Bubblegum Avatar - Chapters 6 - 10

	
	The next several days were quiet ones in the penthouse. The snowstorm was as bad as the 
weather people had predicted, dropping nearly a third of a meter of new snow. Despite the 
warmth generated from the heat retaining, steel-and-concrete buildings, the snow stubbornly 
refused to melt quickly, snarling traffic and generally causing problems. Seeing the trouble, 
Sylia decided to keep the Silky Doll closed until things got better. The streets and sidewalks 
were quickly cleaned, but it was still cold and bitter outside.

	In Craig's case, the need to go out into the snow covered streets was somewhat stronger. 
With the exception of the clothes he was wearing, Craig didn't have anything else to dress in. 
Because of their difference in height and build, nothing Mackie had in the way of clothing 
would even come close to fitting Craig. So the two males headed off into the frozen city to buy 
some new wardrobe, using some of Craig's new-found wealth. They returned late in the day with 
enough purchase to last Craig through the worse of the storm cleanup.

	While Craig and Mackie were out, Sylia had taken the opportunity to study the material 
from the backpack. She had earlier watched all the animated episodes with Mackie, Craig 
declining to sit in, telling her, "that the last thing you need me to do is flap my beak like a 
reject from Mystery Science Theater 3000." She hadn't understood what he meant, but decided to 
wait until after she viewed all the episodes for herself. 

	She actually ended up watching them twice – the first time to get a feel for the stories, 
look for anything out of place or suspicious, and try and make sense of what they were telling 
her. The second time through, she made extensive notes about the people, places, boomer 
designs, hardsuit notes and any other thing she thought might be useful in the future.

	The fanfictions took a little more time to sort through. Sylia read over the stories that 
Craig had pointed out to her, as well as the ones he had told her were 'risque'. The ones 
labeled as 'Bubblegum Zone' stories were long, rather involved, and Sylia found herself 
sympathizing with her namesake in those stories. She tried to ignore Ishmael's statement about 
these stories being real in another dimension, but the fact that another her was dealing with 
such an enthusiastic character made her uneasy. 

	After she had read the last lemon story, she leaned back and considered them. After 
several minutes of thought, she erased the lemon stories and deleted the directory they had 
been stored in. She was satisfied that Craig had told her the truth about those stories, and 
the rest of the Sabers were better off not knowing. But there were a few questions she wanted 
to ask him regarding one particular story, at the proper time....

	While she hadn't mentioned the lemon stories, she had talked to Craig several times, on a 
number of wide-ranging topics. He'd answered her questions about the episodes, filled her in on 
the more speculative items discussed by fans in his dimension, and explained the major 
differences between the 'Crisis' episodes and the 'Crash' ones. She did notice that he hadn't 
told her much more about himself, but they did discuss his conversation with Mackie while Sylia 
was 'erasing' the lemon stories.

	"You heard that?" he had asked, looking guilty.

	"I would like an explanation," she'd replied. "Mackie's down at Raven's garage, so you 
don't have to worry about him overhearing."

	Craig sighed. "It was the first thing that popped into my head."

	Sylia gave him a cool look. Craig gave her a helpless look. "What did you want me to 
discuss with him? Priss' singing talent?"

	"I'm not sure that was any of your business."

	"I needed something to keep his attention. About the only thing I could think of is 
asking about wether or not he wanted to date Nene."

	"Nene?"

	"They have a lot in common, plus they're closer in age."

	"Did you ask Nene about it?"

	"Er...no."

	"I suggest you stop pursing that. It is none of your business."

	Craig hung his head. "Sorry. I just wanted to help."

	Sylia had sighed. "I have no objection if Mackie and Nene want to date, but that is their 
business, not yours. Please stay out of it."

	After that, her houseguest had sunk into a quiet depression, like a puppy that had been 
kicked. When Craig wasn't eating, he was staring out over the skyline of MegaTokyo, watching 
television, helping Mackie with the hardsuits, or in his room. If asked to do something, he'd 
do it, then quietly sink back into his depression. Sylia watched him, looking for any sign of 
stress in him, but he didn't show any. After dinner on the second day, she'd asked him point 
blank if he was all right. A tight smile and a shake of his head was his reply.

	Nene had called later that night. Craig's fingerprints matched a sixty-eight year old 
American with the same name as his, living in the state of Florida. Deciding to take the 
identification a step farther, Sylia clandestinely obtained retinal scans and DNA samples from 
her houseguest and pass them along to Nene. By the evening of the third day, Nene had confirmed 
the match.

	"Either he's a clone, or he's in excellent shape of someone nearly seventy," Nene had 
told Sylia over the telephone. Both were using sophisticated scrambling devices to prevent 
anyone listening in on the conversation. As the devices were a common item in the city their 
use wouldn't cause any undue comment. 

	Sylia shook her head. "It just confirms some things Ishmael told me. I want you to put 
together a background for him in case anyone is looking for him."

	"Right!" the perky redhead had replied, and signed off. 

	After several minutes of thought, Sylia called Linna. "We start training him tomorrow."





	Linna had shown up at the penthouse at a quarter to six in the morning.

	Sylia met her at the front door, fully dressed and looking relaxed. "He's still asleep," 
she said quietly.

	The dancer was dressed in a sweatsuit, and looked eager. "Have you told him?"

	Sylia shook her head. "I thought you could break it to him yourself."

	Linna smiled. "I think I'll go wake him up."

	"There's a sweatsuit about his size on the bureau in the guest room. Don't try and kill 
him on the first day."

	"I'll try not to. Where are you going?"

	Sylia shrugged. "I have some paperwork down in the store I have to complete before I open 
the store today." 

	"Is that the only reason you're sneaking out early?"

	"It's one of them," Sylia admitted blandly. "I also don't want to appear to be hovering 
over your shoulder as you start training him."

	"I'll have to see what I have to work with first." Linna though for a moment. "I think a 
few laps around the building, then some stretching and some light sparing should tell me most 
of what I want to know. After that, I can start putting together a program for him."

	"I'll leave you to it then."





	Linna open the door to the guest room. The soft snoring permeated the room. Her student 
laid on the bed, flat on his back, hands on his stomach. Wearing pajamas and buried under a 
pair of thick blankets, he looked peaceful.

	The dancer smiled evilly. "Wake up!" she said in a cheery tone, her English carrying more 
of an accent then Sylia's did. She leaned against the door jam and watched him awake.

	"Huh? What?" Craig grumbled, eyes rapidly blinking. He turned his head to look at Linna 
bleary. "What?"

	"I said it's time to get up."

	Craig looked over at the clock on the nightstand. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked 
her in a pained tone.

	"Five minutes later then it should be. Get up and meet me outside in ten minutes."

	"Outside what?"

	Linna sighed. It was becoming clear why Sylia had left the waking up of their newest 
member to her. "Outside the building."

	Craig sat up. "Its cold out there!"

	"So? A few laps around the building should warm you right up."

	"Laps? Around the building? In the cold?" From the tone of his voice, Linna know what he 
thought of the idea.

	"Sylia said it's time to start your training."

	"Couldn't you pick a better hour for this, say, noon?"

	"Nope." She picked up the blue sweatsuit from the bureau. "You've got ten minutes to get 
dressed and meet me outside."

	"And suppose I don't show up?"

	The smile she gave him would have scared a shark. "Then, I come back in, drag you out of 
here by the heels, down seven fights of stairs and outside, in whatever current state of dress 
I find you in."

	Craig sighed and hung his head. "You win. I'll be there."

	"Great. See you in ten minutes."





	The paperwork Sylia had to do involving the checking parts of her inventory. After 
finishing up the inventory check in the storeroom, she moved into the store itself.

	She was near the front door when she caught a flash of green out of the corner of her 
eye. She glanced up in time to see Linna jog past. The dancer disappeared around the corner of 
the building. Five seconds later, Craig appeared, puffing along at a slower pace. Sylia watched 
him jog around the corner, then went back to her counting.

	Several more times, Linna jogged past the store, followed by Craig. After about the third 
time, Sylia would pause her inventory and began counting the seconds between Linna's 
disappearance and Craig's appearance. After about the third lap, she realized that Craig was 
losing ground to Linna. Four laps later, they both came into view, Craig looking like he was 
ready to drop, while Linna jogged backwards, having no problem with keeping up with her 
partner's plodding pace. The dancer waved cheerily to Sylia, who watched the sight with an 
amused expression. Craig continued to slog on, his sight fixed on a point about two meters in 
front of him. They disappeared around the corner and Sylia shook her head.

	About ninety minutes later, Linna appeared out of the storeroom. "We're done for the 
day," she said cheerfully. There was a slight bruise on her right cheek, but she looked alert 
and pleased with herself.

	Sylia looked up from her paperwork. "Where is he?"

	"Probably soaking in the bathtub, assuming he managed to crawl into the bathroom." At 
Sylia questing glance, Linna continued. "Those were almost his exact words."

	"Your assessment?"

	"He needs a lot of work. He's fit, but not combat fit. A couple or three months should 
take care of that."

	"His martial arts skill?"

	"Mentally, it's there. He's clearly have some training, but he's sloppy and not sharp. 
He's definitely a defensive fighter, preferring counters, joint locking, and trapping 
techniques." She tapped the bruise on her cheek. "He caught me with a blind spinning backfist. 
Surprised him as much as it did me."

	"Was he shamming any?"

	Linna shook her head. "He wasn't. He was doing too many things wrong to be faking it."

	"Good. He's checked out every other way. How long will it take to put together a training 
program for him?"	

	"I'll work on a fitness program for him today and make sure he gets it before tomorrow." 
Linna tilted her head. "Have you figured out his role yet?"

	The leader shook her head. "I have a few ideas, but nothing definite yet."

	"Maybe you should discuss this with the others before you make any decisions."

	"I may do that." Sylia considered something for a moment. "What is your personal opinion 
of him?"

	"A bit on the quiet side," Linna replied. "He's trying to hide the fact he's scared and 
is very uncomfortable in dealing with us."

	Sylia nodded. "I think we may have to all help him get up to speed on everything."

	"It's not a problem with me. I can always use a new sparring partner."

	"Nene can teach him about the current state of computer technology and Mackie's already 
started him with the hardsuit maintenance."

	"What about Priss?" asked Linna. "What can she teach him?"

	"Motorcycle riding."

	The dancer giggled. "Is that a good idea?"

	"She wanted to keep an eye on him, so she can help us."

	"What are you going to tech him?"

	"How to be a Knight Saber, what else?"





	Sylia entered her apartment about lunchtime, in part to get away from the surprising 
amount of business that had occurred this morning. She also wanted to check up on her 
houseguest.

	She found him standing by the windows, staring out over the city's skyline. A large cup 
of tea was cradled in his hands. He turned to look at her. "Remember what I said about Linna?" 
he asked.

	"Yes."

	"I take it all back. She's an inhuman monster who takes great pleasure in the suffering 
of others."

	"I take it things didn't go well today?"

	He walked stiffly over to a chair and slowly sat down. He was wearing another sweatsuit, 
but his feet were in a pair of battered slippers. "I feel like I was run over again. My bruises 
have bruises."

	Sylia folded her arms. "I hope you're not looking to me for sympathy."

	Craig shook his head. "Just grousing."

	"If it's any comfort, Linna told me that you're only about three months from being in 
combat shape." 

	"So, she has ninety days to either pound me into shape or pound me into the ground? Joy."

	"She's not the only one who's going to be helping you get into shape. We're all going to 
be taking turns getting you caught up with the rest of the world."

	"There goes any chance of a good night's sleep," Craig muttered.

	"You'll get use to it," Sylia replied. "Would you care for some lunch?"

	"I'll get something on my own. Don't worry about me."

	"It's no problem."

	He rose from the chair. "On one condition – I help you with preparing lunch."

	"I can accept that."





	The lab was quiet this time of the day – even scientists and their assistants had meal 
breaks. For Mason, the last three days had been a combination of stunning revelations and 
tantalizing glimpses of the future. Largo had told him things that shocked him, yet excited him 
at the same time. The shell Mason had been planning to use for 'rebirth' had been severely 
damaged in a transport accident, just as Largo had said, right at the time he had said. When 
Mason had told the damaged superboomer what had happened, Largo simply replied, #For you, this 
is new. For me, it's history.#

	The decision to help Largo had been a difficult one, but one he had to take. He didn't 
trust the damaged boomer, but most of what he had said made sense to Mason. The superboomer had 
been right about Quincy's ability to deflect Mason's ambition. The new assignment was a case in 
point. USSD was working on a trigger relay for the orbital particle satellites, a trigger that 
could be carried inside a boomer. GENOM wanted the relay for it's own use. Quincy gave the task 
to Mason -- just as Largo had predicted.

	#Yes?# asked Largo. It had taken Mason ten minutes after he'd left Largo that night 
before he realized that the cyberdroid had spoken to him telepathically. It had been 
intimidating at first, but Largo assured Mason that while he could project and receive thoughts 
broadcasted, he couldn't read minds. Still, Mason preferred to speak out loud when talking to 
Largo.

	"I have the assignment."

	#Excellent,# Largo purred. #What units are you going to assign to the task?#

	"One boomer to infiltrate USSD, and a team of four new C-class boomers to back up the 
infiltrator."

	#And the infiltrator will be a fusion Boomer?#

	Mason was stunned. He'd only made that decision five minutes before he came into the lab. 
There was no way Largo could have know beforehand.

	#I see you are surprised at my statement.# Mason could hear the smile in Largo's voice. 
#It is the same decision I would have made if I was in your position.#

	"But how did –"

	#I would recommend doubling the numbers of Boomers involved.#

	This caught Mason by surprise. "Doubling? But why?"

	#Think about it. One of the infiltrators focuses on the retrieval of the actual trigger, 
while the other one is responsible for securing the design plans. When the time comes, the one 
responsible for the actual trigger will draw attention away from the second infiltrator. If the 
plan works perfectly, you will not only have the black box, you will have the plans to build 
your own.#

	"What about the extra boomers?"

	#Who will USSD hire to look for the trigger and the infiltrator? The Knight Sabers, of 
course. See it as an opportunity to use.... 'executive discretion' on your part.#

	"A trap for the Knight Sabers?"

	#Or as a gauge of their abilities. In fact, why not have a series of boomer rampages to 
test the Saber's mettle? An accurate enough picture of their skills and abilities would make 
them that much easier to defeat.#

	Mason thought about it for a moment. "I'll take that idea under advice," he said.

	#Consider it carefully.# 

	"I will." Mason glanced at his watch. "It is time that I left. We will talk again."

	#I look forward to that.#

	Largo watched Mason leave. His visual sensors were only moderately damaged now, thanks to 
what was left of his self repair systems, but there was no way they could repair the massive 
damage he'd suffered. My next move is convince Mason to have me rebuilt, he thought to himself. 
But not until he is convinced I can do more for him than I can now.

	He didn't trust Mason, and he knew Mason didn't trust him. He had withheld information 
for the human, like the fact he had once been Brian J. Mason in another time and place, or his 
real goal of reclaiming his godhood on the bodies of those who had denied his greatness. Only 
the mission of destroying the Knight Sabers had drawn them together, and once that was done, 
their alliance would fall apart quickly.

	Unless the other side's Avatar changes the odds. The being that had brought him 
here had also informed him that the other side had slipped a person into this time to oppose 
him. He had also kept that from Mason, mostly for his own amusement. But beyond the fact that 
there was another Avatar sent to oppose him, his benefactor could not determined who or where 
they were. Probably with Sylia Stingray, he thought. 

	He tried stretching his awareness beyond the cylinder. Either by accident or design, 
Largo had no direct access to the computers around him. He'd tried to worm his way into the 
system, but had been rebuffed by the system security programs. He continued, carefully probing 
and prodding. He hadn't succeeded yet, but he was patient. He had time and a plan. He could 
afford to be tolerant....





	Sylia had called a meeting for late that night to lay out Craig's training plan. They 
were all there, including Craig, sitting around the living room. They discussed the matter in 
English, so as not to alienate their newest member.

	Everyone had accepted their roles with the exception of Priss. She divided her glare 
between Craig and Sylia. "Why?" she asked, her accent thicker then Linna's.

	"I can't sing," replied Craig smartly, which resulted in the singer increasing the glare 
she directed at him. Nene giggled and even Sylia smiled at Priss' anger.

	"A motorcycle would be more useful to him at the present time," replied Sylia. "He's 
going to have to learn how to ride on sooner or later."

	"I can get a bike together in about a week," said Mackie. "Add another week to work out 
all the kinks."

	"Is something wrong?" Linna asked Craig, watching his expression change to one of unease.

	"I'm not a big fan of two wheel vehicles."

	"Priss can teach you!" chirped Nene. "She's a speed demon, but she's a good teacher!" 

	Priss flopped back into her chair and looked at Sylia. "I still don't trust him."

	"Why not?' asked Nene, her English almost as smooth as Sylia's.

	"We're suppose to believe he's from another dimension?"

	"What other proof would you like?" asked Sylia mildly. "Ishmael's wasn't a normal human, 
nor was he a boomer. Even you have to acknowledge that."

	"It was a trick of some type," Priss muttered in Japanese.

	"It wasn't a trick," replied Sylia, also in Japanese. "Besides, it isn't Craig's fault 
he's stuck here. Let us make the best of it."

	"All right," Priss said in English. "I'll teach him."

	"Good. Now all we –" Sylia was interrupted by a soft beeping coming from the computer. 

	Nene got and went over to the machine. "There's something on the ADP channels," she said 
after a few seconds and keyboard strokes.

	"A Boomer rampage?" asked Linna.

	Nene nodded. "There's at least a dozen construction Boomers rampaging through the heart 
of district seven. Casualties are already into double figures."

	"Damn it!" snarled Priss. "Are we going to sit here, or are we going to smash some 
boomers?" Sylia thought he heard Craig mutter something like 'Neo-luddite' but didn't ask him 
what he meant.

	"I think we're needed." Sylia stood, followed by the others. Craig stated to stand, by 
Sylia shook her head. "You stay here."

