greenish-brown eyed gaze was critical as he watched the
archers, making sure that nobody was using bad or dangerous
techniques.
The archers assembled in the range were an assorted
group, both young and old, with a good number of women
present. Almost half of the people had brought their own
equipment with them, and the mix of shooting styles and
equipment was somehow oddly fascinating. His own bow was the
only longbow in the facility at the moment; everyone else
was using light recurve bows, compound bows, and some very
exotic-looking Asiatic bows. The main thing was that
everyone was enjoying themselves immensely.
"Did you really have to yell like that?" Sylvie
inquired plaintively, taking her fingers out of her ears. "I
think they must have heard you out on the street!" The tall
young woman was just barely recognizable at the moment,
having dropped in while on her lunch break. She was wearing
a light grey, knee-length skirt, a form-fitting white blouse
trimmed with some ruffles, high-heeled shoes, and her long,
dark-brown hair was artfully concealed under a wig that gave
her lustrous, shoulder-length black hair. She was also
wearing tinted glasses; they didn't affect her sight in any
way, but served to mask her distinctive golden-brown eyes.
She was a knockout in the disguise that Sylia had helped her
devise, looking elegant and sophisticated, a radical change
from the carefree manner and appearance she preferred to
cultivate.
Bert quickly suppressed the grin that tried to appear
as he looked over at his friend; she'd already threatened to
belt him if he commented on how she looked. Since she'd had
to fend off several friendly advances from some of the
people now crowding his recreational facility, he could see
why she was sick of hearing about how nice she looked. She
looked back at him defiantly, knowing what was running
through his mind, her look daring him to say anything. He
smiled innocently, then turned back to watching the archers.
The faster shooters had stepped back and set their bows on
the racks provided, waiting for the round of practice to
finish.
"I'm sorry about the yell," Bert spoke up a moment
later, flashing her a quick, sideways grin, "but I need to
be heard over everything else." He gazed across the range
again, memory taking hold of him briefly. "I was an archery
rangemaster back at university for a while; you had to
really shout the range commands in order to be heard over
everything else that was going on in the rest of the gym
building."
"You were heard, trust me," Sylvie assured him wryly.
She glanced around at the people who populated the range at
the moment. "Were any of the others coming by?" she
inquired. Bert nodded.
"Linna was here for a couple of hours this morning," he
told her. "Priss said she'd be by later this afternoon,
Sylia couldn't say for sure what she was doing, and Anri had
to go to work, but she did stop by to say hi really
quickly."
"What about Nene?"
"I asked her," he said tonelessly. "Or rather, I asked
her voice-mail." Depressed hurt pulled at his expression
briefly, then disappeared as he squared his shoulders and
glanced at her. "I don't think she'll be coming though."
"I'm...sorry about that," she said awkwardly,
hesitantly touching his arm in sympathy. He nodded in terse
acknowledgment, but let the subject drop. She did as well,
thoughtfully regarding him.
She could tell that he'd changed a lot in the last
couple of weeks. He was less somber and definitely more
easygoing than he'd been, and there was something else about
him, a ... a feeling of .... of something. Her unique
`abilities' included heightened sensitivity, allowing her to
pick up on people's moods and feelings more quickly than
normal people. She couldn't quite define what it was she was
getting from him, since he was very tightly suppressing
whatever it was. She shrugged mentally, and decided to try
and figure it out later. She glanced at the clock on the
wall, and realized she'd have to go back to work now.
"Well, good luck with the rest of the day," she told
him, smiling reassuringly. "I'll see you later."
"Take care," he smiled warmly back at her. She gave him
a quick good-bye wave, and strode to the door out to the
front lobby, wincing as he bellowed another command across
the range as she left.
"HOLD!!!!!! OKAY, GET YOUR ARROWS!!!"
****
"And why have you been unable to convince him to part
with the information?" Quincy's gravelly voice rumbled
ominously. "You've been questioning this `Stryker' fellow
for almost a week now. What is the delay?" The craggy faced
old man sat behind his massive desk like a magistrate about
to pronounce sentence. His long grey-white hair and light-
coloured suit never seemed to change. He looked as
unshakably in control as he always had before.
"We are treating him with more care than our last
subject," Madigan replied evenly, her blue-grey eyes calm
and unworried as she looked at GENOM's CEO. "He has a great
deal of information we need, and we cannot risk accidentally
killing him before we have what we want. Further, if we do
succeed in obtaining what we want, I had intended to used
him as a method of contacting this organization we appear to
have discovered."
Quincy sat back in his chair, rubbing at his jaw
thoughtfully. What his lavender-haired effective second-in-
command had suggested made sense; using the captured `fixer'
as a go-between would eliminate anyone associated with GENOM
becoming too involved, and hence visible. Besides, the fixer
was expendable, and the only people Quincy trusted enough
with matters this covert, weren't. After a moment, he nodded
in approval.
"Proceed, but try to hasten the process if you can. I'm
growing tired of waiting."
"Understood, Sir," Madigan replied crisply, bowing. As
Quincy watched, she turned and left his office without a
backwards glance.
****
Sighing tiredly, Bert tossed the last piece of
discarded paper into the garbage can, giving the now-
deserted range one last glance. Everything seemed to have
been cleaned up satisfactorily. He grabbed the broom he'd
swept everything up with, sticking it in the closet
allocated to cleaning supplies, and turned his attention to
checking the equipment. After ensuring that everything was
properly stored and put away, he flicked the lights off,
closing the door.
It was an effort to get up the stairs to the second
floor, but he finally managed it. He did a cursory
inspection of the exercise rooms, and the small video
arcade, but they were clean and looked undisturbed; they
hadn't gotten a tenth of the traffic that the archery range
itself had received. He hadn't realized that there were
quite so many people who wanted to shoot holes in things as
a way of relaxing. With a rueful grin at the thought, he
wearily made his way to the small lounge, where he was
reasonably sure there were still some snacks left over.
His hunch proved correct, and after getting a cup of
coffee, he sank into the couch with a plate holding some of
the leftover sandwiches that had been provided for the
range's opening day. They'd gone a little dry, but they
tasted fantastic at the moment. He wolfed them down, taking
a long draught of coffee as a chaser, then set his cup aside
and stretched out on the couch, sighing in relief. Peace and
quiet at last.....
"This a private celebration, or can anyone join?" A
woman's voice asked, amusement in her tones. He sat up, a
welcoming smile spreading across his face.
"One more wouldn't hurt," he conceded as Priss came
over to the couch, sitting down next to him. She was wearing
her usual red biking leathers, her hair pulled back into its
accustomed ponytail. "Might even add to the enjoyment," he
added, just before leaning over and kissing her. She kissed
him back, her arms wrapping around him and hugging him
closer. Their greeting stretched for a couple of moments,
before they separated and sat back on the couch, keeping one
arm around each other.
"You look a little worn out there," she noted, brushing
his hair out of his eyes.
"You try shepherding one-hundred and fifty or more
people around all day, making sure nobody accidentally turns
someone else into a pincushion, and we'll see just how
energetic you are afterwards," he sighed, letting his head
drop back to the back of the couch and closing his eyes. "It
was exhausting."
"I saw you directing the traffic," she told him dryly.
"You can keep the job, thanks."
"You did? When? I don't recall seeing you during the
afternoon."
"You were busy enough that I figured it would be better
not to disturb you," she explained gently. "I hung around
the place for a couple of hours, then left to get some
dinner. By the time I came back, you'd kicked everyone else
out and cleaned up. I let myself in, and here I am," she
said simply.
"Well, I'm glad you're here," he told her. "I need the
company right now." She smiled at him, and they sat together
quietly for a while. Bert started to nod off as he sat
there, the long day catching up to him finally.
"Hey, don't zone out on me now." He was dragged back to
the here and now as Priss gave him a very ardent kiss,
pulling him close. Despite his tiredness, he found himself
responding, his lips melting into hers as he held her
tightly, enjoying the warm closeness of her body and the
sweetness of her lips against his.
The phone hanging on the wall rang urgently, but he
ignored it, concentrating on the woman he was holding; he'd
already answered enough phone calls today, and he wasn't
answering any more for any reason. He withdrew his lips from
hers long enough to take a breath as the phone rang again.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" she asked, her red-
brown eyes on his as she gently caressed his face. He shook
his head slightly, tightening the grip his arms had around
her.
"There's only one way I'll answer the phone right now,
and it hasn't happened yet," he told her. He kissed her
again, ignoring the persistent clamour of the phone. She
didn't protest, her lips parting as he kissed her deeply.
The phone fell silent as they gave some serious attention to
the kiss.
The phone abruptly exploded in a cacophony of ringing
again. At the same time that it rang, both of their pocket-
pagers added shrill beeps to the noise.
"God damn it," Bert muttered, as Priss broke off the
kiss; she bore the same disgusted look he knew he had on his
face at the moment. "Why NOW?!?!" The phone and pagers
shrilled again in perfect unison.
"You'd better answer it and find out," she sighed. He
reluctantly released her, and stood up, wiping his mouth
with the back of a hand. Priss flopped over onto her back on
the couch staring at the ceiling. It figures, she thought
resentfully, just when we start getting warmed up....
"Yeah, what is it?!" the tall red-headed young man
answered the phone, unable to keep from snapping.
"And a pleasant evening to you, too," Sylia Stingray's
voice replied coolly over the phone. Bert sighed and placed
a hand over his eyes, leaning against the wall as he did so.
"I'm sorry, Sylia," he sighed apologetically. "It's
just been a really long day; I didn't mean to sound snarky."
"I understand," she replied, her tone warming up
slightly. "I'd heard that you were really busy today. Well,
I'm sorry to have to call you up like this, but we've got
some work to do tonight."
"Give me the details."
"It's a combat boomer rampage," she said simply. "We're
going out to stop them before they can do any more damage."
"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Fine," she approved. "We'll be ready and waiting. Oh,
do you know where Priss is?"
"Yes," he answered truthfully enough, looking across
the room to where the attractive rock singer was sprawled on
the couch. "She's here giving me a hand at, uh, putting
everything away."
"Pass the word on to her as well," his boss directed.
"We'll need everyone tonight." After his assurances that
he'd pass the information on, she hung up. He irritably
banged the receiver back into its cradle, turning towards
Priss. She'd already stood up, resignation in her
expression.
"Duty calls," he told her sourly as he walked up to her
and put his arms around her waist. "That was Sylia," he
informed her. "There's some boomers running loose that we've
got to go and stop." A reckless grin spread across her face
at the news, eliminating the dissatisfied look she'd had;
belatedly, he remembered that fighting boomers was one of
her biggest kicks. Okay, so it was one of his as well; he
didn't really feel up to it at the moment, and instead would
have preferred a quiet night at home, with her.
"Don't look so glum, lover," she told him giving him a
quick, teasing kiss. Eager sparks were flashing in her eyes.
"There's always later. Come on, or we'll miss the fun!" She
pulled loose from his grasp, and ran out the door, snatching
her motorcycle helmet from the chair by the door as she
passed it.
"Fun, she says," he snorted to himself as he watched,
grinning ruefully a moment later. He had to admit that he
was looking forward to some action himself, despite the
fatigue. Shrugging to himself, he flicked off the lights and
left.
****
"Hi Priss!" Sylvie greeted her cheerily as the brown-
haired singer entered the changeroom, peeling off her
jacket. The tall, golden brown-eyed woman was already
dressed in her softsuit, the stretchy, revealing garment
hugging her curvaceous figure perfectly. She looked excited,
an excitement Priss shared, but for different reasons. It
was going to be their first time out on an actual boomer
hunt in a long while.
Sylvie was looking forward to actually using her suit
in a real situation, while the young rock singer was just
looking forward to a good fight. Since her concert success,
she was positive that her leg was, finally, completely
normal again; it didn't hurt in the slightest. There was a
reckless eagerness crawling through her at the thought of
being able to trash boomers again.
"Hi Sylvie," she replied, chucking her jacket into her
locker as she started undoing her blouse. "How was work
today?" She was unable to keep a mischievous smirk from
forming as her friend blushed slightly. While Sylvie knew
she had an attractive body, and was completely comfortable
with that fact and knew how to use it to her advantage, she
still found it slightly embarrassing to have complete and
total strangers showing up at odd times of the day to ask
her out for a date. When she'd stopped in at Bert's archery
range, no less than fifteen guys she'd never seen before had
approached her, praising her looks before asking for dates
in the same breath.
