The red humanoid-shaped boomer rocketed past as
sporadic gunfire splashed off of it. A crashing, thunder-
like 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-12
`Tankbuster' Heavy Combat Boomer is for you! Designed for
the discriminating arms-buyer, the A-12 sports an impressive
array of offensive power. From the 100-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-12 can be configured to meet specific
mission profiles! Just pull out the unnecessary components,
and insert the new ones!" The monologue paused briefly, and
the boomer finished off its last opponent in an impressive
show of pyrotechnics.
"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 negotiated for a minimal charge. Some dealers may
sell for less; `Plug'N'Play' options extra. Buy now, and
we'll even upgrade your existing C-55s to better cope with
your requirements! 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 suit. Her face
was calm, her blue-grey eyes revealing nothing of what she
thought.
"Impressive," Quincy's gravelly voice rumbled,
"although 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-12'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; it wouldn't do for 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
bureaucracy. 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. Under the jacket, a large-caliber revolver
peeped out from a shoulder holster just under his left arm.
As the man walked through the office, he cut an impressive,
yet somehow incongruous figure.
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 didn't look up from
the report she was rapidly pounding into the computer in
front of her.
"Sorry, I haven't," she replied distractedly. "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; normal channels hadn't worked
on this particular case, and Nene had demonstrated an
uncanny knack for being able to get `restricted'
information.
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, too. Leon had seen her the day before
she'd called in sick, and she'd seemed 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. But there was a
sharp brain behind the cute, green-eyed face; her work was
always thorough and meticulous. 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, 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 all 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?
"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,
Sylvie, and Anri, 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 trembling making it difficult to tell that she was
nodding, keeping her face still pressed against him. He
squeezed her again gently, 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; she'd never 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 a lot
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. Each time it happened 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 once
more, wishing her peace of mind with more intensity than
he'd ever wished for anything before, for anyone, himself
included.
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 paid 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. If she stayed away
any longer, there was sure to be at least a semi-official
probe into her illness, and they couldn't risk that. At the
mention of sleep, however, Nene's eyes widened, and brimmed
with tears again.
"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
settled back.
Nene hugged him gratefully, and snuggled closer,
putting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around
her. 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 the
slightly more animated sounds of people 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.
A sudden stir at the far end of the office attracted
his attention. As Bert's gaze snapped up, a small army of
young men and women, led by a brown-haired, blue-eyed young
woman with freckles in an ADP uniform advanced towards them;
Naoko, and several of Nene's co-workers. Obviously, they'd
heard she was back. He restrained the urge to bolt wildly,
leaned forwards, and gave Nene another quick kiss.
"Take care," he said, looking into her eyes. He stood
and beat a hasty retreat as the mob of well-wishers
surrounded Nene's desk, all clamoring to find out how she
was, and what had been wrong with her.
Through the milling crowd, Nene watched him leave; for
a brief moment, a lost and lonely expression flickered on
her lovely face, then disappeared. Forcing a smile onto her
face, she turned to dealing with the crowd of people around
her desk, preparing herself for a very long day of answering
questions.
****
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? He dismissed the thought as
excessively paranoid a moment later, and began walking
across the parking lot to his car.
****
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. 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.
While very rigidly controlled and concealed, it 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, as it was still
weak and hurt almost constantly. Although there was some
minor, residual stiffness in her shoulder, her stomach and
shoulder wounds had healed completely.
"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, and
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, slopping a few
drips over the side onto the counter top, 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. As he was running a
diagnostic scan on the suit, 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.
"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. "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."
"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. "The base layer is a
multi-plex carbon fibre weave, coated with a material called
Starlite, which is a very, very heat resistant, space-age
plastic. Over top of that is a layer of ceramel plating,
coated with my polymer concoction. The new plating is 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. "In fact, it's
a little bit stronger in that regard."
"Very impressive," Sylia noted, a hint of steel
appearing in her voice suddenly as she folded her arms
across her chest, "but I don't recall authorizing a
wholesale upgrade of all of the suits." Bert blinked, and
stared at her. She gazed back at him, one eyebrow raised
questioningly.
"I...I didn't think you'd mind," he said slowly. "I
felt it was important to everyone's safety, so I went ahead
with it."
"On your suit, because you're so familiar with it, I
might overlook your lapse," she told him. "But you can't
just alter everyone else's without informing me whenever a
new innovation comes along. How do you know you didn't
damage some critical system when you changed the armour
plating? Or the balance of the suit? Deciding on upgrades
for the rest of the team is my responsibility, not yours.
Clear?"
"Clear," he grumbled. "I won't make any more upgrades
to anyone else's suit without your say-so."
"That raises a second question: just when did you do
all these improvements?" Sylia asked, giving him a quietly
searching look. "I thought you've been spending your time
with Nene?"
"I am; I did it on the occasional night 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 milk 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 needlessly, 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.
"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 physically able to
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."
"All right," he said slowly. "I guess I'll feel up to
it in a couple of days, but it'll also take me that long to
finish re-assembling my suit."
"Fine," Sylia nodded. "I'll let you know in the next
few 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
thought I told you to get some rest?" she inquired coolly.
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, and watched grudging acknowledgment 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 furniture surrounding the coffee table,
and sat down on the couch. As she settled back to keep
watch, some of the pages in a 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,
wondering just what he was trying to design; she certainly
understood all of the mathematics, and the physics theory
that appeared throughout the pages. 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 diagrammatic 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 an alternating 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 meager 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 a couple of vehicles registered for him,
but that hadn't given Leon any leads either; except for a
speeding ticket for a motorcycle incident, he was clean. 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 open the option that he was a covert
agent of some kind, 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.....
Kate Madigan walked thoughtfully through the gigantic
oaken portal to Quincy's lofty office, paging through a
lengthy file nestled in a tan-coloured 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 at the file folder, 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." She sighed. "The
Doberman he managed to get hold of and modify is useless now
except for ground combat. It can't fly because its armour
is too heavy, and it lacks the power for a sustained fight.
We may be able to use it as a training target for our other
combat models, but that's it. The Knight Sabers wouldn't
even have to fight it; it's too slow to present a serious
threat."
"Hmmmm," Quincy rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"The technicians are all convinced that he's completely
crazy," she added, "and they won't work with him at all
anymore, even under threat 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 he had 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 gave her attention back to him as he continued,
tossing 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. 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 due to work obligations.
The telemetry suit, the main component of the virtual
reality testing room Sylia had constructed, was basically a
very bulky undergarment softsuit, with some plastic armour
plating in places. The entire ensemble 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.
"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 tucked the
helmet under his arm as he clumped over to the door to the
simulator room. He fumbled around with the door handle,
finally managed to get the door open, and stepped through.
It took another minute to find the cables inside the
room that were used for limited flight simulation; setting
the helmet on the floor, he worked at getting them attached
to the suit. He swore under his breath to himself as he
worked at latching the stubborn connections together; his
real hardsuit was less hassle than this was! At last, he
made the final connections. Stooping, he picked up the
telemetry suit helmet, and settled it into place.
"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,
marveling 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 whistling 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; two huge, glowing blue arcs
were carved through the air as both of his arm-mounted
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. Several
sharp, driving impacts pounded them from behind, and a
moment later, the boomers burst apart 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 grueling 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 of any kind before, real or imaginary.
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 as
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.
****
"You stupid, moronic, jackass," Bert swore under his
breath at himself, ducking under a point-blank cannon blast
from the hulking B-12 Assault Boomer in front of him. "You
just had to go and open your goddamn mouth, didn't you?!" He
skipped sideways from another fiery salvo, edging just a few
scant inches closer to the biomechanical war machine. A
second or two later, a blazing, blue-white energy blade
scythed through the air in a roundhouse slash, and the
boomer collapsed into two smoking heaps. SkyKnight started
to turn around to check if he had any more opponents, when
the numbing shocks of a series of direct hits from weapons
fire hurled him sideways to land in a heap, near the
smoldering remains of the boomer he'd just killed.
"Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit," he snarled to himself
as he stiffly rolled over on the ground, just barely
avoiding another round of cannon fire into the pavement
where he'd been laying. The two B-12s that had caught him by
surprise stomped closer, getting a better vantage point from
which to shoot at him. The left-most boomer was suddenly
rendered headless by a shattering volley of red-white laser
bolts that seared upwards from the prone hardsuit, and the
right-hand one instantly dodged aside, narrowly avoiding a
similar fate.
SkyKnight rolled to his feet, gasping for breath, and
still swearing at himself. He should have kept his mouth
shut, he noted to himself; Sylia had kicked up the
difficulty level again, and now he was getting royally
pounded. Even though he couldn't really get hurt, given the
level of realism in the simulator, he was responding as if
he was in actual danger, and he was now sore from several
clumsy acrobatic evasion attempts, and once from
accidentally diving headfirst into a wall he hadn't realized
was there. Thankfully, however, he found he was still not
having too many problems maintaining control of himself. His
biggest problem at the moment was fatigue.
The B-12 ended his self-assessment by lumbering
forwards again, and opening fire with its micro-missile
launchers; a hailstorm of small, high-explosive warheads
swept towards him. SkyKnight vaulted high into the air in a
parabolic arc with a brief assist from his jets. As he came
down, he knocked the B-12 staggering backwards with a laser
shot; a split second later, as he landed next to the
stumbling boomer, a blue-white plasma blade again sizzled
through the air. The swordstroke ended at the boomer's
cranial casing, and it dropped heavily to the ground.
"Okay, I surrender, Sylia," Bert panted into the helmet
comm, staggering a step backwards as his lightsaber snuffed
out again. His preferred weapon, the lightsaber he'd devised
was the best hand-to-hand weapon available, capable of
cutting through almost anything. The only drawback, of
course, was that you had to get close to your assailant to
use it effectively. He used it a lot more often in the
simulator than he did in real life, mostly because it was
safer; there was no risk of accidental amputation in here.
Despite the range drawback and personal risk involved, it
was a good weapon, and a perfect `ace-in-the-hole' at times.
As he quietly admired his creation, it suddenly hit him that
the simulation hadn't ended yet.
"Uh, Sylia?" he called again. "What are you doing? I
think that's enough, don't you?"
****
"Sylia?" Priss echoed the statement from the comm
speaker. "What are you doing? He's had enough now, he said."
She looked from the viewing window to Sylia, who was still
seated in her chair. Sylia looked back at her calmly, a calm
that was tinged with faint traces of regret.
"I'm sorry, Priss," Sylia sighed. "But there's one last
test we have to try."
Priss stared at her for a moment, then looked back at
the viewscreen; a silver-blue hardsuit was looking around
uneasily, nervous apprehension in every movement he made.
Sylvie remained quiet, also watching the screen, her face
unreadable.
"You're not really going to do that to him again, are
you?" Priss asked her friend, and sometimes leader. There
was an overtone of entreaty in her question that didn't need
explanation. "He's stayed in control up until now; we really
don't need to push him any further." Sylia sighed again
wearily, running a hand through her blue-black hair. A brief
flicker of anguish again washed across her face.
"I don't like it either," she replied flatly. "But I
don't have a choice: we have to know for sure." Her hand
reached towards the control panel once more.