	"But –"

	"Not this time."

	"Do you want us to go ahead?" asked Linna in English.

	"Go," replied the leader of the Knight Sabers. "I'll be along in a minute."

	Craig waited until the others had left before he sighed and slumped back into his seat. 
"Can I at least come along as far as the garage and wave bye-bye?" he said sarcastically. 

	It was then that Sylia realized that she'd hurt his feelings. He sounds like a five 
year old! She thought to herself. "We're still getting you up to speed on everything," she 
replied carefully. "Right now, you would be more of a hindrance then a help to us."

	"I suppose you're right," said Craig softly, "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

	Sylia took a deep breath. "Once you're in training, we'll start working you into the 
operations. Right now, I need to learn to follow orders. I am ordering you to stay here."

	"All right. I promise to stay here, in this building, where I can nurse my shattered ego 
in piece and quiet. Fair enough?"

	"You can help Mackie prep the truck for action."

	Craig stood up. "Whee," he remarked, disappointment clinging to the word. "I'll make sure 
Mackie has the truck running hot and his hormones running cold." At Sylia's disapproving look, 
he shrugged. "Would you prefer that you and the other Sabers were being drooled over like 
centerfolds in a skin magazine?" He smiled. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

	For a moment, Sylia had an image of a tall redheaded guy with a grin that said, 'Trust 
me, I know what I'm doing!' She rubbed her temples, resisting the urge to groan. He did that on 
purpose! "We'd better get going," she said, trying to sound decisive and almost succeeding.

	"Coming, Boss."





	The Knight Sabers returned from combat two hours later.

	The battle had been long and far ranging, covering several blocks as the construction 
boomers had scattered instead of staying together. That meant the team had to split up in order 
to hunt down the boomers, and that took time. The boomers, slow and carrying no internal 
weapons, were still tough and strong, and killing them was a drawn-out process. The final 
tally, if anyone was really keeping count, was the Knight Sabers seven boomers, the ADP five.

	The four women walked towards the changing room, while Mackie parked the truck. All four 
had removed their helmets, and were in no hurry to change. The didn't speak much, the result of 
being tired and over the adrenaline rush that combat bought.

	Linna stretched slowly. "I could sleep for a week," she murmured.

	"Same here," replied Nene, her eyes half opened and looking weary.

	"From what, little Miss Cyberpunk?" Priss asked sharply, stopping and turning to look at 
the redhead. "All you did was stand there and supply ECM support."

	"You think it's easy running ECM?" replied Nene angrily, stopping herself and glaring at 
the singer.

	"It has to be easier then taking out Boomers."

	"Oh yea?"

	"Yea."

	"Enough," said Sylia quietly, stepping between the two of them. "Both jobs are tough, and 
this isn't the time and place to debate their merits."

	Linna pushed past the other three and walked into the changing room. The arguing pair 
glared at each other, with Sylia shifting her gaze between the two. After about five seconds, 
Linna leaned out into the hall. "Could you guys come here?"

	"What is it?" asked Sylia.

	"You have to see this," the dancer replied.

	The three of them, the confrontation forgotten for a moment, walked into the changing 
room. In the center of the room, a small table had been set up. On the table was a plate of 
sandwiches, and a pitcher with four glasses.

	The four stared at the sight of food and drink for several seconds. Sylia walked over to 
the table and picked up a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the sheet and began reading. As 
she read it, she noted it was typed, with a signature in bright blue ink.


	Sylia,

	Since I was stuck here, twiddling my thumbs, I thought I'd do something 
	useful. Here's something to revive your strength, though you have to get a better
	selection of foodstuff into your kitchen. The drink is non alcoholic, as some
	people have to drive home. Enjoy!

						Craig

	PS - I suggest that you and the others check the changing room for cameras. 
	Mackie looked real pleased with himself before you left.

	


	Nene picked up a sandwich and looked at the contents. "I think it's grilled cheese." she 
took a bite out of it. "It is grilled cheese."

	Linna poured a glass of the drink and sipped from it. "Fruit punch," she stated.

	"No beer?" asked Priss, looking grumpy.

	Sylia handed her the note. The singer scowled as she read the note, then looked at her 
leader. With a shrug, Sylia gave her a glass of fruit punch. "He does had a point about the 
driving home."

	"I don't need a mother." 

	"Maybe not, but I suggest that we take a look around for what he talks about in his 
postscript before we change."

	It took them ten minutes to find the two cameras, carefully hidden away. Nene, munching 
on a sandwich, found the first camera in a corner of the shower. Sylia found the other tucked 
behind a slightly out-of-place ceiling panel. The mood in the room became chilly as the four of 
them stared at the cameras sitting on the table.

	"How do we know Mackie did this?" asked Priss. "Craig could have done this."

	"And then tell us about it before we change?" counted Linna.

	"It could be a ploy."

	Sylia sighed. "I believe Craig."

	"That's good enough for me," said Nene, her expression dark. "I think it's time we had a 
talk with Mackie."

	"I agree," Linna chimed in.

	"We can ask Mackie about this tomorrow," said Sylia. "For now, I suggest we get take 
showers, change, and get some sleep."





	It was twenty minutes later when Sylia entered the apartment. The penthouse's interior 
was mostly dark, with only the dim light of the city's skyline keeping it from being pitch-
black.

	She sighed. It had been a exhausting mission, a series of short fights alternating with 
rooftop sprints and alley-crossing jumps. She was somewhat bruised and tired, she wasn't as 
alert as she should have been.

	"Everything all right?' asked a voice out of the darkness.

	Surprise overcame her for a brief flash, until her mind put a name to the voice. "What 
are you still doing up?" she asked, trying not to sound rattled.

	"Ish forgot to tell you one thing about me," Craig replied, standing up from the chair 
he'd been sitting in. In the dim light, he was barely more then a shadow. "I've always been a 
bit of a night owl. Late nights and early mornings are very familiar to me."

	"I see. Any reason why you're sitting in the dark?"

	"It helps me to think." He picked up something off the table next to the chair. 
"Er...Would you like some herbal tea before going to bed? I have some hot water on the stove."

	"No, thank you. I think I better get to bed right now, and so should you."

	"I suppose so. Good night." he turned and walked towards the guest room.

	"Craig?' she said softly.

	"Yes?" came the reply.

	"Thank you for the sandwiches and fruit punch. They were a welcomed surprise."

	"I suppose Priss complained about no beer?"

	"Not too loudly. But we found two cameras in the changing room, and she wasn't happy 
about that."

	"I take it Mackie's in trouble?"

	"Leave him to me. Thank you for the warning."

	"It was the least I could do. I'm glad you like the meal. Good night, Sylia."

	She could just make out her houseguest as he disappeared down the hall leading to the 
guest room. After several minutes, she went to her own room.




Chapter 7 –  "Basic Training"
	



	
	The last week of the old year and the first five weeks of the new were a rather quiet 
time for the Knight Sabers. The snow, as a whole, had finally succumbed to the heat generated 
by the steel and concrete buildings of the city, though a few pockets of the white stuff clung 
stubbornly in shadow-filled alleys and doorways. It remained cold, a veiled threat of possibly 
more snow in the near future.

	The threat of boomer rampaging also seemed to be only a veiled menace during that time. 
Only three out of control boomers were reported during the six weeks, and all were quickly, if 
not quietly, taken down by the ADPolice before the Knight Sabers could even think of suiting 
up.

	Which suited Sylia fine. Taking the opportunity presented by the relative peace, she'd 
started several projects in motion. 

	The first project was to check out White Guardian Security corporation. After a couple of 
hours, Nene had dug up the following: White Guardian Security had been in business for over 
thirty years, and was well-regarded in the field of physical and computer security. The owner 
and head of the company was an Ishmael White, a reclusive genius who had not only built the 
company into the largest independent security firm in the world, but had managed to stave off 
takeover attempts from the large multi-national corporations like GENOM and Gulf and Bradley. 
Beyond that, Nene had run into the equivalent of a cyber stone wall when she tried to access 
the company's internal network. Sylia had order her to back off and try other databases.

	The results of that search weren't helpful. No personal information about Mr. White 
existed anywhere in several databases Nene tried, which raise the redhead's eyebrows. More 
digging proved to be fruitless. No evidence of Mr. White's existence could be found, but 
somehow, Sylia knew that the man who had been in her living room hadn't chosen that name or 
that company by coincident.

	The second project was to have Fargo put together files on a list of names she'd supplied 
him with. Her informant was puzzled at the instructions, seeing as the list were made up of 
unknowns, and wanted to know why Sylia wanted information on people like J. B. Gibson, Doctor 
Miriam Yoshida, and Irene Cann. Sylia ignore the questions.

	Her next task was redesigning the hardsuits. She had thought about putting off the 
upgrades until the middle of the year at the earliest, but with the money from Ishmael and the 
future shown in the animated stories, she thought it prudent to start designing now.

	An offshoot of that project was designing Craig's hardsuit. When she asked him what he 
wanted in the hardsuit, he'd told her, "Make it black and gray in color and no high heels. I 
have enough of a problem walking around in regular shoes, let alone something like you guys 
wear. Everything else I leave to your discretion." It had taken her two weeks, but she'd 
completed the basic design, then started working on several additions.

	While Sylia wasn't handling the design work, she oversaw Craig's training regimen. His 
typical day started with a run and early morning sparring sessions with Linna. After breakfast, 
he'd spend most of the day helping Mackie or Doctor Raven with repairs and maintenance on 
Knight Sabers equipment. Late afternoon and early evenings were split between Sylia's language 
lessons, Nene's explanation about the current state of computers, or Priss' motorcycle riding 
instructions, depending on which one of the three was free at the time. Twice a week was spent 
in the training rooms located under Raven's, while three days were spent at a local health club 
on weight machines. Then, it was to an early bed and start the whole process over again the 
next morning.

	He wasn't the only one that was learning. Linna found herself leaning some of what Craig 
knew about close-in fighting, while Nene got some insights into old operating systems, 
programming languages, and computer security. Mackie and Doctor Raven learned that Craig could, 
and frequently did, curse very long and loud when the need arose, much to their amusement.

	Of course, Mackie hadn't been amused when the girls took their revenge on his attempted 
voyeurism with the cameras. Waking up next to the penthouse's pool stark naked wasn't good. 
Waking up next to the penthouse's pool stark naked when the air temperature was well below zero 
degrees Celsius and snow still on the ground was even worse. But waking up next to the 
penthouse's pool stark naked,  when the air temperature was well below zero degrees Celsius, 
snow still on the ground, and being watched by four women, three of them making loud and lewd 
comments about his physique, was too much. He'd tried to escape by fleeing into the penthouse, 
but all the doors were locked, and there was nothing he could use to cover himself or hide 
behind. After ten minutes of complete embarrassment, Sylia stopped the others and handed 
Mackie a thick blanket. "Now you know how we feel," she'd told him severely. "And I hope you 
felt the same way." Mackie, shivering from the cold and humiliation could only nod. Craig had 
slept through the entire event and didn't find out about it until much later.  

	The train and physical activities had it's effect on Craig. Despite his grumbling, he 
lost several more kilos. Under Linna's relentless instruction, he'd shaken all the rust off his 
martial arts knowledge, catching the dancer every so often with a remembered technique or 
combination in their sparring matches. Craig's mechanical knowledge, under Mackie and Doctor 
Raven's eyes, also increased, but even he admitted that he was all thumbs and not to be trusted 
around delicate equipment. After about two weeks of discussion, Nene had brought him up to 
speed on the current state of computers in 2032.

	The two areas where Craig was having problems was with Motorcycle riding and learning 
Japanese. With Priss, insults between the two of them seemed to fly faster then the cycles 
were. The arguments had never come to blows and Priss continued to teach him, but there a 
tenseness between the two that hadn't quite dissolved.

	The language lessons were stumbling along, partly because Sylia's schedule was always 
changing, and in part because Craig's skills at picking up new languages was poor. His attempts 
at speaking were slow and halting, making him sound like he was drunk or stupid. They kept at 
it, and there was slow improvement along the way.

	Despite the troubles he was having, Craig seemed to be adjusting to his new life. Thanks 
to a couple of Sylia's contacts, he now had a full set of identification papers, proving he was 
a new citizen of MegaTokyo. Nene had made sure the papers would hold up under close scrutiny by 
cracking several of the city's important informational systems and planting several data files. 
He'd also had money, some from the job he had at Raven's, which seemed to please him.

	Despite seeing him on a constant basis, Sylia still managed to be surprised by Craig. She 
had walked into the penthouse late in the afternoon one day to find a small pile of books 
sitting on the table in the living room. Sitting in a chair, looking relaxed, and reading was 
Craig. He had waved a greeting in her direction, but hadn't look up from his reading.

	"What are you reading?" she had asked him.

	"The Art of War," he'd replied. "I'm refreshing my memory on Sun Tzu."

	Sylia nodded. She was familiar with the book and several others in the same field. "Where 
did you find these?" she'd asked, motioning to the books on the table.

	"Old store four blocks over." He turned the page and continued reading. 

	"Most of the books come in a e-text format."

	"I've worked with computers enough as it is. Besides, staring at a screen for a long time 
isn't something I want to be doing."

	Sylia gave him a mild stare. "Just don't leave too many of them lying around."

	After that, the number of books in and around the penthouse seemed to grow and shrink at 
a controlled rate. Science fiction, thrillers, fantasy, military history, martial arts, chess, 
and other sorts of books appeared, both hardback and paperback. Every two weeks, Craig would 
fill a box of books he'd read and store them in a nearby warehousing place. She asked him once 
what he was doing buying so many books. He'd replied that he was rebuilding his library. It 
seemed that every minute he wasn't doing something, he was reading.

	Books weren't the only thing Craig started buying. Audio disks and a player appeared one 
day, and soon there was a varying number of albums here and there. Whenever Sylia came across 
several of the miniature disks Craig had left lying around, she would go through them out of 
curiosity. She quickly realized his taste in music as varied, but unusual. A good number of 
movie and television soundtracks (mostly from the science fiction genera), a selection of 
Scottish and Irish music (with a seeming emphasis on bagpipes) some rock music (nothing later 
then the turn of the century), and old-time radio shows (mostly mystery and suspense shows). On 
occasion, she would see him sitting outside in a lounge chair, earphones on, listening to 
something.

	Sylia also got glimpses of Craig's psychological make-up. When she found a picture of 
Largo from the animated stories taped to the refrigerator, and asked him about it, he'd simply 
shrugged and replied "Appetite suppressant," and left it at that, despite Sylia's follow-up 
questions. She did notice that the picture would disappear when there was team meetings held at 
the penthouse, only to reappear after everyone else had left.   

	Besides the reading and the picture business, Craig tried to stay out of Sylia and the 
other Knight Saber's way as much as possible. He'd never been into the Silky Doll, telling 
Sylia, "All that frilly stuff is unhealthy for the male cavemen psyche. More then three unused 
bras and panties in the same sight radius is usually enough to send us neanderthals running off 
in the other direction, and that includes me." 

	"That sounds sexist," Sylia replied.

	"Maybe, but think about this. A women can wear a man's dress shirt and she looks sexy. A 
guy wearing a woman's blouse has about as much sex appeal as a road accident. Who got the 
better deal there?"

	Sylia conceded the point. In his own way, her houseguest was beginning to fit into the 
team....





	The six weeks of quiet was broken one night by reports of a trio of construction boomers 
storming through a residential district. Nene, working as an ADP dispatcher, relayed the report 
to Sylia, who called the team together. Fifteen minutes later, the Silky Doll truck rolled onto 
the highway. Craig had suggested, and Sylia finally agreed, that the Silky Doll logo should be 
covered over, just in case there was a problem. With some magnetic backing, the logo was 
covered over in a matter of seconds.

	It was late enough for the traffic to thin out from the evening's business. Mackie was 
driving, while Craig sat in the back with Sylia, Priss and Linna. All three of the ladies were 
suited up, but helmetless

	"What do you want me to do?" Craig asked the Saber's leader. He had refused to stay 
behind this time.

	"If you language skills were better, I would have you monitoring the police bands and 
feeding us updates. But since you can't –"

	"Mackie will. Right. I can take the wheel duties if need be."

	"I hope you drive better then you can ride," muttered Priss. There were a couple of 
unusual side effects resulting from the arguments she had with Craig – Priss' English was 
improving slightly, and her cursing fluently in that language had increase tenfold. In return, 
Craig could swear in Japanese better then he could speak it conversationally, though it still 
sounded like he was drunk most of the time.

	"I can drive," said Craig acidly, "and I expect I'll hang onto my licence longer then a 
certain speed demon I know."

	"Not now children," said Sylia, picking up her helmet. "You can argue after we'd stop 
these boomers."

	"Yes Mommy," Priss and Craig chorused, her in Japanese, him in English. Linna started 
giggling, while Sylia smiled. Priss settled for glaring at Craig, who managed not to smirk..

	"Three minutes," Mackie called out over the loudspeaker

	Sylia pulled the helmet down over her head, becoming the visual leader of the Knight 
Sabers. "Let's get ready."





	The truck was pulled over on a side street that was deserted at this time of the night. 
Mackie was in the back, monitoring the ADP radio channels and tracking the battle. Craig sat in 
the cab, watching the surrounding building for any sign of trouble. The truck's radio was 
playing softly, but Craig wasn't listening to it.

	"They got the second boomer," said Mackie over the com system that ran between cab and 
the trailer. "But the third Boomer's gone into a construction zone."

	"That's not good," said Craig, his eyes still scanning the surrounding buildings.

	"It isn't."

	"Where are they now?" asked Craig.

	"About four blocks over from here."

	A chill went down Craig's spine. Something was wrong, but he couldn't place the feeling. 
He peered at the buildings around him, looking for a cause of his discomfort. Nothing seemed 
out of place. "Are you picking up anything locally on the sensors?" he asked Mackie

	"No. Why do you ask?"

	"I'm getting a feeling that we're sitting ducks here."

