suit."
     Priss did not praise lightly, so I gave her a
serious response. "I'm a technician. I try hard to
refine my abilities. You fight from your heart. I
fight with my mind. I was trying to impress you
today, but the truth is I envy your passion."
     Priss laughed. A trace of bitterness crept
into her voice. "There's nothing to envy. I've got
a big mouth."




Out of Balance--Chapter 4
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     Priss didn't stick around the apartment when
we got back. She said she'd promised the band
members she'd practice with them before she went
on. She said everything she needed was already at
the club and hopped on her motorcycle. I'd offered
to drive, saying she'd arrive more relaxed if she
rode a car. She smiled. Her eyes took on a faraway
look. She said the wind in her face would relax
her.
     Since I didn't have to drive Priss, I called
Mackie and told him to pick me up in the step van.
Surprisingly, Sylia decided to ride with us rather
than take her car. Nene rode up in front with
Mackie while Sylia and I sat across from each
other at the table in the back.
     As usual, I didn't have anything to say to
Sylia, so I mumbled a few things about how well
the new suits performed. What else could I talk
about? I was wearing my best dress, and Sylia made
me look tawdry. She was rich and getting richer.
I'd tried to make a killing on the stock market
with some inside information and was lucky to
escape with a few yen to the better which I'd
since spent on my car and on the down payment for
the aerobics club. As a result, I was in hock up
to my eyeballs for the balance on the club.
     Sylia was a brilliant scientist. I didn't
even know if I could get into college if I'd
wanted to. Sylia's life was perfect and she
devoted her time to making other people's lives
better. I didn't have a clue as to what I wanted
to do with my life, but I knew I'd follow Sylia
anywhere.
     I often thought I was like a little sailboat
bobbing up and down on the water, blown here and
there by the wind. Sylia was my anchor. She kept
me from being blown out to see where I'd be
hopelessly lost.
     If I ever got to the point where I could make
it on my own, I would tell Sylia what she means to
me. But now was not the time. I couldn't
understand why Sylia treated me like an equal. She
was someone who could pick up the phone and talk
to the Prime Minister. Yet, she called me friend.
     When we got to the night club, Sylia offered
to pay for the table, but Matsumoto-san refused.
He insisted he always set a table aside for the
performer's party and proceeded to escort us to
one of the best locations--a front table just to
the left of center stage. He told us he'd taken
the liberty of ordering our food and drink.
     I was mortified. I thought the manager was
afraid I'd make a pig of myself as I had at lunch
and was making sure the club would not be too much
out of pocket.
     When the food arrived, it was a meal fit for
royalty. There was a different wine for every
course. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had not
gotten on the manager's bad side and, even more
importantly, I wasn't going to embarrass Sylia.
     We ate slowly, savoring each morsel. We were
just finishing up desert when the curtain rose and
Priss and the Replicants did what they do best.
     Priss, as usual, was good.  The songs,
though, were all ones I'd heard before. She
finished the set to a thunderous applause and
walked off the stage, throwing her microphone to
someone in the audience. The lights dimmed but the
roar of her fans continued.
     Then it happened. It was so dark no one had
seen Priss come back on the stage until she
started singing softly.  At first, she sang
without any musical accompaniment.  A solitary,
meandering spotlight searched for where the song
was coming from and fixed on her. She was off to
the side closest to where we sat but her back was
to the crowd. She had thrown away her radio
microphone so she was using one on a stand.
     Although the melody was gentle, I could tell
the fire was back. This was the old Priss, but it
was a new Priss, too.
     She sang of  a special love between tow
people. Their love protected them from the ravages
of a bleak world. They gave each other support and
were able to weather the hardships the current
world forced them to endure. But the young girl
became a woman. She could no longer ignore the
harsh conditions and watch others suffer while her
love for her companion insulated her from their
pain.
     Priss hit a few compelling notes on her
guitar and turned around to face the audience. The
Replicants, her band, had never left the stage.
They had been hidden in the dark and now became
visible as a faint, blue light illuminated them.
The band picked up on Priss's guitar notes and
gradually incorporated the musical accompaniment
into the song.
     The pace picked up. The drummer started a
throbbing, syncopated beat that underscored the
thematic conflicts in the song. The words of the
song remained poignant but the beat had become the
pulsating, hard rock Priss was famous for. And her
charismatic voice shredded the collective psyche
of her enraptured audience.  She started the final
verse:
     
     The world's out of balance, falling fast...
     Our hearts are intertwined but I must go
     Pursue my private dreams. Let not the past
     Predict our future. Even though we grow
     Apart, we look ahead to better days.
