The Bubble Gum Crisis OVA's (which this story is based on) are copyrighted 
	by Artmic Inc. and Youmex, Inc. I am just borrowing the characters for a little 
	while for non-monetary reasons. Serious CandC will be accepted, out-and-out 
	flames will result in a Boomer or two being sent after you, once they get around
	to building them.


	Please, enjoy my take on the Bubble Gum Crisis universe . . . 




Chapter 26



Priss' Trailer
December 22, 2035
2:56pm

     The van was a nondescript brown in color, and was unremarkable in every other way from the 
outside. It drove towards the trailer at a slow rate of speed, avoiding patches of ice that 
dotted the lot.

     "See anything?" asked Priss. She was lying on a stretcher in the back of the van, unable to 
sit up to watch. The remains of her hardsuit laid in a large box beside her. While she waited 
for Leon's answer, she thought about the last couple of hours. 

     Mallory had returned to the warehouse two hours before, his mood upbeat. "You're going 
home," he'd said when he entered the makeshift hospital room. "I made the arrangements. Three 
o'clock, your trailer."

     Priss looked at him, her face showing disbelief. Leon was out talking to Jeena about 
something, so the two of them were alone. "You spoke to Sylia?"

     "Yes, and she's a remarkable woman." There was a undercurrent of wistfulness in his voice. 
"She's concerned about you."

     "She going to give me hell for totaling the suit."

     "If she gives you a hard time, I'll pay for the damm thing."

     "Big words."

     "I keep my word." He hesitated. "This is probably a personal question, but is Sylia seeing 
anyone?"

     That caught Priss off guard. "Excuse me?"

     "Is she involved with anyone right now?"

     Priss felt a sudden bust of anger. She looked at Mallory, her eyes flashing with fury. "I 
don't know," she said forcefully, "and even if I did know, that's none of your damm business."

     Greg shrugged, her anger having no effect on his mood. "Fair enough." He glanced at his 
watch. "You'd better rest. Leon will be here in about an hour." Before Priss could say anything 
else, He'd turned and walked out of the room.

     "No one yet," replied Leon, bringing Priss out of her memories. "But we are a couple of 
minutes early."

     "Knowing my boss, she's already there, but staying out of sight."

     "That's possible. How are you feeling?"

     Priss gritted her teeth. Leon as an angel of mercy was becoming old quickly. "Leon, that's 
the third time in the last hour you've asked me that," she said. "You ask me one more time, and 
I'll strangle you."

     Leon chuckled. "You're getting better," he said lightly. His voice suddenly became serious. 
"Your friends are here."

     Priss felt the van slow to a stop. "Who's here?" she asked.

     "All three of your partners, plus a large truck. They're heading towards us now." He heard 
him climb out of the van and say cheerfully, "Good Afternoon, ladies! Leon's delivery service 
has arrived!" He left the door open so Priss could hear everything.

     "Is she is in the van?" asked Sylia, her voice distorted by her hardsuit's speakers.

     "Yes Ma'am!," replied Leon, his cheerfulness beginning to grate on Priss's nerves. "And 
from the way she's heaping verbal abuse on me the last several hours, she's on her way to a full 
recovery."  

     "You two get Priss," Sylia commanded. "I need to talk to Mr. McNichols here for a couple of 
minutes."

     Priss heard two sets of footsteps approached the van. The sliding door open, and cold air 
flooded the van. Priss was grateful for the borrowed clothes she was wearing as she sat up. The 
two familiar outlines of Linna and Nene's hardsuits stood there. The Red/Blue Knight Saber waved 
at Priss. "Miss us?"

     "Stop that!" hissed Linna, motioning towards Leon. She looked down at the mangled hardsuit. 
"You grab the box, and I'll get Priss."

     "Right!"

     After Nene removed the box from the van, Linna helped Priss out, and supported her while 
the singer stood on unsteady legs. Placing her friend's unbroken arm over her shoulder, Linna 
guided Priss towards the truck. As the two of them slowly made their way, Priss listened to Leon 
and Sylia's conversation.

     "Here's a copy of Priss's medical report, for your own medical people. As I said, she'll 
recover nicely."

     "And how many people know about Priss's identity?" Even with the distortion of the 
hardsuit's speakers, Sylia's voice was cool.

     "Greg Mallory, Jeena, and myself. Even the Doctor who treated her doesn't know her name. 
I've known her identity for upwards of two years now, and the other two figured it out on their 
own. And before you ask, I have no idea who Mallory talked to at lunch regarding Priss." 

     "If you've known Priss's identity for two years, why haven't you acted? We're vigilantes 
and mercenaries after all."

     Leon shrugged. "There's too many ADP officers, including me and Daley, who owe you our 
lives. The ADP can't do the job anymore without tripping over rules and regulations that 
strangle us."

     "Us?" Sylia sounded amused. "You're on vacation from the ADP, remember?"

     Before Leon could answer, Priss called out in a husky voice, "Hey, Leon!"

     "Yea?"

     Priss motioned Linna to stop. "Come here," she said.

     Leon ambled over, missing the tone of her voice. "Forget something?" he asked, standing 
next to her.

     "Yea," Priss growled. "This." She moved her free arm from around the Green hardsuit's 
shoulders and grabbed Leon by his shirt. Before he could react, she pulled him in close and 
kissed him. After several seconds of struggle, Leon closed his eyes and gave in.

     "Excuse me?" said the white Knight Saber. She strode over and tapped Leon on the shoulder. 
Leon opened an eye and stared at her, unable to speak with Priss kissing him. Next to Priss, 
Linna stared at the two of them, not certain what to do next. Finally, Sylia reached in between 
the two of them and separated them. "You two can express yourselves to each other later," she 
said cooly, her helmet hiding the smile on her face. 

     Looking a little stunned, Leon asked, "What did I do to deserve that?"

     Priss, looking satisfied, replied, "You save my life twice last night, or don't you 
remember?"

     "Yea, but -"

     "But nothing. You deserved it."

     Sylia expected Leon to puff himself and act like he usually did when he was hitting on 
Priss, as 'God's gift to women'.

     But he didn't. 

     Instead, to Sylia's surprise, Leon just nodded as he touched his lips gently with the tips 
of his fingers. "You're welcome. Just try to be careful next time, all right? I don't have any 
friends to spare." He turned to Sylia. "Just make sure she follows the doctor's orders, OK?"

     "I will."

     "Don't I have a say in this?" asked Priss, her face a mass of conflicting emotions. 

     "No," said Leon and Sylia at the same instant. 

     They looked at each other in astonishment. Finally Leon shrugged and started to walk back 
to the van. "She's your team member, White," he said, looking over his shoulder at Sylia. "Keep 
her out of the way until she heals, OK?"

     Priss fended off Linna's attempt to lead her away. "I'm all right," she snapped. "A couple 
of hours sleep, and I be fine."

     Leon stopped and turned to look at her. He snorted. "Remember what the Doc told you," he 
called out to Priss, his tone serious. "You had two more days of rest ahead of you, and if I 
hear about or see the blue Knight Saber during that time, I will hunt you down and tie you to 
your bed. Is that clear?"

     Priss smiled. "I didn't know you were into bondage," she purred loudly.

     "I'm not!" he snapped, his face becoming slightly red.

     "Does Daley know about this?" she continued, ignoring his denial.

     Leon's denial was on his lips, but before he could respond, Sylia spoke. "She'll stay in 
bed."

     Priss looked at her leader. "Spoilsport."

     "You can continue this banter later," said Sylia firmly. "I want to get you out of this 
cold and double check your injuries." She motioned to Linna. "Get her into the van."

     With Nene's help, Linna guided Priss into the van. Mackie had prepared one of the fold down 
cots, and with his help, the other Knight Sabers eased Priss onto it. A minute later, Sylia 
boarded the van, and closed the door. She removed her helmet and glanced at Mackie. "Get us out 
of here."

     Mackie nodded and disappeared into the driver's compartment. The low hum of the truck's 
engine filled the interior. Linna and Nene removed their helmets and sat down, while Sylia 
examined Priss's bandaged ribs. Priss just lay there, a satisfied smile on his face.

     "How are you feeling?" asked Sylia.

     "Better then I did last night," Priss replied, still smiling.

     "We could see that," said Linna, a large grin on her face. "After that kiss you gave Leon, 
he looked like he'd been poleaxed."  

     "I know. That's why I did it."

     Nene managed to look confused. "Did I miss something?" she asked.

     "Talk to Mackie about it," said Linna, still looking amused. "He can explain it to you."



MegaTokyo General Hospital
December 22, 2035
4:15pm    

     Doctor Kensaku Fukamizu was tired. He was fifteen hours into a twenty four-hour shift in 
the emergency room, and they had been busy for almost the entire time. Four stabbings, seven 
gunshot wounds, three serious highway accidents, and a suicide who hadn't quite managed to kill 
himself when he jumped. Two of his patients died as he tried to save them, while the jumper was 
now clinging to life with more energy then he'd shown before he jumped. In short, a typical day 
in the emergency room.

     He stood at the central nurse's station, jotting down a note on the jumper's record. Most 
of the man's bones were broken, but there was not enough damage to finish the job he'd started.
 What a waste, he thought. The damm fool's too young to be wanting to end it all. 
He glanced down at the patient's age. Hell, he's two years younger then me.

     There but for the grace of God go I. He shuddered as he tried to suppress the 
memories. It didn't work.

     He remembered the Earthquake that made him an orphan at age fifteen. Six months later, he'd 
been part of a gang, one of many to form as the population and government tried to recover from 
the disaster that had leveled most of the city. For eighteen months, the gang had ruled a 
twelve-block area with more authority then the city did.

     Then, HE came back.

     Skeeter Karns had been a legend among the gangs as the biggest pack leader in the district 
before he'd suddenly disappeared ten years before. His sudden reappearance had shocked the 
district, and he'd move quickly in reestablishing his position as the most powerful gang leader.

     Fukamizu remembered when HE came into the gang's head-quarters. Towering over even the 
tallest gang member by a full head, Skeeter had made them a generous offer to have them join his 
growing alliance of Gangs. The fact there was more then a hint of menace in HIS voice, a core of 
steel behind velvet words, was the deciding factor. It had taken the gang less then ten minutes 
to decide to join the new alliance.

     Once part of the alliance, Fukamizu found himself back in school, along with half the gang 
members in the district, under the instruction of Skeeter himself. A combination of Skeeter's 
immense size and penetrating intelligence worked wonders on the reluctant students, including 
Fukamizu. In less then a year, Fukamizu had made up the schooling he'd lost. Another six months, 
and he was ahead of the others in schoolwork.

     He could still remember the impassive look on Skeeter's face when the giant asked Fukamizu 
what the young man wanted to do with his life. A Doctor, he'd told Skeeter, like his own father 
had been. The Giant merely nodded, and told Fukamizu to continue studying. When Fukamizu turned 
eighteen, Skeeter secured him a spot in the exam for the leading medical school. Fukamizu passed 
the exam easily.

     The next six years passed quickly, as Fukamizu worked hard to learn everything he could 
about being a Doctor. Skeeter had told him not to worry about the finances, just worry about 
passing his classes. Fukamizu did so, graduating third in his class. Given a choice of any 
hospital in the country, Fukamizu had decided to stay close to home by choosing MegaToyko 
General for his residency. And now, nine months into his residency, he faced the results
of what other, less fortunate, people had chosen to do with their lives.

     As he finished scribbling the entry into the jumper's record, he half listened to a couple 
of nurses in conversation behind the counter of the nurse's station.

     "So what did he say?" asked Senior Nurse Ishida, a short, moon faced woman who was well 
respected by the doctors and other nursing staff. Part den mother, part drill Sargent, she ran 
the emergency room with the precision and order needed. He only failing was that she was a bit 
of a gossip.

