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

The two cars stopped half a block away from the small run-down
house at the far side of the dead end.

    "It's the last house on the left, next to the vacant lot."

The woman sitting besides the driver put on a small headset
and spoke through the microphone which hung close to her
mouth.

    "Unit B. Do you read?"

    "Loud and clear."

    "You take the back, we'll go through the front. We go in
on my signal."

    "Check."

The woman drew the modified 9mm SIG P210-6 from the holster
she wore.  The eight round special magazine snapped within the
butt of the pistol as she rammed it inside with the heel of
her palm. The Swiss anti-armour gun was unique, capable of
firing custom-made thorium coated Carboloy slugs which could
easily penetrate through reinforced boomer shielding.  Quincy
had been amused when he first saw it, commenting on her lack
of faith in Genom's own line of excellent handguns. She
offered to exchange the weapon, but Quincy simply gave her one
of his enigmatic grins, waving her off.

    "Let's go."

Six figures got out of the two cars and silently headed
towards the house. None of them, however, noticed the black
limousine which moments later appeared at the entrance of the
street.

-----

Dr. Karl Wagner woke up from his uneasy slumber when the
computer on his desk beeped. He tiredly glanced at the CCT. It
still had couple of hours of processing time to go. He then
turned towards the terminal. The clock at the corner of the
screen showed the time. 02:57. He slowly read the single line
that had appeared.

[ten]~ > xmail!: You have new mail.  [ten]~ >


He leaned over the keyboard, pressing a key and carefully
reading the brief message.


Date: sometime To: nobody@nowhere.b From: nobody@nowhere.a
Subject: The rhythm of music, the rhythm of fight
Parts/attachments:
   1 Shown 23 lines Text,DGP
   2 OK 179Mb Encrypted,Compressed,DGP,""
----------------------------------------------------

-----BEGIN DGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----

Hi,

I picked up a rather interesting package an hour ago, a Little
Black Box. Gally might like it, especially frames
7700-9600. What do you think?

D.

-----BEGIN DGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 1.1.7h Charset: noconv
- skip 5 Comment: dgp - damn good privacy/encryption
               modified from pgp and supercrypt++

E-code: Ich bin der Geist der stets verneint
Ysrsuyt3^k*ergis!#@t%GhjoyujtK*%edi%J^Us4yS#hYE%4iQT$%r43ero46^'sg$#4t
HQBVyS$^dp6^@fe^sghrwHoCFa5QRuAQGGtAIAruot$$rdghre#A@NB7thQGuwlpliTBDK
V69kiDW44s#$8uitsdPoFfgdnre4$^%TE3dd%#QM6MPx8MdpCgVVirtPcODVaTvT+V8w==
GxcDfU43#dN$L5eNwEWQME56EF34$DSd%ET$ret42WE^U$2de%#Fwqert43%Wdfgr25#d3
-----END DGP SIGNATURE-----



He checked the signature. The message had indeed been sent by
"D", whoever he, or she, was.

It was funny, he thought, the way electronic communications
had changed society. A faceless exchange of ideas between
strangers. Every thought, converted into pulses of light and
instantly transmitted across half a planet. A culture of
reason. One could make an endless number of acquaintances from
anywhere in the world, perhaps even a few friends, certainly
some enemies. Deciding who was what, however, was a peril
which, if anything, had been exacerbated by the electronic
age.

He had long ago given up trying to find the identity of his
mysterious friend. His messages were untraceable, and his
computing skills far superior to his own. Indeed, that is how
they had "met" in the first place.

Soon after fleeing from Genom and going into hiding, he
realized he had forgotten to copy some important technical
data regarding the endorphin stimulation treatment. By the
time he managed to hook to the network, Genom's sysadmins had
already changed all the access codes. He then desperately
started to try to break in, knowing full well that the
administrators would be on the lookout, waiting for him to
make the slightest mistake and trace his whereabouts. At this
point Galatea's condition began to worsen, but he couldn't do
anything unless he obtained the details of the
procedure. Otherwise the consequences would surely be
fatal. Finally, after three days, he managed to log in.

