The red humanoid-shaped boomer rocketed past as
sporadic gunfire splashed off of it.  A crashing report sent
an explosive shell lancing at the armoured biomechanoid, but
it exploded harmlessly behind it as the combat machine
neatly sidestepped the shot.  The boomer's mouth gaped wide,
and a crackling green energy beam scorched the air, being
followed a moment later by a blinding explosion.  A deep,
grandiloquent voice began speaking as the boomer proceeded
to rain death and destruction on its foes.
     "Are you having problems with rebels, or other,
irritating counter-insurgents?  Do you perhaps have some top-
secret facilities that need top-notch protection?  Or are
you interested in giving ironclad security to your nation's
defense?  If you fit any of these categories, then the A-10
`Tankbuster' Heavy Combat Boomer is for you!  Designed for
the discriminating arms-buyer, the A-10 sports an impressive
array of offensive power.  From the 1000-terawatt particle
beams to the compact, but deadly, Vulcan autocannons, it's
all you'll ever need from a front-line combat boomer!  As an
added bonus, the A-10 can be configured to meet specific
mission profiles!  Just pull out the unneccesary components,
and stick in the new ones!"  The monologue paused briefly,
and the boomer finished off its last opponent in an
impressive pyrotechnical blast.
     "For those of you who can't afford that unbeatable army
you've always wanted right away, no problem!!  Just talk to
your local GENOM representative, and a deferred-payment plan
can be set up for a minimal charge.  Some dealers may sell
for less; `Plug'N'Play' options extra.  Buy now!  This is a
limited time offer!  GENOM Armaments:  Tomorrow's firepower,
Today!!"
     The image of the boomer disappeared from the large
projection screen at the end of the cavernous meeting room,
the room lights flicking back on at the same time.  The
pale, somehow gloomy illumination revealed a tall, lean man
in a white suit, with long, shoulder-length greyish-white
hair.  Icy blue eyes glinted in an impassive, craggy-
featured face, as the man swiveled his chair to face the
only other person in the room: a tall, slender woman with
long, violet-coloured hair, wearing a dark blue business
outfit.  Her face was calm, her blue-grey eyes revealing
nothing of what she thought.
     "Impressive," Quincy's gravelly voice rumbled, "if the
sales pitch was a little overdone."
     "Marketing felt that it would be the best approach,"
Madigan replied, with a slight shrug.  "Flashy advertising
attracts attention, and we definitely want to attract
attention in this case."
     "True," Quincy admitted.  He paused, looking
thoughtfully at the now-empty projection screen.  "Dr.
Yoshida's designs are performing beyond our immediate hopes;
we must be sure he is adequately compensated for his
efforts."  A short silence fell again.
     "Did you want me to proceed with the other field tests
of the A-10's and C-55E's?" Madigan inquired.  Quincy nodded
curtly.
     "By all means," he replied, a slight smile twitching at
the corners of his mouth.  "We do have a reputation to
uphold; we wouldn't want defective goods to get into the
marketplace."

                    SkyKnight Productions
                      Proudly Presents
                     A NonTechnical Film
                       MegaTokyo 2035
                      The Knight Sabers
              "The Bubblegum Zone - Episode #9"
              Copyright (c) 1995 Bert Van Vliet

     The quiet hum of computer terminals, overlaid with the
clatter of keyboards being tapped on drifted through the
sprawling office area of the ADPolice Investigation
Division.  In one area of the office space, several young
women worked away at filing reports and entering data into
the machines;  the rest of the office space was taken up by
scattered desks, manned by overworked detectives trying to
keep up with the reams of paperwork required by the ADP
bureacracy.  A tall, well-built man with brown hair walked
through the door into the offices.  Wearing jeans, a white
shirt and a blue jacket with a badge pinned to the left
breast pocket, and a large-caliber revolver hanging from a
shoulder holster,  he cut an impressive, yet somehow
incongruous figure in the office.
     Inspector Leon McNichol resignedly ran a hand through
his hair, sighing.  Another glorious day in the life of a
public servant, his mind noted sardonically.  There were
days he hated his job, mostly because the crooks seemed to
get bolder and bolder, and the cops became more and more
hamstrung by paperwork and procedure.  At times, he almost
wished for the simpler days when he'd started out as just a
front-line trooper; at least then, things had seemed
straightforward.  Clear blue eyes swept the office with a
searching gaze, noting all the details from force of long
habit.  A slight frown creased his brow, as he slowly walked
further into the realm of officialdom.
     "Have you seen Nene yet?" he asked a nearby secretary.
The harried, brown-haired young woman looked up from the
report she was rapidly pounding into the computer in front
of her.
     "Sorry, I haven't," she replied.  "I think she's still
on sick leave.  She might be back today; I don't know for
sure."  The young woman went back to her report as Leon
turned away, walking over to his small island in the sea of
paperwork.  Daley hadn't arrived yet, so he sat down,
propped his feet on the desk, and sat thinking.  Nene had
been working on getting some information on a case for him,
and her coming down sick before she could get him the
information had been annoying.
     Nene's sudden illness had struck a few people as
strange, mostly because the cheery, red-haired girl always
seemed bright and energetic; she'd have been the last person
anyone had expected to come down with something serious
enough to keep them bedridden for almost two weeks.  It had
been very sudden, also.  Leon had seen her the day before
she'd called in sick, and she'd been perfectly healthy.  For
some strange reason he couldn't define, he found himself
suspicious.
     He liked Nene a lot; she was cute, almost always
cheerful, and had a kind of innocence about her that made
talking to her refreshing, especially given the caliber of
people he had to talk to most of the time.  There was also a
sharp brain behind the cute, green-eyed face; her work was
always thorough and meticulous, and she'd helped Leon get
information on some cases at times when he'd sworn that
there was no possible way to find out about a certain
subject.  She'd also easily, but politely, brushed him off
on the couple of occasions he had tried to get her to go out
with him, and in a manner that left no doubt in his mind
that he was wasting his time.
     At the same time, however, he now found himself
remembering how she occasionally disappeared while she was
supposed to be on duty, and how, come to think of it, she'd
shown up at work before with unexplained injuries.  Nene
didn't strike him as the normally accident-prone type, but
she'd been in several times with bandages, and once with her
arm in a sling.  She'd usually explained the questions away
by saying she'd fallen off of her scooter, but Leon doubted
anyone could fall off of a scooter that many times.  No,
there must be another reason for it.
     He mentally sifted through the list of people he knew
she was friendly with, then immediately discarded some of
her friends from work as above suspicion.  He realized
suddenly that, outside of work, he really didn't know who
her friends were, with one exception: her boyfriend.  He'd
met the tall, red-headed, greenish-brown eyed, young man
once before, almost two years ago.  There'd been something
about him back then that had aroused Leon's inspecting
instincts, some aspect of his manner that hadn't quite rung
true.  He hadn't been able to find a reason for his
suspicions, however, and had shoved it to the back of his
mind.
     Now, those suspicions surged back to the forefront,
clamouring for attention.  Who exactly was he?  He vaguely
remembered Nene calling him `Bert', but that was it.
Apparently, he had an engineering job somewhere, but where
exactly?  No matter how hard he thought about it, he
couldn't remember Nene ever telling anyone at the office
anything else about him.  That in itself was strange,
because almost all of the other girls in the office talked
about their boyfriends, constantly at times.  Why was she
staying quiet?  Did they have something to hide?
     Leon's feet dropped to the floor as he sat up, a
sudden, unpleasant thought striking him.  Could her
`accidents' the result of something he was doing to her?!
He dismissed that though a moment later as unlikely; Nene
didn't have any of the signs of someone abusing her.  Given
the way he'd seen the two of them look at each other on the
very rare occasions when he did see them together, it was
unlikely that there was that kind of a problem:  the red-
haired couple were obviously madly in love with each other.
Okay, fine; leaving that aside, just who who the hell was
he, what did he do, and what was Nene getting involved in?
     "Hey McNichol!!" someone yelled across the office,
jerking him out of his ruminations.  "Call for you on line
three!!"  With a sigh, Leon picked up the phone, and set
aside the puzzle he'd found for some time when he was less
occupied.