****
SkyKnight walked warily through the now seemingly
deserted warehouse district, his stomach feeling like
tightly-strung piano wires, and his mind skittering around
in nervous dread of what he was sure was coming. He'd
realized after a few moments why Sylia hadn't ended the
simulation yet: she wanted to see how he'd react to having
the rest of the Knight Sabers around him in a fight. So far,
it had all been solo action, which wasn't a good enough
indicator of his competency. She needed to know if he was
going to be able to distinguish friend from foe in a heavy
fight.
In the back of his mind, there was also the nagging
fear of just how she was going to conduct that particular
test.
The silver-clad hardsuit rounded a corner, still
searching for some indication of what was coming, but found
none. It was almost as if the computer had taken pity on
him, but he knew that wasn't the case; it was merely waiting
for the right opportunity.
Another couple of minutes slowly inched by, with
SkyKnight restlessly pacing around the warehouses, beginning
to get irritated. As he paced, his sensor display lit up
with a set of signals indicating someone, or something, was
nearby. Swallowing nervously, he turned and moved cautiously
in the direction the readings had come from.
As he walked, a red-pink hardsuit came into view,
several metres distant. The hardsuit was carefully scanning
the surrounding area, with all the sensor antennae from its
backpack extended and deployed. For a brief moment, Bert
wished this was the real thing, and not some computer-
generated mockup; it was doubtful that Nene would be in her
suit anytime soon.
"Hi there!" the Nene simulacrum waved cheerily. "No
boomers detected yet, sorry." Just as Bert was about to
respond, three blue-armoured C-55s sprang up from the
surrounding darkness, and all of them converged on the
isolated hardsuit; she screamed in fear, and tried to shoot
one of the marauders while avoiding the other two. The
attempt failed miserably; Nene was grabbed by two of them,
and the third's mouth snapped open to target her with a
plasma cannon.
SkyKnight blasted forwards instinctively on snarling
thrusters, time seeming to slow down as his mind suddenly
began working with an icy cold clarity. Before the third
boomer could fire, it was tackled sideways by the hurtling
hardsuit, and the two hit the pavement with a bang. The
boomer tried to blast him at point blank range with its
plasma gun, but SkyKnight grabbed its face with a gauntlet-
clad hand, and ruthlessly squeezed; the boomer's head casing
burst apart in a shower of oily liquid, parts and sparks.
Leaping to his feet, SkyKnight spun towards the two
remaining boomers and Nene, his swordblades snapping out. As
he turned, one of the boomers holding Nene suddenly picked
her up bodily as she struggled to get loose, and then hurled
her hardsuit at him as if she'd been weightless. SkyKnight
instantly stepped back and to the side, and grabbed the red-
pink hardsuit as it flew past him, spinning her around,
absorbing the momentum of her uncontrolled flight and
setting her gently on the ground.
"T-t-thanks," she stammered, staggering slightly.
Suddenly, she clapped one hand to her visor, while pointing
over his shoulder. "Oh no, look out!!"
Moving smoothly, he shoved Nene to the ground, leaping
sideways in the opposite direction, as a jagged, crackling
blue-white bolt of electrical energy sizzled through the
air. It was so real-looking, Bert was willing to swear he
could smell ozone in the air. The uncomfortable proximity of
the shot also started him sweating, and murky memories began
to claw at the barriers he'd managed to wall them off
behind.
SkyKnight dove sideways again, trying to hold onto his
control and avoid getting hit. This, then, was what Sylia
had been holding in reserve; she wanted to know how he'd
respond to possible electrical attacks. He ducked another
electrical blast, still trying to scrape together enough
presence of mind to return fire; at the moment, most of his
attention was being held by keeping the flashbacks at bay,
and avoiding getting hit. Something in the back of his mind
was screaming at him, telling him to just flee and avoid the
pain that was sure to come; his guts had locked solid at the
thought of being hit electrically again.
"It's not real, damnit. It's not real," he muttered to
himself repeatedly, trying to convince his subconscious to
shut up and leave him alone. It didn't work; the fear
scrabbling at his defenses continued to eat into his self-
control.
"Leave him alone!!!" the Nene-simulacrum suddenly
shrieked, firing her arm laser at the boomers. Instantly,
they switched aim from him to her; searingly hot blue-white
streams of electrical energy slashed through the air towards
her.
"NO!" SkyKnight yelled, reflex again taking over. In
the back of his mind, a voice howled that it wasn't real,
that it was a trick, but it was too late; he threw himself
into the path of the energy streams, knocking the red-pink
hardsuit aside.
"AAARRRGH!!!" The hoarse yell was torn from him by the
brutal, agonizing slam of the electrical current. Every
muscle in his body spasmed again, partly from the actual
shocks provided by the simulator, and partly from the
memories triggered by it. SkyKnight doubled over, staggering
helplessly, clutching at his head, as a red tide began to
rise, drowning his sight in a crimson miasma....
****
"Sylia!!! For God's sakes that's enough!!! Leave him
ALONE!!!" Priss snarled, her gaze whipping from the blue-
black haired woman to the twitching, doubled-over, red-
haired young man in the simulator room beyond.
"I can't, Priss," Sylia replied quietly, her own face
tortured-looking as she looked away from the screen. "I know
it looks cruel, but we have got to know for..."
"Yeah, yeah, you've said that a dozen times already!"
Priss cut her off furiously with a slashing hand gesture.
There was a helpless fury flashing in her red-brown eyes as
she kept looking from Sylia and then back through the window
to the still-spasming Bert, hands clenched into fists at her
sides. "How the hell is he supposed to get better if you
keep trying to break him, though?! Hasn't he already been
through the blasted wringer enough times to allow for some
friggin' sympathy once in a while?!"
"Priss, I'm not doing this to try and break him!!"
Sylia snapped, traces of hurt appearing in her eyes, quickly
concealed. "This is hurting me as much as anyone else, but
are you willing to risk your safety, or anyone else's, just
because you feel sorry for him?"
"He wasn't ready to get back in his suit!" Priss shot
back, glaring. "You shouldn't have asked him, goddamnit!!!
It's partly his bloody misguided sense of honour and duty
that made him try it; he probably wouldn't have if you
hadn't asked him to!!" Sylia opened her mouth to reply when
Sylvie's quiet voice cut through the argument.
"He's getting up," was all she said. The gazes of the
arguing women snapped to the viewing window, then down to
the computer screen.
On the monitor, a violently shaking and shuddering
silver-blue hardsuit was straightening up, bracing itself
against the electrical streams that still were washing over
it.
****
"I...will...not...snap!" Bert snarled defiantly, eyes
squeezed shut, teeth clenched. Sweat poured down his face as
he fought to force himself upright, overriding the
convulsions that were wracking him at the moment through
force of will. The strain was horrendous, however; his guts
felt like they were going to burst. Red flashes crackled
and snapped through his sight, carrying brief images of a
smirking, blond-haired man, and other, associated images
from when he'd been tortured, with them. It was in the past,
now, he told himself again; he'd survived, and would
continue to survive. He had to; there was too much at stake
to just give in.
SkyKnight tried to take a deep breath and hold it, but
the pain and convulsions tearing into him, and the fight to
keep from dropping over the edge into overdrive, made that
impossible; he was gasping for air as if he'd just finished
the Ironman Triathlon in record time. Darkness flickered at
the edges of his vision, and he realized he had to end
this...ordeal... quickly, or else he was going to either
lose it again, or pass out.
Bracing himself, SkyKnight forced himself into an
upright stance facing the boomers. In the back of his mind,
the whirling storm of incandescent rage and memories
continued clawing at his rapidly-failing ramparts of
control. Another shudder wracked him anew, and he hazily
realized that his first priority was stopping the electrical
currents from hitting him; that should give him a little bit
of breathing space.
Twin cylindrical handgrips snapped into his hands from
their arm-guard slots, and with synchronized snap-hisses,
two blue-white lightsaber blades sizzled into being, and
were whipped up, directly into the path of the electrical
beams the boomers were blasting him with. The result was
more than he'd hoped for; the plasma blades blocked most if
not all of the electrical current by deflecting the energy
off to the sides, resulting in an immediate release from the
pain he'd been suffering. There was a lingering trace of it,
but the minute the energy had been blocked, it had
disappeared and was more like a vague recollection. The
retreat of the torment also allowed him to slam the lid on
the memories and anger that had been raging at him, and to
get his breath back.
The boomers snarled at him again, seeing their prey
beginning to recover, and they split up, trying to flank him
and attack him from two sides. As they moved, the electrical
beams cut off, and SkyKnight erupted into blindingly swift
action.
The silver hardsuit shot sideways, towards the left-
most boomer, moving quickly and running hard. As the boomers
fired at him again, he dove forwards, arms outstretched in
front of him, and pulled a forward, somersaulting roll that
brought him to his feet right in front of the one offending
boomer. An almost casual, full-powered backhand from
SkyKnight removed its head, and the biomechanoid collapsed
into a scrap heap. The silver-clad Knight Saber immediately
did a back-handspring, avoiding the wild volley of plasma
beams and lightning bolts that the remaining boomer shot at
him. He backflipped twice more, instinctively staying just
ahead of the searching fire that sought him out hungrily.
SkyKnight suddenly dove sideways instead of
backflipping again, and the C-55's attacks missed harmlessly
by a very wide margin. The boomer never got a chance to
correct its aim; A blazing volley of four, coruscating
particle-laser beams wiped it from existence, turning it
into a cloud of spinning armour shards, vaporized liquids,
and carbonized circuitry. With a thundering blast, the beams
also half-vaporized the wall of the building behind it.
As the lingering echoes of the final fusillade faded,
SkyKnight straightened up, his weapons systems shutting
down. A grim smile flickered over his face inside the
helmet; he looked down at his gauntleted hands, and flexed
them a couple of times.
"Checkmate. Game and match," he quietly said out loud.
The warehouse district suddenly dissolved into a multi-
coloured field of static, and then darkness.
****
Bert shoved the door of the simulator room open,
wearily stripping off the VR helmet at the same time. He was
the picture of almost total exhaustion; his shoulders were
slumping, and his head was hanging. Every so often he
lurched a bit as he walked.
Cool air rushed in and gently caressed his sweaty face,
offering a modicum of relief as he peeled off the helmet. He
swiped a sleeve across his forehead, and then began undoing
the closures on the telemetry suit as he walked across the
room towards the changeroom. Damn it, he was so tired,
everything hurt...
"ANSWER ME, GODDAMNIT!!!" Priss' voice blasted in his
eardrums, making him jump in surprise. He'd been so worn-
out, and anxious to get out of the suit that he hadn't heard
the volley of concerned questions that had barraged him when
he'd come out of the simulator room.
Blinking slightly bloodshot greenish-brown eyes, he
lifted his head and looked into her worried face. Sylvie was
hovering anxiously behind her, her eyes also reflecting her
concern. He couldn't see Sylia, but he was too tired to
think straight, and didn't look for her.
"Pardon me?" Bert croaked. His mouth was dry as hell;
he needed a drink in the worst way, but he managed to get
some moisture into his mouth long enough to speak. "What was
the question?"
"I said `Are you okay?'," Priss repeated, swapping a
glance with Sylvie. Bert nodded vaguely, pushing past them
absently and continuing on to the changeroom.
"I'm fine," he replied tiredly over his shoulder, "I
just need to use the washroom for a bit, first." He shoved
the door open and stepped in, closing it behind him and
locking it. Weaving a bit now, he went over to the nearby
lockers and managed to get out of the telemetry suit
finally, sighing in relief at how much easier it became to
move around.