The directory was empty save for one small file.


     Congratulations Dr. Wagner, you have just managed to
break into our system. Unfortunately for you, whatever it is
you are looking for has been transferred to another
location. We will, however, gladly provide you with this
information as soon as you return and continue your research
programme here at Genom.


He actually felt physically ill after reading the message, his
hands trembled over the keyboard. A moment afterwards he
received an email. He remembered having to type "mail" four
times before spelling it right, fearing the worst. The message
was brief and straightforward:


    Attached are the files you seek (encrypted, see details
below).

I'll be in touch.  D.


He reread the message three times before proceeding to put
together the encryption key, which involved telneting into
three different computers using his old Genom login access. He
then decrypted the files and checked the sophisticated
security signature. They were indeed the originals. Whoever it
was had somehow managed to crack into the system before
Genom's sysadmins had transferred the information, and had
even been able of getting his password and creating dummy
accounts to temporarily store the bits and pieces of the
encryption key. His benefactor must surely be an extremely
talented hacker of sorts.

Unless, of course, it was a trap.

He had little time to ponder about this, however, as he
immediately proceeded with the treatment. A few hours later
Galatea's condition improved, and both slept peacefully after
the nightmare they had lived for almost a week.

The next day he received a second message:


Hi,

How is she doing?  How are *you* doing?

I've been going through some of your calculations regarding
the K-Na ionic balance throughout the damaged nerves. It seems
that the magnetic field generated by...


It was soon obvious to him that his faceless benefactor (if
indeed he was such) knew what he was talking about. Some of
the corrections pointed out he had already spotted, while
others he had not even thought about.

It was clear that this was no ordinary Genom agent or
sysadmin. The points he raised were insightful, some even
brilliant, indicating a profound grasp of the subject, a
knowledge which in some aspects surpassed his own.

As the days past their electronic exchange continued, and
trust began to build. "D", save for his signature (for he
finally decided to attach a male gender to him), took pains to
keep his identity secret, and his messages untraceable. This,
far from arising suspicions, increased Wagner's
confidence. The person was obviously working for Genom, and
was undoubtedly helping him behind their backs. It was
inconceivable that he hadn't met or at least heard of such a
brilliant man while working on his research. The only thing he
could think of was that, for some reason, he too was hiding
something.

He did ask him, however, how had he managed to break into his
account and copy the files before Genom's officials had a
chance to move them.  Much to his surprise, he apologetically
responded that he had in fact been keeping track of his work
for many months. This made Wagner uneasy at first, but the
man then proceeded to show him exactly how he had done
it. Indeed, Wagner was no expert on computers, but he knew his
way around the machines. The quick lesson he received on
firewall security and system loopholes, however, resulted
almost incomprehensible to him. Yet another of the many
talents of his fascinating friend.

Wagner quickly proceeded to decode the huge file he had been
sent. After decompressing it the holographic memory on his
machine was almost down to a couple of terabytes. He
immediately realized what the "little black box" his friend
had mentioned was referring to. The boomer's data archives
were in a unique, highly specialized format. He ran the
special player he had obtained from D and intently studied the
display.

The screen showed a large view of the boomer's surroundings
and about half a dozen of smaller diagnostic windows on the
side. The colouring was false, of course, as the boomer
shifted through a wide spectrum of frequencies in order to
obtain the best possible "view", sometimes even combining
visible, infrared and up to two other wavelengths to form a
single composite image. Even in the dark and through the rain
the resulting picture was almost crystal clear.

Long before actually seeing anything, the boomer had detected
the four approaching figures. A subtle FoF signal indicated
the nature of the intruders and, surprisingly, had managed to
identify most of their hardware, including suits and
weaponry. Wagner had never seen such capability in a boomer
before.

    "... soon be within WRS range. I want..."

One of the smaller windows on the right hand corner suddenly
flashed.  The boomer had locked onto its foes' radio
frequencies and immediately engaged its ECMs.