She had no problems at being able to discern the real
reasons they'd approached her; her senses were attuned to
picking up those kinds of feelings from people, given what
she was. She sent them all packing as soon as they showed
up, but it was beginning to become tiresome. She'd only ever
told Priss once, in confidence, that she hoped she could
someday find some nice guy who liked her for something other
than her figure, but so far all she'd encountered were men
with one thing on their minds, and it wasn't getting to know
her. Well, not in the sense she would have preferred, at
least.
"It was okay," she replied noncommittally, watching as
Priss stripped off her clothes, and donned her softsuit.
"About the usual."
"More broken hearts, huh?" the red-brown eyed woman
grinned slyly. Sylvie flushed again, becoming a bit
irritated.
"What have you been up to?" she changed the subject
with an effort. "I haven't been able to get hold of you at
all, lately. I even stopped by your place the other night,
but you weren't home." She studied her friend closely,
paying attention to her intuition as she watched Priss pull
her softsuit up, sliding her arms into its sleeves.
"Me? Oh, nothing much," Priss answered vaguely,
reaching behind herself and fastening the softsuit closure
snaps. "I've just been out and around, that's all." She
finally succeeded in getting her suit secure, and spent a
minute or so getting it settled more comfortably on her
body.
" `Out and around'? With who?"
"Nobody," Priss replied quickly. "I've been biking a
lot; that's why I haven't been home." Sylvie detected a
definite trace of defensiveness in the reply.
"Priss," she said seriously, looking her friend
straight in the eyes. "Please don't lie to me. I can tell
that something's up, because that's the vaguest answer
you've ever given me. You've always been honest with me
before, why won't you do the same now?" Her question had a
somewhat plaintive note to it, making the attractive, brown-
haired singer flush guiltily.
"I .... I'd like to tell you, really I would," she said
awkwardly, not quite meeting Sylvie's gaze. "But, I ... I
can't, not right now. Maybe later." Sylvie gazed
thoughtfully at Priss for a moment, considering everything
she'd observed over the last few weeks. She opened her mouth
to say something, but was cut off by an impatient yell.
"Would you two please hurry up?!?!" Linna shouted into
the room. "We haven't got all night to wait!!! Come on, the
damn boomers aren't going to just leave by themselves!!"
"We're coming!!!" Priss hollered back. "Hang on a
second!!" She and Sylvie exchanged a quick glance, nodded,
then sprinted for the door to the changeroom.
****
Sylia looked around the somewhat crowded hardsuit
storage bay room. We've come a long way, the thought briefly
flickered across her mind. Counting herself, there were six
brightly enameled hardsuits crammed into the small room, a
private army. She'd originally created the Knight Sabers as
a means of striking back at GENOM for everything they'd done
to her, and their perversion of her father's work.
Over the years, however, the original purpose of
revenge against the mega-corporation had become clouded and
diffuse, no longer her sole motivation. She still hated
GENOM, and wanted to bring the company down, or at least
reduce it somehow, but that had proven to be more difficult
a task than she'd imagined it would be. Instead of
extracting vengeance, the Knight Sabers were fighting a
rearguard action in trying to stop boomer depredations, a
rearguard action that, at times, seemed to be losing.
The problem, she realized wryly, wasn't a lack of
effort on her part, or on the part of her teammates. The
problem was that her conscience wouldn't let her just stand
idly by while innocent people were being killed; she cared
too much about the city, and couldn't abandon it in order to
pursue her own vendetta. Everyone gathered in the room with
her right now shared that quality to a greater or lesser
extent, that determination and drive that allowed them to
keep going despite the apparently overwhelming odds and do
`what was right'. That was partly why she'd chosen the
people she now counted as close friends to join her on her
crusade.
Or had them chosen by circumstances, she amended
silently, looking over to where Sylvie was donning her
helmet; the tall young woman was visibly excited at the
prospect of getting to use her new suit in a real fight, and
was fidgeting as she stood there. In a way, Sylia found it
ironic that someone who had been created as an extension of
her father's work on boomers was now a member of the Knight
Sabers. It was somehow oddly fitting that Sylvie was helping
them carry on their crusade against GENOM, a company that
wouldn't scruple to use her in an instant for their own dark
ends.
Sylia's glance slid sideways to a tall, silver-armoured
shape. SkyKnight was leaning against the wall, his helmet
already on, his visor down so that his expression was
concealed. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he
almost looked relaxed. The eerily glowing red eyeslot in his
helmet visor seemed to be surveying everyone else at the
same time, an effect she knew he'd purposefully designed
into his suit. SkyKnight was the random factor that had
changed everything irrevocably, the first new Knight Saber
that circumstance had brought to her.
In the beginning, Sylia hadn't been going to increase
the membership of the Knight Sabers to beyond the original
four, unless a severe accident or injury removed one of them
from being able to participate for an extended period of
time. She'd fervently hoped that she wouldn't be forced into
that task; it hadn't been easy locating people with the
right qualities the first time.
Fate had promptly thrown a wrench into her carefully
laid plans with the arrival of a tall, red-headed stranger
who knew an uncomfortable lot about her and the Knight
Sabers organization. Compounding the shock had been the
unique reasons he'd given her for his knowledge. Careful
checking hadn't found any reason to disbelieve his story,
and she'd decided to accept him into the group. She'd had
some reservations at the time, but she couldn't just let him
walk away, not with everything he seemed to know about them.
Something within her had balked at the thought of cold-
blooded murder of a total stranger, so that left allowing
him to join as the only viable option.
Sylia's lips twisted in a brief, wry smile. There'd
been a few times since then that she'd questioned the wisdom
of that decision, mostly after discovering his unfailing
knack for getting into jackpots of some description, usually
because of his chivalric leanings. That, and his penchant
for inventing things guaranteed to exasperate her. In
retrospect though, she wouldn't have changed anything.
Well, maybe one thing, she corrected herself, gazing
across the room to where Nene was standing. Like SkyKnight,
she had her helmet on and the visor sealed already. Standing
ramrod straight, her body language very pointedly indicated
that she was ignoring him. He was reciprocating by seeming
to ignore her ignoring him. Sylia felt like slapping the
both of them at times over the way they were behaving, and
unclenched her gauntleted hands before she could succumb to
the urge to carry out the thought.
She could understand some of Nene's difficulties in
adjusting to the way Bert had changed since his encounter
with Hollister; she didn't think she'd fully adjusted
herself yet. At the same time, she could see why the tall
red-head had been hurt by her remarks. The problem was that
they were both firmly entrenched in their opinion that it
was the other's fault, and that they weren't going to
apologize first. The result of their combined intractability
was the gulf of silence that stretched between them now. She
hoped they'd be able to bridge that chasm before too much
longer. The team couldn't afford divisions between its
members, not with their foes ready for the slightest
opportunity to exploit.
With a sigh, Sylia picked up her own helmet, shaking
off the gloomy and unwanted thoughts for the moment; they'd
just be a distraction for what they had to do now. The
helmet slid easily over her head, like it had countless
times before, the contacts between the helmet, softsuit and
hardsuit clicking into place. Her viewscreen flashed into
brightly glowing life, proclaiming her suit ready for
action. She stretched for moment, settling her suit into
place a little more comfortably.
"Everybody ready?" she asked rhetorically, unable to
keep a small smile from pulling at her lips at the
enthusiastic responses her query received. Turning, she led
the Knight Sabers forth to battle once again.
****
"I guess they knew you were back from your vacation,
Leon," Daley half-joked, glancing at his partner. "They
decided to give you a party." Beside him, staring fixedly
through a pair of binoculars at several distant blue boomers
as they blew apart storefronts and hastily-abandoned cars,
Leon didn't reply to Daley's remarks as he lowered the
binoculars.
His squad was stationed at the entrance to the street,
and had erected some barricades to shelter behind. They were
setting up some heavy weaponry and getting ready for a
fight. This time, Leon was going to let the boomers come to
him, even though the fighter in him hated the idea. He
didn't have much choice though; there weren't any K-17 units
in the area and he didn't want to lose any more men.
"Well, they're going to be sorry they did, and goddamn
soon," the tall, brown-haired inspector growled. He directed
a steely, blue-eyed gaze of resolve at the approaching
biomechanoids. "I'm going to make sure they get the message
this time." He raised an arm, and his men quickly took up
their positions, loading and readying their weapons.
Intently, Leon watched as the boomers began moving their
destructive rampage towards the entrenched cops, preparing
to give the order to fire.
"CHAAAAAAAAARRRGE!!!!!!"
The somehow cheerful-sounding battlecry split the air,
making all the gathered officers wince in pain at the volume
level. The snarl of powerful jets from above made everyone
duck as something silver flashed by in the night, whipping
up papers and dust with its passage. As the ADP officers
looked up, SkyKnight landed smack in the middle of the crowd
of boomers.
"Oh SHIT!! Everybody, TAKE COVER!!!!!!" Leon bellowed,
as the boomers snarled, all converging on the gleaming
silver figure at the same time.
Instantly, the scene dissolved into a chaotic mˆl‚e of
flailing weapons, laced with the occasional bolt of bluish-
white or red energy, followed by explosions. As the ADP dove
for whatever protection they could find, hissing thrusters
announced the arrival of the rest of the Knight Sabers. Leon
carefully lifted his head far enough to peer over the hood
of his patrol car; as he watched, five more armoured shapes
landed, three of them immediately plunging headlong into the
tangled swarm of combatants.
The white Knight Saber who always seemed to be in
charge hung back, shooting at the biomechanoids on the
fringes of the combat; periodically, a headless boomer
crashed to the pavement, proving the efficacy of her
weapons. The red-pink Knight Saber was also hanging back and
sniping, her shots precisely timed, and damaging the boomers
in critical areas like the optics; what the red-pink suit
lacked in raw firepower, it apparently made up for in
finesse and accuracy. Daley suddenly grabbed his arm, and
pointed into the seething fight.
"Leon! There's six of them now!!"
"What the hell did they do?! Take an ad out in the
paper?!" Leon demanded, squinting into the churning
confusion. White, red-pink, green, blue, silver-blue....and
red-gray. As he watched, the red-gray suit was slugged in
the wind by a boomer and knocked sprawling. As the boomer
sprang savagely at the downed battlesuit, whipping its claws
downwards, a sizzling red-white energy beam from SkyKnight
tore it in half.
As the red-gray hardsuit struggled to regain its feet,
the blue and green suits stepped smoothly in front of their
fallen comrade, deflecting the other boomers who tried to
exploit the momentary advantage. SkyKnight continued to
hammer at the other boomer he was occupied with; it seemed
to be more advanced than the other C-55s, and it was giving
the silver-garbed hardsuit a good fight. He didn't seem to
mind in the slightest.
"Their new recruit isn't doing so great," Daley noted,
as the red-gray suit was flattened again. Leon nodded
silently; obviously the newest Knight Saber wasn't as
proficient at fighting as the rest were.
As he watched the fight, it suddenly struck Leon that
there was something familiar-seeming about the Knight
Sabers' newest recruit. It was impossible, since he'd never
seen anything even like that design before, but he couldn't
shake the feeling he'd seen it somewhere. Shaking off the
vague, disquieting feeling, he turned to his men, who were
also speechlessly watching the fight.
"Okay, everybody listen up!" the tall Inspector barked
over the howl of the glorious-looking brawl that was
unfolding a few metres away. "I know what our standing
orders are supposed to be, but this is what I want done
right now..."
****
"There's a lot of them tonight!" Linna panted over the
comm channel. "They're everywhere!!" Jerking aside from a
scything claw strike, she whipped her mono-streamers through
the offending blue combat machine, slicing it lengthwise
into harmless chunks. Spinning smoothly, she drove her
knuckle-bomber into the back of another boomer, destroying
it instantly.
"They're interfering with each other more than anything
else," SkyKnight replied coolly. "That gives us the edge.
Speaking of edges...." The biomechanoid he was facing let
out an unearthly mechanical howl as he savagely gutted it
with an uppercut, his sword-blade extended. The dead boomer
joined the growing heap of spare parts on the pavement,
spewing orange-brown liquids everywhere.
