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 31



Sylia's Apartment
December 23, 2035
12:07am

     Sylia stared out into the lights of the city. She was alone, as the others had left for 
the evening, or had gone home. Nene and Linna had left half an hour ago, while both Priss and 
Mackie were  sleeping. At least she thought they were sleeping -- she would put it past either 
or both to be lying there in the dark, waiting for her to retire for the evening.

     She looked at the empty wine glass in her hand. Greg's words drifted across her mind 
again: "And if all you think about is the present, you lose your future."

     Was she doing that, becoming so totally bound up in her war against GENOM that she was 
losing sight of the future? And her teammates -- was she dragging them down with her? She 
turned away from the window, her thoughts ill-focused for the first time in years. She care-
fully placed the glass on a side table, then sat in a padded chair and leaned back. Slowly, 
she closed her eyes and began sorting out her feelings and thoughts.

     The hood she had killed outside of Niko's pool hall. Fargo was right about him -- he would 
have killed her if he'd gotten the chance. Maybe a background check on her would-be murderer 
would ease her mind.

     And what about Greg? part of her mind asked. Try as you might, you can't get rid 
of him that easily.

     She frowned. The cool analytical part of her mind hated this internal voice, the emotional 
part of her that rarely made its presence known to her. Most of the time, she managed to keep 
her softer side under firm control, letting just enough of it show through to her friends so 
they didn't think she was completely detached from her surroundings. But for some reason, it 
had broken free of her control and was now whispering to her about the future.

     The phone rang, starling Sylia out of her thoughts. She glanced over at the phone sitting 
next to the chair, the one used by Fargo. With several quick strides, she reached the phone. 
After putting down the wineglass, she picked up the phone, her hand moving surely. "Yes?" she 
said.

     /Hello, Sylia./

     "Fargo."

     Fargo's voice was smooth and businesslike. /The VanDell girl is at Gulf and Bradley - 
Japan HQ. From the sound of it, the girl is injured in some way. They've increased the security 
around the building, including bringing in Boomers. They're expecting trouble./

     "Anything else?"

     /Evidently, this is a rogue operation set up by the twins, and there's some pretty nervous 
talk among some of the rank and file./

     "Do you have any contacts inside Gulf and Bradley's home office?"

     /One or two./

     "Can you get word to them?"

     /About the twins' plans? I could, but I'm not sure that'll help./
     "Tell them that something bad is about to happen to the Gulf and Bradley - Japan head-
quarters that's going to give the entire corporation a black eye."

     /How big a black eye?/

     "Evidence that will point toward the twins' being involved in the destruction of the 
coastal highway."

     There was silence for a moment on Fargo's end of the line. /You're serious?/

     "Very. And if it comes out, Janson Bradley will be fighting off lawsuits for the next
twenty years."

     /I see your point. I'll talk to my contact and pass along the information./

     "Good."

     /That's all for now. I'll stay in contact if something new turns up. Stay safe, Sylia./

     "Good-bye Fargo."

     She turned off the phone and looked at it for a minute. She then sat and reached for her 
purse. It took her less then thirty seconds to find the card Greg had given her at lunch. She 
dialed the number and waited.

     The phone was picked up on the third ring. /Hello?/ asked an unfamiliar voice.

     "Is Greg there?"

     /He's sleeping right now. Is it important?/

     "It is very important. I need to speak to him right away. It's about Janie."

     /One moment./ Sylia listed to the sound of footsteps, then a door opening, followed by 
more footsteps, and a faint voice calling out Greg's name. A short muffled conversation 
followed, then she heard Greg's voice.

     /Hello?/ he asked in a scratchy voice.

     "It's me, Greg. I've got information about where Janie is."

     Greg became fully awake. /What is it?/

     "Fargo found out she's in the main headquarters building of G and B, under tight security. 
They've brought out Boomers to stiffen the defenses."

     /Figures./ Sylia heard Greg speak to someone else in the room. She managed to make out 
the words, 'ETA', 'transport', and 'here ASAP'. After twenty seconds, Greg spoke again. /We 
go after her tonight. I've got extra Knights coming in that should be here by two-thirty, 
but you're more then welcome to come along. How about a council of war at about three-thirty?/
     
     "Sounds like a good idea. Where are you?"

     /Have your team at the corner of Two-Twelve and Jiro in District Four at three o'clock. 
I'll have a Knight there to guide you the rest of the way./

     "Very well."

     /Hold on a moment./ There was the sounds of muted conversation, then the faint sound of 
someone closing a door. /Sylia?/
                                   
     "You're alone?"

     /Yes./ There was a moment of silence. /I'm sorry about tonight. I wasn't very talkative 
on the way back. That was foolish of me, and I'm sorry./

     "There's no need to apologize. I do understand. You had a lot on your mind."

     /Still, I do need to apologize,/ said Greg in a soft voice. /I shouldn't have shut you
out like that./

     Sylia was silent for several seconds, looking for the right words, but none came. "I don't 
think this is the time or the place to talk about . . . our relationship," she said gently.

     /You're right, of course./  She heard Greg take a deep breath. /But, I thought it was 
important that I tell you. I guess my social skills still need some work./

     Given a chance to change the subject, Sylia took it. "Speaking of social skills, what was 
behind that performance tonight at GENOM Tower?"

     /Performance?/

     "Telling Quincy that Janie doesn't know about the force shield plans, and that you may 
wave found them, in the wreckage of Doctor VanDell's lab."

     /The computer core that MALCORP recovered?/ There was silence for a heartbeat, then 
Greg said, /What I did was tell Quincy enough of the truth so I could slip in a lie or two. 
We did find an undamaged computer core, and it may have Doctor VanDell's notes on it. It 
also may have nothing but computer gibberish on it. Those facts can and will be checked by 
GENOM and found to be true./

     "And Janie?"

     /There's a chance she really doesn't know about the design, but frankly, I don't give a 
damn about that. I just want her home, safe and sound./
                                                       
     "And you're expecting Quincy to take you at your word?"

     /Of course not./

     Sylia frowned. "Then why did you --"

     /I wanted to give him a blurred impression of me./

     "How?"

     /I wanted to either think I'm a naive fool who isn't a threat to his power, or a sneaky 
bastard who he's going to have to keep an eye on. No matter which way he finally decides, 
he'll have to think about it for a time. While he's trying to figure out which one I am, GENOM 
will stay out of my way long enough for us to rescue Janie./

     Sylia blinked as she thought about it. "I see," she said finally.

     /It sounds worse then it actually is. Quincy didn't get to his level without carefully 
weighing threats and actions against each other. He's not about to change his methods./

     "But if he thinks you're a threat. . . ."

     /He'll wait until I'm more use to him dead then alive. Until then, he and I will play in 
the shadows./

     Sylia closed her eyes. "Just be careful, all right?"
                                                            
     /I will be. All I have to do is stay out of GENOM's way as much as possible./ There was 
silence for several seconds, then Greg said, /I've got to go. I need to get the show going on 
my end, and you need to get your people together./

     "I know. I'll see you at three-thirty. Good-bye."

     /Good-bye./

     Sylia replaced the phone picked up the wine glass and stared at it. She reached for the 
wine bottle, but stopped just before her hand touched the decanter. Shaking her head slowly, 
she turned and walked to the kitchen. I need coffee, not wine now. We have a long night 
ahead of us. 
                                            


Ri-san Bar
District 6
December 23, 2035
12:14am 

     Despite the hour, there was a sizeable number of people still inside the bar. These were 
all Skeeter's people, the core of his old gang with a selected few from the other gangs. They 
formed the heart of the giant's effort to control the district. While a few wondered about 
Skeeter's methods and reason, all respected or feared the giant.

     Skeeter himself was sitting at a table, watching two of his lieutenants play a game of 
chess. The game was well into the endgame, with white having a slightly better position. 
Skeeter straightened. "Checkmate in six moves," he announced, his voice neutral in tone.

     "For who?" asked Chika Kamayawa, glancing up at her leader. She was tall and long legged, 
with a honey complexion, long raven hair held in a loose ponytail, and eyes the color of 
obsidian. As one of Skeeter's chief lieutenants, and head of the field units, she had earned 
the position by being tougher then most of her male counterparts. Her loose-fitting clothes 
hide a small inventory of knives and other weapons she was well skilled in.
                                                       
     Skeeter smiled at her. "That would be telling."

     Kamayawa's opponent sighed. "Boss, your aptitude to perceive the situation on the chess-
board is moderately disconcerting. Could you please not promulgate the conclusion to your 
verdicts until we have consummated the game?"

     Skeeter continued to smile as he looked at him. "I never said which side had the mate, 
Doc," he said in the same relaxed voice he used with Chika.

     Doc was almost the exact opposite of Chika. He was slightly below medium height, stocky, 
with a craggy face and his reddish hair was cut close to the scalp. While he could fight, his 
role in Skeeter's organization was more intellectual. As head weaponsmith and mechanic, he 
kept the organization armed and mobile. He was also known for using big words whenever he 
could. 

     "In any circumstance, could you terminate your conduct incorporating the game?"

     Skeeter chuckled, an unusual sound that was rarely heard. "I'll think about it."

     Doc, use to his leader and friend's moods, looked down at the board. "Now I know why I 
stopped playing," he muttered.

     "I thought it was because I beat you on a regular basis," said Chika with a smile.

     Doc looked at her, frowning. "You have prevailed in precisely six games out of one 
hundred and four we have played over the last three years. I have triumphed in thirteen, 
and we have drawn the rest."

     Chika raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose you remember what defense I played in the 
twenty-seventh game?"

     "You played a mutation of the Queen's gambit declined, because you were playing white 
that game, not black."

     Chika looked at Skeeter. "Is he right? I don't remember the move I made ten minutes 
ago in this game, let alone one two years ago."

     Skeeter tilted his head slightly. "I must bow Doc's superior memory on that one."

     Doc pushed a pawn forward on the chessboard. "Exonerate me for querying, but are you 
anticipating trouble tonight?"

     "Maybe."

     "I don't like the sound of that," said Chika.

     "Nor do I," replied Doc. "Any idea who?"

     "Some strong suspicions. Several new faces have been hanging around our patrons. Faces 
with corp security stamped all over them."

     "Does this have anything to do with MALCORP?" asked Chika. "They've been pushing in 
all the wrong directions, and getting people killed."

     "Of course," said Doc, staring down at the chessboard. "Having Inspector McNichol 
around here twice in less then twenty-four hours is a somewhat of an abnormal phenomenon."

     "True," said the giant slowly, his smile fading. "I'll tell you what McNichol told me, 
and let you decide." 

     He outlined the situation in several minutes, and after he was finished, both Chika 
and Doc wore the same expression of anger. "I suppose you have our people looking for 
VanDell?" asked Doc slowly, his big words forgotten for the moment.

     "Of course."

     "And you trust MALCORP?" hissed Chika. "I wouldn't trust any Megacorp as far as could 
throw this building."

     "Of course I don't trust MALCORP," replied Skeeter with a shrug. "But my sources say 
Greg Mallory is on the up-and-up."

     "Just how good are your sources?" 

     Skeeter smiled again. "I trust them slightly less then I trust you and Doc."

     Before Chika could respond, a small box next to the chessboard beeped. Frowning, Chika 
tapped a button on top of the box. "Field One," she said briskly.

     //Outpost Baker Four,// replied a voice. //I have four bandit vehicles approaching my 
position.//

     "Any ident on them?"

     //Neg, Field One. They're corporate type sedans, but there's no telling what they're 
carrying. //

     Doc looked at Skeeter. "The inconvenience you were expecting?"

     "Possibly," replied the giant. 

     "It could be Sato sending us a message," said Chika.

     "The Yakuza know better then to 'send me a message,' not after what happened to Ronnie 
Yee. Sato's not that stupid, and neither are most of the others."

     "The Bradley twins?"

     "A more likely pair of suspects, but it's best not to take any chances. Chika, let's see 
who our guests are."

     The raven-haired woman nodded. She tapped another button on the box. "All units, this is 
Field One. We have possible hostiles approaching Outpost Baker Four. Units Epsilon and Kappa 
are to move in and set up a roadblock at Seven Ninety-Sixth Avenue and Seaview Drive. Units Mu 
and Tau are to provide back up. Everyone else keep your eyes open. This could be a diversion."

     "How long will it take to set up the roadblock?" asked Skeeter

     "Three minutes, at the most. Both Sao and Johansson know what they're doing."

     "Does this signify the contest on the chess board is completed for the foreseeable 
future?" asked Doc.

     Skeeter nodded. "Let's step it up to ALERTCON three, and break out the heavy weapons." 

     "You're expecting Boomers?"

     "I'm expecting just about anything, Doc. You and Matilda go find a good vantage point and 
cover the approach to the bar."

     The craggy-faced man smiled. "I got some new ammo for Matilda, and I know the right 
spot too." He stood and picked up a long gun case. "We can recommence the competition at 
another period," he told Chika. "I've memorized the placement." With that, he turned and 
swiftly strode out the front door.

     Chika shook her head. "You sure know how to pick them," she said in a low voice.

     Skeeter stood and stretched. "One of the keys to leadership," he replied lightly, "is 
knowing the right person to pick at the right time." He motioned to the now visibly armed 
patrons. "You'd better make sure these guys are ready and able, just in case."

     "Right." She stood and started issuing orders. One of the defenders handed her and Skeeter 
compact comm headsets. Once the headsets were in place, Chika picked up a pair of compact 
machine guns from a nearby table and slung them over her shoulders.

     Skeeter turned and picked up a shoulder holster from the table behind him and slipped it 
on. After he had made sure the rig was comfortable in place, he picked up a pair of thick 
leather gloves and put them on. He then drew the massive revolver from it's holster and open 
the cylinder, and spun it slowly.

     Chika turned around and stared at the large pistol. "What's that?" she asked.

     "Doc's newest toy," replied Skeeter as he flipped the cylinder back into place. "He calls 
it a World Rattler."

     "What's the load?"

     "Same caliber as the EarthShaker, but the rounds are a bit longer. Also, Doc's built it so 
it has a five round cylinder instead of three."

     Chika raised an eyebrow. "Have you fired it?"

     The giant nodded. "I have to use a two handed stance to hit anything with it, since Doc 
didn't do anything about the kickback. But any Boomer who gets hit is instant scrap metal."

     "Not to mention any dumb sap who takes a round," Chika muttered with a shiver.

     Just then, the box on the table said, //This is Unit Kappa. We're set up. Epsilon is 
moving into position now. Fifty seconds to contact.//
     
     //This is Unit Mu,// said a new voice. //We're thirty seconds from the back-up position, 
Tau is twenty seconds behind us.//

     Chika tapped a button on the transmitter at her belt. "No firing unless you're fired upon. 
Stay alert and watch yourselves. Let's try and keep this from getting out of hand before we 
know what's going on."

     Skeeter made a final adjustment to his transmitter and spoke into the mike, "All units, 
this is Field Six. Outpost Baker Four, I want a running description of the stop from now until 
it's over on this channel. Understood?"

     //Yes Sir!//

     "What is your name, Son?"

     //Chosokabe, Sir!//

     "All right, Chosokabe, keep me informed. All Active field units, switch to channel 
Damocles and link up with Field One on my command." Chika nodded and adjusted her headset's 
controls. Skeeter waited until she nodded before continuing. "Approaching cars are desig-
nated Bandit One through Four. Last orders before Field One assumes control. Kappa, Don't 
expose anyone. Hail them on a loudspeaker, but don't move in until I or Field One give you 
the order. Field Five, are you in place?"

     //Affirmative, Boss. Do you yearn for a precise venue, or will a imprecise locality do?//

     "As long as You and Matilda can do the job, I don't care if you're in Quincy's private 
office."

     //An implausible predicament, // replied Doc blandly. //The esteemed Chairman would not be 
congenial at the inspiration of us employing his sanctuary for a sniper's roost//

     Skeeter chuckled again. "But it might get a rise out of that old buzzard. Stay sharp."

     //Right.//

     "All operating units, switch to Channel Damocles in. . . five . . . four . . . three . 
. . two. . . one . . . now."
     
     //Outpost Baker Four here Sir. The vehicles are approaching the roadblock.//

     Chika looked up at Skeeter. "Kappa's hailing them now."

     //The cars are slowing. . . The first car just speeded up! They're trying to ram their 
way through the roadblock!//

     There was silence for several seconds, then Chosokabe said, //Bandit One and Two have 
broken through the roadblock and are heading down Seven Ninety-Sixth at a high rate of speed!//

     "What about Bandits Three and Four?" demanded Skeeter.

     //Epsilon and Kappa have them pinned down. Estimate strength is six to ten guns, Assault 
rifle category.//

     "I'm moving Tau around to hit Bandits Three and Four from behind," said Chika. "Mu's 
intercepting Bandits One and Two."

     Skeeter nodded, but just then, Chosokabe shouted //SHIT!//

     "What's wrong?" demanded Skeeter with a growl.

     //At least two of the Brigands are Boomers!//

     "What type?"

     //Possible C-Class, but -- // there was a burst of static, followed by a long series of 
curses and rifle fire.

     "Chosokabe!"

     //Still here.// The voice was weak and in pain. //One of those god-damned boomers nearly 
took my head off with its mouth laser!//

     "Are you all right?"

     //For now, but those two boomers managed to get past the roadblock. They took out several 
members of Epsilon and Kappa as they went by.//

     Skeeter glanced over at Chika. She looked unhappy. "Mu couldn't stop Bandit One and Two. 
They're heading in this direction, ETA two minutes."

     The giant nodded. "Field Six to Field Five. Are the bandits in sight?"

     //Affirmative, Boss. Permission to fire?//

     "Affirmative." Skeeter turned toward the bartender, a hulking brute with a scarred face 
and a eyepatch over his left eye. "Patch, bring the outside security cameras on-line."

     The man nodded and reached under the bar. Next to the bar, a section of the wall slid away 
to revel a bank of monitors. They quickly flickered to life, showing the streets and alleys 
around the Ri-san Bar. Skeeter scanned each of them until he saw a pair of headlight slide into 
view, barreling down the street toward the camera. A split second later, another car raced 
around the same corner, and followed the first car. As it did so, the distance squeal of tires 
could be heard coming from outside.