     Reality's intruded on our dreams!
     It's forcing us to go our separate ways
     And follow different destinies. It seems
     The quiet recluse we had built to hide
     From all the stresses of our outside lives
     Is shattered now. Although my soul has died,
     I won't give up. Set free, my soul revives.
     
     The world's out of balance, falling fast...
     My love for you's still strong, but will it last?
     
     Priss moved right up to the microphone and
shouted rather than sang, "Out of balance!" one
last time. She hurled her guitar into the
audience, just as earlier she had thrown out her
microphone. Abruptly, she walked off stage.
     Utter silence! Everyone was in shock. The
experience had been so emotionally draining no one
had the will to respond. Only when the band stood
up did someone start to clap--I think it was Nene. 
     Soon, the applause was deafening as it had
been before, but there was a different quality to
it. Previously, the listeners had expressed their
appreciation. Now, they were admitting they had
been humbled by a glimpse of raw talent the likes
of which they had never seen before. I, who
readily admit my incapacity for deep thought, felt
a curtain rise within me. For a while, I felt I
had a poet's soul.
     I will always be grateful to Priss for this
moment. I realized that even I had taken myself
for granted and that deep within me there was a
profound spirituality I had not been aware of. I
knew at that time that my condition was temporary
and soon I would revert to my everyday mundane
self. But, for a while, I looked directly into my
ki, my spirit.
     I had avoided looking at Nene, Mackie, and
Sylia. I needed privacy until I could assimilate
my new, strange thoughts. When at last I looked
up, I saw Nene was just as mesmerized as I had
been. Sylia, on the other hand, looked ten years
older, and tears uncharacteristically ran down her
cheeks.
     How stupid of me! My new insight was not as
profound as I had thought it to be. Priss had said
she was most creative when she was angry. And she
was enraged! Her anger was targeted directly at
Sylia. 
     Quincy as a client was the ultimate betrayal.
Worse, we had not allowed the compulsively
outspoken Priss an opportunity to express her
outrage among us. She would not be denied her day
in court. She had set the stage perfectly. She had
put on the performance of her life. She had broken
Sylia's heart!
     Sylia excused herself. She looked so
vulnerable as she made her way through the
cheering fans. They had been elevated to
incredible heights by the passionate intensity of
Priss's performance. In contrast, Sylia was
deflated, and her listless gait reflected the
desolation she was experiencing.
     When Sylia returned, she was her usual self.
She was calm and collected. It was not unusual for
her not to share the unbridled enthusiasm of those
around her. One did not expect a display of strong
feeling from her. When Nene urged us all to
backstage to see Priss, Sylia did not object.
     I looked into Sylia's eyes to try to figure
out what she was thinking. Her gaze was
intelligent, alert, aloof, and expressionless as
it was virtually every day of her life. I would
have comforted her, but she gave no indication she
was in need of comfort. She looked back at me, and
I looked away. I was still in awe of her.
     There was no confrontation between Priss and
Sylia. Although I was relieved, in a way it was
bad. Sylia was as resolute as Priss was stubborn.
The longer the issues dividing them remained
unresolved, the more violent the inevitable clash
would be.




Out of Balance--Chapter 5
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     The scene in Priss's dressing room was one I
had lived through countless times before. Nene,
who had never been intimidated by Priss's
toughness, hugged her and started squealing about
how great she had been. I followed with less
hysterical but no less genuine adulation. Mackie
hung back, trying to look cool. He grinned and
gave a thumbs up sign. Sylia brought up the rear
with praise that sounded sincere in spite of an
academic tone.
     Tonight, I had just two words for Priss,
"Okaeri nasai!" or welcome back. Priss said
nothing, but I could tell she understood what I
meant.
     In the corner, there was a young, teenage
girl who was looking a little overwhelmed. It took
me a little while to figure out she must be
Matsumoto's daughter. I was going to say
something, but Nene beat me to the punch. "And who
might you be, young lady," she asked.
     "I'm Azusa," was the timid reply.
     "Azusa-san is my boss," Priss exclaimed. "Her
father, the manager, is a very busy man and he
can't supervise all the details. So, Azusa-san is
making sure the musical entertainment goes
according to plan."
     Azusa looked as if she didn't know whether
she should become more bashful at being thrust
into the limelight or relish in the sudden rise to
fame. Priss had always been good with children. 
Her generosity and deference to Azusa was not out
of character. However, the cynic in me couldn't
help observing that Priss was allergic to
authority figures and her elevation of Azusa's
status resulted in a subtle corresponding
diminishing of the manager's stature.