"Don't get overconfident," Sylia's voice warned
crisply. "It only takes one to kill you."
"Aw, lighten up, Sylia!" Priss's voice replied
cheerfully. "These guys are pushovers!" As if proving her
point, she blew the legs out from under one killer C-55 with
a leg sweep, the impact-blasters on her suit boots doing
most of the work. Dropping under a nearly point-blank plasma
beam shot, she nailed her attacker with a volley of railgun
bolts. Riddled with the long spikes, the dying cyberdroid
collapsed in an oily heap. "Yeah! Take that, you boomer
bastards!!"
As she lined up on another biomechanoid, there was a
crashing report from the direction of the ADP lines, and the
boomer she'd been about to trash flew apart as an explosive
shell tore through its armour carapace. The blue-hardsuited
woman whirled towards the direction the shot had come from.
"HEY!!!" she hollered angrily. "That one was mine, you
assholes! Go find your own!"
"There's plenty to go around," Sylvie reassured her,
firing her arm guns at a dodging C-55. She wasn't doing
quite as well as she'd expected; actual combat was proving
to be more work than she'd anticipated, and she'd already
learned the hard way not to underestimate her opponents. If
her friends weren't around to help....she shivered slightly
at the thought.
"Watch your back!" A crackling red laser bolt
distracted the blue boomer who'd loomed up behind the red-
gray hardsuit for an instant, just long enough for Sylvie to
spin around and end the matter by driving her swordblade
through the boomer's skull.
"Thanks, Nene," she gasped, breathing hard from the
shock of the near miss as she stepped back from the dead
`droid. Another crashing report rang out, and another boomer
died messily on the fringes of the main fight as she did.
"Well, how about that?" SkyKnight remarked as he
casually crushed another rogue C-55 headfirst into the
pavement. "The long arm of the law is actually being
effective tonight!"
"Keep your mind on the job!" Sylia snapped. Her palm-
cannons fired, spitting a hailstorm of red energy beams at
the hulking boomer that had just appeared behind the silver
hardsuit. SkyKnight didn't even look back; as the boomer
staggered backwards from the white hardsuit's shots, he
thrust his right arm back over his shoulder and fired his
particle lasers. The boomer flashed into a spinning storm of
scrap and debris.
"I did know he was back there," SkyKnight commented
mildly, his glowing eyeslot swinging around to regard her.
"But thanks anyway."
"Hey! Come back here, you cowardly pile of shit!!"
Sylia and the silver hardsuit turned in time to see Priss's
blue hardsuit charging off up a side street, after a boomer
which seemed to have exercised the better part of valour,
and was retreating. The two blue forms vanished into the
darkness, propelled by their thrusters.
"Priss!! Come back!!" Sylia shouted over the comm. "We
don't want to get split up!!"
"Relax! This'll only take a second or two!" she shot
back.
"I'll make sure nothing happens to her, boss,"
SkyKnight volunteered. Before the white hardsuit could
answer him, the silver-blue battlesuit shot into the
darkness after them, jets droning sonorously.
"Damn it!!" Sylia swore loudly. "SkyKnight, get...."
"Sylia!! Look out!!" Linna cried, just before a blue C-
55 took advantage of her momentary distraction, and slugged
her in the stomach. Her breath left her lungs in a jarring
whoosh as she hit the pavement, bright lights flaring
briefly in her sight. As she fought to roll over and get up,
the boomer was blasted from behind by a combined salvo of
fire from the remaining Knight Sabers. As the boomer
floundered, momentarily uncertain of which foe to go after,
the white-hardsuited woman rolled to her feet and neatly
bisected it with her arm blades.
"Are you okay?" Nene's voice asked concernedly. The red-
pink suit was there next to her suddenly, giving her an arm
to lean on.
"I'm...fine," Sylia gasped, gratefully accepting the
support nonetheless. "Just...winded." It suddenly dawned on
her that the battlefield had fallen mostly silent. "Any...
any more boomers?" she asked, looking around the
battlefield.
"Nope," Linna answered with a great deal of
satisfaction, surveying the scattered wreckage. "We got `em
all." Behind her, Sylvie was standing hunched over, her
hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Her red-gray
suit was dented and scratched-up a bit, but otherwise
unharmed.
"That was almost too easy," Sylia muttered to herself,
unease trickling through her mind. Her blue-visored helmet
swung towards Nene. "Are we clear, Nene?"
"Nothing else nearby, Sylia," she replied easily.
"We're clear."
****
"GOTCHA!!!" Priss crowed exuberantly, dropping feet-
first onto the fleeing C-55 from behind. The boomer crashed
to the asphalt on its face, skidding to a stop as the blue-
hardsuited woman rode it like a surfboard. As the downed
biomechanoid struggled to rise, she fired a railgun spike
through the back of its skull casing, stilling it.
"Having fun yet?" SkyKnight asked dryly, swooping up
next to her and landing with a slightly ponderous-sounding
clank.
"You'd better believe it!" she told him as she
clambered off the dead biomechanoid. Judging from the tone
of her voice, she was grinning from ear to ear. "It's great
to be back in action; I haven't had this much fun in ages."
"Well, gee, thanks a lot!" he replied in a wounded
tone, grinning inside his helmet.
"You know what I mean, you smartass!" she retorted with
a laugh, elbowing him in the ribs. "Admit it; you enjoyed it
too, didn't you? The fighting, I mean," she added warningly.
Bert smirked to himself, and changed what he'd been going to
reply.
"I guess I did," he admitted, then frowned to himself.
"It seemed awfully easy, though," he noted. "Those boomers
weren't nearly as tough as the last time."
"You worry too much," she told him. "Come on, let's get
back to the others before Sylia has a fit."
"No arguments from me on that score," SkyKnight
chuckled, turning slightly to wave in the direction their
friends were. "Well, ladies first and all that...."
The harsh scream of a crackling, greenish-white
particle beam cut short his speech as it slammed square into
his torso, hurling him backwards to smash into the concrete
side of a building. SkyKnight didn't touch the ground
between the point where he'd been standing, and when his
faceplate hit the pavement after being shot and bounced off
the wall. After a moment, the silver battlesuit groggily
started moving, trying to get up.
"BERT!!" Priss started to run towards him, forgetting
about everything else momentarily in her concern. The
whining crackle of more particle bolts burning past brought
her up short. Dodging, she spun towards the source of the
offensive fire, charging her own weapons.
Her stomach seemed to drop as she saw about twenty
wickedly-fast C-55 combat boomers charging towards them. A
few of the killer machines spat some more searing,
incandescent green beams at her as they drew closer, coming
uncomfortably close to hitting her as she ducked. Belatedly,
she realized that these boomers were the uprated C-55 types,
the C-55Es that she'd heard about.
"Sylia!! Come in!! Sylia?! We could use a hand here!"
she radioed, blasting away with her laser cannon and
railgun. The boomers almost contemptuously dodged her fire,
and she realized that this fight wasn't going to go quite as
easily as the last one had. Twenty boomers was just too many
for her to handle by herself. She briefly prayed that no red
boomers, the really heavy-duty combat ones, would show up as
well.
"Shit," she muttered, casting a quick glance backwards;
SkyKnight was still getting to his feet, stunned by the
unexpected shot. Well, you always wanted to go out fighting,
her mind pointed out. It looked like she was going to get
her chance. Shouting her own war cry, Priss leaped forwards
to the attack, blasting away, hoping to buy SkyKnight enough
time to recover.
The blue hardsuit disappeared under the wave of
snarling boomers, as the sounds of heavy impacts and energy
beams exploded through the street.
****
Bert woozily shook his head as his breath returned and
the ringing in his ears subsided. Damn, but that shot had
hurt! More because he hadn't been expecting it than anything
else. It hadn't breached his armour, but being knocked
backwards into the unyielding wall behind him, and then
falling on his face had a good deal to do with why he'd been
shaken up by it.
His helmeted head jerked up as explosions piercing the
air, just in time to see Priss get swarmed by a horde of
snarling C-55E boomers. An icy clarity dropped across his
mind as he struggled to his feet, drawing upon some hidden
reserve and forcing himself to remain steady.
For a minute, it looked like everything was going well;
one boomer was down on the pavement, its biomechanical guts
spread all over the pavement, and Priss was liberally hosing
down the other blue machines with laser fire. Her fire was
not very effective, though; because there were so many
boomers, she couldn't concentrate on any one long enough to
be able to down it.
As SkyKnight watched, still trying to pull himself
together, she was suddenly double-teamed by a pair of
boomers who sprang from between their cohorts. The blue
hardsuit was simultaneously hit in the head and the small of
her back by the boomer strikes. With a strangled scream,
Priss dropped to the pavement, only to get hauled up by
another boomer and held immobile by an armoured arm around
her neck. Two other boomers seized her arms, and a third one
stepped around to in front of her, drawing back its arm for
a lethal strike as its claws popped out. The helpless Knight
Saber struggled feebly against her assailants, still dazed
and unable to prevent what was coming as the boomer's arm
speared forwards, centering on her chest.
SkyKnight shot forwards, his flight system screaming as
he raced the boomer's thrusting arm, time seeming to
suddenly slow down to a crawl. Correctly interpreting his
intent, several boomers sprang forwards to delay him,
slashing with claws and firing particle beams. Twin snap-
hisses cracked through the air, as huge, glowing blue arcs
were carved through the space in front of the charging
silver battlesuit; two boomers dropped in their tracks, rent
asunder by the sizzling plasma blades extending from his
hardsuit arms, and the rest retreated out of reach.
Just as the boomer's arm was a hairsbreadth away from
forever ending Priss's career, SkyKnight reached the
embattled woman and whipped his lightsaber blade through the
boomer's arm, severing it at the elbow. The momentum of the
boomer's strike carried its clawed hand onwards, striking
Priss's hardsuit in the chest, pointed blades first. The arm
fragment flipped up and struck her helmet faceplate as the
blades scratched twin shallow gashes across her breastplate
armour.
The severed arm dropped uselessly to the pavement as
the silver Knight Saber whirled towards the boomer that had
just attempted to kill his comrade; it was extremely risky
using his energy blades this close to her, but he had no
choice, not if he wanted to save her. The one-armed boomer
started to draw back further, snarling in thwarted fury, but
a downward slash from SkyKnight's other lightsaber blade
bisected it diagonally across the torso, dropping the
renegade boomer in its tracks.
The blue energy blades snuffing out, the silver Knight
Saber spun back towards his captive teammate, launching a
blistering punch apparently at her head. Priss gave a
strangled shout, and jerked aside, or tried to; with all the
boomers holding her, her movement was drastically curtailed.
SkyKnight's arm whistled past her head, over her shoulder;
she heard a loud mechanical snap-clang noise, closely
followed by the solid `thunk' of an impact of some kind.
Almost instantly, the armoured arm around her neck loosened
and fell away.
SkyKnight tore loose his extended swordblade from the
head of the boomer that had been slowly choking Priss from
behind, using the momentum to backhand the boomer on her
left that was still holding her arm. The boomer ducked and
released her, springing away as Priss ripped her other arm
free.
"Hey!! What the hell...?!?! OOOF!!!" was all Priss was
able to get out before the silver hardsuit grabbed her
armoured form around the waist, and then catapulted into the
air in a parabolic trajectory that carried them clear of the
murderous pack of biomechanoids. At exactly the same time,
several boomers recovered from his charge enough to try and
kill them. Claws and energy beams sliced the air just scant
inches beneath the two hardsuits as they shot upwards.
"You....you jackass!!" she wheezed as he dropped her to
the pavement, then spun towards the boomers and braced
himself to receive the brunt of their next attack. "You
could have at least warned me what the hell you were going
to do!!"
"No time," Bert's modulated voice replied laconically,
sounding eerily calm. "Had to get you clear of the pack;
quickest way." The fifteen or so boomers remaining began to
spread out in a skirmish line as they advanced menacingly
towards the two Knight Sabers.
"Well, thanks anyway," Priss said quietly, reaching out
and touching his shoulder, even though he couldn't feel it
through the suit. "I owe you one."
"I'll collect later," he replied whimsically, risking a
quick glance back at her. "Right after I finish cleaning up
the garbage."
"Oh, riiiiiight," she snorted derisively. "Not even you
can handle fifteen-to-one odds, Mr. Invincible `Heroic-is-my-
middle name' Knight!"
