Well, thought I would post this and get some feedback.  Yes, I 
know I need to think of a quote for the beginning.  Ch. 1-5 are at 
Zoner's FTP site.  My apologies to anyone who got this twice because of 
the FF ML and my Prereading list.

Jeffrey Paul Hosmer			rogue1@netcom.com
4001 Old Quarry Terrace			
Alexandria, VA  22306


                        Bubblegum Crash!
                         Angel of Light


                            Chapter 6

          "[QUOTE]"

                                                  -- [REFERENCE]

                    WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 2034
                             Evening

     In the heart of the Canyons, Kaz's Pack holed up in an
abandoned building and began to party. (A pack is different from
a gang, with Kaz and his compatriots taking great offense at the
latter term.  Anyone using it would enjoy a long and painful
re-education on proper terminology.)  Beer flowed as the bikers
told each other tales about their exploits in the day's ride. 
More than a few tried to attract Priss's attention,
unsuccessfully.  She just sat out in the darkness, beyond the
light of the carefully constructed fire.
     Lying back against a decrepit wall, Priss considered her
day.  Kaz had invited her to ride with the pack as they cruised
around, even letting her borrow another member's bike.  It had
been wonderful, she admitted, to be surrounded by comrades, once
again trying to prove to the world how bad they were.  She had
steered clear of actual combat, though.
     Kaz hasn't changed, she thought, except maybe to get bigger. 
And he didn't have that scar before.  How long has he been
running with the pack, anyway...?  He seemed old when I joined.
     She snorted.  Everyone had seemed 'old' when she ran away
from the orphanage to live on the streets.  It hadn't been easy,
especially for a sixteen year old going entirely on attitude. 
Priss knew how the streets worked.  They would chew up and spit
out anyone not as tough as they seemed.
     Fortunately for her, she was picked up by the pack, then led
by Kaz's brother Daisuke.  Daisuke had been only a few years
older than Priss at the time, but he had an arrogant style and
unparalleled skill with anything on two wheels that earned him
respect.  He had taught her everything she knew about
motorcycles, up until the day he was shot by someone in a passing
car.  Priss never learned why, but the car had had GENOM plates,
and that was enough.
     "Priss?  Ya awake?" came a rumbling bass voice from the
direction of the fire.  A huge, bulky shadow blocked the light as
Kaz walked over.  Behind him, Priss could hear the bikers
laughing at some tasteless joke.  If she listened hard enough,
she knew her enhanced hearing could pick up the conversation
easily.  She didn't try.
     "Yeah, Kaz... I'm even still decent."  She took a sip of the
now-warm beer in her hand and grimaced.
     "You?  Ha!" came an answering bark of laughter.  Kaz eased
his huge bulk inside and sat down beside her.  "So, ya gonna tell
me now what brought ya back to the streets?"
     Priss tensed.  "Who says I ever left?"
     Another sharp laugh.  "Come on, Priss... think we haven't
seen you on stage at Hot Legs?  Or heard about your bad fucking
luck with record dealers?  Word gets around, you know."
     Priss slammed a fist into Kaz's beefy arm.  "If you've
watched me sing, why didn't you come up after the show, you
bastard?"
     Kaz held up his hands in a warding motion, laughing.  "Hey,
those bouncers there are MEAN."  He shook his head.  "Have to
admit, me and the rest of the pack don't make the best first
impression on authority types.  We didn't want to ruin your gig
by 'persuading' them to let us see you.  Did get a fairly decent
bootleg, tho."  He grinned.
     "Bastard," Priss said again with a grin.
     "Now, come on, what's eatin' at you?  You've gone to ground,
obviously, but what has you running?"
     "Myself... in a way," Priss answered nervously.  Kaz just
sat there, watching her.  "I... made a mistake and got some
cybernetics installed."  Priss looked down at her hands, wishing
she could lie to one of her oldest friends.  "You can't tell,
because it's a lot of little machines, crawling around inside
me--"
     "Nano-whatsits or something.  Hottest thing on the black
market nowadays," Kaz said grimly.  "They've also burned more new
chums out or turned 'em psycho than anyone can count."  He stared
compassionately at Priss.  "I won't ask were ya got the money for
it, nor why ya felt you had to do it.  I get the feelin' I
wouldn't like them answers--"
     "No... I just can't tell you..."
     "So, whatcha going to do?"
     "I don't know... I ran... I haven't been able to think it
out..."
     Kaz tsked.  "Now, that was a damn foolish thing to go and
do.  Still," he grinned, "ya got me and the pack.  You can ride
with us as ya get your head in order."
     "Thanks, Kaz..."
     "Listen, Little One," Kaz began, using a nickname he had
foisted on her years ago.  Of course, almost everyone was
'little' to Kaz.  "Will you take a word of advice from an old
friend?"
     "I'll listen."
     Kaz chuckled at that, shaking his head wryly.  "You were
always like that, always wanting to go yer own way, stubbornly
insisting ya wuz right..."  He chuckled again and Priss was
surprised to feel her cheeks flush.  She felt like a child who
was being berated by an adult.  It was not a feeling she
relished.
     "Listen here, Kaz, you can't--"
     "Now, now... just a casual-like observation of how little
you've changed..."  Kaz chuckled again, then turned serious. 
"Now, listen... this isn't something you can out-stubborn... I've
met many a chummer who's burnt himself out, and some who
didn't... You gotta ride this thing like a wave, accept it and
use it... or it'll smash you against the fucking rocks."
     Priss thought about it.  That might make sense.  It was
totally alien to her way of dealing with things, but...  "I'll
think about it... y'know something, Kaz?"
     "What?"
     "I've never realized... you've got the soul of a poet..."
     Kaz blushed.  A funny sight on such a big, rough-looking
man.
     "...and the mouth of an asshole," Priss concluded.
     Kaz roared with laughter.  "So Kiku-chan's always told me,"
he said, clapping one beefy hand across Priss' back.  "Come on,
there's beer and grub, and some music... if I get drunk enough,
I'll sing karaoke with ya!"  Kaz began to hum 'Konya wa
Hurricane' badly and off-tune, stopping only when a rather solid
fist belted him in the gut playfully.
     "Never do that to one of my songs, Kaz, "Priss rejoined
jokingly as they made their way to the fire.