     Nene reached into her purse and pulled out
one of her infamous, miniaturized, all-purpose
computers. "I suppose you'd like a picture," she
said. "Hey Priss, I need you and Azusa-chan to
give me a good pose."
     Priss got down on one knee next to Azusa. She
held her guitar by its neck in her right hand and
put her left arm around Azusa's shoulders. Nene
pressed a button. She then pulled the image up on
the small screen and ran it through an enhancement
routine. She gave the image more of a three
dimensional look and glamorized the appearance of
the subjects. Then she printed it on a wallet-sized
plastic wafer.
     Nene handed the picture to Priss along with a
special pen. "You have to use this instrument to
sign it. Nothing else will blemish it short of a
laser beam."
     Priss wrote, "To Azusa-sama, the best boss
I've ever had," and handed the signed picture to a
very grateful teenager. I looked at Sylia
wondering if she would take this as yet another
affront. But Sylia did not look disturbed. If
anything, and it may have been my imagination,
there seemed to be a softness in her eyes as she
looked fondly at the girl who was receiving such
special treatment.
     Azusa's father came to pick up his daughter.
Priss would not let him, though. She said that
she, her band, and Azusa were going to eat
hamburgers and fries in the kitchen with the club
staff. In spite of the lateness of the hour, one
look at his daughter's face convinced him it would
be cruel to pull her away from her new friends.
     Matsumoto said he would come back later. On
his way out, he stopped to have a word with me.
"Your friend is not only the best singer who's
ever performed here, but she's also the easiest to
get along with. I'm used to the artists being big
snobs."
     I managed to keep a straight face when he
naively accused Priss of being easy to get along
with and said truthfully, "Priss is certainly no
snob and she is a great singer. By the way, thank
you very much for the table. I never expected
you'd give us the best seats in the house."
     "Oh, that was nothing--just normal
hospitality. It certainly cannot compare to the
attention Asagiri-san is paying to Azusa. Her
mother died in the Kanto earthquake when she was
just a baby. I just don't know how to raise a
teenage girl."
     "From what I see, you're doing just fine.
You're a good man. You have a good heart. Azusa is
very lucky."
     Azusa was lucky. I had lost both my parents
when I was not yet grown. Thankfully, Matsumoto
was summoned by an anxious employee. I had long
since come to terms with the death of my parents
but I had just been subjected to Priss's
emotionally exhausting performance and was feeling
rather fragile. The reminder of my childhood loss
had resurrected long dormant feelings of deep
regret. I don't think I had ever felt real grief
or anger--I'd been too busy trying to cope with
what Priss had called a world out of balance.
     There was no reason for us to hang around any
more. We piled back into the van--well, except for
Sylia who is incapable of piling--and headed home.
On the way, I went over again and again in my head
all the things I was going to say to Priss when
she showed back up at the apartment. However, when
I got home, I collapsed on my bed without
bothering to take off my clothes. I didn't wake up
until the mid-morning sun started shining in my
face the following day.
     Priss was already up and I mumbled something
incoherent on my way to the shower. The hot water
invigorated me and reminded me I had intended to
have a heart to heart with Priss. Although I
recalled constructing a scathing didactic stream
of rhetoric in my mind, somehow the hours of sleep
had dulled my fervor.
     Once I had dressed, I said lamely, "Hey
Priss. You know you upset Sylia last night."
     "Good."
     I waited expectantly, but Priss had nothing
more to say. Neither, apparently, did I. So much
for my well-intentioned pretense at being an
advisor and mentor.
     "Are you going with us today," I said
changing the subject.
     "You think I'd trust you to deal with Quincy
on your own. You bet I'll be there."
     "By the way, you were great last night."
     "Thanks."
     It seemed neither one of us had the clarity
of thought and the way with words we had had the
previous night. Why did Priss have to be such a
stubborn idiot and why did I come across as a
superficial OL. Even the ditzy Nene appeared to
have more of a sense of commitment than I had.
     "Need a ride over to the Silky Doll?"
     "I'll ride my bike."
     Well, I still didn't know what I wanted to be
if I ever grew up but I knew I wouldn't make a
very good shrink. I gave Nene a call.  "Need a
ride over to Sylia's?"
     "Cool."
     I once asked Nene how a computer genius could
be so easy to talk to. She said her CPU might be
high speed multi-tasking, simultaneous 
multi-processing, but her user interface was point 
and click, drag and drop. Thank Heaven for point and
click. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to
communicate with any of the Knight Sabers.