    "What the...?"

    "Pull back! PULL BA..."

He watched in horror through the boomer's eyes as it began to
brutally decimate the men. Before they even had a chance to
aim their weapons the boomer ripped through their
formation. It pressed its cannon against one of the helmets
and fired, point blank. Both the armour and head within
exploded, showering the boomer's lenses with a fine spray of
blood. It spun around and easily disarmed the man behind it,
knocking the machine gun right out of his arms. Grabbing and
twisting his arm it placed him between its body and the other
two men, who couldn't bring themselves to fire at their
comrade.

The boomer, however, had no such compunctions. The burrowed a
hole through both man and suit with his thermoblade and
proceed to insert the cannon's nozzle through the opening,
firing through the body. Another of the men fell while the
remaining one ran for cover.

And then the boomer did something unexpected.

Slowly, almost meticulously, it began to slice arms and legs
off the man it held, blood gushing wildly from his severed
extremities. When it finished, it advanced towards the soldier
who lay agonizing on the ground, his face semidestroyed by the
bullets which had grazed it. The mecha slowly began to make a
cut from his shoulder down to his waist, carefully avoiding
any vital organs. The man whimpered in pain, too weak to even
scream, and suddenly blacked out. The boomer then turned him
on his side, pressing downwards until he heard the man's ribs
crack.

The boomer retreated into the shadows. The trap was set.

Wagner could not believe the extreme, calculated brutality he
was witnessing. Never had he seen a monster such as this, an
utterly cruel and ruthless weapon of death.

As he saw the last survivor come out in aid of his companion
he couldn't take it any longer, and momentarily closed his
eyes, listening to the screams which came through the
computer's speakers.

A few seconds later the cries ceased and he opened his eyes. A
little girl was kneeling next to the crushed ACE suit.

    "Alita"

    "God," he whispered.

The boomer, however, hesitated for an instant. Wagner saw the
various readouts flashing, furiously analyzing the information
its sensors were receiving.

They did not make sense.

The girl stood up and the boomer proceeded to immediately
attack in face of this unknown danger. Its quickest and most
reliable weapon was the high power hyperYAG pulse laser stored
in its mouth. The improved Q-switching which Genom had spent
so much in developing immediately charged the resonance
chamber, the bright spherical energy build-up at the mouth of
the tube taking place almost instantly.

The girl suddenly darted towards it. The laser fired... and
missed.

She had somehow managed to see the glow a millisecond before
the discharge, leaping into the air so as to evade the blast.

The boomer lifted its arm, its firing system frantically
attempting to pinpoint a target.

A blade flashed in front of its eyes, piercing both the
cannon's barrel and the forearm on which it was mounted. The
girl swung around, tightly clinching the hilt of the
knife. Before the boomer could react her feet smashed against
its chin, tearing apart its jaw, smashing the laser tube
through the back of its throat. The boomer desperately swung
its thermoblade, maximum power. The knives clashed in
mid-air. The boomer's sword was made of a special heat
resistant, multilayer tungsten-titanium fibre, one of the
strongest materials known to Man.

The girl's blade, however, proved to be the stronger, cleanly
cutting through the mecha's superheated edge.

The girl again leaped upwards, and disappeared.

The boomer was, in a word, dazed. It began to search for the
little girl, up and down, scanning through all frequencies.

Suddenly the camera started to vibrate, slightly shaking at
first. Soon the image was violently trembling, the diagnostic
systems madly blinking, bursts of white noise flashing across
the screen. The boomer looked down as it saw its chest turn
white hot, a hideous bulge protruding from its torso, not
unlike a large metal bubble.

A knife pierced the incandescent skin, which, like a blister,
exploded, violently spewing its innards clear across the
street.

The boomer staggered backwards, critically wounded, as the
little girl erupted from its chest. The torn articulations in
its body screeched and ruptured, making it seem as if it were
screaming, the servomotors within blowing apart, one by one,
until the massive mecha finally fell backwards, crashing to
the ground.