"Never tell me the odds," SkyKnight admonished her
cheerfully. "I like gambling once in a while."
"Besides," she added, a rising whine coming from her
laser cannon as she began targeting the C-55Es, "I want my
share of the action, so don't bother trying to hog all the
fun."
****
"I'm sorry, but orders are orders," Leon called across
the hood of his patrol car.
"Well, we're not surrendering," the white-suited Knight
Saber replied flatly. She was standing ramrod-straight as
she faced him, separated by a twenty-foot stretch of open
pavement. Behind her, the remaining multicoloured hardsuits
were standing tensely, waiting to see what would happen.
"Now if you'll excuse us, we have got work to do."
"And I've got mine to do as well," Leon replied
levelly. The white hardsuit nodded, as if in understanding,
and made a hand gesture to the rest of the hardsuited
vigilante group. They started slowly backing away from the
gathered cops, alert for any sign of aggression. Sighing
internally, Leon started to give the order to fire,
intending to try disabling the Knight Sabers, when the
squeal of the dispatcher's frantic voice erupting from the
radio cut him off.
"Unit 12!!! Come in Unit 12!!!! Reports of a massive
boomer firefight approximately twenty blocks east of your
location!!! Two battlesuits are reported already on-scene,
and they're reportedly engaged with about ten C-55 boomers!!
Please respond, over!!!"
"Shit!" Leon snarled, forgetting about the armoured
women, and diving for the radio microphone inside his patrol
car. As he lunged inside the cruiser, grabbing for the mike,
four furious blasts of hissing sound announced that the
Knight Sabers were already on their way.
****
"Well," Bert panted hoarsely, sweat trickling down his
face inside his helmet as his eyes raked the displays. "At
least we're down to ten boomers." Around him, the blue ring
of biomechanical killers tightened a bit.
"That's still five-to-one odds," Priss retorted, warily
watching the boomers as well, her breathing every bit as
laborious as his. She and SkyKnight were standing back-to-
back, encircled by the remaining C-55E boomers. They'd
fought off the killers several times, managing to disable
some of them, but it hadn't been easy. The noose was slowly
tightening now, and she knew it was only going to be a
matter of time before they got hit more seriously than they
already had been. "You okay?"
"Fine; just a scratch," SkyKnight replied, ignoring the
cold feeling that slid through his innards whenever he
thought about the gash through his neck armour, the thinnest
armouring on his entire suit. It had bled slightly, but not
seriously. Another inch or so over to the right, however
.... "What about you?"
"I'll live; I've had cracked ribs before."
"No reply on the comms?"
"If yours won't get through the jamming, I doubt mine
will," she replied tightly, flexing her gauntleted hands,
wishing she could stop sweating.
"It was worth a try."
The boomers stopped their circling motion, and the
cornered Knight Sabers tensed, getting ready to sell
themselves dearly; the fight had been anything but a picnic,
a fact that the shattered buildings around them gave mute
testimony to. Everywhere was littered with splintered glass,
riven brickwork and masonry, and smoking asphalt. The two
hardsuits were also scorched and gouged, as were a few of
the boomers.
"That tears it," Priss inhaled sharply, as all ten
boomers popped open their chest cavities, revealing
complicated-looking emitter arrays. "We can't dodge ten damn
heat rays all at once." A fatalistic resignation seemed to
settle over her, as she realized that this was the end. She
opened her mouth to try and say something before it was too
late, but ...
"SHIT!!!!!!!!!! GET THE HELL DOWN!!!" SkyKnight barked
sharply. Before Priss even knew what was going on, Bert
tackled her at the waist, sending them both crashing to the
pavement. Her abused ribs complained strenuously as her much
heavier, armoured compatriot landed on top of her, driving
her air from her lungs.
Just as the air lit up with an evilly crackling, bright
blue-white coronal discharge.
"Electrical generators," SkyKnight gritted hoarsely,
shaking violently and clamping an unbreakable grip onto her.
Priss abruptly remembered how he and electricity got along
together, just as he told her, "HANG ON!!!"
With a sudden brutal slam of accelerative forces,
SkyKnight's jet turbines shrieked, propelling the two
hardsuits in a sparking, scraping slide across the pavement.
There was a secondary jolt as they knocked a hole through
the ring of boomers like an armoured bowling ball striking
tenpins, but they managed to get clear of the biomechanoid
formation.
The world rocked and tumbled crazily as they rolled and
slid to a stop several metres away from the boomers. As
Priss unsteadily forced herself to her feet, she noted that
the boomers had fried two of their number with the
electrical cross-fire; two smoking blue shapes were down on
the pavement, unmoving.
"Go on, run damnit!" her silver-armoured comrade
snapped, shoving her back as he stepped in front of her, his
red-lit gaze solidly on the boomers as they turned towards
them. His right-hand lightsaber handgrip snapped into his
gauntlet as he pushed at her. "Go and get Sylia; I'll handle
this! GO, godammnit!!"
"Like hell I will, you jackass!!" she snapped back,
slapping his hand away. "I'm not leaving you here by
yourself to get electrocuted!! You don't react well to
electricity, remember?! I'm not leaving!!" To punctuate her
statement, she fired a salvo of particle-laser bolts at the
boomers. Immediately, writhing bolts of blue energy flashed
back at the two Knight Sabers.
"MOVE!!" A jarring shock shook Priss as SkyKnight
roughly shoved her out of the way and onto the pavement,
ducking and weaving himself, trying to avoid being hit. An
electrical snap-hiss briefly overrode the noise of the other
weapons fire, as SkyKnight whipped a blazing blue-white
energy blade over, trying to deflect some of the energy
streams he knew were going to hit him.
The air abruptly became very hot, as liquid agony
wrapped around him with a crackling noise. He jerked and
spasmed uncontrollably as some of the current leaked through
the dampers in his suit, burning into him. With an effort,
Bert kept the surging tide of torture memories suppressed,
clenching his teeth together with the strain of trying to
prevent a relapse. His suit viewscreen flickered wildly, and
for a moment his hardsuit teetered on the brink of a total
shutdown from the EMP effect the electrical bolts were
having on him. His various system safeguards were working,
but only just.
As abruptly as it had begun, the ordeal ended. Shaking
his head and blinking, trying to clear his hazy mind,
SkyKnight weaved a little on his feet, watching the boomers.
They weren't advancing any closer, but they weren't
retreating either.
"Priss, now's your chance; get going before they fire
again."
"What part of `I'm not leaving you' didn't you
understand?!" she asked angrily, rolling back to her feet.
The flat thundercrack of her railgun echoed through the
night as she shot back at their assailants. The boomers
dodged her fire, and obligingly replied with a mixed volley
of particle and electrical beams.
SkyKnight whipped up both lightsabers this time,
stepping over and trying to shield Priss; he was only
partially successful, as the backwash from the electrical
blasts hitting him caught her in the fringes. As he
convulsed himself, caught between searing pain and burning
flashbacks, he heard her scream in agony. There was a loud
clang behind him, and when he glanced back as the assault
momentarily ceased, he could see her blue-hardsuited body
laying on the pavement, jerking spasmodically.
"Priss?! PRISS!!" An icy chill of fear washing through
him, Bert dropped to his knees next to her, cradling her
shoulders with one arm, ignoring the boomers and the
immediate dangers they presented. If she was badly hurt...
"G-g-god d-damn, that hurt," he heard faintly.
"I'm....okay. Know what you went through now, I guess...."
"Brace yourself," he warned her, resolve suddenly
crystallizing in his mind. With a swift movement, he hoisted
her up from the pavement, looping her left arm around his
neck. "We're getting out of here before those bastards kill
us."
The boomers were of a different opinion; as SkyKnight
straightened up with his injured comrade, they charged the
battered Knight Sabers, spitting particle beams in a green-
lit storm of energy.
"You asked for it, you biomechanical junkheaps!!" the
silver-garbed battlesuit snarled. His left arm snapped up as
energy crackled ominously in the apertures of his beam
cannons; a split second later, a shaft of bright white light
wreathed in red flames stabbed at the attacking
biomechanoids. The blast of annihilation lanced into the
boomers, striking two of them. One C-55E was struck squarely
in the torso, and dissolved into spinning armour shards and
superheated nutrient fluids; the second boomer lost an arm
at the shoulder. Instantly, the remaining boomers veered
aside, dodging and leaping as two more crackling blasts tore
through the air after them, missing completely.
"Why....why the hell didn't you do that sooner?!" Priss
asked. Her voice was getting stronger, a pretty good
indication that she was getting over the jolt of electricity
she'd taken.
"Because I didn't have the juice earlier." Bert lashed
out with a few more particle-laser shots, keeping the
boomers agitated. "I can explain in detail later if you
want, but my suit batteries absorbed some of the
electricity." He kept slowly backing them away from the
boomers, trying to get enough space to be able to take off
without fear of being seized or shot down.
Priss didn't reply, but raised her own gun arm,
shooting at some of the boomers that were trying to flank
them. The blue combat machines easily dodged, and kept
advancing, splitting into two small groups, trying to spread
out and surround the hardsuits. She noted that they weren't
firing quite as often as they had previously.
"Hey, I think maybe they're running out of gas," she
noted. "They're slowing down."
"They're drawing it out," he replied grimly, his helmet
swiveling to look at the boomers. "They think they've got
us; that's why they aren't hurrying." With terrifying
abruptness, all seven of the remaining boomers leaped at the
isolated hardsuits, roaring triumphantly as their claws
snapped into extension.
Multiple energy beams speared through the air, angling
downwards from above. The boomers were caught by surprise as
a battle formation of three hardsuits swept through their
midst, raking them with weapons fire; a red-pink hardsuit
continued sniping from a nearby rooftop. Recovering rapidly
from the surprise of having their teammates arrive,
SkyKnight and Priss opened fire from where they were
positioned, both being too tired and sore to charge
headfirst back into the fight.
The fight turned into a mop-up action after that.
****
"Tell me again," Sylia directed, an intense frown of
concentration on her face. "All of it, and don't leave
anything out."
"I didn't leave anything out the last time," Bert
protested, wincing as the old doctor standing next to him
carefully applied a bandage to the shallow cut on the left
side of his neck. "Couldn't this wait until tomorrow?! I'm
bushed, Sylia!" At her raised eyebrow and level look, he
sighed deeply, and again told her everything that had
happened, from the time he'd taken off after Priss, to the
instant when she'd come charging in with the rest of the
team to save his and Priss's necks. She stood quietly as he
finished, arms folded with one hand on her chin
thoughtfully.
"Somebody was directing those boomers," she finally
decided. "The coincidence is just too perfect. They saw two
of us becoming isolated, and then ambushed you. That means
somebody was watching and waiting for just such an
opportunity."
"And to win the grand prize, just answer this skill-
testing question!" Bert remarked sourly. "It's not hard to
figure out; that operation had GENOM written all over it."
Sylia nodded wordlessly, watching as her uncle finished
taping down the bandage on the red-headed young man's neck.
The old physician glanced briefly at her as he stepped back
from his patient, nodding reassuringly. She relaxed
slightly, relieved.
"Are you all right?" she asked quietly. "You mentioned
that those boomers used electrical weapons." She remembered
the brief flash of anxiety she'd felt over that news, but it
had proved to be a pointless worry; he'd obviously
maintained control of himself.
"I'm fine. How many times do you want me to repeat
myself?!" he demanded crankily. "I told you that I'd built
some surge protection circuits and storage batteries into my
suit just in case I got zapped like that. They worked fine,
and it gave me a bit more power to play around with. Some of
the current did get through to me, but I held on."
"I was concerned about you," she replied mildly.
"There's no need to snap at me."
"I'm sorry." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with
his fingers, closing his eyes and sighing. "I'm just tired."
Sylia nodded, sympathy evident in her eyes as a brief
silence fell. It didn't last long, as a pained exclamation
volleyed from the adjoining room..
"YEEEEEOW!!!"
"Well I told you to hold still, Priss!!" Anri's voice
said crossly. "I can't do this if you don't stop fidgeting!!
Now hold still, or I'll sedate you!"
"That tone of voice sounds familiar," Sylia remarked
dryly as she glanced at her uncle, a smile carefully
concealed. Bert chuckled quietly to himself, imagining the
scene in the next room.