     "Lock and Load, People!" shouted Chika. The sounds of magazines slotting into the wells of 
assault rifles, shotguns, pistols, and machine guns nearly drowned out her next words. "Marx! 
Take five men and cover the street from upstairs! The rest of you cover the front! Pick your 
shots and let's show these metallic morons the real meaning of firepower!"

     Five men charged through the door in the back of the bar room, the sounds of boots on 
stairs echoing in the hall before the door slammed shut. The rest grabbed tables and carried 
them toward the front. The dingy curtains that framed the two large windows on either side of 
the bar's front door were hastily ripped away. Most of the lights in the bar died, plunging the 
tavern into deep shadows. Just then, there was a loud crack, like a distant thunderclap. On the 
screen, the first invading car's engine exploded in a splash of light and fury. Even as the 
explosion faded, the sound ripped through the bar.

     //That's one, // said Doc calmly. //Going for the double.//

     The second car had slammed on its brakes to avoid plowing into the first car. It slid 
sideways, missing the flaming wreckage by less then three meters. The doors flew open, and four 
people scrambled out. "We've got four brigands on foot!" Skeeter said in a loud voice.

     There was another distant thunderclap, and the second car exploded. Three of the figures 
scrambled for cover, but the fourth turned and stared in the direction of the bar. As it did 
so, two flashes of light appeared from around the corner, becoming boomers as they landed out 
of the darkness next to the figure. Now all three looked at the bar. 

     "Shit," someone said in a loud whisper. "Boomers."

     "Hosokoawa," snarled Chika. "Zip it, or I'll zip it for you!"

     At some silent signal, all three leapt toward the tavern, the third tearing out of his 
disguise. As they passed the burning car, a fire wreathed figure emerged from the flames and 
joined the other three.

     "Four C-Class Boomers," Skeeter called out.

     "Wait for my mark," shouted Chika. "Anyone fires before I say so is going to have my boot 
up their ass!"

     //The robots are progressing too swiftly for me to tag them.// said Doc. //Instructions?//

     "Stay close," replied Skeeter, his eyes never leaving the screens. "Chika, two hundred 
meters and closing."

     "Field One to Mu," said Chika into her microphone. "Get your carcasses over to my location 
on the double!"

     "One hundred and fifty meters." Skeeter drew his pistol with one hand and knocked over a 
large wooden table with the other. The crash of the heavy wooden table hitting the floor 
startled several of the gang members, causing one to involuntary tighten the trigger of his 
assault rifle. A short burst shattered the front window, sending shards of glass into the 
street.

     Chika's eyes darken. "If we get out of this in one piece, Baker," she growled, "you're 
going to clean every single gun in the outfit!"

     "One hundred meters." Skeeter stepped behind the table he'd just tipped over. "Get over 
here, Chika."

     The dark-hair woman shook her head. "I'm staying right here."

     "No you're not."

     She turned to stare at him. "There's no way it Hell --"

     "Fifty meters," said Skeeter calmly, reaching out and grabbing his field commander by the 
arm and lifting her over the table with the same ease a parent would have with a young child. 
He looked down at her. "Dead commanders are no good to me," he said softly. He then glanced at 
the screens again. "Thirty meters," he announced loudly.

     //Any time now, // muttered Doc over Skeeter's earphone.

     "Twenty meters. . . .Ten meters."

     "FIRE!"

     The word was still being shouted by Chika when the entire front of the bar erupted in 
streaks of flame, shattering glass as the gang members opened up. Half a heartbeat later, the 
defenders on the second floor opened fire on the Boomers, followed quickly by others stationed 
in the building facing the bar.

     C-class Boomers are covert designs, conceived as bodyguard and assassins. As such, they 
are armored and quick enough to  give the undermanned and under-gunned AD Police fits when they 
went on a rampage. Most of the time, the ADP was forced to follow stupid bureaucratic rules 
that caused more death and destruction then the Boomers did.

     However, Skeeter's people weren't the type to follow ANY rules.

     The quartet of Cyberdroids were hit with dozen of rounds, ranging in size from nine mil-
limeter to fifty caliber rounds from a couple of old, but still potent, M2 heavy machine guns. 
Several rockets screamed in from several directions, adding explosions to the firefight.

     The 55C that had survived the explosion of the first car didn't survive two RPG-23 rockets 
that slammed into its back, shredding armor and internal components. The sixty caliber round, 
courtesy of Doc's Matilda, that punched through its forehead and blew out the back of its head, 
just completed the execution.

     The two Boomers that had forced their way through the first roadblock each died less then 
three meters from the bar. The intense fire ripped one nearly in half, while the other lost 
most of its upper body to a point-blank blast from a grenade launcher that nearly did the same 
to the human that fired the grenade.

     But the last Boomer, the one who had gotten out of the second car, crashed through the bar 
door and surged forward into the shadowy twilight of the bar itself. While it had lost its 
right arm and most of it lower jaw in the barrage, the 55C was far from dead. A loud 'snick' 
and the Boomer had two serrated blades pop out the left forearm, its red eyes seeking its 
target. Most of the firing stopped, as the gang was reluctant to accidently shoot one of their 
own. 

     Chika rolled out from behind the table and triggered both machine guns. The twin streams 
of rounds hit the Cyberdroid in the legs and lower torso with enough force to stagger it. Chika 
cursed when the subguns ran dry, forcing her to stop to change the magazines. Hissing in a 
manner that suggested anger, it paused only long enough to gut two gang members that had moved 
in too close before throwing itself at Chika.

     It didn't finish the jump.

     Skeeter rose, holding the heavy wooden table like a battering ram. With a roar like an 
enraged grizzly bear, the gang leader threw the table at the boomer. The improvised missile 
crashed into the boomer, splintering the table and hurtling the boomer into the wall with a 
loud crash.

     People usually made two mistakes when they met Skeeter Karns for the first time. The 
first, and most common, mistake was the belief that Skeeter was nothing more then a big, 
stupid thug. Five minutes of conversation was enough to convince most people that the gang 
leader was anything but a moron. The second, and more dangerous, assumption was a man with 
the size and bulk of Skeeter was slow and poorly coordinated.

     The Boomer made the second mistake.

     It took a split second to run a diagnostic on its systems before it rose. Before it 
finished reaching its feet, Skeeter had covered the few meters that separated them. Sensing 
movement, the boomer turned and threw a punch at the giant's chest, trying to impale him on 
the twenty-centimeters long blades. Moving with the swiftness and ease of a tidal wave, Skeeter 
sidestepped the wicked blades, the giant's left hand deflecting the Boomer's arm down and away 
from his body. Like a pair of pistons, the giant's arm shot out and grabbed the Boomer's head.

     The gang leader's right hand snaked around the back of the 55C's head, the left grabbed 
what remained of the jaw. The Boomer, realizing what Skeeter intended, tried to slam its elbow 
into the giant's ribs, but it was too late.

     With a snarl of fury, Skeeter twisted the boomer's head hard to the left. With a sickening 
snap, the boomer's neck broke, and its red eyes darken. Without stopping, Skeeter twisted the 
Boomer's head until it came free from its body. As the Cyberdroid's body collapsed into a heap, 
the gang leader's expression was unreadable. He looked down at the head of the boomer still in 
his hands and scowled.

     It was then that a dozen gang members, led by Doc and the modified sniper rifle he called 
Matilda burst into the bar. For several seconds, there was silence in the bar.

     "Look alive people!" Chika shouted, breaking the mood. "This may be just the first wave, 
and we still have an unknown number of the enemy out there! Hosokoawa!"

     "Yo!"

     "Take a dozen men and track down those frakkers that bailed out of the second car!"

     "Right! Robeson, Toshisada, you're with me. Grab some guys and let's go hunting!"

     "I want them alive if possible," said Skeeter in a calm voice. He looked at Hosokoawa. "I 
want answers to a lot of questions."

     Hosokoawa nodded grimly, reading his leader's mood. "You heard the Boss!" he shouted. "He 
wants breathing bodies if possible, and we'd better damm make sure it's possible. Let's go!"

     As the response team dashed out of the bar, Chika and Doc exchanged glances. Doc handed 
Matilda to one of the other gang members and walked over to Skeeter. "Are you all right?" he 
asked quietly.

     "No." He turn and threw the Boomer's head against the wall with enough force to leave a 
sizable dent in the wall. "I am angry," he said in a calm, still voice.

     Doc repressed a shudder, remembering the last time his boss had become 'angry'. A year 
back, the Red Cobra Triad had tried to move into Skeeter's territory, seeking to expand their 
power and influence. The giant had told them to get off his turf. The head of the Red Cobras 
responded by trying to have Skeeter killed by six of his top assassins. Slipping through the 
giant's security, they found the giant and did their best to kill him.

     Skeeter killed all six with his bare hands.

     Doc remembered the look on his friend's face when they burst into his room. The same 
composed look, the same calm voice that announced he was angry as he dropped the body of the 
last hired killer. The Red Cobras' dreams of expansion, and most of the Triad, died in a brutal 
two-week war that ended with the death of the Cobra's leader at Skeeter's hands.

     "What do we do now?" Doc asked, but he already knew the answer.

     Skeeter turned and gave him a cold smile. "The same thing we did to the Red Cobras."

     "We don't know who did this!"

     "I do. Put the word out -- we are now at ALERTCON one. All units are now active and are on 
a war footing. I want Rodent here ASAP, and I want all our intel people out on the street 
within ten minutes from now -- they'll get their orders then."

     Doc nodded. There was no talking to Skeeter when he was like this. "I hope you know what 
you're doing." 

     "I do. It's the Bradleys that don't know what they've begun. I intend to finish it, and 
now."

     Doc turned and looked at the burning cars outside the shattered windows. In the distance, 
there were the sounds of gunfire as Hosokoawa's men hunted down the human attackers. "Here we 
go again," he muttered.



GENOM Tower
December 23, 2035
12:21am

     Quinton Faust nervously adjusted his tie as the elevator rose. He wished there had been 
time to change and freshen up before this meeting, but the Chairman's orders were clear: At 
once. The folder under his right arm wasn't thick with papers, but theinformation in it was 
important. Important enough to bring it to the Chairman's attention at once.

     He didn't bother glancing at the boomer bodyguard he'd been assigned since his elevation 
to Special Assistant to the Chairman. Unlike his predecessor, Faust didn't care for a phalanx 
of boomers to shield him from the outside world. In fact, he had protested ANY sort of body-
guard, but Chairman Quincy was quite firm -- and what the Chairman wants, he gets. So the 
single BU-55C became Faust's shadow.

     Despite the bodyguard, Faust reflected, his current position was a great improvement over 
his old life. His life was GENOM, and he served it willingly, even to the point of limiting his 
social life to an occasional solo dinner. He knew he wasn't chairman materiel, but he still did 
his job, ignoring the rumors and gossip about Brian Mason, his predecessor. Whatever Mason had 
done wrong, Faust was determined not to make the same mistakes.

     "Are you all right, Sir?" asked the Boomer politely.

     "I-I'm fine George," Faust replied with a stammer.

     The boomer nodded, but said nothing else. Several seconds later, the elevator stopped and 
the doors opened. Faust strode out and turned right, followed by his bodyguard. The hallway was 
without the normal office noise, allowing the quiet hum of the building's system to be audible. 
With the exception of a pair of cleaning Boomers, there was no one around.

     There were five Boomers on guard duty when Faust and his escort arrived in the chairman's 
outer office. Four of the Cyberdroids Faust recognized as the brand-new and advanced BU-65Cs 
that were part of the Chairman's personal protection team. Slightly smaller and sleeker then 
the older 55Cs, Faust knew they were faster, stronger, and smarter then his own bodyguard, 
answerable only to the Chairman himself. The fifth boomer was an older 55C that Faust identi-
fied as Madigan's personal bodyguard. All five turned to watch the two walk in.

     "I'm here to see the chairman," Faust said.

     One of the 65Cs nodded. "He's expecting you, sir." The Boomer turned and opened the door 
wide. Faust strode in, while his bodyguard took its place in the outer office.

     The office was in darkness, the lights of the city below the only source of illumination. 
As Faust's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out four people in the room. Two were the 
last of the Chairman's personal protection team, standing near the door to the outer office. 
Both gave the Special Assistant what looked like an unfriendly stare, but Faust knew was really 
a detailed scan of his body for any weapons or explosives hidden on him. He stopped and stood 
still, allowing the boomers to complete the scan. After several seconds, one look at the man 
sitting behind the desk. "He's clean, sir."

     "As was expected," said the Chairman, his face hidden in the shadows. Madigan turned to 
look at the newcomer, frowning at him. Despite the hour, she looked well groomed and relatively 
fresh.

     "What do you have?" the Chairman asked, leaning forward enough so Faust could see his 
face.

     Faust strode forward, stopping in front of the Chairman's desk. "We've found a common 
thread among the stolen Boomers."

     "What?"

     "Not a what, sir, but a who." Faust opened up the folder and passed a photo to the Chair-
man. 

     Quincy took the photo, looked at it for several seconds, then passed it to Madigan. "Who 
is it?"

     "Satoshi Azamizu. Age 39. For the last three years, he has been director of the Boomer 
maintenance centers for the entire Pacific Rim sector. Divorced, two children and ex-wife 
living in San Francisco. Clean record up to this point in  his career."

     "Why is he a link?" asked Madigan.

     "Every single missing Boomer was serviced in one of the centers under his direction, 
usually in the six months before they went missing."

     Madigan arched an eyebrow. "Every one? Even those lost in Europe and the Americas?"

     Faust nodded.

     "That's thin evidence," said Quincy slowly.

     "Yes, Sir, but it gave us a direction to look in." Faust  pulled out a sheet of paper. "We 
found a collation between Director Azamizu's visits and the presence of the missing Boomers." 
He handed the sheet to the Chairman. "This is a list of the 'inspection trips' the director has 
made in the last thirty-two months. In short, Director Azamizu has visited the maintenance 
centers under his direction a total of twenty-three times in the last three years. On seventeen 
of his visits, there were Boomers on our missing list that were in the center at that time."

     "How many?"

     "Out of the two hundred five Boomers on our list, one hundred thirteen, or about fifty-
five percent."

     "Indeed?" said Quincy slowly. "And the rest?"

     Faust drew another sheet of paper from the folder and gave it to the Chairman. "A list of 
vid-phone calls Director Azamizu has made to the maintenance centers in the same time period. 
Please note the ones with the red checkmarks next to them."

     Quincy gave the first sheet to Madigan, then scanned the sheet of calls. "The other 
ninety-two Boomers?"

     "Yes Sir. Every single time one of those Boomers came in for repair and refit, there was a 
vid call from the Director."

     The Chairman handed Madigan the second sheet of paper. The lavender-haired woman skimmed 
it, then handed both sheets back to Faust. "It's not enough," she said bruskly. 

     The Special Assistant nodded as he replaced the sheets inside the folder. "I realized 
that. So, using the Chairman's authority, I accessed the Director's finances."

     Madigan frowned, but Quincy said, "Proceed, Mr. Faust."

     Faust pulled several sheets of paper from the folder and handed it to the Chairman. "This 
is a copy of Director Azamizu's fiances for the last four years. Please note the low level of 
his balance for the first fifteen months."

     Quincy read through the pages slowly. He stopped at a line in the second sheet. "Inte-
resting," he murmured. He scanned several more lines. "Ms. Madigan, what was the percentage of 
the wage increase GENOM gave their senior middle management over the last four years?"

     The lavender-haired woman thought for several seconds before replying. "Three percent 
every year."

     The Chairman nodded. "Either Director Azamizu has begun to live like a monk, or he is 
earning far beyond his salary." He handed the sheets to her. "As Mr. Faust said, look at the 
first year and a quarter, then compare it to the rest."

     After two minutes of reading, Madigan leaned back in her chair. "He must be embezzling," 
she said softly, her voice tinged with anger.

     "We checked into that," replied Faust. "But the deposits into Director Azamizu's account 
always occurred two to three days after he visited or called a service center when a missing 
boomer was in."

     Quincy leaned back in his chair, allowing the shadows to hide his face. "Any idea where 
the money is coming from?"

     Faust frowned. "Our preliminary reports indicates that the funds have come from at least 
six banks, including two owned by GEMON. We are attempting to trace the deposits right now."

     "Very well, Mr. Faust. Continue your investigation. You are dismissed." 

     Faust turned and walked to the door. As he reached for the door handle, the Chairman said, 
"I remind you not discuss this matter with anyone outside of this room, with the exception of 
your team."

     Faust turned and bowed. "I understand completely, sir." He turned, opened the door and 
went out.

     Quincy waited until the door closed before he looked at Madigan. "Your opinion of Mr. 
Faust's finding?"

     "I think he may have found something."

     "I agree."

     "What do we do about it?"

     There was silence for several seconds, then the Chairman said, "I suggest that Director 
Azamizu should be asked to come in and discuss the matter."

     Madigan straightened in her chair. "When?"

     "Immediately, of course."

     "But if we bring him in, we might lose the others involved in this scheme."

     "Only if they know that he's been brought in." A thin hand reached out and tapped several 
keys in the desk's built-in computer keyboard. "According to our records, Director Azamizu 
lives in the GLAS condominium complex in district 2." He looked over at Madigan. "There's a 
number of construction projects in that area, and at least three of them are behind schedule. 
It's possible that those three are desperate enough to overwork their construction Boomers 
beyond their recommenced time periods."

     "Such a foolish thing could result in a Boomer Rampage," replied Madigan seriously.

     Quincy nodded. "In that case, I suggest that you extend that invitation to Director
Azamizu before a Boomer rampage occurs and we lose the chance to discuss this with him."

     Madigan stood. "I'll extend the invitation personally, Sir."

     "Very well. One other thing."

     "Sir?"

     "Mr. Faust has no need to know about our discussion with Mr. Azamizu."

     "I understand sir."

     "You may go."

     Quincy waited until the door shut behind Madigan before he turned his chair around and 
stared out into the city below.



Chapter 32



Nene's Apartment
December 23, 2035
12:33am
                                                      
     The only light in the small apartment came from the computer's monitor, the only sound 
was the light tapping of someone using a keyboard.

     Nene blinked twice in mid-type, then reached forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. 
I should get some sleep, she thought. There's no telling what's going to happen 
tomorrow.