As the boomer's systems began to short-circuit and shut down,
it carried out the final task for which it was
programmed. With its last energy reserves it looked up towards
the little girl, and ran the most thorough scan it was capable
of with its failing electronics. She looked back at the fallen
robot for a few moments, pouting, and then calmly turned
around, heading down a street.

An instant later the camera short-circuited, and the image
faded away.

Wagner sat silently for a couple of minutes, stunned, unable
to believe what he had witnessed. A boomer with such speed and
agility, a type unlike he had ever seen. Where did it come
from? Who made it?

He then remembered D's recommendation. He quickly typed a
frame number: 7700, and noticed it was almost at the end of
the movie, as the girl walked away from the boomer. Playing
the video frame-by-frame he looked closely and noticed the
girl sheathing the knife and taking something out of her
pocket, holding it with both hands close to her head. He froze
the movie and zoomed in. He ran the picture through a high
resolution filter. The image was still grainy, and her thumb
obscured the view, but there was doubt about it. It had been a
long time since he had thought about his grandfather. After
all, it he had died almost thirty years ago, when he was still
a kid. But although the face of the old man had all but
vanished from his memories, he still remembered the pride he
took when showing him his most valued treasures, his
"die Miniatur Orchester".

And now, for the first time in many, many years, he once again
caught a glimpse of a musical box.

-----

Although the bitter cold bit her delicate caramel skin,
Shumira felt happy. She always did when she was close to her
big brother, especially now that he held her hand as they
gazed at the night sky from the top of the small hill. She
stood slightly behind him and couldn't see his face, but she
felt his warmth, and watched the wind blow through his
hair. The skies were overcast, and soon it began to rain. The
hill they had been standing on was now the roof of a building,
and when she looked down to the street below she saw a
metallic monster looking back at her, grinning. Its stare
frightened her, and she tried to pull her brother away from
the roof's edge, but he kept gazing upwards, to the sky. The
monster began to smash the walls of the building, and with
each blow the whole structure trembled. She began to sob in
fear, begging her brother to get away, but he kept ignoring
her, tightly holding her by the hand.  The roof started to
crumble, and panic swelled within her. She screamed and her
brother turned around.

He looked at her, a blank expression on his pale face. He
suddenly smiled at her.

Two rows of shiny metal teeth filled his mouth.

He began to violently shiver and his grip tightened even more,
painfully crushing her hand. The skin on his face started to
rip, covering his face with the blood that poured from the
wounds. His clothes bulged and turned crimson red just before
exploding. Shreds of torn flesh fell on her arm as she
desperately tried to break free, screaming in terror. She
looked at the monster that her brother had become, a blue
metallic beast covered with gore and blood, bright red eyes
fixed onto hers.

And then its arm exploded.

She looked at her hand, the one the monster had held. It shone
like the sun, so brightly it hurt her eyes. She lifted her
other arm which was now a dull silvery-gray. Looking down at
her body she realized that she was no longer human, but had
also become a creature of metal and plastic. She could feel
her artificial eyes cry fake tears which slowly flowed down
her cold ceramic cheeks.

When she lifted her gaze she found herself alone on top of a
huge skyscraper, overlooking the seemingly infinite sea of
lights that illuminated the city below. Above it a huge
structure was floating, practically covering the skies. It was
another city which seemed to hang from the heavens
themselves. The sight was overwhelming, and she was filled
with awe by this imposing vision. Suddenly a searing flash of
pain made her falter. The ache in her back was so intense that
she fell to her knees, crouching on the floor. She could hear
her skin, or whatever it was she was made of, ripping apart,
just behind her shoulders. The pain was becoming intolerable
and she groaned in agony.  Her vision blurred, and she was
sure to faint, when it stopped.  Trembling, she got up, and
although the pain had ceased, she was afraid to discover what
had happened to her. She could feel something on her back. She
turned her head and saw what appeared to be a white veil
fluttering behind her. She turned the other way and saw
something similar clinging from her right
shoulderblade. Looking more closely she noticed a pattern
imprinted on the strange looking cape. She managed to grab it
after a couple of attempts, and upon touching it she noticed
it was not made of cloth. The pattern she saw was not weaved
on the sheet as she had thought.