     When I arrived at AD Police Headquarters
after stopping by the Aerobics club, Nene was
waiting outside. Not unexpectedly, Leon was with
her--he always seemed to know when something was
up. "Hey, Leon!" I yelled. "How nice. Are you
going to buy lunch."
     I hoped to head Leon off at the pass and hit
him where it hurt--in the wallet. He looked at me
and asked, "Is Priss joining you?"
     "She's in Kamakura getting ready for her
show," I lied. "Why weren't you at her show last
night?"
     "I was going to come. She told me not to. I
was torn between my desire to see her and my
compulsion to obey her every wish." Leon's sly
grin intimated that as usual he was hiding
something.
     "Come now, Leon! You can't be serious. If you
complied with her wishes, you would have left her
alone a long time ago."
     "Her mouth says, ‘No, no,' but her heart
says, ‘yes, yes.' As big as her mouth is, her
heart is even bigger."
     "You're such a romantic, Leon," Nene teased.
     "If I am a romantic, how come you turned me
down. Especially since Noriko says you still don't
have a boyfriend."
     "I turned you down because you're a jerk who
deserves the aggravation of a Priss. And I don't
have a boyfriend because men tend to be
intimidated by my incredible brain and even more
awesome beauty. You, for example, certainly don't
deserve someone as good-looking, charming, and
smart as I am."
     "Come on, Nene," I said, "Let's go! I don't
think Leon's going to spring for lunch today."
     "Hey! Why don't you treat me for a change?"
     "If we did," I retorted, "People might think
we actually liked you. You have to understand to
us you're just a meal ticket."
     I pulled away quickly before Leon could
respond. I wanted to have the last word.
     "Leon's quite a guy. I sure wish he treated
me with more respect," Nene said despondently.
     "Those incredible brains of yours are napping
if you don't think Leon respects you. He's
probably the only one at AD Police who sees
through your flaky behavior and beautiful red
hair."
     "Thanks. I suppose that's a complement. I
just remembered I'm supposed to be mad at you for
what you did yesterday."
     "Look who's talking! You started it. Good
thing we're both too superficial to hold a
grudge."
     "Isn't that the truth."




Out of Balance--Chapter 6
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     When we arrived, Sylia and Priss were already
in their battle suits. Nene and I hurriedly put
ours on. I'd foolishly thought we'd by going
directly to the Genom Tower, but Sylia set me
straight. I should have realized it would have
been too disruptive. Imagine Genom's archenemy,
the Knight Sabers, showing up at their Tokyo
corporate headquarters. Instead, we went to a
rendezvous point where an unmarked, windowless
helicopter picked us up.
     Only Sylia seemed comfortable with the
arrangement. Priss was particularly outspoken
about being trapped in a strange flying coffin at
the mercy of Genom henchmen. Nene went so far as
to jack into the chopper's computer system. I
could tell by the faint light seeping out from the
edges of her darkened face mask that she had
acquired visual surveillance.
     Suddenly, Nene yelled, "Get down!" She raised
her arm and fired a sustained burst of thirty
millimeter cannon shells straight through the side
of the chopper. The holes she made allowed us to
see at least three helicopter gunships bearing
down on us. I figured there were probably more
beyond our line of sight.
     Priss pushed Nene aside roughly and fired two
missiles at the approaching gunships. The missile
tore out a large hole in the side of our chopper
which was suddenly enlarged when Priss dove
through it right on the trail of the missiles she
had just fired. Nene yelled unnecessarily,
"They're hostile!"
     I looked at Sylia and she nodded. We pushed
through the hole Priss had made. The jets in our
suits gave us greater speed and maneuverability
than the helicopter gunships. As I'd expected
there were far more gunships than had been visible
at first. However, I was too busy to count to see
just how many there were.
     Priss was on the windshield of one of the
enemy craft. She punched through it, grabbed a
jagged piece of transparent plastic, peeled it
back, and squeezed through the opening. I didn't
see what she did next because I had troubles of my
own.
     One of the gunships tried to mow me down. I
did a quick aerial somersault causing my favorite
weapon, the two mono-molecular filaments, to whip
downward. I cleared the chopper. From my vantage
point above it, I saw it careen wildly, its rotors
severed by the filaments. Without the torque of
the main rotor, the small propeller on the tail
spun the helicopter wildly around on its axis.
     I looked around. Sylia had had time to aim
carefully and fired her missiles more effectively
than Priss. The two gunships Priss at which Priss
had fired were heavily armored and had not
sustained critical damage. Sylia had aimed for the
air intakes.  Although the two choppers Sylia had
hit had not been destroyed, they were forced to
limp away from the aerial battle.