     Between her new job and the current situation, she was feeling tired. Yes, she enjoyed the 
challenge she was going to have, attempting to secure the ADP computer system, but Alan's 
assessment was worrying. She saw long hours and hard work ahead of her and Alan before she felt 
the system was safe.

     Nene yawned and stretched. And what about Alan? He seemed nice enough, but he was hiding 
something behind the smile and helpful attitude. His records didn't show anything strange, but 
his medical condition was still a big unknown. Could she trust him? She was going to have to 
ask around -- maybe Daley would know something about him, something that wasn't in the records. 
He seemed to know Alan.

     She looked at the code on the screen and shook her head. She hadn't been home more then 
three minutes before she'd sat in front of her computer and started coding. The idea had been 
simmering in her mind for most of the day. The code, now nothing more then a series of half-
cryptic lines, was the first step in securing the ADP computer system. The firewall wouldn't 
stop everyone, but it would, once completed, stop most no-talent hacks from getting through. 
For the more serious cracker, though, Nene was going to have to give it more thought.

     What about the Knight Sabers? 

     She winced at that thought. It was going to be tougher to slip out of work now. There was 
only one person who could cover for her now - Alan. There would be a limit on when and how 
often she could slip away. On the plus side, she wouldn't be working very many night shifts 
now. But, still. . . .

     She frowned. I'll have to play this carefully, she thought. Hopefully, there 
wouldn't be too many days where she would have to slip out of work early. She just hoped Sylia 
would understand.

     Her thoughts went to the research she'd done for Sylia earlier. Finding doctors that 
specialized in blood disorders wasn't too hard, but the information on the disorder itself  
was rare. She managed to scrape enough data together to give Sylia an overview of the con-
dition, as well as an outline of the treatment, but not much more. 

     The search for information on the Boomer attack at MALCORP's pharmaceutical research and 
manufacturing center was somewhat more substantial. The preliminary reports were already in the 
ADP computer system and Nene had no problem with accessing them. What the reports said made her 
uneasy. If the ADP troopers who'd survived the attack were right, the Boomers were using a 
force shield like the ones the team had destroyed -- was it only two nights ago? 

     She rubbed her eyes, feeling the grit. Just then, Mackie's face popped into her memory. 
Nene stopped for a minute and smiled. She was pretty sure she loved him and he her. She now 
noticed a maturity in him that hadn't been there before he left for Germany, a quiet assurance 
that she rather liked. And he sure could kiss. . . .

     Nene sighed and saved her work, then turn the computer off. She stretched slowly and 
yawned. She walked over to her bed and flopped face-first on it, too tired to even remove her 
clothes. With one hand, she reached out and set her clock alarm. Within a minute, she was sound 
asleep.



Ri-san Bar
District 6
December 23, 2035                                                
12:57am 

     Kosaku Sanemori nudged Daley. "Wake up, we're here."

     Daley Wong opened one eye. "Any rampaging Boomers in sight?"

     "Nope."

     "Do you see a large individual, with dark skin, who could be mistaken for a Boomer in any 
light?" 

     "Yep."

     "Does he look mad?"

     "Nope. He doesn't look happy, though."

     "He's pissed."

     Ko looked at his superior, a puzzled look on his face. "I missed something."

     Daley yawned and unbuckled his seatbelt. "There are three things you should never do in 
MegaTokyo," he said, stretching as much as the passenger seat would allow. "Never cross GENOM, 
never double-cross the Knight Sabers, and never get Skeeter Karns angry."

     Ko looked out the windshield at the giant that was standing several dozen meters away. 
"That's Skeeter Karns?"

     "In the flesh." Daley yawned and opened the car door. "I'll introduce him to you."

     "Is that wise? You just said he's angry."

     "Not at us. But someone is going to wish they hadn't started this."

     They both got of the police car and walked toward the giant. There were police and firemen 
everywhere, along with a small number of onlookers. Most of the firemen's attention was on the 
remains of two cars in the middle of the road. Around them, ADP troopers were double checking 
the surrounding buildings for any evidience of battle. As they passed an alley, Daley noted the 
unmistakable form of a body with a blanket over it. Several portable floodlights lit up the 
block as bright as day, showing every flaw and blemish of the surrounding buildings.

      The acrid smoke of burning rubber mixed with the bitter tang of an explosive residue that 
tickled the back of Daley's throat. Beside him, Ko coughed. "How are we going to play this?"


     "We'll ask Skeeter what happened."

     "We're not going to arrest him?" asked Ko.

     "For what?" replied Daley wearily. "Any illegal firepower that we could arrest him for is 
at least five kilometers from here by now. There's nothing here to connect him with any illegal 
activities, and he's had plenty of time to hide either the bodies or the evidence. Skeeter 
never goes looking for trouble, but he always finishes it. Did you hear what happened to the 
Red Cobras a year back?"

     "They got wiped out in a turf war with a rival Triad."

     "Not quite. Ronnie Yee was stupid enough to piss off Skeeter Karns."

     Ko grimaced. "I remember when they found the body. It looked like someone had used the 
Triad leader for batting practice. Any evidience ever turn up to point to our friend here?"

     "Not a shred. Everyone in the city knows he did it, but Skeeter's men are loyal to him 
like Yakuza to their Oyabun, and there weren't enough surviving Red Cobras to fill a phone 
booth. Plus, Ronnie Yee wasn't well liked by anyone, so nobody was really eager to push the 
issue."

     Ko frowned. "If this guy is such a danger, why hasn't anyone tried to take him down?"

     Daley sighed. "Because it all depends on how you define danger. Skeeter is doing a hell of 
a lot more good then evil."

     "Define good."

     The redhead shrugged. "Skeeter Karns runs this area of the city like it's a separate 
country. In return, he cares for the people down here." He motioned with his head to a store-
front they were passing. "That's one of three medical clinics he finances in this area. "For 
most of the citizens around here, it's the only health care they get."

     "That's nothing new. Shikichi Sato sponsors three soup kitchens and two homeless shelters, 
and he's the biggest crook in the city next to Quincy."

     "True. But that's just the start. Skeeter gives more money to the orphanage then the city 
does. There are at least twenty students in college right now that are there because Skeeter's 
paying for them to be there. No one runs drugs through this part of town - no one who wants to 
live that is."

     It was the taller man's turn to shrug. "He doesn't like competition."

     Daley shook his head. "You don't understand. Skeeter doesn't allow any drug dealing on his 
turf and that includes his own people. Why do you think most of the Red Cobras ended on slabs 
in the morgue? Ronnie tried to move drugs into the area, and paid for it."

     "It sounds like you admire the guy," said Ko.

     "He's a better man then most of the 'city's leaders.' You know where you stand with him 
from the start, plus he willing to talk to policemen like us -- he's been funneling information 
to Leon and me for several years now."

     "A gang leader who likes talking to cops? I've got to see this."

     Skeeter turned and saw them. "Good morning Inspector," he said in a calm still voice.

     "Problems, Skeeter?" asked Daley.

     "Not really."

     "Hey boss!" shouted a stocky man with a craggy face and short reddish hair who was running 
up behind Skeeter. "I believe we may have discovered something about the identity of the 
malefactors behind this assault."

     "Yell a little louder, Doc," said Skeeter in the same still tone. "Only the two ADP 
officers here heard you."

     At the sight of Daley and Kosaku, the craggy-faced man rolled off a series of curses that 
combined inventiveness with vulgarity.

     "Nice to see you too, Doc," replied Daley with a tired smile. "Where's Chika?"

     "She's around," replied Skeeter.

     "How many people did you lose?"

     "The causality opinion is currently at five deceased and twelve injured," replied Doc.

     "Oh, shit," muttered Daley. He looked at Doc. "What happened?"

     Doc looked at Skeeter. "Tell the inspector about the attack, and your discovery. I need to 
check on my people. Excuse me." The giant stalked away toward the small number of ambulances 
that were still loading injured people.

     Daley tapped Ko on the shoulder. "Find out whoever is in charge of this mess and get me 
some details." Ko nodded and walked off.

     The inspector waited until the younger man had walked out of earshot before he said to 
Doc. "All right, give the highlights in small words, if you don't mind. I'm not up to thousand 
yen words right now."

     It took the craggy-faced man three minutes, using small words, to outline the attack by 
the Boomers. Daley listened, frowning as he realized Doc was leaving out some things. After Doc 
finished, Daley said, "So, you have no idea who killed the three Boomers in the street?"

     "A moderately factual evaluation of the event, yes."

     Daley sighed. "And Skeeter killed the fourth one himself?"

     "By cleaving off the Cyberdroid's head in a staggering accomplishment of potency."

     "Knock off the high vocabulary," growled Daley. "He tore off the Boomer's head with his 
bare hands?"

     "Yes."

     "Skeeter's angry, isn't he?"

     "Very."

     "Does he know who's behind it?"

     Doc took a deep breath. "He thinks he does."

     "Who?"

     "I can't say."

     "Damm it, Doc!" Daley growled. "He can't take the law into his own hands!"

     "If he doesn't do it, who will?" Doc replied sharply. "The government? Those fat suits 
don't go out for lunch without permission from GENOM Tower. The police? You guys in the ADP are 
nothing more then sticky plaster over a festering wound, and the N-police are not equipped for 
the job."

     "But it isn't right!"

     "This isn't a perfect world." Doc took another deep breath. "Inspector, I've known Skeeter 
Karns for most of my life. We came to the orphanage about the same time, and went into the gang 
together. I have seen enough gang warfare to last me a life time. There's one thing we learned 
early and often -- if someone hits you, you hit them back twice as hard. It's that philosophy 
we've live by for a long time, and we're not going to change it to suit some suit's idea of 
'order'."

     They stared at each other for several seconds, then Daley threw his hands up in disgust. 
"Short of arresting all of you, I can't stop you. But make damm sure of your target because so 
help me, I'll will run every one of you out of the city if you're wrong, or you leave enough 
evidence to point to you. Is that clear?"

     Doc smiled. "Loud and clear, Inspector. Now that the obligatory reading of the riot act 
has been read, I think you'll want to see this."

     "What?"

     "This way."

     Doc led the ADP officer toward a shattered storefront. Broken glass crunched under their 
feet, and there was a slight haze of smoke around the shattered windows. Doc went through the 
doorway first, followed by Daley. "What a mess," Daley mumbled. "No wonder Skeeter is pissed."

     Inside, the smell of gunpowder was stronger, and the haze thicker. Several ADP techs were 
examining several areas of the bar. Two were kneeling over the body of a BU-55C Boomer that was 
lying in the middle of a smashed table, while another one had the Boomer's head sitting on the 
bar. 

     "The defacement to his establishment isn't what Skeeter is cantankerous about," replied 
Doc. "Rather his wrath is devoted to the individuals who sent the object over there to 
undertake the assignment of eradicating him." He pointed at the dead boomer.

     "Hey, you!" snarled one of the techs, a tall gangly man with fiery red hair. "I told you 
to stay out of here!"

     Doc turned to look at the tech. "Are you referring to me?" he asked mildly.

     "Yes you ape, I'm talking to you! This is a police crime scene. So get your ass out of 
here before I have you tossed into a cell!"

     "And how many of you confederates will it necessitate accomplishing such a task?" Doc 
asked in the same mild voice. "I am more then competent to deposit all of you into the medical 
center with sufficient incapacities to keep you out of your chosen labor for an elongated 
period of time, a circumstance that the gentleman standing adjacent to me will not be blissful 
about."

     The tech frowned, trying to understand what Doc had just said. "Huh?"

     The older woman who was examining the Boomer's head looked up. "Doc said that if you tried 
to throw him out he will resist, and you're no match for him. Also, Inspector Wong, your 
superior officer, is standing next to him, and he will give you an ass chewing like you've 
never had before. So, I suggest you shut up and go back to work."

     The angry tech's mouth opened, closed, then opened again, like a fish out of water. The 
female tech sighed. "Clancy," she said in a soothing voice, "Why don't you go out to the truck 
and get a bag to put big, blue and ugly into?"

     "Sure Sarge," replied Clancy, glaring at Doc with undisguised hatred. The shorter man 
ignored the look. Then, the tech stalked out the door.

     "An incomparable illustration of the hypothesis that some human being's mouths are 
inverted to the capacity of their intellects," said Doc with a shrug.

     "He's young and doesn't know any better," replied the woman.

     "What do you have, Akito?" asked Daley.

     The tech was short, slim, and looked as fragile as a china doll. "We have a modified BU-
55C Boomer with its head torn off."  

     "I know that much. What did you find?"

     Akito turned the head over and opened a small panel in the back of the Boomer's head. She 
tilted the head so the two men could see inside. "GENOM uses J-4533 memory chips in these 
models," she said in a smooth voice. "They're exclusive to GENOM and almost impossible to get 
outside of the factory. Somebody's replace them with G and B K-44 memory chips - not as fast as 
the J-4533s, but they are more robust, less prone to overheating, and a hell of a lot easier to 
get."

     "What does that tell us?"

     "That this isn't a random Boomer rampage."

     "We concluded that before the attack was over," said Doc.

     "But in order to use the K-44s, this boomer had to be reprogrammed, and there's not many 
people out of GEMON that could have done it."

     "Assuming GENOM isn't behind this," said Daley.

     "Highly unlikely," replied Doc. "Skeeter does not get in GENOM's way unless he has to."

     "A wise course of action."

     All three turned in the direction of the new voice. A tall, heavy set man with a long coat 
stood in the doorway. Behind him, two larger figures stood, their size and menace declaring 
themselves as Boomers even though they were in shadow.

     "Who are you?" asked Daley. "And why are you here at a crime scene?" Out of the corner of 
his eye, he saw Doc walked behind the bar. 

     "My name is Raymond Tarson," replied the man with a half smile. "I'm a special assistant 
to Chairman Quincy."

     "So the Wolf has sent a jackal to pick up the carcass," said a voice from behind Tarson.

     Tarson half-spun in surprise. "What--"

     A large figure stood behind the Boomers. "Tell your tin men to move before I tear off 
their heads too."

     "Let Mr. Karns through," Tarson hissed.

     The Boomers stepped aside, allowing the giant to pass them, but not without having to put 
his hands on their shoulders. Skeeter loomed over Tarson. "Tell the Chairman he's not going to 
sweep this one under the rug," he said in a cold voice.

     A hint of panic flared in Tarson's eyes. "But GENOM has absolutly no part in this --"

     "I don't care."

     The three words lowered the temperature in the room several degrees. Skeeter, who was a 
full head taller then Tarson, continued. "I don't blame GENOM for this -- yet. But someone has 
tried to kill me, and has killed half a dozen of my people. I don't forgive or forget easily, 
Mr. Tarson, and I always take care of my business. The Boomers stay until the ADP has finished 
their investigation. Am I clear?"

     "But --"

     "This is a dangerous area of the city, and people here don't like Boomers much. They hate 
GENOM bigwigs even more. You might not make it out of the area alive."

     "I'll get an ADP escort!"

     "I'm sorry," said Daley. "But We're stretched to the limit right now. I don't have anyone 
to spare." He motioned to the three techs in the bar. "Most of the personnel here are not 
front-line officers." He then glanced over at Akito. "Isn't Clancy going to need help with that 
boomer bag?"

     He woman nodded. "I think so. Joe, Marasura, we'd better give Clancy a hand."

     All three hurried out of the bar. Tarson shot Daley a dirty look. "This is illegal!" he 
shouted. "I'll have your badge!' I -- ULK!"

     Skeeter reached out and grabbed the special assistant by the lapels and hauled him up 
until they were eye to eye. Both Boomers moved forward to help their boss, but suddenly froze 
in mid-stride. Doc, behind the bar, was holding a small box. "An unqualified success," he announced.

     Daley turned to look at him. "What did you do?"

     "I'll explain later," replied Doc quickly.

     Daley turned back to watch the confrontation. 

     The look on Tarson's face was one of panic. He was dangling a third of a meter off the 
ground, nose to nose with arguably the most physically imposing human in the city, and his 
bodyguards hadsomehow been imoblized. "You can't do this!" he squawked.

     "You're not on GENOM'S turf," said Skeeter in the same calm voice he'd been using since 
the attack. "You're on mine, and we play by my rules."

     "Inspector Wong!" Tarson howled. "I demand that this man be arrested!"

     Daley frowned. "Skeeter, are you going to resist arrest?"

     "I feel like resisting right now."

     Daley sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that." The Inspector walked toward the front door.

     Tarson's eyes widen even more. "Where are going?" he screeched.

     Daley stopped and looked at him. "You don't expect me to arrest him all by myself, do 
you?"

     "But -"

     "Skeeter's already stated he's planning to resist arrest. That means I'm going to need 
help." He looked at Doc. "How many ADP troopers should I get?"

     Doc scratched his chin. "I would recommend at least half a dozen if you don't mind getting 
a couple killed. If you want to avoid any deaths, a full dozen should do it."

     Daley made a face. "That's means it'll take about five minutes to get them together,
assuming they're on-site, and another couple of minutes to get back over here." He looked at 
Tarson. "Do you think you can hold out for at least seven minutes?"

     Tarson went pale. "Shoot him!"

     "With what? I left my pistol in the car."

     Beads of sweat dripped from the GENOM man's face. "All right!" he shouted. "You have 
twelve hours, then GENOM wants those Boomers back! Do we have an understanding?"

     Skeeter turned to look at Daley. "Is twelve hours long enough?"

     "It should be." Daley turned to look at Akito. "Can you complete your analysis by then?"

     "I don't think that'll be a problem."

     Daley gave her a tired smile. "Good." He glanced over at the hapless Tarson. "As a sign of 
good faith, I'll make sure there's a copy of the ADP report with the Boomer's remains when you 
come to pick them up tomorrow. Fair enough?"

     Tarson, in no position to complain, nodded. With almost a sigh of regret, Skeeter released 
the assistant. "Thank you for your flexibility," said the giant, a faint hint of amusement in 
his voice.

     Tarson straightened out his coat and suit, avoiding the giant's eyes for several seconds. 
He didn't notice Skeeter step back and place a hand on each of the frozen boomer's shoulder, 
the same shoulders he'd touched when he went past then the first time. By the time Tarson 
looked up, Skeeter had stepped forward again, looking as if he hadn't moved.