The appendixes on her back were made of hundreds of delicate
white metallic feathers which formed two beautiful wings, now
brilliantly shining against the night.

She had become an angel.

A magnificent angel of metal and fire.

-----

A beep at Wagner's side indicated that the terminal had
finally finished the diagnostics run. As he turned around in
his rotating chair, the door behind him exploded.

He spun around, still sitting, and looked into the barrel of
the SIG aiming at his forehead.

    "What...?"

    "Make a move, doctor, and I blow your brains out."

Wagner froze. Madigan had a way with words.

    "The woman?" she asked, without taking her eyes off him.

    "Unconscious. We have her covered," came the mechanical
reply, as the two men surrounded the operating table, machine
guns pointing at the girl's head. Madigan's lips twisted in an
unsavoury smile. An easy job, Quincy would be pleased.

    "You're coming with us, Dr. Wagner," she said, and spoke
into the microphone, "B2, we're pulling out."

Silence.

    "B2! Do you read?"

She turned around towards her backups.

    "Are you able to...?"

Before she could finish the sentence a curious thing began
happening to the man she was talking to.

His face started to melt.

The mecha's artificial skin charred and burned, blackening as
its hair exploded in flames. The cranium underneath was
already red hot, turning white. Its eyes oozed out of their
sockets, slowly slithering down its cheeks. Small drops of
liquid metal flowed down its forehead like sweat, making
little sizzling holes as they fell on the floor.

Madigan looked upwards and saw the intense blue beam coming
through the ceiling.

As the second boomer reacted, lifting its weapon, two arms
bursted out from the wall behind it, pulling it back. Before
the robot even had a chance to retaliate, its attacker covered
its face with one large, metallic hand, and sent thirty
thousand volts through its head, instantly frying its
circuitry.

Madigan pointed her weapon and quickly fired three times. The
first shot went almost all the way through the electrocuted
boomer, the bullet managing to dent its shoulder outwards from
within. The second slug hit the enemy boomer's electrified
claw, blowing away three fingers and destroying its hand. The
third bullet struck its brow, just above the right eye,
ripping off half its head, sending it staggering backwards.

Madigan spun around, aiming towards the ceiling, but it was
too late. A third boomer appeared at the entrance of the room,
firing its mouth mounted laser. She screamed in agony as the
blue pencil of light hit her in the leg, rapidly vaporizing
the tissue as it burned a small tunnel through her
thigh. Trying to overcome the unbearable pain she attempted to
point her gun towards her attacker, but the boomer simply
raised its head slightly, burning a second hole through her
shoulder.

She let go of her weapon, almost jumping backwards, trying to
get away from the searing agony of the cauterizing
laserbeam. She blindly turned away, only to run into the arms
of the boomer which had sneaked through the hole in the wall
behind her. It held her tightly by the wrist and made her turn
around by brusquely twisting her arm behind her back.

    "Hello, Ms. Madigan."

Even before she managed to focus her eyes on the owner of the
voice, the smell of her own burnt flesh suddenly registered on
her pain-flooded senses. She violently began to retch until
forcefully vomiting a gush of her semidigested dinner.

    "Nice to see you, too."

She wearily looked towards the man facing her, her pale
features dampened with sweat, contorted by the agony, acrid
bile drooling from her trembling lips down her chin.

    "Largo."

    "Payback. Time to die."

Largo held the dagger in front of her bloodshot eyes for an
instant before swiftly lifting his arm and making a wide swing
in the air.

Madigan felt something warm sliding down her legs. She looked
down to see her bowels covering her feet. The boomer let go of
her arm.

