As before, all praise/blame goes to Marco de la Cruz
<marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca>
        Don't worry, X-Change Students is alive and well.
 
HTG
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----

The large conference room was dark save for the circles of
light projected upon the surface of the large oak table by the
lamps aligned along its sides. There were eleven bright spots
in total, five on each side of the table, and one at the
end. Each was located in front of a chair, providing the
necessary illumination for the people who sat on them. As a
security measure there were no windows in this room. It was,
in fact, at the centre on a huge building, surrounded by
reinforced duralumin walls, electronically protected by a
sophisticated array of ECM, and physically by a dozen
carefully configured BU-55 units. It was a top-level
clearance, priority one room, located at the very heart of the
Genom tower. Twelve people, and only twelve, had access to it.
Eleven of them were currently sitting in their assigned seats,
carefully examining the holographic images which formed in
front of them. The sole figure which had no place to sit
remained standing behind the man at the end of the table, its
face obscured by the shadows.

The pictures they were viewing showed various takes of a
severely damaged boomer lying on the ground. At this reduced
projection size it looked like a toy smashed by an angry
child, its face and arm destroyed, a hole torn through its
chest. After the laser beams shut off and the images
disappeared a heavy silence fell upon the room. In spite of
the tension which could be felt among all those present, the
voice of the man sitting at the end was strangely calm, albeit
dead serious.

    "Would someone care to explain to me what happened
tonight?"

Before anybody had a chance to answer he turned towards a
rather distinguished looking man sitting near the other end of
the table who kept adjusting his glasses.

    "Dr. Shikiro?"

Dr. Shikiro looked up, a slightly bewildered expression drawn
on his face. He again pushed his glasses to the bridge of his
nose and cleared his throat.

    "Quincy-sama, these pictures we have just viewed were
taken tonight after the BU-70c was sent on its first
real-world tactical training mission. Our observers indicate
that the boomer's performance was superlative until the ADP's
special forces unit entered the scene and engaged in
combat. Details of the battle between the ASF and the combat
unit remain unknown so far, but apparently the boomer managed
to eliminate its targets as planned. It seems, however, that
after completing its offensive something went, uh, wrong."

Shikiro nervously glanced at the faces around him, staring
back. All of them, that is, except for Quincy's, who kept
looking intently at his light's reflection off the shiny
wooden surface of the desk. Shikiro nervously pushed back his
glasses and continued his account.

    "Someone or something attacked the BU-70c effectively
neutralizing it. Our initial reports indicate that a powerful
concussive blow nullified the unit's pulse laser, and both
thermoblade and supercannon were severed with a cutting
device, possibly some type of, uh, high-strength blade of
unknown composition. A large cavity in its torso indicates a
concentrated piezothermal blast, probably in conjunction with
the use of the blade. So far ADP seems to be just as confused
as, uh, we are about this. You'll find the details of what
we've found so far in the report I handed you a few minutes
ago, uh, sir."

    "Were the Knight Sabers involved?"

    "Uh, we don't think so, sir. Nobody saw them nor was there
any trace of their presence in the area. We have just received
the boomer's remains an hour ago, and have confirmed that the
damage sustained by the unit does not match the Knight Saber's
weaponry signature, sir. "

Quincy remained silent, his expression stone cold. After a
couple of uncomfortable minutes he suddenly spoke.

    "I find this report far from satisfactory regarding the
details of the events that have led to
this... setback. Perhaps, Dr. Shikiro, you would care to share
with us your findings as to the contents of the boomer's
databank chip? I'm sure it would aid us in finding out exactly
what happened out there tonight."

Shikiro shifted nervously in his seat, sweat falling down his
now pale forehead. He again pushed back his glasses.

    "I'm afraid, Quincy-sama, that we, uh, do not have the
databank chip in our, uh, possession."

Quincy's stare pierced him like a knife.

    "Sir, I believe... I'm sure Sakai-san can explain why this
is so."

Quincy gaze slowly turned to a man sitting on the other side
of the table. Chief of Security Sakai tensed as he felt the
world fall on his shoulders.

    "Mr. Sakai, would you care to explain this to me?"

In spite of the pain swelling in his stomach, Sakai managed to
conceal it admirably well.

    "Quincy-sama, it seems that the chip got somehow misplaced
during transfer. It is highly likely that it was simply stored
in the ADP's evidence cabinets instead of being sent to
us. Probably a just mistake."