                    WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 2034
                            Night

     Linna sweated inside the confines of the Griffon's VR
helmet.  She thought working with the hardsuits would have
prepared her for almost anything, but the Griffon's systems had
been designed with cutting-edge technology.  It made piloting a
Griffon have about as much in common with a hardsuit as piloting
a fighter jet had with wearing medieval armor.
     "Watch it, Four!" came a yell over her comm system. 
Instinctively, she dropped and rolled.  The Griffon effortlessly
followed through the maneuver, barely avoiding a missile.  She
swore.
     To her right, there was a flash as Griffon-3 unloaded about
half its missile payload in the direction the missile had come
from.  Half of the firestorm hit a building, which promptly fell
in on itself, filling the street with smoke and dust.  The rest
spiralled picturesquely down streets, exploding singly and in
pairs as they hit random objects.
     Linna got to her feet.  Moving in the Griffon wasn't the
problem, really.  It was the sensor system.  The Griffon had
optics located on its head, it's belly, and its back, as well as
side-lookers.  The entire image as flashed to her on the inside
of her helmet, which made her feel nauseous.  Still, she gritted
her teeth and tried again to make sense of it.
     "Damn it, Three!  You're going to get us killed!  Stop
wasting ammo!" came the irate voice of Griffon-5.
     "Awww... wasting ammo is half the fun, Dora, baby!" came the
insolent reply.
     "Listen, fuckface, shape up or..."
     "Or what, you gonna shoot me?  Look, ADP K-12s!  Yum-Yum,
it's lunchtime!"  Griffon-3 signed off and began running forward.
     "Three!  Max, get back here!  You can't run off half-cocked! 
Damn!" Dora exclaimed angrily.  Her Griffon spun to face Linna. 
"Four, cover me while I go help that fucker out."
     "Roger!" Linna replied, arming her long-range missiles.  Her
scope showed the K-12 armored troopers clustered at an
intersection a block away.  Max, in Griffon-3, was charging,
letting loose his remaining missiles as he went, with Dora, in
Griffon-5, behind him.  A few missiles aimed at the ADP should
help, Linna thought, engaging the system.  Something flashed on
one of the screens in front of her--
     Then the world spun wildly as something hit her from behind. 
Alarms rang out deafening her and she screamed in surprise as
everything went black.
     Then came the verdict from on high, in bright, crimson
letters:  DEAD.
     Linna cursed as she pulled the helmet off.

     "So, Bud, how's our new recruit doing?" Jackson asked
casually.  Beside him, on the catwalk overlooking the Griffon's
staging area, the middle-aged Indian man with long, graying hair,
grunted noncommittally.
     "She's picking up the techniques fast enough, even in the
few hours she's been at it," Bud said as he observed the scene
below.  Three Griffons were the center of attention for most of
the techs swarming around.  Inside the black mechs, their pilots
had been involved in a complex, interactive simulation.  A
simulation which had ended quickly as a reinforcement squad of
K-12 troopers massacred the Griffons from the rear.  "But she's
having more trouble getting her experience to 'cross over' from
power-suit to Labor than you."
     "Well, I had very little experience.  If she is a former
corp merc, she would have a lot more."  Jackson's eyes narrowed
as he squinted down at Griffon Number Four.  Linda, the new
recruit in question, was climbing out of it and cursing a blue
streak.  No motivational problems there.  "And Max and Dora?  How
are they coming along?"
     Bud grunted again.  "Max has no sense of subtlety at all. 
Still, in a pitched firefight, he's good enough.  Dora's fine
unless she loses her temper.  Then she's about the same.  I doubt
any more training will really help, in any event."  For the first
time in the conversation, he looked at Jackson.  "I'll be leaving
soon then."  He sounded almost challenging.
     "You're glad to be leaving us, then?" Jackson said, keeping
his voice as neutral as possible.  If he had his way, Bud would
have been terminated the instant his usefulness was over.  He was
not committed to the Cause, merely a hireling with useful skills. 
But because the AGF's backers had hired him, the AGF's concerns
were secondary, even with regards to security.
     Still, our backers will soon have a surprise or two on their
hands that will make up for this, Jackson thought.
     "I never approved of bringing the Griffon back, nor of all
this," Bud replied.  "The sins of my past just caught up with
me."
     "I don't see you turning down the money," Jackson remarked
sarcastically.
     "We all pay for our mistakes, Mr. Jackson," Bud replied. 
"Sooner or later.  I think you will end up paying a lot more than
I."