	"Don't worry about it. We're far enough away that we can get away if the battle comes in 
this direction. Besides, Sylia doesn't want us to attract attention."

	"I still don't like it," he said, starting the engine.

	"Just relax, will you? Sylia and the others will be back in about five minutes."

	"I don't care, I'm moving the truck."

	"What for?"

	"We've sat here too long for my taste." Craig shifted into gear and the truck moved 
forward.

	"We're not suppose to move!"

	"I'll try and keep the truck close without the battle or the ADP ending up in out laps. 
Which direction is the battle?"

	"East, but -- "

	The road behind the truck exploded, hurling chunks of rock and asphalt into the air. The 
shockwave slammed into the truck, nearly wrenching the steering wheel out of Craig's hands. He 
fought the wheel, stomping on the accelerator as hard as he could. The truck shot forward, 
racing for the intersection. 

	"What the hell was that?" shouted Mackie.

	"How the bloody hell do I know?" Craig shouted back. He looked at the oncoming stop sign. 
"Right or left?" he shouted.

	"What?"

	"Which way is the fight?"

	"Right!"

	A red beam shot from a rooftop and punched through a parked car fifty meters in front of 
the truck, on the other side of the intersection. The explosion shattered nearby windows and 
sent a large fireball rolling up into the night air. Another bolt of angry red smashed into the 
street twenty meters ahead of the truck, leaving a crater in the middle of the intersection. 
Several cracks appeared in the windshield and a chill went through Craig.

	Since the attacks seem to be coming from the left side of the street, Craig cut the 
steering wheel to the right, aiming for the sidewalk at the intersection's corner. As he did 
so, he shouted, "We're under attack!"

	"What? Are you sure?"

	"Yes, I'm bloody well sure! Somebody's firing lasers at us!"

	The truck ran up on the sidewalk , missing the edge of a solid looking building housing a 
bank by millimeters, then was back on the road again. At the next intersection, he made a hard 
left turn, nearly losing control of the truck and rolling it. He managed to save the truck 
before it flipped, then he floored the accelerator again. The truck leapt forward like a 
bolting horse.

	"I've recalled the team!" Mackie yelled, "They're homing in on us now!"

	"Tell them to be careful. Do we have any spare firepower back there?"

	"Nothing we can use."

	"Where's the ADP?"

	"Two blocks over. We should avoid them."

	Craig's eyes caught movement ahead of them. "Ask the team their location."

	"If you see movement in front of us, that's them." Just as Mackie said that, three 
hardsuited figures come out of the alley. Craig slowed the truck to a stop near them. 

	The white Saber came over to the window. The green and blue Sabers took defensive 
positions to cover the buildings "What happened?" Sylia asked.

	"Somebody on a roof fired at us," Craig said hurriedly. "At least three shots, a laser-
type weapon."

	"Are you all right?"

	"Right now, yea. Ask me again in two hours."

	"We'll take a look. Try and find a spot nearby, and we'll meet up in ten minutes."

	Craig nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. The three Sabers leapt into the air and 
disappeared onto the roof of a nearby building. Craig leaned back and said, "Mackie?" 

	"Yes?"

	"Do you think you can come up and drive? All of a sudden, I don't feel so good."

	"I think I can do that."

	"Thanks." Craig looked at his hands. They were shaking.





	Craig's hands had stop shaking by the time the team gathered to discuss the event. Mackie 
had driven the truck back to the Lady633 building. Craig sat beside him, looking somewhat tired 
as the post adrenalin effect hit him. The three hardsuited members stayed on the rooftops, 
running parallel with the truck for several blocks until Sylia was certain that no one was 
tracking them. The team boarded the truck and Mackie took a long, circuitous route back to the 
building.

	No one said a word until the truck was back in the garage, at which point, everyone got 
out of the truck and inspected the damage. In a way, the truck and its passengers had been very 
lucky. The last third of the trailer was pitted and burnt from the near first-miss, while the 
windshield and front grill had suffered several cracks from the second and third shots.

	Before the discussion could start there, Sylia ordered everyone upstairs. Nene was 
waiting for them, having just gotten off work and had come straight over. In ten minutes, they 
were all sitting around Sylia's living room drinking a small selection of hot beverages. For 
Craig's sake, they decided to conduct the meeting in English.

	Sylia started the meeting. "This attack on the truck is very disturbing. Did either one 
of you do anything to attract attention?"

	 "Nope," replied Craig. "We stopped, sat there for a while, then I got this feeling that 
we'd stuck around there for too long, and started to move the truck. That's when the attack 
first happened."

	"We were lucky, Sis," said Mackie. "If we'd been sitting there when the blast hit us, 
we'd both be dead now."

	"As it is, the truck can't been seen out on the streets like that," said Nene.

	"I have already contacted someone to handle the repairs," said Sylia.

	"Are you sure you guys didn't see anything on the roofs?" asked Craig.

	"We found nothing but the craters and the destroyed car," replied Sylia. "You two were 
very lucky."

	"Don't I know it," muttered Craig.

	"What could have caused such damage?" asked Linna.

	"I'm not sure," replied Sylia.

	GENOM had to be behind it," said Priss, who was lounging on a chair on the far side of 
the room.

	"We don't know that," said Nene.

	"GENOM might be not be involved," said Craig, "but then again, the sun might not come up 
tomorrow. Which is more likely?"

	Sylia sipped from her cup. "Now the question becomes was the truck attacked on purpose, 
or because it was there?"

	No one had that answer, so the conversation had turned to the trio of rampaging 
construction boomers. Both Priss and Linna described how they're taken down two of them.

	"What about the third?" asked Mackie. "Right before we were attacked, you chased it into 
a construction area."

	"We managed to trash it pretty good," said Priss, "but the damn thing managed to smash 
its way through a fence where some ADP hotdog with a big pistol blew a hole through it." Her 
expression was sour. 

	"How do you know he was a hotdog?" asked Craig.  

	"With the size pistol he was carrying?" Priss snorted. "Only hotdogs would carry a 
monster pistol like the Earthshaker."

	Craig frowned. "Would this hotdog be about two meters tall, brown hair, could be called 
handsome if you put your mind to it?"

	Priss gave him a level stare. "That describes him. Why, you know him?"

	"I hear rumors." 

	Sylia gave Craig a brief warning look. With the exception of Mackie, none of the others 
knew about the items in the backpack. Sylia decided to continue keeping it from them, despite 
Craig's objections. That had involved some heated words between the two of them, one of the few 
times he had seriously challenged one of her decisions.

	Nene frowned. "That sounds like Leon."

	"Who's Leon?" asked Sylia

	"Leon McNichol."

	"That idiot," snorted Priss.

	"He's one of the ADP's field commanders," said Nene. "And he was out there tonight." 

	"They didn't do too well against those construction boomers."

	"Maybe because they weren't acting like construction boomers," said Sylia.

	Linna and Nene chorused, "What?" while Priss scowled. Mackie and Craig looked at each 
other. 

	Craig shrugged and said, "I'll bite, why do you say that?"

	Sylia took another sip of tea before she continued. "Rampaging boomers are out of control 
machines. They have no set actions, and commit random acts of destruction. The three tonight 
had a very precise set of orders, which they followed out."

	"I don't know Sylia," said Linna doubtfully. "That seems to be awfully thin."

	"Would it interest you to know that despite GENOM owing more then half the building in 
the battle zone, only three were damaged, none of them seriously? And of six buildings that 
were destroyed or severely damaged three belonged to companies that GENOM has been trying to 
buy out?"

	The reaction to her news was mixed. Both Linna and Nene looked shocked, while Priss 
rolled her eyes. Craig said, "Is it just me, or is GENOM beginning to get on my nerves?"

	"It's you," the rest of the team chorused un unison.

	"Gee, thanks," muttered Craig. Nene giggled.

	Sylia's tone returned to being serious. "There was also an attempt by those construction 
boomers to coordinate their attacks on us and the ADP troops. I would say they ended up with 
some military science programs in their last upgrade."

	"It didn't work that well," said Priss with a snort.

	"That's because they weren't military boomers, If they had been, it would have been much 
tougher to take down."

	"And how long will it be before we start seeing boomers that are more combat orientated?" 
asked Craig, slouching down in his chair. Sylia gave him another warning look, which he 
ignored.

	"We'll have to be more careful in the future," said Sylia, steering the conversation back 
on target. "The Silky Doll truck identity should be considered as compromised until we know 
better."

	"Maybe," said Mackie, looking thoughtful.

	"You know something?' asked Sylia.

	"Not know, suspect."

	"What do you suspect?" asked Linna, looking puzzled.

	Mackie leaned forward. "While we've been sitting here discussing this, I've been  
thinking that those shots were a bit too wild."

	"You think the attack wasn't intended to destroy the truck?" asked Priss.

	"It's a possibility we should consider. I mean the truck is a big target. Even if they 
missed their first shot, we weren't going fast enough to miss any follow-up shots. Those next 
two should have hit us."

	"So you're complaining about the bad guy's marksmanship?' asked Craig. "I think sticking 
a big target on the side of the truck might improve their aim, but –"

	"Could it have been a trick to follow us back here?" asked Nene, cutting Craig off in 
mid-sentence.

	Sylia shook her head. "We made absolutely sure that we weren't followed, and I scanned 
the truck to make sure there weren't any tracking devices located on it before we returned."

	"Anything else?" asked Craig, standing up.

	"Besides warning everyone to be careful for the foreseeable future, no."

	"Fine. If there's nothing else, I'm going to bed." With that, he walked out of the room.

	"What's with him?" asked Priss, switching back to Japanese.

	"Tonight was the first time in his life that someone's tried to killed him," replied 
Sylia quietly. "And there was nothing he could do about it except run."

	"Is he going to be all right?" asked Nene, looking over her shoulder in the direction 
Craig had gone.

	"He needs time to put it into perspective," replied Linna. "The question is how long will 
it take him to do so."

	The meeting broke up after that.
		




	What remained of the night slipped off onto the darkness, broken by the rising sun that 
signaled a new day. People awoke, got dressed, and went to work. Some went to office jobs, 
while others opened and operated businesses. A few, like policemen and emergency personal, 
moved about the city, trying to keep order in a megalopolis, that by its very nature, was just 
slightly short of anarchy. And there was those who had no job, and most no future.

	The center of the city's solid foundation, the bulwark around which the sea of chaos 
lapped at did not lie with the mayor, city council, or police department. Instead, it resided 
inside the monolithic tower that dominated the city's skyline the same way mountains dominated 
over foothills. No major decision regarding the governing of the city was made unless the man 
in the Tower allowed it to be made.

	Quincy, Chairman of the board and CEO of GENOM was, in many ways the defacto ruler of the 
planet. Governments rose and fell at his word. Companies seceded or failed at his order. Those 
who knew him feared him, but allied themselves with him because they had seen what happened to 
those that openly opposed him. Others who did not know him, tried to, knowing that their 
futures would be secure with a nod of the chairman's head. He played them off against each 
other, watching with concealed amusement as they fought to seek favor in his eyes. Words, 
actions and even a few murders were the core weapons of this type of combat. To a few of the 
victors, he would award something, like a king bestowing a gift to a subject,  to encourage 
others onto the field of battle.

	Quincy was sitting in his office, watching the sun rise about the city. His city. He 
dominated this city the same way his tower overshadowed the city's skyline. GENOM might look 
like it controlled the city, but he was GENOM.. A few ambitious people had forgotten that small 
detail over the years, only to remember it too late to save their jobs - or their lives. Quincy 
may be a despot, but he was an able despot, with years of experience, cunning and intelligence 
behind him.

	A small 'beep' interrupted his thoughts. He tapped a button on the armrest of his chair. 
"Yes?"

	"Miss Madigan is her to see you, sir," said his secretary.

	"Send her in."

	Kate Madigan walked into the office of the chairman. Elegant, intelligent and a hard 
worker, she had work her way into the small group of people who worked directly for the 
Chairman. The only threat to her position was Brian J. Mason, resulting in a tense battle 
between the two that Quincy enjoyed immensely..

	"What is it?" the Chairman asked. He turned his chair around to look at her.

	She handed him several pages. "The results for the laser live-firing trial last night." 

	Quincy too the pages from her and scanned then quickly. He frowned. "These results are 
unsatisfactory," he said after handing the pages back to her. There had been no anger in his 
voice, just a cold statement of fact.

	"Yes Sir. Professor Tome thinks the problem is in the targeting software."

	"The software has performed excellently when it was installed in our combat boomers." 
Again, the cold statement of fact.

	Madigan nodded. "The professor believes that the waste heat from the laser's first shot 
seriously degraded the accuracy of the next two shots. The software was unable to compensate 
for the target's sudden movement, and the waste heat generated slowed the boomer's response 
time by at least fifteen per cent. The boomer also suffered other problems, such as its vision 
being reduced by twenty percent for a period of twelve seconds. We thought it was prudent to 
recall the Boomer once the truck had slipped out of sight."

	"Any identification on the truck or its driver?"

	Madigan shook her head. "Even with advanced imaging, the boomer couldn't see any 
identifying marks and the angle was wrong to see the licence plate. And once the boomer had 
fired the laser...."

	Quincy sighed. "Has the driver filed a report with the police?"

	"No sir. Our agents inside the ADP have reported that there have been no reports of a 
truck being attacked by a laser."

	"I see." Quincy turned back to the window. "Makes you wonder what a truck was doing in 
that area of the city at that time of night."

	It wasn't far from the boomer incident and the Knight Sabers. Could that truck be part of 
the Knight Saber's support structure?"

	"Possible. It also as possible that the driver was engaged on a illegal venture of his 
own making and decided to wait for the ADP to resolve the Boomer rampage instead of risking his 
cargo by skirting the battle zone. Why was the truck chosen for the target?"

	"The Boomer was given a set of parameters," replied Madigan. "We thought with the 
rampaging boomers nearby, a destroyed truck would just be considered collateral damage."

	Quincy nodded slowly. "How long did Professor Tome think it would take to revamp the 
laser system and software?"

	"A minimum of another month. The Professor thinks he has found a way to reduce the waste 
heat that would minimize the effects on the boomer's programing and CPU."

	Quincy turned to look at his assistant. "Inform the good professor that he has five weeks 
to rebuild the laser system so it functions within the required parameters."

	"Yes Sir." Madigan turned to walk out of the room, but Quincy's voice stopped her.

	"There is another matter I wish to speak you about."

	Madigan frowned. She turned back to her boss. "What matter, sir?" she asked respectfully.

	Quincy gave her a cool stare. "Mr. Mason and the Lazarus project."

	"I don't understand, Sir."

	The chairman leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingertips and started at his 
assistant. "I read your report very carefully," he said slowly, "and there are a couple of 
things in there that disturb me."

	Now Madigan was really confused. "What things?" she asked, fighting to keep her 
composure.

	"The first is the inconsistent count in the number of Boomer shells."

	"We checked the number of boomer shells three times, twice without warning," replied 
Madigan. "Every shell was pulled from storage and check. None were dummies."

	"I know, but there seemed to be one that would occasionally go 'missing' for short 
periods of time."

	"I found no record of such an event."

	Quincy smiled at her. "That's because you don't have the access to the computer system 
like I do."

	Madigan nodded slightly. Nothing was kept from the Chairman – he knew every project, the 
status of every manufacturing plant, every sales campaign, every black ops that affected his 
conglomerate. His access to GENOM's computer system was unlimited, and unlike most of his 
contemporaries, Quincy knew how to access the system for anything he wanted.

	"There have been some unusual power increases during off hours in several of the labs 
connected with the Lazarus project," the Chairman continued.

	Madigan's frown increased. "I was under the impression that those labs were secured by 
boomers, with no one allowed to enter them during those off hours."

	"That is suppose to be true. However, a few people can override the boomer's standing 
orders and open those labs for their own use."

	"How many?"

	"Three. Mr. Mason, Doctor Ming, and Doctor Galloway." The Chairman's expression became 
one of distaste. "Neither doctor has any motive to do such a thing – they are small men with 
small passions. On the other hand...." he left the accusation hang in the air between them.

	Madigan was quick to pick it up. "Is Mr. Mason trying something?"

	"That is the question that must be asked." Quincy was silent for a moment, watching 
Madigan with half closed eyes. "Are you aware that Mr. Mason is spending time alone in the same 
lab that the unknown boomer is located?"

	"No Sir." 

	"It is amusing to watch him at times. For some reason, he talks to the boomer as if it is 
alive. The one-sided conversations are very interesting and highly reveling about some of  his 
future plans."

	"Which are?" asked the lavender-haired woman. Outwardly, she was calm, but the knowledge 
that Mason was being monitored by Quincy himself, and by inference herself, made her feel 
uncomfortable.

	The Chairman shook his head. "I think I keep them as a surprise for now. Despite his 
sudden irrational behavior inside the lab, he still of use to me."

	"Then, why are you telling me this, sir?" asked Madigan.

	"Because I want you to discover what he plans to do with Project Lazarus. He's clearly 
has something in mind, something that could ruin GENOM if it is not stopped."

	"If I should discover something, do you wish me to stop it?"

	"No. I want that pleasure for myself. Whatever you find out, bring it to me." 

	"I understand sir." Madigan turned and walked out of the office. Quincy smiled and went 
back to looking over the city - his city. It would be interesting to see if Madigan had the 
courage and skill necessary to discover Mason's plot before Mason discovered her. Yes, he 
decided, it was going to be an interesting contest....





	The USSD research facility was considered a top-notch security installation. Located in 
the same complex as the headquarters building, most of the organization's non-hazardous 
development was done here. Five stories tall, the building actually sank into the ground for 
another seven levels below the street level.

	The fifth basement level was given over to a top secret USSD project know to a very few 
as project Hikigane. Even fewer people know that Hikigane was the newest weapon in USSD's 
arsenal, a black box installed inside a boomer that could call any of the orbital particle 
satellites to fire at a designated target at the speed of thought. The prototype was installed 
inside a boomer made to look like a little girl. It was a strategy that went all the way back 
to the Trojan Horse – placing a weapon of mass destruction inside an seemingly innocent form. 
Only the most paranoid or suspicious authorities would ever consider a little girl as a threat 
to their country, which is why USSD chose the form.