Silence once again reigned. After a few moments moments Quincy
spoke in a grave voice.

    "Probably?"

Sakai's voice almost faltered.

    "One of our lab technicians thinks he signed for the
delivery of a databank chip sent from ADP headquarters, but
he's not sure. My men are working on it."

Quincy shifted heavily on his chair. He leaned forward and
placed both forearms on the table.

    "Gentlemen," he slowly began, "as you all well know, the
BU-70 series was designed for a very specific purpose. It has
taken a considerable fraction of Genom's R&D budget for the
past two years, not to mention the greatest man-power this
company's ever dedicated to a single project, second only to
our ODS. As a result we have produced what is undoubtedly the
most advanced combat superboomer ever made, the culmination of
thousands of hours of research and in-lab testing."

He paused for a moment and then continued, his voice growing
harsher as he spoke.

    "And now you sit in front of me, at this table, and tell
me that its performance was 'superlative', but then something
materialized out of nowhere and in a matter of minutes
defeated, no, make that 'utterly destroyed', our most advanced
combat boomer and then disappeared without a trace?!? And, to
make things worse, it so happens that our *only* source of
information regarding the fate of a two billion yen machine is
a fifty yen chip which was 'misplaced'?!?"

Quincy was by now shouting, both his fists clenched while his
jaw trembled in fury.

    "Gentlemen! I will *not* stand for this brazenly stupid
behaviour any longer!!"

He took a deep breath. He now spoke with in a soft but firm
manner, far more chilling than his previous outburst.

    "Dr. Shikiro. I want a fully detailed report on what
happened to the BU-70c within the next twelve hours. Anything
less I will deem unacceptable and you will personally suffer
the consequences, am I making myself clear?"

Shikiro quickly nodded, his face growing paler still.

    "Mr. Sakai. You will of course provide Dr. Shikiro with
the databank chip he will require to comply with my
orders. Failure to produce that chip will result in a most
unpleasant situation for both us. Rest assured, however, that
it *will* be much more disagreeable for you than for me, do
you understand?"

    "Yes Quincy-sama," he whispered back.

    "From the rest, I expect a full account from each and
every one of you regarding this situation. Let it be clear
that we have *all* failed, and that as Chairman of the Genom
Corporation is it my duty to get to the bottom of this most
loathsome incident. Failure to do so will *not* be tolerated!"

    "You are dismissed."

The ten people sitting at the sides of the large table got up
almost in unison and hurriedly began to leave, casting worried
and suspicious glances at each other.

    "Mr. Sakai, I will have words with you. Privately."

Sakai stopped on his tracks and slowly turned around to face
the Chairman, who was still sitting. He noticed the figure
which remained in the shadows remained immobile. When the last
person left and the heavy wooden doors of the conference room
closed he warily addressed his boss.

    "Yes, Quincy-sama?"

    "You sound tired, Mr. Sakai. I do not appreciate that."

    "My apologies, sir."

    "I read your report concerning Dr. Wagner. Your handling
of this case has been disappointing, to say the least."

    "I'm sorry, sir, I..."

    "Those words are becoming very common in your vocabulary,
Mr. Sakai.  You are walking on thin ice as it is. One more
excuse and you will be...  relieved from your duties, so think
very carefully before answering my questions, understand?"

    "Yes, sir," he replied, his shoulder muscles painfully
tensing.

    "It seems that your men managed to localize Dr. Wagner
this afternoon but the capture went askew. According to the
report he was accompanied by an unknown type of boomer
disguised as a female which killed two men, is this correct?"

    "Yes, sir, although one of them was an undercover boomer
unit, sir."

    "Of course. It says that both agents were swiftly
eliminated, even before backups could get to them."

    "Yes, sir. We were not aware that Dr. Wagner was
accompanied by a boomer, much less a combat model."

    "But you *do* know Dr. Wagner's current location, do you
not?"

    "Yes, sir. We finally managed to pinpoint his address a
few hours before our attempt to..."

    "Yes, well," Quincy interrupted, "I want full details of
where he is right now, plus all relevant information. Have it
emailed to me in the next half hour. You are no longer in
charge of Dr. Wagner's retrieval, from now on you will
concentrate solely on what happened to the BU-70."

    "You can go now," he finished, brusquely.

    "Yes, Quincy-sama," Sakai replied, turning around and
rapidly heading for the exit.