     "I won't forget this," Tarson hissed. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

      Skeeter didn't look intimidated. "You're nothing more then a lapdog, Tarson, feeding off 
whatever scraps Quincy throws in your direction. I think it's time you left."

     "What about my Bodyguards?"

     "They should be all right now, though I'd advise against any 'sudden Boomer rampages' in 
the area for the foreseeable future. We take care of our own."

     Tarson gave Skeeter a hard stare that made no impression on the big man, then gave every-
one in the room a withering glare, saving his best for Daley. Then, without a word, he stepped 
around Skeeter and walked out the door, followed by the two, now-mobile, Boomers.

     "An enthralling expose of phobia over conventional perception," announced Doc with a 
smile.

     Ko walked into the bar, looking concerned. "What happened?" he asked. 

     "An insignificant controversy between the GENOM conglomerate and the spokesman of the 
indigenous inhabitants."

     Ko looked at Doc. "Do you always talk like that?"

     "Don't get him started," said Daley. "Or he'll start using words that have more then three 
syllables, and I'm not ready for that this early in the morning. What do you have?"

     Ko shrugged. "About what we already knew. Four dead Boomers, several burnt-up or shot-up 
cars, several unidentified bodies, and unless my eyesight is going, one really pissed off 
Special Assistant to GENOM's Chairman."

     Daley arched an eyebrow. "You know Tarson?"

     "Only well enough to know that he's a slimy bastard who I wouldn't trust as far as I could 
throw this building. I work a case a couple of years back, involving an apparent suicide at 
GENOM Tower -- Tarson secretary at the time. We didn't hit it off."

     "Why not?"

     "Because I thought then, and still do now, he helped the poor woman to 'jump' off the 
Tower. I couldn't prove a damm thing, though, and he knew it. I came close to punching him out 
a couple of times."

     "An astonishing dependability in Mr. Tarson's disposition that manages to aggravate every-
one he encounters."

     "Doc," said Daley. "If you use a word larger the two syllables in the next ten 
minutes, I'll lock you up for obstruction."

     "Leave the Inspector alone, Doc," said Skeeter quietly. "He isn't the enemy -- at least, 
not this time." The craggy-faced man nodded, but said nothing.
     
      "You said there were several unidentified bodies," Daley said to Ko. "Where were they?"

     "There were three two blocks from here -- looks like some sort of roadblock ambush. There 
were two other cars there, neither one in great shape. Both bodies and cars looked like they 
walked into a storm of lead. We've two more bodies outside, in about the same shape." Ko looked 
over at Skeeter, and said in a louder voice, "I would say that anyone carrying that much 
firepower would have some illegal weapons. The ME thinks several of the unknowns were shot with 
ammo larger then 7.62 millimeter."

     Skeeter ignored the veiled jab and walked over the bar. "The usual, Doc," he said in a 
soft voice. Doc pulled out a bottle and splashed some clear liquid into a glass. The giant 
picked it up with his right hand and sipped. Ko continued to watch Skeeter, his expression one 
of watchfulness.

     "What about the cars?" asked Daley quickly, attracting Ko's attention. "Any ID on them?" 

     "The N-Police are running the car plates and VINs through the computer right now. We 
should know who owns them shortly."

     "Fine. I want you to go out and supervise the loading of the dead Boomers and get an 
escort together. You and I will go back with the bodies."

     Ko looked unconvinced. "Am I missing something here?"

     "Nothing more then I am," replied Daley. "Which right now is a good hot bath and ten hours 
of sleep." He yawned. "I'll be out in a couple of minutes. You get to drive."

     Still looking unconvinced, Ko walked out. Daley waited until the detective left before he 
turned and leaned on the bar. "A scotch," he said to Doc. "Make it a double."

     "Do you know what's going on?" Skeeter asked in the same soft voice he'd used to order his 
drink.

     "Jeena filled me on the highlights," Daley replied. Doc placed the filled glass in front 
of him. Daley picked it up and looked at it. "Do you really want to get involved in a Corpwar?"

     "I'm already involved," muttered Skeeter. "This incident is just an upping of the ante."

     "You're not folding, are you?"

     "I don't fold, Inspector. Some people have a hard time believing that"

     "Was one of those people Ronnie Yee?"

     Skeeter shrugged. "Some people can't understand 'no', no matter how it is phrased."

     "But you're throwing yourself and your people into the middle of a Corpwar," said Daley in 
a low voice. "They'll slice you up and spit out the pieces."

     "Do you know what the real differences between GENOM and their ilk and the Red Cobras 
are?" asked Skeeter. "The Corps has more expensive toys and use high sounding words to hide the 
blade they'll stick in your back." He looked at Daley. "But when it all comes down to it, 
there's no real difference between the Corps and the gangs - they're all sharks at feeding 
time. Kill enough of them, and the rest will feed on the bodies long enough for you to get 
away."

     Daley downed  his drink. "I can't stop you," he said, placing the glass on the bartop.

     "I wouldn't expect you to," replied Skeeter. "But I'm not going in blindly. I think it's 
time that I offered my services directly to MALCORP."

     Daley furred his brow. "You trust them?"

     "Of course not. But there's an old saying, Aabic I believe,- 'the enemy of my enemy is my 
friend.' I think MALCORP needs some friends in this city."

     "To go after Gulf and Bradley Japan?"

     "Right now, they are the threat to the city. GENOM is beginning to realize what exactly is 
going on. Quincy may be a cold-hearted bastard, but he isn't stupid. I suspect that he's 
already taking steps to deal himself into this assorted affair."
 
     Daley rubbed his forehead. "This is getting out of hand," he muttered. "The last thing 
this city needs is a full-scale, three-way Corpwar."  

     "It started getting out of hand the moment the Bradley twins managed to kidnap Janie Van-
Dell and brought her here." The giant looked at his drink. "If you want my advice, try and keep 
your people out of this. They'll only get killed."

     "You know I can't do that." Daley stood.

     "I know. But it had to be said."

     "You can answer one question for me before I go."

     "If I can."

     "How did you stop Tarson's bodyguards from interfering?"

     Skeeter smiled and held out his left hand. Sitting on the palm was two small electrical 
devices, each about the size of a thumbnail. "Electrical-nuero disrupters," he said. "Each can 
paralyze a 55C for roughly two minutes before the power cell is exhausted. I placed them on the 
Boomers when I shouldered my way past them and removed them while Tarson was pulling himself 
together."

     Daley picked up one and looked at it carefully. "We sure could use something like this in 
the ADP."

     "There are several problems with using them," said Doc. He reached over the bar and gently 
took the device from Daley. "The first is range. They have to be placed by hand, in the right 
place to get the maximum effect. If either one of those 55Cs had been in fighting mode, there's 
no way Skeeter could have gotten close enough to place them."

     He dropped the device back into the giant's hand. "The second problem is adaptability," he 
continued. "These are designed and built to be used on C-class boomers only. They will not work 
on B-class or Sexoids. I haven't gotten around to developing those yet, which leads me into the 
last problem -- cost. Those two there cost more the you make in five years."

     Daley whistled. "I see what you mean."

     "It's a start," said Skeeter somberly, closing his hand around the disrupters. "But enough 
about modern marvels. My night is far from over, and I suspect that yours is also. I will not 
occupy any more of your time tonight."

     The Inspector nodded. "Just be careful, OK? This city would be a bit more unstable without 
your presence."

     "Stability is a state of mind, Inspector, as are most human conditions. Good-bye."

     Daley turned and walked out of the bar, his brain trying to understand the new twists and 
turns that had been added in the last several hours. By the time he reached the car, he'd given 
up. Skeeter's right, he thought. If GENOM gets involved -- and they will -- this 
entire situation could blow up in everyone's faces. In any case, the ADP has another long night 
ahead of us  -- assuming we don't get caught in the crossfire. . . .



Sylia's Apartment
December 23, 2035
12:59am 

     Sylia turned when she heard the door open behind her. "What are you still doing up?" she 
asked the figure standing in the doorway.

     "I can't sleep," Priss replied, walking into the room stiffly, her broken arm held in 
place by a sling and she was wearing a pair of Mackie's old pajamas. She sat on the couch and 
stared defiantly at her leader. "Besides, I'm usually up at this time of the night."

     "Care for some coffee?"

     "I could use a cup."

     Both women were silent until Sylia poured a cup and handed it to Priss. "How are you 
feeling?" she asked the singer.

     "I'm stiff, sore and this damm cast itches. How are you feeling?"

     Sylia sat and sipped her coffee before she answered. "Tired."

     "Are you still thinking about Greg?"

     Sylia frowned. "Why do you ask that?"

     Priss arched an eyebrow. "Because you look like you've got something on your mind that 
isn't related to work."

     "Is it that obvious?"

     "Maybe not to the others, but I've met Greg Mallory and they haven't. He doesn't strike me 
as a man who lets things stand between him and his goals."

     Sylia gave her a wan smile. "He hasn't changed that much in thirteen years."

     "How well did you know him thirteen years ago?"

     "Well enough. My childhood wasn't a normal one as you well know. Bioescape had its own 
school for it's employee's children and that's where I met him. He and I were in the same 
classes." At Priss' questioning stare, Sylia said. "I was already three grade levels ahead of 
everyone else my age, so they stuck me with the older students. Most of them considered me some 
sort of freak and avoided me. Greg was about the only one who'd ever speak to me as a person."

     "What was he like then?"

     "A perfect gentleman. Very reserved and quiet, but sometimes his motives for doing things 
were hidden. He was always reading some book or other about knights fighting dragons or other 
evil beasts, and he seemed to think of me as someone that needed protecting."

     Priss snorted. "Not anymore."

     Sylia nodded. "Still, he always managed to treat me as a human being and about the only 
boy I ever brought home that father ever approved of. . . ." Her voice trailed off as her face 
took on a thoughtful look, suffused with some worry.

     There was silence in the room for a while. Frowning, Priss asked, "What do you think of 
him now?"

     Sylia blinked, then stared at Priss. "What did you say?" she asked in a distant voice.

     "I said, what do you think of him now?"

     "In what way?"

     Priss rolled her eyes. "Are you attracted to him?"

     "I don't know."

     Priss leaned forward slowly, looking concerned. "Are you all right?" she asked softly. 
"I've never seen you this. . . ."

     "Uncertain? Distracted?" replied Sylia. She stood and went over to the window. As she 
stared out into the lighted city below, she said, "Greg has managed to touch a part of me that 
I thought I'd buried a long time ago."

     "But how?" asked Priss sharply. "You've met him twice in the last twelve hours, and now 
your acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush."

     "Is it really that bad?" Sylia asked.

     "Yes! Right now you could give Linna moping lessons. She isn't this bad after she'd broken 
up with a guy, let alone when she's with one."

     "And what about you and Leon?" 

     Priss glared at her. "You're changing the subject."

     "Am I really?" asked Sylia softly. "From the way you kissed him this afternoon, it looks 
like he finally got to you."

     "I was thanking him for saving my life," the singer grumbled.

     "I'd believed that if I hadn't seen how much you enjoyed kissing him." Sylia turned to 
look at her. "And Leon's reaction was interesting. Do you want to tell me about it?"

     Priss leaned back, folded her arms and glowered at her friend. Finally she said. "This 
never leaves the room. Got it?"

     "I understand." Sylia walked back to her chair and sat.

     Priss, slowly at first, then with more smoothness as she continued, told Sylia everything 
that had happened from the time Nene had left her with the Black Knights to the time Leon had 
delivered her back to the Knight Sabers. Sylia sat quietly, taking small sips from her coffee 
as she listened. 

     After Priss finished, Sylia asked, "What are your feelings about Leon?"  

     Priss looked uncomfortable. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "For a while there,he 
was the opposite of his usual image of 'Mr. Macho' and I found him attractive. But actual 
romance? I don't know."

     Sylia sighed. "Now you know how I feel." She shook her head slowly. "Why did it have to be 
now, for both of us?"

     Priss looked at her blankly. "What?"

     "How many relationships have you had since you joined the Knight Sabers?"

     "Not many," admitted the singer. "The longest one lasted only about three weeks. Leon's 
the closest thing I've had to a steady relationship the last three years."

     "I've had even less," said Sylia quietly. "In some corners of the city they still call me 
'The Ice Queen'. There was a time when I had to turn down several dates in a week."

     "Why?"

     "I couldn't afford to have a relationship with someone who I wasn't one hundred percent 
sure of." She was silent for a moment, then continued. "There were too many men who saw me as a 
chance for the rich life, others as a chance to parade me as a 'Trophy Wife'."

     "I know what you mean," replied Priss. "But you think Greg is different?"

     "I honestly don't know. He doesn't need the money -- MALCORP makes more in a day then my 
entire fortune is worth, and his family is the largest shareholder in the corp by far. He's 
also isn't the type to settle for an intellectual inferior as a wife."

     "Sounds like a snob."

     "In his position, he can afford to be. I also found him to be a lot like me -- the same 
opinions about some subjects and the willingness to do something about it. At times, it was 
like looking in a mirror."

     "I found him to be arrogant windbag," said Priss flatly.

     Sylia shook her head. "Not arrogance," she said. "He has a self-confidence in him he uses 
like a weapon. That's why I'm uncertain about him -- I don't know why I'm attracted to him."

     "Sitting up all night thinking about it isn't going to solve the problem." Priss stood and 
continued, "Get some sleep and start worrying about it tomorrow."

     "I can't." Sylia replied. "I was getting ready to activate the emergency beacon when you 
came in. We now know where Janie VanDell is."

     "We're going to rescue her tonight?"

     "The Knight Sabers have a meeting with the Black Knights at three-thirty this morning."

     "That's moving fast."

     "If our information is right, Janie is in serious condition -- serious enough to die if we 
wait too long."

     "All right. Let me get dressed."

     Sylia shook her head. "You're staying here."

     "Oh no you don't!" Priss snarled. "You're not keeping me out of this!"

     "You're in no condition to go into action."

     "I don't care. If it's as bad as you say it is, you're going to need all the help you can 
get!"

     "In what?" asked Sylia mildly. "Your hardsuit is a total loss, and your backup suit isn't 
up to the task." She stood carefully. "You need to rest more then you need to be with us."

     "And how far can you trust these Black Knights?" yelled Priss. "They're mercenaries!"

     "So are the Knight Sabers."

     The silence drifted between them like a fog. "Why?" Priss asked finally. "What do you know 
about them that makes you trust them?"

     "Because Greg Mallory is the leader of the unit," said Mackie from the doorway.

     Priss turned to look at him. "He's what?"

     "Greg Mallory is Knight One," said Sylia in a flat, emotionless voice. "He was the one who 
put the Black Knights together."

     "Just like . . .  you putting the Knight Sabers together," Priss whispered. "You weren't 
kidding when you said you two had a lot in common."

     "I'm having a hard time believing it too," said Mackie as he walked into the room. "Sis, 
I'll start prepping the suits after I alert the others."

     Sylia gave him a slight nod. "Thank you, Mackie."

     "Do you want to use the Knight Wing tonight?"

     "I think we should. Make sure it's fully armed and prepped for ground support."

     "Sure thing, Sis. Do you want me to Prep Priss' backup suit?"

     "Let me stay with Mackie in the Knight Wing," said Priss quickly. "I can man the weapon 
systems while he does the flying."

     "I could use the help," said Mackie. "If I had a choice, I would prefer concentrating on 
the flying end of the equation."

     Sylia took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. "All right," she said firmly. 
"Priss, you can suit up and give Mackie a hand by manning the weapons systems on the Knight 
Wing. But that's all you do. If you try and get involved on the ground, I'll not only lock you 
in a room with Leon, I'll supply the rope so he can tie you to the bed! Then, we'll find out if 
he's into that sort of thing. Am I clear?"

     "We could always film it," suggested Mackie, with a glint in his eye. "I'm sure Leon would 
want a copy."

     "That's not a bad idea," said Sylia.

     Priss eyes widened at Sylia's threat and Mackie's proposition. "You wouldn't!" she managed 
to breathe.

     "Try me," said Sylia in a low voice, a trace of a smile on her face. "I know if I left you 
here, you'd just follow. At least this way, I know where you are at all times."

     "All right!" huffed Priss. "You win. I'll stay in the aircraft with Mackie. Satisfied?"

     "For now. Mackie, Prep Priss' backup suit and let's get going."

     Mackie smiled. "Now you're beginning to sound like your old self." He turned and briskly 
walked out of the room. Priss followed, but not before scowling at Sylia. The leader of the 
Knight Sabers responded with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing.

     After the door closed behind them, Sylia folded her arms and allowed herself to sigh. "Is 
my old self good enough for the future?" she asked quietly.




Chapter 33



GLAS Condominium Complex 					
District 2
December 23, 2035
1:44am

	The GLAS Condominium Complex was made up of four towers, each seventy-five stories high, 
centered around a hundred stories tall central tower. Over fourteen thousand people called the 
complex home, as did a dozen shops, three restaurants and two bars. The security and general 
maintenance was provided by a human-supervised boomer force. It was nice place to live.

	Until now.

	Two cars stopped by the rear entry doors of the South Tower. The cars were nondescript 
models, notable only for their tinted windows. The doors opened and six people stepped out in 
the cold night. The car's engines were still running, a sign the cars were still manned.

	Two of the six had the height and mass of Boomers in their human disguises, and seemed 
impervious to the cold. The other four appeared to be human, but all were bundled warmly 
against the chill to the point that it was impossible to distinguish anything about them. With 
one Boomer leading and the other brining up the rear, the six strode up to the rear entry doors 
and went inside.

	A short corridor led to the main lobby. The lobby was not overly large, but was nicely 
furnished. A alcove had a couch and a couple of overstuffed chairs, while a couple of plastic 
plants flanked the glass doors of the main entrance. Next to the short hallway, a bank of four 
elevators led to the upper floors and two corridors branched off at right angles to the 
elevators leading to offices on the rest of the first floor. There was a small desk and two 
doors leading to small offices, one on each side of the lobby.

	The lobby was almost deserted. A single D-class Boomer was on duty as a doorman standing 
behind the desk. It scanned the group as they walked in, noting that none of the faces it saw 
matched anyone on its resident database. "Can I help you?" it asked, moving towards them.

	A lavender-haired woman pulled her parka hood back. "Is Mr. Satoshi Azamizu at home?" she 
asked in a cool voice.