	The director of the project was Doctor Yoshi Takahari, a middle aged, average height, 
plain-face man with thick glasses. Most of the time, he was in the lab, supervising the 
Boomer's construction, but every so often, he had to spend time in the office filling out 
paperwork and keeping the USSD apprized of the project progress. He was in the office now, 
reviewing several inventory forms when there was a knock at the door.

	"Come in," he said, not bothering to look up from the papers. People were always 
bothering him in the office – that was one of the reasons he preferred working in the high 
security laboratory, safe from most of the mindless dribble he was forced to face in his 
office. Another strike against the office was its size – there were literally broom closets on 
the base that were larger. There was just enough room for a desk and two chairs, making it 
cramped quarters for any more then two occupants at anyone time.

	"May I speak to you, Doctor?" asked a attractive alto voice from the doorway.

	Takahari looked up from his reports and smiled at his visitor. "Of course, Captain. 
Please, Take a seat."

	Captain Amanda Rowley, USSD, matched her voice. At a hundred and seventy centimeters, she 
was taller then the doctor, but her lean agile build make her look even taller. Blonde and 
blue-eyed, she carried herself with the controlled energy of a professional dancer. As a 
military officer, she was in top shape, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by most of the lab's 
male staff. But her polite refusals for dates were backed up by a third degree black belt in 
Judo and a second degree black belt in karate. In addition, her IQ topped most of the staff by 
twenty points and her twin degrees in mechanical design and computer science made her more then 
just a pretty face in USSD. Her role was Project Hikigane's liaison with the USSD command 
structure overseeing the project.

	There were times when he talked to Rowley that Takahari wished he was twenty-five years 
younger and unmarried – with her combination of brains and beauty, he would have fallen in love 
with her in a snap. Since he wasn't a young man anymore, and he still loved his wife deeply, he 
settled for acting like Rowley's uncle. This allowed for an informal way speaking to each other 
without the shields of rank and position getting in the way. Both found the relationship 
beneficial.

	"And how is the liaison business these days?" he asked, give her an amused smile.

	"Busy," she replied, taking a seat near the desk and crossing her long legs. "The General 
is on my ass again, trying to push the project along."

	Takahari frowned again. He didn't need to ask 'which General?' was trying to push the 
project along – Only General Schwarz, the commander of USSD's Far East Command, was in a 
position to do so. In many ways, Hikigane was Schwarz's baby, from the original concept to this 
point in time. And like any person in power who came up with a new idea, he had a tendency to 
try and supervise the day to day operations of the project himself.

	"Did you explain to the General what we're actually doing?" he asked Rowley in a 
disapproving tone of voice. "The complexities of the integration between the black box and the 
boomer's CPU are not well understood. We have to do this slowly and methodically. If we make a 
mistake, one of those damn satellite could wipe out this entire complex! Not to mention the 
software –"

	"I told him that, chapter and verse," replied Rowley, her own voice showing some of her 
own frustration. "I even used small words, so there would be no chance of misunderstanding. He 
doesn't care. He insists that the 'killer doll' will be ready on time, or else."

	"Or else what?"

	"He didn't say. I guess he wanted to leave it up to our imaginations."

	"He's an idiot." Takahari said disdainfully.

	"I can't agree with you there. He is my superior officer –"

	"And thus you have to support him in any decision he makes,  wether or not you personally 
agree with the order," finished the doctor. "I know the drill by now."

	"Can you be ready by the deadline?"

	"I think we can manage that, but we're going to have to juggle some teams around to 
provide maximum work time."

	"The General has authorized overtime to be paid if the needs arises."

	Takahari raised an eyebrow. "He is serious about this."

	"You thought he was kidding?" asked Rowley sarcastically. Then more seriously, she said, 
"He wants Hikigane as soon as possible. The Iranians and Iraqis are making noises about going 
to war again, and he's afraid other nations will be sucked into the fight this time."

	"We can't accelerate the schedule any more then we've done."

	"I know, but he thinks the Iranians and Iraqis are going to fire off nukes this."

	The doctor leaned back in his chair and stared at Rowley. "Does he really grasp what 
trying to do with this project? This isn't a simple as opening up a boomer and sticking in a 
black box, splicing a couple of wires together and presto! Instant killer doll!', and you know 
it."

	Rowley held up a hand. "You're preaching to the converted here, as my daddy use to say."

	Just then, someone else knock on the office door. "Yes?' asked Takahari.

	A tall, man with orange-reddish hair opened the door wide enough to stick his head into 
the office. "Sorry to bother you, Doctor," he said apologetically, "but we're having a problem 
with one of the secondary signal relays and Parson's getting hot under the collar over it."

	Takahari stood. "I'll be there right away. Go tell Parson to go get a cup of coffee and 
keep him out of the lab until I get there."

	The man nodded. "Right, Doctor." His head disappeared and the office door closed.

	"Who was that?" asked Rowley "I haven't seen him before."

	"The scientist shrugged. "He's been here about a month now. Usually works the late shift, 
but one of the techs on Beta team was on the wrong end of a hit and run, and ended up in the 
hospital." He glanced at his watch. "I better go see what went wrong before Parson tears the 
entire relay apart."

	Rowley frown. "What's the tech's name?"

	"Name?" Takahari frowned for a second before understanding her question. "The man who was 
just here? Oh, Frederick. F. G. Frederick." 




Chapter 8 – "Headaches, Heartaches, and Other 								Pains"
	



	Another two weeks passed in relative peace for the Knight Sabers. There had only been one 
boomer rampage that needed to be put down, a quartet of combat boomer were released by a 
terrorist group calling themselves 'The Democratic Indigenous People's Worker Liberation Army', 
or DIPWA. Seeing as the group released the boomers in a section of the city more know for decay 
and criminals then its rich and influential, it didn't make much sense. Craig summed up the 
situation like this: "Anyone dumb enough to come with the acronym DIPWA has got to be a real 
moron." He followed that statement with a few choice words about Communists and Socialists that 
indicated they lacked intelligence and moral fiber. His political tirade was silenced by Priss 
hitting him with a well-thrown pillow and giving him a grade-A glare.

	All four Sabers were available for this one, freeing Mackie from most of his monitoring 
work. This allowed him to drive the larger truck the Sabers were using on this mission with 
Craig riding shotgun. Hidden behind the passenger's seat, under a old blanket, was an old, but 
still functional RPG launcher with three grenades, which Sylia had found somewhere. "To be used 
ONLY in an emergency," she had sternly warned them after showing them how to use it, "And it 
had better be one HELL of an emergency."

	To limited the possibilities of being caught like they had been last time, Mackie kept 
the truck moving around the perimeter of the cordoned-off battle zone. The conversation between 
the two male element of the Knight Sabers was limited to the business at hand. Mackie, with the 
ADP police bands kept Craig informed, while Craig scanned the buildings for any sign of 
trouble. After forty minutes, they received the 'all-clear' signal from Sylia. 

	The pick-up and trip back to the Lady633 building was made without incident. After Nene, 
Priss, and Linna left, the remaining three went up to the penthouse. Mackie collapsed on the 
couch, while Sylia seated herself in a chair. Craig disappeared into the kitchen, returning 
several minutes later with a teapot and three cups on a tray. "Tea time," he said with a tired 
smile.

	"This late?" Mackie groaned from the couch.

	"It's an herbal tea with no caffeine. I think we can all use some."

	"You'll make someone a wonderful wife someday."

	"Sit up, Mackie and humor him," said Sylia softly, her smile matching her relaxed mood. 
"I think we should discuss some things before we go to bed."

	"Like me finding a new place to stay?" asked Craig, handing Sylia a cup.

	"Is there something wrong with you staying here?' asked Mackie.

	Craig handed him a cup. "For this long? I've been here two months. People are starting to 
whisper."

	"Who knows you're here?"

	"Try everyone in the building. I pass most of them on my morning jogs." Craig picked up a 
cup and claimed a seat across from Mackie. "I don't know how Sylia feels about it, but it's 
making me feel uncomfortable."

	Mackie looked puzzled. "What?"

	Craig looked at Sylia. "He's not getting it, is he?" Sylia smiled and continued to sip 
her tea.

	"Get what?"

	Craig leaned back and began rubbing his temple with his free hand. "People are beginning 
to think that Sylia and I are...involved."

	"Involved in what?"

	Sylia began chuckling sightly, while Craig looked like he'd swallowed something painful. 
"That's what I get for being diplomatic," he said, ignoring the amused expression on Sylia's 
face. "All right, In plain simple English – There's a rumor floating around that Sylia and I 
are romantically involved."

	"But you're not." Mackie looked at each of them. "Are you?"

	"We are not involved in a romantic relationship of any sort," replied Sylia, who still 
looked amused.

	"Then, what's the problem?"

	Craig leaned his head back and started muttering at the ceiling. Mackie could only catch 
the occasional word – 'Henti', 'idiot', 'clueless' 'appearance' and 'relationships' were the 
ones he heard clearly.

	"It does appear to be a romantic  relationship," said Sylia. "He's a single man living 
with a single woman and her brother. When he's not working at the garage, he's here or close 
by, but he's been seen by enough people for them to assume something that isn't true."

	"But he isn't your type," said Mackie.

	"I don't believe this." Craig put down his teacup to use both hands to rub his temples.. 
"Mackie, it doesn't matter what is really going on here in this penthouse. Everyone in the 
building thinks I am Sylia's boyfriend. I have gotten more romantic advice in the last week 
then I've gotten in my entire life before I ended up here. Women look at me one way, guys 
another way, both sides wondering what Sylia sees in me."

	"The important part is," said Sylia, putting her own empty teacup on the table, "that the 
entire situation is bringing unwanted attention on both of us. The quickest way to defuse 
everyone's curiosity is to have Craig move out."

	"Is that a good idea?" asked Mackie. "His Japanese is horrible."

	"I'll muddle through. I usually do."

	Sylia shook her head. "Mackie's right. We need to upgrade your language skills before we 
can let you leave."

	Craig stopped rubbing his temples and looked at Sylia. "Which at the rate things are 
progressing will be about the beginning of the next century."

	"I may have a way to speed up your progress."

	"Huh?"

	Sylia stood. "I think we should discuss everything else in the morning. I don't think we 
are in any condition to have a meaningful conversation right now."

	"What way?"

	"I'll explain after your workout with Linna in the morning. Good night." Sylia walked out 
of the room.

	Both men watched her leave. Craig shook his head, trying not to yawn. "You sister is 
spooky sometimes."

	"She has a lot on her mind," Mackie replied.

	"Maybe you're right." Craig stretched. "I think she's right. I'm having a problem keeping 
my eyes open."

	"I'll help you clean up."

	"Thanks."





	The sun rose again over the sprawling city, and its citizens responded by getting ready 
to go to work. Over at GENOM Tower, the change from night to day was the same. As it was a 
world-wide conglomerate, GENOM was always doing business somewhere all the time, and thus there 
was always people in the building monitoring world events and sifting through data collected 
and sent from overseas. The collated data would be passed on to other people who would make 
decisions based on that data. If the judgment was considered too important in the view of the 
manager, it would be passed up to his supervisor. The larger the decision, the farther up the 
corporate chain of command it went. Only the most critical choices ever reached Quincy's desk, 
as the chairman paid his subordinates to weed out the minor matters – those that didn't lost 
their jobs.

	Still there were a few things that were not sent up and down the chain of command. One 
group of decisions that didn't follow this route involved  illegal operations such as spying, 
assassination, extortion, and weapons making - the so-called 'Black Ops'. Another set of 
conclusions made solely at the Chairman's table consist of proposals by the small group of 
'special assistants' that surrounded Quincy.

	It was one of the proposals by Brian Mason that found the Chairman in the briefing room 
two hours before the start of the work day. There were only three people in the conference 
room, not including the four Boomers that stood in the corners. Quincy occupied the figurative 
high ground, claiming his rightful seat at the head of the table. Mason took the opposite end 
of the conference table, while Madigan chose to set herself to the Chairman's right.

	Quincy didn't waste any time. "Mr. Mason, why did you ask for a meeting so early?"

	Mason stood slowly and bowed. "Sir," he said, his tone respectful, "I wanted to ask your 
permission to undertake a project that could benefit GENOM."

	"That does not answer my question."

	"I know sir. If you'll bear with me for a moment, I am sure I can explain everything to 
your satisfaction."

	Quincy leaned back. "Proceed."

	"As you know sir, the boomer that crashed onto the tower's roof has been kept in the 
special isolation lab on sub-basement level seven."

	"I do not need to be told something that I already know."

	"Yes, sir." Mason bowed, fighting to keep the contempt off his face. You senile old fool! 
Despite the urge, Mason managed to keep his face composed. "And you are aware of Doctor Ming's 
report that the boomer in question is similar in design and construction to the boomers 
involved in the Lazarus project."

	Mason withdrew a folder from his briefcase and walked the length of the table, ignoring 
the questioning look Madigan was giving him. "But I do not think you are aware of this." He 
handed the folder to Quincy.

	The Chairman placed a hand on the folder. "And what is this?"

	"It's a report submitted by Doctor Ming last night." Mason walked back to the far end of 
the conference table. "His report states that because of the examination work he and his team 
have done on the unknown boomer, he believes that he can be ready four months ahead of 
schedule."

	Quincy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. What is the reason for this optimism?"

	"By studying the boomer's remains, the team has been able to avoid research and 
development time. I should note that the Doctor's estimate in time save is on the conservative 
side. The schedule could be advanced even more then that."

	"I see." He looked at Madigan, who had remained silent throughout. "Do you have an 
opinion on this matter?"

	"If what Mr. Mason said is true, then this will be a great benefit to GENOM."

	The Chairman nodded, then turned to look at Mason again. "They is something you want, I 
take it?"

	"I believe the damaged boomer in the special isolation lab should be rebuilt."

	Madigan's expression was that of surprise, but Quincy own countenance could have been 
carved out of granite. "And what leads you to that conclusion?"

	"Our understanding of this boomer, despite what technical value the Lazarus team has 
extracted from it, is still an unknown to us. GENOM is the only company that could have built 
it, yet, it is slightly more advanced than anything we could have produced. Parts of the design 
are clearly GENOM based, yet other systems are not. In short, sir, I do not believe that this 
boomer is from this time or place."

	"Then, Mr. Mason, where is it from?"

	"I believe it is either from the future or from another dimension."

	"What?" Madigan stood, her expression one of disbelief. She stared at Mason as if he was 
drunk. "What bullshit are you trying to pull-"

	"Enough."

	Madigan turned to look at the Chairman. "Sir! You cannot believe this idea. It's 
preposterous and –"

	"I said enough," Quincy said, his voice carrying a hint of menace. "Under the known 
circumstances and lack of data to disprove such a claim, Mr. Mason's idea has some 
possibilities." the Chairman's eyes never left Mason as he asked "Do you believe the boomer's 
memories are intact?"

	"The cranium suffered severe damage, but enough is intact to make me believe that it's 
very possible the boomer's memories are intact."

	Quincy was silent for a moment. "I will allow the boomer to be rebuilt with several 
restrictions. The first is that all weapons systems must be removed from the remains and no new 
systems installed. The second is that boomer's strength levels are to be limited to human 
level. Any new programming uploaded into the boomer will be limited in nature, and only to 
duplicate any core programming that was damaged. Finally, small explosive devices are to be 
placed inside the boomer's vital components, attuned to two detonator transmitters. Both 
detonators are to be delivered to me before the boomer is reactivated. Do you understand?"

	Mason nodded. "I understand clearly."

	"How long will it take?"

	"Three months sir."

	Quincy leaned forward. "Why so long?"

	"For security and technical reasons, members of the Lazarus project will be doing the 
reconstruction. That means that only a limited amount of time can be devoted to it."

	"Very well. Under the conditions I have laid out, you can rebuild the boomer."

	Mason bowed. "I don't think you'll be disappointed in the results."

	"That is up to me to decide wether or not I am disappointed or not. You are dismissed."

	Mason collected his papers and strode out of the room. Quincy waited until the door 
closed behind his special assistant before he said to Madigan. "Do you still think that Mr. 
Mason is not up to something?"

	The lavender-haired woman looked at her superior. "I don't know," she replied slowly. "I 
don't believe his story about the boomer's memories."

	Neither do I." The white-haired Chairman stood. "I think your investigation should be 
expanded to cover this...unexpected situation. Keep a close eye on this reconstruction project. 
Refer all inquires to me personally."

	"Yes sir. What do we do in the meantime?"

	"We find out what is going on behind Mr. Mason's eyes."





	"Good morning," said Sylia, looking up as Craig walked into the living room.

	"Is it?" he asked. "There's too much sun out there to tell." He ambled into the room, 
wearing jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. Still pushing his still damp hair into place, he 
slid into his seat across the table from Sylia.

	"Eat first, then we'll talk," she said.

	Craig looked at the eggs and bacon on the plate in front of him. "I'm a big boy," he said 
in a child-like voice. "I can get my own breakfast."

	Sylia, use to this by now, replied, "It wasn't any more trouble to cook up another couple 
of eggs and strips of bacon. Besides, I've seen your idea of breakfast."

	"What's wrong with oatmeal?" 

	"Every morning?"

	"I've seen what passes for breakfast cereal these days. I defy you to actually find a 
shred of grain in some of those brands. Instant tooth rot."

	"How was your training session today?" Sylia asked, looking to change the subject.

	"Like most of our sessions," Craig replied between bites of breakfast."She attacked and I 
blocked everything she threw at me - with my face, stomach, ribs, thighs, calves..." He stopped 
for a second and ran over the list again. "Wait a minute, I left out forearms."

	Sylia allowed a smile to tug at a corner of her mouth. "Linna said that you're improve a 
great deal in the last month."