    "One more thing, Mr. Sakai."

    "Sir?"

    "The boomer which accompanied our man during the capture,
it was a BU-55, was it not?"

    "Yes, a model 'd' undercover agent, programmed for close
range fight."

    "What model was it, the one with Wagner?" Quincy suddenly
asked.

    "Unfortunately the BU-55 has but a very primitive data
gathering system, sir, although it certainly wasn't one of
ours. It is possibly one of Verkraftung's old models, probably
a unit which Wagner somehow manage to keep. We suspect an
m-46, or perhaps the m-56, we're not sure."

    "Verkraftung's designs seem to be living up to their
reputation," Quincy muttered, more to himself than to Sakai,
"Perhaps we were a bit hasty..."

Quincy remained silent for a few moments.

    "Very well. You may leave," he finally said.

Quincy eased himself on his chair, reclining back. A few
minutes after the doors had shut the figure behind him spoke
for the first time.

    "So, do you really believe that the Knight Sabers had
nothing to do with what happened to the BU-70?"

Quincy paused for a long time, apparently unaware of the
question. He finally sighed and wearily responded.

    "Stingray and the other three buffoons?"

He gazed at the ceiling, pondering. The Knight Sabers. What a
joke. Had it not been for Stingray's undeniable brilliance he
would have had them eliminated long ago. At first they had
served a purpose, field tests for new hardware. Genom's
technological level would soon rise to the same heights of
Stingray's own brainchilds, and their defeat would be
inevitable. After a couple of years, however, it became clear
that he had grossly underestimated their capabilities. He had
quickly figured out who the leader was, a fact so obvious that
it was hard to believe Stingray's daughter still thought it a
secret. Finding the identities of the other three had been
child's play for a company with the resources Genom
commanded. He could have them assassinated within the
hour. And yet...

It was an affront that these women had managed to face and
overcome all their efforts to destroy them. But the honour of
Genom, the corporation, required that they defeat the Knight
Sabers, not just the people inside the powersuits. At the
beginning this had been but a small inconvenience, a minor
setback. As time passed and the Saber's deeds gained
recognition, however, the very foundations of the company
started to crack when stock values began to falter. Who would
want to buy war machinery incapable of dealing with four
homemade hardsuits? It had been but a slight plunge in the
exchange rate after a particularly notable defeat of six high
performance units at the Knight Saber's hands.  Although the
shares soon regained their original value, the signs were
there, and he had to do something about it, the sooner the
better. The advanced AI and the new superboomer became Genom's
top priorities. The former fizzled when Wagner suddenly
decided to disappear, but the latter had been an exemplary
research programme. He had carefully supervised its
development every step of the way, and upon completion knew
that he finally had the killer he needed, the machine that
would ultimately destroy the Knight Sabers. What had happened
tonight had shaken him far more than anybody imagined, for the
implications for the company of the boomer's crushing defeat
were far more serious than anybody realized.

Quincy closed his eyes.

The Company.

He prided himself of Genom's achievements, of an industry
which revolutionized the world he lived in. He knew he was the
bad guy in this story of good against evil, the four
vigilantes which fought against the wicked creators of
monsters. Indeed, he made no excuses for his actions.
Military research still took up most of Genom's R&D budget,
and drew the bulk of attention from the media, but the dozens
of secondary programmes which had developed as a consequence
were rarely ever mentioned. Genom had practically made
advances in every single field of science: from fundamental
physics to applied biochemistry, cybernetics, medicine,
electronics, and almost every conceivable aspect of
technology.

Some people died in the process. So what?

Genom was the life support of almost thirty thousand people in
MegaTokyo alone. Every single employee which worked for Genom
made a decent living, every single one. And he knew they knew
it. Walk along the streets and look at the mendicants begging
for food, see children and women prostitute themselves for
money, watch people slowly die of hunger, disease and drug
abuse. Are they not being murdered also?

A government which kills its own citizens through corruption
and putrescence is ten thousand times worse than anything
Genom could ever be accused of, for it compounds its mockery
of human life with unyielding hypocrisy towards its own.

No, Genom was far more than than a military equipment
manufacturer. It was a living entity, a proud and powerful
being which he commanded, but which he also respected and
fought for. With the BU-70 Genom would regain its proper
stature in the eyes of the world.

    "No," he replied, in a low voice, "this was definitely not
due to the Knight Saber's interference."

He turned the chair towards the figure behind him.