                            ****
     -..."Don't shoot; I'm not armed," the blond-haired man
in front of her said smoothly.  Nene grinned savagely to
herself as Hollister's hands started to come up.  She'd done
it!  She'd managed to get the bastard who'd hurt Bert and
Sylvie, and now she was going to...
     Her heart leaped into her throat as Hollister suddenly
dodged sideways, leveling a large gun of some kind at her.
For one awful moment, Nene stared, shocked and fear-
stricken, into the gaping black muzzle.  There was a
blinding flash from the gun, and a thunderous roar that
shattered the world into a hazy, pain-riddled fog.  Nene
screamed as she felt the slug from the gun pierce her
armour, destroying the plating effortlessly, and burrowing
deep into her flesh.  Burning agony washed through her,
spreading outwards from her numbed stomach...-
                            ****
     "NOOOOOOOOO!!!"
     Bert jerked upright in his recliner at the terrified
scream that suddenly blasted from his bedroom.  Pitching the
novel he'd been reading before dozing off into the nearby
couch, he jumped up from the chair, and walked quickly,
almost running, across the room to his bedroom door.
     "Nene?" he knocked cautiously, listening.  No one
replied, but he could hear hysterical sobbing coming from
inside.  Turning the knob, he opened the door and stepped
into the room, moving on memory, and turned on the small
lamp by the bed to provide a bit of light.  The dim
illumination revealed a tangled mass of bedsheets, wrapped
around a sobbing, red-haired young woman in a white
nightgown who was shuddering and shaking uncontrollably, her
face pressed into the pillow.  Bert quickly went over next
to the bed.
     "Nene?" he called again gently, reaching out and gently
touching her shoulder.  She rolled over, revealing a tear-
wet face and horrified green eyes.  Bert sat down on the
edge of the bed, and scooped her up, hugging her tightly.
She hugged him back, and cried into his chest for several
minutes before calming down again.
     "Another nightmare?" he asked quietly, running a hand
tenderly through her tangled hair.  She nodded wordlessly,
her face still pressed against him.  He squeezed her gently
again, trying to offer her some comfort, while at the same
time damning Hollister in the back of his mind with every
curse he could think of; none of them seemed to even come
close to promising what he thought the bastard deserved for
having hurt her.
     The last two weeks had not been easy on any of them.
Nene was still terrified as a result of her near brush with
death; it had been the first time she'd ever been hurt that
badly before, and she wasn't dealing with it very well.
With the brash assurance of youth, she'd assumed she was
immune to serious harm, an impression that had been
irrevocably shattered by Hollister's bullet.  He hoped the
shock would not be an insurmountable obstacle for her.
     He understood exactly what she was going through,
having been through it himself, and he was trying to help
her through the rocky parts.  He wasn't sure how successful
his efforts were, though; she'd been having nightmares
constantly lately, and despite all his attempts to help her
deal with it, she was still waking up screaming at times.
     His own recovery from his ordeal at Hollister's hands
was proceeding, but at a very slow pace.  He was able to
control himself a lot better, and not lash out instantly at
anyone who came near, but he still had the occasional
relapse.  The other day Priss had slapped him on the
shoulder in a comradely fashion, and the response had been
nearly instantaneous: he'd very nearly slugged her.  They'd
both apologized, Priss for forgetting that he was still
twitchy, and him for almost decking her, and they'd let the
matter drop.  At the same time however, something in him
seemed to die, just a little, each time that he had to
restrain himself from hitting one of his friends.
      He hugged Nene again, wishing her peace of mind with
more intensity than he'd ever wished for anything before,
for anyone, himself included.  He could handle a certain
amount of stress himself, having been through the wringer
enough times to have learned how to withstand most of it,
but Nene was not as...as...battle-hardened as he now was, in
some respects, anyway.  She'd always had a sort of youthful
innocence that he loved, but these problems could very well
scorch and irreparably harm her cheery personality.
     Nene had become quiet, and Bert started to release her,
easing her back to her pillows, thinking she was falling
asleep.  Instead of laying back, she threw her arms around
his neck, pulling him down, and gave him a hard kiss that
had an intensity in it that almost bordered on desperation.
After a moment of surprise, he hugged her again, returning
her kiss.  After a few moments, she pulled back slightly,
her face still wet, with a few stray red hairs clinging to
it.  He gently brushed them out of her face, and looked into
her lustrous, emerald-green eyes.  They were a little calmer
now, but the lurking fear that had triggered her nightmares
was still in the backs of them.  His own eyes were showing
her his love and concern for her, which was helping her to
calm down a bit.
     "You'd better try to get back to sleep," he finally
said gently, looking at the clock.  "You've got to go back
to work in a few hours."  Her two weeks of sick leave were
up, and there was no way they could sidestep the issue any
longer:  In the morning, she had to go back to the ADP
offices and get on with her usual job.  At the mention of
sleep, however, the fear in Nene's eyes intensified a bit.
     "Will....will you stay with me for the rest of the
night?" she asked him in a small, quavering voice.  She was
still trembling, and her pulse was still pounding like
runaway trip-hammers; he could feel it as he held her.
"Please?  I....I  don't want to be alone...I..."  Her voice
cut off as he leaned forward and kissed her again
compassionately.
     "Whatever M'Lady wishes," he said quietly, which
brought the faintest, fleeting flicker of a smile to her
face; it was the first time in a while he'd called her that
since his run-in with Hollister.  Giving her a quick smile
of reassurance, he stood up, and dug a spare pillow and
blanket out of the closet.  He went back over to the bed,
plopping the pillow down next to hers.  Quickly
straightening out her tangled sheets and blankets, he
squeezed onto the bed next to her, draping his extra blanket
over the both of them, and settling back.
     Nene hugged him gratefully, and snuggled closer as he
wrapped an arm around her, putting her head on his shoulder.
After a few moments, her breathing slowed down a bit,
becoming the even, steady breaths of someone slumbering
soundly.  Bert carefully reached over, and hit the switch
for the light; gently cloaking darkness slithered across the
room.  After a few more minutes, he also fell asleep.
                              
THE NEXT DAY......

     The subdued murmur of bureaucratic activity greeted
them as Bert escorted Nene through the door of the ADP
offices where she worked.  The hum of computers and rustle
of forms and other paper being shuffled was overlaid with
the bored tones of people talking on the telephones, or
having arguments over a morning cup of coffee.  It appeared
to be business as usual for the ADP.  In the few times Bert
had been through the offices, they'd always appeared the
same: vaguely hyperactive and chaotic.
     Glancing around in apparent unconcern, he walked with
Nene over to her desk, noting that there were a few bunches
of flowers with `Get Well' cards left on the desk.  The
sight of the floral arrangements helped perk her up a bit,
but she was still quiet, pale-looking and subdued, which,
for her, was not her normal demeanor.  Nene had never seemed
to be anything but cheerful and bubbly at work; the sudden
mood change might seem suspicious, and he hoped that nobody
inquired too deeply into what her `illness' had been.  She
sat down behind her desk, tucking her handbag underneath it.
     "Think you'll be okay?" he asked quietly, sitting on
the edge of the desk.  She looked back at him, biting her
lip in uncertainty, and nodded, once.  Bert very carefully
kept any more unease about her from leaking through to his
face; Nene wasn't talking much, which was not a good sign.
     "I'll pick  you up after work," he told her, "and we'll
go to dinner someplace, okay?"  She nodded again, giving him
a weak smile.  He smiled back, then leaned over and gave her
a gentle kiss, trying to express his feelings for her in the
brief contact.  Her eyes appeared to be a little brighter-
looking as he pulled back, which eased his heart slightly.
He gave her hands a quick, reassuring squeeze as he stood
up, and with a warm, parting smile,  left.
     Nene watched him go, sitting quietly, unmoving.  For a
brief moment, a lost and lonely expression flickered on her
lovely face, then dissappeared.  After a few minutes, she
sighed, and started checking her desk to see just what work
had accumulated while she'd been away.