	"You could have fooled me. By the amount of times she's nailed me in the last couple of 
weeks, you would have thought I'd gotten worse."

	"She said that you're giving her a challenge."

	"She's putting a sugar coating on her daily whoop-assing of me."

	"Those rogue Boomers will do a lot worse."

	Craig nodded. The eggs were gone, as was most of the bacon. "I never said I didn't like 
my daily pumme -er, workouts."

	"If it's any consolation, you should be ready in another month."

	"It's a small consolation." He nibbled the last piece of bacon. "Now do you want to clean 
up and tell me what you plan is today, or reverse that?"

	"I suggest we clean up, then talk in the living room."

	Ten minutes later, they were both sitting in the living room, cups of tea in their hand - 
in Sylia's hands at any rate. Craig had recently found and bought a large glass mug that he 
used for tea. It was three times the size of Sylia's teacup, but he limited himself to one mug 
of tea a day. Holding the mug in both hands, he leaned back and stared at Sylia. "What's the 
plan, Boss?"

	Sylia resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow, but failed to control the action. "Boss?"

	Craig nodded. "You're the leader and you want to talk to me about something important. 
'Sylia' is too informal, 'Miss Stingray' is too formal, so I'm left with choices like Boss, 
Leader, Commander and Overseer. I chose 'Boss'- it kind of falls in the middle."

	Sylia let puzzlement drift across her face as she mentally followed his reasoning. After 
several seconds of thought, she dropped the idea and switch subjects. "I think I have a way of 
boosting you ability to speak and understand Japanese."

	"I'm listening."

	"The method I want to use is still somewhat experimental."

	"Does it involve surgery?"

	Sylia frowned. "No," she replied.

	"That's good. I get queasy at the sight of my own blood."

	"Anyway," Sylia continued, "there is a small amount of risk involved using this method."

	Craig gave her a glower. "How small, and what type of risks?"

	"The risk are minor, but at worse, you'll have a headache for a couple of days."

	He shrugged. "I can live with that."

	"Fine." Sylia stood up. "Meet me in the computer room in about ten minutes."





	Sylia was finishing the last of her preparations when Craig strolled in. "Ready?" he 
asked.

	She waved him to the chair in front of the console. Craig walked over and sat down. Sylia 
picked up a helmet-like device and placed over Craig's head. The helmet, dull grey in color and 
with several cables running from the top and sides, covered Craig's head completely. "Can you 
hear me?" she asked.

	"Kind of," he replied, his voice muffled. "What's this for?"

	"It's part of the process. Please place your arms on the arms of the chair." Craig did 
so, and Sylia looped a strap over each forearm.

	"What are you doing?" Craig asked, his voice taking on a note of fear.

	"Minimizing the risks." 

	"Risk of what?" Craig half-shouted as he tried to free himself from the straps.

	Sylia reach for Craig's head and push it back against the seat. There was a 'click' and 
the helmet was attached to the seat. Craig was bucking wildly now, screaming "Get me out of 
this contraption!"

	"Craig," said Sylia softly. "Do you trust me?"

	"Get me out of this thing, then we'll talk about trust!"

	She leaned down next to him. "You've trusted me to this point. I promise you that the 
long-term gains will outweigh any short-term discomfort you might feel."

	"What short-term discomfort?!"

	"Do you want to go through with this? I can release you and we will continue to try and 
teach you Japanese in the traditional manner, but that could take a long time. Or, we can go 
through this and save both of us a lot of time and trouble."

	Craig stopped struggling. "Maybe if you would tell me how this is suppose to work, I 
might make a better decision about this."

	"Very well." Sylia stood and went over to the console. "What the device on your head does 
is feed data impulses from the computer directly into your brain. These impulses will be...I 
guess 'downloaded' is a good descriptive phase, into you areas of the brain where memories are 
stored, becoming in effect, memories."

	"What do you mean, 'in effect, memories?'"

	"You will have the knowledge that the computer has regarding Japanese words, language 
structure and phrasing. After that, it will be a matter of using that knowledge to polish your 
use and understanding of the language."

	"And what's to prevent you from messing with my mind?" asked Craig sharply. "Insert a 
'loyalty unto death' memory that turns me into a slave?"

	"It won't work with emotional memories. I could upload all sorts of data into your brain, 
but I can't upload commands. I could give you the knowledge to pilot an aircraft, design and 
build boomers, or lead a band of soldiers. What I cannot do is influence how you use that 
knowledge. I cannot force you to love or hate someone that runs counter to your feelings about 
them."

	"Have the others gone through this?"

	"No." Sylia tapped a few keys on the console. "The only reason I am doing this to you is 
to bring you up to speed on basic skills now. This is not an option I wanted to use, but it 
appears I have no choice."

	"Wait a minute," said Craig, his voice still shaky. "Have you tried this method on 
anyone?"

	"I've used one person - myself."

	"You've gone through this process?"

	"Yes, and while it is useful, it has it's drawbacks."

	"What drawbacks? Every time I ask what could go wrong, you dance away from the question."

	"That's because I'm not sure of the answers."

	"WHAT?" Craig yelled. He started struggling again. "That's it, get me out of here!"

	"I can only speak for myself. I suffered headaches, upset stomach, blurry vision, balance 
problems and bouts of confusion as my brain adjusted to the new data."

	"And what's going to happen to me? Is my brain going to explode?"

	"No. I will monitor the procedure and make sure the data doesn't overwhelm you brain."

	"Are you sure this is going to work?"

	"It should."

	"Somehow, that isn't reassuring."

	"Do you want to go through with this or not?"

	"Don't lie to me. How dangerous is this procedure?"

	Sylia was silent for a moment. Then she said, "There is a very small chance that you 
could be left a vegetable. However, I will be every second, monitoring the transferring process 
and your brain waves. At the first sign of trouble, I can shut it down immediately."

	"Are you sure this will work?"

	"As sure as I am about most things."	

	There was silence for a minute, then Craig sighed. "All right," he said. "I'll go through 
this procedure, on one condition."

	"Which is?"

	"That if something happens to me and you see Ishmael, you'll punch him in the nose for 
me, assuming he had a nose for real."

	Sylia blinked, surprised by the request. "I expect when that time comes," she said with 
some warmth, "assuming it does, you can punch him yourself."

	"But you will do it?"

	"If I can."

	"Fine." Sylia saw Craig straighten up in the chair. "Let's get this over with."

	The leader of the Knight Sabers walked over to the console, entered a command on the 
keyboard, and hit the enter key.





	Mason stalked into the lab like he owned it. Doctor Ming looked up from a clipboard he 
was holding. "What is it?" he asked the Special Assistant.

	Mason looked at him through half closed eyes. "I want you and the others to take you 
lunch break now."

	"But it's only ten-thirty!" The doctor stated, his face taking on a puzzled look. "It's 
too–"

	Mason cut him off. "I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Doctor," he said in a 
cold, hard voice. "I want this lab empty in one minute, or I will make each and every one of 
wish you have never been born. Is that clear?"

	"Very well, Mr. Mason," replied Ming stiffly. "You are the boss." He turned to the 
quartet of  technicians who were in the lab with him. "We're taking an early lunch break," he 
announced loudly, even though a couple of the technicians had been standing close to the Doctor 
had heard Mason's curt orders.

	Mason waited until the door closed and sealed itself behind the last technician before he 
turned and looked at Largo. #Is there something wrong?# the boomer asked, sounding amused.

	"The old man has Madigan dogging me," Mason replied.

	#Did he agree to the rebuilding of this body?#

	"He did, but with restrictions."

	#Such as?# 

	"No weapons systems, your strength levels are to be confined to human level, limited new 
core programming, and installed explosive devices placed inside the your vital components."

	#I see. About what I expected from him.#

	"You expected him to agree?" Mason was shocked.

	#Of course. I would not have sent you to propose my rebuilding unless I fully expected 
the proposal to succeed.#

	Mason turned away and started pacing. "You must realize I'm taking a chance to have you 
rebuilt."

	#As I am taking a chance by being dependent on you to be rebuilt. But, in order to 
succeed, we must depend on each other if we want our goals realized.#

	"What about Madigan?"

	#What about her? As long as you keep your cool, she can do nothing. The old man suspects, 
but unless he has proof, he will not move against you.#

	Mason stopped pacing and looked at Largo. "We shall see."

	#Out of curiosity, how is the plan to steal the black box from USSD going?#

	"I sent in two moles, one tasked with stealing the prototype, the other with securing the 
plans. I've also committed other resources to the operation."

	#Excellent. And the Knight Sabers?#

	"I've used recon boomers to watch and record the Saber's actions. We are building a 
database of their suits' capabilities for future reference."

	#An event that will come sooner then later. You are indeed the right man for the job.#

	"We shall see." Mason turned and walked out of the lab. In the tube, the remains of the 
superboomer known as Largo would have smiled – if his self-repair programs had managed to 
restore his face muscles. But he could wait. His time was coming and woe to all who stood in 
his way....





	The knock on the door was light, but to Craig, it sounded like someone was using a 
battering ram. "Go away," he croaked, trying to calm the raging pain in his head. It didn't 
work.

	He was lying on the bed in the guest room, a damp towel covering the upper part of his 
face. His head felt like the entire GENOM mining subsidiary had moved in and started excavating 
his brain. The rest of him felt drained and lifeless, as if his life force had been sucked out 
of him. He didn't know how long he'd laid there, and right now, he didn't care.

	His memories of what happen after Sylia started the process were nothing more then a 
collage of pain and flashes of thoughts. He didn't know how long he'd been in the chair, but he 
had felt himself being overwhelmed by thoughts and data that seemed to flow into him like a 
fire hose had been stuffed into his head and turned on. He'd tried to look at the data, to 
understand it, but it was like quicksilver, slipping through his mental fingers.

	When Sylia released him, his attempt to stand up had been a complete disaster. Only Sylia 
had kept him from falling on his face, his legs refusing to support his weight. Surprisingly, 
she had slung Craig's arm over her shoulder and managed to half-carry his almost deadweight to 
the guest room, saying nothing the entire time. After depositing him on the bed, she popped a 
couple of pain-killers into his mouth, washed them down with a glass a water, and placed the 
damp towel over his face, then left him in silence.

	Now, that silence was disturbed. The person at the door ignored the demand, and opened 
it. "Whoever you are, go away," Craig growled. "I'm not in the mood for any food, conversation, 
requests to shut up, singing, dancing, sparring, or any activity. Leave me and what remains of 
my head alone."

	"Is it that bad, Craig-chan?" Nene asked perkily.

	"Nene, if I open my eyes and you're still standing there, I will kill you."

	"In your condition?" she sounded amused.

	"In my condition."

	"I don't think so."

	"Oh yea?" Craig grabbed the towel off his face and sat up. Several explosions went off in 
his mind, forcing a scream from his throat and knocking him flat on his back again. His vision 
was nothing but a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, none of which made sense.

	"See?" said Nene, moving into his contorted vision. "Sylia sent me in to give you these. 
Open wide." Craig's mouth opened just enough for Nene to stick two pills into it, followed by 
several mouthfuls of water. "There. Feel any better?" 

	"No."

	Nene frowned. "Are you sure?"

	"Yes. Just leave me alone, all right?"

	"Okay," she said dubiously. He replaced the towel over his eyes, and walked out of the 
room. Craig stayed still as possible until the sleeping pills Nene had given him took over and 
dropped him to slumber.

	In the living room, Sylia looked up as Nene walked in. "Well?" she asked the redhead.

	"He swallowed them down with no problem."

	Sylia relaxed slightly. "Did you do the other thing I asked you to do?"

	Nene nodded. "He started by speaking in English, but as soon as I spoke to him in 
Japanese, he shifted to the new language with no hesitation. He wasn't up to a real 
conservation, but he understood everything I said." She frowned. "I don't think he realizes 
that he spoke to me in Japanese."

	The leader of the Knight Sabers relaxed even more. "That means the process worked."

	"Did you really have to do that to him? Use that transference process?"

	Sylia waved Nene to a chair across from her. Once the redheaded ADP dispatcher had 
settled herself down, Sylia said, "It was the best way I knew to make him more independent."

	Nene frowned. "I don't understand."

	"Because of his lack of language and other skills, he wasn't much more then a baby, 
dependent on us for everything. We don't have the time to teach him everything he needs to know 
before this Largo shows up. What this process allowed us to do was skip most of the basic 
skills, like language and area knowledge and start with the important skills he will need to 
know."

	"I think I see,  but he doesn't look good right now."

	"How did he react to your presence?"

	"Like Priss, only worse. I wouldn't recommend leaving those two in the same hospital room 
for any length of time."

	"Thank you."

	"Er...Sylia?"

	"Yes?"

	Nene looked over shoulder towards the guest room before she said, "Why did you send me in 
there?"

	"He isn't in a very good mood right now, most of that directed at me. I thought you would 
be the Saber least likely to antagonize him."

	"Oh. How long is he going to be like this?"

	Sylia glanced at the clock on the wall. "He should be over the worse of it in twelve 
hours. It's not something you can recover from quickly."

	"So, what do we do until then?"

	"We wait, what else?"





	The Knights had to go out to stop a boomer rampage that night, a trio of older combat 
boomers had been released in a shopping plaza by a 'fringe group'. The ADP had taken out two of 
the three, but another trio of boomers had shown up and ambushed the police as they were moving 
in on the last boomer. This brought the Knight Sabers into the fight. Sylia decided that Craig 
need his rest more then the Sabers needed him along, so she didn't disturb him.

	The fight was short and brutal, the Sabers taking out all four of the remaining boomers. 
But all four Sabers were bruised and sore, as the boomers had given almost as good as they got. 
They had made the ride back to the Lady633 building in silence.

	After the hardsuits had been stored away, Sylia entered the penthouse. She was tired and 
bruised from being flung into a wall by one of the combat boomers. She wanted nothing more then 
to go to bed and sleep, but she decided to check on her guest first. 

	Sylia went to the guest room and looked in. The room was empty, the bed unmade, and the 
blanket that had been on the bed was missing. She frowned, then went to the kitchen. The kettle 
was on the stove, still warm from the water inside. The glass mug Craig usually used was 
missing from its ususal spot on the counter. Now puzzled, Sylia checked the living room, but it 
was empty. A fluttering curtain and a half open sliding door attracted her attention. She moved 
over to the door and glanced out onto the pool area. A bundled figure was slouched in one of 
the lounge chair next to the pool.

	She opened the door and walked out into the night air. The figure didn't respond to her 
presence for several second. Finally, Craig asked in English, "Everyone all right?"

	"We're a bit battered, but we're all right," Sylia replied in Japanese.

	"That's good," Craig answered in the same language. The blanket missing from the bed was 
wrapped around him, leaving his face expose to the cool night. His mug as clenched in his 
hands, wisps of tea rising from the contents. Sylia couldn't read his expression, but he didn't 
sound happy.

	Sylia walked over and sat on another lounge chair next to Craig's. "I think I should ask 
how are you feeling?"

	"My head still hurts, my body feels like I've been used as a tennis ball in a Wimbledon 
finial, and I'm homesick."

	 "How long have you been out here?"

	He shrugged, then took a sip of tea. "Not long," he said, staring up into the dark sky. 
"My tea's still warm."

	"I think you should go back to bed."

	"I'm not ready. I have too much on my mind."

	"Would you like to talk about it?"

	Craig shook his head. "It's not the type of thing I like talking about."

	"You can't isolate yourself. It isn't healthy."

	"I've been doing it for years."

	"It still isn't healthy."

	"It's the only way I know how to handle it."

	"No one can do that for long."

	He looked at her for the first time since she'd come out here. "I could say that I am not 
the only one who walls their emotions off."

	Sylia sighed and thought for a moment. "Do you hate me?" she asked finally.

	Craig frowned. "What for?"

	"For putting you through this process." 

	"I did, for about six hours. Then Nene came in and spoke to me in Japanese, and I 
understood her and talked to her with no problems. Of course, I didn't realized what had 
happened until after I woke up." His voice changed to one of suspicion. "What else did you 
stick in my head? Don't say nothing else, because I've had random thoughts flash through my 
mind that I know are not my own."

	"I added detailed knowledge of the city and basic combat tactics. Nothing else."

	Craig groaned and want back to staring up into the sky. "Ishmael has a lot to answer 
for," he said slowly, his voice carrying a threat. "That bastard dumped me here, and ruined my 
life!"

	"Shouldn't you be angry at me?"

	"What for?" Craig asked sharply. "You weren't the one who yank me out of my safe, if 
boring life, and dropped me off here. You weren't the one who saddled a vigilante team with a 
clueless newbie. And you weren't the one who was told he has to face a would-be boomer God who 
had a very big ax to grind. All you've had to do is put up with me. Where is it your fault?"

	"I could have said 'no'"

	"And what good would that have done? I said 'no' and look what happened to me!" Craig was 
shouting now, his anger flowing now. He down the last of his tea and stood, the looked at 
Sylia. "That bloody son of a bitch is sitting up there, laughing at me, and there's not a damn 
thing I can do about it! I feel like I've been railroaded into this, forced into this fight 
because he won't do his own fighting!"

	Sylia stood and removed the mug from Craig's hands. "There's nothing you can do about 
this," she said gently.

	"I know!" Craig shouted. "That's why I so pissed off!" He flung away the blanket and 
walked away.

	"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" she called out after him.

	He stopped and looked back at her. "Like what?" he shouted back.

	"Like commit suicide."

	"Why the hell should I do that? I want the chance to strangle that smug weasel, and I 
can't do that if I'm dead!" He began rubbing his temples. "Damn headache," he muttered.

	"I think you should go in now," Sylia said firmly. "You need to get some rest."

	"I've had too much rest. I'm in the mood to kill something."

	"I think we have some things to discuss tomorrow, once you're calmed down." She reached 
down and picked up the blanket.

	She saw the anger start to fade from Craig. "All right," he said in a hard voice. "I'm 
just tired of being a victim of fate, circumstances, and the Gods' amusement."	