As he started to fish some clean clothes and other
things out of the locker, a sudden tremor shook him.
Wheeling around, he sprang for the nearest available garbage
can, and proceeded to throw up violently in it. The racking
heaves persisted for a few moments, than died off. Bert
shakily wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, and
waited for a moment or two, still coughing occasionally.
Nothing else happened, so he turned to the sink, and rinsed
out the foul taste that had been left in his mouth by
throwing up, and took a long drink of water. He stepped back
over to the lockers with a weary sigh, and dug a bar of
soap, bottle of shampoo, and some towels from the top shelf.
The hot shower helped to revive his flagging energy
just a bit, and he felt almost normal again once he'd dried
himself off and thrown on a clean tracksuit. He still felt a
little out of it, however, so he splashed some cold water on
his face. It helped a little, but he realized he was going
to have to get to bed soon, or risk collapsing.
Bert sighed again, and made his way to the changeroom
exit. Unlocking the door, he opened it and stepped out into
the short corridor joining it to the testing control room.
As he did so he could hear Priss fuming angrily about
something.
"What the hell is taking him so long?!" she grumbled.
"He should have been out of there by now."
"Priss," Sylvie's voice replied. "Relax. He's fine,
really; you heard the shower. He's just getting cleaned up.
You can stop wearing a groove into the flooring; he'll be
out soon." Bert started moving closer to the main room.
"Oh, sure," Priss snorted. "He's perfectly
okay...horseshit! You saw what the hell he looked like
coming out of there, and that didn't look to me like he was
fine. He didn't even realize we were speaking to him until I
yelled almost in his ear! The stupid bastard's probably
passed out on the floor right now."
"Thanks for the concern," Bert remarked dryly, stepping
into the room, "but the stupid bastard is quite upright at
the moment." Priss spun around, flushing bright red as
anger, worry, and relief vied for dominance in her
expression. Anger won, easily.
"It's about friggin' time you came out," she snarled,
stepping right up to him. Angry red-brown eyes stared hotly
into his. "You could have at least said something before
vanishing into the changeroom; it would have made waiting
just a little easier," she fumed. Bert stood quietly during
the scolding, his gaze flickering from Priss, to Sylvie, to
Sylia.
Sylvie looked relieved to see him, but at the same time
there was a question implicit in her eyes that he knew he
was going to have to answer shortly. Sylia also looked
relieved, but she was trying to suppress rampant guilt at
the same time over what she'd put him through. As for
Priss... he knew exactly what her feelings were right now.
"Thanks for the concern," he replied wearily, cutting
Priss off before she could speak any more. "I appreciate it,
really, but I'm fine. Now if you'll pardon me for a
moment..." He carefully reached out and gently took Priss by
the shoulders, moving her out of his way. Stepping past her,
he walked over to Sylia. She was watching him intently, her
concern and other feelings hidden behind an impassive mask.
"So what's the verdict?" he asked simply when he
reached her chair. She looked up at him for a moment
thoughtfully, then reached out and hit a switch on the
computer console. A small monitor screen lit up, and two
lines on a graph appeared, a green one and a red one. The
red one was slightly higher than the green one, but it
maintained a nearly identical shape, except for a brief
spike near the end.
"You're now officially at Level Eight," Sylia replied
quietly, her face concealing her inner disquiet. "You did
extremely well overall, with an increase in combat
efficiency to 82%."
"That's not what I meant," Bert replied, dismissing the
information with an irritable gesture. "I meant am I in, or
not?" He waited as Sylia looked away, her gaze becoming
briefly filled with agonized indecision. He raised a hand to
brush his hair out of his eyes, and noticed it was trembling
suddenly. Oh hell, part of his mind noted, not now! Please,
not now!! He carefully lowered his hand again, clenching it
into a fist, and trying to will himself to stop shaking; he
could feel faint twitches spreading to the rest of his
muscles.
"I guess you are," Sylia sighed, looking back at him
after a long moment of silence. Priss sucked in a sharp
breath, and divided an unhappy glare between him and Sylia.
Sylia ignored the look and continued. "You've demonstrated
that, for now, at least, you can hold onto your self-
control. I think that makes it safe to take you along."
Bert's face relaxed, and a relieved smile began to spread
across his face.
"As backup, ONLY," Sylia added firmly, stopping the
smile in its tracks. "We'll have to wait and see about the
fully active duty status." Bert's expression turned sour,
but he fought down the urge to protest; Sylia was right in
not returning him to full duty yet, and whining about it
wouldn't change her mind, so he might as well get used to
it.
"Okay, fine," he nodded. "It's a deal." There was a
sudden ringing in his ears, and he blinked, looking around
to find the source. As he did, both Priss and Sylvie let out
a startled exclamation of some kind, and the two women
jumped forwards, grabbing him as his knees buckled. Sylia
looked startled, and started to get out of her chair,
surprise turning to concern. Bert shook his head dazedly as
the ringing turned to a loud roar of some kind.
"What's wrong?!" Priss asked worriedly. "What is it?!"
She and Sylvie were holding him upright by main strength;
Bert's legs wouldn't support him any longer.
"Not...sure.." he replied distantly, blinking and
shaking his seemingly fog-filled head again. It felt like he
was seeing everything through an infinitely long tunnel.
"Tired..I...guess.."
There was a loud, rolling, rumble, almost like an ocean
was crashing down on him; black waves of unconsciousness
washed over his sight, and the room vanished.
****
A blue and white ADP patrol car pulled to a halt on the
laneway in front of the small, two-story brown house, gravel
scrunching noisily under its tires. The gull-wing driver's
door swung upwards, the rush of air-conditioned air from the
interior of the car dissipating the faint cloud of dust that
the stopping car had raised. A pair of booted feet swung out
of the car to the ground, being followed a moment later by a
tall, blue-clad, brown-haired man with an ADP badge hanging
on his jacket.
Leon looked around at the area surrounding the house,
noting all the trees and shrubs that ran riot all over the
place. He fished in a pocket, and pulled out his sunglasses,
donning them out of force of habit. He didn't really need
them, though; the setting sun was sinking behind the trees,
casting a sullen red light over everything. He had to look
around quick; before long it would become too dark to snoop
further.
Leon walked slowly over to the small, somehow rustic-
looking house, slowly looking around. There was a cool
breeze wafting through the leaves of the trees, providing a
quiet background rustle that was oddly soothing, and there
was a hint of freshness to the air that was lacking in the
downtown core of MegaTokyo. As he walked along, Leon felt
himself relaxing despite himself, stress vanishing into the
pastoral surroundings like water being soaked up by a
sponge.
As he came up to the house, Leon's gaze sharpened as he
noticed that a couple of second-story windows were boarded
up, and the front door was practically in the same
condition. Strange, he noted to himself. The house didn't
look like anyone had been living in it for some time, which
struck him as odd; if Nene's boyfriend wasn't living at his
listed address, then where was he staying?
Moving cautiously, he eased up to the front door, and
looked around again uneasily. He couldn't see anything, and
he turned back to the door. The door had been crudely
boarded shut, and then a padlock had been placed on it.
However, judging from the marks and gouges on the door,
someone had forced their way in very recently; the lock was
snapped off, and the boards had been loosely put back. Leon
started to see if the door would open, then stopped,
hesitating. He really didn't have the authority to go any
further as he had no proof that Bert was involved in
anything shady, just suspicions. Suspicions that were
getting stronger the more anomalies he encountered, however.
If he entered the man's house, even though it looked like it
had already been broken into, technically speaking, he'd be
trespassing. After a moment, curiosity and investigative
instincts won. Leon carefully pulled a board out of the way,
and stepped over the others as he shoved the door open.
The first thing to greet the tall inspector was a dusty-
looking suit of steel, medieval plate armour. Leon's eyes
widened a bit at that; that suit was a fairly impressive
piece of work, and was probably worth several thousand yen.
The coating of dust on it confirmed that no one had been
living in the house for a while. He quickly swept through
the rest of the rooms, not quite sure what he was searching
for. As he searched, he noted that some of the rooms looked
like they'd been searched; chairs were overturned,
bookshelves rooted through, and tables moved. The bedrooms
looked like a whirlwind had passed through, with blankets
and clothes spread everywhere. The entire upper floor had
been ransacked and overturned, with the first floor being
apparently ignored.
Leon finally concluded that he wasn't going to find
anything useful, and he made his way back out the front
door, puzzling over the questions his quick look at the
interior of the house had raised. Not only had the house
been unoccupied for some time, but evidently someone thought
there was something valuable inside.
None of the electronic components, a TV, VCR, and some
other weird devices had been moved, the dust alone was an
indication of that, but everything else looked as if someone
had thoroughly searched through everything. Very, very
strange, he reflected. He shut the door behind him, and
quickly placed the boards back the way he'd found them.
Casting a quick glance at the rapidly darkening sky, Leon
pulled off his glasses and decided to take one last quick
look around the exterior of the house.
The blades of grass whispered under his feet as he
tramped around the house, sending a searching gaze into the
surrounding bushes, trees, and lengthening shadows. He moved
out a short distance into the forested area behind the
house, still looking around. After a few moments, he gave up
in disgust; it was rapidly becoming too dark to see, and he
really didn't expect to find anything anyway. With a
disgusted snort, he spun around and started to walk back to
his car.
As his boot swept through the grass, it caught
something and kicked it briefly free of the concealing
ground foliage. Whatever it was, it was small, and glinted
with a metallic sheen as it fell back into the grass. Leon
stopped in his tracks, and bent down to find it, whatever it
had been. He pulled a small, clear plastic bag from a
pocket, putting it over his hand like an improvised glove.
After a moment's searching, he found what he'd kicked, and a
couple of other objects like it hidden in the grass nearby:
a small, metallic cylinder of some description, open at one
end. He had an immediate suspicion of what they were, but it
was too dark now to see any other details. Leon stood up
again, peeling off the bag and turning it inside out so that
it contained his finds, and stuffed the bag back into his
pocket.
Moving rapidly, he strode around the house to the front
driveway, and climbed into his car, closing the door. As the
door swung down, he tabbed the switch for the interior
lights; a dim yellow glow sprang up from the recessed lamps.
Fishing in his pocket, he brought out the bag with the
cylindrical objects, and held them up to the light. He
sucked in an apprehensive breath as the appearance of the
objects confirmed what he'd suspected.
The cylinders were almost three inches long, with one
end open, and crimp marks showing around the open end. The
other end of the tube was sealed, with a rimmed end, and a
small, depressed circle in the exact center of the end. The
brass colour of the cylinder body left no doubt as to what
the cylinders were: rifle cartridge casings. Military-type
weapons, too, if he was any judge of weapons and ammunition.
Offhand, they looked like they might be 7.62 mm ammunition,
probably higher.
The hand holding the bagged casings dropped back to the
arm of his seat as Leon stared blankly out the car window,
shutting off the interior lights at the same time. Just what
the hell was going on around here?!
THE NEXT DAY....
Bert jerked bolt upright in bed, the flannel blanket
draped across him falling away. Bleary greenish-brown eyes
stared around at the momentarily unfamiliar-looking
surroundings: a plain but richly-finished dresser, covered
with a white cloth, and a couple of easy chairs over by a
fairly large window with closed blinds. A vase containing
some colourful flowers sat on the dresser, providing a homey
touch. Other than a couple of non-descript pictures, the
kind just added to break up the monotony of bare walls
rather than for actual content, there was nothing else in
the room. After a moment or two of dazed confusion, he
finally recognized the room as Sylia's guest room.