     "He wanted to have dinner with me Saturday night," replied nurse Asamizu with a giggle. 
Young and pretty, she'd been at the hospital for three months, and was blossoming into a first 
rate emergency room nurse under Ishida's tutoring. Fukamizu had been debating asking her out for 
the last month, but between her long list of dates and his lack of time and money, he hadn't the 
nerve. He continued to look at the clipboard, and continued to listen to the nurses.

     "And?" prompted Ishida. Just then, the phone sitting at her elbow rang. Like turning on a 
switch, the senior nurse went from gossiping woman to a professional in a blink of an eye. She 
smoothly picked up the receiver and said, "MegaToyko General, Emergency Room, Senior Nurse 
Ishida speaking." She listened. "Doctor Kyso!" she said in a light friendly tone. "What can I do 
for you?...Doctor Suwa? I don't know. Could you hold a minute?" She depressed the hold button on 
the phone, and dialed a three-digit number, which meant she was calling somewhere else in the 
hospital.

     After a few seconds, she started speaking. "Yoko? This is Kumi, down in the emergency room. 
Is Doctor Suwa in?...Oh. When did he leave?...How long?...All right...Thanks, Yoko." 

     She returned to her first caller. "I'm sorry, Doctor Kyso, but Doctor Suwa left three hours 
ago to attend a conference in Hawaii . . . He won't be back until next week...Is it an 
emergency? .......I see. Why not bring her in?..........That serious?.......Well, you could try 
Doctor Natorn over at Juban General....Are you sure?....Thank you Doctor, I just wish I could 
been of more help...Good-bye." She hung the handset back in it place and looked at Asamizu. "Now 
that's strange."

     Asamizu looked puzzled. "What?"

     "That was Doctor Kyso."

     "I never heard of him." 

     "Doctor Kyso is a she. She worked here until about five years ago. One of the large Mega-
corps hired her as staff doctor, and I hadn't heard anything from her since. Then out of the 
blue she calls asking for Doctor Suwa." 

     Fukamizu racked his brain, trying to remember Suwa. Didn't he specialize in circulatory 
problems or something like that?

     "I don't recall Doctor Suwa," said Asamizu.

     "You wouldn't," replied Ishida. "He specializes in blood disorders."

     "Oh. So what did Doctor Kyso want with Doctor Suwa?"   

     "She said she had a critical case. One of her bosses' kids cut herself badly, lost a lot of 
blood, and she needs a transfusion ASAP. The problem is, the patient has an abnormal Hemoglobin 
condition, and can't receive regular blood transfusion. She also too weak to move to the 
hospital."

     "That's horrible!"

     Ishida nodded. "I just hope Gulf and Bradley are paying Doctor Kyso plenty of money, 
because if she screws up, she's going to need every yen she can get her hands on."

     Fukamizu nearly dropped the clipboard in surprise. Gulf and Bradley? He put the clipboard 
down on the counter and reached into his pant's pocket. His hands found the paper, right where 
he had left it. He pulled it out slowly, unfolded it and stared at the words written there. It 
was a hand written note he'd found in his locker when he'd come on duty. He had no idea how it'd 
gotten there, but he had no doubt who had written it. Skeeter didn't ask for anything unless it 
was important. The note read:

     Keep an ear out for anything involving Gulf and Bradley, and report it at once.

     Skeeter   


     He folded the paper and thrust it back into his pocket. He had to find a phone.

     "Doctor Fukamizu?" said a voice. Fukamizu jumped, startled by the voice. Nurse Asamizu was 
leaning on the counter, staring at him with a smile. Behind her, Ishida was typing something 
into the computer, but she was also smiling.

     "Er . . . .Yes, Nurse?" Fukamizu asked quickly.

     Asamizu continued to smile. "Is everything all right? You seemed preoccupied."

     "Yes . . . e . . . .I just remember I have to make a phone call." Something inside him 
broke free in his confusion. "Are you free Saturday?" he blurted out.

     "Why, yes I am," purred Asamizu. "Seven o'clock, my place."

     She giggled at the strange expression on his face. She scrawled an address on a slip of 
paper and handed to him. "Don't be late."

     "Of course not! I...er...need to make a phone call. Excuse me...." He turned and walked 
away, a somewhat silly-looking grin on his face. But his mind was focused on getting word to 
Skeeter about this development involving Gulf and Bradley.



Warehouse #41526584
District 4
MegaTokyo, Japan
December 22, 2035
5:44pm

     The warehouse was alive with activity. Techs were now in the process of refueling and 
rearming the two surviving Rattlesnakes. The last of the hardsuits had been repaired, and was on 
line. The Knights not actively involved in tech work were resting quietly, getting ready for the 
night's activities.

     Greg Mallory was not resting. He sat at a small table near the office, still dressed in the 
suit he'd worn to the lunch with Sylia. In front of him, a small pile of papers sat in an untidy 
pile. He scowled at Marla. "Anything else I should know about?" he asked in mock seriousness.

     "No, Sir," replied the red headed woman. "Anything else can be delayed until tomorrow."

     "Good. What about the items for tonight?"

     "The flowers will be in the limo, as will the champaign. Your suit for tonight is waiting 
for you back at the office."

     "Excellent. You'll make someone a fine wife someday."

     Marla arched an eyebrow. "Just don't tell Gary," she said, a smile playing at her lips. 
"I've almost have him trained right."

     Mallory chuckled. "I won't." He grew serious again. "I hope I didn't screw up Gary's and 
your plans for Christmas too much."

     "He understands."

     "Once we get home, You'll get an extra week of vacation time. Fair enough?"

     Before Marla could answer, Greg saw Leon standing nearby. "Leon!" he called out.

     Leon strode over quickly. "Yes?" he asked.

     "Our guest made it back to her friends all right?"

     Leon smiled. "Yes. Her friends were waiting for us when we got there."

     Greg nodded. "Marla, go tell Marcus and Nicky we're leaving in five minutes." The assistant 
nodded and walked off. Greg waited until she was out of earshot before he said, "Any trouble?"

     "White Saber didn't trust me as far as she could throw me, but I think she'll hold off on 
killing me for now."

     "I don't think she'll come knocking on your door anytime soon," replied Greg dryly.

     Just then, Leon's cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out of its case opened it and said, 
"Yes?...Skeeter? How did you get this number?.......I should have know. What's up?.....In 
person? Why not over the phone?......But....All right." He glanced at his watch. "Give me about 
an hour...Same place as before?...See you then." 

     "Problem?" asked Greg.

     "My source," replied Leon, putting the phone back into its case. "He's turned up some more 
stuff on Gulf and Bradley that he thinks we need to know. He won't relay it over the phone. The 
meet has to in person."

     "Go. Do you need any backup?"

     Leon took a deep breath. "I'd better not. Skeeter has more then enough firepower to slice 
apart anything you could send, and if I show up with unfamiliar guns backing me up, he'd never 
trust me again." He thought for a second. "I will take Jeena along. Skeeter knows her, and she 
can be charming when she needs to be."

     Greg nodded slowly. "Good luck."

     Leon smiled. "Thanks. I better get going then." He turned and jogged towards the exit. Greg 
watched him leave the stood up slowly. Now, if only my dinner with Quincy was going to be 
that easy...




Chapter 27



Sylia's Apartment
December 22, 2035
6:54pm 

     Sylia stood in her bedroom, looking at herself in the mirror with a critical eye. The dress 
she'd chosen to wear for tonight was a black, ankle length, off-the-shoulder design with a 
modest neckline. Her hair was done up in a simple, yet elegant design. Her makeup was similarly 
simple, highlighting her features without overdoing it.

     Why did I agree to this? she thought. Why did I agree to have dinner with a man I 
haven't seen in fifteen years, and in GENOM Tower to boot?  She couldn't find an answer.

     There was a knock at the bedroom door. "Sis?" asked Mackie. "You decent?"

     "Come on in."

     Mackie opened the door. His eyes widened as he looked at her. "Oh wow," he said

     Sylia smiled at him. "I'll take that as a complement," she said dryly. "Is Greg here yet?"

     "No."

     "How's Priss?"

     "Sleeping."

     Sylia saw the unease in her brother's eyes. "You still don't trust Greg, do you?"

     Mackie managed to look startled for a second, then calmed himself. "I don't."

     Sylia nodded. "If it's any comfort, neither do I. Not completely." 

     "They why are you going?"

     "I'm not sure."

     Mackie didn't try to hide his expression this time. "Not sure? This isn't like you, Sis."

     "I know."

     "You're not falling for Greg, are you?"

     "I don't know."

     Mackie ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm worried about you, Sis. You NEVER do anything 
without being completely sure about the consequences."

     "I know." She stopped, her thoughts uncertain. She looked into the mirror again.

     Just then, there was a buzz from the security panel, indicating there was someone at the 
private entrance at the street level. Mackie glanced in the direction of the panel, his own 
expression uncertain. "If that's Greg, should I let him in?"

     "Yes."

     Mackie left, shaking his head slowly. Sylia could hear him walk over to the panel, but not 
what he said into the speaker. She frowned, looking for something out of place, or just plain 
wrong in her reflection, but she couldn't find anything. Why are you doing this? she 
asked herself. Tell him you're sick, or you've changed you mind, or something -

     Or what? asked another part of her mind, a part that she rarely heard from. Are 
you scared that you're falling for Greg?   

     There. She had finally said it. She replayed the afternoon's conversation in her mind, 
looking for something to either prove or disprove the question. She knew he'd found her 
attractive, but did how she find him? No answer came, and that worried her.

     "Sis?"

     Sylia blinked. She turned slowly to look at Mackie. "I-I'm all right," she said slowly, 
hoping she wasn't transparent with the lie.

     If Mackie saw through the falsehood, he didn't show it. "That was Greg Mallory. He's on his 
way up."

     "Thank you. I'll be out in a minute."

     Mackie turned and closed the door behind him. Sylia continued to stare at her reflection.



Ri-san Bar
District 6
December 22, 2035
7:04pm 

     The bar was packed when Leon and Jeena entered. The noise level was muted, mostly voices 
with music. The smoke was thick and cloying, drifting slowly in the slight breeze that came in 
with the pair of ex-ADP officers. They got a few hostile glares, but no one challenged them 
openly.

     Jeena looked around, her expression one of amusement. "I see Skeeter hasn't change the 
decor since the last time I was here."

     "He prefers to spend money on other things," said Leon. He spotted the large form of 
Skeeter sitting at a table in the corner. There was no one else standing or sitting near the 
table. Leon tapped his partner on the shoulder, and pointed in Skeeter's direction.

     Without another word, the two walked towards Skeeter's table, threading their way through 
the crowd. The stares they got were still hostile, but no one challenged them until they reached 
Skeeter's table. 

     As they made their way clear of the patrons, a short, dirty, rat-faced man with lanky dark 
hair stepped in front of Leon and Jeena two meters from the table. "What do you want, ADP man?" 
he hissed at Leon, his voice sounding like an out-of-tune penny whistle.

     "Nice to see you again, Rodent," said Jeena calmly. "How's the sewers treating you?"

     "One Arm," Rodent hissed at her, his leer unmistakable. "Still looking for a good man?"

     The look she gave him in return was cold. "You know I don't date outside my species."

     "That's not what I've heard." 

     "Rodent," said Skeeter, his voice low and hard. "They are my guests, here at my invitation. 
Leave us alone."

     "Yes, Mister Skeeter." Rodent managed to look fearful before he scampered off into the 
crowd, the snarls and cures from the patrons marking his trail.

     Leon shook his head. He walked over and sat down in the chair across from Skeeter. Jeena 
followed suit, sitting on Leon's left and placing her chair so she could see the rest of the 
crowd. Skeeter leaned forward and looked at them.