     Priss apparently had thrown out the pilot and
the copilot, judging from the two parachutes
drifting downward. I wondered if Priss knew the
pilots had chutes when she threw them out of the
helicopter.
     The chopper Priss was in was careening
chaotically across the sky. I tried to get in
position to help her, but I couldn't even attract
her attention. She seemed to be busy at the
instrument panel, but was apparently unable to
bring the helicopter under control. I could see
her easily through the shattered windshield but
couldn't get to her because of the chopper's high
speed erratic flight pattern.
     Suddenly, a large missile shot out. It
narrowly missed me. It left behind a white trail
as it relentlessly homed in on one of the
gunships, obliterating it in a massive explosion.
The force of the blast hurled me backwards. My
suit protected me, but I was disoriented and it
took a while for me to get my bearings.
     When I'd regained my equilibrium, I
discovered the remaining enemy craft had decided
Priss with her commandeered gunship was the major
threat and were pursuing her. Nevertheless,
Priss's unsteady course made it impossible for
them to lock her in their sights.
     Sylia and I hung back. Priss was too close
for us to safely use our missiles. Also it
appeared our missiles were an order of magnitude
less powerful than those of the combatant aircraft
whose armor made them virtually impregnable except
for precision shots like Sylia had used earlier. 
For us to use our missile against them, it was
kind of like bringing a baseball bat to a
gunfight.
     I was hesitant to fly in close to use my
mono-molecular filaments. I was lucky Priss's
first
missile had missed me. So, I wasn't about to
tempt fate twice. When Priss gets fixated on an
enemy, Heaven help the innocent bystander who gets
in her line of fire. Besides, this was the first
time I had used the full-flight capability of the
new hardsuits and didn't want to get to fancy. I
was sure Sylia had already tested them out
extensively. She never gives anything to us
without making sure the technology works.
     Priss was having troubles of her own, but she
was reluctant to relinquish the major weapon
systems of the commandeered gunship. Eventually, a
second missile erupted from her helicopter and
decimated another of her opponents. Soon after, a
third missile shot out with similar results.
     The enemy aircraft, by trying to get a bead
on Priss, were actually setting themselves up in
her sights. They were stable platforms positioned
to best obtain an effective shot. But, in so
doing, they had lined themselves up in her field
of fire, while her aerial antics rendered her too
elusive for them.
     They took two more casualties before they
realized they could not lock their homing missiles
onto her but she was having no difficulty
acquiring them in her sights. When they finally
realized she was picking them off one by one, they
turned tail and beat a hasty retreat.
     An angry Priss shot out the rest of the
previously shattered, ragged windshield. She
revved up the jets in her suit and exploded
through the debris shooting back at the cockpit as
she went. The chopper careened to the ground. 
     I opened up a common channel. "Hey, Priss!" I
said. "Calm down! They're gone. What do you want
to do, shoot everything that moves whether or not
it's a bad guy. You're not going to shoot me, too,
are you?"
     "That stupid helicopter wouldn't do what I
wanted it to do," Priss fumed.
     "It must have been your subtle touch on the
controls," I quipped. 
     Priss chose not to dignify my feeble attempt
at humor with a response. Or, more likely, my
sarcasm went over her head. Priss could not
conceive that maybe it was not the chopper that
was deficient but the operator.
     Sylia's voice broke in sharply. "Where's
Nene?"
     "I'm trying to land this silly helicopter,"
Nene complained.
     We'd forgotten about the chopper we'd come in
on. We homed in on Nene's signal and took off
after her. As we approached, we saw the helicopter
limping along unsteadily.
     "Nene! Don't try to bring it down," Sylia
commanded. "Just get out the side."
     "I can't," Nene wailed. "The pilot and the
copilot are still alive."
     "Wait for me then!"
     But it was too late. The unstable helicopter
hit the ground and bounced back up erratically.
Nene's initial attempts to steady the craft cause
it to veer off at an even sharper angle.
     "Nene! Take it back up!" Sylia commanded
urgently but without panic.
     "I can't!" Nene shrieked.
     The helicopter hit the ground and skipped a
couple of times. The rotors screamed in anguish.
The wheel struts collapsed and the bottom of the
chopper scraped the ground with a screech of
tearing metal. The rotors were still going. I
could visualize the impending catastrophe. I tried
to yell out to her to kill the engines, but I was
too panicky to say anything coherent.
     Nene revved the engines and at the last
possible moment, the helicopter lifted off. It was
a miracle. I didn't know how Nene had done it. The
rotors were almost perpendicular and had come
within a couple of centimeters of colliding with
the ground.