                            ****
     Bert walked quickly through the ADP halls, shoulders
hunched, with his hands in his pockets, trying to get out of
the building before anyone started asking questions.  He was
in a really lousy mood, and he really didn't feel like
answering inquiries on anything.  His foul state of mind was
a result of his concern for Nene, and helpless frustration
over the fact that he couldn't help her in any other way
other than being there for her; he wanted to do more,
damnit.
     He strode rapidly through the halls, avoiding
contacting people with unconscious deftness; since his
`incident' he'd found he had an almost sixth sense about
when people were around him.  While useful occasionally, at
times it made him more furious than anything.  All he wanted
was to go back to being normal, but it appeared as if that
option was being denied him.  That thought always provoked
towering fury, and an almost overpowering urge to go looking
for Hollister with a weapon of some kind.
     He fought off the lurking anger over what had been done
to him again, unaware that his internal struggle was making
him look like a red-haired thundercloud, as he stalked
through the halls of the ADP Headquarters with a very
foreboding expression.  People who saw him coming were
surreptitiously moving out of the way, giving him a wide
berth.  All of them stepped aside,   except for one man,
dimly noticed out of the side of his eye.
     "Excuse me," a voice called over to him.  Bert didn't
reply, being lost in his own thoughts.  The call was
repeated. "Hey!! You there!!"  He ignored it again, and was
preparing to exit the building when a hand reached out and
grabbed his arm.
     Bert froze, fighting the instant reflex action that
erupted.  Inside his pockets, his hands clenched into tight
fists, and his face became taut with strain as every muscle
in his body tensed.  In the depths of his mind, the snarling
urge to retaliate against whoever had just attacked him
howled for release.  He fought it down, reason overriding
instinct; he was not being attacked, and there was no threat
to him.  He turned slowly, damning his subconscious mind for
its now-violent reactions to unexpected contact.
     "Let go of me. Now," he said tightly, still quivering
slightly.  Shit; he'd tried to sound normal in his request,
but it had come out sounding vaguely like a threat.
     Leon McNichol released his arm, and stepped back
slightly, his face inscrutable, blue eyes flicking quickly
to the ID passcards Bert had hanging from the breast pocket
of his jacket.  Once his hand was clear of his arm, Bert
relaxed a bit, mentally sighing in relief.  "Was there a
problem Inspector?" he asked, his tone a little more
courteous.
     "No, not really," Leon replied easily, his manner
appearing to be calm and relaxed.  "I just heard that Nene
had come in today with her boyfriend; I recognized you, and
I wondered how she was doing."
     "She's fine," Bert replied, trying to sound like there
was no doubt in his mind.  "She's over the worst of the
illness, and the doctor said she'll be completely recovered
before too much longer."  He wished he could believe
himself; he wasn't sure Nene would be `better' anytime soon.
     "What was the problem?" Leon asked curiously.
     "Virus of some kind," Bert said, shrugging.  "That was
all the doc would say, but he's pretty sure it's gone now."
     "Hmmm," Leon looked thoughtful, and there was a look of
calculating appraisal in his eyes that made Bert's guts
tighten in unease.  The look vanished, and Leon grinned in a
friendly, disarming manner.  "I'm sure she'll be okay.  I
guess I'll see you around, then."
     "Sure," Bert replied, forcing himself to smile in
return.  "See you later."  He turned and walked on, exiting
the ADP building through the large, swinging glass doors.
He could feel Leon's gaze almost boring holes in his back as
he walked away.  He carefully kept his walk normal looking,
even though his tension level now made him want to start
running as fast as he could just to get some distance
between him and everyone else.
     As he strode down the steps of the building, his mind
uneasily went over his brief discussion with Leon.  It was
the first time Leon had ever specifically sought him out at
the station; why?  Could he suspect something?  Or was he
just trying to be friendly?
                            ****
     Leon watched the younger, red-haired man leave the
building, his face unreadable.  His mental state, however,
was not quite as calm as his face seemed to indicate.  There
was very definitely something up; his years of investigative
work screamed at him that something was amiss.
     Leon had decided to try casually approaching Nene's
boyfriend on his way out of the building by merely `bumping
into him' along the way.  However, he'd had to actually grab
the guy's arm to get his attention; he'd been stomping
along, ignoring everything else, apparently thinking about
something unpleasant, if his expression had been any
indication.  It was his reaction to being grabbed that had
confirmed Leon's suspicions that something was not right.
     The young man's reaction to being grabbed by the arm,
while very rigidly controlled and concealed, had not been
the startled reaction of someone interrupted in their
thoughts.  In the sudden tension that had swept the red-
haired young man, and the flicker of...anger?...that had
passed fleetingly over his face, Leon had detected
a...wariness...almost a primed readiness, as if the young
man had been expecting an attack.  Very peculiar.  The half-
threatening way he had told Leon to release him had also
been strange.  The young man he'd just seen bore very little
resemblance, other than physically, to the person he'd met
before; there was a driven, vaguely hostile feel to his
demeanor now, although what the source was, Leon couldn't
even begin to guess at.
     Leon pulled a notepad from his pocket, turning and
walking back into the depths of the ADP building.  As he
walked, he jotted a few quick notes onto the pad, and tore
off the top sheet.  He re-pocketed the pad as he entered one
of the offices belonging to the Records division.  A cute
secretary, blond and blue-eyed, looked up from her data
terminal as he entered.  A wide, slightly hopeful smile
spread across her face.
     "Inspector McNichol!" she exclaimed.  "What can I do
for you?"  Leon grinned back boyishly, unconsciously
smoothing his hair back with a hand.  He handed the young
woman the slip of paper he'd been scribbling on.
     "Could you run a quiet background check on this guy?"
he requested.  "He may be related to a case I'm working on,
and I can use all the leads I can get."
     "Why, certainly," she replied cheerily.  "I can have it
for you in twenty minutes."
     "What a coincidence," Leon drawled, smiling.  "That
happens to be when my coffee break is.  You busy then?"
     The young woman flushed slightly, dimpling.
                            ****
     "Come on, rest break's over!!"
     Priss groaned, pulling herself off of the wooden side-
bench she'd collapsed onto.  Wiping a hand across her sweaty
forehead, she glared at her impudently grinning, blue-eyed
and black-haired tormentor.
     "Linna, I'm going to kill you when I get better," she
promised her friend grimly.  "Haven't you ever heard of
`mercy'?  Or even `sympathy'?!"
     "Nope," Linna replied instantly, grinning again.  "Come
on, your leg won't get stronger with you sitting on it!"
The energetic young woman was wearing a two-tone, blue
spandex exercise outfit; Priss was wearing an old, faded,
red track suit.
     "Well you get shot through the goddamn leg the next
time then," Priss grumbled sullenly, levering herself to her
feet, wincing as her left leg throbbed angrily.  "Then we'll
see how goddamn athletic you are afterwards."  Her leg had
proved to be the worst of her injuries from the Knight
Sabers' raid on Hollister's hidden base; her shoulder and
stomach muscles had healed completely, and weren't bothering
her at all.  Her leg, on the other hand, was taking sadistic
pleasure in either tormenting her with aches and pains, or
refusing to support her weight.  It had already resulted in
a couple of embarrassing collapses.
     "I'll pass, thanks," Linna returned dryly, reaching up
and tucking her hair back under her headband.  "Look at it
this way: this is the perfect incentive to never get hurt
again.  If you'd try learning something a little more
technical than bar-brawling, then you wouldn't get hit
nearly as often."
     "You fight your way, I'll fight mine," Priss snapped.
"It's worked up until now."
     "And we've got the medical bills to prove it," Linna
deadpanned.  Priss' red-brown eyes narrowed in irritation,
and she was about to reply when someone snickering off on
the sidelines drew her attention.  She spun around, glaring
at the offending person.
     A few feet away on another bench, a tall young woman
with short, dark-brown hair and a slender, well-rounded
figure, wearing shorts and a dark t-shirt was muffling her
laughter behind a hand.  Sitting quietly next to her, not
saying anything, but smiling nonetheless, was a smaller
young woman with dark green hair and blue eyes, similarly
attired.