     "Do you really have to deal with Rodent?" asked Leon in a resigned tone. "I wouldn't trust 
him as far as I could throw him."

     Skeeter shrugged. "He and his people do have their uses. No one knows the sewer system as 
well as they do, and occasionally they find something I can use. Despite his appearances, he's a 
rather mild sort of fellow."

     "Except for the bathing department," replied Jeena, waving a hand in front of her face. 
"Couldn't you have hosed him down before you let him in?"

     "He was doing something important for me, something that you might need to know."

     "Spill it," said Leon. "What do you have?"

     "One of my people overheard a part of a conversation that indicates Gulf and Bradley Japan 
is desperately looking for a specialist in Blood disorders. The story goes that one of the 
senior management's children had an accident and has lost a lot of blood. To complicate matters, 
the girl has an abnormal Hemoglobin condition, so she can't receive a regular blood transfusion. 
My source also said she was supposedly too weak to move to the hospital."

     Leon glanced at Jeena. She nodded, pulled out a cell phone, and dialed a phone number. She 
turned away, allowing Leon and Skeeter to continue talking.

     "How certain are you of your source?"

     Skeeter managed to looked pained. "He's one of my people, Leon. I trust him the same way 
you trust Jeena or Daley."

     "Fair enough. But what does Rodent have to do with this?"

     "Janie can only be in one of three places: The G and B main office building, the G and B 
Northshore Medical Research Complex, or the Tamahomi Recreation compound over in District 9. 
They are the only three places in the city Gulf and Bradley - Japan that has medical facilities 
advanced enough to take care of such a patient."  

     Leon nodded. "But those places are fortresses."   

     "Exactly. Rodent was investigating underground routes, in case they are needed."

     Jeena turned back to the table, her face grim. "I talked to Mr. Mallory. He confirms that 
Janie has such a blood disorder."

     Leon closed his eyes. "How's he taking it?"

     "I just hope Quincy doesn't say anything to set him off. Our boss is VERY angry right now. 
We're to scoot back to base and prep the other for major action. You know what will happen if 
Janie dies...."

     "The war between MALCORP and Gulf and Bradley will spill out into the street," finished 
Leon, his own expression one of distaste. He looked at the giant. "Did Rodent's people find a 
way into those three complexes?"

     Skeeter's face tightened slightly, but he still kept his impassive expression firmly in 
place. "For the medical research and recreation complexes, no problem. Rodent found a couple of 
ways in. But the Headquarters building is a no-go, underground. They've got the place wired with 
alarms and other less friendly devices. I have each location under surveillance, but there's 
nothing to report yet."

     Leon stood up. "Has Daley come by yet?"

     "No. Word on the street he's under the gun with that fool of an ADP chief over that 
disaster last night." 

     "Call him and ask for a meet. Tell him everything you know about this situation and tell 
him to put all Detachments on alert."

     "You want me to tell him everything?"

     Leon nodded. "If I know Mr. Mallory, the shit's going to hit the fan tonight, and in a big 
way. Tell Daley that Gulf and Bradley - Japan is behind the attack on the Costal Highway."

     "What about proof?"

     Jeena cut in. "We'll make sure there's enough undamaged proof lying around to convict the 
people behind Gulf and Bradley's actions in this situation."

     "What about MALCORP's involvement?"

     "MALCORP had nothing to do with the destruction of the highway."

     "I'll take your word for it," replied Skeeter dryly.

     "Keep me updated on Rodent's progress on those sewer tunnels. We may need a back door into 
these places."

     "Considered it done." Skeeter shook his head slowly. "Where do they find idiots like The 
ADP chief? Chief Todo was a pain in the neck, but at least I could respect him. Can't you loose 
him?"

     "No can do. One, I don't work for him, or the ADP, anymore. Two, if we er, they got rid of 
him, the powers-that-be would bring in a bigger idiot who Daley will have to learn to work 
around all over again. This way, Daley's stuck with the devil he knows."

     "I see." Skeeter leaned back in his chair and looked at them. "I wish you luck. It sounds 
like you need it." 

     "Thanks," replied Jeena as she stood up. "Try and keep your carcass intact, OK? Good 
Underworld connections are hard to come by these days."

     "I'll keep that in mind."

     "Be careful, Skeeter," said Leon, adjusting his jacket and looking around. "No telling what 
would happen if the Bradley twins found out you help me."

     "You worry about the kid, I'm big enough to take care of myself."



Research lab G-46
December 22, 2035
7:06pm 

     Mclaren wiped his forehead with a sweat-stained rag and stepped away from the table. 
"Activate primary power systems."

     The Tech standing pressed several buttons on the console, and started at the controls. 
"Power levels at twenty percent and rising," he said, not looking up.

     The scientist nodded. "Keep the power build steady at four hundred." He looked at the other 
tech in the room. "How many does this make?"

     "Eight. Phil has the last four in Lab three."

     Mclaren looked at the Boomer lying on the table. There were several power cords snaking 
from portals in the machine's chest and legs, making it look like a scene from a horror movie. 

     "You two stay here," he said. "I'm going to see how Jiro's doing with those new shield 
modules. If you need me before this one's ready, I'll be in Lab six."

     Mclaren strode out of the lab, and strode down the corridor, his face showing nothing of 
his anger. Damm Bradley and his plans! he thought savagely. I thought he was mad 
before, but this-

     He cut off the angry thought and strode into Lab six. Jiro Kurokawa, Mclaren's top Boomer 
tech, was leaning over a counter, staring at something through a set of magnifiers. He glanced 
up as Mclaren approached. "How's it going?" he asked in heavily accented English.

     Kurokawa was the closest thing to a friend Mclaren had in the complex. A quiet perfect-
ionist, Kurokawa had quickly established himself as an important member of this underground 
team. He would also listen to Mclaren tirades and design ideas, then suggest a workable 
solution. Part of Mclaren suspected Kurokawa of being a plant by Bradley to spy on him. But most 
of the time, Mclaren didn't give a damm -- Kurokawa was an asset, and Carlton Bradley already 
knew how Mclaren felt about the CEO of G and B-Japan.

     Mclaren stopped several feet short of the smaller man. Before prison, he would have been 
condescending and arrogant to this man. That attitude of superiority hadn't lasted long in the 
prison wings. "Seven are up and functioning, while number eight is at stage two revival right 
now. How are the modules coming along?"

     Kurokawa exhaled deeply. "Not as fast as your Boomer revivals. I have five completed and 
ready to install in the Boomers. I can have three more ready by the deadline, but the parts for 
this module design aren't that readily available."

     "Get as many as you can get done before the deadline. We'll use the older modules in the 
other Boomers."

     "That's going to cut down their efficiency."

     "I know, but Bradley's breathing fire on this one."

     "That bad?"

     "That bad." Mclaren frowned. "Bradley told me he'd kill me himself if these Boomers weren't 
ready by the deadline. And that was before he got a phone call that really pissed him off."

     "I see your point." Kurokawa motioned to several cubes sitting on the counter. "They're 
ready to go. It shouldn't take more then ten minutes each to install them."  

     "Fine. I'll send Phil over to pick them up."

     Kurokawa lifted the magnifiers off his face and placed them high on his forehead. "You're 
worried about what Bradley is planning."

     "Damm right I am," replied Mclaren, thrusting his hands deep into his lab coat. "When I 
first met Carlton Bradley, I figured he was just like his father. Arrogant, egotistical, 
ruthless, but smart enough to know when to back off."

     Kurokawa nodded. "I noticed that neither Carlton nor Cora is the shy retiring type."

     "Look at what we're doing here! Our group is hot wiring Boomers for mass destruction, and 
I'm damm certain he's declared war on somebody."

     "War? Against who?"

     Mclaren shrugged, "I don't know. Another Megacorp maybe? Or the Government. Hell, maybe 
against GENOM itself. I have no idea, and I'm not sure I want to know -- I just might end up 
dead."
 
     "Your point is taken, sir," said Kurokawa. "What about ideas WHY our leader is pursuing 
this dangerous course of action."

     "This," Mclaren waved at the shield components, "came from somewhere, and I'll bet you two 
months' salary that Bradley's R and D had nothing to do with this design."

     "No bet." The Boomer tech thought for a moment. "Do you think this shield design has 
something to do with our orders for tonight?"

     "I gave up believing in coincident about the time they tossed me in jail. Hell, yes, that 
shielding design is the prize. You, Me, and the rest of the team are standing at ground zero on 
this one when and if Bradley's opponents show up to retrieve the designs." 

     "The Knight Sabers maybe?"

     "I hope to God not. Meeting them once was more then enough." Mclaren glanced at his watch. 
"It's getting late. I'd better get back to supervising the Boomer reactivations. I can pull 
Yates and Benton off the reactivations, if you need them."

     "I'll take Yates, You can hang onto Benton."

     "I'll have him here in five minutes."

     Kurokawa nodded. "That is good. With his help, I may be able to build another advanced 
shield generator before the deadline."

     "Excellent." Mclaren walked out of the lab. 

     Kurokawa finished the circuit he was installing, then sighed deeply. He walked over to a 
computer that had the new shield design displayed on its screen. "And how many more deaths will 
you cause before you start saving them?" he softly asked the designs on the screen.



Chapter 28


GENOM Tower
December 22, 2035
7:52pm 

     Sylia waited until Greg opened the car door and extended a hand to her before she stepped 
out of the Limo. She looked at her escort for the evening. "Are you going to be all right?"

     She wasn't sure what was running through Greg Mallory's mind now. He had  met her in the 
hallway outside the penthouse’s front door, looking every inch  a successful industrialist in a 
dark grey suit well tailored for his frame. He  smiled at her when she opened the door, and 
gave her a large bouquet of roses.  Sylia wasn't sure, but she thought she could see some 
weariness in his eyes.

     "You look absolutely stunning," he had told her, his smile radiant. 

     She had merely smiled at him and made a show of smelling the roses. The flowers smelled 
wonderful. "Thank you," she said.

     Besides himself, There were three others with Greg. One was Marla Brooks-Fenton, who wore 
a business-type evening dress that matched her hair. She watched her boss and his date exchange 
greetings, a smile pulling at her lips. The other two were bodyguards, who were human and 
alert, alternated between watching Sylia and the lobby itself for any signs of trouble.

     The five of them walked outside the lobby, where four more bodyguards met them and es-
corted them to a trio of limos. Greg guided Sylia to the middle car, while Marla walked toward 
the lead car. The entire trip from the lobby to the cars was done within fifteen seconds. Once 
their boss was safely inside the car, the bodyguards scattered to the other cars, and the 
convoy moved off into the traffic.

     The phone had rung less then five minutes after the two of them had climbed into Greg's 
limo. As she listened to Greg's side of the telephone conversation, Sylia saw the CEO's face 
become stiff and his words sharp. He stopped talking, pressed a button to end the call, and 
dialed a number. His directions were short and direct. When he replaced the receiver back into 
its cradle, there was a look of pure anger on his face.

     "That was Jeena on the incoming call," said Greg in a cold voice. "It seems that their 
source pick up reports that one of the G&B children has lost a lot of blood in an accident. 
They can't give the child a transfusion because she has an abnormal hemoglobin condition."

     "Janie?"

     "Probably. She has the same condition this kid is suppose to have, and it's rare enough to 
rule out the possibility that it isn't Janie."

     "Do you have a location where the child is suppose to be?"

     "Jeena says their source has narrowed the field to three sites. I've got the Knights
scrambling to cover all three, but I don't know if Janie's in one of them."

     "It could be a trap."

     Greg ran a hand through his hair. "It could be."

     Sylia looked at him carefully. "Do you want to cancel this Dinner?"

     "Hell, NO!" said Greg sharply, surprising Sylia with its forcefulness. "Quincy already 
knows I'm here. He knows that I've 'hired' the Black Knights on a corporate contract, and he 
knows that I'm looking for a kidnaped girl. What he doesn't know is why."