     I breathed a sigh of relief. It was good I'd
been too panic stricken to advise Nene. Had I been
able to convey my intended instruction to cut the
engines, the outcome would have been tragic. She
could not possibly have stopped the rotors soon
enough and they would have dug into the ground
with catastrophic results. Nene's quick thinking
and decisive good judgment had bought her a little
more time.
     Sylia reached the helicopter. With skillful
maneuvering, she latched onto the jagged edge of
the gaping hole in the side. In a calm voice, she
reported, "The instrument panel's destroyed.
Nene's flying the chopper through the data link.
Both pilot and copilot are unconscious. I'm
looking up to give her another set of eyes through
our video intercomm."
     Nene managed to right the helicopter. Yet, it
seemed to be a case of out of the frying pan and
into the fire. She was now underneath heavy power
cables.
     "Linna! Priss! Get into position to take out
cables and/or towers should it prove necessary,"
Sylia commanded.
     I didn't like the looks of this. Damn Nene!
She couldn't forget she was an AD Policewoman. She
had to put her life at risk to save these two
Genom goons who I'm sure would just as easily have
carried out orders to kill us as they would to
taxi us to Genom Tower. And now Sylia had joined
Nene in what Priss had earlier referred to as a
flying coffin.
     Sylia had nerves of steel. I get nervous just
riding in a car Nene is driving. Imagine Nene
controlling a helicopter indirectly through a
datalink, her only view of the surroundings coming
from images on the small monitors inside her
helmet--horrifying!
     I guess Nene was brave. She'd have to be to
resist bailing out. She was far from calm,
however. I had to turn down the volume on my
headset, she was wailing so loudly--kind of like a
mix between a banshee and a stuck pig.
     Sylia, in contrast, was ice cold. She
anticipated every obstacle well in advance. When
the skittish Nene overcompensated in carrying out
Sylia's instructions, she still had enough time to
correct the wildly veering craft.
     Had Nene been able to hold the chopper
steady, she could easily have navigated it through
to an open area. But, being trapped under the
power cables, she was so preoccupied with dodging
the towers she was unable to plan enough ahead to
chart a course to safety even with Sylia's help.
     Sylia was trying to get Nene to fly
perpendicular to the orientation of the power
lines. But Nene was so erratic in dodging the
towers, all her emphasis was on maintaining her
low altitude. On the monitor in my helmet, I could
see the same visuals Sylia was patching through to
Nene. They made me dizzy.
     "Take it ten degrees to the right," Sylia
directed.
     Nene banked hard right and screamed. The
helicopter soared dangerously close to the power
lines.
     "Ease it down," Sylia said, sounding
unconcerned. She sounded like she was telling Nene
how to set out lawn chairs.
     "I'm trying. I'm trying," Nene whimpered
miserably, almost driving the nose into the
ground.
     Nene pulled up again and the chopper rose and
swung around on its axis. She narrowly missed
another tower. The helicopter made another wild
swing around its axis.
     Just when it looked like the situation was
hopeless, Nene's famous luck finally came through
for her. All the aerial bouncing around had
finally cleared the chopper from the cables. Nene
almost blew it, but Sylia was not about to miss
this fortuitous opportunity. With a tone of voice
that was both soft and dominating, Sylia ensnared
Nene's will and prevented her from blundering back
into the area under the cables.
     Following Sylia's instructions, Nene took the
helicopter well away from the power lines and
brought the wheel-less aircraft crashing down on
the ground. The helicopter's hull crumbled. Nene
killed the engines before it could take off again.
Sylia and Nene emerged, each carrying a limp body.
     "Get back" Sylia shouted as Priss and I moved
up to help. "It's going to blow!"
     No sooner had she said that than the crippled
carcass exploded. Nene and Sylia were both caught
in the blast and hurled forward. The turbulence
subsided, and Sylia and Nene descended.
     Priss and I rushed up. Sylia was saying
something on the external comm channel. Nene was
making the pilot and the copilot comfortable. They
did not seem to be conscious, but there were signs
of life. I went over to her.
     "Good job, Nene! Are you okay?"
Nene turned around. She raised the visor on her
helmet and took a deep breath. Her face was chalky
white. Tear stains smeared the dust and grime on
her cheeks. But she smiled.
     "I can't wait for my next flight lesson," was
her feeble attempt at reassuring humor. "I think I
have to work on my parking."
     Priss yelled something. Nene snapped her
visor down, revved her thrusters, and brought her
weapons to the ready position.
     "It's all right," Sylia said emotionlessly.
"They're friendly."