Madigan knelt on the floor. She kept repeating "Oh no, oh no,
oh no", as if she had dropped some beverage on an expensive
carpet. Trying in vain to put her intestines back into her
innards, Largo stood silently as Madigan's expression turned
increasingly desperate when her guts spilled out faster than
she could shove them back in. She began to weep, her arms
covered with blood and vomit up to the elbows, her viscera
strewn on the filthy floor. Largo simply looked on. In one
quick move he lifted the knife and struck her at the base of
the neck. A gurgling sound came out of Madigan's throat as
blood gushed out of her mouth. She attempted to pull out the
knife, but there wasn't enough strength left in her arm.
Dark, red liquid spurted out of the wound with every tug, and
soon her eyes went blank as she fell back, choking on her own
blood, her extremities spastically thrashing in the throes of
death.

Her whole body twitched in one final, orgasmic convulsion, and
then remained still.

    "Requiescat in pace," Largo whispered, his expression
devoid of any emotion, "and thanks for finding the good
doctor.". He then turned towards Wagner, who was intensely
pale. "As you can tell, I am not in the mood for games."

Largo paused for a moment and winced, closing his eyes. After
a few moments he continued, although a certain weariness had
crept into his voice.

    "Where are your research notes?"

    "Wha.. what?"

Wagner was obviously in shock. One of the boomers suddenly
advanced next to him and violently slapped him, breaking three
of his teeth. He painfully cried, filaments of bloody saliva
threading from his mouth.  The boomer then wrapped his hands
around his neck, it's thumbs firmly pressed against his jaw,
just below his right ear.

    "Doctor, I don't have much time. I ask again: where are
your research notes on the cyber-neural wiring?"

    "The computer."

Wagner gave him the directory path and decrypting
password. Largo's fingers danced on the keyboard. When he
finally managed to access the files he rapidly skimmed through
them, quickly reading with inhuman speed.

    "Tsk, tsk," he muttered, "I must say, I'm
disappointed. All this trouble, and you're *still* using the
wrong hydrocortisone dosage."

    "What?" Wagner stammered. "You... you know?"

Largo slowly turned to face him. He was grinning, a bitter and
twisted smile.

    "Of course I know, doctor Wagner. I wouldn't be here
otherwise."

    "Be here?"

Largo ignored the question, as he slowly walked towards the
operating table where the naked woman lay, still
unconscious. The boomer standing next to her stepped aside as
Largo leaned so that his face hovered a few centimetres above
hers.

    "Tell me, doctor, how old was she?"

Wagner was momentarily surprised at the question. His
expression turned sombre as he lowered his head.

    "She is eleven," he whispered.

    "You didn't do your daughter any favour by doing this to
her. She was better off dead..."

    "What do you know, you miserable son of a bitch?!?" Wagner
shot back. The boomer tightened its grip, holding him down.

    "Oh, I know everything there is to know about your little
tragedy," Largo replied, still studying the girl's
features. "She was your own little secret, the sole light in
your life, was she not?"

Wagner suddenly felt his energies drain from his body, as
tears formed in his eyes.

    "I must admit, however, you did an impressive job with
her. The forensic's report indicated various cranial fractures
and severe brain damage. It's surprising you managed to revive
her at all. I'm sure your colleagues over at Genom would love
to know about it. Then again, it's not nice being at the other
end of the microscope, is it?"

The girl slowly opened her eyes, still groggy from the heavy
dose of anaesthetics being produced within her brain. The two
boomers at her side quickly pinned her arms and head down,
although she didn't seem to be attempting to move.

    "Hello, there. Good morning."

Her eyes twitched slightly, but she remained immobile.

    "You can't speak, can you? Of course, the m-66 was an
example of engineering practicality. It was meant to be used
when all arguments had already been exhausted, ja?"

Almost imperceptibly, alarm began to spread throughout the
girl's dazed mind, but she still seemed incapable of
understanding what was happening.

    "Leave her alone! What is it that you want from us?!?"
Wagner was almost crying by now.

Largo turned around and sighed.

    "Unfortunately for both of us, there is nothing you can
give me, doctor Wagner. Your results are flawed, your work is
as worthless as mine. The damage to your daughter's brain
tissue is quickly spreading, she can barely move at all."