	"I'm sorry," replied the Boomer doorman. "But that is a question I cannot answer, and I 
must --"

	"GENOM override code Alpha-seven-one-one-five-three-two-nine-four-Mu."

	The doorman stiffened. "Override accepted."

	Kate Madigan nodded. The override code was standard programming on D-class Boomers, 
allowing a GENOM employee to override the Boomer's programming in certain cases. Very few 
people know of the override's existence, but it was very useful when stealth was important. She 
now had complete control over this Boomer.

	"You will answer all my questions, fully and completely. Do you understand?"

	"Yes," replied the Boomer.

	"How long have you been on duty?"

	"Since eleven o'clock this evening."

	Madigan nodded again. "Is Mr. Satoshi Azamizu at home?"

	"Yes. He came in about eleven forty-five tonight."

	"Is he still living in apartment 2905?"

	"Yes."

	"Is he alone?"
	
	"He came in alone. I do not know if there was someone else waiting for him in his 
apartment."

	"Does he live alone?"

	"Yes."

	"All right," said Madigan. "Listen carefully. Sixty seconds from now, you will go to your 
recharge station and power down for forty-five minutes. After you finish recharging, you will 
wipe the preceding hour from your memory files, including all record of this conversation. Do 
you understand?"

	"Yes."

	"Execute orders." Madigan watch the doorman walk away, then turned to look at one of the 
Boomers. "Stay here," she said. "Find a place where you can observe the lobby without 
attracting attention. You are to take action only if you are threatened by significant force 
directed at you, the mission is being threatened, or I give you a direct order. Understand?"

	The disguised Boomer nodded and moved away, searching for a place where it could carry 
out the orders. The other five, led by Madigan, moved to the elevators and entered the first 
available car. One of the humans, a scar-faced man by the name of Tebba, pressed the button for 
the twenty-ninth floor. "Any last orders Ma'am?" he asked.

	Madigan frowned. "I want to be out of here in less then fifteen minutes. Lopez, you hold 
the elevator. I do not want any public display of weapons unless the situation calls for it. 
And if the situation calls for it, we will all be in a lot of trouble. If we run into any night 
owls, flash those badges first. Satoshi Azamizu is to be taken ALIVE and as in as good a shape 
as can be managed -- which means he has to be able to talk coherently. If any one of you screw 
up, it will be the last time you EVER screw up. Understand?"

	The humans, well-versed in this sort of operation, merely nodded. The Boomer didn't move, 
but Madigan didn't expect any problems from it -- it would follow any orders she gave it.

	The elevator doors opened and the five moved out into the hall. Lopez placed his foot in 
the door's path, preventing them from closing. He unzipped his parka and made sure he could 
reach either the badge in his coat pocket or the compact machine pistol under his arm, then 
nodded to Madigan. Their escape route now secure, the team moved on to the target. 

	Apartment 2905 was thirty meters down the left side of the hall. The team arrayed itself 
on each side of the door, with the exception of the Boomer, who stood across the hall from the 
door. Madigan motioned Tebba toward the door. The man nodded and pulled out a long tube which 
was as thick around as his thumb. Moving carefully, he got down on one knee and pushed on end 
under the door. He attached an eyepiece to the end of the tube in his hand and stared into it. 
After thirty seconds of silence, Tebba pulled the tube out from under the door and put the 
rolled up tube in his pocket. "Clear," he said in a low voice. "Kobe, start working."

	A bony Asian man switched places with Tebba and began picking the door's lock, while the 
others kept watch. Twenty seconds later, Kobe reached out and turned the handle. It opened 
silently.

	Tebba and Kobe went through the door first, moving slowly and carefully, their guns drawn 
and tracking. Madigan and the other man, a muscular, hard-faced man by the name of Steesen, 
were next, then the Boomer stepped inside and closed the door.

	There was enough light coming through the widows to see the interior of the apartment. 
Like the lobby, the condominium was nicely furnished, though somewhat sterile. A small kitchen 
was to the immediate right of the front door, while the living room took up most of the visible 
vicinity. A short hallway beyond the kitchen lead to two closed doors, while a pair of sliding 
doors occupied the middle of the living room's left wall. 

	Madigan moved to the sliding doors, She pulled them apart slightly, just enough to peer 
into the room behind it. The heavy desk and computer system in one corner of the room told her 
this was Azamizu's study. Excellent, she thought. 

	She motioned to Steesen, who glided over. He glanced through the crack between the doors 
and nodded, a small smile crossing his face. Carefully, he slid open the door just wide enough 
to allow himself to fit through and slipped in. He moved to the desk, and sat in front of the 
computer. Moving carefully, he pulled out a small box from the inside pocket of his parka and 
set it down next to the computer. In a matter a ninety seconds, he'd attached the box to the 
computer and turned it on. Looking up at Madigan, he nodded once.

	She turned to look at Tebba, then glanced at the hall off of the kitchen. Tebba nodded, 
and moved towards the hall with swift, cat-like steps. Kobe joined him then they both holstered 
their pistols and pulled out another pistol. This pistol was slim, with a thick long barrel and 
oversized hand grips. Moving silently, they snuck down the hall until they reached the first 
door. Tebba opened it slowly, just enough to glance inside. He closed the door softly, turned 
to look at Madigan and shook his head. Without waiting for an acknowledgment from their boss, 
the two GENOM Black Ops members moved toward the other door. 

	Again, Tebba opened the door slowly, just enough to glace inside. This time, he gave 
Madigan a nod. She returned it with one of her own, her hand hovering near the butt of her own 
pistol. While Kobe held the door so it wouldn't open any further, Tebba pointed the strange 
looking pistol at something inside the room. After five seconds, a sound like someone sneezing 
was heard, then silence. Tebba slipped into the room, followed by Kobe. After another five 
seconds, Kobe opened the door all the way and waved Madigan to come ahead.

	By the time Madigan reached the doorway, Kobe had stepped aside to allow her to see past 
him. It was a bedroom, furnished in the same style of the living room. Tebba was checking the 
only occupant in the bed, a shallow looking man with thinning hair and unhealthy skin. Madigan 
compared him with the photograph of  Satoshi Azamizu she had in her memory and found them to be 
the same. Got you! her mind exclaimed, but she kept her face impassive.

	"How is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

	"He's out," replied Tebba, his voice also low. "The dart hit him clean."

	"Secure him." She stepped back to allow the men to bound their prisoner. She touched a 
button on her comline. "Leader to all posts," she subvocalized. "Status reports."

	Like the other humans on this mission, Madigan wore a transceiver/transmitter system 
designed for covet operations. Consisting of two patches that looked and felt like skin, they 
had a range of only two kilometers, but they allowed the few communications between the team 
members to be conducted almost silently.

	//Car one, clear.//

	//Car two clear.//

	//Lobby, clear.//

	//Elevator, clear.//

	"Stand by, Target has been secured. We are preparing to leave." As she said the last 
words, she strode out of the bedroom and walked over to the study. "How long?" she asked 
Steesen.

	"Three minutes," he replied. "I'm transferring everything on Azamizu's hard drive to a 
secure directory on a Tower security server."

	"Any disks?"

	He tapped a pocket of his parka. "All the ones I could find, but it's possible that he 
has some hidden away. I would have looked for them, but I thought the transfer was more 
important." 

	She strode over to the sliding doors and leaned out. Tebba and Kobe had just finished 
placing a securely bound  Satoshi Azamizu at the feet of the Boomer, who hadn't move from its 
spot just inside the front door. She motioned for the two humans to come into the study, then 
looked at the Boomer and pointed at  Azamizu. The Boomer nodded, but made no other movement.

	After Kobe and Tebba enter the room, Madigan said softly, "Search for any hidden docu-
ments or disks. We have two and a half minutes."

	The scattered across the room. Tebba started flipping through books from a tall narrow 
bookcase, looking for any loose papers, while Kobe started navigating through a entertainment
cabinet. Madigan began flipping pictures, looking for anything taped on the back of them. The 
third one she turned over yielded paydirt.

	A pair of disks had been heavily taped to the back of the painting. Pulling out a small 
penknife, she carefully cut through the tape and pocketed the disks. She continuing searching 
until Steesen said softly, "Transfer complete."

	"We're going," said Madigan.

	Without a word, the four left the study. At the door, Steesen and Kobe picked up the 
drugged director. Tebba opened the door and looked out. "Coast clear."

      "Leader to all posts," Madigan subvocalized. "We are leaving. Status reports."

	//Car one, clear.//

	//Car two clear.//

	//Lobby, clear.//

	//Elevator, clear.//

	"We're moving."

	The moved down the hallway swiftly, Tebba leading the way, followed by Steesen and Kobe 
carrying the unconscious Azamizu. Madigan followed, with the Boomer bringing up the rear. Lopez 
held the elevator door until the entire party was in the car. Just as the doors closed, the 
receiver behind Madigan's right ear. //Lobby here. Two people have enter the building. One 
male, one female.//

	"Threat assessment?" asked Madigan.

	//Minimal,// replied the Boomer, allow some disgust to enter his tone. //They are both 
too drunk to walk straight.// 

	"What are they doing?"

	//Heading towards the elevators. ETA is fifteen seconds.//

	Madigan glanced over at Lopez, who was standing nearest the elevator controls. "Stop this 
car."

	Lopez jabbed a thumb on a button marked "7" and glanced up at the floor indicator, which 
showed a lighted "12". The car came to a stop and the doors opened. With one hand holding the 
door open, Lopez leaned out and looked up checked the hall to make sure it was empty. "Clear," 
he said softly.

	"Status on those two drunks?" snapped Madigan into the transmitter.

	There was silence for several seconds, then the Boomer said, //They've just pushed the up 
button and are now waiting for an elevator. Do you wish me to elimanate them?//

	"No. Report when they get into an elevator."

	//Understood.// Five seconds went by, then ten. Ten more seconds crawled by before the 
Boomer said, //They've just entered an elevator car.//

	Lopez released the door and jammed his finger savagely against the button for the lobby. 
As the doors closed, Madigan said "We're coming down. Lobby, meet us at the elevator."

	//Understood.//

	The sudden opening of the elevator doors several seconds later almost startled Madigan 
and it took her a split second to realize the car had reached the lobby. The second Boomer was 
there to greet them. As a group they, strolled out of the lobby, with the lobby Boomer taking 
the point, followed by Madigan and Tebba, then Kobe, Steesen, and Lopez carrying the bound 
Azamizu, with the other Boomer bringing up the rear. Despite their success so far, no one was 
willing to relax.

	They retraced their steps, moving at a brisk walk through the hall and out into the cold 
night. The cars were waiting and they swiftly got in. The cars drove away from the building at 
a sate speed, not wanting to attract attention even at this late a stage. Silence descended on 
the complex.

	The Johnston and Brindle tower construction site was adjacent to the GLAS Condominium 
Complex. Over in one sector of the site, three dozen construction Boomers stood silently, 
waiting for the human supervisor to activate them for the next shift.

	Five minutes after Azamizu had been shoved into a car and driven off, a slight hum 
emanated from three of the construction Boomers. An eerie red glow began to issue from their 
eye slits. If any human experienced with Boomers had seen this, they would have turn and run, 
convinced the Cyberdroid was possessed.

	They wouldn't be far from the truth.

	The trio of Boomers began to move slowly, gaining fluidness and purpose as they con-
tinued. All three stared at the South Tower, a glittering beacon in the night sky. As one, they 
move toward it at a firm pace. They ripped through the steel mesh fence that separated the two 
properties and continued on, their gazes never leaving the Tower, their minds on one thing - 
destruction. . . .



Sylia's Apartment
December 23, 2035
1:48am 

	Sylia looked at the four sitting around the table. Both Linna and Nene had the bleary 
look of people woken out of sound sleeps. Priss looked agitated, while Mackie acted like the 
meeting wasn't a big deal. He placed a large cup of coffee in from of the red-haired Hacker, 
then sipped for his own cup. "What's the plan?" he asked, looking at his sister.

	Sylia allow the cold mask of leadership fall into place. The emotional voice inside of 
her took the cue and vanished from her mind for the time being. "We've got a planning session 
with the Black Knight at three-thirty today," she said quietly. "We've located the VanDell 
girl, and we are probably going to try and rescue her before dawn."

	She glanced at each of them, looking for any argument or decent. There was none. Both 
Nene and Linna didn't feel like voicing any strong opinions, while Priss had already taken her 
best shot at Sylia's plan. "Where's the meet?" the singer asked.

	"We're to meet a Black Knight at the corner of Two-Twelve and Jiro in District Four at 
three o'clock. He'll lead up to the meeting location."

	"I still don't like it," Priss grumbled.

	"That's why the three of up are going to show up at the meeting riding our Motoslaves - 
in this case, I'll be riding yours tonight, Priss. You and Mackie will be covering us from the 
air." Sylia looked at her brother. "The Knight Wing ready?"

	"All set and ready to go," replied Mackie with a smile. He motioned toward Priss. "There 
should be enough firepower on it tonight to keep the ape woman happy."

	Priss gave him a cold stare while Linna and Nene giggled. Sylia arched an eyebrow, but 
said nothing. Mackie just sat back and smirked.

	"I almost like it better when you were a pervert," she muttered.

	Mackie shrugged. "If you want, I can hide a camera or two in the dressing rooms, for old 
times' sake, of course."

	"Don't you dare!" Nene squealed, suddenly awake. She reached over and punched him in the 
shoulder.

	"Ow!" he yelled, rubbing his arm and leaning away so the angry redhead couldn't follow 
up. "I was joking!"

	"I don't care!" Nene exclaimed back. "You're mine and you're not going to even look at 
another girl!"

	It was Priss' turn to laugh and she made the most of it. Linna joined here and this time 
Sylia chuckled softly. Nene turned to glare at them. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

	"You just told them that I'm your boyfriend," said Mackie with a wry grin.

	"I what?!" Nene's face became flush as Mackie's words sunk it. Eyes wide, she turned to 
Sylia. "I'msorryitwon'thappenagainIpromise," she blurted.

	"I have no problem if you and Mackie want to date," said Sylia with a smile. "He's old 
enough to make his own decisions."

	"Besides," said Priss lazily, "It's not like this is unexpected. We figure the two of you 
were an item about two years back."

	"At least," chimed in Linna.

	"But why didn't anyone tell me?" wailed Nene.

	"We can discuss your romance with Mackie later," said Sylia. "Right now, there's a girl 
that needs rescuing."

	That sobered everyone up. Sylia continued. "According to Fargo, Janie is in the Head-
quarters building of Gulf and Bradley - Japan. We're going to coordinate a strike with the 
Black Knights on the building before daybreak. As I said, we're going to meet up with a guide 
at three o'clock and he'll take us to the meeting spot. Mackie, you and Priss fly cover. I'll 
leave a channel open for you to monitor at all times. Nene, I want the floor plans and anything 
else you can find on the Gulf and Bradley building downloaded into the suits' ROM. Linna, make 
sure the KnightWing has extra magazines for the Motorslave's cannons."

	"Right!" Nene and Linna chorused. 

	"Mackie, you and Priss get the Knight Wing warmed up. I'll make sure the Motorslaves are 
ready. We have thirty minutes before we leave. Let's make the most of it."



Gulf and Bradley - Japan Headquarters
December 23, 2035
2:15am 

	Carlton Bradley frowned at Hachio Ozu. "How did the attack fail?" he said in a soft 
voice.

	"It failed because Karns was waiting for them," the security chief replied. "Unlike the 
ADP, he doesn't worry about things like 'excessive firepower' or 'collateral damage'. He 
eliminated the Boomers and most of the human contingent of the strike teams."

	"Can they be traced back to us?"

	"No, Sir. The Boomers were the ones who recruited and led the attacks. None of the low-
lifes ever had a direct connection to us here. There's no evidence left to show our invol-
vement."

	"How did this Karns get all that firepower?" asked Cora. She was sitting on the couch in 
the corner of the office, watching her brother who was leaning back in his chair, staring at 
Ozu.

	The security chief shrugged. "He's been the defacto leader of that district for years, 
and those who've challenged him in the past, most never lived long enough to realize their 
mistake. I'm not kidding when I say they've probably got better weapons then the ADP does. 
That's one of the reasons why I thought Malso was a better target"

	"It looks like our plans have hit a. . .snag," said Carlton carefully. "Is the extra 
security in place?"

	"Yes Sir, but --"

	"But what?" whispered Cora, her eyes narrow and focused at Ozu.

	"But our preparations were rather obvious to anyone watching us. We will not have the 
advantage of surprise."

	"The advantage is meaningless," replied Carlton bruskly. "Has Mclaren finished repairing 
the Boomers from the MALCORP raid?"

	"He said he can have eight ready before three. The other two that came back are too badly 
damaged to fight. Do you want them brought here?"

	Carlton swivelled in his chair and stared out into the night skyline. "No," he said 
finally. "Station them in a building near by. If we are attacked, they will wait until the 
signal is given. Then they will strike the enemy from behind while we hit them from the front."

	Ozu nodded. "I understand Sir."

	Carlton waved a hand. "You're dismissed. Make sure the new measures are in place before 
you go to bed."

	"Yes, Sir." Ozu strode out of the office.

	"Which guests are we expecting?" asked Cora with a purr.

	Carlton frowned, but didn't look at his sister. "Maybe the Black Knights, or the Knight 
Sabers, or maybe both. If Quincy is on to us, maybe GENOM."

	"That's too many 'maybes' for my liking," said Cora with a scowl.

	Carlton's expression changed. "Nothing great starts out with all the facts known. We are 
close to success."

	"We are just as close to disaster."

	"A disaster you came close to causing."

	Cora leapt off the couch, the scowl becoming a glare. "Don't you dare blame me for the 
bitch's suicide attempt!" she snapped.

	Carlton turned to look at his sister. "Then who do I blame?" he asked mildly. "The 
security people? They were following your orders."

	Cora's jaw tightened. "I wanted that girl isolated," she spat.

	"If we wanted to do that, we could have used security boomers to interact with the girl 
and avoided all direct human involvement. But you wanted to use her for your 'amusement'."

	"I was getting her ready for that Chinese geezer."

	Carlton raised an eyebrow. "The doctor did not need your help." he said flatly.