"She's an apt pupil," the old man replied blandly. "She
picked up on how to handle problem patients with remarkable
quickness. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go check on
my assistant."
"I think I'll get going as well," Bert yawned as the
old medico stepped into the next room. "I need some shuteye,
or I'm going to collapse."
"Not just yet," Sylia demurred. "There's still a couple
things we have to discuss...."
****
"The final field test was a complete success," Madigan
informed Quincy. A coldly pleased smile crawled across his
craggy features.
"You believe they are ready?" he queried. She nodded
confidently. "Then proceed," he ordered. "We have delayed
this particular operation long enough."
"At once, sir," she replied crisply. Madigan turned to
go, then hesitated.
"You had a question?" the old man rumbled.
"Yes, sir," she nodded. "What were we going to do about
the sixth one?"
"For now, nothing," he replied calmly. "All things in
due time, Madigan."
****
"Great, just grrrrreat," Bert muttered to himself,
looking briefly at the list in his hand as he made his way
back to his basement apartment. The list detailed which of
his suggested hardsuit improvements Sylia had approved. The
catch was that she wanted it done in the next week, and
right now, he didn't want to think about anything even
remotely resembling work.
"Me and my bright ideas," he grumbled again, stuffing
the list into a pocket. "All in the name of progress." He
snorted to himself. "So much for technology improving one's
lifestyle."
"Do you always talk to yourself?" Priss's voice asked
from the darkness of a stairwell.
"It's the only way to get intelligent answers," he
replied promptly, unable to keep a smile from appearing as
he turned towards where her voice had come from. "What are
you doing here?" The attractive singer moved into the dimly-
lit hallway, her motorcycle jacket tucked under one arm. She
looked tired and rumpled; her blouse was a bit wrinkled and
open at the throat, and there were some dark smudges under
her eyes that hadn't been there earlier in the evening. Her
long brown hair was hanging limply around her shoulders, and
her red-brown eyes were without their usual energetic
sparkle
"Despite what I told Sylia, I really don't feel up to
driving home tonight," she told him. "I'm too tired and sore
to sit on a motorbike right now, so I doubled back and snuck
in after the others left. My bike is next to yours at the
back of the garage, and they're both covered with a tarp, so
don't worry; no one saw me come down here."
"I'm not complaining, believe me," he smiled at her,
then gestured towards the door to his apartment, a few more
metres down the corridor. They walked side by side down the
hallway in companionable silence, Bert unlocking the door as
they reached it.
"Oh my God, I'm beat," Priss groaned, limping through
the open entrance to the room, utterly exhausted. Feet
dragging, she dropped her jacket on a chair by the door,
then shambled over to the couch and flopped lengthwise on
it.
And then rolled off onto the floor on her hands and
knees, clutching at her cracked and bruised ribs, gasping in
pain; she was so worn-out, she'd almost forgotten about the
fact that she'd been nailed there a couple of times. Even
though Anri had taped them up very securely, they were still
very tender, and the painkillers were wearing off already.
"No griping," Bert admonished, grinning wearily as he
closed the door behind himself. "You were the one who said
it'd be fun, so to borrow a quote, `YOU asked for it!!' "
With a sigh, he carefully eased off his jacket, wincing at
the aches and strains he was feeling; he hadn't had to exert
himself that completely in quite a while, and it was giving
him an inadvertent anatomy lesson, as he discovered muscles
he hadn't realized he had.
"I didn't ask for smartass remarks," she noted tartly,
carefully standing up. She glared at him as he walked over
to her. "So just knock it off, right now."
"Whatever you say," he agreed easily. "I'm too tired to
argue. Besides, you get irritable when you're injured, and
I'd rather not aggravate that condition."
"I'm irritable?! I'M IRRITABLE?!?! Why you....!" her
voice cut off as Bert gathered her up in a hug, firmly
kissing her at the same time. Despite the pleasant
sensations of the kiss, she made a pained noise of protest;
Bert quickly eased off on the hug, letting his arms slide
down to around her waist. She relaxed her stiffened posture
in relief, and kissed him back, putting her arms around his
neck. She quickly dropped them when she felt him wince,
belatedly remembering he'd taken a neck injury. After a
moment they parted, still holding each other carefully.
"I'm glad you're okay," he told her. "I don't know what
I'd have done if you'd been badly hurt."
"I'm glad you're okay too," she replied, smiling
warmly. A sudden yawn seized her, spoiling the moment with
reality as sleep threatened to take her right then and
there. Bert smiled, and quickly kissed her lightly again.
"You can have the bedroom," he said quietly. "I'll
crash on the couch."
"What for?" she asked, looking at him strangely.
"Because I toss a lot in my sleep," he said simply. "I
don't want to accidentally hit you in the ribs." Priss
sighed disgustedly.
"You worry too damn much," she told him flatly. "I
don't particularly want to be alone, thank you; after what
nearly happened tonight, I could use the company, so just
get your ass in there."
"If you insist," he replied, straight-faced.
"I do insist," she mock-growled, then yawned again.
"Let's go before I pass out on the carpet." Weaving
unsteadily, she led the way to the bedroom, sleep beckoning
her onwards.
THE NEXT DAY......
Consciousness slowly trickled through the murky haze of
sleep shrouding his mind, pushing it back. Bert grudgingly
cracked open his eyelids, squinting at the cheerily glowing
clock across the room on the dresser: 6:43 A.M.
Sighing disgustedly, he closed his eyes again, throwing
an arm across them, and tried to go back to sleep. No such
luck; now that consciousness had returned, it wasn't letting
him sleep in. Like a merciless taskmaster, it was reminding
him that he had a lot of things to do today. Like it or not,
he was going to have to get up.
As he lay there, mentally railing against his
intractable conscience, he both heard and sensed the woman
in bed next to him shift a bit. Priss was still sound
asleep, a combination of her usual habit of sleeping in
until just before lunchtime, and the painkiller she'd taken
before going to bed. She likely wouldn't wake up right now
if a bomb went off, and she'd probably be very cranky if she
was roused from her slumber. Bert wisely decided against
disturbing her; at the moment, it would probably have an
effect similar to dropping a bottle of nitroglycerin.
Moving very slowly, he carefully eased himself out of
the bed, stifling several curses as his stiff joints and
muscles complained at the movement. The price for
recreational brawling last night, he reflected wryly. He
must be getting old; the stiffness and minor aches never
really bugged him all that much before.
Moving silently through the darkened room, he located
the dresser, and quietly pulled out an old, clean tracksuit
and donned it. For everything he was going to be doing
today, it was best to dress as comfortably as possible. He
quietly padded over to the bedroom door, and carefully
opened it, slipping through and closing it behind him.
Once in his kitchen/living room area, it took him a few
more minutes to put together a makeshift breakfast for
himself; since it was just himself, there was no point in
fixing up a lot of food. A pile of toast and cheese silenced
his rumbling stomach, and a reheated cup of old coffee
jolted him fully awake. Thus reinforced, he left the
apartment after pausing long enough to grab Sylia's work
list from the coffee table.
****
"No more!!! Please, no more!!!!!!" pleaded the helpless
black-haired man as he writhed tormentedly on the metal
table he was secured to. "For God's sake, stop it!!!"
"Then tell me what I want to know," Madigan replied
coldly into the microphone that projected her distorted
voice into the room where the prisoner was. The vision panel
that allowed her to see into the DPS chamber was two-way
mirrored glass, ensuring that nobody ever knew who was
questioning them. "Who hired those mercenaries?"
"I....I can't tell you that!!" Stryker whined,
squirming frantically, caught between terror of more
interrogation, and what appeared to be fear of whoever this
mysterious employer was. "He'll...he'll kill me if I
talk!!!"
"And we'll kill you if you don't," the lavender-haired
exec returned dispassionately, nodding to the DPS technician
at the control panel. In response to the tech's tabbing of a
switch, the hum from the probe over Stryker's head
increased, and the black-haired man began screaming again as
his mind was sifted by the machine, remorselessly amplifying
his worst fears and nightmares.
Madigan watched emotionlessly as the helpless fixer
howled in pain, unable to escape. Inwardly, she was chafing
at the delay in extracting the information she wanted from
this petty criminal. Normally, she'd have had the wanted
data within hours of acquiring the subject, but since they
wanted to use Stryker, they had to treat him with a little
more care; it wouldn't do to turn their eventual pawn into a
drooling vegetable.
"I'LL TAAAAAAALLKK!!!" he managed to shriek suddenly.
"JUST STOP IT!!!! P-PLEASE, STOOOOOP!!!" At Madigan's nod,
the technician stopped the scanner, and Stryker collapsed
sobbing in relief, laying limply on the table.
"You have ten seconds," Madigan informed him icily.
"Who hired you?"
"Some guy I met a couple of years ago," Stryker gulped.
"He..."
"His name. NOW," she cut the blubbering thug off
flatly.
"His n-name is Ethan H-Hollister," he quavered, sucking
in huge gasps of air as he tried to pull himself together.
If anyone from Hollister's crew ever found out that he'd
talked ....
"WHAT?!" Madigan jerked sharply, caught by surprise as
her grip on the microphone turned white-knuckled. "What did
you say?!?!"
****
Sylia sighed to herself as she sat down at the computer
console, her practiced glance flickering across the myriad
banks of monitors and readout displays. The main viewscreens
were dark, since she hadn't logged on yet and activated the
main computer functions. The secondary displays flickered
brightly, as constant streams of data from the tangled web
of electrons comprising the communications and computer
networks flung across MegaTokyo and beyond were quietly
monitored. From this central location it was possible to get
information from almost anywhere in the world.
She wasn't hunting today, though; pulling a `floptical'
disk from her pocket, she inserted it into a console slot,
and logged onto the computer. It acknowledged her, and then
started downloading the disk's data for analysis.
Sylia sat back in her chair, allowing herself the brief
luxury of a stretch. It was nice to be able to devote more
of her time to research and the like again; hiring Sylvie to
help run the store had paid immediate dividends in freeing
up some of her time, and easing the stress she'd been under.
At times she'd felt like she was beginning to burn out
trying to run both the Knight Sabers and her cover business
single-handedly.
The computer beeped softly to get her attention. She
reached out and tabbed a few keys, activating the desired
program. As the analysis program came up, she took a quick
sip of the steaming cup of coffee she'd set nearby, in a
place where it wouldn't get accidentally knocked into the
keyboard. Settling more comfortably into her chair, she
started carefully scanning through the data files, her brown
eyes turning intent.
Images began to flash across the screen, mostly of blue
type C-55 boomers, with the occasional glimpse of a
hardsuit. Statistics scrolled by in a steady stream as the
images rolled by; power consumption, sensor inputs, ranging
information and the like. Sylia attentively watched the
flight recorder log play itself out, occasionally making a
note of something. The first file finally finished, and the
program briefly paused before printing an analysis of the
suit wearer's performance on the screen.
The time passed unnoticed as she carefully sifted
through the recorder data from each hardsuit, alert for any
possible way that their performance might be tuned up. It
was a routine procedure, but an important one; the lives of
her friends, not to mention her own life, depended on
optimal performance of the suits, especially now that GENOM
appeared to have raised the level in the hardware war. Sylia
paused briefly, reaching over and picking up her coffee cup.
The liquid within it was still warm enough to be drinkable,
so she finished it off and set the cup down out of the way.
It was as she turned back to the monitor that she
caught the tail end of a readout flashing by on the screen.
Frowning slightly, she halted the playback and played it
backwards, searching for the image she thought she'd seen.
After a couple of seconds, the data in question came back
into view.
Sylia stared disbelievingly at her screen for a few
seconds, almost as if willing it to change, but it didn't.
She sat back in her chair, her mind whirling in churning
disarray as she tried to make sense of what the computer was
showing. After a moment, her expression settled into grim
determination as she stood up from her chair, and strode
from the computer room.
****
Sighing wearily, Bert pushed open the door to his
apartment and staggered through, letting it swing closed
behind him. Swiping a grimy sleeve across his sweaty
forehead, he yawned hugely, and started to stagger across
the room towards the doorway to the bathroom.
"Well, hello to you too," came a grumpy voice from the
couch. "It's about time you decided to come back."