     "As far as you know."

     "As far as I know." Some of the tension in Greg's face disappeared. "For now, we'll 
continue with this charade, but if the Knights do find Janie, We'll be out of GENOM Tower so 
fast, Quincy will think we're disguised Boomers." 

     Sylia arched an eyebrow. "We?"

     "You don't think I'd leave you to Quincy's tender mercies while I ran off and played 
vigilante, do you?"

     "Well . . . ," said Sylia with a small smile. "Quincy is the richest man on the planet, 
and as far as I know, he is single...."

     Greg chuckled. "Assuming, of course, we're dining with the real Quincy. Half my intel 
people think that Quincy's actually an AI hidden in the core of GENOM Tower running the company 
through Boomers androids, while a third of those left think Madigan is the real head of GENOM."

     "What about the rest?"

     Greg shook his head. "Then the theories start getting weird...."

     They both chuckled at this, then Greg's face became serious again. "Something's going to 
happen tonight," he said, staring out of the tinted windows. "I don't know what, but I just 
know something is going to explode, and soon."

     Sylia nodded. "I can feel it too."

     They rode in silence for several minutes, then Sylia said, "I should thank you for 
returning Priss earlier."

     "You're welcome. How's she doing?"

     "She's going to be staying in my spare room for the next couple of days, where I can keep 
an eye on her. Mackie's keeping an eye on her for me tonight, but I don't think she'll give him 
any trouble." Sylia hesitated, uncertain of her next words. "She told me something after we got 
her back to my place, something involving you."

     Greg raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

     "She told me about the question you ask her, the one about me being involved with anything 
else."

     "I see."

     "Did you ask her that question?"  

     Greg leaned back in his seat and looked directly at Sylia. "I did."

     "Why?"

     Greg mulled over the question for several seconds before he answered. "Because you and I 
are very much alike. We both fight the war against Man's deepest, darkest emotions such as 
greed, callousness, and blind stupidity. We fight our war in the shadows behind masks and 
hardsuits, using your father's genius and vison to do so."

     "So?" replied Sylia.

     "So, neither one of us is involved in a relationship - we can't afford to drag an outsider 
into our world."

     Sylia arched an eyebrow. "I think I know where this is going."

     Greg looked amused. "Do you?"

     "I do. It is too early to consider a relationship, even if I was looking for someone right 
now."

     "So you're not involved?"

     Sylia shook her head. "As you said, we can't afford to drag an outsider into our world."

     Greg smiled. "I'm not looking for a quick roll in the hay, Sylia - I respect you too much 
for that." He leaned forward. "I find you attractive, smart, and with more sense than half of 
MALCORP's Board of Directors. With those qualities, I'd be a fool to let you go without trying 
to court you."

     Sylia was speechless for several seconds, her mind sorting through Greg's words. "I 
suppose already you have a large number of women chasing you now. Surely one of them would be a 
better choice then me?"

     "I don't want some woman who is only good for the bedroom and spending money. I need a 
life partner, not a bed warmer." 

     "I don't believe in love at first sight."

     "How about second sight?" Greg leaned back, the smile gone. "I knew you were the one when 
I saw you at Destari's this afternoon. Something just clicked into place."

     Sylia changed her tactics. "I can't walk out on my friends or responsibilities."

     "I know." Greg looked out the side window. "You won't leave this city as long as GENOM 
stays on a course of economic domination. And neither one of us has enough friends to allow 
them to fade away just because we walked away. I would never ask you to leave your friends or 
your fight. But afterwards?" He looked at her, his mismatched eyes holding her gaze with no 
trouble. "What are your plans after GENOM has been steered away from it's intent of world 
conquest, assuming that ever happens?"

     "I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."

     "You should," Greg said gently.

     "I can't. If I look to the future, I may make a mistake in the present."

     "And if all you think about is the present, you lose your future."

     Sylia's eyes narrowed. "What is your future, Greg? What do you see yourself doing in ten, 
twenty years?"

     "Business-wise, or personally?"

     "Both."

     Greg took a deep breath. "For Myself, a family. MALCORP, I see an expansion into space. 
First Mars, then Mercury. The asteroid belt is an untapped source of raw materials that we can 
use to build exploration ships and push out even farther into the solar system."

     "A noble dream," replied Sylia.

     "A dream that is closer to reality then you think." He closed his eyes. "All the megacorps 
think about is the bottom line --  how much did we make, and was it enough? My father never 
thought that way, and neither do I."

     "An interesting theory."

     "Isn't it? The Greek Aristotle once said 'Life is doing things, not getting things.' It 
always stuck in my mind that the only difference between three billion and thirty billion is a 
zero, which is literary nothing."

     "There are not many CEOs that will agree with you on that matter."

     "There are not many CEOs that would be willing to rescue a fourteen-yearold who wasn't a 
blood relative."    

     "I'm surprised you can think of anything else but Janie right now," said Sylia cooly.

     Just then, the car passed under an overpass, and the shadows rushed in to replace the 
light. The passed across Greg's face in  rapid succession, and Sylia saw a familiar expression 
fit itself like a mask on his features. The same type of mask she used to hide strong emotion 
from her friends. In some ways he's so much like me, it's like looking in a mirror.

     By the time the car cleared the overpass, the mask was gone, replaced by a sober look. 
"Janie is never far from my mind," he said carefully, "but, until we find out where she is, we 
can't help her. In the meantime, I have to keep up certain appearances to draw attention away 
from my people. I have to play more then one game in this city, each with a different set of 
rules. Tonight I have to play the game of corporate power politics with a grandmaster - 
Quincy." He looked out the window and smiled. "And the game for tonight has just begun."

     Sylia felt the car slow, then make a right hand turn. She looked out the window and saw 
the familiar front entrance of GENOM Tower. As the limo rolled to a stop, Greg opened the door 
and stepped out. He reached back in and took Sylia's hand. Once outside, they climbed the 
stairs to the glass doors above them.

     There were only eight members in Greg's party. Five were bodyguards, all human and 
professionals, in a tight circle around their boss and his date. The last member was Marla 
Brooks-Fenton, who trailed behind the couple at a respectful distance.

     At the top of the stairs, a well-dressed woman stood waiting for them. It took several 
seconds for Sylia to realize it was Kate Madigan,

     The GENOM executive watched then approach, her expression unreadable. She was dressed in a 
severe business suit that gave the impression she had just attended a funeral. She was flanked 
by a trio of disguised security Boomers that stood at attention. "Mr. Mallory," she said 
politely.

     "Miss Madigan," replied Greg. "I see that you have fully recovered from your injuries from 
the Largo incident."

     Madigan's eyes widened slightly, but she betrayed no other signs of surprise. Greg's 
intelligence network is better then I thought, thought Sylia. GENOM took extreme 
measures to hide the Largo incident from the world.

     Sylia expected Madigan to deny she had been nearly killed, but she didn't. "It was a 
difficult recovery," the lavender-haired woman replied slowly.

     "I respect your loyalty to GENOM and drive to get back to work," said Greg smoothly. He 
motioned to Sylia. "Have you met Miss Sylia Stingray?"

     Madigan shifted her gaze to Sylia. "Not in several years," she replied easily, "But I am 
acquainted with the daughter of the man who created the  Buma." She addressed Sylia directly. 
"Katsuhito Stingray's legacy is still with us, Miss Stingray." 

     "I did not know you had been injured," said Sylia in a mild tone. She ignored Madigan's 
statement about her father's legacy. You've perverted my father's work. He would have never 
let Boomers be turned into machines of death and destruction.

     "It was an experimental Buma that malfunctioned," replied Madigan. "I've just recently 
returned to work." She stepped aside and motioned to the glass doors. "Chairman Quincy is 
waiting to meet you."

     She led then inside, the trio of security Boomers forming another circle around the 
MALCORP group.



Mi-Ra Teahouse
December 22, 2035
8:01pm

     The Mi-Ra teahouse was actually a bar located a block north of the Gulf and Bradley-Japan 
headquarters. It didn't quite reach the status of a high class drinking establishment, but it 
was far from being a dive. It was one of the G and B employees' favorite watering holes, 
especially among the security personnel.  

     Tonight was a slow night. There were about a dozen patrons in the place, mostly G and B 
employees. About half were standing at the bar that ran along the back wall of the estab-
lishment, while a couple of others were sitting at the tables that dotted the room.

     Four men sat in a booth nearest the bar. A thin man in a rumpled suit looked at the other 
three in turn. "It's not our fault," he muttered. "It's that witch's fault, not ours."

     "Give it a break, Chasen," said one of the other men, a moon-faced individual with small 
eyes. "We're still lucky that we still have jobs."

     "Yoshitoma's right," said Kanetada, the third member of the group. "Mr. Bradley could have 
bounced us out on the street, or worse."

     "I know," replied Chasen. "But if we didn't follow the orders his sister gave us, we would 
be in just as much shit as we're in now."

     Yoshitoma sighed. "Just drop it, all right? The girl made us look like idiots, but 
bitching about it isn't worth it. " 

     The fourth member of the group nodded silently and sipped his beer. After several seconds, 
he said, "I'm not certain this entire situation has been approved by Houston."

     "It's not our problem," replied Kanetada. "We're paid to follow orders, not determine 
corporate policy."

     "But if the twins are working against the company?" said the fourth man "Then, the entire 
G and B - Japan branch is screwed."

     "Dannon's right," said Chasen. "Maybe we should get word to Houston."

     "Go over the twin's heads?" asked Yoshitoma in surprise. "Are you crazy?"

     "And what the twins is doing is sane?" replied Dannon quietly. "I know Jansen Bradley. 
He's a hard, ruthless man, but he would never do what the twins have been doing to that girl."

     "That Doctor Zin-Choon is a creep," agreed Chasen. 

     "He's more then that," muttered Dannon. "You've haven't had to listen to the screams like 
I had to." He looked down at his beer. "I haven't had a good night's sleep since they brought 
the girl into the headquarters building."

     "Keeping her at the Headquarters building is a stupid idea," agreed Yoshitoma. "The Black 
Knights are good, and if they hit the building, we are going to be in deep shit."

     "The twins are sick. They should be locked up somewhere."

     "Don't let Ozu hear you say that," said Kanetada in a low voice. "Or you'll find yourself 
guarding icebergs in the Antarctic."

     "If I could sleep at night, it'll be worth it."

     Chasen glanced at his watch. "We'd better wrap it up. Me and Dannon are on duty at nine."

     "Duty?" asked Kanetada. "You just got off at five."

     "Ozu doubling the guard around the girl. Word is we're getting Boomers to augment the 
guard on top of that. They can have the fun of dealing with the Black Knights when and if they 
show up."

     "I hate those tin men."

     "They're not on my friends' list, but I rather have them with me then against me." Chasen 
stood, followed by Dannon. The other two followed reluctantly and the four of them walked out 
into the cool night.

     Ten minutes after the four left, a sandy-haired man in a untidied suit who had been 
standing at the bar slipped into the booth with a glass of beer. He sat there for ten minutes, 
slowly sipping his beer and staring at the table, apparently in deep thought. Then, with a 
flourish, he finished the beer and slipped out of the booth. He waved to the bartender and 
walked out into the night.

     Fargo didn't take the miniature vocal recorder out of his pocket until he reached his car. 
He placed it on the seat next to him and started the car. Once he got the car moving, he 
switched the recorder to playback mode and listened to the entire conversation. Once the 
conversation had ended, he turned off the recorder and smiled grimly. 