Largo turned towards the control panel besides him and began
to study it.

    "Still," he muttered, mostly to himself, "she might be of
some use.  Increasing the HGVS pulse rate... hmmm... yes, the
diffuse cybernetics should be able to take full
control. Reprogramming it would simply then be..."

    "NOOOOO! You'll kill her!!" Wagner screamed.

    "She's already dead," Largo coolly replied. "In any case,
the DSN has already started to take control, at least
sporadically. By letting her mind slowly rot like this she'll
suffer a lot more, I can assure you."

    "WAIT! Please wait!" Wagner pleaded, "I think I can help
you, please, don't hurt her."

Largo stepped back.

    "Well?"

    "I have a digital movie, on my computer. Let me show
you..."

Largo silently studied Wagner's frightened expression, and
gave the boomer which held him a quick nod. The mecha let go,
and Wagner turned around in his chair, nervously typing on the
keyboard.

    "Here."

Largo advanced next to Wagner, stepping over Madigan's bloody
remains, and leaned over his shoulder, looking intently at the
bright LC display.

After a few minutes Largo straightened up, pondering.

    "Now, see here..."

    "I know," Largo interrupted. "So?"

Wagner spun around.

    "Don't you see? She's *human*!"

    "Because she appears to be listening to what seems to be a
musical box? Really, I'm disappointed at you doctor. Any
boomer could be programmed to become a musician. Indeed, I
know at least one."

    "But this is a *combat* model! Have you ever seen anything
like it?  Look at her expression when she knelt next to the
fallen man, at how she looked back at the boomer! There is a
*mind* behind those eyes!"

    "Even so, how do you know she's not in the same condition
as your daughter? That movie came from a boomer databank
chip. How did you get it?"

    "Someone from Genom just sent it to me, but I don't know
who..."

    "There you are, it's probably a trap."

    "No, wait, I'm sure this is not..."

    "Do you know where that girl is?"

    "No, but, please, listen to me..."

    "I'm afraid I've had enough of you wasting my time,
Dr. Wagner."

    "What? What are you...?"

Before Wagner could finish Largo motioned to the boomer
standing behind him. The mecha simply swung its fist, smashing
it against the man's head, just behind his left ear. Wagner's
skull caved in, killing him instantly. He fell from the chair,
sploshing into the pool of blood which had drained from
Madigan's body.

Largo closed his eyes, wincing in pain. He slowly turned
around and walked towards the operating table, where the two
boomers still held the girl's arms and head. She was now
visibly alarmed and confused, trying to look around her to see
what was going on. She began to grapple with her captors,
although she was still noticeably dazed.

The boomer which had killed Wagner pinned down her feet,
although not without a struggle. Largo turned towards the
control panel on the HGVS.  Among the many switches and
buttons on its front two large dials were located. One was for
fine tuning, its scale varying from zero to nine point
nine. It was currently at two. Largo grabbed the other dial,
which was the multiplier, which ranged from X1 to X1000. It
was set at X100.

    "Hold her tight," ordered Largo.

With a quick flicker of his wrist, he turned the dial a notch
higher.

The girl suddenly tensed, her fingers and toes becoming claws
as her body went into spasms. For an instant it seemed she was
trying to scream, a quiet howl of agony. Her features then
softened as her body slowly started to go limp.

    "Don't let go of her yet, she may still go into
convulsions. The DSN should take control as soon as she goes
flat. Ten minutes should be enough, and then we pull
out. Quincy must be starting to wonder about his little
bondmaid."

Largo turned around and sat in front of Wagner's terminal. He
carefully watched the film, trying to concentrate in spite of
the growing pain behind his eyes. As the last frames of the
movie flickered in front of him, he froze the image. It showed
the little girl walking away from the fallen mecha, into a
street.

He zoomed in on the streetcorner. Without taking his eyes off
the screen he suddenly spoke.

    "Get me a map."

-----