     "Was there something funny?" Priss demanded.  Sylvie
tried to control herself as she replied.
     "No, not at all," she replied, completely failing in
trying to look innocent.  "You just seem upset about
something, that's all."  Mirth sparkled in her golden-brown
eyes as she looked back at her friend.  "I can't imagine
why, though."
     "I'll just bet," Priss retorted.  "You probably just
came to watch Linna torment me."
     "That's a possibility," Sylvie agreed impishly.  Priss
threw up her hands in disgust, giving up, and turned back to
her smirking instructor.
     The exercise session lasted another half-an-hour, which
was thirty minutes too long as far as Priss was concerned.
Her leg ached abominably by the time she was done, and it
didn't feel a hell of a lot better after she'd showered and
changed.  Wincing, she limped back out to the exercise room
where Sylvie, Anri and Linna were waiting, cursing her
slowly healing leg muscles all the way.  The other three
women had already changed, and were gathered near the door.
     "Feeling better?" Sylvie inquired innocently, as the
brown-haired singer came up to them.  Priss glared at her,
sparks crackling in her eyes.
     "No," she snapped.  "Bugger off and leave me alone."
     "She sounds fine to me," Linna noted dryly.
     Anri giggled as Priss swung an ominous glare in Linna's
direction; the green-haired girl had come a long way from
the terrified, reclusive creature she'd been a few short
weeks ago.  In the time since she'd been rescued, Anri had
been kept company almost constantly by Sylvie and Priss
whenever they hadn't been busy at something else.  Their
quiet support and encouragement had slowly drawn her out of
the shell she'd retreated into.  She wasn't quite back to
normal yet; she was still shy, and reluctant to talk, but in
Priss' mind, she was one hell of a lot better than she had
been right after they'd gotten her out of Hollister's
clutches.
     "You might as well forget it," Linna cut her off with a
grin as Priss opened her mouth to retort.  "Grumble and
gripe all you want, but you're not getting out of the
exercise sessions, and you're not getting any sympathy, not
from me, anyway.  Just ask Bert; he'll tell you to give up
and just get it over with."
     "Where is he, anyway?" Anri timidly inquired, flushing
self-consciously as everyone looked at her. "I...I mean...I
just wanted to thank him for the flowers he sent before,"
she explained awkwardly, flushing again.  Priss and Sylvie
swapped suddenly concerned glances.
     "I haven't seen him in a week, come to think of it,"
Priss said slowly.  "He's been spending all his time with
Nene, I think.  Have you seen him, Linna?"  Linna's grin
slipped slightly.
     "No, I haven't either," she said.  "He hasn't tried to
contact me at all, and he's missed all our usual practice
sessions since...well, you know, since..."
     "Since he almost turned on you, right?" Priss sighed.
"That wasn't his fault, Linna; he's been through a lot
lately.  We all have."
     "I know that!" she shot back, biting her lip and
running a hand through her hair.  "It's just that...he's
so...so..."
     "Driven?" Sylvie suggested quietly.
     "That's not quite the right word, but it'll do for
now," Linna said agitatedly.  "He used to be a lot more
relaxed, easier to get along with.  Now...now I feel edgy
around him all the time, and I don't like it."
     "After all he's helped you with, and the amount of time
you've spent with him before this, and now you're afraid of
him?" Priss asked, shaking her head.  "You should know him
better than that, Linna."
     "I thought I did, once," Linna replied quietly, looking
away.  "Now I'm not so sure anymore."
                            ****
     "Come on, come on," Bert snarled under his breath,
glaring at the computer screen in front of him.  "Compile
the goddamn data faster, will you?!"  The computer ignored
him, and continued to churn through the simulation data he'd
fed it at its own pace.  Stifling the curses that sprang to
mind, he shoved his chair back from the bench, angrily
snatching up his mug and taking a large gulp of the steaming
tea sitting in it, drinking it without really tasting it.
     Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he
slammed the mug back down onto the counter, and turned away
to the worktable sitting in the center of the room.  On it
sat a barely-recognizable pile of silver armour plates,
wiring, myomer bundles, and small, molded circuit boards:
what was left of his hardsuit at the moment.  Scanning the
plans tacked onto the nearby wall board, he spent several
minutes re-wiring and re-connecting the parts.  After about
half-an-hour, the lower body portion of his suit was re-
assembled.  As he was running a diagnostic scan on it, the
computer beeped; it had finished analyzing his calculations.
     Dropping the scanner, he strode quickly over to the
computer, snatching the printout from the print roller as it
spat it out.  Greenish-brown eyes scanned it intently for a
moment, then his face settled into a look of disgusted
disappointment.  With a slow, searing oath, he ground the
hapless printout into a crumpled wad between his hands,
teeth clenched.  He chucked the compacted paper into the
garbage pail nearby, and turned back to slapping his suit
back together, his face set in a stony expression.
     "Bad news?" a quiet voice inquired from the shop door.
Bert stiffened imperceptibly, then turned, forcing himself
to remain calm.  Sylia Stingray walked over to him, moving
calmly and gracefully, the picture of poise and self-
assurance.  Her blue-black hair was neatly arranged, and her
business-like attire, a white blouse with dark skirt and
jacket, gave her a look of austere beauty.  Her brown eyes
held a look that was part concern, part inquiry.
     "You could say that," Bert replied in a neutral tone.
"I just got the test results back on the armour plating."
     "And?" Sylia prompted.
     "And nothing," he gritted, flames seeming to leap in
his eyes briefly.  "There's not a goddamn thing I can do
that will stop that kind of ammunition; anything using
depleted uranium shells is going to cut through our
hardsuits like they were made of tissue paper.  Shit!!!"  He
spun away from Sylia, slamming a hand into the countertop
behind him, shoulders hunched in frustration.  "Not only
that," he added a moment later, before Sylia could say
anything, "but I blew it when I used ceramel as the only
base material for the hardsuit armour."
     "In what way?" Sylia inquired quietly.  He turned
around, and she could see the lines of strain that were
slowly being etched into his face around his mouth and eyes,
partly from his own recent problems, and partly from
worrying over the other problems.
     "Ceramel is a very light, strong, heat resistant
material," he told her.  "Those qualities alone made it a
fantastic armour material, but I didn't realize that it
could get shattered by stress vibrations as easily as it
does."  His fists clenched.  "That's why Priss' suit was
turned into a shattered mess, and Nene's torso armour was
cracked all over:  the DPU rounds hit with enough force to
cause vibrational stress cracks that spread outwards from
the impact site to the rest of the plating.  Damn it, I
should have known that something like that might happen!!"
There was an anguished, self-condemnatory look on his face.
     "Stop that, right now," Sylia ordered firmly, eyes
flashing angrily.  "You're not omniscient, and you can't
predict the future.  All right, so you missed something.  It
happens.  Get used to it, and get over it.  Nene and Priss
would have been hurt even if the plating had held together;
you just said yourself that nothing you can make would have
stopped those bullets."
     "I know that," he said in an even, flat tone.  "But it
mightn't have been as serious if the plating had held
together."
     "There's no way to know for sure," Sylia told him, "so
quit flogging yourself over it."
     "Well, it won't be happening again, I can tell you that
much for damn sure."
     "What's that supposed to mean?"
     "It means I've already replaced all the armour plating
on the team's suits," he informed her.  "There's still a
thin ceramel base material to the armour, but it's encased
in a material called Starlite.  It's a very strong,
fantastically heat-resistant, space-age plastic.  It's every
bit as physically strong as the old armour plate, and it
won't shatter under stress, no matter what happens to it,"
he noted with a grimly satisfied expression.  "The polymeric
armour coating I devised a while back helps a lot in that
respect, too."
     "Just when did you do all these improvements?" Sylia
asked suspiciously.  "I thought you've been spending your
time with Nene?"
     "On the nights when she was sleeping soundly," he
replied absently, reaching past Sylia to get his mug.  He
drained off the rest of his tea at a single draught, and
walked over to the teapot that stood nearby on a hotplate,
off to the side of the worktable.  He refilled the mug,
adding his usual dosages of cream and sugar.  As Sylia
watched, he drank the mugful in a steady, continuous drink,
and then refilled the mug, again adding sugar and milk.  She
walked over to him, and put out a gently restraining hand as
he started to knock back the next mugful.  Her brown-eyed
gaze was compassionate, but firm and unyielding.