	Sylia walked over to Craig, slinging the blanket over one arm. She carefully gripped his 
upper arm. "Lets' go back inside. Neither one of us is up to arguing over a subject we agree 
on."

	Craig didn't resist the contact, though he did retrieve the blanket and mug from Sylia. 
The dark-hair woman guided her guest back inside, leaving the starry night sky alone.




Chapter 9 – "Birth of the Shadowknight"
	



	The next morning, Sylia was working in the auxiliary computer room. She had left a note 
on the breakfast table asking Craig to join her after he finished eating. Right now, she was 
adding some finishing touches to the latest hardsuit designs.

	The auxiliary computer room in the Lady633 Saber's section was smaller then the one Sylia 
usually used, but she preferred it when she was working on designing hardware. For one thing, 
it offered less distractions then the main computer room. It also had a holographic projector 
that allowed her to model designs in 3-D long before the building stage.

	After loading the last of the programs she had prepared into the holoprojector, she 
glanced at her watch. Any moment now, she thought.

	Craig stuck his head around the doorframe. "You wanted to see me, Boss?" The smile was a 
little forced, but at least the attempt was there this time.

	Right on time. Sylia waved him into the room. "How's your head?"

	"It still throbs a bit, but it's getting better." Craig lost his smile and looked 
uncomfortable. "I want to apologize for last night. I'm afraid I let my brooding get the better 
of me, and –"

	"There's no need to. You did nothing wrong, and no one was hurt. Just forget about it."

	"I'll try, but I always seem to remember my mistakes and forget my triumphs." He took a 
deep breath. "What did you want to talk about?"

	"I wanted to show you the hardsuit design I've worked up for you."
  
	The smile was real this time. "For real?"

	She returned his smile. "For real." she motioned to the holoprojector, a waist-high 
console that looked like a flattened mushroom that stood in the center of the room. "Care to 
take a look?"

	"Are you kidding?" Craig strolled into the room. "What do you have?"

	"First, we'll take a look at the basic design." She entered a command on the keyboard, 
the stepped back. The station hummed, then a hologram flickered into view, showing a hardsuit, 
rotating slowly on its axis.

	The hardsuit was dull black in color with dark gray trim, but without the feminine curves 
of the other Saber's hardsuits. Instead of the high heels, the suit had low-heel boots, and the 
chest plate was flatter and broader. A stubby pair of wings attacked to a jet pack of some sort 
was on the back.

	Craig nodded. "Nice."

	"Thanks to your friend Ishmael, I can start upgrading the hardsuits at least a year ahead 
of the planned timetable. Because I've started designing your hardsuit from the ground up, your 
suit is going to be the most advanced for the next couple of months until I can upgrade the 
other suits. Your suit will also be a test bed for several of the new concepts I'm working on."

	She motioned to the hologram. "On the plus side, you'll have slightly heavier armor 
protection then the current hardsuits, and a slight strength advantage. On the minus side, you 
will be limited to about two hundred meters jumping ability. Otherwise, your communications and 
sensor suites will be top of the line."

	"I am impressed." Craig looked at her. "I guess the first thing I should ask is 'What's 
my role in the field?'"

	Sylia arched an eyebrow. "I expected you to ask first was 'What weapons does it carry?'"

	"Once I know what my role is, then I can start worrying about what weapons I'm carrying."

	"That's fair enough. I have designated you as the heavy weapons specialist."

	"Define 'heavy weapons.'"

	"In a moment." Sylia tapped several keys on the console. "The Suit has several weapons 
that are integral to the design." She pointed at two tubes along the left forearm. "The left 
arm houses two laser cannons, with the same striking power and range of my own." 

	"Why not house them in the arms like on your suit?"

	"I'll explain in a moment." She tapped another button and a blade slid out of the right 
forearm and locked into place. "Thirty centimeter, laser edged sword. It's similar to the 
design on the hardsuit from the role playing book."

	"The Hardsuit-2 design?"

	"Actually, they call it 'New Hardsuit Sylia', but the hardsuit itself will be ready to go 
before Spring."

	"Those weapons don't seem that heavy."

	Sylia smiled slightly. "That's because your suit is the first one designed to be 
modular." She tapped a few keys and the hologram changed to a close up of the head and 
shoulders of the hardsuit design. "Note the track located on the right shoulder."

	Craig noticed a shallow grove running from the front of the shoulder to the back. "What's 
it for?"

	"To install these." Sylia changed the hologram to show a trio of weapons one about the 
other. She pointed at a bazooka-type weapon. "Starting at the top, that is a 78mm recoilless 
cannon. It has a range of about twelve hundred meters, with a choice of armor piercing, 
fragmentation, thermite, or smoke shells. You will also note that it has a changeable four-shot 
magazine, and you will have the ability to carry two extra magazines for it. When it's combined 
with the suite's sensors, you should get a solid hit on an unsuspecting boomer nine times out 
of ten."

	Craig's eyes lit up. "Oh, wow."

	Sylia motioned to the weapon below it. The barrel of the middle weapon was longer and 
thinner then the one above it, and more streamline, but it still looked menacing. "The middle 
one is a semiautomatic sniper rifle based on the Barrett model 82A1 sniper rifle from about 
thirty-five years ago. The bullet it fires is a 12.7mm by 99mm, with a muzzle velocity of 850 
meters per second. It has a theoretical range of 2 kilometers, but most shots will be a lot 
closer. When it's attached to the suit, you can use the suit's sensors to adjust your aim. 
Again, a detachable magazine, with the ability to carry two extra magazines. That will give you 
thirty-three shots."

	"That's a lot of shots. How detectable will it be to the bad guys?"

	Sylia pointed to the thick muzzle. "A combination sound suppresser and flash hider. I'm 
afraid it won't do anything about the subsonic crack of the bullet, but as long as you keep 
moving and using cover, it shouldn't be a problem."

	"And the third?"

	"That's a six shot missile launcher, with 8.8 cm 'brilliant' class missiles that can hit 
a target as far away as three kilometers. They're 'fire and forget' types, so you don't need to 
stay in one place after you fire them off."

	Craig tried to snap his fingers, failed, so he settled for pointing at the slowly 
rotating holograms. "That's why you built the lasers to keep my hands free. I'm going to need 
both hands to fire these weapons."

	Sylia nodded approvingly. "Yes."

	"Anything else?"

	"Not at the current time. I thought you should be involved in any future development."

	"How long until it's ready?"

	"Three weeks. The parts will be here within the week, and I want you to help me build 
it."

	Craig nodded. "Why don't we discuss this over a cup of tea? I'm feeling a bit dry and I 
want to discuss this sitting down."

	Sylia nodded. "Give me five minutes to shut everything down and I'll join you in the 
kitchen."





	By the time Sylia walked into the kitchen, Craig had laid out a teapot, cups, and a small 
dish of pastries. He shrugged at Sylia's raised eyebrow. "I had just brewed a pot when I saw 
your message."

	She sat in a chair across the table from Craig. He poured a cup and handed it to her. 
"What did you want to discuss?" she asked.

	Craig poured himself a cup of tea, added milk and sugar, then stirred it. "It begin 
with," he said, "it appears that my role is a stand back and attack."

	"To begin with, yes." Sylia sipped from her teacup. "Eventually, I want yours and Priss' 
suits to be able to use several weapons systems interchangeably. But I want you to get use to 
combat without getting you involved directly for right now."

	"What about later? Those weapon systems you showed me are not useful close in."

	"I am working on something to address that, but that's for a later date."

	Craig nodded. 'Fair enough."

	"What else do you want to talk about?"

	Craig leaned back in his chair and gazed at Sylia. "As I see it, we need to figure out 
various loads for the magazines, depending on the type of mission. I mean, I would need 
different ammo for the bazooka if I'm trying to stop a boomer rampage then I would if I'm 
trying to stop a human terrorist attack."

	"That won't be hard to do."

	"I'll need to practice with the weapon until I'm familiar with them."

	Sylia nodded. "I can arrange something when the time comes. First things first, though. 
After your suit is built, It's going to take a couple of days to adapted the suit to your 
movements, then at least two weeks of training in order to use it properly. Which means that 
Linna is going to up your workout, starting tomorrow." She ignored Craig's groan and continued, 
"After you have the basics down, you'll have another two weeks of advanced field hardsuit 
training, after which, you'll start training with the different weapons systems. If you sail 
through your training, you should be ready for your first real mission in a little less then 
three months." she looked at Craig's perplexed expression. "You didn't expect to suit up the 
first time and go on a mission, did you?"

	Craig shook his head. "Knowing me, it'll probably take longer then that to get up to 
speed. I was a bit surprised that you're giving me that much leeway."

	"I would prefer to take the time and train you well from the beginning. If this Largo is 
as dangerous as Ishmael says he is, and the anime indicates he isn't to be ignored as a threat, 
then I will need every single advantage I can get."

	"Well, If you need a Joker, here I am."

	Sylia smiled thinly. "I prefer to think of you as an Ace up my sleeve. The question is, 
can I trust you to work as part of a team, or should I expect you to pull the occasional 
SkyKnight solo act?"

	Craig blinked. He was silent for a moment, his staring off to the side, his face taking 
on the look Sylia recognized as his 'deep thinking' expression. "I don't know," he said slowly, 
still not looking at her. "Will I go out in my hardsuit, looking for trouble? I can answer that 
with a definite 'no'. Will I install enough weapons on my hardsuit to take on the Death Star 
single-handedly? I wouldn't know where to start. Will I go charging into battle like Lancelot 
and the Knights of the Round Table? Not if I can avoid it. Will I go out and challenge Largo to 
a one on one battle? I may have lapses of judgement, but I'm not that stupid. Otherwise, I 
don't want to promise something that I'll have to renege on when the situation arises."

	"That's fair enough. I wouldn't ask you to make a promise that you couldn't keep in the 
heat of battle. But the reason why the Knight Sabers have managed to survive is because we work 
together as a team."

	Craig looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Does that include Priss?"

	Sylia's smile was warmer. "She has her own definition of teamwork that I've taken in 
account in my planning." Her face became serious again. "But I don't need two wildcards on the 
battlefield. Priss has the luxury of being a known factor to me, but you are an unknown."

	"Well, it looks like I'll be limited in what I can do with the weapons you're planning 
for me."

	"I would be lying if that didn't play a part in my design," Sylia admitted.

	"So I play long range fire support to begin with."

	"That I think would be the best. After you've done that for a while, then we'll start 
working you in on the front lines."

	 Craig gave her a little grin. Sylia returned it with a smile of her own. "Any other 
questions?" she asked him.

	"Only to ask if this is where I'm suppose to beat my chest like Captain Macho and act 
like a three year old because you're not going to let me whomp on boomers up close and 
personal?"

	Sylia blinked as her mind translated his statement into understandable terms. "Would you 
like to dispute your assigned role?" she asked him.

	Craig shook his head. "Nope. But it seems to be part of the sequence that would-be heros 
are suppose to follow."

	"Just remember that this isn't a game," Sylia said calmly. "Here, the boomers are real 
and will kill you in a heartbeat. We have to make the right decision every single time we put 
on those hardsuits. If we don't,  one of us, some of us, or all of us don't come back."

	"I know." Craig was somber now.

	Sylia finished the last of her tea. She stood and walked out of the kitchen. Craig 
followed her out into the living room, his tea mug still in hand. While he claimed a chair and 
sat, she went over to the window. "GENOM has its tentacles into every part of this city," she 
said, looking out over into the city. "They tolerate the Knight Sabers because we don't 
threaten them or their long range plans. Yet if they ever wanted to really come after us, we 
couldn't stop them."

	"Yet you continue to fight them."

	"I must. If GENOM is allowed to do whatever it wants, people's lives become nothing more 
then 'usable resources,' or 'potential revenue.'"

	"And the boomers?"

	"My father didn't design the boomer to be combat machines. He wanted them to be a help to 
the human race, not its murderer."

	"That's the problem with good ideas," said Craig slowly, staring at the bottom of his now 
empty mug. "Sooner or later, someone comes along and perverts the idea."

	"I don't think my father could have handled what GENOM has done to his work."

	"Short of hardwiring Asimov's Laws of Robotics into each and every boomer brain, he 
couldn't have stop them."

	"How do you know that?"

	"Because Quincy may be a bastard, but no one ever said he was a stupid bastard." Craig 
stood. "I have no doubt that Quincy had it set up so he could anything he wanted to do, with or 
without your father's help. Your father's death just simplified things for GENOM."

	"I know." He felt the wall come up between them, the one of personal pain and loss that 
she let slip out at times. Without saying a word, he know the subject was closed.

	Craig took his mug back into the kitchen and returned. "Sylia?' he asked softly. She 
turned and looked at him. He held out his hand. "You never actually asked me to join the Knight 
Sabers," he said, "and I never asked if you wanted me as a part of the team. But, since we're 
both in this up to our necks, we're going to have to work together. Don't think that I have 
been forced into this."

	"What about Ishmael?"

	He shrugged. "He just has to be able to outrun me, because if I catch him, he's dead."

	Sylia didn't say anything about Ishmael's obvious superior abilities. "And what do you 
offer?" she asked, playing along with Craig.

	"What I offer is someone who's ready to learn, willing to offer a different point of 
view, even when you don't need one, and able to help you when and where you need it."

	Sylia nodded and took his hand and smiled. "Welcome to the Knight Sabers," she said.

	"Thank you."

	"We'll see how thankful you are after Linna start pushing you harder."

	Craig grimaced and released her hand. "You had to remind me of that, didn't you?"

	Sylia folded her arms. "Just keeping things in perspective. How's your motorcycle lessons 
coming along?"

	"I can ride at a reasonable speed without falling off, but I'm not in Priss' level. Hell, 
most fighter pilots aren't at her level. And if I have the sense God gave a Communist, I will 
never be anywhere near her level. Getting thrown from my bike and bouncing along the highway at 
a hundred and sixty kilometers an hour isn't my idea of fun."

	"I assure you," said Sylia in a soothing tone, "one speed demon is all I can handle."

	"Well, Priss' idea of going slow is keeping it under Mach 1. If I'm going to go that 
fast, I want something more between me and the road then an engine attached to a pair of 
wheels. That and the fact Priss still thinks I'm secret agent double-O GENOM, makes her 
teaching a bit along the lines of 'Rev it up and floor it.' I swear that she's trying to kill 
me sometimes."

	"That means she's beginning to warm up to you."

	Craig looked at her. "Huh?"

	Sylia answered his question with a smile. "What do you have planned for the rest of the 
day?"

	"After lunch, Mackie want me to go down to Raven's Garage and help him overhaul one of 
the motorslaves. After that, I'm free."

	"Good. I'm hosting a dinner for the entire team tonight over at the St. Regis hotel. 
Dress accordingly."

	"Suit and tie?"

	"That is usually considered proper dress," replied Sylia archly.

	Craig frowned. "What time?"

	"Seven o'clock. Mackie will make sure you will get there on time."

	"Okay, Boss. Just where am I going to get a suit and tie?"

	"There's one in your closet."

	"There is? I never noticed."

	"What do you mean you never noticed?" asked Sylia, exasperation clear on her face.

	"I'm not a big suit wearer. To me, suits are worn at weddings, funerals and job 
interviews. Wearing one out to dinner is a new experience for me."

	Sylia sighed. "What time is Mackie expecting you at Raven's?" 

	"After lunch."

	"Then we'll spend the rest of the morning going over the basics of your hardsuit. "

	"Okay, Boss." He smiled, stepped back and motioned towards the door. "After you."

	Sylia walked past him. As she did so, Craig asked her, "Is there any chance to install a 
disk player in my suit?" 

	Sylia stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Ishmael really did have a sense of humor and 
was standing somewhere, laughing at her....





	Kate Madigan hadn't reached her current position on just her looks. In fact, her 
intelligence had gotten her farther then her beauty, despite a couple of run-ins with 'over 
amorous' superiors on her way up. Neither supervisor had taken their rejection well, especially 
after Madigan had kneed one in the groin in one instance, and raked the other across the face 
with her nails in another. Once Madigan had reached her current position, both supervisors had 
lost their jobs and any other benefit the lavender-haired woman could think of. In her own way, 
she was as ruthless as Brian Mason, but she was less personal about it in most cases.

	But, as she stared at the reports on her computer screen, she was fighting the urge not 
to give into her hate of Brian J. Mason.

	Madigan had taken to an instant dislike to Mason from the first time they met. Something 
about the way he looked at her made her skin crawl. He'd never made any improper advances 
towards her, about the only thing about him she had been grateful for, but there was something 
not quite right with him. It had taken several months to realize that Mason was looking out for 
only Mason. While that wasn't uncommon in the cut-throat world of business, the way Mason acted 
on it went beyond simple career protection.

	The situation with the late Doctor Stingray was such an example. While the official story 
was the doctor had died in a laboratory explosion, a few rumors had floated around that Mason 
had helped the scientist to his reward before the blast. These very same rumors also said that 
Mason had taken great pleasure in removing the last obstacle to GENOM's production of the 
boomer. She had tried to find out more, but the Chairman had curtly ordered her not to pursue 
the incident any farther. She had backed off, but since then, she always kept an eye on Mason.

	She frowned as the matter of Mason pushed their way into her thoughts. If there was 
something Katherine Madigan prided herself on, it was her ability to dispassionately analyze a 
situation and resolved it in a complete and timeless manner. Emotions clouded the judgement, 
shaded the facts, and influenced the decision in unforseen ways. While that could work in the 
short run, it could prove disastrous over a longer period of time. It had taken discipline on 
her part to hone her abilities, but the rewards were well worth it.

	Mason, on the other hand, allowed passions to influence him. If someone opposed him, he 
took it as a personal affront, a threat to his position and power. Instead of being merely an 
obstacle, the person became someone to be crushed, eliminated in a brutal way with no thought 
of the consequences. He allowed his ambition to outweigh any other factor, his lust for power 
diving almost every decision he made. He had been lucky so far, but Madigan knew it wouldn't 
last.