     In a small room nearby, the boss and two men in suits
watched the results of the Griffons' simulation drill.
     "Are you sure they are ready, Ms. Jackson?" Wilhelm Godhardt
asked, looking again at the results.
     "Oh, yes," replied the boss, looking unconcerned.  "Max,
Griffon-3, just likes to show off in simulations.  In real
combat, he is quite efficient."  Her voice was cool and sounded
almost amused as she watched the overweight executive pretend to
understand the technical display.  The man behind him, also
dressed in a suit, looked on with the practiced eye of a soldier. 
He was the one she kept an especially close eye on.
     "But it seems so... unorthodox..."
     "If I may, sir...?" the soldier said, interrupting. 
Godhardt nodded to him to continue.  "The type of covert
terrorism that Ms. Jackson is involved in does require a
certain... unorthodoxy in their methods.  It keeps the enemy
off-balance and confused, which helps overcome a numerical
disadvantage."  The lecture was delivered in crisp tones and the
boss knew it was for her benefit.  Godhardt was a bureaucratic
fool, but nominally was in charge of the operation.  The soldier
was insurance against his incompetence and no doubt had specific
orders covering any treachery.
     "Thank you, Johann," Godhardt snapped, upset over being
shown up in front of outsiders.  SSS Colonel or no, he would have
to learn who was in charge here!  "Now, shall we go over the
final stage of the operation?"
     The three of them clustered around a table with a map of
Mega-Tokyo on it.  The boss spoke first.  "After one more drill,
striking at the GENOM Industrial Park, my squad of Griffons will
proceed with the primary phase of the plan.  We will get the
Griffons as close to GENOM Tower as possible, then go on a
rampage through the city, making it look like we are GENOM mechs
that have gone rogue.
     "We expect ADP and GENOM Security resistance to be high. 
That's why we targeted the Distribution Center and the new GPCC,
to see what sort of defense GENOM could mount.  We did well
against the Bu-12Bs, but the ferocity of the construction boomers
at GPCC was unexpected."
     "Are you sure that you are prepared if such a thing happens
again?" Godhardt interjected.
     "Sir," Colonel Hineman said, "that is part of the reason a
final drill against the Industrial Park was authorized.  Not only
to test their new member in battle, but we must see if GENOM can
overcome them again."
     Godhardt frowned as he looked at the map.  After a minute,
the boss continued.  "After our rampage, which gives your
security forces an excuse to intervene and look good, we
disappear.  Your plant in GENOM then makes sure the ADP and the
press sees the falsified cargo statement."
     "Yes," Godhardt said.  "Then a major scandal will erupt and
the way will be opened for SCHAFT to triumphantly re-enter
Japan!"
     "Which, in the long term, will help achieve YOUR
organization's goal of eliminating GENOM," Hineman interjected
smoothly.
     "And you're sure that the public will buy such a flimsy
story?"
     "Following your rampage, the more blatant the proof, the
angrier the public will be with GENOM.  We have taken steps to
make it look good, however.  Our plant made sure a total
incompetent was set up to take the fall for the clumsy cover-up. 
Unfortunately, he was terminated by GENOM recently, but this is
even better.  Now he can't be questioned about the matter.  His
disappearance will spread rumors of another cover-up."
     The boss frowned at the map of MegaTokyo again, and then
nodded.  "Then I think we're ready to proceed."

     Nene nearly banged her head against her keyboard in
frustration.  So far, all her data searches for information on
Priss had turned up nothing.  She had not held out much hope in
the first place.  Priss preferred to work with cash and hard
currency rather than convenient, easily traceable, electronic
credit.
     She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced.  It was cold. 
How long had it been sitting there?  How long had SHE been
sitting here?  She rubbed her eyes tiredly.
     Well, one last place to check, the most dangerous place, she
thought.  She covered her tracks in the bank computer she had
just raided.  A small mistake transferred $1,000,000 from
Microsoft to a college student's account, but it wasn't traceable
so she left it.  Who knows, the kid might even be able to spend
some of it.
     She knew she wasn't in the right frame of mind for it, but
she went on anyway.  First, she bounced from site to site in
order to confuse any traces.  Then she then activated her
access-cruncher to sneak her into GENOM's nets.

     Dixon Kelly was seated in front of his computer as well. 
Unlike Nene, however, he had no monitor or keyboard.  Instead, a
simple cord was plugged into a socket at the base of his neck. 
His eyes were closed and he seemed to be dreaming, from the way
his eyes moved beneath the lids.
     In actuality, his cyberjack was letting him directly access
the GENOM network.  His thoughts were interpreted as computer
signals and computer output were translated into something his
brain could use.  It had been expensive and dangerous to install,
even with all the cybernetics out on the market.  "Wireheads"
tended to go insane or die, their brains fried because they tried
to process too much data too quickly.  Kelly managed the dataflow
with ease.  It was a rare talent that made him valuable to Quincy
and GENOM.
     Right now, Kelly was inside his virtual 'office,' a tiny
computer node set aside for his own use.  He was preparing
several programs to alter data in GENOM's records.
     Damn it, he thought as he reworked a troublesome line of
code.  All that work to put Anderson in place and he eliminates
himself just as the plan is falling into place!  Well, the plan
is flexible enough to take some changes.
     When SCHAFT had first approached him with their offer, Kelly
had been skeptical.  It seemed like there were too many variables
and loose ends in the plan to actually work.  But he was young,
and ambitious.  Having risen as far as Special Assistant to the
Chairman, he knew that he could expect no more.  He faced two
unpleasant paths.  The first was a long, slow decline as the
Chairman turned to newer, more exploitable, personnel.  The other
option was a crash-and-burn scenario where he eventually failed
the chairman, just like Mason did.  Neither was particularly
pleasant, and the only other option was to hope the Chairman died
soon.  That was something the old bastard seemed to be in no
hurry about.
     But by helping SCHAFT weaken and then assimilate GENOM, he
could gain an enormous windfall.  He could perhaps even head the
SCHAFT-GENOM operations for the all of Southeast Asia.  There
might even be a chance at the top slot in a few more years.  The
lure proved too much to resist.  And so he had put Anderson in
place and inserted certain records that would incriminate GENOM
once the Griffons went public.  Now he just needed a new
scapegoat to pin the blame on so that the Chairman never
suspected him.
     Hmmm... why not kill two birds with one stone.  That new guy
Larson is the Chairman's golden boy at the moment, and he's been
getting cozy with Madigan... if I implicate them, I can take them
out before they can team up against me...
     An alarm caught his attention.  Someone had breached the
GENOM Net's security level one and was headed deeper, triggering
one of his special, personal alarms.
     Well, I needed a break, he thought, leaving his computer
node for the net at large.  A little cybercombat should loosen me
up... I'll wait at level three... if the cracker can get that
far, then they'll be a challenge worth my time.

