Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Black Knights, Steel Hearts ❯ Chapter 32

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

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Bubble Gum Crisis is copyrighted by Artmic Inc. and Youmex, Inc. I am just
borrowing the characters for a little while, and promise not to bend, fold,
or staple them - unless I can come up with a good reason to do so. I can be
contacted at the Email address above. C&C will be accepted, out and out
flames will result in a Boomer or two being sent after you.

Please, enjoy my take on the Bubble Gum Crisis universe.....
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Chapter 32

Nene's Apartment
Sunday, December 23, 2035
12:43am

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. There's no telling what's going to happen tomorrow, she thought.

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 condition, 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
Sunday, December 23, 2035
1:07am

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 you to him."

"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 evidence 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 evidence 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 storefront they were passing. "That's one of four 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."

"Damn 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 damn 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&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 GENOM 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 Philip 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 between them, but not far enough apart that Skeeter couldn't avoid having to put his hands on their shoulders as he passed them. 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 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 had somehow been immobilized. "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, who had just rentered the bar. "Can you complete your analysis by then?"

Akito nodded. "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 everyone 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's 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 damn 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 everyone 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, Arabic, 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 abhorrent 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 VanDell 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. <<i>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
Sunday, December 23, 2035
1:09am

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 damn 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 what he wants."

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 it's 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 after- noon, 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 fore 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 by far. He 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.

**********