    "I will immediately send you a copy of Sakai's
report. From now on you will be in charge of capturing
Dr. Wagner and the boomer which accompanies him. Use all
means, and I emphasize 'all', necessary to retrieve them
both. This mission is of critical importance, and I expect
them to be in our custody within the next few
hours. Understood?"

    "Yes, Quincy-sama."

    "Very well. I expected no less of you, Ms. Madigan."

As the young woman turned around and left the large conference
room, Quincy once again gazed at the ceiling, and then slowly
closed his eyes.

-----

The little girl wandered aimlessly through the dark city
streets. She hardly noticed when she soon found herself in a
rather crowded section of the city. Even at this time of the
night, and in spite of the heavy rain, the red-light district
had just began its feverish activity.  Hookers, pimps, slags,
junkies, fixers, dealers, skin poppers, dick peddlers,
coke-heads and assorted perverts all performed their nightly
chores under flickering neon signs of cheap sleazy hotels and
porno shops. She looked wide-eyed at the badly lit window
dressings along the sidewalk, various assortments of obscene
magazines and movies, sex toys among kinky leather gear, men,
women and children displaying themselves, trying to lure
potential customers into watching a variety of shows aimed
towards a selected audience: voyeurs, sado-masochists,
pedophiles, necrophilics and, from the variety of ill-fed
animals in one of the displays, those with a taste for
bestiality.

It was business as usual in MegaTokyo's infamous Kabuki-cho
district.

As she studied with curiosity a particularly
threatening-looking spiked leather garment, she heard a scream
just behind her.

A few metres away, near the streetcorner, a beautiful young
girl, about 15 or 16, was crouching on the sidewalk. A black
sports car was parked just behind her, the passenger window
rolled down, the driver's face hidden by the shadows within
the vehicle. She held tightly to the leg of large man who was
screaming at her, while she desperately cried and sobbed, a
mix of rainwater and tears flowing down her heavily maked-up
cheeks.

    "Nooo! Please! Please!! He bad man!!! He hurt Shumira!!!"

    "Fucking little bitch! What did you think this was, a
fucking paid vacation?!? Get in the car you whore! Get in or
I'll smash your face, bitch!!"

    "Noooo! Pleeeease!!! He hurt Shumira!!! Noooo!!!"

People passed by them, completely ignoring the painful plea of
the girl as she tightened her grip around his leg, squirming
on the ground.

    "I said get IN!!! Fucking bitch!!!"

His fist fell heavily on her back, between her
shoulderblades. She squealed in pain, her face a mask of
despair and fear, but refused to let go. She renewed her
begging, a choked and painful whimper.

    "Nooooooooo!!!! Please no hit Shumira!!!! Shumira
     HURTS!!!"

The man hit her again, on the back of the neck. Her cries
stopped for a moment, as she gagged and coughed from the force
of the blow. Her screams began to turn into a wail of terror.

    "Pleeease!!! Noooooo!!!! SHUMIRA HURTS!!!!
     PLEEEEEEEEEAAAASE!!!!"

The sports car pulled away, tired of waiting for the girl to
get in. The pimp slowly took something out of his pocket.

The look of fury on his face began to turn into a hideous,
perverted grin which revealed his sickeningly yellowed teeth,
as he put on the shiny brass knuckles. Slowly lifting his
fist, he took careful aim, and savagely thrust it downwards,
directly towards the tormented girl's head.

His arm froze in midair, mere centimetres from its intended
target.

    "What the FUCK?!?"

The man looked towards the owner of the little hand which had
tightly gripped his forearm, slender fingers digging deep into
his flesh. His jaw almost dropped when he saw the small girl
at his side, just slightly taller than his waistline, glaring
at him, her lips twisted in a grimace of rage and utmost
repulsion.

    "You are dead, bitch! You hear me?!? DEAD!!"

The switchblade opened with a click, streetlights glittered on
the edge of the knife. He began to swing it at her, when
suddenly his whole body twitched spasmodically. A blast of raw
pain exploded in his arm, and the sound of cracking bones shot
through the air as blood squirted out the various needle scars
which punctured his skin.

The girl, without even the slightest effort, had tightened her
grip with such ferocity that her fingers, which had barely
managed to hold his muscular forearm a minute ago, now
completely surrounded it.