     Nene breezed through the outermost layers of GENOM's
security.  The real challenge lay ahead, she knew, but the ease
of her success cheered her up a little.
     She was too tired to even notice Kelly's secret alarm.
     Up ahead was the Level Three security barrier.  The first of
the real challenges.  No cracker knew exactly how many levels
there were to GENOM's security network.  Nene herself had made it
to Level Five once.  Someone once claimed to have breached Level
Seven, but he wasn't believed.  Nene believed that there were six
levels total, and itched to find and crack the final barrier. 
The difficulty of the levels increased logarithmically as one
moved deeper, but Nene was sure she could do it.
     She moved deeper into the net, her programs searching for
Priss's name in the files.  It slowed her down and took some of
her attention, so she was surprised when another icon challenged
her.
     The icon was that of a standard GENOM Security Daemon, a
high level program for dealing with intruders.  How Daemons dealt
with an intruder depended on their programming and
sophistication.  Most merely booted you off.  There were rumors
that some could send you a lethal jolt of electricity through
your VR setup.  Nene didn't even like to think about what would
happen with one of those new, experimental cyberjacks.
     The Security Daemons at GENOM were styled rather
unimaginatively as ebon and silver samurai.  The samurai attacked
with sword icons that automatically booted you off the system and
ran a trace on your location.  Nene didn't fear them at all.  But
this one moved differently, more fluidly and the blazing sword it
held did not look normal.  She stopped in her tracks and eyed the
strange sentinel as it dropped into a combat stance.

     Kelly smiled to himself as he faced the anonymous intruder. 
He or she was quite good, moving almost undetectably through the
GENOM nets.  The intruder's icon was nondescript, but he sensed
that was no more than a cloak to fool the security systems.  It
was because of the cloak that he had decided to 'possess' a
Security Daemon icon and spark a confrontation.  Since even his
passive scans couldn't penetrate the cloak, he'd just have to see
what was under it the hard way.

     Nene readied her Aegis program to protect her icon against
any Intrusion Countermeasures.  Why was it just sitting there?
she wondered, a little unnerved by the icon's immobility.  Best
if I hit it hard and fast.  Calling up an old program, she
unleashed what looked like a swarm of bugs onto GENOM's network. 
Alarms went off as the program icon appeared, but the bugs sped
toward their target unconcerned.

     So, my opponent is young and impetuous, thought Kelly,
swiftly analyzing the Bug program.  His direct link with the nets
let him feel his way around Nene's program and determine a
countermeasure.
     The human brain is a marvelous thing.  It can spot patterns
and analyze familiar details intuitively, almost without
conscious thought.  The raw datafeed of a computer network could,
and often did, overload the relatively weak organic system.  But
those who survived learned to sense the raw code in ways a
console or VR jockey could never imagine.

     Nene gasped as her program dissolved harmlessly against the
armor of her opponent.  He shouldn't be able to do that! she
thought, even as she began to unlink her system.  Not being a
fool, she didn't want to face this Daemon without being better
prepared.
     Just as she began the exit routine, the Daemon swung its
blazing sword through her icon.  Her cloak crashed, revealing the
Knight Saber icon for an instant before it deresolved into a
million bits of light.
     Back in the real world, Nene yanked her VR helmet off and
began to type furiously at her keyboard.  The Daemon's sword
program had downloaded a virus into her system that not only
crashed her cloak but was...
     Her typed commands vanished from the screen.  There was a
burst of static, then the screen was filled by four simple words
and a symbol:

                    BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME :)

     A simple reboot showed that her entire system was wiped
clean.  Even the operating system was gone, except for a small
little program that kept repeating the message.
     Nene just sat and watched the idiotic message blink again
and again.  Someone had just blown her away on the nets and
callously destroyed thousands of man-hours of work.  They were
backed up, of course, but could only be restored through much
time and effort.  She didn't cry or curse, though.
     Nene just got very, very mad.

     A Knight Saber, Kelly thought to himself as he jacked out of
the network, smiling.  He almost regretted not tracing her down
with another little program, but then shook his head.  Whoever it
had been, they were almost certainly planning to strike back, now
that they knew what to expect.  And whoever it was, this
programmer was good.  Kelly relished the thought of facing this
Knight Saber again, when he or she was ready for him.

                     FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 2034
                            Night

     Leon tapped his pen against his desk in a nervous rhythm. 
It had been almost three days now since Priss disappeared.  He
felt like he hadn't slept for at least that long.  He swore that
once he broke this Griffon case, he would take some time off and
seriously search for her.
     Suddenly, the dispatch alarm blared.  "Attention, rogue
boomer alert in the Canyons.  Squad three, prepare for dispatch."
     Leon's face broke into a glowing grin.  Decker had done it. 
He sprinted for the vehicle bay.  Behind him, Daley followed,
barely managing to grab his coat.  Goto watched them rush out the
door, then leisurely picked up his phone.
     "Asuma," he said when the other answered, "better give Shige
and the others a call.  I think things may start jumping soon." 
After listening to Asuma's affirmative reply, he turned back to
his newspaper.

     In the squad bay, Sergeant Decker was already in full armor.
Squad Three was checking their gear and boarding their carrier as
Leon ran up, still shrugging on a flak vest.
     "Goddamnit, rookie," Decker bellowed, "how many times have I
told you that vest don't do shit if it isn't fastened properly!" 
Then his face broke open in a huge, shit-eating grin.  "Back in
the saddle for another ride, eh?"
     "If you don't mind me and my partner," Leon said, hooking
his thumb back at Daley, "tagging along."
     "Hell, it's an open party."
     In a lower voice, Leon said, "Your men know what's really
up, right?"
     "Yup," Decker replied, in an equally low voice.  "They're
ready for a little urban reconnaissance.  They're all vets, too,
so they should be able to handle themselves.  You sure that our
partners in this dance are going to get their invite?"
     "Being taken care of, even as we speak."