"Aw, bloody hell," he muttered to himself, as he
remembered the final results of his testing earlier. Despite
a massive effort not to, he'd folded like an accordion and
passed out from the strain and exertion. That, and the fact
that lately he'd been driving himself to perform on
substantially less sleep than most people required. He
flopped back into the pillows after a moment, as his body
let him know exactly what it thought of the situation: it
wasn't happy with him.
Every single muscle he owned felt stiff and sore,
almost like Linna had flogged him through one of her
workouts. His mouth tasted utterly foul, and he desperately
needed a drink of water on top of that. There was a dull,
gritty ache around his eyes, and a steady but subdued
throbbing pulsed at his temples. As he lay there
contemplating how lousy he felt, he drifted into a light
doze again. After an indeterminate period of time, his eyes
snapped open, and he sat up again, finally becoming fully
alert.
Wincing at the twinges from his stiff muscles, he got
off the bed, and went into the small adjoining washroom. A
long drink of water, and a quick wash cleared the last
clouds from his mind, and he stretched cautiously, trying to
decide what was next on his agenda.
He peered into the mirror at himself, noting absently
that he needed a shave; the beginnings of a reddish stubble
was appearing on his face, making him look a little meaner
than he normally felt upon first awakening. He sighed,
scrubbing a hand along his jaw as he scowled at his scruffy
reflection, whiskers rasping coarsely. His stomach rumbled,
and he concluded that breakfast was the first thing on his
list.
Turning away from the mirror, he left the bathroom and
the bedroom, stepping out into a short hallway that
connected the guest rooms with the main living room. He
stealthily moved down the hallway, and took a quick look
around the living room; no one was in sight, so he started
drifting carefully towards the door to the apartment.
"I just made some tea," Sylia's voice called from the
kitchen, stopping him in his escape attempt. "There's
dinner, too, if you're hungry," her voice added a moment
later. Dinner? What happened to breakfast?! his mind asked.
His stomach answered for him: it didn't care, just as long
as it was food.
He looked out the window at the city, and saw blackness
peppered with twinkling neon lights. The clock on the wall,
unnoticed until now, read 7:30 PM. He stood confused for a
moment, until he realized that he'd apparently been out a
lot longer than just the night after his combat testing.
Damn. His stomach growled at him again, and he sighed in
resignation. Turning around, he went into Sylia's kitchen.
She was sitting at the small dinner table, her meal
already partly finished, and a cup of steaming tea sitting
by her elbow. A folded up newspaper sat on the edge of the
table. Across from her, a second plate with another generous
portion of food had been set up, and a large mug of tea
called enticingly to him from where it sat on the table,
next to the plate.
"Trying to sneak out again, were you?" Sylia asked, a
faint smile on her face as she shook her head. "That's not
very polite, you know." Bert flushed guiltily as he sat
down, his mouth beginning to water at the smells coming from
the plate of food. It smelled fantastic, and looked good,
too. His internal combustion engine rumbled once more, and
Sylia smiled again at him.
"I didn't want to wake anyone up," he tried explaining,
flushing again. "I thought it was early in the morning."
Sylia shook her head.
"Sorry, but you've been asleep for about twenty-three
hours," Sylia informed him, her expression hardening
slightly. "We'll discuss just how hard you've been pushing
yourself later. For now, eat something before you expire."
Bert reddened again, and he didn't reply for a few more
moments as he worked his way through the meal. It was a fish
and rice dish of some kind, and it tasted as good as it
smelled. It also made him acutely aware of how limited his
own culinary talents were; he'd been living on canned and
microwaveable stuff for too long, he reflected. He could
make a few things that were pretty good, but by and large
his dishes were pretty basic, not at all like this was; it
had that added touch that made it seem extra tasty, and
somehow ...comforting...like a home-cooked meal from when
he'd been much younger.
The food quickly vanished, and he sat back with a
contented sigh, taking a long, appreciative pull at his mug
of tea. Sylia watched him thoughtfully the whole time,
finishing her meal also, a faint smile on her face.
"Ahhh...Thanks," Bert told her after draining the last
of his drink, sighing deeply and relaxing. "That was
fantastic; you're a great cook."
"Why, thank you," she replied, blushing modestly. A
slightly awkward silence fell for a few moments.
"If it's not a stupid question," Bert asked hesitantly,
"Why'd you move me here? There is an infirmary room at
Raven's; you didn't have to put yourself out on my account."
"I figured it would be more comfortable for you, and it
made it easier to keep an eye on you," she replied smoothly.
Too smoothly; Bert peered closer at her, noting what he'd
been too tired before to really notice.
"And you felt guilty for running me through the
wringer," Bert quietly added, "and you felt you had to
apologize or make up for it somehow." Sylia flushed a bright
red, and looked horribly embarrassed for a moment. After a
second or two, she regained control of herself.
"That's a possibility," she admitted with just a trace
of coolness. Bert shook his head smiling ruefully.
"I'm not carrying any grudges," he told her simply.
"Yes, it was hell; I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I
enjoyed it, but that doesn't change the fact that you had to
do it. Hell, if you hadn't suggested it, I'd been thinking
of trying it again just to see how I was."
"You're being awfully...calm and forgiving about this,"
Sylia quietly noted, faint traces of guilt still lurking in
the backs of her eyes. Bert tried shrugging nonchalantly,
but it came off as looking vaguely irritated.
"I've changed a bit," he replied, a quick memory of a
quote flashing through his mind, something about being
forged in the flames of adversity.... He shrugged the memory
away, and continued speaking.
"Before? Yes, I'd probably have been pissed off and
snarling for days about it." He sat staring off into space
absently as he talked, and Sylia watched as a parade of
memory-linked emotions flashed across his face. "After
everything I've been through now, though, I've realized that
there are some things it just doesn't pay to get steamed
over. Evaluating my performance is one of them; I've been
fighting myself for weeks now, and there's no way you could
describe my views on the subject as impartial. That means
that, unfortunately, it becomes someone else's
responsibility to make that particular call."
He looked over at her, greenish-brown eyes showing a
combination of sympathy and respect. "I don't envy you your
job," he told her quietly. "I don't think I could do it
myself, not without being a complete wreck and recluse
afterwards." He looked away again. "So since I'm not
carrying any ill-will, maybe you could relent a bit and
forgive yourself. Besides, it's done now, and I'm still all
right." Oh really? a sardonic voice at the back of his mind
noted. If you're all right, then how come you still act like
almost everyone's a potential enemy? Bert stuffed the
unwelcome observation back into the dark corner of his mind
that it had emerged from; the last thing he need now was his
subconscious producing nagging, gloomy remarks.
As he sat quietly, staring into space and brooding,
Sylia refilled their tea cups, giving him a quietly
searching look. She didn't say anything, though, and they
sat quietly together, sipping at their drinks. After a few
minutes, Sylia sighed and set her cup down, her expression
becoming slightly stern.
"I think we need to discuss just how far you were
pushing yourself before last night," she told him quietly.
"I think you overextended yourself for no good reason, and I
don't want you to repeat that. Luckily, last night was only
a test; you'd have been severely at risk if it had been a
real mission, and I can't allow that. Am I making myself
clear?"
"Perfectly," Bert sighed, a scowl flickering across his
face. "I understand your concern, but I'm not going to
apologize for what I did; you may think it wasn't necessary,
but I sure as hell did."
"And just what was so important that you were
jeopardizing your own health?" Sylia asked, although she had
a faint inkling of what his reply was going to be. His next
words confirmed her suspicions.
"Nene's safety," he replied quietly. "That, and being
able to giver her some peace of mind if she.....when she
gets back on the team."
"Care to explain that?" she asked quietly. Bert's gaze
turned distant, and slightly pained-looking.
"Nene hasn't been taking her...near miss very well," he
started awkwardly. Sylia nodded, understanding perfectly,
and he continued. "I know what she's going through, because
I went through it myself, back when those USSD Dobermans
jumped me." He paused, taking a drink. Setting his mug back
down, he continued. "I was able to get over it, partly
because of my `heroic ideals', I guess you could say, and
partly because ...because of my friends being there. Well,
Nene doesn't have my heroic ideals, and..." He paused,
staring into space, trying to collect his thoughts, as Sylia
waited patiently.
"Nene has never had the same drive, or fire, if you
prefer, about our work as the Knight Sabers as you, Priss,
or even Linna has. I always," he flushed suddenly, almost
guiltily. "I always thought she...didn't take things
seriously enough at times; I know I didn't myself for a
while, but..." He stopped speaking, floundering in a complex
quagmire of emotions that he was trying to give voice to. He
loved Nene, more than anything else, but at times her
apparent innocence about the world in general seemed like a
liability. He'd never said anything, to anyone about it
before, mostly because he wasn't really the one who had any
right to comment, being a hopeless idealist at times
himself.
"But I'm not sure if she can get over nearly getting
killed by Hollister," he said, swallowing against the sudden
pain in his throat; Nene just had to get better...she had
to! "I've tried everything I can to help," he told Sylia in
a low tone, "but...but I wanted..want to do more than just
`be there for her', damnit. I've got to help her
somehow...and that's when I came up with those defense
upgrades for her hardsuit."
"The force field system?" Sylia asked quietly, sympathy
evident in her eyes. Bert nodded tiredly.
"It will work, but only for limited time periods," he
told her. "There isn't a suit powerplant available that can
power it for more than a few minutes before the entire suit
shuts down entirely. "I've devised a sensor program to link
into her control systems; if the sensors detect something
capable of penetrating the normal armouring of the suit,
then the field comes up, briefly, just long enough to divert
the attack." He hesitated, then sighed. "Unfortunately, if
someone were to fire a heavy projectile, such as a DU round,
with enough velocity, the kinetic energy in the object would
likely break through the barrier anyway. I tried to design
around that, but I can't. For the size and frame of suit we
use, that's going to be the limit of any force field
defenses: limited power and duration, and we'll still be
vulnerable to very high-velocity projectiles." A very faint
smile appeared on his face. "That gives us an excellent
incentive to not get hit."
"The incentive not to get hit has always been
excellent," Sylia noted dryly. "Why do you think this will
help Nene?" Bert took another swig from his mug.
"I'm hoping it will provide a measure of comfort..a...a
`security blanket', if you will, that will help her in
getting her confidence back," he replied simply. "She
doesn't have the advantage of being the scarred and world-
weary war-horse that I am now," he noted, with just a trace
of resentful bitterness. "I don't think that there's much
that would really bother me now, with the exception of
losing any of you." He looked up at Sylia, a complex
whirlwind of emotion swirling in his eyes. "I don't mean to
say that I've become callous," he assured her, "it's just
that...with everything I've been through, now, I've got a
breadth of perception not available to most people, and I
guess that lets me be a lot more equable about a lot of
things now; I can take a lot more in stride. Nene doesn't
have that advantage, and if she ever does develop it, I hope
she never has to go through what I had to."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as he
finally quit speaking. Sylia took a sip from her now cold
tea, pondering his explanation. She could see he'd told her
the complete truth; some of his observations about Nene had
been almost too painful for him to say, but he'd forced it
out anyway. She could see one minor point he'd missed,
however.