She let go as he began to howl in agony, blinded by the
intense pain that swelled from his crushed limb throughout his
entire body. He somehow managed to remained standing,
staggering backwards, away from this little girl that had
almost severed his arm with her bare hand.  Crouching, he
started to flee, half running, half limping, screaming in pain
each time he bumped into somebody as he clumsily tried to put
some distance between himself and the girl.

She began to advance after him, her expression a convoluted
mixture of fury and disgust, when a weak moan drew her
attention. The girl, Shumira, as she called herself, lay on
the wet sidewalk, curled up in a foetal position, rubbing the
the back of her neck and lightly sobbing.  The excessive
makeup she wore was smeared over her face, giving her an
almost clown-like appearance. The girl knelt down next to her,
and gently began to run her fingers through her lovely white
hair. Her previous wrath smothered by the poor girl's
suffering, she opened her mouth to say something, comfort her
somehow, but the words simply wouldn't come out.

She looked around, at the people walking beside them, ignoring
them, as if they weren't there. The rain kept pouring down,
and she noticed Shumira was shivering. She bent until their
faces were almost touching, and slowly began to whisper.

    "W-where,... where do y-you live?"

Shumira opened her eyes, and looked at her for the first
time. Her delicate lips formed a weak smile as she whispered
back.

    "Thank you."

The little girl's face lit up, and smiled back at her. As
Shumira began to get up she put her arm over the girl's
shoulders and got on her feet.  She was slightly taller than
the girl who had rescued her, and just as lean. She stood for
a moment, still dizzy from the punches she had received,
aching, but apparently unharmed. She turned towards the girl,
arms crossed, hugging herself.

    "Shumira take you to her place now, O.K.?"

Without hesitating, the little girl gave her a vigorous
nod. With that, both of them soon disappeared into the crowd,
which remained indifferent as ever to all the events that had
occurred there that night.

-----

As they slowly walked through the dark streets Shumira began a
lively conversation with the girl. It was more of a monologue,
however, as the little girl spent most of the time just
nodding when Shumira asked her some cursory question which she
usually answered herself, or simply smiling back when she
laughed at her own quips.

    "Shumira likes rain, but no like to get wet. But from
Shumira's place we no get wet. Sugoi, ne?"

Shumira giggled and the girl, as always, just gave her a nod
and a reassuring smile.

    "Shumira dumb! Shumira no ask her friend's name!"

The little girl slowed down, almost stopping, wondering. What
*was* her name? She was surprised to find that she didn't
know. She was even more puzzled by the fact that she hadn't
even thought about it. She turned towards Shumira and gave her
a confused look.

    "I... don't know. I can't remember."

It was Shumira's turn to look puzzled

    "Why?"

    "Well, I-I..."

    "No matter!" Shumira interrupted, looking wide-eyed at
her, "You helped Shumira, like Onii-chan used to, and Shumira
grateful. You be Shumira's Big Sister, Nee-san!"

Shumira gave her a wide grin, proud of her wise choice of
name. The girl shrugged and decided to follow along.

    "O.K.!" she answered, cheerfully.

Suddenly, the little girl's smile turned into an expression of
alarm.

Shumira's teeth were covered with blood.

    "Shumira! Your mouth!"

Shumira quickly fastened her lips and wiped her teeth with her
tongue.  Turning around she spat a mixture of saliva and
blood. She then faced the girl, giving her a reassuring look.

    "No worry, Nee-san, Shumira fine! Just a teeny bit of
blood.  Happens sometimes. No problem, ne?"

The little girl assented half-heartedly, worried about her
companion.  Even if she had known the nature of Shumira's
affliction, and the fact that it was very easy to treat, she
still couldn't have provided her any food to prevent the
ensuing course of scurvy which had begun to ravage Shumira's
anemic frame.

Shumira, however, seemed to ignore the presage of her illness
altogether, and continued her spirited conversation with her
concerned friend.

-----

The rain had by now become a light drizzle, and after a few
minutes they began to walk along some long-unused railroad
tracks. The rails were rusty and misaligned, and quite a few
crossbeams were missing. The once busy Yamanote line was now
slowly decaying, never to carry commuter filled trains again.