     Elsewhere in the ADPolice building, one of the dispatchers
answering phones made a call of his own.  When the other end
picked up, he began to speak quickly, but quietly.
     "It's Henton, ADPolice dispatch.  Listen, a dispatch for the
Canyons just came in.  Scuttlebutt has it that McNichol is
looking for something to crack open that Distribution Center
case, using the rogue boomer story as cover.  Yeah, I thought you
might want to know that.  Good, bye."
     Peter Henton sighed as the call ended.  He didn't consider
himself an informer, really.  He just picked up a few extra yen,
reporting harmless little things.  It was hard enough to get by
in this day and age.  No sense making it worse by turning down
little opportunities, right?  And GENOM paid very well--
     His thoughts were interrupted by a hand dropping on his
shoulder.  Turning around, his heart nearly stopped as the broad,
impassive face of Chief Matsui frowned down at him.
     "Good job, Henton.  You did exactly what we thought you'd
do."
     Henton began to stammer out an explanation, but Matsui would
hear none of it.  "I want your badge on my desk and you cleared
out by the end of the shift.  Write up your resignation, if you
like.  Internal Affairs will be in touch."  He gestured to the
two grim-faced ADP officers behind him.  "These fellows will make
sure you don't make any more phone calls to your friends."
     Matsui spun around on his heel and strode out.  Damn, if
finding a bad cop didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth.  At
least they were able to make use of him.  He hoped that Goto was
right again about this, otherwise things would go very badly for
Leon when he got back.
     If he got back.

     "Sir, our informant in ADPolice has reported that Detective
McNichol is entering the Canyons with a squad," intel boomer
Bu78I-05673 said to Kelly in a flat, emotionless voice.  "There
is a 87% probability that he is hunting for the missing Jim
Ashima, who is speculated to be hiding there.  Ashima was
scheduled for termination on--"
     "I know the particulars of that case, 05673.  Dispatch an
boomer squad to the Canyons.  They are to apprehend Ashima if
they can, terminate him if not.  I don't want Ashima airing our
dirty laundry to the ADPolice.  The Distribution Center is our
problem, we'll handle it.  And I want deniability on this, down
the line."
     "Yes, sir."
     Meanwhile, thought Kelly, I better give SCHAFT a call.  It'd
be best if neither the boomers, Ashima, nor the ADPolice left the
Canyons alive... then no one will be able to head off the plan.

     Priss looked around the abandoned building, the third the
pack had inhabited in as many days and cursed to herself.  She
was feeling caged in, even in the loose confines of the pack. 
During the day, when they were all out on their bikes, she could
push the feeling away with the feel of the wind and the sun on
her face.  But at night, she felt trapped by the cold concrete
walls around her.
     The problem, she thought to herself, is that I'm not really
doing anything.  I'm riding around, proving I'm still the best
there is on a bike, but it doesn't really mean anything.
     She had spoken to Kikuko, Kaz's wife, about it once.  A
woman almost as large as Kaz, Kikuko had a good heart and was
wiser than she let on.  She said very little to support Priss,
however.
     "Priss-chan, of course the Pack doesn't DO anything," she
had said.  "We're people who try as hard as we can not to do
something someone else wants us to do.  Some of us find that
enough.  Others, like you, feel the need to do more.  Lord have
mercy, child, you can't crawl back into the wom, which is what
you're trying to do."  Kikuko had then eyed Priss shrewdly,
making the singer very uncomfortable.  "We're just a place where
you can rest for a bit.  Try as you might, you can't change
yourself back."
     Priss didn't know what to make of this.  Have I really
changed so much?  She thought.  She didn't think she was any
different than she had been during her days in the Pack, but...
     Her thoughts were interrupted then by a arm dropping rudely
across her shoulder.  "Hey, Priss-san," Moro, the thug who had
attempted to mug her when she had met up with the Pack, slurred,
obviously quite drunk.  His interest in her had only increased
over the days they had ridden together, while her contempt had
grown.
     She gritted her teeth.  "I'd rather be alone now, Moro," she
said, stepping away from him.
     The biker stumbled toward her, a drunken hand turning her
around.  Leaning close enough that she could smell his
alcohol-laden breath, he spat out, "Still think you're too good
for old Moro, eh?  Think that as long as that bastard Kaz is
screwing you you're safe, huh?"  He wobbled unsteadily on his
feet and took another drink.  "Hell, I could show you a much
better time than him!"
     Moro belched and grinned.  He would show all those assholes
in the Pack.  If he could steal away this bitch from Kaz, it
would bring back some of the face he had lost in the alley when
they met.  She was also one of the sexiest babes he had seen in a
long time, and that, combined with his need to get some revenge
on her, drove his hormones into overdrive.  Hell, all women
wanted him, they just liked to play hard to get.
     Priss saw red.  How dare he think she would get between Kaz
and Kikuko.  This asshole didn't seserve any more courtesy. 
She'd pound a little sense into him.  And if she spilled his
brains across the floor it wouldn't matter, he didn't need them
that much.  Before Moro even knew what was happening, she had
grabbed hold of his jacket and lifted him bodily off the ground. 
It seemed to take no more than a flick of her wrist to send him
flying into the far wall with a crash.  The rest of the Pack
turned around to look at the fracas and someone stopped the
music.  Priss didn't care.  The now-familiar red haze had dropped
over her field of vision and she snarled as she stalked towards
Moro.
     "You fucking cyberbitch!" Moro screamed, pulling out his
blade.  It was a big knife, a Paul Hogan, "Now THIS is a knife,"
type, with a sharp, serrated edge.  He charged Priss.