     I'd deactivated my scanners so I hadn't
spotted the approaching gunships. Nene descended,
but Priss stayed airborne, suspiciously on the
alert for signs of trouble. I flew up to where
Priss hovered.
     Well before the gunships reached us, four
scantily clad women wearing leotards and jetpacks
launched themselves from one of the choppers and
headed our way.
     "Boomers!" Priss spat out contemptuously.
     "I know what you mean," I shot back. "They
have no right to be so good looking. Let's kill
them!" There was a bitter edge to my frivolous
quip. Irene had been killed by C-Series boomers
just like the models now approaching.
     "We're going to meet our prospective client,"
Sylia chastised. "Let's be serious."
     Two of the boomers went to tend to the
pilots. "Gently!" Nene snapped, pushing one of the
boomers aside and picking up the co-pilot herself.
     The boomer Nene had pushed made a move to
retaliate but desisted at a sharp command from a
comrade who appeared to be the leader. Priss,
spoiling for a fight, had immediately gone to
Nene's side and appeared disappointed when her
potential opponent withdrew.
     After a brief consultation with the boomers,
Sylia directed us to enter the lead helicopter.
Nene was already inside, having followed the
boomer carrying the pilot.
     "Not me!" Priss exclaimed. "You want to give
these goons another shot at us?"
     "Genom was the target, not us," Priss
replied. "We just happened to be in the wrong
place and got caught in the crossfire. Genom has
agreed to allow Nene to jack into the helicopter's
control systems to give us an additional measure
of security."
     Priss grunted derisively. She shot toward the
lead helicopter, forcing the boomer Nene had
antagonized to move aside quickly. Apparently,
Sylia said something to Priss on a closed channel
because Priss responded angrily on the open
channel.
     "It was in the way! I was just following your
orders to get in the helicopter. You didn't expect
me to go around it did you?"
     Fortunately, the boomers were more
disciplined than Priss and refused to take the
bait. In the helicopter, we sat in oppressive
silence. We were all aware of Priss's anger
bubbling just below the surface, and none of us,
including Sylia, wanted to say anything that would
set her off.




Out of Balance--Chapter 7
MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story 
     
     We breathed a collective sigh of relief when
we finally disembarked from the gunship after
touching down on a Genom Tower helo pad. We were
whisked off to the top of the tower where we
entered a huge room. My jaw dropped in
astonishment. Walking towards us was the man whose
picture graced the pages of newspapers several
times each week--Quincy.
     Without preamble, Quincy said, "I've
deposited five million yen in your account."
     "We have not yet accepted the assignment,"
Sylia said with a tone of formal deference. Like
Quincy, though, she also dispensed with the
formalities.
     "You foiled a raid against our headquarters
for which we had been unprepared. You were on the
scene to do so because you were en route to this
meeting which I had requested. The money is 
yours--you are entitled to it. You saved us at least
that much in avoided structural damage. More
importantly, our image is intact. We are in your
debt."
     "Image? Shit!" Priss exclaimed.
     Sylia moved to restrain Priss, but Quincy
said, "Let her speak." He turned to Priss. "We
have rebuilt this city, this country, this world.
We are at the forefront of space exploration.
Genom
leads the industry in meteor and planet
terraforming. The word ‘Genom' is synonymous with
human progress."
     "More like boomer progress!"
     "Boomers are useful tools, a means to an 
end--nothing more."
     "They are a threat to mankind. They are our
enemies. You who make them are our enemy."
     "I have no enemies, only adversaries--people
and organizations with competing objectives. We
have had differing goals in the past which drove
us into conflict. However, we also have had
coinciding objectives. I have the video of when
you fought Largo on this tower. Impressive. I
would rather have you as an ally than as an
opponent."
     "We, too, seek to avoid needless conflict,"
Sylia interjected.
     "We talked earlier," Quincy said. "You still
seem unconvinced we have areas of mutual interest
where we can work together--areas, I might add,
where you can profit considerably from our
cooperation."
     "Profit is not our primary motive."
     "Perhaps, I need to be more blunt," Quincy
said. "Genom is vulnerable. Our competitors are
moving against us. As you have just seen, the
competition is not limited to the market. The
attack you just thwarted was intended to be a
quick strike raid against this headquarters.
Whereas its secondary objective was to inflict
financially burdensome damage on us, its primary
intent was to demonstrate our weakness. Our
competitors are no longer in awe of us.
     "We were not prepared for such a raid. It
would have caught us with our guard down and
succeeded in every respect. However, thanks to
your fortuitous intervention, it now appears we
had anticipated the attack and successfully
defended ourselves.