	The intercom on her desk beeped. Shaken out of her thoughts, she stabbed a button. "Yes?"

	"Mr. Mason is here to see you," her secretary replied. "He said he has some reports for 
you."

	"Very well," Madigan replied. "Send him in." She closed the report on the computer she 
had been trying to read and pressed a small button on her intercom. She then picked up a pen 
and glanced down out the papers on her desk. She heard the office door open, but counted to 
five before she looked up. "Yes?" she asked in the most neutral tone she could manage.

	Mason presented her with several folders. "The Chairman instructed me to have you look 
over these," He said, his tone haughty as if talking to an subordinate instead of an equal.

	Madigan took the reports. "What are they about?" she asked.

	"The land purchase in district three is completed and the Chairman wants to make sure 
there will be no problem with any of the residents when the time comes to start building. The 
reports cover the people most like to oppose our construction. He would like you to look them 
over and recommend a course of action with each should the need arise."

	"Is there any restrictions?" Madigan asked, glancing through the folders. Unasked was the 
question, Can I recommend assassination if I have to? It paid to be careful, even inside GENOM 
Tower.

	Mason picked up on the unasked question. "The Chairman told be that there are to be no 
restrictions in your recommendations." If assassinations are needed, so be it. The way he said 
that made Madigan look up at him. His expression was disinterested, but there was a gleam in 
his eye that Madigan read as: If it was up to me, I'd flatten the entire area and every person 
in it. 

	"How soon does the Chairman needed it?"

	"He would like your recommendations within the next couple of days."

	Madigan nodded. "I will do so by Thursday." She decided to change gears. "When is Doctor 
Ming going to start with reconstructing the Boomer?"

	"Sometime next week. By then, the bugs in the new subsystems should be ironed out, and 
technicians can be reassigned to the rebuilding project if they want to be."

	"Isn't what you're proposing, namely bringing this Boomer back on-line, dangerous?"

	"He frowned. "In what way?"

	"We know nothing about this boomer. Suppose it's a part of a plan to destroy GENOM?"

	"And who would have the ability to create such an advanced boomer design?" Mason asked 
coldly. "No other corporation in the world could have done it. No one inside GENOM could have 
done it. We need to access the boomer's memories to find out when and where it came from. And 
we can only do that if the boomer's on-line."

	"I don't like it," Madigan said flatly.

	Mason waved a hand. "It's not any of your concern."

	"If it is a threat to GENOM., then it is my concern."

	"It's one boomer, although a very advanced design. It won't have any internal weapons, 
excess strength, or mental abilities, plus it will be wired with enough explosives to turn it 
into very small pieces. How much harm could it do?"

	Madigan eye's half closed, the only sign she allowed herself to show her displeasure at a 
subject. She knew Mason was hiding something, but what? "I think once the boomer has been 
rebuilt, you should also assign a couple of 55C to watch it."

	Mason nodded, a short sharp motion, and his eyes took on that cold fury he was well known 
for. "I said the boomer is my responsibility. Don't tell me how to do my job."

	"Does you job include the Knight Sabers?"

	His jaw tighten, and inside, Madigan allowed herself a smile. Maybe there is something to 
that idle talk. "I've noticed a marked increase in the number of recon boomers being used to 
monitor the Knight Sabers fights. Recon boomers are part of my area of responsibility, as 
they're considered part of security. Would you like to explain why?"

	"I found the lack of data from the recon boomers incomplete. The increased numbers 
allowed more data to be collected."

	"And increases the chances of them being discovered," replied the lavender haired woman 
cooly. "And if they are, people will be asking question, questions that could embarrass the 
company."

	"They will not be discovered."

	"Not yet. But sooner or later, they will be."

	"The Chairman authorized the extra boomers."

	Madigan frowned. She didn't believe him for a moment, but she wasn't going to let him 
know that. "I was not told of this," she said.

	Mason smiled, a smile that promised pain and horror for someone, somewhere. "He probably 
though you didn't need to know," he said in a sweet voice.

	Madigan restrained the urge to shoot the bastard right then and there. "From now on," she 
said, giving Mason her best glower, "I want written requisition for any more then the normal 
number of recon boomers sent out to monitor a battle, and I want them signed by you and on my 
desk twenty-four hours in advance." Got you.

	Mason stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. You'll have the first forms on 
your desk within two hours." He turned and walked out of the office.

	She waited until the door closed behind him before she leaned back in her chair. "You 
heard, sir?" she asked the empty room.

	"I did," Quincy replied from the intercom. "I did not authorize the use of extra recon 
boomers, despite Mr. Mason's claims."

	"Should I prevent him from continuing to deploy the other boomers?"

	Quincy was silent for a moment. "No," he said finally. "The obsession with the Knight 
Sabers is just a side show. I think Mr. Mason's plans revolve around that boomer that he wants 
rebuilt."

	"Shouldn't we destroy that thing before its rebuilt?"

	"No. We allow him to proceed."

	Madigan frowned. "I don't understand, Sir."

	"It's very simple," Quincy replied. "We allow him to continue his plan, while we watch 
and wait. When we have discovered what his plan is and who is involved, then we move in. If Mr. 
Mason has lived out his usefulness, then I do not want to take the chance that a ambitious 
underling decides to take his place."

	"I now understand."

	"Good. About those reports Mr. Mason had just given you – I would like your recom-
mendations at your earliest convenience, and I would like to keep any extreme measures you 
advocate as a last option if at all possible. GENOM cannot afford any hint of exposure, and 
sometimes the dead scream louder then the living. Please take that into account. Good 
afternoon."

	"Yes sir." Madigan shut off the intercom and stood slowly. She walked over to the large 
plate glass window that replaced an entire wall of her office and started out across the city. 
The reports could wait for now, when she was more calm and composed. She didn't think she would 
have to recommend any severe options – most would and could be paid less money then the cost of 
a single 'rogue' boomer.

	Now she had to allow the emotions Mason stirred slip back into her projection of 
discipline before she continued. She hated wasting the time, but she needed to be at her best, 
for herself and GENOM....





	{It continues,} said Ishmael.

	[I still do not like it,] the other intelligence replied.

	{All we can do is balance the situation that our opponent has managed to unbalance.}

	[The one you have chosen as the Avatar is not please at being given the honor.]

	{Would you be, if the situation was reversed? To be truthful, he was never my first 
choice for this task, but to search for a better candidate would have cost us precious time.}

	[He is angry at you.]

	{I cannot help that. There is too much at stake to worry about his feelings. We must stop 
this experiment here, or we will face other, more damaging attempts to disrupt other timelines. 
If that were to happen, then we would be forced to take a more active role, which would mean –}

	[That they would take a more active role. And that could lead to the final conflict 
that we have worked so hard to avoid.]

	{Yes.} there was silence between the two of them, then Ishmael continued. {In many ways, 
there is much riding on the shoulders of the Avatar.}

	[The avatar is still angry at you. He wants to commit physical violence against you.]

	{I know. In this case, that is a good thing.}

	[What?]

	{By focusing his hate on me, he does not use it against those he must ally himself with. 
He knows the Knight Sabers are not to blame for his placement there. He is also not willing to 
commit suicide because he wants to kill me first.}

	[Has it occurred to him that he cannot kill you?]

	{It might have on an intellectual level, but he prefers the emotional reaction.} Ishmael 
gave the equivalent of a human shrug. {Besides, it's interesting having an Avatar that doesn't 
worship you as a god, or looks at you in awe. While it's nice the first couple of times, it 
becomes annoying after that.}

	[I guess so.]

	{All we can do now is try and delay Largo's rebuilding as much as possible. Time is not 
an ally of ours. We must give our Avatar as much time as we can so that he is ready.}

	

	{That, and the depositing of the promised money in the account of the Knight Saber. 
Otherwise, that is all we can do.}

	[I hope this plan will succeed.]

	{As do I.}




Chapter 10 –  "I have not come to praise Mason, 								but to bury him...."
	



	Craig adjusted his tie for the fourth time since he and Mackie had entered the elevator. 
The younger of the two sighed and said, "Will you stop fiddling with that tie?"

	"I can't help it," Craig muttered. "This thing is like a noose around my neck!"

	"Well, if you keep adjusting it, it's not going to look right."

	"I prefer breathing over looks."

	Mackie glanced up at the floor indicator. "We've got about five seconds before we reach 
the restaurant floor, so you'd better stop before then."

	Craig took a deep breath and stopped adjusting his tie. "Why the dinner?" he asked surly.

	"I let Sis explain it," replied Mackie as the elevator doors opened. They walked out into 
a lobby the size of a basketball court. The walls were a light peach, soft lit, with master-
piece oil paintings intermixed with classic sculptures. The carpet was rich and full colored in 
a mix of warm reds and vibrant yellows. Large padded chairs and sofas lined the walls where 
there was room. Beside the single elevator, the only other visible exit was a large set of 
double doors set in the far wall. 

	There were a few people milling around, some either waiting for a table or preparing to 
leave. From their clothes and general appearance, most of these were people who were well-
heeled and rich. Those who weren't were employees, but even they carried an air of superiority.

	After several seconds, a thin man with a tuxedo and an air of arrogance strode up to 
Craig and Mackie. "Do you have a reservation?" he asked, his tone distasteful.

	Mackie nodded. "We're part of the Stingray party."

	The man's tone shifted to one of more respect. "Ah. Mr. Stingray and Mr. Reed, I 
presume?"

	"Yes," replied Mackie smoothly. Craig just stood there, his eyes roaming around the 
elegant lobby, his expression a shifting mix of different feelings.

	"The rest of your party has already arrived. If you will follow me, please?"

	He escorted the pair through a pair of tall wooden doors into the restaurant itself. It 
was a large room, with two of the walls made up of nothing but windows overlooking the city. 
Tables and booths were laid out with seeming mathematical precision, showing the same richness 
that the lobby had in their linen and tableware. Waiters wove to and fro with grace and dignity 
from table to kitchen and back again with food orders. Diners, mirroring the people in the 
lobby in their dress and attitude, ate and talked in subdued tones, allowing the soft music 
playing in the background to waft across the room.

	The garηon lead the two men to a corner table, where the others were waiting. All four 
women were wearing evening dresses -- Sylia's was a rich black in color with a modest neckline, 
Linna's an aqua, off the shoulder number, while Priss' was a fiery red in color with a plunging 
neckline that Craig made a point of not to look at too much. Nene's dress was a lot like 
Sylia's only a deep green in color with more frills.

	The leader of the Knight Sabers gave the two latecomers a smile. "I see you finally made 
it," she said softly. "We've just ordered, so if you hurry, you can eat with us."

	Mackie took an empty seat beside his sister, while Craig walked around the table to claim 
the empty chair between Nene and Linna. "The project too a bit longer then we thought," Craig 
replied as he seated himself. "The situation also got a bit....messy in a fluid sort of way."

	"How much of a mess?" asked Sylia.

	"Let us just say that Doctor Raven better not run through that area of the garage anytime 
soon."

	"I'm sure you and Mackie can finish up tomorrow morning."

	"We're already planing to be there early," Mackie assured her, picking up a menu.

	"Well, Craig's going to be a little late."

	Craig looked up from his own menu. "I am?"

	"Your next level of training starts tomorrow, remember?"

	"Oh, yea." He looked over at Linna. "Punching bag for little miss Bruce Lee here. My 
bruises can hardly wait."

	"I'm not that bad!" Linna mock growled.

	"Well, with you around, I spend more time on my back then I do on my feet." Craig looked 
around the table at the sudden round of giggles. "What?"

	"Talk about clueless," Priss said in amused tone.

	"What do you mean...." The expression on Craig's face changed as he realized the double 
meaning of his statement. "Ah...er..un..."

	"You're forgiven," said Linna, patting him on the arm. "At least until tomorrow morning."

	Craig glanced at Sylia. "Is it too late to call in sick tomorrow?"

	"I'm afraid it is," the dark-haired woman replied, pleasure tugging at the corners of her 
mouth.

	"Fine." Craig looked at the menu again. "In that case, as a condemned man, I plan to have 
a very good meal tonight."



*

	The meal was as excellent as the surroundings. The conversation was pleasant, with 
stories being traded back and forth. As an unspoken agreement, the group had one glass of wine, 
then switched over to nonalcoholic drinks. There were a few eyebrows raised, when Craig went 
through his rather large meal quickly.

	"Can I ask why we're having this dinner?" Craig inquired in a low voice.

	Sylia looked at him over a glass of wine. "To officially welcome you to our organization. 
I presume you're familiar with the eleven commandments of our group?"

	"Not off the top of my head, but I know them well enough to live by them."

	"In that case." Sylia raised her wineglass, her slight smile warm despite its slightness. 
"Ladies, Mackie, A toast to the newest member of our circle. To Craig."

	"To Craig!" the others said in soft voices, their wineglasses held aloft, even Priss, who 
managed not to look too sour. 

	The object of the toast looked uncomfortable. "Thank you all," he said softly. "I hope I 
can live up to what you think I should be."

	"We shall see," replied Priss, her voice holding a bit of challenge in its tone.

	The conversation drifted onto other topics and everyone relaxed. Ten minutes after the 
toast, Craig leaned back in his chair and smiled. "That was good," her remarked. "What's for 
desert?"

	Nene and Linna looked at their still half filled plates, then at the empty plate in front 
of Craig, then at Craig himself. "Did you inhale that?" asked Linna, looking amazed.

	Craig shrugged. "I was hungry."

	"Starving more like it," Mackie remarked.

	"I'm a fast eater."

	"I think I beginning to understand the Largo photograph," Sylia murmured, which earned 
her several strange looks.

	"Hey," replied Craig, looking pained. "I can't help it if I like food!"

	Priss gave Craig one of her 'I'm going to zing you' smiles. "Keep that up," she purred, 
"and you'll end up like little miss cyberpunk here." She motioned to Nene.

	"I'm not going any weight!" Nene hissed, then looked concerned. "Am I?"

	"You look fine to me," Mackie said quickly.

	"Priss is just teasing you," said Craig, adjusting his tie again.

	"Problems?" asked Sylia.

	"Nothing that can't be solved with a looser collar," Craig assured her.

	"I'm surprised you showed up in a suit," Priss said.

	"I'm surprised you didn't show up in biker's leathers and tell the head waiter to stuff 
it."

	They glared at each other. "Why can't you two be friends?" Nene asked, looking from Craig 
to Priss and back again.

	Craig thought for a moment. "I think it's because Priss and I are of couple of lone 
wolves who find themselves working together."

	Priss raised an eyebrow. "Psychobabble?"

	Craig shook his head. "You are I are alike in some ways, though we'll both deny it. We 
have few friends and we're uncomfortable around people we don't know well. In Fact –" Craig's 
eyes drifted to the door leading out into the lobby. "Uh-oh, Denebian Slime Devil at twelve 
o'clock."

	"What?" asked Priss.

	"Bad news just oozed in the door."

	"No one look!" Sylia said in a low, sharp voice. "Who is it?"

	"Mason. He's  with a pair of either boomers, or overgrown bodybuilders."

	Mackie started to turn, but Sylia grabbed him by the arm. "Don't!" she hissed.

	"Who's Mason?" asked Linna.

	"If you were to take everything that was evil and vile about GENOM, coalesce it into a 
single person, it would look and talk like Brian J. Mason. He's looking over in this 
direction." Craig suddenly turned to look at Nene. "Do you thinks the Cubs will win the World 
Series this year?"

	"Huh?" the redhead replied, looking confused.

	"Who's Mason?" Linna repeated.

	"A special assistant to the Chairman of GENOM," replied Sylia softly. "And Craig is right 
about him, if somewhat overly descriptive."

	"He's walking over here," Craig said out of the corner of his mouth. 

	"Let me do the talking," said Sylia calmly.

	"Fine by me," Craig replied, who continued to stare at Nene, who was beginning to blush. 
Mackie was looking at them in puzzlement.

	"Sylia Stingray," said an oily voice. "I thought it was you."

	"Mr. Mason," replied Sylia in a tone slightly warmer then disinterested. "What a pleasant 
surprise." She glanced up at him then looked around the table.

	Mason was smiling at Sylia, but to Craig, there was something wrong with the expression. 
The paired bodyguards standing behind Mason looked more friendly, despite their impersonal 
expression.

	"It's been several years," Mason continued, resting a hand on the back of Sylia's chair. 
"I was hoping to see you before this."

	"I have been busy." 

	"Ah, yes, the Silky Doll. How is business these days?"

	"Very well." Sylia's eyes grew hard. "I expect an increase in profits over last year."

	"That's good." The voice was waxy, putting Craig's teeth on edge.

	"Excuse me sir," Craig said in a drawl. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

	Mason looked at him, the expression unfriendly. "I wasn't talking to you." 

	"I don't believe you are part of this party, sir. You have exchanged pleasantries with 
our hostess, now I am asking you to leave."

	"And you are?"

	Craig smiled at him. "Name's Bert Van Vliet." He saw Sylia flinch at the name "And you 
are?"

	"Brian J. Mason."

	"A pleasure sir. Now, will you please leave?"

	"Do you know who I am?"

	"Besides being rude and a bore? Not a clue."

	Mason's face took on a dark cast "I work for GENOM."

	"So do half the people int the city. Am I suppose to be impressed?"

	The knuckles on Mason's hand that was holding the back of Sylia's chair went white in 
anger. "I'm a special assistant to the Chairman of the Board."

	Craig felt his own anger rising, but controlled it. "Aren't you a bit old to be a 
messenger boy?" he asked in the mildest tone he could muster.

	The tension around the table went up considerably, fueled not only by Mason, but by Sylia 
as well. "I think it's time we called it an evening," she said, pushing her chair back and 
standing. She gave Craig a cold look. "Some of us have to get up early tomorrow."

	Craig gave her a cold nod. "You are right, of course." He looked at Nene and Linna. 
"Would you ladies care if I escorted you home?"

	The others stood. Mason couldn't keep the anger off his face. "I think you and I will 
meet again," he said bruskly to Craig.