     Inside the secret Griffon hanger, Linna sat by the open
cockpit of her Griffon, going over the manual.
     "Now, error code 7R means... it means..."  She sighed and
flipped the book open.  "Damn!  Hangfire in the machine gun.  I
should have known that."
     "Cramming for the mission?" came Milly's voice.
     Linna looked down to the bottom of the gantry and saw the
green-haired girl climbing up to her and felt the hairs on the
back of her neck rise.  Something about Milly rubbed her wrong, a
little warning sign that she couldn't pin down on anything
concrete.  She knew that Milly was attracted to her, but Linna
thought (hoped, really) that she was open-minded enough about
others that the mere fact that someone was gay wouldn't give her
the willies.  After all, Daley doesn't cause me to feel like
this, she thought.  Of course, he's not chasing me.
     "Yeah, I don't want to forget anything," Linna replied. 
Milly sat down next to Linna and looked at her book.
     "Need any help?" she asked.
     "No, it's just a matter of getting them to stay in my head. 
I've had to do this before, so it's no big deal."
     Milly placed a hand on Linna's shoulder.  "Well, if you need
anything, don't hesitate to come to me.  I'll be glad to help
you... in anyway I can."
     Linna steeled herself to keep from shuddering.  It was
Milly's eyes, she thought, that's what does it.  They seem so
dead at times, at other times full of pain.  What could she have
gone through to make her like this?
     She managed a smile.  "I'll do that, Milly."
     Milly patted Linna on the back and then slid off the gantry
to the floor below.  It was a sizable drop, but she landed like a
pro and seemed unfazed by it.  She gave a jaunty wave and then
strode off.  Linna watched her go and heaved a sigh of relief
when she was gone.
     Well, she thought, I better go about my mission.  I don't
have much time.  Packing up her manual, she climbed down the
scaffold and hurried off to the base's small communications
center.
     After Linna left, the hatch to Griffon-5 slid open and Dora
stepped out.  A thin, mousy woman with brown hair and glasses,
she glared in the direction Linna had gone.  Then, moving
quickly, she went over to Linna's Griffon and began fiddling with
something inside the cockpit.

     The ADPolice carrier roared through the night, sirens
blaring.  Cars and pedestrians scattered before it, if they were
wise.  No one wanted to be near the ADPolice when they were on
duty, as the incidental casualties tended to be high.
     Decker checked his gun for the dozenth time as Leon watched. 
The big sergeant didn't even seem to be aware that he was doing
it.  It was a nervous tic he had developed long ago.
     "Do you think we'll find the man you're looking for,
rookie?" Decker inquired.
     "I think so.  GENOM knows we're going in and is likely to
act to silence Ashima.  We're going to use them as hounds to
flush him out so we can protect him."
     "Sounds risky."
     "They'll find him sooner or later.  They have the manpower
for it and we don't.  This scheme at least has a chance of
getting him out alive."
     "Bah, a good man could hide from boomers for months in the
Canyons."
     "We're not all like you, Decker."
     "Good thing, too."
     Something crashed against the side of the carrier.
     "What was that?" Leon asked, grabbing hold of of a bar by
his seat.
     "Welcoming Committee... we're in the Canyons and some gang
member decided to make us feel at home."  He raised his voice,
"OK men, weapons hot!"  Around them, the squad members clicked
off their safeties and double-checked their ammo.
     It was about then that the world exploded around them.

     Despie the late hour, Sylia was still up when Fargo's call
came through.
     "Our agent has gotten back in touch with us.  She reports
that her mission has been successful and that her sales, despite
an initial rocky start, have been good.   I'm sending the figures
by fax now," Fargo said, breaking character a little to give
Sylia a little wink that she did not return.  The figures he was
sending were the coordinates of the AGF's secret base.
     Sylia listened impassionately, though she looked tired to
Fargo.  That observation shocked him even has he made it.  She
had only rarely looked so human, and he could see that something
was eating at her.
     "Good.  I'll prepare things at this end."  Sylia hung up and
considered the blank screen for several seconds, then reached
over to press a button on the phone.  This sent out a call to the
pagers she had issued the Knight Sabers, telling them they had a
mission.

     Priss easily ducked beneath Moro's first swing.  He appeared
to be moving in slow motion as she feinted and danced around him,
toying with him.  She not only wanted to hurt him, she wanted to
totally humiliate him.  The red haze didn't recede, and the need
for explosive action still hungered in her brain, but now she
could direct that need.
     She waited for him to over-extend on a thrust and grabbed
his wrist hard.  He screamed as the bones cracked.  Twisting
around, she moved next to his side, then yanked the knife hand
down to plunge it into his thigh.
     "Gee, boys shouldn't play with knives if they can't handle
them properly," she taunted.  Moro growled incoherently at her,
and yanked the blade out of his thigh, hobbling to his feet.  He
kept the pain away with sheer rage, trying to get at this
annoying woman.
     It would be so easy, Priss thought, to end it now.  A quick
blow to the nose, breaking it and sending bone shards into the
brain.  She knew how to do that.  She could tear his throat out,
or punch her hand straight through his chest.  The options danced
through her mind, each one clear and simple.  She hadn't found
fighting this easy since she had fought the strange liquid metal
boomers on top of GENOM Tower, fighting with the strange entity
her cyberpsychosis had created inside her.
     After that fight, she had always been afraid of losing
control, like she had in the alley.  But she was in control.  The
kill would be her choice, not the choice of some aberrant part of
her.
     Kill?  she thought, fighting down the red haze.  It gave way
slowly, not wanting to relinguish its grip.  I don't want to kill
him.  It's not my way!  Her vision cleared some more and she saw
more than just Moro.  Behind him was Kaz, watching her quietly,
seeing what se would do.  Seeing him helped her with her
decision.  She struck.
     Ducking under Moro's weak attack, she grabbed hold of the
waistband of his pants and gave a mighty heave!  He howled as she
wedgied him repeatedly, to the amusement of the Pack, who burst
out laughing.  She then let him drop and looked over at Kaz, who
gave a small smile of approval before going over to wrap her in a
big bear hug.
     "I did it, Kaz... I conrolled it!"
     "I knew you could, Little One.  I guess there was a use for
Moro after all."  He grinned and she started laughing.  It felt
good, better than anything else in a long time.
     The moment was interrupted suddenly by a loud explosion in
the streets outside, followed by a flash of light.  The
celebration whoops stopped and every Pack member went to their
bike.
     "Damn!" swore Kaz.  "The Black Scavs are out messing with
someone."
     "The Black Scavs?  How could they do that?"
     "They got lucky and scored some kind of arms supply deal. 
They got no more brains than before, but a bigger punch now.  We
better go and chase them off again, see who they're rousting."
     "Count me in."
     "You sure, Little One?"  When he saw her nod, he turned to
the bikes.  "OK, Pack, let's roll!"