     He hadn't expected to hit paydirt this early in the operation, but he wasn't going to look 
a gift horse in the mouth. The four G&B security men were regulars at the Mi-Ra Teahouse, 
and the booth was their regular table. Fargo had made a point of becoming a semi-regular at the 
bar, in order to bug the booth. Over the last couple of years, they had been a regular, if 
unknowing, source of information for Fargo regarding G and B-Japan. If anyone was going to know 
where the VanDell was being held, it would be these four. And now he had the information.

     He glanced in his rear-view mirror to check for any possible tales. None of the cars 
seemed to be following him, but he decided to take a roundabout route to his bolt-hole. No 
sense taking chances unnecessarily.



GENOM Tower
December 22, 2035
8:22pm 

     They rode the elevator up in silence. Sylia held onto Greg's arm tightly, dividing her 
attention between Greg and Madigan. Greg tried to look relaxed, but Sylia could feel the 
tension in his arm. Madigan ignored them both and watched the indicator as the elevator rose at 
a steady rate. No one spoke during the trip up. 

     When the elevator reached the three hundredth floor, the elevator stopped. As the door 
opened, two of Mallory's bodyguards, accompanied by one of the boomers, moved out into the 
hall. After several seconds, the rest of the party moved out of the elevator. Madigan led the 
group down the left corridor. She stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. 
"The Executive Dining room," she said and opened the doors.

     The Executive Dining room was a large, curving room on the outer ring of the tower. The 
far wall was made entirely of glass, which allowed the diner to have an impressive view of  
MegaTokyo. The other three walls of the room were paneled in a dark hardwood, with several 
paintings hanging in ornate frames. The floor was covered in a luxurious carpet, soft green in 
color, with intricate patterns of muted brown and amber woven in. 

     There was only one table in the room, a wide and long affair that dominated the center of 
the room. There were six dining places set, one at each end and two on each side.  

     When the group entered, the only occupant of the room turned  from the window and looked 
at them. "Welcome to GENOM Tower, Mr. Mallory."

     "Thank you Chairman Quincy," replied Greg with a nod of his head. "I must say that this is 
a magnificent feat of construction."

     Quincy nodded. "Thank you." The GENOM Chairman stood ramrod-straight, dressed in a somber 
grey suit with tie, holding a thick cane in his hands.

     Sylia tightened her grip on Greg's arm. She had only met Quincy a few times over the 
years, but each time it had confirmed her belief that he had to be stopped. There was something 
. . . well, wrong with him. Not out-and-out evil like a villain from fiction, but a cold 
calculation that placed people's survival and moral responsibility below the continued smooth 
functioning of GENOM. The individual didn't matter: Only the corporation's bottom line had any 
meaning. It was this mentality that cost Katsuhito Stingray his life, his creations now nothing 
more then a way to dominate and tighten control over others. It was this mind set she fought 
against, a battle to cripple this belief that only the life of the corporation was important.

     Quincy smiled at her. "And this is Miss Stingray. I am glad you accepted my invitation. It 
is always an honor to have the daughter of the man who created the Boomer as my dinner guest. 
It has been too long since you graced us with your presence."

     Sylia smiled easily. "Greg's invitation was hard to refuse, Chairman."

     "Excellent," replied the white-haired chairman with a smile. He waved towards the dining 
table. "Please take a seat. Miss Madigan and Mister Tarson will be joining us shortly. Unfor-
tunately, Mister Faust is working on an important project and cannot attend. He sends his 
apologizes."  

     "I'm sorry to hear that," said Greg smoothly. "I had hoped to meet him. I've been told 
he's a wizard with numbers."

     "It couldn't be helped," replied Quincy with a sigh. "The matter in question is serious 
and could have an effect on several of our long-term projects. Beyond that, I cannot say 
anything else."

     "I quite understand."

     With that, everyone moved towards the dining table. What is Faust doing that's so 
important? Sylia asked herself as she sat in the chair Greg had pulled out for her. 
Let's see, Faust is an anylst, a number man. His skill is shifting through reams of data and 
spotting inconstant information. 

     Since before Mason, Sylia made it a point of knowing all she could about Quincy's Special 
assistants. Faust was one of the more unusual ones to be selected by GENOM's chairman. Every-
thing she knew about the man indicated he was not chairman material. Yet, he was loyal to 
GENOM and managed to avoid most of the corporate in-fighting that occurred at the highest 
levels. I would have like to have met him -- he could be dangerous if out paths crossed. 

     Her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the first course. She sipped the 
soup slowly, allowing the rich flavor to wash over her tongue. She listened as the conversation 
started between the two rival chairmen.

     Quincy started. "Do you notice anything unusual about the waiters and waitresses serving 
dinner?" he asked between sips of soup.

     Greg glanced at the four servers moving around the table and frowned. His eyes narrowed. 
Sylia, too, watched the waiters out of the corner of her eyes. There were four of them, two men 
and two women, all fairly young and somewhat attractive. Each was dressed in a simple uniform   
White shirts and black trousers for the men, while the women wore white blouses and black, knee 
length skirts. They moved with quick and easy grace as they served the rest of the soup and 
wine.

     Sylia saw the slightly dazed look on their faces and reached her conclusion a heartbeat 
ahead of Greg. The MALCORP CEO smiled at Quincy. "A new line of Boomers I see."

     Quincy smiled back. "Very observant. The 35-Ps are still in the testing stage, but they 
should be ready for the market in another nine months. I'm surprised that you recognized them 
as Boomers that quickly."

     "They are if you know what to look for. Their body language isn't quite right."

     "I shall pass that along to our development team."

     Sylia sipped her soup, realizing the opening salvo of a hidden battle had just happened.  
Inside, she sighed to herself. She knew this was going to happen. Quincy wanted the opportunity 
to size up a potential rival, as did Greg. With polite words they would test each other, 
looking for a weakness they could exploit at a later date. And she could do little more then 
sit and watch the duel.

     Just then, a tall, heavy set man strolled into the room. "I'm sorry I'm late sir," he said 
to Quincy. "The meeting with the . . . Mr. White's representative ran long."

     Quincy frowned. "Mr. Tarson," he said cooly, "I thought I was clear on the time the 
meeting had to end."

     "Yes Sir," replied Tarson quickly, "but the discussions had reached the point where 
several more minutes were enough to complete the agreement. The contract is on your desk right 
now, ready to sign."

     The GENOM chairman nodded. "Very well. You are forgiven this time. Please take your seat."

     Tarson moved around the table and sat across from Sylia, She watched him over the rim of 
her wine glass, her mind recalling what she knew about the special assistant. Raymond 
Tarson, age 32. One of the small group of hanger ons and sycophants that Mason liked to keep 
around. After Mason's death, seems to have found a backbone and advanced up the corporate 
ladder, becoming part of Quincy's group of special assistants four months ago. Acts as a GENOM 
spokesman. He hides a cruel streak behind that smile of his. Not as smart as Mason, but he's 
dangerous. I'll have to be careful around him tonight.

     The conversation started again, and Sylia listened, her mind filing  away small items for 
later examination.



Chapter 29



MALCORP Pharmaceuticals
District 5
December 22, 2035
9:02pm 

     The pharmaceutical research and manufacturing center was located on the outskirts of the 
harbor, on a man-made peninsula that jutted out into Tokyo Bay. Despite being a large compound, 
less then two hundred people worked there, mostly chemists and specialists in research. Most of 
the grunt work, security, cleaning, and heavy moving was done by human-supervised, MALCORP 
built robots. While not as sophisticated or flexible as Boomers, they were reliable and immune 
from Boomer-like rampages.

     Sentry Unit JF-563 was a typical MALCORP security Robot. While it was as tall as a man, 
there was no chance of it being mistaken for a human. Its main body was shaped like a dodec-
ahedron and sat on two tank-like treads which gave it some mobility. The closest thing it had 
to a face was a pair of cameras mounted one above the other in the upper hemisphere of the 
dodecahedron. A small radar antenna on top of the robot rotated slowly.

     Normally, JF-563 was armed with a tear gas grenade launcher, a taser launcher, and a shot-
gun that fired high-velocity beanbags. However, with all MALCORP's holding in the city on a 
Level One Red alert, the maintenance people had upgraded all the security units to lethal 
weaponry. The grenade launcher now carried flachette and HE rounds, the taser was replaced by a 
four-shot missile launcher, and instead of the shotgun, JF-563 had a 20mm rotary cannon with an 
extra large magazine attached.

     JF-563's patrol sector was perimeter six, a section of wall in the southeast corner of the 
complex. It was one of twenty security units on station, with another twenty on standby status. 
A three-man team ran the security for an armored room under the administration building.

     JF-563 had just reported its sector all clear when an alert signal went out from security 
control. FJ-441 had detected something on its radar, coming in from due south low and over the 
water, bearing down on the complex. Immediately, Control alerted all the security units and 
ordered the five patrolling the southern edge of the complex, including JF-563, to move into 
defensive positions, then ordered five of the units on standby to reinforce them. The security 
units flashed an acknowledgment and moved into position. In less then thirty seconds, ten 
security robots were in place.



     The team inside security control was staring hard at FJ-441's radar track. The room was 
the size of an average bedroom, only the average bedroom isn't wall-to-wall electronics with a 
dais overlooking two tech stations.

     From his position on the dais, a square-jawed individual by the name of Starg frowned. 
"Any ideas, Rabbit?" he asked a young man with thick glasses and acne scars.

     "Negative," replied "Rabbit" Rosokawski. "Base radar isn't picking up anything."

     "Could be stealthed."

     "Then why is FJ-441's radar picking it up? It doesn't have a tenth of the power of the 
main system."

     Starg shook his head. "Higher frequency, maybe? How long do we have?"

     "ETA is fifty-six seconds."

     "Should we notify HQ?" asked the third person, a petite blonde with the unlikely name of 
Carlita Anderson Von Lopez-De la Vega. 

     Starg frowned for a second. "Do it," he said. "This stinks to high heaven. Rabbit, bring 
the Primary and Secondary defensive grids on-line and do the same for all the security robots."

     "OK, chief." After several seconds, Rabbit said, "Defensives grids are active. Main Radar 
is getting something, still can't tell what it is."

     De la Vega turned to look at Starg. "We're being jammed on all channels," she said calmly.

     "That answers our questions, doesn't it?" Starg leaned forward in his chair. "Sound the 
alert and release the weapons for fire. Carlita, use the secondary communications networks to 
get through."

     "Weapons are free," said Rabbit. "I just hope it's not some idiot out for a joyride."

     "We'll find out soon enough. ETA?"

     "Thirty-two seconds."



     The unknown object flying towards the MALCORP Pharmaceuticals center wasn't some idiot out 
for a joyride. In fact, it wasn't just one object. It was a dozen Boomers, eight BU-55Cs and 
four BU-12Bs, in close formation. They flew just above the waves, staying below their target's 
main radar system. At twenty seconds to the target, the group splitting up, the 55Cs continuing
toward the complex while the 12Bs veered east, towards the power plant two kilometers up the 
bay from the complex.



     "Oh, shit," breathed Rabbit as he stared at the radar screen. "I've got multiple bogies!"

     "What?"

     "I have at least ten bogies, make that twelve. Designated Group Alpha is composed of 
eight, heading right at us. Designated Group Beta of four bogies, breaking off and moving east 
northeast." He looked up at Starg, his face harried. "The computer has them IDed as Boomers."

     "ETA?"

     "Fifteen seconds." The sound of explosions could be heard faintly. "Defenses are now 
engaging." 



     There was a very good reason why rampaging boomers did not usually attack the MALCORP 
complex -- under the glass and steel, it was a fortress. A well defended fortress.

     Half-a-dozen compact turrets slid out of concealed emplacements and began tracking the 
incoming targets. The extra security robots moved into position. And still the invader closed.

     The turrets opened up first, the sharp cracks of the forty millimeter cannons a sudden 
intrusion on the night sounds. The sky was lit up as tracers vied with lasers for the right to 
destroy the invading Cyberdroids.