"I can understand your feelings," she told him quietly.
"But you're never going to be able to protect her
completely. I think if you try too hard, you'll smother her.
She has to be allowed to grow on her own."
"I know that," he replied miserably, shoulders
slumping. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."
THE NEXT DAY....
Bert took a large slurp from his mug of tea as he
stepped past the end of his kitchen counter while
simultaneously trying to juggle a slice of toast spread with
Cheese Whiz, and a well-worn novel. Just as he made it
almost all the way to the coffee table, the phone rang,
startling him. Stuffing the last bit of toast into his
mouth, he took another quick sip of tea to wash it down, and
dove for the phone, dropping the novel onto the floor and
almost tripping over it. He snatched the receiver from it's
cradle.
"Hewwow? Mmfgh!" He tried swallowing the lump of toast
that had suddenly become stuck in his throat, and doubled
over coughing for a moment. After sounding like a dying
automobile with choke problems for a minute or so, he
finally cleared his air passages enough to speak.
"Hello?" he wheezed into the mouthpiece, still clearing
his throat. The last few crumbs grudgingly surrendered, and
went down his gullet finally.
"You didn't go and get sick, did you?" Nene's voice
asked suspiciously. "I heard about your collapse the other
night; I'm not happy with you, mister." Bert grinned wryly
to himself; in some ways at least, Nene was still the same.
Now if only the rest of her personality would recover...
"No, nothing like that," he hastened to assure her.
"You just caught me in the middle of eating something, and I
discovered I couldn't eat as fast as I thought I could."
"Humph," she muttered by way of reply. "Okay then; are
you still meeting me for dinner after work?"
"But of course, M'Lady!" he exclaimed. "I keep my
promises; you should know that by now."
"Okay then; I'll see you at 8:00 PM then," she replied,
sounding a shade more cheerful. "What are you going to be
doing today?"
"Getting a little exercise," he replied, straight-
faced, taking a swig from his cup.
****
Vibrant, energetic dance music reverberated throughout
the spacious room, as a black-haired and blue-eyed young
woman in a blue-green spandex aerobics outfit seemed to
float across the floorboards. Her dancing was a seemingly
never-ending whirl of leaps, twirls and artistic pirouettes
that carried her effortlessly across the floor space of the
room, with her never seeming to actually alight on any spot
on the floor for very long. The dance patterns she was using
were simple and clean, but elegant at the same time,
immediately entrancing to the eye. The entire performance
was spellbinding, her every movement a rejoicing in the
freedom of the dance.
With an echoing snap, the cassette player came to the
end of the tape, and Linna finished her routine with a grand
flourish, seeming to become firmly rooted to the ground
again as gravity re-asserted itself. With an exhausted, but
contented, sigh, she walked over to the small table in the
corner of the room. Picking up a towel from where it hung
precariously on the edge of the table, she mopped off her
streaming face, looping the towel around her neck
afterwards.
Picking up the water bottle from the table, she took a
long draught, enjoying the feeling of delicious coolness as
it spread through her moisture-starved tissues. She took
another drink after the first one had been given time to
settle, humming quietly to herself.
She absently gazed out the large bay window as she
hummed, one hand sweeping her hair back under her headband
automatically in an unconscious gesture. Things were going
pretty good at the moment; her job was fantastic, nothing
catastrophic had happened lately, and she felt great. What
more could anyone ask for?
Originally, when she'd started her new job, she'd been
worried that her duties as the chief choreographer wouldn't
allow her any time to do any dancing herself. She'd soon had
that worry put to rest; a lot of the other dancers reacted
more favourably to someone who led by example, which had
suited Linna just fine. She was now regularly leading the
various dancers through their paces in a class-style
fashion. It had immediately prompted a lot of the dancers to
work harder to try and keep up to her, and she couldn't get
rid of a faint trace of smugness over the fact that she'd
been able to run most of the more seasoned company veterans
into the ground during the first week of training. A couple
of whiners had quit over it, but they hadn't been missed by
anyone.
She sighed again, a feeling of contentment filling her.
For the first time in a while, she felt happy and fulfilled
at her job, which hadn't been something she'd been able to
say very often before. Sure, playing with stocks and bonds
had been fun, for a while, but there'd always been something
missing, some feeling that she wasn't doing everything she
was capable of. Now she was, and she felt great.
Smiling to herself, she glanced at the clock. She
sighed as she realized she had a couple of hours to kill
yet. Shrugging mentally, she turned around to leave the
room, and stopped in her tracks, her smile fading slightly.
Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his
arms crossed over his chest, was a familiar tall, broad-
shouldered figure with red hair. Greenish-brown eyes met
hers from across a room that suddenly seemed to be too small
to Linna.
"Hello, Linna," Bert greeted her quietly. He was
wearing a black track suit and running shoes, and was
leaning casually in the doorway, almost completely filling
it. Linna's nerves began jangling as she realized she was
going to have to squeeze past him, if he didn't move, in
order to leave the room. "That was a great dance routine,"
he complimented her. "You looked fantastic."
"Um, thanks," she said uncertainly, slowly walking over
towards him, her unease growing with every step closer that
she took. She finally stopped, short of him by about fifteen
feet, even though the distance was not much of a comfort, or
a defense. "Could you move out of the way, please?" she
requested politely. "I've got to go get cleaned up."
"What, don't you have time to talk to friends anymore?"
he asked, a slightly wounded expression appearing. "We used
to chat all the time, before. Remember?"
"Of course I remember!" She flushed guiltily at his
words. Before the torture ordeal that had altered him,
they'd always talked for a while after workouts, on whatever
came to mind, ranging from personal problems to just silly
things to pass the time.
Since his kidnapping, though, she'd hardly seen him.
For a while he'd been more or less hiding from everybody;
however, once he'd come out of being reclusive, and it had
become apparent just how serious his problems were, she'd
started avoiding him. She was honest enough to admit to
herself that at least part of it was fear; ever since that
night at Sylia's when he'd almost turned on her, she'd been
uneasy around him, fearful of another outburst, fearing for
her own safety.
"Look," she told him, "We can talk some other time.
Right now I've got..."
"Nothing," he interrupted in a flat voice, the banter
gone from his tone. "Priss, Anri, and Sylvie aren't due in
here for Priss' rehab session for another two hours, at
least. I checked. That means you're just marking time right
now." He straightened up, and began walking towards her, his
arms dropping to his sides. "What's the real reason you
don't want to talk to me, Linna? I think I deserve an
answer." Something screamed warnings in the back of Linna's
mind, and she tensed, backing up a step as he advanced on
her.
"Bert, stop it," she pleaded. "You're... I....this
isn't the time or the place to discuss this..."
"I think it's the perfect time," he replied, his intent
gaze seeming to bore into her. "There's no one else here at
the moment, so that means we won't have eavesdroppers. I
want to know the real reason you don't want to stand and
talk to me." He advanced closer, narrowing the gap between
the two of them to about six feet. "I want to know the real
reason someone I considered a friend has been treating me
like I've got the plague suddenly. Well? I'm waiting."
Linna backed up another step as he stepped closer,
bringing the distance between them to less than a couple of
feet. She could almost feel a driven intensity radiating
from him, and it immediately sparked a flashback of what
he'd looked like that one night a few weeks back when he'd
flipped out. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her
mouth.
"Bert, please don't be like this," she said, not quite
meeting his gaze. "I have got some stuff I have to do. Now
would you please move out of the way?"
"Make me," he said calmly, folding his arms over his
chest again, staring down at her. Linna couldn't believe
what she'd heard.
"Pardon?!" she asked, dumbfounded. "What did you just
say?!"
"I said make me move," he replied evenly. "The only way
you're getting out of this room is by either knocking me
out, or talking to me first. I want to know why you've been
hiding from me."
"I haven't been hiding..." she started to weakly
protest, but he cut her off angrily.
"BULLSHIT!!" he snapped suddenly, furiously, making a
slashing, negatory gesture with his right hand. "I...." He
never got a chance to finish the sentence.
Linna's mind, with her nerves already stretched tight
from his behaviour and menacing demeanor, interpreted the
gesture as a prelude to an attack of some kind, an
impression strengthened by her fear of his behaviour lately.
The response was almost instantaneous; she struck out, hard,
not sparing the force she put into her strike, trying to put
him down as quickly as possible so she could get away.
Bert's head was snapped back on his neck by a lightning-
fast uppercut. He staggered backwards, and a split-second
later, he was knocked back again by a spinning kick that
connected with pit of his stomach. He flew backwards through
the air as if kicked by a wild horse, and bounced, hard, off
the wooden floorboards with a dull thud and a strangled
grunt. There was a loud crack as his head impacted with the
floor, and his body flopped in a limp heap as he slid to a
stop.
Linna stood in a ready stance, gasping for air, partly
from fright, and partly from the sudden exertion. She
watched the slack form warily for a moment; there was no
movement at all. She waited a moment more, trembling a
little as the adrenaline wore off, and started moving
cautiously around him towards the door; he still didn't
stir, and a faint edge of concern finally intruded on her
thoughts. She stopped, and waited; several minutes passed,
and there was still no movement from the prone, red-haired
individual.
It suddenly hit Linna that he hadn't been going to
attack at all. As she mentally reviewed what had happened
just before she'd clobbered him, she realized that he hadn't
been attacking; his stance had been angry, yes, but he'd
been totally out of the right posture for attacking someone.
She also realized that, if he'd been going to hit her, he'd
have been primed and ready for a counter-move from her; the
ease with which she'd nailed him indicated that he'd been
wide open and unprepared.
"Oh no!!" she gasped, the colour draining from her face
as she realized she'd been the one who'd gone over the edge
this time. For all her worry and concern over his stability,
she'd hit first. Concern nudged the fear in her mind, and
after a brief moment's hesitation, she ran over to Bert,
kneeling next to him. She took a deep breath, and reached
out and tentatively grasped his arm.
Nothing happened.
Releasing her breath in a shaky sigh, Linna rolled him
over so that she could see his face. He was very definitely
out cold; a large, angry-looking bruise was on the left side
of his jaw and face, and there was a thin trickle of blood
coming from the corner of his mouth. Sudden fear prompted
her to check his pulse, and she sighed in relief to find
that it appeared to be steady; the blows she'd hit him with
could seriously injure almost anyone. The fact that he was
in good shape might have helped to spare him somewhat from
serious damage, but there was no way to tell for sure until
he woke up.
Linna stood, and dashed over to where she'd left her
gym bag. Rummaging around in it, she found another, smaller
towel, and proceeded to dampen it with some water from her
water bottle. As she sprinted back to where he lay, she
scooped up her other towel, which had fallen on the floor
when she'd knocked him out. She folded the larger towel
into a small, pillow-like bundle, and placed it under his
head. Taking the dampened towel, she gently sponged off his
face, wiping the blood away. At the touch of the cool cloth,
he stirred and muttered something. Linna swallowed against a
suddenly dry mouth, and gently wiped at his face once more.
Bert's eyes opened, a vaguely stunned and unfocussed
look in them. His gaze swung over to her, and she watched as
a sudden wave of pain washed through over him; he
immediately doubled up around his sore guts, a strangled
groan coming from him, as he flopped over onto his side.
"Bert?" she queried tentatively. She hesitantly reached
out and touched his shoulder; he twitched a bit, but
remained curled up. "Bert? Are you okay?" she asked timidly.