	"I don't know why you hired him in the first place."

	"Because I wanted the girl alive long enough to tell us everything." He held up a hand, 
cutting off Cora's angry retort. "Go lie down. There's no telling when the attack will come, if 
not tonight."

	Cora held her brother's stare for a moment, then looked away. "You don't love me," she 
said softly.

	"Love has nothing to do with it," said Carlton bruskly. "We cannot allow our emotions to 
run loose, not when we're this close to success."

	Cora nodded slowly, then turned and walked out of the office. Carlton waited until she 
closed the door behind her before he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Cora's becoming too 
unstable, he thought. But she can't crap out on me now, not when we're this close!
        
	He sighed and stood. I'd better check on that VanDell girl. She is the key to all of 
this. 

	By the time he reached the door to the outer office, two of his bodyguards had fallen in 
behind him. By the time he reached the elevator, two more Boomers had joined the group, making 
the elevator cramped. "Seventh floor," he said to the Boomer nearest the elevator controls.

	The ride to the seventh floor was short, but the walk to the building's medical center 
was twice as long. Two more Boomers stood outside the ward, their expressions unreadable as 
Bradley approached.

	"Is Doctor Kyso here?"

	"She is currently sleeping, Sir," replied one of the Boomers "There are two nurses who 
are currently monitoring the patient."

	Carlton nodded. "You," he commanded, waving to the bodyguard to his right. "Come with me. 
The others can stay here until I return." He opened the medical center's main doors and stalked 
into the reception area, the lone Boomer following as ordered.

	The medical center didn't have quite the range of equipment of a full hospital, but it 
was a modern, well-furnished center that could do almost anything its larger counterpart could 
do. This was the first time Bradley had ever been in the center. He'd avoided it when he was 
given his first tour of the building, and he had seen no reason to step foot inside -- until 
now.

	The reason for shunning this place wasn't complicated; Carlton Bradley hated hospitals. 
The smell of strong disinfectant always left him nauseated, as did the sight of people dying, 
either though chance or design. He'd seen his grandfather die in a hospital, his body ravaged 
by cancer. The last time he had been in any sort of medical institution had been to visit the 
morgue to identify his father's body. To him, a hospital was a death house.

	He didn't need to be reminded of his mortality -- his father's death had been enough for 
his taste. Pity I couldn't kill the bastard myself....

	A nurse sitting behind a desk looked up at him, and paled in shock. "Can I help you, 
sir?" she asked quickly.

	"I want to see Doctor Kyso," replied Carlton with a glare, "and I want to see her now."

	"Yes sir." She reached over and picked up a telephone handset off the desk. She touched 
a button and waited for the connection to be completed. "Doctor Kyso? Reiko at the front desk. 
Mr Bradley is here to see you. . .Yes, Doctor, I know what time it is, but Mr. Bradley is most 
insistent. . .Yes, Doctor I will tell him that." She put the handset down. "Doctor Kyso will 
be out in a minute," she softly said to Carlton.

	It was closer to ninety seconds before the doctor appeared, looking haggard and unhappy. 
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked.

	"I'm checking up on the girl's condition."

	Kyso shook her head. "There's nothing new. She's still in critical condition."

	"I see. Can I see her for myself?"

	"Of course. This way." Kyso led Bradley and his bodyguard to a small room near the far 
end of the ward. Next to the door, a large window, reinforced with thick security glass, 
showed the interior of the room. There was a hospital bed, with several banks of monitors 
clustered around it, like vultures huddled around a carcass. In the bed, A pale face nearly 
as white as the pillow it laid on was framed by lifeless brown hair. Several tubes ran from 
different devices to either into her mouth or up the nostrils. Her arms, as pale as her face, 
each had an IV inserted into the veins. The rest of her body was covered by a grey blanket, 
but there was the impression of great weakness. Only the slight movement of her chest and the 
soft beeps of the monitors indicated that Janie VanDell was still alive.

	"Do you wish to go in?" Kyso asked. "If you do, I would recommend that you wear a sur-
gical mask."

	Bradley shook his head. "This is good enough. How good are her chances?"

	Kyso stared at the injured girl for several seconds. "If she was healthy, I would say she 
would have an eighty percent chance."

	"But?"

	"But her health isn't good. In fact, I believe she's been subjected to grievous abuse." 
Kyso stared at Bradley, and he saw anger in her eyes. "She has no more then a fourty percent 
chance of surviving now."

	"I see."

	"Do you?" snapped Kyso. "What did this girl do to warrant so much abuse?"

	"That is none of your concern."

	"Isn't it? You want me to keep her alive for what?"

	"That is none of your concern."

	"It is MY concern. Because of her general condition, that girl is having to fight for 
every breath she takes. I treated junkies that were in better condition then this girl!"

	Carlton's voice was frigid. "There's a difference between this girl and those junkies 
that you should remember."

	"What?"
	
	"I'm not paying you to keep junkies alive. I paying you to keep her alive."

	"I can't work miracles!"

	"In this case, you had better hope you can."

	Kyso glared at Bradley for several seconds, then turned and stalked off. The CEO ignored 
her departure and continued to watch the young girl that had so much riding on her recovery. 
I need you alive, he thought, I need you to tell me everything about your daddy's work.

	As he watched her, his thoughts drifted back to his childhood. . . .

	What childhood? part of his mind snarled. You and your sister were nothing more 
then trophies of Carson Bradley's, just like everything else he'd owned. The old man was a 
arrogant, drunken son-of-a-bitch who never gave a damm for either one of you. All he cared 
about was money and power, in that order. The only times he even acknowledged your existence 
was when he needed a punching bag because Mother wasn't around.

	Carlton took a deep breath. And just when I'm ready to finally do something about him, 
the bastard gets himself killed! Damm GENOM! Damm the Chang Group! And most of all, DAMM YOU, 
FATHER!

	He had dreams for years of killing his father, to see his face as the old man realized 
that his own flesh and blood was murdering him. It was the one thing that had kept him going 
through his teenage years. A dream that had been shattered when a Genki Battlemover had done 
the job for him, another person following up on vengeance. At the morgue, he saw the look on 
his father's face, the look of surprise that he had been dreaming about for years. It should 
have been enough.

	It wasn't.

	Instead of feeling relief, the anger had changed focus. It's targets became the Chang 
Group and GENOM, two of the principals that robbed Carlton of his dreams. Carson Bradley had 
escaped his reach, but Quincy and Dr. Chang Chongk were still within his grasp. They would 
suffer in place of his father.

	But, he needed an edge. He couldn't outspend or out-muscle GENOM -- their resources were 
too great. The Chang Group was an impenetrable wall of loyalty and duty that would be difficult
to breech. No, Carlton needed something the other two didn't have - a weapon or technology that 
would give him the upper hand long enough to complete his task. 

	When word reached him of Dr. VanDell's work, he knew then he had his edge. He had let 
Cora plan and carry out the raids on the Doctor's lab and home, because her talents in the 
areas of tactics and planning were superior to his own. While Carlton had focused his anger 
directly at his father, Cora had decided that the entire world should feel her wrath. Her slide 
into madness had been slow but steady for years, but Carlton needed her. She was the one person 
he could trust and depend upon in this world of backstabbing and broken deals.

	And now my vengeance is dependent on a stupid teenager! his mind screamed. His 
hands curled up into fists and felt his anger rising. He glared at the unconscious girl. I 
refuse to be stopped by you! he screamed at her mentally. You will not be allowed to die 
until I have those plans!

	"Sir?" asked the Boomer. "Are you all right?"

	Carlton's smile was feral. "You're several years too late asking that question," he said 
in whisper. He turned and walked away, the Boomer silently following him. I will have my 
revenge, he said silently. And no one will stand in my way. . . . 



Chapter 34



GENOM Tower
December 23, 2035
3:11am

	Quincy looked up from the report on his desk. "I see Mr. Azamizu has some explaining to 
do," he said cooly.							

	"He is still being 'debriefed'," replied Madigan briskly, "but I thought you should see 
this as soon as possible."

	The CEO leaned back in his chair. "You were correct to do so." He was silent for a 
minute. "How bad is the damage to the GLAS complex?"

	"According to the news reports, most of the South Tower has already been destroyed. The 
death toll is already at seventy-three and rising. The ADP have managed to destroy two of the 
Boomers, but are still having problems with the third."

	"Any sign of the Knight Sabers?"

	"No, Sir. They have not been spotted yet. It's possible that they were incapacitated by 
the Thor strike from last night."

	"Possible," replied Quincy slowly. "But, considering their level of skill and luck in the 
past, I would not consider that a high probability."

	"Yes, Sir."

	"I think there's something else going on," he said, tapping the report, "something that 
requires the Knight Sabers."

	Madigan frowned. "Do you think they would attack Gulf and Bradley?"

	"It is a very good possibility, especially if they have anywhere near this type of 
information. If they have allied themselves with the Black Knights, then MALCORP will have that 
sort of information." Quincy stood and turned towards the window. "What is the situation with 
the Boomer rampage in District Six?"

	Madigan frowned at this sudden change in subjects, but kept her voice level. "We don't 
have all the details, but it seems someone tried to elimanate Skeeter Karns."

	"Indeed?" said Quincy pleasantly, watching the city below. "I take it they failed."

	"Yes sir. I'm afraid Mr. Tarson failed to have the Boomer remains released back to GENOM 
immediately."

	Quincy shrugged. "It's not surprising. Mr. Karns can be quite compelling at times."

	"I wouldn't know, Sir. I've never met him."

	"Indeed? I suggest you take the time and meet him. You will find the experience. . . 
enlightening."

	Madigan sniffed. "I don't have the time to meet every would-be gang warlord." She stopped 
as he hear her boss softly chuckle, a rare phenomenon. "Forgive my confusion," she said with a 
frown. "I don't understand."

	"Neither did the Red Cobras. That's why they no longer exist as a Triad." He turned and 
looked at her, his voice stern and strong. "Do not underestimate your opponent, no matter what 
they appear to be. Mr. Mason found that lesson out a little too late for his own good."

	The woman bowed her head. "Yes, Sir." She looked up again. "How do you want to handle 
this problem with the Boomers Azamizu sold to the Bradley twins?"

	Quincy frowned. "It seems that they are becoming more then minor pests," he said in a 
soft voice edged with steel. "While they don't stand a chance against GENOM, they might damage 
our image enough to give others the same idea. We cannot allow that to happen."

	"Yes, Sir."

	"What about the Boomers used in the New York incident? Were they part of the group Mr. 
Azamizu sold to Gulf and Bradley - Japan?"

	"They were. We finished cracking the security encoding on the disks we found in his 
apartment a short time ago. We are fortunate that he was a compulsive record keeper."

	"Indeed." Quincy sighed. "To answer your question, as much as I dislike Janson Bradley, 
to move against Gulf and Bradley, as a whole, would be a waste of time and money with no 
significant returns. On the other hand, both Cora and Carlton Bradley have shown themselves to 
be reckless in their zeal to 'punish' GENOM for something we had no control over." He sat in 
his chair and looked at Madigan. I think it's about time we let Mr. and Miss Bradley know that 
we will not allow them to move against us."

	"In what way?"

	"I want a list of Gulf and Bradley holdings in MegaTokyo. I think there's going to be a 
string of unfortunate setbacks involving several of those sites tonight, including the Gulf and 
Bradley headquarters building."

	"Yes Sir. Any particular method do you wish us to employ?"

	"For most of the targets, I leave to your judgement. But for the headquarters building. . 
. . Do we not have a shipment of Military Boomers that is being readied for shipment to the 
government of Iraq?"

	"Yes Sir. Several dozen battle Boomers, including several models of the BU-12B series, 
Bu-15Bs, and 17s."

	"I think a dozen will be enough. Make sure the mix is enough to handle any situation."

	"Yes, Sir."

	"That is all for now."

	"May I ask a question?"

	Quincy looked up at her, a slight smile on his craggy face. "What is it?"

	"Are you going to allow Mr. Faust to continue his investigation?"

	"Of course. Mr. Faust has skills and abilities you do not have, as you possess profic-
iencies and expertises he does not have. Between the two of you, we will elimanate this. . 
.cancer." Quincy leaned back in his chair, allowing the shadows of the dimly-lit room to hide 
most of his face. "Mr. Faust is a loyal and hard-working employee who places the interest of 
GENOM above his own. He is a man any CEO will welcome as an assistant, and someone whose 
respect should be cultivated."

	"Yes Sir. I should have not doubted your wisdom."

	 Quincy waved a hand in dismissal. "Mr. Faust is my responsibility. You have yours. 
Please see to them."
                                            


Warehouse #41526584
District 4
December 22, 2035
3:34am

	The meeting at the rendezvous point had gone off without a hitch. The corner of Two-
Twelve and Jiro in District Four was a burnt-out convenience store that was shunned by the 
locals. With the Knightwing flying high cover, the three motoslaves had arrived three minutes 
before the appointed time. A minute later, a female Black Knight stepped out of the darkness 
and identified herself as Red Three. From the Knight's suit and voice, Sylia recognized Red 
Three as the one who had sliced apart the Boomer on the highway the night before. The actual 
trip to the warehouse took only fifteen minutes, but to Sylia, it seemed a lot longer.

	The warehouse was abuzz with light and life when the Black Knight led Sylia, Nene and 
Linna through the side door. Technicians were moving swiftly through the piles of provisions 
and machinery, most of them concentrating on the four helicopter gunships sitting in the center 
of the warehouse. There were at least a dozen members of the Black Knights scattered throughout 
the entire building, some in full hardsuits, while others were wearing just innersuits similar 
to the one Sylia has designed for her own team. Most of them turned and stared at the 
newcomers.

	Deciding if we're as good as we're suppose to be, thought Sylia. We threw 
ourselves into the fight last night without warning. Now we're going to see if we can pull off 
a coordinated attack against an enemy expecting us.

	"Stay alert," she said into the common channel. "Mackie, Priss. Are you receiving us?"

	//Loud and clear Sis. We can be there in thirty seconds, if we need to be.//

	"Fine, but don't get too close. Stay alert." She looked over at Nene. "Anything?"

	"Nothing excessive," replied the redhead. "I'm receiving strong ECM signals from at least 
three Knights, but nothing that actually pointed at us. From what I'm picking up, most of the 
suits are only half a generation behind ours. Those gunships are state-of-the-Art with the Neo-
NATO designation of 'Rattlesnakes' and they're loaded to the gills with firepower."

	"Keep scanning."

	Now more familiar with the Knights's suits, Sylia began looking over the Knights' hard-
suits, distinguishing in her mind between the different designs. One group were clearly geared 
for heavy fire support, being somewhat larger then the others and carrying weapons that Sylia 
knew wouldn't be compatible with her own hardsuit designs. Others, like Red Three's, hinted at 
hidden weapons and looked somewhat sleeker then the first group, certainly the close combat 
designs. The last group were subtly different from the others, with slight bulges in the armor 
that Sylia guessed were sensor and ECM pods. Interesting choices, she thought. 
Similar to 
my designs, but completely different at the same time. No signs of any motorslaves, however.


	"There seems to be more Knights running around then we saw last night," said Nene over 
the Saber's secure channel. "How many do you think there are?"

	"At least a dozen," replied Linna, "plus a couple of more helicopters. Do you think they 
call up reinforcements?"

	"They did," replied Sylia firmly. "Are you recording everything Nene?"

	"Un-hun. I'm sending it directly to the Knightwing's computer even as we speak."

	The Black Knight pointed to a office door twenty meters away. "Knight One asked to speak 
to White Saber alone first," she said over her suit's speakers. "He's in there."

	Sylia nodded, then said over the team's private channel. "You two stay here. Be ready for 
anything. Nene keep recording."

	Her teammates responded with 'affirmatives'. Walking briskly, Red Three led Sylia through 
the tangle of personnel and material to the office door. The Black Knight tapped on the door 
and waited. Finally, she said to Sylia. "He's ready to see you now," and opened the door.

	The office wasn't much - just a battered desk, chair, a couple of file cabinets and a 
lumpy looking sofa against the far wall. There weren't any windows, though the walls didn't 
look all that thick. The single occupant of the office also wore a hardsuit, leaning over a map 
spread out on the desktop. His face was hidden by his helmet, concealing his identity. Sylia 
recognized the hardsuit as the same type Knight One had worn and she fought down a momentary 
pang of fear. Is this actually Greg? Or a stand-in?

	Knight One looked up as Sylia stepped into the room. The office wasn't especially large, 
but the presence of two people in hardsuits made the room seem smaller somehow. In the back of 
her mind, Sylia noted the door closed behind her, leaving the two of them alone.

	For five seconds, neither one spoke. Then, Knight One sighed and reached up to his hel-
met. "I guess I'll have to convince you I'm for real," he said and pushed up. The helmet was 
fashioned to resemble a medieval Knight's helmet, visor and all. The visor slowly slid up, 
reveling a familiar face with sharp features, short dark hair, and mismatched eyes. 

	Greg Mallory.

	"Satisfied?" he asked.

	Sylia nodded and opened her own visor. The office grew silent again as they looked at 
each other. Sylia felt an updraft of emotion. Here is someone who can understand me, a 
part of her mind echoed. Here is someone who knows what it's like to led others into battle, 
to make those decision that I have to every day.

	The rational part of her mind rallied quickly. Don't let emotion cloud your judgement! 
He is an ally for the time being, nothing more!	

	He doesn't want you for your money or to parade you around as a conquest. Women would 
flock to him in an instant, but he's sent his sights on you. He's undergone the same enhance-
ments as you did.

	Does that mean I'm suppose to worship at his feet? I don't know him!

	Does that mean you're afraid to try?				

	Greg waved toward the couch, breaking the silent impasse in Sylia's mind. "Would you like 
to sit?" he asked carefully, his tone serious. "I'm afraid the chair won't support the weight 
of both human and hardsuit."

	"I think I'll prefer standing," she replied, thankful for the interruption.

	Greg nodded. "I thought we should talk before we had the planning meeting. Agree on 
certain command decisions before hand."

	"Fine. Like what?"

	"Command authority, communication channels, material support, and the like."

	Sylia nodded slowly, her command mask slipping firmly into place. "Let's begin."
                                            


	Nene and Linna watched the preparations going on around them from an unused corner of the 
warehouse. Except for the occasional glance in their direction by a tech or Knight, they were 
left by themselves.