     The Boomers wheeled and dodged the hail of incoming fire with a quickness and ease that 
was uncommon. The few times one of the shells or lasers struck a boomer, something like a 
shimmering patch appeared and absorbed the laser or deflected the shell. The Boomers didn't 
bother shooting back, but continued to close in on the compound



     "Can you firm up that identification?" asked Starg.

     "Negative, chief," replied the young man. "Best bet is they're Boomers, but I'm getting a 
strange distortion on the radar return. I can tell you there are eight of them, heading right 
for us."

     "What about the other four?"

     "I lost them in the sea clutter, but their last course had them headed towards the power 
plant."

     Starg glanced over at De la Vega. "Alert the power plant."

     "Right."

     "Security robots are engaging the intruders!"



     The first of the 55Cs landed inside the fence. Before it could move, three of the security 
robots opened fire at it. Three streams of twenty millimeter shells sparked across the Boomer's 
torso and arms, but the 55C was unaffected, save for a slight staggering step back. The 
Boomer's mouth opened, revealing the laser mounted there.

     GH-856 was the first security robot to be destroyed by the Boomer's mouth laser. The beam 
burned a hole through the robot's armor and melted everything in its path. GH-856 exploded, 
scattering pieces of itself across the defending robots and attacking Boomers.

     By now, several more Boomers had landed and were now moving forward to attack the robots. 
Several more Security robots exploded, illuminating the battlefield with a ghastly light. All 
of the 55Cs had landed by now, and they continued to attack the security robots with the single 
mindedness that only a Boomer can match.

     The security robots switched attack plans and opened fire with missiles and grenades as 
they slowly retreated. One of the lead Boomers shuddered under the attack, then the forceshield 
collapsed under the strain. After that, the Boomer lasted less then thirty seconds as it died 
under the combined firepower of three MALCORP robots.

     But it was too little, too late. The Boomer attackers surged forward, breaking the robotic 
defense perimeter. Once through, the Boomers scattered throughout the complex. Three of the 
rampaging Boomers ripped their way into labs and offices, destroying years of experiments and 
research in a matter of minutes. A couple of the Cyberdroids tried to force their way into the 
reinforced bunker where most of the night shift was hidden, but the walls were too thick even 
for Boomers to blast through. After one Boomer fell to a vicious crossfire that overwhelmed its 
shield, the other one retreated and joined the trio wreaking the labs. The last two swept 
through the complex, killing any of the luckless employees or security drones they came across. 
And the only thing the three security officers could do is direct the crumbling defenses and 
prey that someone would come to their help.

     Just then, the power station erupted with several explosions, as the quartet of BU-12's 
reached, then rampaged through, the poorly defended complex. Transformers exploded as they were 
struck with 46mm anti armor shells. In a matter of minutes, several major trunk lines had been 
ripped apart, plunging large sections of districts Five and Seven into darkness.

     Satisfied that their mission had been completed, the four 12's launched themselves towards 
the pharmaceutical research and manufacturing center. In a matter of minutes, they had joined 
up with the surviving 55Cs and expanded the devastation. An ADP response team was dispatched, 
only to run into a pair of 55C's near the front gate of the complex and savagely mauled.

     It was a night for death and destruction.



GENOM Tower
December 22, 2035
9:32pm 

     Sylia watched as Greg and Quincy verbally jousted over an excellent meal. At least she 
thought it was excellent -- she hadn't bothered to really taste the meal. Instead, she 
cautiously listened to the conversation, filing everything that was said away in her memory for 
later analysis. Across the table from her, she noticed that Marla was doing the same thing, 
leaving a sullen Tarson to his own thoughts. A quick glance over the very quiet Madigan told 
Sylia that lavender-haired exec was also carefully watching the two CEOs go at it.

     Quincy had opened this round by asking about Greg's mother and her health. Greg's reply 
had been on the surface, polite and friendly, but Sylia read in Greg's tone of voice the 
message, I know about the fail-safe on the satellites and as long as my mother doesn't die 
in an 'accident', GENOM stays alive.

     Quincy's response also had a subtle message in the polite words. I don't care about 
your mother, she is no threat to GENOM.

     From there, the conversation moved into less threatening, but just as dangerous areas. 
Quincy offered Greg the chance to ally MALCORP with GENOM on several different projects. Greg 
turned down most of them right away, but took two under, what Greg called,"Serious consid-
eration," and promised to get back to Quincy on them in a week or two. 

     The other members of the dinner party listen for the most part, adding their voice to the 
conversation only when one of the two main combatants addressed them directly. Sylia kept her 
answers short and to the point when the conversation turned her way. Both Madigan and Brooks-
Fenton were even more terse with their responses. Tarson managed not to ramble on much, but he
didn't say anything worth remembering.

     "How long has it been since you were in MegaTokyo?" asked Quincy, finishing the last of 
his main course.

     "About fifteen years," replied Greg carefully. "The changes the quake rendered have been 
startling."

     "Very much so," agreed Quincy. "But in this case, the change has been good. In a short 
time, this city has become the most important city on the planet. People from across the world 
come here because this city is an example of the future."

     "On the contrary, I think people only come because GENOM is headquartered here."

     Quincy raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

     Greg took a second to sip from his teacup. His eyes flickered to Sylia, then back onto the 
GENOM chairman. "Power is a funny thing," he said, his voice low and pleasant. "Some people shy 
away from it, while others embrace the feeling that it gives them. Still others crave it, like 
a drug -- they never have enough of it."

     "And what does this have to do with GENOM?"

     "Power has another funny effect: Wherever there's enough power, people gather around it, 
like moths to a fire. Some are happy with a small amount and go away, while others want more 
and more until they either have it all, or they are consumed by it."

     Quincy looked amused. "Are you saying that GENOM hires Power-hungry people?"

     "There's nothing wrong with hiring such people as long as you know what you're getting: 
Someone who will work with you as long as their goals are the same as yours. Once those goals 
become different, then you have a problem." 

     "A fair statement. I have known people such as you have described." The GENOM chairman 
leaned forward. "They do have their uses."

     Greg took another sip. "True."

     What are you playing at? thought Sylia. Why this dance about power?

     Greg put his teacup down. "Sometimes, people allow power to cloud their judgement. They 
begin to feel they're above the law, and nothing applies to them but their own ego."

     Sylia saw a flicker of puzzlement on Quincy's face, but it was gone quickly. "Would you 
care to give an example?"

     "Carlton and Cora Bradley."

     There was silence in the room for five seconds, then ten. Sylia glanced at Greg, who sat 
there, hands interlaced in front of him,  looking impassive. A quick glance at the GENOM CEO 
told her Quincy was thinking over Greg's words. Finally he smiled slightly. "Would you care to 
elaborate?"

     "It's well know that they blame you for their father's death."

     "GENOM had nothing to do with that assassination."

     "I never said it did. But who the real culprits are doesn't matter to them. What matters 
is they blame GENOM, and you, for Carson Bradley's death. Do you think Janson Bradley sent them 
out here merely to get rid of them? He sent them here so they could carry out their 'revenge' 
without dragging the entire Gulf and Bradley corporation into it."

     Quincy smiled slowly, like a tiger sighting prey. "They are nothing more then minor 
irritants, like most of the others that GENOM has to deal with."

     Greg shrugged. "True, but these 'minor irritants' have already cost MALCORP several 
million dollars so far, and I suspect they'll cost GENOM even more in the future."

     "Would it have to do with the kidnapping of Janie VanDell?" asked Quincy in a smooth 
amused tone. "And the death of Doctor Nathan VanDell?"

     Sylia looked at Greg, searching for a sign of surprise or worry, but there was none. "My 
complements on your intelligence people," replied Greg with a half smile. "Of course, GENOM 
wouldn't have stayed on top for as long as it has if it wasn't well informed."

     "My sources say that the VanDell girl has plans in her head for a revolutionary new 
forceshield generator."

     There was silence in the room for several seconds. Sylia glanced around the table, gauging 
the others' response to the chairman's statement. Both Tarson and Madigan straighten in their 
chairs at the chairman's words, somewhat surprised at their leader's tactics. Marla frowned 
slightly, but it was quickly replaced by an imperturbable expression. Sylia herself choked down 
a feeling of panic, allowing her face to keep an expression of puzzlement.

     Greg, however, kept a look of quiet composure. "Not exactly correct," he responded. "One 
of the MALCORP recovery teams discovered an undamaged computer core in the ruins of Doctor 
VanDell's lab. We think the Doctor kept his forceshield notes separate from his other projects 
- notes that Janie never saw, and has noo personal knowledge of. We think the twins were behind 
the kidnapping in order to secure the forceshield plans so they could use it against GENOM."

     Quincy steepled his fingers. "I see. What about your plans for the forceshield?"

     "I have no idea at his time. Assuming the notes are on the computer core and there's no 
guarantee of that, I have no idea how far along Doctor VanDell was when he died."

     Sylia's mind raced frantically as she tried to understand Greg's tactic. Why don't you 
just give him the plans right now? None of this was making any sense. Greg had to be 
planning something, but what?

     "So," said Quincy with a look of slight curiosity on his face, "if the VanDell girl 
doesn't have the plans in her memory, why try so hard to get her back?"

     Sylia glanced at Greg, looking for any signs of anger or other hard emotion, but all she 
saw was a narrowing of his eyes. "The problem with power is there is a responsibility that 
comes along with it. Janie is my God daughter, and thus is family. There are a very few things 
I hold to be more important then my Corporation's bottom line, one of which is family itself. 
That I learned from my father."

     "Of course," replied Quincy dryly. "The late Mr. Mason made your father's position clear 
on that matter after he returned from the United States."

     "It's also my intension to make sure that the Bradleys are held responsible for their 
actions." Greg's voice became hard. "One way or another."

     "Emotion has no place in business," said the GENOM CEO, his voice firm and controlled."I 
think --"

     A buzzing sound interrupted Quincy. Sylia glanced over to Marla, who had stood and opened 
her purse. She pulled out a cell phone, checked it then said to the others, "Excuse me, I must 
take this call." With that, she walked over and stood near the windows.

     Greg glanced over, and Sylia could see that his expression has changed slightly. She 
allowed herself to observe the other's reactions around the dinner table. Quincy watched Greg's 
assistant as she spoke on the phone, his expression unreadable. Madigan was watching her boss, 
looking for a reaction. Tarson just stared down at his drink, ignoring everyone else.

     Sylia's eyes went back to Marla, and saw that her expression was grim. She murmured some-
thing into the receiver then walked over to Greg. "There is trouble, Sir," she said in a 
tightly controlled voice. "I think you should take this call -- away from the table."

     Greg frowned, but took the cell phone and stood. "If you please excuse me," he said 
stiffly. Quincy nodded, and Greg stood up and walked away from the table. Marla handed him the 
cell phone.

     "What do you think of our new Boomer line?" asked Quincy.

     Sylia turned her head slowly and saw the Chairman looking at her, a small smile playing 
around his lips. "I would be most interested in hearing your opinion," Quincy continued, 
leaning back in his chair.

     Sylia reached out to pick up her cup of coffee. She took a sip, allowing the smooth flavor 
to run down her throat. "They are excellent, but aren't they a bit too menial?"

     Quincy cocked his head. "Menial? It's because of Boomers that the city has risen from the 
ashes of the earthquake that devastated it."

     "My father's original idea was to have boomers work at jobs that were too dangerous for 
humans to do, like firefighting, underwater mining, and deep space construction. They were 
supposed to extend mankind's reach, not supplant it. But Boomers are now a daily part of our 
lives, taking jobs that aren't dangerous. We're beginning to rely on them too much, and that 
could lead to a disaster." 

     "Are you one that believes that Boomers have souls?"
     
     "I can't say." To you at any rate.