Now THERE'S a stupid question! part of her mind noted dryly.
Hardly anyone would be `okay' after having her slug them the
way she'd just hit him.
"Why don't you just finish the job and put me out of my
misery?" He hissed painfully, sounding like he was speaking
through clenched teeth. "If not, just leave me alone and
I'll crawl off in a few...hours. Maybe." His voice trailed
off into another strangled groan.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, but firmly, "but you
could have just asked me to talk to you."
"I tried, damnit!" he half-snarled, turning towards her
and almost sitting up, then flopping back to the floor with
a groan. "But if you won't answer your goddamn phone, then
how the hell am I supposed to ask?! I've been trying for a
friggin' week now; don't you check your goddamn phone
messages?!" He finally sat up, sweat popping out of his brow
at the effort it took to keep from collapsing again. There
was a whirling mix of pain, anger and confusion in his eyes
as he looked at her. The tight, strained expression on his
face indicated just how much he was feeling her strikes at
the moment.
"Bert," she sighed, "I've been working almost twelve to
fourteen hours a day lately, and today was the first day
I've had off for a little over a week; up until today, I've
been giving Priss her sessions on my lunch breaks. As for
the phone, I haven't even looked at it for days; I didn't
feel like doing anything or going anywhere, so I covered it
up and ignored it. I didn't have any important appointments
coming, so I figured it was safe to ignore."
"Well that's just perfect," he replied, wincing and
gingerly feeling his jaw. "So how the hell are your friends
supposed to contact you then?" He winced again, and quit
poking his jaw, and went back to holding his stomach. God
damn it, it bloody hurt!! His neck wasn't much better; it
had already stiffened up from having his head snapped back
on it. "You were never in the building at the same time I
was, although I guess it was by accident, considering what
you just told me, and I didn't want to pass on messages with
anyone else. Just what was the reason for going into
effective hiding?"
"I wanted to be by myself," she said simply. "You, of
all people, should know what that feels like; you certainly
go off on your own to sit and think often enough, or at
least you used to."
"Okay, true enough," he conceded grudgingly. Another
flicker of pain flashed across his face. "So why the hell
did you try to kill me?"
"Why the hell did you come barging in here like a
thunderstorm?" Linna countered evenly. "Your method of
approach was, shall we say, less than diplomatic?"
"I had tried being reasonable," he growled back,
cautiously feeling the back of his head; his probing fingers
found a very large, egg-shaped lump that was extremely
tender, and he quickly jerked his hand away, wincing.
"However, to me, it didn't look like you wanted to be
reasonable, so I opted for a different approach, and decided
to try cornering you."
"Well, don't ever try it again!" she told him, suddenly
angry. "I don't enjoy being scared half to death, thank you
very much!"
"All right, so I was a little pushy. That's hardly a
justification for damn near taking my head off!"
"You scared me, you stupid asshole!" she flared. "I
thought you'd gotten angry and gone off the deep end again,
and the way you were acting certainly didn't contradict that
impression! I was scared, and you pushed me too hard, you
jerk!"
"I'd noticed that," he remarked dryly, cautiously
feeling his jaw again. For a moment, he sounded like his old
self. "Mind telling me just why you were so scared of me?
You should know by now that I'd never do anything to hurt my
friends." Linna sighed, looking uncomfortable.
"I did know that, once," she replied quietly, getting
off her knees to sit cross-legged next to him on the floor.
He seemed to be completely in control of himself; his
posture was relaxed, and she wasn't getting any hostile or
tense feelings from him anymore. "But..." She hesitated, not
sure of what to say next without hurting him.
"Go ahead, say it," he said, suddenly sounding old and
tired. "It's probably nothing I haven't already thought
myself." There was a sudden pain in his eyes that had
nothing to do with his recent injuries.
"I know you've always said that you'd never hurt your
friends," she said slowly, not looking at him. "But...that
night at Sylia's when you turned on me...the look on your
face, it wasn't... it wasn't you," she finished in a rush.
"I literally couldn't recognize you for a moment, because
there was so much anger or hate, I don't know which, in your
expression. It was like looking at an entirely different
person, and it scared me," she finished simply. "I think
I've been scared of you ever since; I just wasn't sure what
you were capable of anymore." Bert nodded wordlessly,
looking away at the flooring, suddenly looking drawn and
old.
She looked at him, a quiet apology in her bright blue
eyes. "I'm sorry, but that's the plain truth, and when we
found out just what you were capable of in the simulator, it
didn't make me any less scared; Level Ten is beyond my
ability right now, and I was afraid of getting hurt if I was
around you when...if you lost control. I wouldn't have been
able to stop you, and I guess that just added to things."
"At least you didn't have to walk around afraid of what
you might end up doing to other people," he rasped, clearing
his throat angrily, and scrubbing a sleeve across his eyes.
Linna reached out and gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze,
noting that there didn't appear to be a reflex response to
his being touched this time. Maybe he was getting better.
"I know it wasn't easy for you, either," she told him.
"And I was honestly going to check with you about continuing
our practice sessions when you felt up to it, but I didn't
think that you were ready yet. The way you barreled in here
this afternoon, stomping around like a renegade boomer,
didn't help that perception." A long interval of silence
stretched between them for a moment. Linna watched him sit
there, quietly going over her words, some of the strain
lines in his face seeming to become etched just a little bit
deeper. After a while, he sighed and looked over at her.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It wasn't my intent to
scare you; I just thought I might be able to get some
answers if I was more direct."
"Your directness was bloody intimidating," she told him
a trifle tartly. "Next time, just ask first."
"Oh, rest assured, I won't try anything like that
again," he assured her, wincing. He looked over at her,
trying to conceal his feelings behind an impassive mask. "So
where do we go from here?" he inquired. "If you want me to
leave, I will, and ...I'll...understand." There was a bit of
a catch in his voice, and Linna could see the faint hope
that he hadn't irreparably harmed their friendship lurking
in the backs of his eyes.
"You don't have to leave," she told him quietly. "I
think we can iron out what to do next."
"Thank you," he replied just as quietly. Linna gave him
a quick smile, then became businesslike, standing up and
looking down at him.
"The first thing we need to do is to get you moving
again," she told him. "You're going to feel it a lot worse
if you just sit there feeling sorry for yourself."
"What I'm feeling is a great deal of pain, thank you
very much," he grumbled back, recognizing immediately her
switch to instructor mode. "Sorrow has nothing to do with
it." That wasn't entirely true: he was definitely VERY sorry
he'd screwed up on his interpretation of her behaviour,
especially since the results of his actions had not been
pleasant.
"Well get up, get moving, and get your mind off of it,"
she told him. "Believe me, it'll make things seem a bit
better."
"If you say so," he sighed. Gritting his teeth, he
carefully got to his knees, then tried to stand up and
straighten the rest of the way. Linna stepped closer to him,
and grabbed his arm, helping him. She felt a brief tension
flash through him, and then disappear. After a period of
strangled noises, and subdued, under-his-breath swearing,
Bert made it to a mostly upright position again. Next, Linna
made him walk around a bit again to try and loosen up his
agonized gut muscles. After a few minutes of very crabbed-
looking movement, he seemed to be moving a bit easier, and
she picked up the pace a bit. After almost an hour, she had
him more or less fully mobile again, although he was
sweating from the effort it was taking at times to keep from
doubling over in pain.
"Okay," he finally sighed. "That's enough; I've walked
around this room enough times to do it blindfolded now. Can
we move on to something a little more technical?"
"Technical? Like what?" she asked, frowning slightly.
"Well...," he hesitated for a moment. She waited, and
he continued. "Could you try teaching me a bit more martial
arts?" he asked quietly, looking at her uncertainly. "I know
you said I was hopeless at it before, and just showed me
some of the basics, but could we try it again? If nothing
else, I don't think some of the discipline would do me any
harm."
Linna stood silently for a moment, vaguely uneasy over
his request. She wasn't entirely sure teaching him how to be
a better combatant was a good idea, especially since he
seemed to have developed a certain amount of natural attack
aptitude since his kidnapping. She wrestled with her own
inner fears for a few moments, and made her choice.
"All right," she sighed finally, looking up at him.
"We'll try it out for a bit and see how you do. I want you
to keep in mind, though, that this is for self defense only.
Got that?" He nodded, and bowed slightly; his stomach at the
moment wouldn't allow him to move much further.
"I will keep your words firmly in mind," he assured her
soberly. There was a sudden glimmer of amusement in the
backs of his eyes as he added, "Sensei."
****
"No!! I don't wanna go in there!" Priss moaned,
flailing around and trying to get away from Sylvie and Anri
as they herded her towards to front entrance to the non-
descript brown brick building where the exercise facilities
and archery ranges were located. "I can't take it anymore!!
Just shoot me now, goddamnit!!"
"Priss, for God's sake shut up and quit bitching!"
Sylvie finally said, exasperated almost beyond endurance.
She grimly held onto her friend's arm, and kept steering her
towards the entry door. "You have to go through with this if
you ever want your leg to be fully healed and back to
normal! Now shut up and get in there!!"
"Look on the bright side, Priss," Anri added, helping
Sylvie hustle the brown-haired woman through the doors.
"After another couple of weeks, you'll be free."
"I don't want to wait," Priss snapped. "I'm sick of
being goddamn tortured by a sadistic aerobics instructor
while my `friends' kill themselves laughing on the
sidelines. I don't need to do this anymore and that's
final." As if on cue, Priss' leg suddenly throbbed and
folded on her; only Sylvie holding her arm prevented her
taking an ignominious fall to the ground.
"Oh, right," Sylvie noted dryly, bracing herself and
helping Priss to get her supports back under her. "I can see
you're perfectly all right. Priss, quit whining and acting
like a child, will you? It has to be done, and that's all
there is to it." Priss looked angrily away from her, but her
anger was only partly at Sylvie's words; she was mad at her
seemingly traitorous body for refusing to heal as quickly or
as well as it had in the past. It implied that a time was
coming when she might be hurt beyond her ability to heal,
and she didn't like that thought, not in the slightest.
Sighing in resignation, she quit resisting Anri and
Sylvie's pull on her, and they trooped through the doors,
and over to the stairs. Why the hell didn't he put in an
elevator system?, Priss snarled to herself as she climbed
the stairs, leg cheerily protesting all the way. At least he
could have considered the fact that not everybody would be
up to the task of climbing all the bloody stairs there were
in the place. She made a mental note to give him shit about
it the next time she saw him.
The three women finally reached the second floor, and
began walking to the end where all the exercise rooms were
located. As they walked, they could hear the faint murmur of
voices from the main room where Linna liked to work out.
Priss and Sylvie exchanged curious glances, Sylvie raising
an eyebrow.
"Sounds like Linna's got company already," she noted.
"Maybe we should wait," Priss stalled, half turning
around. "I don't want to interrupt her at anything." Anri
quickly grabbed Priss' right arm as Sylvie grabbed her left.
"Oh no you don't," they chorused. "Quit trying to
weasel out of it; you're going to your rehab session,"
Sylvie added firmly. "If you don't quit whining and
complaining, I'm going to carry you into there over my
shoulder." Priss blanched, looking at her friend; from the
level, clear gaze Sylvie returned, she knew that the golden-
brown-eyed young woman was serious in her threat; Sylvie was
also quite capable of carrying it out, too. After a moment
of glaring back at her friend, Priss rather irritably
acquiesced to being led into the exercise room.