	"I've counted fifteen Knights so far," said Nene. "These guys are packing serious hard-
ware, both in electronics and weaponry."

	"They why do we need us?" asked Linna, her eyes focused on a rugged-looking tech load 
missiles into a Rattler's missiles launcher. "Looks like they've got enough firepower to take 
out GENOM tower."

	"Search me. But Sylia said to stay alert." 

	//Anything happening down there, guys?// asked Priss.

	"Nothing," replied Linna. "I've seen some cute guys, some serious weaponry, but nothing 
exciting. How's Sylia doing?"

	//She discussing such exciting subjects as who's boss over who, what comm channels we're 
going to use, and what we're bringing to the party in firepower. Any more exciting and Mackie's 
going to fall asleep.//

	"He'd better not!" growled Nene.

	//I can keep him awake,// replied Priss with a husky voice. //Of course, we'll have to 
put the KnightWing on automatic pilot, but --//

	"Don't you dare!" yelled Nene. "He's mine!"

	Priss chuckled. //Oh relax, little miss Cyberpunk. He's too young for me.//

	Linna saw a familiar face walking through the crowd and smiled. "I see someone a bit more 
mature for you right now."

	//Who?//

	"Leon."

	//Here's there?//

	Linna's smile became larger as she saw the Inspector change direction. "Yep, and he's 
heading toward us right now."

	//Don't you dare tell him that I'm with you guys!//

	"Why? Afraid you might like being tied to a bed?"

	The singer started making growling noises, then silence as Priss broke the connection.

	"That was mean," said Nene with a giggle. "Can I use that line next time?"

	"Go ahead."

	Leon walked up to them. "Good morning, Ladies," he said with a grin. "Come here often?"

	Nene sighed and cover her helmet's face with her hands in exasperation.

	"It's a good thing Blue Saber isn't here to see this," said Linna over the hardsuit's 
speakers. "She might just use you for target practice."

	Leon's expression became a little more serious. "Blue Saber doesn't have to worry about 
me hitting on her team mates, not after we talked. How is she by the way?"

	"About what you expect. She climbing the walls and is kind of pissed that she didn't come 
along. White threaten to allow you to tie her to a bed and tape it for your personal use if she 
didn't stop complaining."

	"She did? My type of leader."

	Just then, Priss voice came back over the communications channel. //Linna! We've spotted 
a convoy of vehicles heading in your direction!//

	Linna held up a hand to stop Leon from speaking. "How many?"

	//At least fifteen vehicles, including several trucks. They're five blocks away and 
closing.//

	A new voice broke in. "Any identification?" asked Sylia.

	//Negative, but several of those cars look like they've had armor added to their 
frames.//

	Nene nudged Linna. Linna looked at her team mate, who pointed at the sudden scramble for 
weapons and firing positions among the crates of the warehouse, while several groups of Knights 
dashed through several of the loading bay doors into the night.

	A sharp ringing attracted Linna's attention. She glanced over at the small cell phone on 
Leon's belt and tapped the distracted Inspector on the shoulder. When he turned to face her, 
she pointed at the phone. He glanced down at it, frowned and grabbed it off his belt. "Yes?. . 
.SKEETER! WHAT THE. . . outside right now?!?. . . .Don't come any closer, or we'll start a 
war!. . . .Let me get hold of Mr. Mallory. . . five minutes, no more. . . .Stop your people 
NOW!!"

	"What's going on?" asked Nene. 

	Leon ignored the question and continued talking into the phone. "Just stay where you are, 
and I'll come out to you. . . .Just don't come any closer. . . .I do trust you, but the people 
I'm with don't know you. . . . I'm coming out right now." He broke the connection and took a 
deep breath.

	"Trouble?" asked Linna.

	"We have a visitor," said Leon angrily, replacing the phone on his belt, "and he's 
brought some of his friends along. You'd better stay here while I try and keep this from 
becoming a war."

	"What's going on?" asked Sylia.

	"Leon was just talking to someone he called Skeeter," replied Linna. "Does that ring a 
bell?"

	"It does. Skeeter Karns."

	//Skeeter's here?// said Priss. //Shit.//

	"Who's Skeeter Karns?" asked Linna. "I've never heard of the name."

	"He's a gang leader," replied Nene tightly. "He's smart, well-organized and someone who 
you do not cross -- period."

	//Nene's right,// said Priss, her voice tense. //He's as big as a C-class boomer, and a 
hell of a lot smarter. The guy could intimidate a Doberman!//

	"I have dealt with him in the past," said Sylia cooly. "Both Nene and Priss are right. 
Mr. Karns is a gentleman of considerable abilities and fearsome reputation. However, he is out 
of his territory here, which tells me this isn't a social call."

	"Why did he call Leon?" asked Linna, her mind trying to put together a mental image of 
this Skeeter.

	//Skeeter runs a  clean operation in comparison to the other gangs in the city and he's 
willing to discuss certain things with the police. Leon's used him as a trusted information 
source for several years, and his info is always good.//

	Sylia continued, "Skeeter has an intelligence network in this city second only to GENOM, 
and that's maybe underplaying its scope. I've used him several times when Fargo's contacts 
don't have information I'm looking for. His data is always good, but expensive."

	//How do we play this?// asked Priss.

	"We wait," replied Sylia. "If Skeeter was here for battle, he would have announced him-
self by sending a hail of bullets and grenades through the front door and windows. He knew Leon 
was here and called him to talk. So, we let them talk."

	"I sure hope you know what you're doing," said Nene.

	"I do."



	By the time Leon reached the outside door, Jeena was waiting for him. "What's up?" she 
asked cheerfully.

	Leon scowled at her. "Skeeter's crashing the party." 

	The one-armed woman smirked. "Oh? He must have a reason."

	"I'm about to find out. Want to come along?"

	"Sure. I want to see you in action."

	Leon went out the door, Jeena behind him. Once outside they turned left and started to 
walk towards a mass of lights in the middle distance. "Any idea why our semi-jolly giant wants 
in on this?" asked Jeena.

	"No, unless...." Leon stopped. Spying a shadow nearby, he walked over to it. The shadow 
move slightly to face him, light glittering off the burnished gold highlights of a Black 
Knight.

	"What do you want?" the shadow asked.

	"Are you guys monitoring the ADP channels?" Leon asked.

	"Yea."

	"Has there been anything about a battle in district six tonight?"

	"What sort of battle?"

	"A big nasty one."

	"Hold one." The Knight was silent for thirty seconds, then he said, "A quartet of BU-55's 
went rouge in district six shortly after midnight."

	"How much damage did they do?" asked Leon.

	"Not much. They run into person or persons unknown who took exception to their rampage, 
and turned them into junk outside of a bar."

	"Which bar?"

	"Some place called the Ri-San. The reports have some big guy tearing off the head of one 
of the Boomers."

	"That sounds like Skeeter," said Jeena with a nod.

	"Oh shit," muttered Leon. "He's pissed, isn't he?"

	"Very." Jeena smiled. "Now, I'm glad I came along. This is going to be almost as much fun 
as watching you and your singer girlfriend getting together."

	Leon shot her a sour look. "We're going to have enough trouble without inviting him to 
this party."

	Jeena's expression became thoughtful. "Maybe we should include him in on this attack."

	"You're crazy!"

	"Am not," she responded with a small smile, "At least, not as crazy as the guys in the 
ADP." She became serious again. "But Skeeter's people are almost as good as the ADP in both 
equipment and tactics, plus the man is a near genius in irregular warfare. At the very least, 
they can take over some of the support positions we're going to need. Plus, his Intel is better 
then ours, and we're going to need every advantage we can get."

	"Excuse me," said the Knight, "But you'd better get up there pronto. There's a pissed off 
giant standing there with a couple of dozen armed people backing him up, and they're not 
getting any happier."

	"Right," said Leon. "Tell whoever is in charge up there we're coming. Make sure no one on 
our side fires first, and tell Knight One we may have a new player in this deal."

	"Right."

	"Let's go," Leon said to Jeena and the pair starting jogging towards the lights.

	As they jogged closer, Leon started picking out individuals in the bright lights of the 
convoy's headlights. A huge form could only be Skeeter stood in front of the first car, arms 
crossed. A lithe figure stood next to him, arms on her hips.

	"Leon!" a well-known voice bellowed.

	"Skeeter!' Leon bellowed back. "We're coming to talk!"

	"Come ahead!"

	Leon slowed to a walk, Jeena following his lead. They strode that last two dozen meters. 
When they got within five meters of the giant, the bright lights of the cars in the convoy 
dimmed to a more comfortable level.

	"Leon," said Skeeter quietly.

	"Skeeter." Leon glanced over at the woman beside the giant and grinned. "Chika. I don't 
suppose you want to go out for a drink later."

	The woman shrugged. "Not if you want to keep all you fingers."

	Jeena chuckled. "Stick with the singer, Rookie. That one's only lible to kill you 
quickly. Chika here is more likely to make you wish you were dead."

	For a brief instance, Leon made a woeful face. Then, with a shrug, he looked at Skeeter 
with a serious expression. "Is this a social visit, or what?"

	"I want in on your attack."

	"What attack?"

	"The one you are planning against Gulf and Bradley." Skeeter glowered at him. "And before 
you try and insult my intelligence by saying 'there's no attack', remember who you're talking 
to."

	"I don't know," said Leon with a frown. "It's not my say-so."

	"I know it isn't. But I bring a lot to this table."

	Leon changed tactics. "How bad were you hit tonight?"

	"Hard enough to make me angry. That's all you need to know."

	"How many people did you lose to the Boomers?"

	The giant's expression was grim. "You know about the Boomers. You know what kind of 
damage they can do."

	"I do. But you managed to take them all down quick enough."

	"Only because Gulf and Bradley made the mistake of underestimating me."

	Leon's jaw tightened. "How do you know it was Gulf and Bradley behind that attack against 
you? Why not GENOM or Shikichi Sato, or even one of the other criminal gangs? A lot of people 
weren't happy with what happened to Ronnie Yee."

	"Ronnie Yee did not listen to advice, and it cost him his life. As to the people behind 
the attack, it all comes down to a matter of timing. GENOM doesn't care about my turf right 
now, and no gang lord has the resources to waste Boomers in such an open and stupid fashion. 
Besides, there were several graduates from the gurentai that were suppose to back up the 
Boomers. They were most willing to discuss the matter when I explained it to them."

	Jeena repressed a shudder. "No doubt."

	Skeeter looked at her. "I didn't even have to go so far as to threaten then, Miss Malso. 
They were very willing to talk to me without the menace of violence. These were the same people 
that hit the MALCORP freelancers last night."

	Leon took a deep breath. "Gulf and Bradley."

	"It's clear that the twins are beginning to panic. Once they find out about their 
failure, they will take stronger measures against MALCORP, you and myself. I have no intention 
of sitting back and waiting for another Boomer rampage to try and elimanate me. I intend to go 
on the offensive, starting this morning, with or without your alliance. I am here to offer 
myself and my people in your attack against Gulf and Bradley-Japan Headquarters."

	"We'll take it," said a new voice from the shadows. A silhouette moved from the blackness 
and walked into the light. Another shadow, smaller then the first followed. "Allies are always 
welcomed."

	Leon was startled. "You heard?"

	"Enough to be intrigued by the offer."

	"You must be Knight One," said Skeeter slowly to the black hardsuit. 

	"You are well informed," said the Knight. 

	"Well, he should be." said Leon. "This is Skeeter Karns, one of MegaTokyo's more inter-
esting citizens."

	"It seems Mr. Mallory owes you a favor for the information about Janie."

	"If what Leon told me is correct," said Skeeter in a low voice, "I'll consider us even 
once the child is safe."

	"On that we can agree," said the Black Knight. "My ally said you were a person of honor, 
not to mention well-informed."

	"I stay abreast of what's happening in the city." Skeeter glanced over at the second 
shadow. "And that is something White Saber is well aware of."

	"It's been awhile," said the leader of the Knight Sabers cooly.

	"You haven't need my services in a while."

	"What do you offer us now?"

	"First, sixty of my best troops, four light armored cars, and myself."

	The two hardsuited leaders looked at one another. Leon cut in. "There's few people out-
side of the AD Police or the Self-Defense Forces that can handle themselves like Skeeter's 
people, and most of them are working for GENOM and the other Megacorps."

	"Indeed?" Knight One looked at Skeeter again. "I'm not sure what your people can do 
against Boomers and the defenses we believe Gulf and Bradley have in place."

	"You'd be surprised what we can do without the tin suits."

	"What else are you brining to the table?" asked Leon.

	"Enough solid intelligence of Gulf and Bradley's defenses to plan this strike. My people 
now know that security setup almost as well as Ozu himself."

	"How recent?" asked Knight One.

	"I'm receiving updates every ten minutes."

	"I don't know...."

	"I know Skeeter," said Leon quickly. "If you don't include him on this, he'll go ahead 
and strike on his own. It's better to coordinate with him and save a whole lot of headaches 
later."

	"He's right," said the leader of the Knight Sabers. "With his people, we can expand our 
options."

	"In what way?" asked Knight One. Unarmored humans can't go up against Boomers and armored 
security guards." 

	"True. Unless. . . ." said White Saber. She glanced at Skeeter. "Does you vengeance have 
to be against the Gulf and Bradley - Japan headquarters complex itself?"

	"No," replied the giant. "It is high on my list, though."

	"Would you object if you and your troops created a diversion to attract attention and 
forces away from our target?"

	"If it was the right target."

	Knight One looked at his Knight Saber counterpart. "You have a plan," he said.	

	"A glimmer of one," White Saber admitted. "We need to discuss it, and quickly."

	Knight One looked back at Skeeter. "Are you willing to discuss this with us?"

	Skeeter gave them a cold smile. "I think I can make an allowance."

	"Do you trust them?" asked Chika, looking at her leader.

	"For now."

	"That's fair enough," said Knight One. "I think you, your second here, and Leon should be 
enough brainpower to pull together a plan." 

	"Me?" asked Leon. "Why?"

	Jeena slapped him on the back. "You're an experienced combat veteran, you know this city, 
and Skeeter trusts you. Any more stupid questions?"

	"Not as the present time."

	"Good," said Knight One. "Mr Karns, bring your people in. We have an attack to 
plan."




Chapter 35


Gulf and Bradley World Headquarters
Houston, Texas USA
December, 22, 2035
3:11pm (MST)

	Martha Desalvo was listed in the Gulf and Bradley corporate structure as 'Executive Vice-
President in charge of Internal Affairs,' a polite and long-winded way of saying she was Gulf 
and Bradley's Chief assassin/spy/security specialist. Tall and lean, she still looked like a 
high fashion model she had once been. But most models didn't have a Master's degree in 
psychology, advanced Dans ranks in three different martial arts, rated as 'expert marksman' in 
both pistol and sniper rifle, and the nickname 'The Ice Witch" for her cold beauty and 
ruthlessness. 

	She had been the first of Janson Bradley's new management changes in the wake of Carson 
Bradley's death, her predecessor ousted for being incompetent in failing to protect the chair-
man. Unlike Carson, Janson valued people who produced results over sycophants, and Desalvo had 
reached her current position by simply being better then anyone else in her division. As such, 
she was one of the few people the present Gulf and Bradley chairman trusted completely.

	She was staring out one of the large windows that made up two of her office walls. It was 
three days before Christmas, but the crowd of last minute shoppers walking eighty-five stories 
were far from her mind. Instead, her thoughts and gaze, were focused on the horizon, as if she 
could actually see the cause of her current thoughts - MegaToyko.

	I told Janson that those two would be trouble, she thought to herself. If I was 
related to those two, I would have eliminated them a long time ago just for breathing precious 
air. Her opinion about Janson's nephew and niece was well known to the chairman, but his 
decision had been final: Carlton Bradley had to show he had the ability to be the next head of 
Gulf and Bradley, and the Japan branch needed someone to run it effectively in the shadow of 
GENOM. 

	At least, that is what Janson Bradley said publicly. Privately, he didn't want either one 
of them in a position to undermined him directly. Janson Bradley was a hard man - weak people 
didn't rise to head large conglomerates like Gulf and Bradley or GENOM, but he tempered his 
hardness with a streak of practicality that had served him well in the wake of his brother's 
death. It was this combination that had gotten Janson into the position of Chairman and had 
kept him there.

	The same blend of traits had made him decide to send his nephew and niece to MegaTokyo. 
Janson had never liked the Giant Boomer project that Carson had negotiated with GENOM. After 
the prototype's destruction under mysterious circumstances and a top Gulf and Bradley employee 
jailed, Janson had pulled Gulf and Bradley out of the project, citing incompetence on GENOM's 
part. The resulting war of words had been short but bitter, convincing Janson he had done the 
right thing to begin with.

	But right after that, both Carlton and Cora Bradley had started pushing for more say in 
how the corporation was being run. They began question their Uncle on business decisions, 
policies, and personnel determinations, including Desalvo's appointment to her current 
position. As together they own somewhat more then twenty percent of the outstanding shares in 
Gulf and Bradley, the twins couldn't be ignored or shunted aside. 

	When the position of Gulf and Bradley - Japan opened up, Janson saw a chance to sidetrack 
them for the foreseeable future. He knew that the pair harbored an intense hatred for Chairman 
Quincy and GENOM and had a tendency to act out their aggressions. At worst, the twins would try 
and extract revenge against GENOM, and ending up paying the price for it, either with their 
lives or diminished support inside the company. Should they somehow succeed, GENOM would be 
weaken and Gulf and Bradley would be in a position to profit from it.

	You're playing a dangerous game with two unstable people, Desalvo thought to 
herself. As a precaution, she'd placed several of her own people inside Gulf and Bradley - 
Japan to keep an eye on the twins. The few reports she did received were disturbing - the twins 
were up to something, but she had no idea what. She had her suspicions, but she 
needed more proof first.

	The intercom beeped. She turned away from the window and tapped a button on the compact 
unit. "Yes?"

	"There's a Mr. Wells on the phone from Mega-Tokyo," said her secretary.

	Desalvo frowned. Wells was one of her independent contacts, people who had no direct con-
nection with Gulf and Bradley. She used them when she wanted information that wasn't filtered 
by internal biases. This one was one of the few she had in Mega-Tokyo, but he was her best 
source. She glanced at her clock. It must be important if he's calling now, she thought.