     Just then, Greg approached the table. "Forgive this intrusion, Chairman," he said firmly. 
Sylia noticed that his jaw was tight and his eyes were narrow. Something's wrong.

     Quincy picked up on the same signs. "Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice showing some 
concern.

     "I'm afraid I must leave." Greg took a deep breath. "A band of rampaging Boomers has just 
attacked the MALCORP  pharmaceutical research and manufacturing center. It still too early to 
tell, but it looks like there's severe structural damage and an unknown number of causalities."

     "I see, and I understand" said Quincy, rising to his feet. "Miss Madigan will escort you 
to the door. I hope we will meet again."

     "I believe we will. Until then."

     Quincy nodded and left the room, trailed by Tarson and a pair of Boomer bodyguards. Sylia 
slipped out of her seat and went over to Greg. "Are you all right?"

     "Let's get out of here first," he said in a tight voice. There was fire in his eyes, a 
fire that hadn't been there before. "It looks like the twins have just upped the ante."
 


MALCORP Pharmaceuticals
December 22, 2035
10:22pm 

     Ko drove the police car past the barricades and up to the front gate of the MALCORP 
property. He pulled up next to a command trailer, stopped, turned the engine off, and nudged 
the man in the passenger seat. "Daily, we're here."

     Dailey opened one eye, closed it, and mumbled, "Great, wake me up when you find some-
thing."

     There was a tapping at Daily's side window. The ADP Inspector opened up an eye again, 
glared at Detachment Commander Julian Weiss, then sighed. "I suppose he'll stay there until I 
get out right?"

     Ko glanced over at Weiss and replied, "I think so."

     Daily unfastened his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. "What have you got?" he asked 
tiredly, patting through his pockets for a cigarette.

     "I'd better show you first."

     Weiss led Daily and Ko into the grounds of the Pharmaceutical complex. Around them, 
Firefighters and rescue squads were going through the damaged areas, looking for survivors, 
while ADP troopers moved through the wreckage looking for Boomer or boomer parts.

     "Somewhere between eight and twelve Boomers came in from the south," said Weiss as they 
walked along. "They crashed through the security fence and went head-to-head with MALCORP's 
security robots."

     "Robots?" asked Ko. "They use security robots?"

     Daily shrugged, finally finding the crushed cigarette box in an inside jacket pocket. 
"They're not as advanced as Boomers, but they are reliable and they don't go on rampages. 
MALCORP's one of the biggest manufacturer in the world of robots."

     They rounded a corner and found themselves on a battlefield. There were several wrecks 
that looked like miniature tanks scattered across the sloping grass. One of them was still 
burning while several firemen sprayed a smothering foam over it. Bits and pieces of twisted 
metal were scattered across the landscape.

     "I'm glad we missed this," said Ko, looking around.

     "We weren't that lucky," replied Weiss. "A TAC team from third Detachment responded and 
was mauled rather badly at the front gate."

     "How bad?" asked Daily

     "Four dead, seven injured. What's more, the survivors report the Boomers that attacked 
them had some sort of field that protected against their fire."

     Daily swore under his breath. "Do we recover any Boomer remains?"

     "No. The MALCORP people claim that none of the Boomers were destroyed in the attack, and 
the TAC team didn't do much better." 

     "Who's running the Security operation here for MALCORP?"

     "Right now, me," said a familiar voice from behind Daily.

     Daily glanced over his shoulder. "Nice to see you, Jeena, though the situation sucks. How 
are you doing?"

     "I had better days." Jeena walked over to stand near Ko. "Who's the new guy?" she asked 
with a tired smile.

     Ko looked uncomfortable, but Daily ignored him. "Ko, this is Jeena Malso, who's running 
MALCORP's security in Japan these days. Jeena, this is Kosaku Sanemori, new guy on the block. A 
word of advice, Ko, she's ex-ADP, and she knows a thing or two about Boomer hunting, so don't 
try to impress her."

     Jeena smiled at Ko like a cat sizing up her next dinner. Ko went from looking uncomfort-
able to looking nervous. "Ko," said Daily, with a frown, " go with Weiss here and see of the 
forensic people turned up everything. I need to talk to Jeena -- alone."

     "Sure," replied Ko, who kept glance at the one-armed woman out of the corner of his eyes. 
He turned and walked away quickly, Weiss trailing behind him.

     "That was interesting," said Daily, finally pulling a cigarette from the box. "You must be 
losing your touch."

     "He's young," replied Jeena with a shrug and a smile. "If you're not using him, can I 
borrow him?"

     Daily tried to stifle a chuckle, failed and smiled. "If you give me some answers, I might 
consider you 'request' seriously."

     Jeena grew serious. "If I can without compromising MALCORP security."

     "Where's Leon?"

     "He's double checking a lead Skeeter's people uncovered. Have you talk to Skeeter yet?"

     "I haven't had the time. Between the Chief, the Thor strike on the Coastal Highway, and 
this simmering Corpwar, I haven't had more then four hours of sleep in a row."

     Jeena motioned with her head towards a doorway half-hidden in the shadows. "Let's talk 
over there. I think it's time the ADP were clued in on what the hell is going on."



Chapter 30 



Sylia's Apartment
December 22, 2035
10:24pm 

     When Sylia unlocked the door to her apartment, she half-expected Mackie to be waiting for 
her. But she didn't expect he'd have company.

     "Sylia!" cried Nene, jumping to her feet (and out of Mackie's lap, a part of Sylia's mind 
noted dryly). "You're home!"

     "Of course she's home," grumbled Priss, glaring at the redhead from her place on the 
couch. "She lives here, after all."

     "How was your night?" asked Linna with a grin. She had been standing near the windows, a 
glass of wine in her hands.

     "All of you waited up for me?" asked Sylia with a smile.

     "It wasn't exactly planned this way," replied Mackie with a sheepish look on his face. "I 
was here by myself, and --"

     "I got sick and tired of lying around, doing nothing," finished Priss. "So I convinced 
Mackie to fix me a spot on the couch so I could keep him company. Then, little miss Cyberpunk 
showed up with a bottle of wine --"

     "It wasn't like that!" whimpered Nene, her cheeks bright red. "I just thought a little 
wine to. . .er --"

     "To celebrate Priss' return," cut in Mackie quickly.

     "That's right!"

     Sylia smiled at the two of them, then looked at Linna. "And your excuse?"

     Linna grinned. "I don't have one. I just thought that it might be a good idea for us to be 
together tonight, just in case."

     Sylia place her purse on a table and unwrapped the fur stole from around her shoulders. "I 
suddenly feel like a sixteen-year-old just getting back from her first date." She looked at 
them. "I suppose the hardsuits are online and the KnightWing is gassed up and ready to go?"

     The others reacted. Mackie looked at the floor and said nothing, while Nene's face became 
even redder. Priss covered her eyes with her free arm and mumbled something that sounded to 
Sylia like "Mind reader." Linna exhaled slowly, looking chagrined.

     "I see," said Sylia, after several seconds of silence. "Which part of my evening had you 
worried, the date with Greg, or the dinner at GENOM Tower?"

     "Both," replied Mackie, still looking at the floor.

     "Do you think I am incapable of handling Greg Mallory?"

     He looked up at her. "You've been acting weird since you had lunch with him. I thought it 
would be a good idea to be ready, just in case."

     "I appreciate your concern, Mackie, but Greg isn't a villain."

     "But he's a sharp SOB," said Priss from the couch.

     "And handsome," chimed in Linna. "And rich."

     "How do you know that?" asked Nene.

     "I've seen his picture, and overheard people in the office taking about him."

     "I don't trust him," said Priss.

     "Neither do I," said Mackie. "What does he want from you?"

     Sylia walked over to the table next to Mackie, poured a half-glass of wine from the 
decanter sitting there, and picked it up. "He wants to marry me," she said softly.

     Mackie came flying out of his chair. "WHAT?" he screamed in disbelief. Nene looked at 
Sylia, her mouth slightly open in surprise. Linna looked stunned. 

     Only Priss didn't seem astonished. She raised he arm just enough so she could look at 
Sylia. "What did you tell him?"

     Sylia sipped some of the wine before answering. "I told him I couldn't."

     Mackie looked relieved, and both Nene and Linna relaxed. But Priss didn't look convinced. 
"He's not going to take no for an answer," she said slowly.

     "He didn't."

     "What is he going to do about it?" 

     "He's going to wait until I say yes."

     "But that's insane!" said Mackie, looking hurt.

     "You haven't met him," said Priss, covering her eyes with her arm again. "He'll wait for 
years if he has to."

     "Priss is right," said Sylia firmly, "but enough about my night. Our evening was cut short 
because Boomers attacked MALCORP's pharmaceutical research and manufacturing center."

     There was silence for several seconds, then Priss asked, "How's Greg taking it?"

     "Not well. He's mad, but he has a tight control on his temper. We've got bigger problems 
though. Nene?"

     "Yes?"

     "I want you to check on the whereabouts of doctors specializing in blood disorders, as 
well as any equipment used to treat. . . ." She stopped for a minute, went over to a small end 
table and wrote something down and a piece of paper. She walked over to Nene and held out the 
sheet to her. "I wrote the disorder down to make it easier to remember."

     Nene took the sheet, glanced at it and frowned. "I'll get on it right away." 

     "I also want you to dig up all you can on the Boomer attack at the pharmaceutical research 
and manufacturing center."

     "Right!" She hurried out of the room.

     Sylia turned to Linna. "Help Priss to the spare bedroom, then go home. For right now, all 
we can do is gather enough information, and be ready for action."

     "Your not leaving me out of the action," said Priss with a scowl as she swung her legs 
over and sat up."

     "For right now, you rest. When the time comes, we'll see how well you are."

     The singer sighed. "You win," she grumbled.

     After Linna helped Priss out of the room, Sylia turned to Mackie. "I want you to help 
Nene."

     "All right," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing.

     "What's wrong?' she asked. 

     "I don't know what Greg's plan is, but I'm not sure I like it."

     Sylia sat down and finished the last of the wine. She gazed into the glass, for several 
seconds. "Greg Mallory, in many ways, is like me," she said carefully. "The Black Knights were 
formed by Greg and are a secret part of MALCORP. In fact, Knight One is Greg Mallory."

     Mackie looked a bit stunned. "But the Hardsuits. . . ."

     "I wasn't the only one to get a data cassette. Remember the number mine had on it?"

     "Yes, number two."

     "Greg received data cassette number one for his sixteenth birthday."

     "You mean --"

     "That the Black Knight hardsuits are Stingray-based designs, and Greg has the same type of 
'enhancement' I received."

     Mackie sat down slowly. "Isn't this all moving too fast? I suggest --"

     "That's why I told him I can't marry him. I don't know anything about him, and my life is 
here."

     Mackie relaxed, but there was some still skepticism in his eyes. "What do you feel for 
Greg?"

     Sylia sighed. "I don't know."

     "Don't know, or won't tell me?"

     "I really don't know. There's a part of me who's ready to say yes to him right now, and 
another part who's telling me to run away from him as fast as I can."

     Mackie stood slowly. "Just be careful with him, OK? Maybe I'm just being a brother, but I 
don't want to see you hurt."

     Sylia smiled up at him. "I will be careful. And thank you for caring."

     "That's what brothers are for." He glanced at the door. "I'd better go help Nene."

     He had taken two steps before Sylia asked, "Mackie?"

     "Yes?"

     "Be careful with Nene, OK? I don't want to see either one of you hurt."

     Mackie looked embarrassed and didn't look at his sister. "I didn't think you noticed."

     "The signs were hard to miss."

     He scratched his head. "Er. . . well, I'd. . . er. . ."

     "Go on. If I have anything else to say about the subject, I will let you know. For now, 
enjoy your time together."

     "Right. Thanks for understanding."