The scene that greeted the trio upon entering was not
quite what they'd expected: Linna was standing off to the
side, watching Bert go through a slow series of martial arts
moves of some kind. His attention on what he was doing was
intense; he didn't notice the trio as they entered the room,
focusing entirely on what he was doing, and on Linna's words
to him. Linna did notice them as they entered and gave them
a quick wave; the group moved off to the side to wait until
she was finished as Linna turned back to her student.
"Not bad," she observed. "Practice those ones on your
own for a couple of days, and I'll get back to you a bit
later in the week. Okay?" Bert nodded wordlessly, and Linna
gave him a quick smile. Becoming momentarily serious, she
bowed to him, and he replied in kind, although a little more
care was evident in how he was moving.
Linna straightened up, then the black-haired, blue-eyed
dancer and martial artist turned around and grinned at the
reluctantly approaching Priss and her escorts. Behind her,
Bert sighed in relief, and also slowly straightened up,
wincing. Sylvie could see that he was moving a little
stiffly, but didn't think he looked like he'd been working
out that intensely.
"Hi, Linna," Sylvie greeted their grinning instructor.
"We dragged her in for the next session. Ready to start?"
"Sure," Linna nodded, then smirked again. "Just as soon
as Bert gets off the exercise mats."
"I'm moving, I'm moving," he grumbled from behind her.
"Just give me a chance to recover from the workout first."
As he moved up behind Linna, she seemed to tense briefly,
then apparently shook it off, glancing behind her and
smiling impishly at him.
"If you're looking for sympathy, forget it," she told
him. "You know better than that."
"Can't blame me for trying," he sighed. As he slowly
moved past the black-haired young woman, Sylvie and Priss
noticed what they hadn't been able to see before: a very
large and angry-looking bruise on the left side of his jaw
and face. Anri couldn't see it because of the angle she was
looking at him from.
"Holy shit!! What happened to you?!" Priss burst out.
"What did you do to yourself now?!" Out of the corner of her
eye, Sylvie saw Linna twitch, and started to look at her
questioningly, but Bert's voice replying distracted her.
"I wasn't watching where I was going, and I ran into
something," he replied simply. "Nothing to get excited
over." Priss looked at him skeptically; he looked back
innocently, his face revealing nothing at all to indicate
that he wasn't telling the truth. That alone made Sylvie
suspicious; usually, he was much easier to read. She heard
the barest trace of a relieved sigh come from Linna, and a
suspicion flashed in her mind, but she refrained from
commenting. Obviously, whatever had happened, they'd worked
out their differences.
"If you say so," Priss muttered dubiously. "It looks
more like someone belted you, to me."
"Tell you what, Priss," Bert offered, a grin forming.
"You walk over to the door, and I'll hit you with it; we'll
compare bruises afterwards and see who's right."
"Go to hell," she shot back irritably. "I'm due for
enough pain right now as it is."
"Well then," Linna said brightly, eyes sparking with
amusement as she looked over at her grumbling, red-brown
eyed victim. "Shall we get started?" Priss moved out onto
the mats, a look of gloomy martyrdom settling over her face.
Linna shook her head briefly, flashed a quick grin at Sylvie
and Anri, and then got started on getting Priss warmed up.
Sylvie turned away from the exercise mats, and began
walking over to where Bert was carefully leaning over to
pick up a towel from off of a side bench. Anri trailed her,
suddenly turning shy. He looked up as they approached, and
then forced himself upright, draping the towel over a
shoulder. Sylvie watched a very carefully hidden grimace of
pain flicker across his features, and noted that he was
favouring his midsection; she surmised that he'd been hit
there as well. She kept her own feelings hidden as she came
up to him, smiling warmly. He grinned boyishly back.
"Ladies," he declared grandly, giving them a half-bow.
"What brings you this way?"
"We just thought we'd say hi," Sylvie replied. "It
beats watching Priss complain about her leg." At her words,
Bert's expression sobered a bit, and Sylvie detected
sympathy and a trace of...worry? concern?...something else,
anyway, in his gaze as he quickly looked over to where Priss
was stretching out her muscles.
"How's she doing?" he asked quietly, still watching the
brown-haired young woman move. Sylvie sighed.
"She's getting better, slowly," she replied. "But it's
not healing as fast as she'd like, and even though she won't
talk about it, it's been giving her a bit of pain every now
and then."
"I know what that's like," he muttered to himself.
Sylvie traded a confused glance with Anri, then looked back
at him.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "Old
injuries bugging you or something?" He jerked, as if
startled, and his eyes quickly became masked, cloaking
whatever expression had been in them.
"Nothing, just rambling," he dismissed the question
with an irritated wave of his hand. "I just know what having
to wait for something is like, I meant." Sylvie wasn't so
sure; his expression had indicated a bit more than just an
understanding of Priss' impatience. She didn't pry further,
respecting his privacy, but at the same time she wished he
wasn't so self-contained at times. He'd never been wildly
outgoing before, and with everything that had happened to
him lately, he now was downright isolationist at times. How
were you supposed to help your friends out if they wouldn't
say what was the matter?
"I've been meaning to talk to you for a while now,"
Anri shyly spoke up. Bert's gaze swung to her, a friendly
smile appearing as he waited for Anri to continue speaking.
She flushed slightly, self-consciously. "I just wanted
to...to thank you for everything you've done," she said
awkwardly, "and to thank you for the flowers you sent when I
was...sick. They really helped cheer me up." Bert grinned,
and swept her a deep bow. Anri blushed.
"It was my pleasure, M'Lady," he declared floridly,
straightening up with the barest of winces. He hesitated for
a moment, flicking a quick glance from Sylvie to Anri and
then back. Sylvie nodded slightly, understanding his
unspoken question, and Bert stepped over and gave Anri a
gentle hug. She seemed surprised, then hugged him back,
blushing again as he stepped back. "Seeing you recovered and
getting around again is all the thanks I need," he told her
quietly. He took a quick glance at the clock and sighed.
"Well, ladies," he said, sighing again. "I hate to cut
and run, but I've got to go pick Nene up from work. I'll try
and connect up with you again later, okay?" The girls voiced
their agreement, and Bert quickly strode from the room,
casting a last, unreadable glance at Priss as he left.
****
Nene sat at her desk, quietly finishing up the last
report of the night. Like a large portion of other reports
she'd had to file, it was some minor incident that seemed to
have had an inordinate amount of importance attached to it
by the investigating officer, and it was as boring as hell
to read. She sighed, running a hand absently through her
hair, and glanced at the clock as she finished off the last
data entry, and archived the file.
She sat back from her terminal and stretched
languorously, yawning as weariness hit her abruptly; it had
been a long day, and she was heartily glad it was over. Just
as soon as Bert picked her up, she was going to...
"Hey Nene," Naoko's voice intruded on her thoughts.
"Got a minute?" Startled, the green-eyed, red-haired young
woman looked up from her desk to meet Naoko's frankly
curious, blue-eyed look.
"Sure!" she replied, trying to sound bright and cheery.
It wasn't easy; she was tired, and she still was having
problems keeping her mind off of....some rather morbid
thoughts, at times. It wasn't making her job any easier,
either; several people had already commented on her apparent
personality change, and Nene was finding it hard to keep
coming up with excuses. "What's up?"
"Did your boyfriend go and get into some kind of
trouble?" Naoko queried. Nene blinked in surprise, wondering
what was going on.
"No, not that I know of," she answered, looking
puzzled. "What makes you ask that?"
"It's just that Leon's apparently been checking him
out," Naoko shrugged. "A friend of mine down in the Records
division told me that Leon had a background check run on
him."
Nene stared at her friend, face paling as an awful,
sinking sensation hit her in the pit of the stomach. Why
would Leon start checking on Bert?! She asked Naoko, and got
a shrug in response.
"Apparently he's tied into some case Leon said he was
working on," Naoko told her. "He's been kind of tight-lipped
about the whole thing, and acting kind of strange, come to
think of it."
"Strange?" Nene repeated faintly, her mind racing. What
did Leon suspect? What did he know for sure, if anything?
"What do you mean by strange?"
"Well, he's been kind of preoccupied lately, and a
little grouchy about something. He also gave some stuff to
Forensics for testing," the brown-haired young woman
replied. "I think they were cartridge casings or something.
Apparently he found them outside someone's house, but that's
all he would say."
"Outside their house?!" Nene repeated dumbly, a wave of
cold shock spreading through her. It couldn't be....Bert had
said that he'd removed all traces of the kidnap attempt on
him, and the fight that had occurred outdoors. Still, empty
cartridges would be hard to locate in the grassy area
surrounding his house, so it was possible he'd missed them.
"Did he say where this house was?"
"No," Naoko sighed petulantly. If there was one thing
she hated, it was not being able to get anyone to talk. How
could you keep up to date on things if no one would say
anything?! "He's clammed up completely over whatever it is
that he's investigating. You couldn't get two words out of
him right now with a crowbar." Naoko glanced at the clock.
"Whoops, gotta run! Let me know if anything else happens!"
With a cheery wave, Nene's friend disappeared out the office
door.
Nene suddenly shivered, and wrapped her arms around
herself, hugging herself for warmth. There was an unpleasant
cold feeling working its way through her right now; for
almost three years Bert had been worrying intermittently
about whether or not somebody would start checking on his
background, a worry that, up until now, had seemed
pointless.
She stared blankly at her computer terminal, trying to
figure out just why Leon had suddenly started investigating
Bert. After several frustrating minutes of her mind spinning
its wheels, she gave up. There was no reason she could see
at the moment for the sudden interest.
She tried to console herself with the fact that there
wasn't really a lot of information for Leon to find.
Immediately after that thought, she realized that, in a way,
that was worse: a lack of information would only raise more
questions, and start an investigator into digging deeper and
looking harder for something. From what she knew of Leon,
she realized that he was probably doing that right now.
Nene sat up in her chair, trembling slightly. What if
Leon found out, somehow, about Bert being SkyKnight? What
would he do? Her mouth turned dry as fear began sinking its
talons deeper into her guts; knowing Leon, and how `By-the-
Book' he could be at times, he'd probably try arresting him,
if he did somehow manage to figure it out. He might even try
hauling him in for questioning right now, on suspicion of
something illegal.
Nene blinked as a wave of sleepiness swept her;
glancing at the clock, she realized that she was twenty
minutes late now for meeting Bert down by the front
entrance. He was probably still waiting. Another
uncontrollable surge of fear struck her as she realized Leon
might see him down there and try fishing for information.
Given the way Bert was reacting to people other than his
immediate friends lately, there was a horrible potential for
disaster implicit in that occurrence.
Nene quickly yanked on her jacket, and pulled her bag
out from under her desk. She settled her jacket into place,
sweeping her vibrant red hair back over her shoulders,
freeing the few strands that had become caught under her
coat collar. She glanced around the office quickly, almost
furtively, and then reached down to her bottom desk drawer.
Opening it to the very limit its tracks would allow, she
rummaged in the back of it, and pulled out a file folder.
Closing the drawer, she looked at the file folder for a
moment; the folder was almost empty, and contained a very
brief report, dated `March 2032'.