     "That's enough," she told him firmly.  "You're over-
compensating for something that wasn't your fault, and
you're going to run yourself into the ground if you keep it
up.  When was the last time you got a full, and I mean full,
night's sleep?"
     "I don't remember," he muttered, flushing and looking
away from her.  "I've got too much to do."
     "No you don't," she corrected.  "You just think you do;
you're supposed to be relaxing, and trying to get better
yourself, remember?"
     "I've got to do something," he snapped.  "I can't go on
outings with the team, so I've got to contribute somehow!
I'm not gonna just freeload!"
     "You're not freeloading!" she snapped back, her own
temper finally beginning to fray from exposure to his
current irritable state.  "You're supposed to be
recuperating, not driving yourself towards another
breakdown!!  You owe it to everyone else to get better, not
worse, you jackass!  Just what would Nene do if you snapped
because you've been overworking yourself?!  Tell me that!"
she demanded.  Bert flushed bright crimson, and looked away
from her, not replying.
     "Well?!" she demanded again.  "Answer me!"
     "I can't," he mumbled, flushing again, looking at the
floor.
     "Well this is going to stop, right now," she told him
flatly.  "You're done for the day; go back to your place and
get some sleep.  I'll be checking on you, and you'd better
not be back in here.  Don't force me to change the access
codes for the lab and the shop."
     "Yes Ma'am," he sighed disgustedly, slugging down his
tea and banging the cup onto the workbench.  "Was that it?"
     "Unfortunately, no," Sylia sighed.  "I originally came
down to see if you felt up to going through another testing
session in a few days; I'd thought you were getting more
stable, and I wanted to evaluate your responses again."  She
kept her feelings carefully masked as she spoke, watching
him carefully; testing him the last time had involved
driving him over the brink to see just how he'd been
affected by his ordeal.  She hadn't enjoyed having to do it,
and still felt vaguely guilty occasionally over having done
it, but she'd needed to know exactly what was wrong with
him; necessity was a harsh taskmaster at times.
     "Mind if I ask why?" he asked quietly, some emotion
flickering by on his face too quickly for her to identify.
     "Because," she replied simply, "I may need you in your
suit.  Priss and Nene are not going to be ready to
physically go on an outing for some time yet.  That leaves
us with two functioning members:  Linna and myself.
Physically, you're unharmed; if you can control yourself,
I'd like to have you on standby, just in case.  Three Knight
Sabers are definitely better than just two, and with the
modular design you've built your suit around, you can take
up some of Nene's usual detection/counter-detection roles."
A chill of some kind washed through Bert at the thought of
replacing Nene, but he managed to fight it off; she'd be
fine, he told himself firmly, she just needed some more time
to recover.
     "All right," he said slowly.  "I guess I'll feel up to
it in a few days; it'll also take me a couple of days to
finish re-assembling my suit."
     "Fine," Sylia nodded.  "I'll let you know in the next
couple of days when I'll be doing that, then.  Right now,
you are going to go get some sleep.  Oh yes," she added as
an afterthought, "and stay off of your computer, too.  I
said sleep, and I meant it."
     "You're the boss," he replied morosely, sighing, and
walking towards the door.  Sylia followed him out, flicking
off the lights and closing the door.
                            ****
     Bert closed the door to his apartment behind him,
wearily running a hand through his hair.  His eyes flashed
irritation for a moment, and he half turned as if to leave
his room again.  He stood for a moment, hand on the
doorknob, as if trying to decide something.  Resolution
formed on his face.  He carefully opened the door, and took
a quick look around.  Not seeing or hearing anything, he
started to stealthily step back out into the hallway.
     "Going somewhere?" Sylia's cool voice inquired
politely.  Bert froze instantly, mentally swearing at
himself, and at his luck.  After a moment, he relaxed and
turned resignedly towards the far end of the hallway where
her voice had come from.  As he turned, she walked down the
hallway towards him, emerging from the darkness of the
corridor, a faintly exasperated expression on her face.  "I
told you to get some rest," she informed him.  His shoulders
slumped into a defeated-looking posture.
     "I wasn't going to..." he tried explaining half-
heartedly, but Sylia didn't even let him get the sentence
finished.
     "Bed. Now," she ordered sternly, pointing back into his
apartment.  He turned around, feeling like a kid caught up
past his bedtime by his mother, and walked back into his
apartment.  Sylia followed him.
     "I don't need a chaperone," he said testily, glaring at
her.  "I can go to bed without supervision, thanks."
     "Then why were you trying to sneak out again?" she
asked pointedly.  "I'm making sure that you get some rest,
even if I have to sit out in your living room for the
afternoon."
     "You wouldn't!" Bert exclaimed, paling.  Sylia looked
him square in the eye, brown eyes calm.
     "Try me," she invited.  Bert stared back at her for a
moment, gazing searchingly into her eyes.  Sylia looked
right back at him, totally serious, and watched grudging
acknowledgement of the fact that she was indeed serious
about her threat appear in his eyes.  Muttering disgustedly
to himself under his breath, Bert stalked into his bedroom,
and forcefully banged the door shut, stopping just short of
actually slamming it.
     Sylia stood for a moment, watching the door, a faint
smile on her face.  With a sigh, she hunted around, found a
cup, and poured herself a cup of tea from the almost-always
full pot Bert kept warm on the counter.  Sipping at it, she
walked over to the easy chairs and couch surrounding the
coffee table, and sat down on the couch.  As she settled
back to keep watch, some of the pages in a nearby sheaf of
notes on the coffee table caught her attention.  She leaned
forwards curiously, and picked up the stack of papers to
look at them, setting her teacup to the side.
     She shuffled through the notes, wincing as she tried
interpreting the pained scrawl that passed for his
handwriting.  Pages of calculations, with the occasional
paragraph of explanatory text passed through her vision, and
she realized he'd been pushing himself a lot harder than
he'd told her at first; there was no way one person could do
this much work and still be getting enough rest.  Her face
hardened slightly as she glanced at the closed bedroom door,
and she mentally promised herself that she was going to have
another chat with him about it.
     She thoughtfully scanned the rest of the papers and
notes, wondering just what he was trying to design.  She
understood all of the mathematics, and the physics theory
that appeared throughout the pages, but she couldn't even
begin to guess what he was trying to do with it.  It was
when she got to the last three or four pages that she
realized what it was he'd been trying to perfect.
     The last three pages each held a diagram of a sleek
red, white and pink hardsuit; the first page held complete
technical details on what Sylia knew were the current
capabilities of Nene's suit.  The second page held another
sketch of the red-haired girl's suit, but the technical
specifications had changed slightly to match the new armour
plating designs Bert had told Sylia about.  The third page,
with yet another diagramatic sketch, was obviously the end
result of a combination of all of the previous work.
     Nene's hardsuit had been re-designed from the ground
up.  While still having the same physical appearance, the
suit systems and subsystems had been re-designed into a more
compact, more power-efficient configuration that gave some
extra room in the suit's frame for some additional systems.
Bert had already filled that space, however.
     The space had been filled with a complicated series of
what looked like small, linked magnetic field generators and
micro-sized particle-beam emitters that were spaced all over
the suit in a symmetrical pattern, and concealed just
beneath the armour plating.  As Sylia examined the spec
sheet, her eyes widened as the full significance of what she
was looking at hit her.  Her stunned gaze lifted to the
bedroom door, as the pages she held flopped back to the
coffee table.  The bottom-most page came loose from the
stack and fluttered to the floor.  As Sylia picked it up,
she noticed the title across the bottom of the page that
she'd missed previously:

             HARDSUIT FORCE-FIELD DEFENSE SYSTEM
                     PRELIMINARY DESIGN
                            ****
     "Who the hell IS this guy?!" Leon muttered to himself
in exasperation.  Irritably slapping the thin file-folder in
front of him closed, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing a
hand over his eyes wearily.  He drank the last of his
coffee, grimacing at the foul taste of the now-cold liquid.