     Sylia smiled. "That's what sisters are for."

     She waited until Mackie closed the door behind him before she stood up, poured another 
half-glass of wine and want over to the windows. She stared out into the city below, her mind 
trying to sort out her feelings.


  
Warehouse #41526584
District 4
December 22, 2035
10:29pm

     "OK, what the hell happened?"

     Marcus Jackson looked up as Mallory stalked into the office. There was no sign of anger in 
Greg's face, but his eyes were cold and hard.

     "A batch of Boomers hit the MALCORP pharmaceutical research and manufacturing center about 
fifty minutes ago," said Marcus evenly. He shifted slightly, wishing he could sit down in the 
chair behind him, but the chair wouldn't support his weight plus the hardsuit he was wearing. 
His helmet sat next to the map he'd been studying when Greg had walked in. "They hit, tore up 
the place, then disappeared."

     "I know that much." Greg leaned forward and placed his fists on top of the desk. "How 
bad?"

     "Bad enough. At least ten dead, mostly guards and cleaning people, and three times as many 
in wounded. I don't think more then a third of the security robots are still functioning. If we 
hadn't been on a Level One Red security status, the toll would have been much higher. As it is, 
we probably lost at least six months' worth of experiments and research data because of this 
attack."

     "Damm," hissed Greg. "How many Boomers did we get?"

     "Two confirmed destroyed, and two more damaged. We've got the remains stored away and told 
the police all the Boomers got away. I've already got a team looking the remains over." Marcus 
waited a couple of heartbeats before he continued, "According to the data, these Boomers had 
some type of force shield in operation."

     "This stinks to high heaven," Greg looked away for a second. When he looked back at 
Marcus, his face was tight and cold. "What have you done, security-wise?"

     "We had to pull the Knights back from the G&B targets. Harland and Blue Team are on 
site right now. Jeena is handling the visible security, while Harland's team stays out of 
sight. I've sent White Team and a Rattlesnake to stiffen our defenses at our biological 
research lab. Red Team is in reserve and I've put everyone on war footing."

     Greg nodded. "I want to go out and look over the site of the attack."

     "Not a good idea, Greg. Not tonight. No telling if this attack was designed to get you out 
into the open."

     Greg looked up at the ceiling. "All right, they want to play hardball, we'll give them 
hardball. I want the other West Coast teams here ASAP. Use the Falcon transport, and tell them 
to redline it."

     "You want both teams?"

     "Yes, plus any support personnel they can find, and all the equipment they can haul."

     "If they're involved in operations -"

     "Screw the operations," replied Greg bluntly. "I want as much firepower as we can pull 
together, as fast as we can get it here. We're going on the offence."

     "Against who? We're not even sure who the enemy is!"

     "I have suspicions."

     "That's not good enough!"

     The look Greg gave Marcus was chilling. "I didn't start this," he said, his words cold, 
"but before I'm finished, those bastards will wish they never heard of MALCORP."

     "What about Janie?" Marcus' voice was sharp and bitter. "Are you willing to sacrifice her 
to sooth your wounded pride?"

     Greg glared at him for several second, then looked away. "Thanks for the reminder," he 
said softly. 

     "Are you all right?"

     Greg waved a hand. "Too little sleep," he muttered. "This mess is getting out of hand." He 
closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

     "Do you still want the other teams here?"

     Greg nodded without opening his eyes. "At the very least, they can pull guard duty while 
the other teams go after G&B-Japan HQ."

     "You want to hit G and B HQ?" Marcus looked shocked.

     "Not really, but I'm now convinced they're behind the kidnaping. This attack was their way
of telling us to back off."

     "I take it were not going to back off?"

     "We are going on the offensive as soon as the other teams get here." Greg opened his eyes. 
"I want the other West coast teams to bring some special equipment and people with them."

     Marcus straightened. "What equipment?"

     "I want the field cryogen capsule and all necessary support equipment and staff. If the 
reports are right, Janie is in critical condition right now. The capsule will allow us to get 
her out of there with a reasonable chance of success -- it is heavily armored enough to protect 
her from a stray laser or bullet."

     "Fair enough. What about personnel?"

     "There's supposed be a conference on Blood disorders in Hawaii that's to start the day 
after Christmas. I want the West Coast teams to pick up Doctors Charles Langmeade and 
Imaidegawa Narumi from that conference."

     "Suppose they don't want to come along?"

     "Then kidnap them," Greg growled. "They're the top two people in the field of Janie's 
condition, and I need them here and now!"

     Marcus sighed then nodded. "I'll send the word out. Assuming the teams are free and clear, 
they'll be here before two A.M.."

     "Thanks, Marcus." Greg's head drooped, and for several seconds, the only sound in the 
office was the CEO's deep breathing.

     Marcus moved around the desk and took Greg by the arm. "It's time you got some shuteye."

     Greg waved him off. "I'm all right."

     "Bull. We pushing forty-eight hours on this mission and you haven't had more then three 
hours of sleep in that time."

     "None of the teams have had much sleep either."

     "They've had twice as much as you have. You can't keep pushing yourself like this, Greg. 
We need you rested and focused when the time comes. You're no good to anyone, especially Janie, 
if you're too tired to think straight."

     "I said I'm all right." There was iron in Greg's voice.

     "Bullshit," replied Marcus, his own voice hard and unyielding. "Killing yourself is not 
going to help Janie any. If you don't get some sleep right now, I'll hit you with a traq patch 
and put you under for eight hours. He tapped his chest, the soft thud of the hardsuit audible 
in the office. "And in this tin suit, I've got a significant advantage in strength."

     Greg closed his eyes. "You win." Marcus watched him walk over to the couch next to the 
desk and sat down. 

     "How was your night before I called?" Marcus asked.

     Greg closed his eyes, out his head back, and smiled tiredly. "The Dinner was excellent, 
the host was polished, and the conversation simulating."

     "And your date?"

     The smile became larger. "How can I describe perfection in a few words?"

     "What did you do with her?"

     The smile disappeared. "I dropped her off at her place. I wasn't very good company on the 
ride home -- I don't think I said half a dozen words to her during the entire ride back to her 
place." He sighed. "I enjoyed her company."

     Marcus' eyes narrowed. "You sound like you've fallen for her."

     "Like a ton of bricks. . . ." Greg's voice died off to a mummer, and his breathing became 
deep and regular. 

     "Greg?" Marcus waited half a minute, then walked carefully over to the couch, picked up a 
folded blanket, and looked down at his boss. "Pleasant dreams Boss," he said softly, then 
unfolded the blanket and draped it across the sleeping figure. He then quietly walked out of 
the office, careful to close the door cautiously behind him.
  


Gulf and Bradley - Japan Headquarters
December 22, 2035
11:15pm 

     ". . .Dead and another thirty injured," said the televison reporter. "To the best of our 
knowledge, none of the attacking Boomers was destroyed. MALCORP representatives are refusing to 
answer questions regarding possible bio-hazard experiments said to be ongoing here at the 
center. This is Faye Asayamaike, GBC news, reporting from the MALCORP pharmaceutical research 
and manufacturing center."

     Carlton Bradley touched a button and the serious looking reported disappeared from the 
televison screen. "Not bad," he said slowly.

     "They should have done more damage before they were recalled," said Cora from a chair 
across from her brother.

     "I disagree," said Carlton. "We had lost two of the Boomers, and a couple of more severely 
damaged. To stay any longer would have brought the ADP fully into the game."

     Cora snorted. "Those idiots? They couldn't find their ass with a map and directions!"

     "Even the ADP could have gotten lucky," said Hachio Ozu from his position by the window. 
"And MALCORP's Security chief here is ex-ADP -- She has contacts to smooth over any problems."

     "How do you think MALCORP will react?" asked Carlton.

     "Depends on how much they actually know. But I think we have a bigger problem."

     "What can be worse the MALCORP?" demanded Cora

     "The word I'm getting is that one of the Gang leaders is nosing around the company's
holdings."

     "What's the problem? It's just some punk thinking he can rip us off for a quick score."

     Ozu shook his head. "Skeeter Karns isn't some punk looking to steal from us. He's the 
biggest gang leader in the city. Even the Yakuza and the Triads avoid pissing him off. If he's 
involved, then he's after Janie VanDell."

     Cora's bark of laughter was short and derisive. "You're getting paranoid," she told Ozu. 
"I don't care how big this Skeeter is, he's a nobody."

     "Why do you think he is a danger to us?" asked Carlton quietly.

     "Because he has a genius-level IQ, a hatred for people who abuse children, and frequently 
passes data on to the police, including Inspector Leon McNichol of the ADP."

     "Why do you think Skeeter would pass McNichol anything involving Janie?"

     Ozu looked at both of them. "Officially, McNichol is on vacation. But, my people have seen 
him entering a bar used by Skeeter as his headquarters twice in the last twenty-four hours, the 
second time with Jeena Malso."

     Carlton's eyes narrowed. "McNichol's working for MALCORP?"

     "Not necessarily. Malso and McNichols were partners when Malso was in the ADP. Malso's one 
of the few people outside of the ADP that McNichol would trust to guard his back."

     "But Malso works for MALCORP!" exclaimed Cora.

     "If McNichol asked her to guard his back, she would do so without hesitation."

     "What would you suggest?" asked Carlton in the same composed voice he'd used throughout 
the conversation.

     "We take out McNichol, Malso, and Skeeter - all at once, if possible."

     "That would stretch our useable resources to an unacceptable limit." Carlton's eyes 
narrowed. "Instead, we elimanate only one target for now, with the option of going after the 
others later. Who would you choose?"

     "Malso. She's the one heading the search operation."

     "No." Carlton waited for several seconds before he continued. "I think this Skeeter Karns 
should be the target. With his removal, the ADP would lose a valuable source. It would also 
distract the ADP and N-Police. Once word gets out that Skeeter is dead, there will be gangs 
ready to pick up the pieces. With Gulf and Bradley backing the right candidate, we can spread 
our influence that much more."

     Cora smiled hungrily. "I like it. How are we going to do it?"

     "We'll use the hit teams we had out after the MALCORP freelancers. Is Team one ready to 
go?"

     Ozu nodded. "That'll give us a strike force of sixteen - four Boomers and twelve humans."

     "Make sure the humans know that a dead Skeeter is worth five million Yen to any of them 
that survive."

     "You're not going to actually pay them, are you?" asked Cora, with a frown.

     Carlton smiled at his sister. "The operative words are 'to any of them that survives.' I 
don't expect anyone but the Boomers to make it out." He looked at Ozu. "Is that clear?"

     "Yes Sir. When do you want then to attack?"

     "As soon as possible. The more confused and distracted our enemies are, the better for 
us."

     Ozu glanced at his watch. "Give me a couple of hours, and it should be done."

     Carlton nodded. "Are the rest of the new security measures?"

     "In place."

     "I want you to double check everything. We've come too far to leave anything to chance."

     "Yes sir." Ozu left the office at a brisk walk.

     Cora waited until the door was closed before she asked, "Why the hit teams? Why not use 
the force shield-equipped Boomers?"

     "Several reasons," replied Carleton was he leaned back in his chair. "The first is they 
are our hole card, in case things don't go so well. Second, they need to be repaired, upgraded, 
and their shield generators checked for signs of breakdowns. Third, it will cloud the issue as 
to who is doing what to whom."

     "I see." Cora stood and perched herself on the edge of Carlton's desk. "Could I ask you 
for one more thing, Brother dear?" she asked in a little-girl voice.

     "What?"

     "When we kill Quincy, can I have his head? I think it'll look great with my collection."

     Carlton looked at his sister for several seconds before he smiled at her. "Assuming 
there's anything left of his head, you can have it."


  

	

	
Chapters 21 - 25
	
Chapters 31 - 35
	
Bubblegum Crucible Page