"Oh, hi," he replied tiredly, veering over to the couch
and leaning on the back of it. "Sorry, didn't see you
there."
"I'd noticed," Priss replied dryly. She was laying on
the couch, with a couple of pillows tucked behind her head,
and a small comforter wrapped around herself. Nearby on the
coffee table sat a half-full water glass, and a bottle of
painkillers. "What were you so busy at that you were out
all day?"
"What else?" Bert grinned, spreading his hands as he
shrugged. "Sylia gave me a list of things that I could do
to the suits, and I was working at that, in addition to
fixing up the damage from last night. Speaking of last
night, how are you?"
"Sore. Very, VERY sore," Priss winced, shifting
uncomfortably. "My ribs are killing me, and I think my back
and neck are out from getting slugged by those two boomers;
I've had back and headaches all day, and I think I've almost
depleted your store of medication."
"You're sure you don't want to ...."
"We're not calling that doctor again," she growled
before he could finish the sentence, her eyes flashing
sparks. "Or Anri either, for that matter. They've both
already checked me over and said there weren't any other
injuries, so just forget it. I've had it with being poked
and prodded for now, okay?!"
"Okay, okay," he soothed. "I was just checking. I'm
concerned, that's all."
"Well, thanks for the concern," she told him, letting
her head drop back into the pillows. "I think I need sleep
right now more than anything, though."
"I know you don't really want to think about this right
now," he spoke up as she closed her eyes. "But how are we
going to cover the fact that you're not at home at the
moment?"
"Tomorrow I should be up to riding my bike," she
mumbled drowsily in reply. "I'll take it back to my place,
and then I can hole up there for a couple of days. If
anyone asks, I'll just say I wasn't answering the phone.
Easy."
"If you say so," he answered dubiously; personally, he
didn't think she'd be up to motorcycle riding for at least
another couple of days. She reached up and gently patted
his cheek, opening her eyes long enough to smirk crookedly
at him.
"You worry too much," she told him. "Trust me."
"That's not reassuring," he muttered sourly as he
turned and made his way to the bathroom, suddenly wanting
nothing more right now than a hot bath. Priss grinned
briefly to herself, then dropped off to sleep again.
THE NEXT DAY .....
A red, white and blue-striped motorcycle carefully
maneuvered through the dingy streets of the older downtown
tenement section of MegaTokyo. The bike was a sleek machine
engineered for speed, judging by its appearance, but it was
being driven very slowly. The rider was a woman, her figure
revealed by the form-fitting red biking leathers she was
wearing. Her long brown hair was streaming gently from
under her helmet, and she was hunched over on the
handlebars, evidently in great discomfort. Periodically, the
bike wobbled unsteadily.
Priss gritted her teeth inside her helmet, blinking her
eyes against the sweat that was streaming down her brow as
she tried to hang onto her flagging strength. Her cracked
ribs ached and burned incessantly, aggravated by the
exertion of riding the motorbike, and she resisted
collapsing across the bike's gas tank only with immense
effort. She swore under her breath at the now-deceased
boomer who'd nailed her there; only a few more blocks, that
was all she needed to hang on for.
The `few more blocks' seemed to lengthen into several
very long miles, but she held on grimly; eventually her bike
broke free of the maze of buildings to emerge into a
relatively open area near the Canyons. Sighing in relief,
Priss pulled her bike to a halt in front of the battered-
looking trailer she called home. As the engine fell silent,
she finally allowed herself to slump over, clutching at her
abused ribs.
As she painfully pulled off her helmet, gasping for
air, the rumble of a second, heavier motorcycle engine
emerged from the streets behind her, and roared over to
where she was parked. She turned slightly, watching the
dark blue motorcycle that had been shadowing her pull to a
stop next to her. The rider of the second bike, a tall man
wearing dark blue clothing, pulled off his mirror-visored
helmet, revealing angrily glinting greenish-brown eyes and
sweaty red hair.
"That is the absolute last time I listen to you about
what kind of shape you're in," Bert told her flatly,
slamming his helmet onto the gas tank of his bike, and
stripping off his gloves. "I told you that you weren't up
to this!"
"I'm fine, damnit," she retorted irritably, swiping a
leather sleeve across her sweat-streaming forehead; it
didn't really help much. "I'm just winded."
"Bullshit!" he snapped. "If you're fine, then let's
see you sit up." He folded his arms across his chest and
waited as she tried to sit up on her bike seat. She slumped
back after getting maybe three-quarters of the way back
upright, unable to keep from sucking in her breath sharply
as pain stabbed her side.
"I rest my case," he muttered, swinging his leg over
his bike as he dismounted. "Come on, let's get you inside;
at least then it won't look as undignified if you collapse."
"I'm ... not ... going to collapse!" she gritted. "I
don't need help!!" She didn't try to shove him away as he
stepped around to the side of her bike however, and
gratefully used his shoulder to lean on as she stepped off
of her own cycle. "Thanks," she grumbled after a moment.
"You're welcome," he replied dryly, sighing as he
helped her up the stairs to the trailer door.
****
"Leon, I thought time off was supposed to improve
someone's mood?" Daley observed. "You've been cranky all
morning, and you've only been back for a few days. Need
some help relaxing?"
"I am relaxed," Leon snapped, pitching the file folder
he'd been paging through onto his desk and rubbing his eyes.
"I'm just not having any luck getting some information I
need, that's all." Why did Nene have to have the day off
today?! he fumed silently. If anyone could have gotten him
the information he'd been after, she could have.
"What's the project?" Daley asked curiously, looking at
the file folder.
"It's nothing, just some minor investigations I've been
conducting in my free time," Leon tried dismissing the
matter with a wave of his hand, leaning back in his chair
and propping his feet on his desk. Daley shook his head.
"You get three weeks of vacation time, and you spend it
working?! You need to get out more, Leon."
The tall, brown-haired inspector didn't reply to
Daley's comment, but sat staring broodingly into space. He
knew he really should quit worrying over this particular
case, but it had been nagging at him for a long time now.
Perverse stubbornness wouldn't let him just drop it, and it
had been consuming most of his off-duty time, including all
his vacation time. So far, the Chief's admonition to not
spend department time on it was holding.
Aggravating his foul mood was the fact that he hadn't
been able to get Priss off his mind all week. Ever since
the night of her last concert, when he'd discovered that
she'd already left with some other guy, he'd been trying to
shrug it off and say it didn't matter. It kept preying on
the back of his mind, however; it did matter to him.
He'd been attracted to Priss for quite some time, and
he was positive she was aware of it. Despite that, she was
continually putting him off. She hadn't really encouraged
him, but she hadn't flat-out told him to get lost either.
Because of that, he'd been privately entertaining the notion
that maybe she would eventually go out with him; finding out
that she'd left with some other guy the night of the concert
had blown that hope out of the water.
As he brooded, his mind pointed out the possibility
that he was overreacting. After all, she'd only left with
the guy; there wasn't any proof that she was seeing him.
That thought consoled him somewhat, but the nagging
uncertainty remained in the back of his mind. He resolved
to corner her about it sometime and see if he could get a
definite answer.
"You really need to get your mind off your cases,
Leon," Daley's voice cut into his ruminations. "I think I
know something that might help: I overheard Henderson saying
that there's a new shooting range that opened up a few
blocks away...."
****
"Are you goddamn finished rearranging my trailer?!"
Priss demanded irritably from where she was sprawled on her
beaten-up couch. "I told you it wasn't necessary!!" Across
the small room, Bert pitched the last scrap of garbage he'd
been holding into a plastic bag, securely knotting the bag
closed and tossing it over next to the door.
"Well I'm sorry if I offended your pride," he told her
dryly as he walked over and sat down next to her. "But I
got tired of the vultures circling your refrigerator eyeing
me like I was their next meal. Haven't you heard of
expiration dates?" He brushed his bangs out of his eyes as
he shook his head, grinning crookedly at her.
"I just got that stuff the other day," she retorted,
glaring. "There was nothing wrong with it."
"If the mold on that cheese had evolved any more, it
would have been claiming `squatter's rights' and throwing
you out," he snorted, catching her hand as she tried to swat
him. "And the rest of the food was having a Tenant's
Association meeting to demand better living conditions."
"Why you..! You..!!!" she spluttered indignantly, torn
between wanting to throttle him and resisting the urge to
laugh at his comparisons. One of these days....!
"So are you going to be okay for today?" he interrupted
her quietly. Priss sighed, rolling her eyes toward the
ceiling.
"I'll be fine," she stated, pulling her hand loose from
his grasp in exasperation. "I've lived here several years
now without problems, so quit worrying, okay? Go open your
range; I'll be okay."
"Yeah, well I can't help myself," he replied
defensively, then sighed himself, smiling ruefully and
shaking his head.
"I just wish you'd quit being so goddamn stubborn about
this!!" they exclaimed as they looked at each other. Priss
burst out laughing, then clutched at her sides in pain,
trying hard to stop in order to get her breathing back under
control. She waved off Bert as he started to move closer,
concerned.
"I'm ... fine..." she gasped. "Just ... don't make me
laugh again; it's not worth the pain." She sagged back into
the couch, getting herself back under control. "You'd
better get going; it won't look the greatest if you're late
opening on just your second day of business."
"True," he conceded with a sigh. "I'll drop by later
tonight then and check on you, just to make sure you're
still okay...."
"I said I don't need to be checked on every......"
"... And I'll bring something by for dinner at the same
time," he added with a grin before she could finish her
sentence. "Sound fair?"
"You're ...." Priss fumed for a moment, then gave in,
deciding it was easier to let him check up on her than try
to convince him otherwise; he obviously wasn't listening to
her. Now you know how everyone else feels about your
stubbornness sometimes, a voice in the back of her mind
noted dryly. "All right, fine. Make it a pizza or
something."
"I knew you'd see it my way," he grinned impudently,
just before leaning down and giving her a quick kiss. "See
you tonight." He grabbed his jacket from where it had
fallen to the floor and ducked out the door, taking the
garbage with him. She snorted at his observation, and lay
back on the couch, wincing as her ribs griped about the
movement. After shifting around a bit and becoming
relatively comfortable, she drifted off into sleep, trying
to will her injuries into healing faster at the same time.
****
Sylia rapped on the door to Nene's apartment,
unwavering determination in every line of her figure and
face. She was dressed like she was heading off to a board
meeting of some kind, wearing a dark jacket, skirt, and
light-coloured blouse. Her immaculate appearance added to
the aura of stern authority that was radiating from her at
the moment. She reached out and knocked on the door again;
this time, there was a series of loud thumps, followed by a
bang. After a moment, the door opened a crack, then opened
fully, revealing a disheveled-looking red-haired young
woman.
"Sylia?! What are you doing here?! " Nene blurted,
managing to look both surprised and worried. "W-what's
wrong?!"
Sylia stared at the younger woman for a moment,
concealing her own shock at Nene's appearance. In all the
time she'd known the red-haired computer expert, she'd never
seen her looking anything but clean and neat; now she looked
like a wreck. She was still wearing her ADP uniform, but it
was wrinkled and creased, as if she'd slept in it overnight.
Her hair was tangled and matted-looking, and there were dark
smudges under her slightly-bloodshot green eyes. Nene
couldn't seem to stand still, either; she was fidgeting
slightly and shifting her balance continuously as she stood
there staring wide-eyed at Sylia.
"I thought I'd see how you were doing," the Knight
Sabers' leader replied obliquely. "I hadn't heard from you
all week. May I come in?" she added pointedly. Nene
started guiltily, then stepped back, allowing her entry.
Sylia stepped through the doorway into the small
cubbyhole apartment, shutting the door behind her as she
took a quick glance around. The apartment was a mess, much
like its owner at the moment. There were scraps of paper
strewn everywhere, and a heap of dirty laundry was sitting
in the doorway to Nene's bedroom. Looking into the
kitchenette area, Sylia could see a stack of unwashed dishes
in the sink. The small kitchen table was covered with old
... cake wrappers?!
As Sylia slipped off her shoes, Nene seemed to become
aware of the disarray of her apartment. Flushing slightly,
she hurriedly swept the couch free of its concealing debris,
clearing a spot for her sometimes-boss to sit down on. As
the young red-head dashed into the kitchenette area for a
moment, Sylia carefully picked her way through the litter to
the couch and sat down, after making sure there wasn't
anything objectionable still on the couch cushions.