	"Put him through."

	The vidphone flickered to life and she recognized the blond man in the rumpled suit. /I'm 
glad I caught you in,/ he said.

	"Spare the pleasantries," she said curtly. "What do you have?"

	/We've got a corpwar kicking up into high gear here, and the twins are in the thick of 
it,/ replied Wells grimly. /They've managed to piss off not only GENOM, but MALCORP./

	"What the hell did they do to piss off MALCORP?"

	/How about kidnaping Greg Mallory's Goddaughter and dragging her to Mega-Tokyo for 
starters?/

	"Shit," growled Desalvo. "What else?"

	/The twins were the one behind the Thor attack last night./

	"WHAT?" Desalvo yelled. Those assholes! "Why in the hell did they do such a 
thing?"


	/They did it in an attempt to elimanate both the Black Knights and the Knight Sabers, and 
they bungled it badly./

	A long string of very unlady-like curse came rolling off of Desalvo's tongue. That disas-
ter had been played up big in the news, with parts of the government pointing fingers at other 
parts. Of all the asinine things those two idiots could have done! "Do you have proof?"

	/When the time comes./

	"You're not just yanking my chain?"

	Wells shook his head. /My source is very good and very trustworthy. If they say the 
Bradley twins were behind the Thor attack, then they were behind it./

 	"The Black Knights are involved?"

	Wells nodded this time. /It looks like they've struck an alliance with the Knight Sabers 
to take on Gulf and Bradley - Japan./

	A flash of pain across her temples signaled the start of a strong headache. "Any more 
good news?"

	/All the signs point to a full-out assault on somebody very shortly, maybe even within 
the hour./

	Damn, damn, DAMN! "All right, try and get me anything else you can. I'm coming 
over there and see what the hell is going on myself."

	/Things are spinning out of control very quickly here. I'll do what I can, but I'm not 
sure how much I can find./

	"Do what you can. We'll talk again shortly." She severed the connection and stalked out 
of the office. As she passed her secretary, she said, "Call Mr. Bradley and tell him I need to 
see him at once."

	"Yes ma'am."

	"Then call Mr. Hyde and tell him I want three - no, FOUR security teams geared up and 
ready to fly within the hour. Also tell him we're going to Mega-Tokyo, and it's a Magenta-code 
situation advisory."

	The secretary paled slightly. Before she could respond again, Desalvo was out of the 
office.



Gulf and Bradley Petrochemical refinery Alpha Star One
District 7
December 23, 2035
3:41am

	The refinery sat on a spit of land in Tokyo Bay, sticking out into the body of water like 
a think metal finger. Covering the area of a fair size town in it's own right, it was a mass of 
storage tanks and pipes, steel and concrete, towers and pits, all manned by Boomers with human 
supervision.

	It's official name was Alpha Star One, but most of the human that worked there called it 
simply "Alpha". To Gulf and Bradley, it was a jewel in the corporate crown, a show piece to the 
world. As a money-maker, it had few equals. Easily the largest refinery complex in the world, 
it was processing a full fifteen percent of the Pacific Rim's yearly gas requirement from the 
Indonesian Oil fields. As such, the refinery ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 
fifty-two weeks a year in order to keep up with the demand.

	Because of it's size and importance, security here was tight. The Boomer workers were all 
Gulf and Bradley GS-50s, programed with a dual worker/security program package, with special 
protocols to prevent a stray blast from turning the plant into an inferno. These in turn were 
backed by modified GC-17s flying squads that could reach any part of the complex in less then 
two minutes. There was no central security command center, but several sector command bunkers 
linked together by buried and protected land lines and disguised as pumping stations or 
maintenance sheds.

	Surrounding the refinery's land perimeter was a series of fences and wires designed to 
slow or cripple any attempt to breech the security there. On the bay side, the sea floor was 
covered with sensors and command-activated mines, designed to detect and elimanate a seaborne 
attempt. The GC-17's handled any attempt to attack the place from the air.

	Security was considered to be excellent for a installation this size. Several attempts by 
groups of eco-terrorists and political extremists to interfere with Alpha's production had been 
stopped cold by the Boomers and the other defensive methods, several so successfully that Gulf 
and Bradley didn't bother to inform the authorities of the attacks. Those few terrorists that 
survived were never heard from again. As an added precaution, one of the first things Carlton 
Bradley had done when he'd taken over the Japan Branch of Gulf and Bradley was to increased 
security even more. Now, the place was an armed fortress, ready to take anything thrown at it.

	It wasn't good enough.

	The first inkling that something was about to happened occurred when several of the 
sensors located on the bottom of Tokyo Bay ceased transmission. After the fifth one failed in 
as many minutes, The command bunker responsible for that sector dispatched a pair if GC-17s to 
scout the area from the air, and alerted the other command bunkers to the possibility of 
another attack. Boomers moved to their staging areas, while the humans began pumping as much of 
the highly flammable liquids away from the sectors under threat as they could.  

	From the time the GC-17s had been dispatched to the time they reached the area where the 
failed sensors were located, two minutes has elapsed. During that time, several more sensors 
had broken down, leaving gaps in the sensor fields large enough to allow human-sized objects 
through undetected. Deciding this was something more then an accidental failure, the entire 
refinery went to maximum alert, and another quartet of GC-17s were sent out to reinforced the 
first two.

	The first two GC-17s hovered ten meters over the still, dark waters of Tokyo Bay, scan-
ning for evidence of life forms not natural to the environment. After several seconds, they 
scanners were tracking several large masses rapidly moving towards the refinery's docks. 
Immediately, the pair sent a message to the nearest command bunker, confirming the alert, and 
putting the number of intruders at a dozen, possibly Boomers. The reply was swift and 
immediate; gather more data. 

	In response, the GC-17s dropped towards the water, stopping when they were less then five 
meters from the black surface. The sensors began gathering more data, looking for something 
that would identify these intruders. As the Boomer's CPUs started running matches against the 
targets listed in their memory banks, the sensor detected sudden movement from the masses below 
them. Several smaller objects leapt from the intruders' masses and raced toward the surface. 
Reacting on basic programming, both GC-17s increased thrust in an attempt to gain height. They 
never made it.

	Six small missiles burst from the dark surface and began to home on the pair. The GC-17s 
split up, twisting and moving as erratically as they could while still trying to gain more air. 
The missiles also split up, three targeting each GC-17 and gaining quickly on them. The Boomers 
turned and tried to shoot down the missiles with their own weapons, each sending all the data 
they had gathered to the command bunker in a final show of programmed loyalty. The missiles 
then struck, turning the two Boomers into a blossom of flame and sound that was visible and 
audible for kilometers.

	Acting on the destroyed Boomers data, the quartet of GC-17's sent to reinforce them were 
redirected to intercept and harass the intruders. At the docks, two dozen GS-50s moved into 
position, tasked with keeping the intruders on the docks and away from the storage tanks. 
Alerts were sent to Gulf and Bradley Headquarters and the AD Police, while other command 
bunkers kept one one on the upcoming battle, the other on their own sectors.

	And still the intruders came on. By now, everyone at the refinery, human and Boomer 
alike, realized the attackers weren't humans, but Boomers. That meant that the Boomers were 
probably on a 'suicide' mission, intending to take out as much of the refinery as they could 
before they were destroyed. 

	The reaction from the human overseers was immediate and thorough. Commands that over-rode 
the 'minimal damage' protocols were transmitted from the command bunker responsible for the 
docks to the waiting Boomers. Close behind, a complex battle plan was downloaded into the 
boomer's on-board memory in the blink of an eye. In response, the boomers ripped out of their 
human disguises, deploying mouth lasers and other weapons and they moved into final defensive 
positions. Other bunkers watched their sectors carefully, waiting for another attack to appear.

	Just as the last of the defenders reached their programmed positions, the water near the 
docks began to froth. With loud splashes, a dozen missile bursted out of the water and angled 
for the shoreline and docks. They were followed three seconds later by another dozen missiles, 
then another salvo. The defenders replied with laser and shell, trying to elimanate the in-
coming missile swarm. A third fell to the intense fire, but the remaining missiles crashed into 
the docks and ships docked there. Explosions rocked the docks as the warheads went off, sending 
gouts of fire and debris in every direction. Several of the 50s were destroyed in the raging 
sea of explosions, while the airborne 17s were forced to fall back to regroup and refocus.

	As the defending Boomers moved to recover, several forms burst out of dark water. Their 
jets firing just enough to get them to the docks, the attacking boomers landed and continued 
their attack. The air was suddenly filled with missiles, laser beams, and bullets. Boomers were 
destroyed on both sides as the ongoing fires turned the area into a Hell-like landscape. Above 
the battle, defending GC-17s floated like hideous parities of angels, looking for good shots 
against the intruders.

	Finally having a solid visual to rely on, the GS-50s and GC-17s quickly identified the 
attackers as BU-17 Hellbenders combat Boomers -- cyberdroids designed for a seaborne attack 
like this. Boomers that shouldn't be anyway near the city....

	About half of the attacking force was down now, either destroyed, or too badly damaged to 
continue. The losses among the defenders wasn't nearly as grim, but still serious. Sensing 
victory, the surviving defenders surged forward, looking to end the battle quickly.

	Unfortunately, the attack at the docks wasn't the real thing, but a diversion....

	All the GC-17s that had been acting as air cover over the battle suddenly exploded in a 
shower of sparks and shattered metal. Several dark shapes flew through the dying discharges, 
sending a hail of laser fire into the 50s below. Stunned by the sudden change in the fight, the 
defense began to crumble. The unknown aero-boomers continued their strafing runs as the 
surviving Hellbenders retreated to the relative safety of the water.

	At the same time, across the refinery, a dozen dark shadows moved quickly and silently 
among the storage tanks. The few sentry boomers left in the area had been quickly and ruthless 
dispatched, as had the humans who'd been manning the security bunker for the sector. Now, each 
and every storage tank was being tagged with an explosive device designed to destroy the pumps 
regulating the oil transference. Once detonated, the tanks would be filled of valuable oil, but 
unreachable until the pumps were replaced. It wasn't as damaging as destroying the tanks 
outright, but even GENOM realized that igniting several trillion kiloliters of highly flammable 
crude and refined gas all at once wasn't a good idea. 

	Once the last of the Hellbenders had retreated into the darkness of Tokyo Bay, the aero-
boomers broke off their attack and roared off into the night sky. At an unseen signal, the 
sabotaging boomers stopped and moved swiftly and silently back to the refinery's fenceline. In 
minutes, they, too, had faded into the darkness surrounding Alpha One.     



AD Police Headquarters
December 23, 2035
4:09am

	Daley looked at the men and women grouped around the table. They all looked as tired as 
he felt. The people around the table were a mix of investigating detectives and detachment 
commanders, officers who were going to be caught in the middle of what could be a brutal 
Corpwar. Jeena's revelations had hit him hard in the stomach. Boomer rampages were bad enough, 
but out and out warfare?

	The redheaded inspector's eyes wonder around the table. Julian Weiss was asleep, his head 
cradled in his arms. Mandy Thesan was leaning back in her chair glaring at anyone who bothered 
to look at her. Most of the others around the table were half dozing, despite the triple 
strength coffee forced upon them when they walked in the door. With the exception of the chief, 
who never could be found anywhere near the headquarters building after five PM, and two 
detachment commanders, who were supervising their units in the clean-up of a Boomer rampage in 
a condominium complex, the room held the ADP senior front-line commanders.

	Ko looked at him from the other end of the table. The newest ADP detective was slouched 
over the table, his coffee cup half full in front of him. "How reliable is this Jeena?" he 
asked.

	"She's ex-ADP and Leon's ex-partner," replied Daley. "If he trusts her, so do I."

	"So what do we do besides sit here on our butts?" asked Thesan bluntly.

	"I suppose we could try and arrest the leadership of GENOM, Gulf and Bradley Japan, and 
MALCORP," replied Ko. "That is, if we want to be unemployed in a hurry."

	"That's assumes you can find them in time," muttered Thesan. "Or that arresting them 
would stop it."

	"Does anyone have any other suggestions?" asked Daley sharply.

	Weiss stirred. "What can we do?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred from sleep. "We 
don't have the people or the equipment to stop them. And if we do try to stop them, we'll get 
massacred."

	"And if we don't, how many civilians are going to get caught in the crossfire?" asked 
Thesan.

	"So what would be different from what we're doing now?" said Weiss quietly.

	"Enough," said Daley before Thesan could reply. "We're screwed no matter what we do, so 
we're going to try and keep it to a minimum. Which one of the three corps have the weakest 
defenses?"

	"MALCORP," replied Ko. "Even with the security robots, they can't match either GENOM or 
Gulf and Bradley's firepower." 

	"But they don't have a lot here to defend," said Vance, one of the other Detachment 
commanders.

	"Vance's right," said Thesan. "Unless they've imported some outside firepower, they can't 
go onto the offence."

	Daley stayed silent, his thoughts drifting back to his conversation with Jeena at 
MALCORP's pharmaceutical research center....

	"All right," said Jeena, once they were alone. "I'll make this short and sweet. MALCORP 
is here to get back a kidnaped girl. Gulf and Bradley have her. GENOM is sniffing around the 
edge, and if they smell blood, they'll jump in with both feet."

	"What's so important about this girl?" Daley had asked.

	"She's has information that could make the ADP's job more of a nightmare then it is now. 
Remember those CU-5T from a couple of nights ago? The ones that appeared to have force 
shields?"

	"You mean...."

	Jeena nodded, her expression grim. "If you think rampaging Boomers are bad now, wait 
until models equipped with this technology go berserk. You won't have a snowball's chance of 
hell of stopping them."

	"Why the hell does Gulf and Bradley want the technology?"

	"Not the entire corporation, though if it fell into their hands, they won't be com-
plaining. The best we can figure is that it's a rouge operation. The CEO of Gulf and Bradley-
Japan, one Carlton Bradley, is out for Quincy's head, and wants this technology to give him an 
edge against GENOM." 

	Daley let some irony into his tone. "And MALCORP's out to get this girl simply out of the 
goodness of their hearts."

	Jeena frowned in a way that made her look more menacing. "The girl in question is my 
boss' goddaughter."

	"You serious?"

	"Very." There was a frostiness in the tall woman's tone that chilled Daley. "That what 
this attack was about." She motioned to the wreckage around them. "It was Carlton and Cora 
Bradley's way of saying to my boss, 'back off'."

	"You boss isn't going to listen, is he?"

	"Not a chance in hell. The war's already started. Last night's light show on the Coastal 
Highway was the opening salvo. This here was an escalation, an upping of the ante."

	"Shit," growled Daley. "Which side was responsible for the Thor strike?"

	"Has to be the Gulf and Bradley people, but you'll never get it to stand up in a Court of 
Law."

	"So what is the ADP suppose to do?"

	"You want my advice? Keep everyone out of the way, because the only thing you'll be able 
to do is fill body bags. It's not worth it to get people killed over, Daley."

	The redheaded Inspector sighed. "I can't do that, Jeena. The ADP has been dealt a crap 
hand for years, but we can't ignore this for very long."

	"Look, you get the ADP caught up in this, and there may not be enough of a force left 
after the dust settles. You'll be outgunned, out-manned, outspent, and probably outmaneuvered. 
You simply don't have the resources the Megacorps have."

	"Tell me something I don't know," snarled Daley. "But like it or not, we're in this 
game."

	"A word of advice, then. Make Gulf and Bradley your main target. MALCORP doesn't have 
enough presence here to have much influence. And if GENOM realizes that you're not interfering 
with their actions, they'll not bother you. Have you met with the American team investigating 
last night's disaster?"

	"A General Wolfe. He is not a happy camper."

	"I don't doubt it. I suggest you past along what I've told you about Gulf and Bradley's 
involvement with the Thor strike. If nothing else, it'll give Bradley something else to worry 
about. Leave the rest to us. MALCORP isn't looking for an all-out fight, but we're not going to 
back down over this."

	Daley pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of irritation. "Damn it, this was once 
a simple job. When did it go all to hell?"

	"I don't know," replied Jeena, her expression grim. "I use to ask that question myself, 
but gave up after several years of thinking about it. You should do the same."

	"How's Leon doing?"

	Jeena smiled. "He's slugging right along with us. He's fine now, but I don't think he'll 
last long after this is all said and done. I hope you've found a way to get him back."

	"I told the Chief that Leon's working undercover to try and stop this corpwar."

	"Believable, but from what I've heard of this new chief, you could have told him you were 
Quincy, and he'd believe you."  

	Daley glanced around. "I think we've talked long enough. Ko maybe looking for me, and I 
don't want to disillusion him too early in his ADP career."

	Jeena's smile got wider. "You think you can spare him for...say a half hour? I promise to 
be gentle."	

	"Maybe later, assuming he doesn't mind."

	"I'll hold you to that."

	"Tell Leon when you see him that I'll take him out to dinner after all this."

	"He isn't your type."

	Daley sighed. "I can still dream, can't I?" he said in a light tone.

	The opening of the conference room's door brought Daley out of his haze of memories. One 
of the female office staffers was standing there, looking ill at else.

	"What is it?" growled Thesan.

	"We-we got a report of a Boomer attack at the Gulf and Bradley Petrochemical refinery 
Alpha Star One," the girl said hurriedly.

	"Oh shit," hissed Thesan.

	Daley looked at Weiss and Thesan. "Both of you take your detachments and head out now. 
Ko, wake up Lars there and tell him his detachment is now on five-minute standby with the 
others. I want a flight of Firebees to scout out the area around the refinery complex, but 
avoid any combat."

	"What about the fire department?" asked Weiss.. "We may be forced to give them cover if 
there's still an active Boomer presence."

	"Find out what's going on first, then use your best judgement. The Firemen don't want to 
tangle with Boomer anymore then you do."

	"What about you and me?" asked Ko.

	Daley failed to stifle a yawn. "You and me are going to visit Gulf and Bradley-Japan 
Headquarters and start asking questions."

	The younger man's jaw dropped. "At this time of the morning?"

	The red-hair Inspector gave him a tired smile. "Then, they won't be expecting us, will 
they?"


	

	

  	
Chapters 26 - 30
  	
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