The railroad lay on a concrete platform which soon began to
rise above the ground. They got off the tracks and walked
alongside a large wall which formed the base. Tunnels which
had been burrowed into the structure gave way for the streets
to pass under the train. It was obvious, however, that it had
been a long time since cars had travelled these parts of the
city. Rivers of rain snaked down the sidewalk, a now useless
sewage system overflown with filth and rot, gutters inundated
under water. Block after block, piles of debris and garbage
lined the streets, remnants of what had once been apartment
buildings and shops.  The few structures that remained
standing were falling apart, deathtraps to anybody foolish
enough to venture into them. The smell of putrid flesh among
the most recent ruins was due mostly to dead animals that did
not know well enough, winos and junkies too drunken or drugged
to care.

Shumira finally stopped next to a small ladder attached to the
wall. It was only a couple of metres tall, and they both
climbed it until they reached the top, where the opening to a
small maintenance passage was located. Shumira shoved sideways
a flimsy piece of plastic-covered cardboard which hung from a
nail and functioned as a door. She got in, closely followed by
the girl. The tunnel was barely a metre high, and about three
metres deep. It was dark and very humid, but the cover over
the entrance had kept most of the water out. Shumira somehow
managed to light an old oil lamp, which filled the concrete
cave with the pungent smell of burning kerosene, but which at
least provided some illumination. What it showed, however, was
a little sad. Bundles of clothes and torn magazines strewn on
the floor, some cracked dishes, a few broken toys and tools,
crayons and various small pieces of junk. The walls were
covered with clippings, photographs from old magazines. Faded
pictures which had once been colourful images on glossy paper,
now yellowed by time and moisture: a hunchback whale leaping
out of the water, an aerial view of a cathedral in Germany, a
movie poster of "Metropolis", an impressive take of
Mt. Everest during a snowstorm, a jester dancing in the market
square, a castle in Ireland, a beautiful blue Earth as seen
from outer space, and in the middle of it all, a small
Polaroid of a young man in his twenties, smiling cheerfully at
the camera, his body cut in half by a finger that had got
between him and the lenses.

    "Nee-san likes Shumira's pictures? Cool, eh?"

The girl turned around to see Shumira vigourously rubbing her
head with a small towel. She too was dreamingly looking at the
pictures. She stood up and began to undress.

    "Nee-san should take clothes off, they're all wet!"

The girl began to unbutton her coat, but kept staring at
Shumira. Even in this badly lit cave, after all she must have
gone through, she could tell that Shumira was indeed a very
beautiful young girl. Having cleaned away the make-up her face
was radiant, a small mouth and nose under large, intensely
blue eyes which contrasted with her pearl white eyebrows and
hair. She had light brown skin and a very nice figure,
although she could clearly see her ribs under a thin layer of
flesh.  Quite a few dark purple bruises were also visible on
her chest and thighs, and the girl felt something stir within
her, which, for a fleeting instant, turned the pupils of her
eyes into cold, black diamonds.

    "Oooooooh!" It was now Shumira's turn to look at her,
wide-eyed, an expression of marvel on her face.

The girl looked down. Through the open coat and torn leather
suit she wore, her metallic skin glistered under the pale
flame of the lamp. The plates that formed her torso traced the
smooth curves of her figure, and blended into each other
forming a complex pattern of intertwining junctions. Tiny
black orifices clustered just below each of her small, perfect
breasts. Slender, fragile looking arms and legs, so delicate
and smooth, yet capable of a functionality and power far
beyond that of any of Nature's creations. Each joint was
superbly formed: her neck, shoulders, elbows, knees, the
articulations in each of her fingers, all exquisitely designed
and constructed. Indeed, hers was a body engineered for
perfection, the ultimate achievement of a technology that was
yet to be.

    "Woooooow!" Shumira ran a finger along her shiny forearm,
"this is sooo cool!"

    "Uh, thank you," the girl replied, unsure of how to
respond, "you're a, uh, very beautiful girl, too, Shumira"

    "Shumira once saw a big fight between police and a big
meanie guy called 'bummer', and was killing a lot of people
and had skin like Nee-san's, but not as pretty!"

The girl thought silently for a moment.

    "Here!" Shumira handed her a worn, pink nightgown,
"Shumira let Nee-san use her pj's!"

Shumira herself had put on a long T-shirt riddled with holes,
and a faded picture of Sailor Moon stamped on the front. The
girl quickly finished undressing, and Shumira eyes opened even
wider when she unstrapped the sheath attached to her forearm,
the reflection of the flame dancing on the hilt of the
knife. This time, however, Shumira remained silent.

    "Shumira needs to pee. Does Nee-san need to go?"

The girl gave her a small smile and shook her head.