Nene set a steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table
in front of her, then sat down with a cup of her own,
sipping nervously at it. Sylia coolly appraised her as she
picked up her own cup and took a sip; it took an almost
superhuman effort to keep her face straight and resist
hurling the cup across the room. The coffee the cup
contained was so strong she was amazed it wasn't eating at
the porcelain in the cup. She concealed her distaste at the
flavour of the brew, and returned to her covert appraisal of
her younger friend. Nene still hadn't spoken beyond her
initial surprised greeting, and wasn't quite meeting Sylia's
gaze.
"So how have you been?" Sylia inquired politely. "I
haven't seen you very much lately."
"I'm fine," the red-head replied quickly, with just a
touch too much force. "I've just been really busy."
"Busy? Is work at the office piling up again?"
"N-no...not really, I mean, there's always lots of
stuff to do at work. I've just.... had some things I've
been putting off doing for a while now."
"Such as?" Sylia feigned fascination as she watched
Nene squirm and become more agitated at the question. She
took another sip of the foul-tasting liquid in her cup, not
really noticing the bitter savor of it.
"I ... well ... you know, things," the green-eyed woman
said weakly. "Reading, checking out the `Net...." Sylia's
gaze flicked to Nene's computer, noting that it was running.
If the way the codebreaker in the interface slot in the
front of the machine was whirring was any indication, it was
trying to break the security on something fairly
sophisticated.
"You've been too busy trying to hack into databases to
at least try and keep in touch with your friends?" she
asked, a faint frown creasing her brow for the first time.
"That's not like you, Nene; is something wrong?" Her mind
flashed back briefly to when she'd first met Nene,
remembering the young girl with the uncanny knack for
computers and hacking who'd successfully infiltrated the
protected `job advertisement' she'd set up as a recruitment
tool. She'd been impressed by the ability the young woman
had displayed in cracking the countermeasures she'd set up,
and had been sure that she'd found the asset that the Knight
Sabers had needed.
The catch had been that she'd had to wean their newest
recruit off of her computer dependence early on. Nene had
been almost the stereotypical computer hacker at first, with
no outside friends, almost living at her computer in order
to break into things. Sylia had figured it was just a phase
she'd been going through, a means of escaping her boredom
and the sheltered life she'd had before leaving home.
It had proved to be something of an addiction for the
young red-head, however, and breaking her of it had taken
some serious effort, and some flat warnings. Once Nene had
become `in the know', it was imperative that she not get
caught in some pointless database cracking that could
possibly result in the unmasking of Sylia's project.
After some serious chats, Sylia had been able to
impress upon her that it was necessary to be more
circumspect in her `tampering'. Nene had finally agreed,
not wanting to jeopardize her new niche, or her new job with
the ADP that she'd managed to `arrange'. Sylia had known
that she wouldn't be able to completely keep Nene from
hacking occasionally, but at least she'd been able to break
her of the outright addiction.
Unfortunately, it now looked like there was a reversion
in progress, and a serious one; Nene had never allowed
herself to fall this completely apart before, even to the
point of apparently existing on nothing but cake and strong
coffee. She had a pretty good idea of what had started
Nene's deterioration, but she didn't know why it had
progressed as far as it had. And there was too much at
stake to allow it to continue.
"N-no, nothing's wrong," Nene stammered, flushing and
looking away from her despite an obvious effort not to
reveal anything.
"Oh, really?" Sylia countered, her tone turning steely.
She'd given Nene enough of a chance to come clean; since she
didn't seem willing to do that, it was time to force the
issue. "Then perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you
didn't report to me the fact that you knew that Bert and
Priss had encountered more boomers the other night?"
"Sylia!" the young red-headed woman tried to look
indignant, but failed miserably. Instead, she looked
guiltier than ever. "How can you say something like that
about me?! I ..."
"Because it's true," Sylia cut her off harshly. "Don't
bother trying to play the wronged innocent, Nene. I was
checking the suit flight recorders yesterday, and I found
all the proof I need. You knew that Bert and Priss had been
ambushed a full five minutes before the call came across the
ADP bands." Sylia's eyes had turned cold and hard as she
stared at the squirming ADP officer. "That has to be the
most irresponsible act I've ever seen from you. Not only
that, but your thoughtlessness endangered the lives of two
of the team members; they were almost killed a couple of
times before we arrived. I want an explanation young lady,
and I want it right now!!"
"I...I...can't ....I didn't..." Nene denied faintly,
shaking her head. There was a tortured look in her green
eyes, and she was shoving herself backwards into the couch
slightly as if she was trying to back away from Sylia and
her flat declaration of the facts.
"You did," the Knight Sabers' leader bored in
mercilessly. "Denying it isn't going to change that." She
watched the younger red-headed woman flinch back from the
words as if they were physical blows. With an effort, Sylia
managed to maintain her control on the cold anger she'd been
feeling since she'd discovered Nene's actions; she didn't
want to start shouting.
"I don't know why you're so upset about this, Nene,"
she added a moment later, watching the anguished red-head
carefully. "After all, this isn't the first time you've
tried to kill someone." She deliberately phrased it as
brutally as possible, trying to crack the barriers Nene was
hiding behind. The young red-headed woman jerked as if
she'd been slapped.
"No!! That's not true!! I haven't tried to kill
anyone!!" Nene objected, her face white. "I haven't!"
"Then what would you call crashing SkyKnight's sensor
and flight guidance systems with an ECM burst?" Sylia
returned coldly. Nene turned even paler, her eyes going
wide as she stared fearfully at Sylia. She remained silent
as Sylia continued. "Your suit is the only one that is
capable of that kind of offense against another mechanized
combat suit, and the fact that our hardsuits don't have
countermeasures against `friendly' transmissions made it
that much easier to do. I couldn't believe ... didn't want
to believe that you were capable of such a thing. In any
event, I've made my decision," she stated, standing up.
"I'm sorry, Nene, but I can't trust you any longer. As of
this moment, you're relieved of duty; you're no longer part
of the Knight Sabers."
Shocked silence blanketed the room as she stood calmly,
turning away from Nene as she started walking towards the
front door of the apartment.
"No!!! Sylia, please don't ...!!!! I didn't...!!! I'm
sorry!!! I'm sorry!!! I won't do it again!!!" Nene
blurted, half-rising from the couch, one hand outstretched
pleadingly.
"I know you won't," Sylia replied calmly. Stopping,
she turned back to the young ADP officer. "I'm not about to
give you the opportunity. I can't afford to allow someone
on the team who's going to allow their personal problems to
endanger the rest of the group."
"But I didn't mean for it to happen!!" Nene cried,
tears starting to track down her cheeks. "I swear!! It was
an accident!!" She sank back into the couch, wrapping her
arms around herself as if hugging herself for warmth. Sylia
regarded her impassively.
"How can you call deliberately causing someone's suit
to malfunction and crash an accident?" she demanded.
"I ... I didn't know he was still airborne," Nene
replied in a small, quavering voice. Her emerald-green eyes
were shadowed by intense guilt as she looked at Sylia. "I
... I just wanted ..." She gulped and swallowed, her
shoulders beginning to shake as she tried to keep from
crying; Sylia walked back over to Nene and sat down across
from her again.
"What was it that you wanted?" she prodded gently.
Nene hunched herself smaller, trying to hold herself
together.
"He ... he was showing off," she said faintly. "He ...
wasn't supposed to be trying to get everyone, so I thought
I'd ... show him that he wasn't as hot as he thought he was.
I ... I couldn't see him after he vanished into the
building; all I had to go on was a sensor signature. I ...
masked an ECM pulse with a short burst to his communications
array..." Her efforts at self-control fell apart, and she
began crying. It lasted for a few minutes as she tried
wiping her face off on the sleeve of her blouse, sniffling.
"I thought he was going to come through the door, on the
ground," she said when she could speak again. "I didn't
realize he was up in the air still... I didn't know he was
going to hit the beams inside the building. I just wanted
to shut him down long enough to tag him when he tried coming
out." There was no mistaking the remorse on her face, and
Sylia felt the angry tightness within her ease just a bit.
"And your actions weren't prompted by the fact that the
two of you had been having problems with your relationship?"
Sylia asked quietly but firmly. Nene silently shook her
head in denial, but Sylia didn't buy it. "Are you
absolutely sure, Nene?" she said insistently. The teary-
eyed ADP officer was silent for a long minute.
"I was still upset," she admitted slowly. She looked
up at Sylia, her eyes imploring. "But I didn't want to hurt
him, I swear. I just wanted to take him down a peg or two."
She looked away again, fresh tears gathering in her eyes.
"I've been so sorry it happened, I just can't stand it
anymore," she whispered. She bit her trembling lower lip as
she sat there, tears streaming down her face again. Sylia
pulled a handkerchief from her purse and handed it to Nene;
she swabbed at her face, mopping up the moisture leaking
from her eyes.
"I see." Sylia gave Nene a long, thoughtful look as
the red-head pulled herself together. "You could still have
used a less drastic method, and one less potentially lethal
at that, to `take him down a notch'. And that also doesn't
explain why you involved Priss in this vendetta of yours. I
don't think you're telling me everything, Nene." The
younger woman flinched again guiltily. "Well?"
"I ... I went to see him a couple of days after the ...
accident," Nene said after a few moments of silence. She
was now squeezing her hands together, turning the knuckles
white, and her eyes were downcast, staring fixedly at the
top of the coffee table. "I ... had some things I wanted to
talk to him about."
"Such as?"
"Why he'd quit trying to call me, and ... and some
other things I wanted to know about."
"Did it occur to you that he might have stopped calling
because of your treatment of him?" Sylia pointed out gently.
"You were shutting him out, you know."
"I ... I know it was wrong of me," Nene replied, her
eyes beginning to water again. "But ... I wanted to make
him sorry for ... for calling me a little girl a while
back." She wiped at her eyes with her other sleeve for a
moment, dropping the soggy handkerchief she'd been using
onto the coffee table. "Well, we ... we had an
argument...." Sylia listened expressionlessly while Nene
haltingly told her about the vitriolic discussion she'd had
with Bert, culminating with her storming out of the room in
a huff. Sylia sighed wearily, reaching up and massaging her
temples; it felt like the headache she'd gotten early on in
the discussion was developing into a nasty migraine now.
"So based on one chance sighting during one of your
lunch hours, you accused him of two-timing you, and then got
offended when he told you to quit being immature about
seeing him with a friend," she summarized. Nene flushed and
looked away, nodding reluctantly.
"And despite his denials of your interpretation of
events, you decided he was going out with Priss, and decided
to get back at him for dumping you, and her for going out
with him, correct?" Nene squirmed guiltily, flushing again.
"I thought he'd come back," she mumbled, eyes downcast.
"But he didn't. He's always said he loved me, but he quit
trying, and..." Her voice turned choked-sounding for a
minute. "And then...."
"And then you jumped to a questionable conclusion when
you saw him with another woman, one he's been friends with
for quite some time," Sylia finished for her, sighing.
"Nene, surely you can see that your behaviour is as much to
blame as anything for him not coming back?"
"I....I know that, now," the young red-head admitted,
looking ashamed. "I...wanted to apologize, I was going to,
but...it sort of fell apart when we argued," she finished
lamely.
"I could see that," Sylia replied, a faint touch of
dryness in her tone. She gazed thoughtfully at the
depressed-looking ADP officer for a few moments, trying to
decide the best course to take. While Nene's actions had
been spiteful and irresponsible in the extreme, Sylia was
satisfied that they hadn't been intended to cause any real
harm. The question now was how to handle this problem in a
way that wouldn't irrevocably shatter the trust in each
other that was so essential to the continued existence of
the Knight Sabers. Sylia glanced at the clock on the wall,
noting the lateness of the hour.
"Well, the first thing you're going to do," she told
Nene, breaking the thick silence that had reigned for a few
minutes, "is get yourself cleaned up and presentable-looking
again."
"W-what?" Nene looked a little nonplused at Sylia's
words; she'd been expecting a dire pronouncement of her fate
after such a lengthy silence, not a commentary on her
appearance.
"We're going to dinner," the Knight Sabers' leader
replied, making it sound like an everyday occurrence. "It
will give us an opportunity to discuss how to respond
appropriately to your... `activities'."