Nene stared at the folder, chewing at her lower lip for
a moment, indecision running rampant over her face. The file
folder contained the report she'd finished filling out,
almost three years ago, on a certain, red-haired individual
who'd claimed to be from 1995. It had been sufficiently
intriguing at the time that she hadn't filed the report
normally, but had decided to wait and see what, if anything,
else would develop in relation to that report; she'd always
notified Sylia if sufficiently interesting reports had
passed her way. Given what had occurred afterwards, it had
never been processed.
Other than her, and the detective who'd originated the
report, no one else knew of the file's existence, and she
was currently holding the only copy. She hadn't filed it,
mostly because she'd known somehow that the time might come
when it could raise awkward questions. It appeared as if
that time had arrived, and now she had to decide what to do.
Destroy the file was the best option all around; it
eliminated any possibility of her boyfriend being found out.
Despite the fact that she knew it was for the best, Nene
couldn't erase a faintly guilty feeling as she stuffed the
file into her bag, glancing around again, hoping no one
noticed her. She took a great deal of pride in the ADP, and
destroying records, no matter what the reason,
seemed...somehow criminal. She quashed her misgivings after
a moment or two of struggle; it was necessary, and that was
all there was to it. With one last glance around at the
office, she quickly left.
****
Bert waited, trying hard not to fidget as he leaned
against the hood of the nondescript blue car he'd borrowed
from Sylia's garage; his truck was still effectively in
hiding, since it was entirely possible that Hollister and
his cohorts were keeping an eye open for it. The car was
okay, but he really missed his truck. He shifted a bit
again, wincing as his gut muscles protested.
He swore under his breath again as he glanced at his
watch. Damn it, what the hell was keeping Nene?! She was
almost half-an-hour late from getting off of work; unless
she'd suddenly gotten some last minute work, in which case
she'd have called him, there must be something wrong.
He paced a bit, wondering if he should try entering the
ADP building to find her. He immediately dismissed that
idea; after Leon quizzing him the last time he'd been in
there, he didn't want to go inside unless absolutely
necessary. He didn't want, or need `official attention'.
Just loitering in the parking lot was making him nervous
enough as it was; sooner or later someone would notice, and
probably come over and start asking questions.
Just as he spun around to irritably pace the length of
the car again, the glass doors at the top of the stairs
banged open, and a breathless, red-haired young woman in a
form-fitting ADP uniform burst through them, bounding down
the steps as fast as she could. Unconsciously, Bert relaxed,
and a welcoming smile appeared as Nene ran over to where
he'd parked the car.
"Well, it's about time," he remarked with a mock-sigh.
"I was beginning to think...mmff!" He was cut off in mid-
sentence by Nene hurling herself at him, and pulling his
head down for a kiss. After a rather surprised moment, he
hugged her and kissed her back, ignoring the twinges from
his neck and stomach. It was when he hugged her that he
realized she wasn't entirely okay; she was shaking like a
leaf in a high wind.
The kiss lasted for another couple of moments, until
she drew back to breathe, looking up at him. "Sorry I'm
late," she apologized meekly. "I lost track of the time."
"After a greeting like that, I don't care," he told
her, smiling down at her. "I was beginning to get a little
worried though. Some last minute work crop up?"
"Not quite," she evaded, suddenly looking around almost
fearfully. "Let's get out of here; I don't want to discuss
this here, and I think we need to talk to Sylia, too." Bert
nodded, puzzled, but didn't prod her further; she was pale,
and looked scared for some reason. He briefly hoped it
wasn't a complication of her nightmares, and held open the
car door for her, helping her into the car. Carefully
closing the door, he went around the car and clambered into
the driver's seat as Nene belted herself in. Starting the
engine, he shifted the car into gear, and drove off onto the
highways of MegaTokyo, leaving the gleaming cylinder housing
the ADP behind.
****
Sylia sat quietly, sipping her tea, no traces of worry
evident anywhere on her face. She was the picture of
unruffled calm, her blue-black hair neatly in place, and her
brown eyes unrevealing. Bert briefly envied her as he paced
the length of the room, back and forth, several times. Nene
sat on the couch next to Sylia's chair, holding her own
drink, her worried emerald- green eyes darting from Bert to
Sylia constantly. She was still pale and nervous-looking,
unconsciously running a hand through her long red hair every
so often, sweeping it back over her shoulders. She looked a
little rumpled at the moment, with her uniform tie loosened
at the neck, and a few wrinkles showing in her normally
neatly-pressed blouse.
"Bert, quit trying to wear holes in my carpeting,"
Sylia finally said testily, getting sick of watching him
pace the room like a caged tiger. "This is not as big a
problem as it seems."
"Isn't it?" he snapped, spinning towards her, anger and
worry both warring for dominance in his face. He was
slightly pale with the strain of maintaining control on
himself, and it was highlighting the large bruise he had
somehow acquired on the left side of his jaw. Sylia had
noticed it earlier when he'd arrived with Nene, but had
managed to keep from asking about it. Nene apparently still
hadn't noticed it, being preoccupied with her own worries.
Bert began pacing again, trying to attain a calm appearance;
he failed.
"I've got one of the more persistent police inspectors
pulling covert probes into my past," he fumed, "and you
don't think I should worry?! Damn it, Sylia, this is worse
than an official investigation! At least if it was
officially sanctioned, we'd have had some warning that way!
Leon's discreet inquiries have already netted him enough to
make him suspicious, and he's not going to just go away, not
now. He's going to just keep poking and prodding, and
eventually he'll find something out, something we'll all
wish he hadn't."
"That is always a possibility," Sylia conceded, "But
suspicion is not proof, and he'll have a very hard time
proving anything." She drank from her teacup, then set it
down on the table. "I also think that he won't have too much
time to devote to checking you out; Leon can't just avoid
his regular duties, and that means he'll be busy at other
things before long."
"Right," Bert snorted, resuming his pacing while
scowling darkly at the carpeting. "Like that's a real
hindrance; he's always found ways to work around the
limitations of his job before. I don't think that's going to
be an effective deterrent for long." He swore under his
breath again, wishing that, just once, his luck would quit
running on the abysmally lousy side.
"Well," Sylia tried another tack, "we can always create
a `history' for you that we can place in the official
records; I realize that now is a little late, but if Leon
tries to point to your lack of past records as proof of
something suspicious, he'll get a rude shock when he finds
out that they do exist."
"That'd help," Bert admitted, trying to force himself
to calm down and be reasonable. His success was limited; he
still felt like going out and running as fast as he could
for a few blocks. His nervous energy level at the moment
could probably burn out his hardsuit systems. "That doesn't
change the fact that he already knows, or suspects, that
something isn't right. If he's watching me, he could find
out about the rest of you. I don't want to risk that."
"What possible reason could he have to suspect people
you were friends with?" Sylia asked.
"He's a cop, Sylia. They're suspicious of everybody,"
Bert replied sourly, then caught himself, looking
apologetically at Nene. "I wasn't aiming that at you, Nene,"
he told her. "I just meant that as an inspector, he's always
looking for something suspicious, and since something
started him checking me out, he'll probably take any small
thing related to me, and start poking into it. I don't want
him poking into the activities of my friends." Nene nodded
wordlessly, her green-eyed gaze troubled.
"Well, we'll just have to be careful, won't we?" Sylia
said simply. "There's no real way to stop him looking
around, so we'll just have to make sure we don't give him
any more reason to look around." Bert didn't reply audibly,
but muttered something under his breath as he stalked back
and forth across the room. Sylia caught part of his
sentence, and it prompted an uneasy feeling to start
slithering around in her stomach. To her, it had sounded
like he'd said "we could always shoot him."; given some of
the ways in which he'd changed, she wasn't entirely sure he
wasn't serious.
"I hope you didn't really mean that," she noted
quietly. Bert jerked, startled, and looked at her. She could
see helpless frustration in his gaze, frustration, and fear
over being found out.
"No, I didn't mean it," he told her, " but I..." He
paused, fighting to control himself. "I'm scared," he
admitted tightly. "I don't want to lose what I've managed to
build here; I've just barely gotten myself back together
after what Hollister did to me, and having something else
ruin my life right now...would be more than I can handle."
He went over and finally sat next to Nene on the couch,
reaching out and taking his now-cold mug of tea, drinking it
down. Nene almost hesitantly put an arm around him; he
smiled warmly at her, and put his own arm around her
shoulders, drawing her closer. A thick silence settled over
the room like a heavy blanket, as everyone sat, lost in
their own private worries for a moment.
As they sat there for a few moments, a quiet but
insistent beeping erupted from a computer terminal tucked
away almost invisibly in a corner of Sylia's living room,
hidden under a cloth cover of some kind. Bert looked up, a
faint look of surprise crossing his face, one that was
mirrored by Sylia and Nene.
"Now that's something I haven't heard in a while," he
noted. The computer that had started signaling was Sylia's
automated `watchdog' on the ADP communications lines, used
mostly when Nene was off duty. It was set to monitor the ADP
channels, and notify her if certain conditions arose;
apparently, after a long silence of several months, the
right circumstances had arrived. Sylia nodded absently in
agreement, a faint frown flickering across her smooth face
as she rose from her chair, and walked over to the terminal.
She flicked the cover off the monitor, and turned it
on. Bert and Nene watched as the light from the glowing
screen flashed across her face in a rapidly changing pattern
as the machine churned its messages across the screen. As
she read the data, Sylia seemed to tense up; she shut down
the terminal, covering it back up. There was a very serious
expression on her face as she came back over to the red-
haired couple. Her gaze centered on Bert alone.
"Do you feel up to a mission tonight?" she asked
quietly. "I think we're going to need everybody we can get."
Bert nodded, once.
"I can handle it," he replied, a sudden, icy calm
seeming to settle over him. Sylia wasn't quite sure, but she
thought she'd seen a brief flash of...eagerness...in the
backs of his eyes. "What's the situation?"
"Apparently, there's almost twenty C-55's running
loose," she replied simply. "The ADP says they just `turned
up', and they've started trashing whatever they can. There's
been several casualties already."
"They `just turned up'?" he echoed. "That doesn't sound
right; how can twenty combat boomers just appear out of
nowhere?" Sylia shrugged; it had struck her as funny also,
but the whys were not as important right now. After they'd
stopped the boomers, then they could worry about the source,
although she had a faint suspicion what that source was.
"I'll go get suited up, then," Bert replied, standing
and stretching, wincing at the muscular complaints the
action produced. "Are we going to need the KnightWing?"
Sylia shook her head.
"No," she answered. "The boomers are only a few blocks
away; we won't need the plane for that short a distance."
"Okay then, I'll see you down there..." Bert started to
reply, when Nene's voice interrupted him.
"I'm coming too," she announced quietly. It shaped an
instant silence in the room, as both Bert and Sylia looked
at her. Nene flushed under their gazes, but didn't look
away.
"Nene," Sylia spoke slowly, "I'm not so sure that's a
good idea..."
"Why not?" she demanded. "You're taking Bert along,
aren't you?"
"That's a slightly different situation," Sylia replied
awkwardly. "He's been tested lately, and we know how he'll
react to combat situations. You're....still recovering from
your.... experience; we should take it easy for a while
before you get back into things." She wished Bert would
speak up and help her out here; he should know better than
anyone that Nene wasn't ready to go on a mission yet,
especially one that was likely to be pure combat. He
remained silent, however, his gaze locked on Nene's face,