     Jim Ashima took cover in an alley when the night exploded
into flames.
     He had been moving carefully down the street, blending in
with the other homeless who scavenged the Canyons.  There had
been practically no warning.  The blare of a police siren, then
the distinctive sound of an RPG being fired, followed by the
explosion.
     Peeking around the corner, he could see an ADPolice carrier,
its entire front end blown away.  The drivers were both dead, he
knew.  No one was walking away from that mess.
     The troop compartment seemed to survive relatively intact, a
tribute to the heavier armor used for when the ADP occaisionally
had to transport boomer remains (which had an unhealthy tendency
to reactivate when least expected).  The troops spilled out and
took cover, looking for their attackers.
     They didn't have to look long.  Gunfire erupted from the
surrounding buildings.  As Jim watched, one of the ADP troopers
got shot in the leg and fell to the ground clutching the bleeding
wound.  Whatever ammo the attackers were using, it was effective
against body armor.  Some of it, any way.  Some shots were just
knocking the ADP around.
     The wounded soldier was helped back inside the carrier while
his comrades laid down covering fire.  Jim could now see some of
the attackers, distinctive with their blackened faces.  The Black
Scavs, one of the more insane gangs living in the Canyons.  He
had been warned by some of his new-found acquaintances about
them.
     One of the Scavs appeared in an upstairs window overlooking
the battlezone and prepared to fire some sort of heavy weapon. 
The ADP were on him and he was taken out by some excellent sniper
fire.
     Jim decided it was now time to make his getaway, while he
could.  He turned down the alley and began to run along it,
trying to put some distance between him and the firefight. 
Leaping over decades-old trash, he sprinted towards the alley's
exit.
     He drew up short, however, when two men in black suits
appeared in front of him.  Despite the gloom of the unlit Canyons
and the dark, moonless night, they wore shades and alarm bells
rang in Jim's mind.  He had seen this sort before, with some of
the GENOM higher-ups.  Security boomers!
     "Mr. Jim Ashima.  Please come with us." the first stated in
a low monotone.  Jim turned and ran back down the alley.  Better
the firefight than this!

     Nene helped Vision put on her new suit, fresh from the
manufacturer.  Since it was her first time dealing with the
actual hardware, the rock singer was having a rough time.  Sylia
was already in her suit, prepping the KnightWing.
     "Shit!" exclaimed Vision as she dropped her gauntlet.  "How
the hell do you manage with these things?"
     "Practice.  They're heavier than they look, I know," Nene
replied, picking it up.  "Now, let's hook up... no, you need to
make sure this is ALL the way down... here, adjust this part of
your... no, the other way.  A bit more.  A bit more.  Good!  Now,
just a sec."  Nene activated the suit and with an ease that
almost seemed to mock its user it clamped all its parts into
place, various parts locking closed and adjusting to fit Vision
perfectly.  "How's that feel?"
     "Like I'm wearing a 40 kilo wetsuit."
     "Good!  That's how it's supposed to feel.  It's not too
tight, is it?  Not pinching anything?"
     "No... agh, open it up!"
     Nene quickly complied.  "What's the matter?!" she asked,
slightly panicky that something had gone wrong.
     Vision seemed to hop up and down, rubbing her back against
the inside of her suit.  "Ahhh... I suddenly got an itch like you
wouldn't believe..."
     Nene stared at Vision dumbly for several seconds, then she
bagan to giggle.  Vision adopted a mock glare of her own.
     "Hey, if you got an itch like that..."  She then burst into
her oqn giggles.  Nene sealed her back inside the suit and
powered it up.
     Vision stood, a little unsteadily at first, but with
increasing confidence.  The suit felt totally different now.  She
barely could tell that she was wearing it, except for the helmet. 
And the inside of her helmet showed a panoramic view of the world
outside, barely affecting her peripheral vision at all.
     "Wow..."
     "It's something else, isn't it?  Now, come on, before
Sylia--"
     The intercom on the wall beside them crackled.  "Nene,
Vision, are you ready to leave now?"
     The two of them managed to stifle a laugh.  It was easier to
do than they thought, considering the situation.  Priss was still
missing, Linna was deep in enemy territory.  And now they were
going into battle against the monstrosities that had started the
whole mess.  There was nothing to laugh about at all.
     Minutes later, the KnightWing departed Sylia's building,
soundlessly and almost undetectably.