Almost against his will, his eyes dropped back to the folder
on the desk, and the few meagre scraps of information it
held.  Despite diligent searching, it was all he was able to
find on Nene's boyfriend.
     He sighed, leaning back and running it all through his
mind again, and again coming up against a brick wall.  He
had a description, age, apparent address, apparent employer,
and some academic records.  That was it.  The traffic
department had a license and vehicle registered for him, but
that hadn't given Leon any leads either.  The guy was a
complete unknown, with no immediately apparent ties to
anyone or anything, and Leon found himself becoming more and
more irritated about the lack of information the more he
thought about it.
     The other peculiarity was that none of the existing
records were older than three years; it was as if he had no
past at all.  Since there was no way that average people
could just erase all possible records of themselves, Leon
found himself looking at the unpleasant possibility that
Nene's boyfriend was either a government agent, or else a
member of a very powerful criminal organization.
     Bullshit, he told himself irritably.  The man didn't
have the right feel, the right.... mannerisms to be a crook.
Despite the fact that he appeared to have undergone some
kind of personality change, Leon was willing to bet his
badge that the guy wasn't a criminal...well, not a mobster,
anyway.  That still left the option that he was a secret
agent open, however.
     Leon sat back, rubbing a hand over his face again
tiredly.   The question now, was what was he going to do
next?

THE NEXT DAY.....

     Priss looked around, a puzzled frown creeping across
her face as she unzipped the front of her jacket.  Her
searching gaze swung once more over the strangely empty
archery range.  She looked over at her brown-haired
companion, who shrugged when Priss' gaze met hers.
     "Maybe he's upstairs?" Sylvie suggested.  "He did only
say he'd be here, not necessarily shooting arrows."  She
unbuttoned the collar of her blue-white bike suit, and
opened the neck a little; bike suits really were too warm to
wear indoors.  Despite that, she still preferred them as her
normal attire
     "Hmph," Priss muttered.  "What the hell else could he
be doing up there?  There's only some exercise rooms and an
arcade...aw hell, forget I said that," she added a moment
later, sighing as she remembered that Bert was a bit of a
videogame nut at times.  It was entirely possible that he'd
tried out a new game, and was still glued to the screen
upstairs.  "Let's go take a look, then."
     Sylvie nodded, and the two women closed the door to the
range, and began the climb up the stairs to the second
floor.  Priss winced every so often as her leg cried out at
the movement.  Thank God she didn't have to go through
another torture session with Linna today; the soreness after
yesterday's bout hadn't yet worn off, and the normal -hah,
normal, yeah right!- pains from it were still bothering her
occasionally.
     They reached the top of the stairs finally, and checked
the arcade room.  There was still no sign of their red-
headed friend, however, so they decided to try the exercise
rooms.  As they approached the one weight room, they could
hear the faint stir of activity of some kind from within,
and Priss relaxed a bit, although she couldn't really say
why she'd been tense.
     They opened the door and stepped into the room.  About
thirty feet from the door, a tall, red-haired young man was
doing pushups on a mat on the floor.  At the sound of the
door opening, he rolled smoothly upright to his feet, ending
up in a somehow ready-looking stance, looking towards the
door.  A smile appeared when he noticed who his visitors
were, and his posture relaxed a moment or so later.
     "Ladies!" Bert exclaimed, giving them a sly grin, and a
half-bow.  "What brings you this way?"
     "We just thought we'd drop by and see how you're
doing," Sylvie replied, smiling back.
     "I'm fine," he shrugged.  "Just getting in shape for
tomorrow night."
     "Oh? What's happening tomorrow night?" Priss asked
curiously.
     "Sylia's giving me another test," Bert replied simply,
shrugging again as if it was an everyday occurrence.  "She
wants to check my suit responses again."
     "Don't you think you're pushing it?" Priss asked
worriedly.  "You said yourself the other day that you're not
entirely back to normal."  Her worry stemmed primarily from
the fact that she knew Sylia would probably run him through
the grinder again to see if he'd snap.  She understood why
Sylia had done it the last time, after Bert had rather
patiently sat her down and explained it to her;  however,
despite that, Priss still couldn't eliminate the faint anger
that she felt every time she thought of Sylia's treatment of
him.  Damnit, there should have been some other, better way
to find out his condition than by driving the poor bugger
into a relapse...
     "Don't worry," he told her grimly, a flash of something
like determination appearing briefly in his face.  "I know
what I'm doing; I won't snap."
     "You seem awfully sure of that," Sylvie noted quietly,
peering closely at him.  She liked Bert, but at the same
time she was still a little wary of him; she knew from
personal experience that he wasn't fully over his ordeal
yet, and she didn't want to have to stop him from attacking
anyone again.
     "I won't snap, because I can't," he told her.  "There's
two active Knight Sabers at the moment, which means we're
undermanned...er, under-staffed, at the moment.  If anything
major happens, like either a boomer rampage or a job offer,
we'd either have to sidestep the job, or else risk getting
creamed because we'd be outgunned and outnumbered.  Since
I'm physically fine, if I can hold myself together, Sylia's
going to keep me as reserve for when something does happen."
     "You sound like something IS going to happen," Priss
remarked, swearing again at her leg in the back of her mind.
She'd wondered what Sylia was going to do about losing three-
fifths of their forces to injuries and problems; getting one
of the mentally-uncertain members back on active duty was
not what she'd thought she'd try.  Bert was like a brother
to her, and she didn't want him doing anymore damage to
himself by forcing himself into something he wasn't ready
for, and she didn't think Sylia should have asked him to
try.
     "I think something is indeed going to happen," he
replied calmly.  "It's been far too quiet, for far too long.
Leaving our former kidnappers aside for the moment, it
appears as if there's been all kinds of activity at GENOM
lately, and it's making Sylia, not to mention me, nervous."
     "What kinds of activity?" Sylvie asked.  Bert shrugged.
     "Sylia didn't know for certain, but the company appears
to have recovered from the market reverses it suffered
earlier.  Their production facilities have been running like
crazy over the last few weeks, and Sylia thinks the activity
might mean that the boomers will be getting restless again."
     "SHIT!!" Priss swore, turning and angrily slamming her
hand onto the backrest of a nearby Nautilus machine.  Her
leg snarled at her, sending pains shooting along the nerves
at the sudden movement, reminding her again of why she was
mad;  they were finally going to get the opportunity to have
a shot at GENOM again, and she was sidelined because her
goddamn friggin' leg wouldn't behave.  Life was so bloody
unfair at times, it wasn't funny.
     "I know how you feel, believe me," he said quietly,
coming over and hesitantly reaching out and squeezing her
shoulder.  Priss turned around as his hand dropped away, to
look into a sympathetic pair of greenish-brown eyes.  "I
didn't find it that easy staying behind a couple of weeks
ago, and ..." he hesitated for a moment.
     "And what?" Sylvie prompted curiously.  Bert sighed.
     "And I've been getting restless myself," he told them,
sighing again and sitting down on a nearby weight bench.
"I've been holding myself back, but recently I've been
getting the urge to suit up and go flying again."  He
abruptly stood and started pacing angrily, a tightly
controlled energy in his movements.  "I'm smart enough to
know that part of it is I want to go find Hollister," he
continued, a flicker of cold anger passing across his face.
"That's why I've been holding myself down; I don't want to
lose control and go hunting.  I can't just tear the city
apart and hope I find the bastard."
     He paced some more, fuming over the fact that the blond-
haired man and his cronies had effectively disappeared;
Sylia hadn't been able to find out anything at all about
them yet through her connections.  He had to find Hollister;
he owed the bastard a lot for everything he'd done to both
his friends and him, and he intended to take it out of
Hollister's hide, one bloody strip at a time.
     "Nene's still having problems?" Priss asked quietly.
He nodded, anger again flickering across his features, gaze
turning distant.
     "She had another nightmare last night," he replied.
"She's getting a little better, but this is still hitting
her hard."  His face turned tight at the memory of the
aftermath of each nightmare, seeing again a terrified and
sobbing red-haired young woman.