     "You may not like us, but the alternatives
are worse. Would you want to see this country
ravaged by the collateral damage resulting from a
war between monolithic corporations?"
     "Could we not better preserve the peace by
remaining neutral?" Sylia countered.
     "As much as you detest working for me, Genom
is even more averse to having you work for us. We
could hire mercenaries. There are many armies who
would work for us in exchange for us supplying
them with state of the art weapon systems.
However, war is bad for business."
     "Only when you're caught in the middle,"
Priss interrupted. "You usually do not hesitate to
profit from the misery of others."
     Quincy pretended not to hear Priss. "Any
mercenary force would escalate the conflict. In
contrast, an affiliation with our former
adversaries, the Knight Sabers, would send a
strong signal that things had stabilized. This
would discourage hostile moves against us and
reduce the potential for violence. The fact that
we are prepared to take extreme measures by hiring
you demonstrates how much we value peace."
     "Or how desperate you have become," Sylia
interjected.
     Quincy's voice turned cold. "I have not
concealed Genom's weakness. Trust me, though.
Genom shall survive and shall retain its
ascendancy in the market. The issue before you is
this. Do we come out on top the easy way or the
hard way? How much blood are you willing to see
shed before Genom achieves its inevitable
success?"
     "We accept," Sylia said abruptly. "I expect
full access to your databases."
     "Done!" Quincy said without hesitation. He
probably knew Nene could hack into it anyway.
     "There shall be no Genom press releases
concerning our affiliation," Sylia stated
emphatically. "If media representatives ask
specific questions, Genom will decline comment.
The Knight Sabers, as is our policy as a shadow
organization, will provide no information to the
media or any other organization or individual
concerning our arrangements."
     "Agreed."
     "We will conduct an immediate threat
assessment against Genom and then advise a counter
strategy. We will not need the helicopter to take
us back," Sylia said to indicate the meeting had
concluded.
     "And the money?"
     "I leave that to your discretion. If we
provide some value, transfer the amount you deem
appropriate. There must be some trust, ne?"
     Back at the Silky Doll, after we'd taken off
our hardsuits, Priss unleashed her suppressed
anger. "How could you?" she raged.
     "Quincy was right," Sylia said calmly. "This
is the best way to preserve peace and prevent
bloodshed of innocent bystanders. Additionally,
the information we acquire during our association
will be invaluable with respect to future
endeavors."
     "Peace? Who wants peace? I want to see Genom
destroyed. You should, too. Genom killed your
father!"
     "This is not about you and me, Priss. This is
about MegaTokyo and Japan. It's about humankind.
We have duties and responsibilities."
     "But where are your feelings, Sylia? Where
are your feelings? You can't do this. I can't go
along with you on this!"
     "We need you, Priss!" Nene exclaimed.
     "When you move against Genom, I'll be there!"
Priss said and, without saying goodbye, walked out
the door.
     "Sylia, do something!" Nene wailed, and I
echoed her sentiment trying unsuccessfully to keep
the panic out of my voice.
     "I have faith in Priss. She'll be there when
we need her," Sylia said.
     "Maybe we should rethink this assignment," I
said. "To me, Priss is more important than some
job."
     "You know I can't allow Priss to have de
facto veto power," Sylia responded. "But it's not
just that. We have an unprecedented opportunity to
influence the future of the entire world."
     I was unconvinced but didn't say anything.
Nene couldn't say anything. She was crying openly.
Priss would always give Nene a hard time but Priss
was also the one who always kept an eye on Nene in
combat and kept her out of harms way. Nene's flaky
but she's not stupid. She knew Priss who was
incapable of expressing affection cared deeply for
her and the feeling was mutual.
     I knew there was no arguing with Sylia.
People called Priss stubborn because she was loud
and forceful. No one ever called Sylia stubborn
because she was always refined and elegant.
However, Sylia could be just as intransigent as
Priss. The word people usually used to describe
Sylia was resolute. But the quality they were
describing did not differ very much from Priss's
stubbornness.
     We sat around despondent and unspeaking.
Finally, Nene mumbled something to the effect that
she wanted the Genom assignment over as fast as
possible and that she might as well start her data
search. Sylia gave no sign she was relieved but
she stood up just a little more quickly than she
usually did and preceded Nene into the computer
room. Left to my own devices, I figured I'd head
home. Nene and Sylia certainly didn't need my help
when it came to information technology.

____________________________________________
END OF PART I

PART II WILL BE POSTED IN ABOUT A WEEK

Mata ato de,

Phil Yff

    Source: geocities.com/tokyo/4749

               ( geocities.com/tokyo)