    "O.K.! Back in a minute!" she answered cheerfully.

Shumira left the cave and down to the street. The girl
suddenly realized she would be out by herself, alone in the
dark. With a worried look on her face she headed after
her. She was about to climb down the ladder when she heard the
faint sound of a stream of splashing water. She decided it
might be better to wait, and sat on the edge of the hole.
Although the rain had stopped the skies were still overcast,
and the night was pitch black. With almost no buildings
obstructing the view she could see far away, towards the
centre of the city. The enormous skyscrapers clustered at the
heart of MegaTokyo, forming bright needles which pierced the
heavens. Huge structures of metal, concrete and glass, symbols
of wealth and greed. But for all their grandiose proportions
they were nonetheless dwarfed by the gigantic pyramid-like
structure which rose like a titan amongst them. A monolith
which radiated a sense of power, and maybe also, fear. And yet
the little girl was somehow unimpressed. Although she didn't
know it, her eyes had once witness sights no human, not even
the ones within the Tower, could even imagine.  Entire planets
destroyed by the blinding fury of small suns, attack ships
imploding into artificial black-holes, floating cities falling
from the skies, the unified screams of half a billion people
plunging to their deaths. The fact that she did not remember
these events, however, was, perhaps, for the best.

    "Nee-san likes view from Shumira's place?"

The girl looked down to see Shumira climbing the ladder. She
sat by her side and both silently gazed at MegaTokyo's
impressive skyline. Yet soon Shumira opened her mouth wide in
a big yawn, and her eyelids began to close in spite of her
efforts to stay awake. They both crawled inside the little
cave, and Shumira cuddled on a heap on sheets and clothes.
Although there was another small pile of clothing, the girl
placed it under Shumira's head and simply lay on the bare
floor.

    "Shumira is glad Nee-san came", she said, sleepily,
"Shumira was so lonely since Onii-chan gone, Shumira was very,
very sad, but now Shumira is not lonely... anymore... now
that... Nee-san... came..."

She quickly dozed away. The girl, however, kept staring at the
ceiling, her eyebrows knitted. She lifted her hand above her
face, and carefully studied it under the light glow of the
fading flame from the lamp. What was she, really? Who was she?
She opened and closed her fist, trying to remember, attempting
to trace her memories backwards in time. A man, lying on the
street, bleeding, whimpering, a monster, razor-sharp claws,
ripping her apart, a gun, a dream. She looked at the pictures
on the wall, and for an instant, a split second, the white
blizzard covering Mt. Everest became a bright red
sandstorm. The mountain itself somehow seemed larger, a huge
mass of orange rock, its size unmatched by anything on
Earth. But the most unnerving change was the blood red sky,
tinged with brown and purple clouds, alien. She blinked and
suddenly the hellish vision was gone. She sat upright, taking
a closer look at the poster. It was simply a normal snowstorm
covering the mountain. Nothing else.

    "It must be the reflection of the flame," she thought,
unsuccessfully trying to convince herself that indeed it had
been so.

A low moan behind her made her turn around. Shumira was
stirring, trying to cover herself with a thin towel she was
sleeping on. Although the girl felt no discomfort, she could
tell the temperature had dropped somewhat. Short, weak sobs
came from where Shumira lay.

She was crying in her sleep.

She knelt next to her. Tears fell down Shumira's cheeks, and
she was trembling slightly. The little girl slowly placed her
arm a few centimetres above Shumira's body, and soon it began
to softly glow, waves of warmth emanating from the palm of her
hand. In an attempt to comfort her friend's sorrow, she softly
started to hum. The sounds she made filled the small cave, as
they emanated from her whole being, the metal shell that
shaped her body resonating in a way humans of mere flesh could
never hope to match.

Even a machine built for destruction can sometimes create
beautiful things.

As she delicately weaved the sweet and sad melody whose origin
she knew not, she closed her eyes and listened to the notes
which echoed against the walls, and, for the first and last
time ever, Pachelbel's Canon filled this dark and humid
concrete cave.

As she finished singing she caught a glimpse of the inside of
Shumira's left arm, which she had flung out from below the
flimsy towel. Five black eschars, each a few millimetres in
diameter, were imprinted on her forearm, from the wrist to the
cup of her elbow.

Cigarette burns.

Tears filled the girl's eyes. She lowered her head until the
tip of her chin almost touched her chest, and she too began to
quietly weep.

-----