     Priss looked away, damning herself again for not having
kept a closer eye on Nene during their last outing.  She'd
gotten carried away with boomer-bashing, instead of paying
attention to what the rest of the team had been doing, and
Nene had paid the price.  If she'd been with the red-haired
girl when she'd confronted Hollister, they might have gotten
the bastard without anyone getting hurt.  Now Nene was a
mental wreck because of nearly getting killed, and she had
only herself to blame.  It didn't matter that Bert said he
wasn't blaming her, she was blaming herself, and would
continue to do so for a long time.
     "It wasn't your fault," Bert's voice intruded briefly
on her thoughts.  Priss' angry gaze snapped up to meet his
somewhat calmer one; he'd stopped pacing, and had come over
nearer to her.  He didn't add any other absolving
statements, knowing it wouldn't really do any good, but he
kept his gaze calm and compassionate, indicating that he
understood her state of mind perfectly.  After a moment or
so of eye-contact, Priss looked away again, flushing
slightly, suddenly uncomfortable at his look.
     "So how come you're working out by yourself?" Sylvie
asked, attempting to get everyone past a suddenly
uncomfortable moment.  "Wouldn't practicing with Linna be a
better way to get ready?"
     "It would, from a practice standpoint," he admitted
expressionlessly. "It wouldn't be smart from a personal
standpoint however."
     "Why not?" Priss inquired.  "You've trained with Linna
lots of times; that's where you learned most of your stuff,
remember?"
     "I wasn't potentially lethal to my friends before," he
snapped, his vehemence making Priss blink in surprise.
"Sure, it'd be better to spar against someone, but all it
would take is a slip-up, or a hit in the wrong location, and
my `autopilot' that I have now could take over.  I won't
expose anyone to that kind of risk on purpose; it's bad
enough when it happens by accident."  A suddenly bitter
expression flashed across his face.  "Besides which,
Linna... doesn't want to get near me at the moment, and I
can't say I blame her, given what happened the last time."
     "Remember when we told you to quit hiding before?"
Priss asked him quietly.  "This is the same thing.  Hiding
from Linna won't make this go away.  We're on the same team,
remember?  You're going to have to work this out with her,
especially because we'll still be going on missions
together."
     "I'll worry about that when it happens," he replied
shortly.  "Right now, I've got other things to worry about."
He brushed the matter aside with a slashing gesture, and
squared his shoulders.  "I'm going to get some target
practice in now; feel free to come on down."  With that, he
stepped past them and was gone out the door.  Priss and
Sylvie swapped a concerned glance.
     "Not good," Priss muttered.  "We've got to get him to
work this thing out with Linna, and quit sidestepping the
issue."
     "I can see why you want to," Sylvie concurred quietly.
"But maybe you should leave him alone to work this out by
himself.  I admit it's a serious concern, but it's nowhere
near the same level as the last time; you've already helped
him get started on a recovery, and the rest is up to him
now.  I realize you don't want to just let it rest, but
maybe you should this time."
     Priss was silent, brooding for a few moments.  In the
back of her mind, she agreed with Sylvie that maybe all he
needed was more time, but a part of her didn't want to just
`leave it alone'.  She'd never had all that many friends,
and she treasured the few she had.  She didn't want anything
to happen that could drive a wedge between two of them, and
as a result felt compelled to try and nudge them into
resolving the problem.  She wrestled with herself for a few
more moments, then reluctantly conceded that Sylvie was
right.
     "All right then, we'll let him be," she sighed, running
a hand through her hair.  "Let's go get some practice in,
then."  The two friends left the weight room, heading
downstairs to the archery range.
                            ****
     Kate Madigan walked thoughtfully through the gigantic
oaken portal to Quincy's lofty office, paging through a
lengthy file nestled in a tan folder.  From behind the vast
expanse of his desk, the white-haired CEO watched her
approach, his face impassive.  At length, she reached his
desk, and looked up, meeting his gaze levelly.
     "We have a problem, sir," she began, taking a last
glance and then handing it across the desk to the craggy-
faced corporate ruler.  "Dr. Yoshida is becoming too
unstable to employ for much longer, I'm afraid."
     "Oh?" Quincy rumbled.  "Who has made this
determination?"
     "Almost everyone being forced to work in the same
production facility with him," Madigan returned with a trace
of dryness.  "The man apparently refuses to confer with
anyone lesser than a manager, hardly eats, hardly sleeps,
and spends all his time creating `perfect boomers' for
`proving himself'.  He has completed the work on our new
combat models, and they are indeed superb, but his
`independent' designs are a joke now.  The technicians are
all convinced now that he's completely crazy, and won't work
with him at all, even under pain of termination of their
employment."  Madigan had herself briefly visited the
facility where they'd hidden the crazed boomer designer
after the death of the Headhunter, and she'd been a little
shocked, and very definitely uneasy at what she'd found.
     She shuddered mentally, recalling what she'd seen: a
tall, emaciated-looking man with shaggy reddish-brown hair,
and with skin drawn so tightly over his frame now that he
almost looked like a mummified corpse.  His face had a
perpetual rictus-grin on it, and all the fat there might
have been  on his body once was gone now; his clothes hung
on him like rags on a rail fence.  His once-brown eyes were
now bloodshot, and appeared to glow all on their own.  He
seemed to be hardly aware of anything going on around him,
and was continually muttering "They'll pay!" and "My genius
can overcome anything!" to himself while scribbling formulas
and sketches on whatever paper had been handy.  Madigan
hadn't needed to take another look to know that the man's
mind, while being questionable before, was very definitely
in decline now.
     "That is indeed unfortunate," Quincy's voice rumbled.
Madigan gaver her attention back to him as he continued.
Quincy tossed the file folder onto his desk. "Dr. Yoshida
was a useful employee; it will be a great loss to us when he
retires."  A slow smile spread across Quincy's face as he
looked at his violet-haired second-in-command.  "We must be
sure that he gets the full benefits package when he leaves."
     "Sir?" she asked, confused.  They couldn't risk just
`retiring' Yoshida by taking him off of work; the man was a
wanted criminal.  Even though he'd been presumed dead,
having him suddenly turn up alive would raise awkward
questions, and all Yoshida had to do was mention some of the
details of what he'd been working on, and GENOM would
suddenly have all kinds of problems again.
     "Why, Dr. Yoshida will soon be leaving our employ,"
Quincy explained with a dark smile.  "We wouldn't want him
complaining about being unfairly treated, so we shall
arrange an adequate, shall we say, compensation for his
services."  A rumbling chuckle rolled through the office,
giving a chill to anyone outside the office who happened to
overhear it.

THE NEXT DAY....

     "You're sure you want to go through with this?" Priss
asked again.  Her red-brown eyes were worried, despite an
almost Herculean effort to keep her feelings hidden.  Bert
sighed in irritation as he shrugged into the bulky telemetry
suit; the suit was the main component of the virtual reality
testing room Sylia had constructed.  Behind Priss, he could
see Sylia programming some parameters into the testing
computer as Sylvie watched from where she was leaning
against the wall.  Nene and Linna were both absent, Nene
because of a sudden change in her work shift, and Linna
because her dance company was working late to get ready for
a big production.
     The telemetry suit was basically a very bulky
undergarment softsuit, with some plastic armour plating in
places, that was meant to approximate the physical feel of
wearing a real hardsuit.  There were sensor webs all
throughout the suit that monitored the wearer's movements
and responses, and fed the information to the sophisticated
computer that ran the simulator.  The computer took the
data, and matched the simulator responses with it to provide
an adequate response to someone's actions, such as
registering a boomer as being killed.
     The link was two-way, however; the suit could also
provide some stimuli to the wearer, letting the wearer feel
if he or she had been hit by weapons.  The armour plates had
vibrational devices inside of them that gave the suit
occupant a brief physical nudge when the computer deemed
them as being physically hit.  It also had some electrodes
that could give the wearer an actual, very low powered,
electrical shock to simulate being hit with energy weapons.