	"Not if you have Tweedledee and Tweedledum along," Craig replied, motioning to the two 
boomers. "I think they would be a dampening effect on any conversation we would have."

	Sylia gave Nene and Linna a look, and the two women grabbed Craig by the arms. "I suggest 
that we should leave now," the leader of the Knight Sabers said cooly. "It was a pleasure to 
see you again, Mr. Mason. I wish we could stay and talk, but –"

	"I think I understand," replied Mason in the same oily voice he had started with. "But I 
suggest you chose your dinner guests more carefully in the future."

	"Have you ever thought of becoming a comedian?" asked Craig as Linna and Nene guided him 
away from the growing confrontation. The others followed them, leaving Mason and his bodyguard 
standing there by the empty table. Linna and Nene lead Craig out into the lobby, while Sylia 
took care of the bill. Once out in the lobby, the two women released Craig, but stood closed by 
as he started to pace. Mackie and Priss joined them.

	"What's eating him?" Priss asked, watching Craig stalked up and down the lobby, a look of 
attempted relaxation on his face.

	"I don't know," replied Nene. "But whatever it is, that Mason person had something to do 
with it."

	"I'll talk to him," Mackie said. "I know what's eating him." He walked over and stood in 
front of Craig. 

	The look on Craig's face didn't alter. "Yes?"

	Mackie grabbed him by the arm and guided him to a corner of the lobby. "Are you stupid or 
something?" he hissed.

	"What?" Craig asked in a low voice. "The sleezebucket got under my skin, all right?"

	"Sis could have handle him."

	"Did you see the way Mason was drooling over her?"

	"That's not important!"

	"It isn't?"

	"No, it isn't. Don't think for a moment that Sylia want his attention. I sure as hell 
don't want that bastard any closer than a kilometer. But you have to trust Sis. She knows 
what's she's doing."

	"With that fungus?"

	"She's been doing it longer then you've been here."

	Craig took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Maybe it's because I know what he is, or maybe it's 
because I've now met the son of a bitch in person and he's even slimier then I expected. It's 
just something inside me said, 'get his attention.'"

	"You got his attention all right. He's going to be looking for you."

	"He can look away. I'm not scared of the bastard."

	"You should be. He's got more power then most CEOs, and Quincy gives him free reign. If 
he finds you, you can expect to have a rouge boomer or two show up on your doorstep."

	"Yes, but –" Craig's eyes drifted to the others. "I think it's time to leave."

	Mackie turned to look. Sylia had joined the others and the look she was going the two 
males could have punch through armor plate. She had to do nothing to tell them to rejoin the 
group – the stare was enough.

	Mackie walked over to the others, Craig trailing after him. Sylia gave Craig a look of 
cold fury. "We will discuss this later," she said in a flat tone.

	"Fine by me," replied Craig in the same flat tone. "Let's get out of here before Mason 
oozes out after us."





	The ride back to the penthouse was made in an uncomfortable silence. The other three 
female members of the Knight Sabers said their good-bye and left in Linna's van. The silence 
continued until the Stingray siblings and their guest reached the penthouse. Once in the living 
room, Sylia spun and faced Craig. "Would you like to explain your actions?" she said in a cold, 
calm voice.

	Craig loosed and removed the his tie. "I can't."

	"I said I would handle it." Sylia's voice was cold fury, not an emotion she displayed 
much.

	"Well, excuse me if I thought that the slug wasn't going away."

	"I've had run ins with Mason before, and he's always left after a few words."

	"It didn't strike me that he was leaving anytime soon. In fact, from when I was sitting, 
he was on the verge of joining us."

	"So?"

	"So?" Craig voice began to rise in volume. "So, I don't have a high tolerance for scummy 
bastards like him. The look he gave you was about a friendly as a tiger looking over his next 
meal."

	Sylia's expression was one of disbelief. "You mean that you antagonized one of the most 
powerful men on the planet because you didn't like the way he looked at me?"

	"No!" Craig replied sharply. "Well, maybe."

	"Maybe?" Sylia's voice rose in volume. "Are you crazy, or do you have a death wish?"

	"Neither," Craig snapped back.

	"Don't you ever do something like that again!" Sylia took a step forward until she was 
nose to nose with Craig. "I fight my own battles."

	"Since was Mason yours alone?" Craig asked, not backing down. "He's part of the reason 
why I'm here!"

	"No, Largo is the reason why you're here, not Mason. Leave Mason to me." Her voice was 
like ice crystals.

	"I'm sorry!" Craig snarled back. "I like to think that you're a friend, and I protect my 
friends, all right?"

	"While I appreciate the thought, I don't need your help."

	"Fine! The next time that bastard drools all over you, I won't say a word! Satisfied?" He 
turned and stalked away. "I'm going to bed. I'm going to need my rest for tomorrow."

	Mackie, who had watched the entire argument in silence, waited until Craig had 
disappeared into the guest room before he asked Sylia, "Weren't you a bit hard on him?"

	"Don't you start!"

	Mackie shook his head. "He's right about the way Mason was looking at you."

	"I am fully aware of Mason's intentions towards me," Sylia said stiffly. "But that's my 
problem, not yours and not Craig's."

	"Craig didn't say anything I wouldn't have said."

	Sylia gave her brother a wounded look. "Not you too!"

	"Sylia, you are my sister, and I love you." Mackie walked over to her. "To tell you the 
truth, I didn't like the way Mason was looking at you any more then Craig did, but I wasn't 
going to say anything because I know you could handle him. Craig didn't know, and frankly, 
probably wouldn't have cared even if he did."

	Sylia turned away. "He should have known and cared. I am not a helpless damsel who needs 
a knight to ride to her aid."

	"Why? You already know he can be stubborn, not to mention undiplomatic, at times."

	"At times?" Sylia snorted. "In some ways, he can be annoying as Priss."

	"True," Mackie replied. "But I don't think it was just the need to protect your honor 
that caused him to interfere. As far as he knows, this Mason will become Largo and come after 
you. He just let Mason know it wasn't going to be simple or easy."
	
	"What about the other Largo, the one he's been sent to fight?"

	"We don't know anything about this, beyond what Ishmael said. Maybe there will be two 
Largos, or that Mason and this other Largo will merge into one, or maybe something else will 
happen. But Craig was ready to go after Mason tonight, despite the presence of the boomers. And 
Priss was ready to follow Craig's lead."

	"Priss?"

	Mackie nodded. "Both of them were ready and willing to try and take Mason apart right 
there. I saw Priss' face while Mason and Craig were trading verbal shots – she was prepared to 
move at the first sign of trouble. I think if  you hadn't gotten us out of there, and Mason had 
stayed to continue the conversation, it would have gotten messy."
	
	Sylia sat down slowly. "I don't think I'm ready for two hotheads on the team."

	"It's not as bad as that." Her brother grinned at her. "I think Craig was right – him and 
Priss are like a couple of lone wolves working together. They'll snarl at each other, but if an 
outsider threatens the pack, they'll work together until the threat is gone, then go back to 
snarling at each other."

	"What does that make me then?" asked Sylia.

	"The pack leader of course."

	"Of course." Sylia took a deep breath.

	"Look at the bright side."

	"What bright side?"

	"You could have been the Sylia stuck with Bert Van Vliet."

	"I'm beginning to think that Sylia got the easier of the two." Sylia frowned. "Wait a 
minute. How did Craig introduce himself to Mason?"

	"He called himself 'Bert Van Vliet'."

	Sylia sank into a chair. "What was he thinking of?"

	"Why don't you ask me directly?"

	Sylia and Mackie turned towards Craig. He had emerged from the guest room, dressed for 
bed. "You want to know why I told the Denebian Slime Devil I was Bert Van Vliet, right?"

	"Yes."

	"In part, because I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of my real name. Let's see 
how it takes for him to figure out that's not my real name."

	"It won't take long," Mackie said. "GENOM's computer network has its fingers into every 
database in the world."

	"I know."

	Sylia gave him a slightly frosty stare. "You said that was 'part' of the reason. What's 
the rest of it?"

	"I wanted to see if he recognized the name. Largo might have said something."

	"There's nothing in the Bubblegum Zone stories that suggest that Largo ever knew Bert was 
SkyKnight."

	"True." Craig leaned against the wall. "But Largo wasn't an idiot. He know who you were - 
it would stand to reason that he would know who the other members of the Sabers were, including 
Bert. If Mason passes on that titbit about the name to Largo, they might expect another 
SkyKnight in shining armor to come charging out of the sky and challenge them to a duel." He 
shrugged. "Only, I'm not SkyKnight, and I don't play by the same rules. 'All warfare is based 
on deception,' and I intend to keep the bad guys in the dark as much as I can. I'm also not one 
to pass up a back shot."

	"That doesn't sound...." Mackie searched for the right word. "Knightly."

	Craig gave him a long look. "Mackie, the average medieval knight was an idiot, a drunk 
and about as chivalrous as Quincy with a toothache. Ask the French Knights at Agincourt or the 
Crusaders at Hattin about being knightly -- both got their heads handed to them when they 
shouldn't have because they didn't have any common sense. Being a knightly person may look good 
on paper, but didn't do the real knights any good on the field."

	Mackie looked surprised, while Sylia looked on. Craig continued. "The legend of King 
Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table was distilled from centuries of folklore into Le 
Morte D'arthur by Sir Thomas Malory, a man who spent a lot of time in jail for non-political 
crimes. The real King Arthur was possibly a six century Celtic war leader who probably wouldn't 
have known what a round table was, let alone create one. While being a knight in shining armor 
may work for SkyKnight, I'm not SkyKnight. I'm too short, the wrong hair color, and I don't 
find slamming around boomers or threading my way through construction areas at two hundred 
kilometers fun things to do."

	Sylia raised an eyebrow. "I see. However, your actions tonight was still stupid. Mason is 
not a man to take an insult quietly."

	"I know. But on the way back, I got to thinking. I think I can turn this incident to our 
advantage."

	"How?" asked Mackie.

	Craig smiled cruelly. "I'm betting that I've annoyed him, and every minute he thinking 
about me is one less minute he can be plotting something."

	"I think you have a high opinion of yourself," Sylia said.

	Craig smiled. "I have yet begun to be annoying, and I can be very annoying when I put my 
mind to it."

	"I know," muttered the leader of the Knight Sabers. "What do you have in mind?"

	"It struck me that Mason doesn't like aggravations. He wanted so bad to sic his boomers 
on me tonight. I could see it in his face – he saw me as nothing but a bug that had to be 
crushed. I'm going to use that against him."

	"I can't allow you to do this."
				
	"You can't stop me."

	Sylia stared at him. "Why are you so intent on antagonizing Mason?"

	"In part because I want that smug bastard to squirm. He's been in the position of power 
without challenge, and it's gone to his head. I want to remind him that he doesn't have enough 
power to escape the consequences."

	"You're not planning to kill him, are you?"

	Craig shook his head. "I plan to embarrass him, annoy him, make him look like an bungler. 
I want people to laugh at him, not fear and respect him. I want him looking over his shoulder 
for the next thing that goes wrong. I want him more worried about what I'm going to do to him 
then what he's going to do. I'm taking a page out of Sun Tzu's book and I'm going to use 
psychological warfare against the enemy."

	There was silence in the room for a moment. Finally, Sylia said, "I won't have you using 
Saber's equipment in this plan."

	"No hardsuits, motoslaves, or any other piece of equipment that can be directly linked to 
the Knight Sabers -- promise. In fact, most of the stuff I want to start with doesn't involve 
more then some computer manipulation and Mr. Mason's Email address. If I want to do something 
that could be dangerous or involves anyone else, I'll run it past you first, fair enough?"

	"I guess so." Sylia looked unconvinced.

	Craig's smile widen. "Mackie," He said. "Do the magazines these days still come with the 
little cards inside, the ones for subscribing to the magazine?"

	"Most do." Mackie looked blank. "Why do you ask?"

	Craig ignored him for the moment. "Sylia. I suppose you have lingerie catalogs that you 
subscribe to?"

	"Yes." She looked at him puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

	Craig rubbed his hands together. "Let us just say that Mr. Mason is about to receive a 
lot of unsolicited mail."

	Sylia looked at Craig as if he had just walked into the room stark naked and declared 
himself to be the next Emperor of Japan. Mackie started chuckling. "That should annoy him," he 
said.

	"I know. I want Nene's input on this as well, as I want to do some computer related 
things. Mackie, could you talk to Nene tomorrow about that? I suppose she can think of some 
things we can do that won't be risky to us."

	"What about Linna and Priss?" suggested Mackie. "They might think of something we don't."

	"Great. I'll talk to Linna tomorrow morning and –"

	"Wait a minute!" said Sylia sharply. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

	Craig looked at her. "Do you want in on this too?"

	"Isn't this all just a bit childish?" the leader of the Knight Sabers asked, sounded 
exasperated.

	"Of course it is," replied Craig lightly. "But what's the point of being grown up if you 
can't be childish once in a while?" Then, in a more series tone, he said, "Mason won't expect 
this type of an attack and the fact that it is childish is what makes it so annoying. I 
promised you that I wouldn't go after Largo in a hardsuit, I never promised not to go after 
Mason, and after I seen of him so far, the sooner he's off-balanced, the better."

	Sylia leaned back and closed her eyes. "What did I do to deserve this?"

	"Because you're our leader, Boss."

	She glared at Craig through half-closed eyes. "I suppose you'll go ahead, wether or not I 
say so, right?"

	"Yep."

	"I think it's a good idea, Sis," chimed in Mackie

	Sylia sighed. "All right, you two, but you will keep me appraised of any plans you make. 
Is that clear?"

	"Crystal," replied Craig. "Anything beyond the simple stuff, I will outline the plan and 
let you decide."

	"No problem here," replied Mackie.

	"Fine." Sylia stood up. "Anything else?"

	"Just one." Craig motioned to Sylia's brother.  "I want Mackie's help in finding a place 
for me, ASAP."

	Sylia frowned. "What for?"

	"Because Mason is probably going to start watching this place a bit more once he finds 
out I'm not Bert. The sooner I'm not seen hanging around the place, the better."

	Mackie nodded. "I can set up a search program on the computer and let it run while I'm 
doing something else."

	"Do you have an idea of what you're looking for?" asked Sylia		

	Craig nodded. "I'll give Mackie the details and give me a list of properties for sale. I 
need something special for what I want to work with."

	"I don't think it'll hurt if you go looking."

	"Thanks. Now, I am definitely going to bed. I've got places to go, people to get beat up 
by, and so on. Good night."
	
	Sylia shook her head as Craig walked out of the room. Mackie flopped into a chair, 
smiling. "What do you think?" he asked his sister.

	"Like I've being taken for a spin," was her tart reply.

	"You don't like the idea?"

	"Not at first glance. A lot will depend on what he plans to do."

	"Why not let him have a chance? If it works, fine. If not, I don't think we've lost 
anything."

	"I hope you're right."
	




	Three weeks passed in relative calm. But despite the lack of real work for the Knight 
Sabers, the members were far from idle. A few missions came and went with no serious problems, 
as did several rampaging boomer incidents that the Sabers took care of.

	Despite not yet being a field member of the team, Craig was the busiest. Beside the 
rigorous training regime he was now under, he was helping to built his hardsuit. Bit by bit, 
his understanding of the smallest parts of his armor was sharpened and refined. Sylia 
questioned him relentlessly on different subsystems and what to do if something went wrong, and 
how to identify and repair a problem, if possible, in the field. His understanding of the 
suits' weapons systems was expanded, as well as his tactics and strategy knowledge. He began 
reviewing selection mission tapes to see different ways boomers could be destroyed. Six days a 
week, from morning until after dark, he learned as much theoretical and practical knowledge as 
he could handle. 

	He still found time to put his plan of psychological warfare against Mason into 
operation. Reply cards were removed for all sorts of magazines, filled out and sent in. Nene 
managed to snatch Mason's private telephone number line and Email address from the GENOM 
computer system. She also found a way to hack into the environmental and maintenance 
subsystems. The other Knight Sabers offered suggestions that made Sylia winced as she heard 
them. She could have felt sorry for Mason, but she couldn't herself to feel any pity. Since she 
couldn't kill him yet, she wanted to see if this hair-brained scheme of Craig's could pay Mason 
back for some of his crimes.

	Sundays was Craig's only day off. During these days, he went out early and came home 
late, a inventory of real estate listings tucked under one arm.

	The Sunday of the third week, he walked into the penthouse in the early afternoon, 
grinning from ear to ear. From her chair, Sylia gave him a level stare. "What is it?" she 
asked.

	"I found the place I'm looking for."

	"Oh. Where?"

	"A dozen blocks north of here. A building on the corner of Koukai and Twenty-Third 
Street."

	Sylia frowned as she pictured the area in her mind. "Isn't that a small warehouse?"

	"Yep."

	"What are you going to need all that space for?"

	"For my business."

	"What business?"

	Craig shrugged. "Simple. I need a cover job, one that will allow me the freedom that I'm 
going to need as a Knight Saber. I can't sing, I look lousy in leotards, and I'm not ADP 
material. So, I'm planning to renovate the warehouse into a combination bookstore-music store-
coffeehouse and live above the store."

	"I see. How you contacted anyone yet about the property?"

	Craig shook his head. "I'm not going to do anything until I get some advice from you."

	"Me?" Sylia sounded surprised.

	"You're a business person. You know what I'm going to have to go through in order to get 
both the warehouse renovated and the stores built. I've never owned a business before, and I 
don't know where to start."

	"I can put in contact with a few people who can handle most of the legal and financial 
parts of your bid."

	"That's fine. Could you contact them tomorrow?"

	"I can do that."

	"Great. Could I ask for one other thing?"

	"What?"

	Could you keep this a secret from the other Sabers? At least until I'm ready?"

	"I think I can do that much."

	"Thanks. I would really appreciate it." Craig wandered out of the room, trying to whistle 
a happy tune and failing.







	

	
Chapters 1 - 5
	
Chapters 11 - 15
	
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