     Shige fumbled with the lock on the front of the warehouse
door for a minute.  "Sorry, boss," he apologized in his high-
pitched voice, made only worse by age.  "It's a little stiff.  I
haven't used the big door in a while."
     Asuma nodded absently, looking around the inside of nearly
empty Shinohara-Toyohata Industries warehouse.  "Understood.  The
Chief wants them rolled out soonest, though."
     "No problem!"
     In the middle of the cavernous room sat three huge vehicles,
squat bulky things that seemed almost half as wide as they were
long.  Tarps that had long covered them lay discarded nearby
where Asuma and Shige had dumped them.  The black and white paint
on the vehicles was faded with time, but Asuma remembered them in
their glory days, and he fancifully imagined that they were ready
and eager for another mission.  The two smaller vehicles nearby
also seemed to radiate an eagerness that seemed almost human.
     "Asuma?" came Noa's voice, sounding so tiny in the large
room, much like her small frame was dwarfed by the gargantuan
vehicles.  "Are you OK about this?"
     "Yeah... I didn't think we would need them again, but Goto
was right...  What about you?  It's been a long time since we did
this..."
     "If HE can do it, I can," Noa rejoined, pointing to the
someone busily climbing over one of the vehicles.  A short,
barrel-chested, powerfully-built man, he seemed to be filled with
a frantic energy despite easily being as old as Asuma.
     "Yes!  Pulse rifles!  What's this. Hohohohoho!  Grenades! 
Ahahaha!" the man cackled, almost fondling weapons that seemed
scaled for a race of giants.
     "Yeah, well, Ohta is an abnormal case."  The man looked up
at this.
     "Shinohara!  What was that?!  Do you want to fight!?"

     Linna was awake when the first explosion hit the landfill. 
Already dressed, she rushed out into the tunnels connecting her
sparsely appointed quarters and tried to make her way to the
Griffon staging area.  Sylia and the others were beginning their
attack, she knew, and she had to keep up the masquerade of being
on the AGF's side a little longer.
     The base was in chaos.  The red-garbed maintenance people
were screaming orders to each other as the Griffons were prepped. 
Linna spotted Milly giving orders to several scruffy-looking
types, AGF lieutenants no doubt.
     "What do you think you're doing?" snarled Jackson from
behind her.  "Get in your mech now!"  He shoved Linna forward,
then darted towards Milly.  Milly broke off her conversation to
listen to what he had to say, then pointed sharply towards his
Griffon.  A few more words to the AGF people, and then Milly was
sprinting towards her own.
     Linna barely listened to the babble of the techs as they
strapped her into her mech and booted up its system.  Another
crump of an explosion, just as far out as the first.  Sylia
wanted to draw the Griffons out, not bury them and Linna under
mounds of dirt and garbage.
     "Griffon Leader to all Griffons, check in!" came Milly's
voice over their secure net.
     "Griffon-2, ready," came Jackson's voice.
     "Griffon-3, ready to rock and roll!  Owoo!" was Max's reply.
     "Griffon-4, ready," chimed in Linna.
     "Griffon-5, all set," came Dora.
     Griffon-1's external speakers switched on, and Milly's voice
blared out, "Everyone, clear the bay!  Evacuate the base!"
     "Marines, we are LEAVING!" crowed Max.  Linna noted with
some alarm that he was apparently arming his missiles.
     "Max, what are you--?" she began.
     "Can the chatter, Four," came Dora's voice.  "Just follow us
and you'll be fine!"
     With no warning, Max unleashed a volley of missiles at the
roof of the cavern, blowing it up and out.  The Griffons, all
configured for flight, leaped up out of the hole he had made and
into the night sky.

     "Sylia, I see our targets at two o'clock.  They just made
their own exit from their base."
     "Roger, prepare for a strafing run."
     "What about Linna?" Vision shouted from one of the gunnery
cockpits.  Line Nene, she was running the weapon systems while
Sylia flew the craft.
     "Linna will break towards us when we make our run.  Ignore
that one and hit the others with everything you've got."
     "Roger!"

     Linna spotted the KnightWing and started edging her Griffon
towards the outside of the group.  She had to be ready to run and
prayed that the others would be too surprised and concentrated on
the KnightWing to shoot at her.
     As it was, her concerns didn't matter.  She had no sooner
taken a step when something went wrong.  Metallic cables ending
in cuffs of some sort shot out of the cockpit walls at her,
snapping firmly around her wrists, ankles, and neck.  She grunted
as they slammed home, and writhed helplessly for a moment before
a fierce electric shock left her weak and dazed.
     "Uhuh," came Milly's voice over the net.  "Don't be a
spoilspot and leave the party now, Four."  She laughed, an evil
sound.  "We suspected you were a plant from the beginning.  Those
little bondage toys on you are a modification of mine, based on
the old DD battlemover.  Maybe you've heard about it?  If not,
don't worry.  All you need to know is that they give me complete
control over you, and your mech.  Watch."
     The Knightwing was making its attack run.  Linna could only
watch as her Griffon came to life and ran towards it, exactly as
she and Sylia had planned.  Except that it was also arming all
its missiles at the same time.  As the KnightWing drew closer,
Linna could only watch in horror as her targeting systems
achieved a lock.

     "Sylia, Missile Lock!  It's the Griffon running at us!"
     Sylia looked down at the Griffon Linna was supposed to be
in, its missile pods deployed.  For a split second all she could
see, however, was Priss pointing a gun at her, intent on using
it.  Then fire blossomed as the missiles shot up towards her.

     "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" Linna screamed as her entire payload
of missiles spiralled upwards at the KnightWing.  The plane tried
to evade the deadly weapons, but it came too late.  The missiles
all slammed into the body of the craft, the explosions tearing
through armor and lighting the night sky.  A mass of flaming
wreckage, the KnightWing spun out of control down into the
landfill, and even the Griffons were tossed to the ground as it
hit.