It was the electrical feedback aspect of the suit that had
set him off the last time; it had tripped the automatic `all-
out attack' mode that had been plaguing him since his
kidnapping ordeal, and he'd gone berserk briefly, destroying
all his simulator opponents, and then the replicas of his
friends.
     No one had been very happy with Sylia afterwards,
himself included.  After some soul-searching on the subject,
however, he'd reluctantly concluded that she'd been right in
doing it, and had told her as much.  The slightly relieved
look that had appeared on her face when he'd told her that
he wasn't mad at her had told him he'd done the right thing;
Sylia had enough problems to worry about without having to
feel guilty over being too hard on one of her friends as the
team leader.  He didn't envy Sylia her job at times.
     "Look," he finally said to Priss, fastening up the last
few closures on the suit.  "I appreciate the concern, but
quit nagging will you?  I'm nervous enough as it is."  That
was no less than the truth; memories of what had happened
the last time danced at the edges of his memory, prodding
him with needle-like poignancy.  He shrugged them off almost
angrily; that had been a little over two weeks ago, and
things had changed since then.  Reaching out, he picked up
the helmet that accompanied the suit, and tucked it under
his arm.  "It's just a simulator," he told her.  "There's no
real danger, and besides, we need to know if I've improved
or not.  This is the only way."
     "Well, I still don't think...," she started to retort
when Sylia's voice drifted over her shoulder, ending the
conversation.
     "The simulator is ready, Bert," she told him quietly.
"You can start anytime."  He sighed, and looked over at
Priss, giving her a quick, reassuring smile. He settled the
helmet into place as he clumped over to the door to the
simulator room;  until the suit became active, the helmet
muffled most of the noise from his surroundings, and
severely restricted his vision, making moving awkward.  He
fumbled around, and managed to get the door open, and
stepped through.  It took another couple of minutes to find
the interface cables inside the room, and get them plugged
into the suit.  He swore under his breath to himself as he
worked at getting connected; his real hardsuit was less
hassle than this was!  At last, he made the final
connections.
     "Okay, Sylia," he reported over the helmet comm,
straightening up and stretching.  "I'm ready; let `er rip."
     Bert took a deep breath, and tried to hold down the
crawling nervousness in his guts as his entire field of
sight suddenly lit up, looking briefly like a static-filled
television screen, and gradually resolved into a large,
crisply-detailed, seemingly deserted, warehouse district.
He looked down at himself, and saw brightly polished, silver-
and-blue armour plating.  He raised a gauntlet-clad hand up
to in front of his face and flexed it; it looked and felt
like he was wearing his real suit.  He shook his head,
marvelling at the sophistication of the simulator briefly;
damn, but it felt and looked real!  The imaging system
combined with the feedback sensors was fantastic in its
approximation of the real thing.
     SkyKnight shoved the thought to the back of his mind,
and powered up his systems.  Positive status readouts
flickered across his helmet viewscreen as he moved towards
the center of the warehouse area, keeping a wary eye out for
trouble.
     With mechanical snarls, a pair of C-55 boomers suddenly
shot towards him on flaring thrusters, lashing out with
crackling plasma beams.  SkyKnight ducked smoothly under the
assault, dropping into a sideways shoulder roll as the
biomechanoids blasted past him.  He rolled back up to his
feet as his swordblades snapped into extension, turning to
face the way the boomers had just taken.  The boomers banked
around in mid-air, and dove back towards him; the warehouse
district soon reverberated with howls and explosions as
Knight Saber and boomer battled for supremacy.
                            ****

     "Level Seven now," Sylia reported quietly, tabbing a
console switch before leaning back in her chair.  Through
the viewing window, she could see Bert ducking, weaving and
periodically attacking his virtual adversaries, the bulky
telemetry suit apparently not impeding his movements to any
great extent.  On a large, central viewscreen, the computer
displayed a rendered image of what was actually happening
from the computer's viewpoint:  A silver-and-blue hardsuit
was systematically dismantling every C-55 boomer that came
within reach of it.  Behind her, flanking her seat, Priss
and Sylvie watched wordlessly, faint traces of worry on
their faces as the program began to approach the point that
had driven Bert over the edge the last time.
     "Computer, boost difficulty to Level Eight, and
initiate random factors," Sylia ordered the machine.  It
whirred for a moment, then flashed a question on the screen:

                 COMBAT PROTOCOL TO ENGAGE?
                              
     Sylia hesitated for a moment, her gaze lifting to the
red-haired young man in the room beyond.  She sighed,
looking anguished for a moment, then the look disappeared,
her smooth face becoming emotionless..
     "Full assault," she replied flatly.  Behind her, Priss
sucked in a sharp breath, and her fingers dug into the back
of Sylia's chair as her hands clenched in worry.  The three
women watched the viewscreen as a sudden horde of blue C-55
combat boomers charged towards the lone silver suit.
                            ****
     SkyKnight ducked under a whislting claw swipe, at the
same time sweeping his own swordblade through the boomer's
midsection, gutting it and taking it out of the fight.
Using the momentum of the strike to continue his motion, he
drove his armoured fist into the guts of the next boomer
along, pulling the triggers on his particle lasers at the
same time; the boomer flew apart in a flare of energy and
spinning armour shards.  Still moving smoothly, SkyKnight
dropped and rolled over on his left shoulder, coming to his
feet again as a scorching volley of spitting, blue-white
plasma bolts carved divots from the asphalt where he'd been
standing a scant second before.
     The silver-blue battlesuit shot backwards on howling
jets,  spraying a covering fire of red laser bursts to cover
his supposed withdrawal.  The half-dozen or so C-55's left
snarled again, and all six leaped into the air to pursue
him.  As they all became airborne, SkyKnight's backwards
motion suddenly reversed, and he blasted forwards, the
scream from his suddenly stressed-out flight system sounding
like a jetplane going into a power dive.
     As the silver-clad Knight Saber swept through the
surprised boomers, there was a pair of closely-linked,
electric-sounding snap-hisses; huge, glowing blue arcs were
scythed through the air as both of his arm-lightsabers
activated.  A second or two later, four of the six remaining
boomers dropped to the pavement, in several widely differing
locations.  As the remaining two boomers tried to re-orient
themselves to deal with the sudden reversal, a loud series
of crack-bangs sounded; a moment later, the boomers burst in
a messy spray of armour parts and oily liquids.
     SkyKnight dropped to the pavement again with a clank,
breathing heavily.  As he landed, the railgun bolt launcher
on his left shoulder folded back into its rest position.
Bert wished he could wipe the sweat off of his face; it had
been a gruelling workout so far, but he had a sneaking hunch
he wasn't done yet.  While Sylia hadn't been taking it easy
on him, she also hadn't tried to set him off with the same
set of circumstances as the last time.  Not yet, anyway.
     To his immense relief, he wasn't having to exert the
same desperate, ironclad control on himself that he'd had to
the last time he'd been in the simulator.  It was definitely
easier this time; he hadn't had any sudden flashbacks, at
least, not yet, and he felt...relaxed.  He pondered that for
a moment, trying to figure that one out.  Even though he
knew he was in a simulation, he'd never, ever been relaxed
about being in a fight before.  Something stirred uneasily
at the back of his mind at the discovery, but he couldn't
define what it was.
     It dawned on him suddenly that things had been quiet
for a few minutes now.  That was not good; quiet was boring
as hell right now.  A slight grin crept across his face.
     "Hey Sylia!" he called into the helmet comm.  "Don't
tell me you're done already?!  That wasn't even a decent
warm-up!!"
                            ****
     "He's starting to sound like you," Sylvie remarked, a
faint smirk on her face as she looked over at her friend.
"You're corrupting him."
     "Oh, go to hell," Priss muttered distractedly, although
a faint smile was tugging at the corners of her lips at
Sylvie's observation.  Bert had sounded okay, and he'd
certainly performed well so far, but she had this nagging
feeling that something was not...quite..right.  She'd seen
Bert fight before, several times, and there was something
about his style now that she couldn't quite pin down,
something unsettling, but also something she couldn't
identify.
     Sylia didn't acknowledge either of them as she leaned
forwards and hit another button on the console, the faintest
trace of a frown on her face.



                            ****