Sylia paused, frowning as she glanced around at the
apartment's decor of candy bar wrappings and junk food
packages. "And going to dinner will get you used to regular
food again," she added critically. "That's something else
that's going to stop as well; we need you healthy and
rested, not frazzled and wired on sugar. Your job with the
ADP is too valuable to jeopardize by completely falling
apart like this." She watched Nene sit there for a moment,
trying to frame a reply to her assertions.
"I'd like to get there sometime before the restaurants
close, Nene," she remarked mildly. "Was there something you
felt you needed to say? No? Well then, what are you
waiting for? Go and get ready!" The younger woman gave up;
standing with a sigh, she assumed the air of someone about
to go to their last supper, and walked into her bedroom.
After moving an itinerant pile of dirty laundry out of the
way, she closed the door.
Sylia sighed herself, finally allowing her head to
slump into her hands, her elbows leaning on her knees.
Wincing, she massaged her temples, trying to ease the sullen
throbbing that was going on inside her head.
"I need a vacation," she muttered quietly to the empty
room. "This just isn't getting any easier."
****
"Door's open!" Priss's muffled voice called from the
other side of the battered door of her trailer. Bert opened
the door and carefully eased himself through, trying hard
not to dump onto the floor the precariously-balanced pizza
boxes and drinks he was carrying. A moment later, a pair of
helping hands eased some of his burden by lifting the drinks
and top box off of the stack.
"Thanks," he sighed in relief, letting the door bang
shut behind him. "Dropping dinner would've made a poor
start to the evening."
"True," Priss grinned, setting her load down on the
battered coffee table that doubled as her dinner table. A
moment later, she carefully sat down on the couch behind it,
moving a bit stiffly. Bert gave her a sly, knowing grin as
he placed the other pizza box on the table as well, shucking
his coat and dropping it on a chair by the door.
"So, how much were you up and around today?" he asked
innocently. His grin widened a bit as she flushed slightly.
"I didn't go out if that's what you mean," she retorted
defensively. "But I just couldn't lie here all day doing
nothing, so I cleaned up a bit."
"Just a second!" Bert started rummaging around in his
pockets for something.
"What? Something wrong?"
"I just wanted to find a pen so I could mark this
historic occasion down," he replied blandly, deftly catching
the pillow she pitched at him a moment later. "Something I
said?" he asked lightly, grinning as he tossed the pillow
gently back to her.
"What else is new?" she retorted, glaring at him. A
moment later, a grudging smirk appeared. "Sit down so we
can eat," she directed him.
"I am M'Lady's most obedient servant," he proclaimed,
giving her a theatrical bow before coming over and sitting
next to her.
"Oh, really?" she snorted. "Would you stop with the
smartass remarks if I asked you to, then?"
"No, probably not," he admitted with a smile. "Living
dangerously is too thrilling to give up entirely."
Priss gave up, shaking her head with a rueful smile,
and reached over to the first pizza box. Steam wafted the
fragrant aromas of tomato sauce, cheese, and the other
toppings from the pizza, filling the room. Her stomach
rumbled loudly in response.
Approximately half-an-hour later, the pizzas were
completely devoured and the garbage disposed of. They sat
quietly, slouched next to each other on the couch as they
relaxed. Both were feeling slightly drowsy, the combined
aftereffect of a large meal and a long day.
"So how'd everything go at your end?" Priss finally
asked, sipping at a beer, propping her sock feet up on the
coffee table. "Busy day?"
"It was steady all day," he replied. "No really major
hassles, but still enough people around to keep me hopping
all the time." He paused for a moment, considering
something, then sighed. "I have a couple of new members I'm
not so sure I needed," he told her.
"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted
new members?"
"Leon and Daley?" he suggested dryly. "Daley I'm not
really worried about, but Leon was apparently checking into
my background a few weeks ago."
"Shit," Priss sucked in a sharp breath. "How'd that
start?!"
"He got suspicious about Nene being off sick so much,"
he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And it seems
that he started looking into the possibility that I might be
the reason for it. Sylia and Nene threw up enough of a
records smokescreen to block him, but I've never felt that
he entirely bought it. You should have seen the way he was
looking around the range today when he thought I wasn't
looking; it's like he was expecting to find boomers under
the carpets or something." He chuckled a bit, remembering
Leon's attempts to look covert; a C-55 wearing a trenchcoat
and hat would've been more subtle, but not by much.
"You don't sound worried," Priss noted, cocking her
head quizzically as she looked at him. Being found out had
been one of his major preoccupations, once upon a time.
"I'm not anymore," he shrugged. "What can he do to me?
There isn't a shred of hard evidence anywhere that can link
me to anything."
"I'd still be careful around him," Priss warned. "Take
it from someone who knows firsthand just how persistent he
can get at times."
"I'll take that into consideration," he grinned slyly
at her. A moment later he leaned over and kissed her. She
kissed him back, blindly setting her beer can over out of
the way so she could devote her full attention to the
activity. After a few moments, they parted and settled back
again, Priss shifting around so that she was leaning into
him. He put an arm around her as she reclaimed her drink,
and they sat quietly, listening to the subdued hum from the
city outside the battered trailer.
The drone of a powerful motorcycle engine gradually
filtered through the thin trailer walls, drawing nearer.
Bert frowned to himself, carefully nudging Priss, who had
started to nod off.
"Were you expecting company?" he asked her quietly.
Outside, there was a slight screech as the motorcycle came
to a halt, its motor dying out a moment later.
"Hm? What?" she muttered drowsily, sitting up. "What
was that?"
"Somebody on a motorcycle just arrived," he told her,
sitting up himself. "Were you expecting someone?" Outside,
booted feet sounded on the steps to the trailer door.
"No, I don't think so," she replied. A memory
resurfaced as she tried to figure out who it might be, and
her eyes widened in sudden alarm. "Oh shit!" she hissed,
grabbing his arm. "It's..."
"Priss!!!!" Sylvie's voice hollered from the other side
of the trailer door, accompanied by angry-sounding knocking.
"I know you're in there, so you'd better open this door!!"
"Oh. Shit." Bert's slightly panicked gaze swung
towards Priss. "Now what?!"
"I don't know!" Priss whispered back, her mind racing.
Neither of them particularly wanted to be found out at the
moment, and Sylvie's precipitous arrival had just thrown a
wrench into things.
"Priss!!" Sylvie hammered on the door again. "I'm not
going to go away!! I think I at least deserve an
explanation!"
"Just a minute!!" the red-brown eyed woman hollered
back. "Well, unless you want everything coming into the
open right now, you're going to have to either hide or sneak
out somehow."
"There's only one door, Priss," he reminded her,
glancing around the room as he stood up. "I think I'd be a
little hard to miss going out the front past her. A
window?"
"Not with your shoulders," she fretted, glancing around
the room again. "You're too damn big. Hang on a second!
Coming!!" She shouted towards the door again, buying a few
more seconds at the most. Her eyes suddenly lit up with an
idea.
"I've got it! Come on!" she whispered. Tugging on his
arm, she stepped around the low coffee table, leading him to
the back of the trailer where her little kitchen area was.
Opening the door on a large, beaten-up closet, she gestured
to the empty bottom half. "You should be able to fit in
there."
"You've got to be kidding." Bert dubiously eyed the
cramped space, and the heavily-laden shelves above it. "You
are kidding, right?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?!" she hissed impatiently,
pointing imperiously at the crawlspace. "It's either that
or let the cat out of the bag!"
"Good point," he sighed. Pausing long enough to give
her a quick kiss on the lips, he carefully squeezed into the
closet.
"I'll try and keep it short," she promised him as she
carefully closed the door. She quickly ran her hands
through her hair, mussing it up, trying to make it look like
she'd just woken up; her clothes were already wrinkled
enough to support that possibility. Ignoring the twinges
from her healing side, she sprinted to the door of her
trailer, and opened it.
"It's about time," Sylvie noted icily, angry sparks
flashing in the depths of her golden-brown eyes. "I was
about to leave." She unzipped the neck of her blue-white
bike suit as she stepped through the door, her glance
flicking over everything as she dropped her bike helmet into
the chair by the door.
"Sorry; I was asleep," Priss apologized meekly,
shutting the door behind her friend.
"Really?" Sylvie's glance was skeptical, and Priss
felt a momentary pang of guilt over having to deceive her.
"Have you been asleep for the last two days then? I've been
trying to call ever since our mission the other night, and I
even stopped by the day after to see if you needed anything.
You weren't home." The dark brown-haired woman folded her
arms over her chest as she stood waiting for a reply.
"Uh, well, I...." Priss faltered, trying hard to think
of a believable excuse. "I was asleep most of yesterday,
and part of today," she evaded the implicit question of her
whereabouts, opting for an embroidered version of the truth.
"I've been taking some painkillers for my side, and they
knock me right out. And the phone was disconnected while I
cleaned up the trailer a bit this afternoon."
"Whose motorcycle is that outside with yours?" Sylvie
asked suddenly.
"A friend's," Priss answered lamely. "They ran out of
gas and left it here for the time being."
"Did they leave their coat as well so you could keep it
warm or something?"
"Uh, well...." Priss flushed again. Caught by minor
goddamn details!!
"That has to be the lamest attempt at a cover-up I've
ever heard from anyone," Sylvie said evenly. Only her eyes
showed the intense feelings of hurt she was holding inside.
"Why are you lying to me, Priss? I'm not stupid, you know.
I always thought we were friends." Priss flushed as she
continued. "You've been really hard to find for the last
week, and you've been evasive about whatever it is that
you've been doing. If you don't want me around as a friend
anymore, say so! But at least have the decency to tell me
what I did wrong!" Her frustration boiled over finally, and
angry tears began to gather at the edges of her eyes.
"Sylvie!" Priss's voice was anguished. "It's nothing
like that, really! I..." She turned away, running her
hands through her hair in exasperation. "It's a personal
matter," she finally said in a low voice. "I don't really
know how to explain it other than that. I...I'm sorry if I
hurt you." She sat on the couch with a weary sigh, dropping
her head into her hands. "I wasn't trying to avoid you,"
she stated dully. "I would never do something like that,
ever. I'm sorry."
"Well can't you tell me what it is?!" Sylvie asked
plaintively, sitting down in a chair next to the couch.
"Priss, come on, you can tell me what's wrong. We've
confided in each other before, right?"
"Sylvie, I'd like to, really I would," Priss looked at
her, her expression pleading for belief. "But...I just
can't! It's not entirely my decision to make..." Her plea
was interrupted by a loud bang and rumble from the far end
of her trailer. Both women jumped in surprise at the noise.
"What on earth was that?" Sylvie asked, frowning
curiously as she stood and started walking towards where the
noise had originated from.
"Uh, rats!!" Priss interjected quickly, trying to
divert her. "I get them here occasionally."
"Rats?" Sylvie repeated, raising an eyebrow as she
looked back over her shoulder. "It sounded more like
something collapsed in your cupboard." She turned back in
the direction of the closet.
"No! Sylvie, wait!!" Priss unwisely tried to lunge
after her friend, leaping out of the couch. Her ribs
screamed in pain at the abrupt, harsh movement, and she was
forced to stop and gasp for breath. They were healing, but
not that fast. Meanwhile, the tall, bikesuit-clad woman
reached the closet and opened the door.
Sylvie jumped back a bit as the contents of the
shelves, which had been tumbled against the door, fell out,
spilling onto the floor in a loud clatter. As the noise
subsided, Sylvie stared into the closet, before turning
towards a sickly-looking Priss.
"Oh Priss," she called mildly. "You appear to have red-
headed rats in your trailer." Despite being somewhat angry
over the attempted deception, she was unable to keep the
faint hint of a smile from twitching at the corners of her
lips.
"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said I was
looking for something in here?" Bert's voice inquired from
the pile of clothes, towels, tools, and cans of assorted
things that were now sitting at the bottom of the cupboard,
and on top of him.
"No, I wouldn't," she told him. He sighed, and started
shoving some of the debris away from himself in order to
stand up.
"It was worth a try," he said half-apologetically as he
stood up. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped
at the shallow cut on his forehead, mopping up the trickle
of blood from it.
"Shit! Are you okay?" Priss was instantly over to
check on him. Sylvie looked from her to the tall red-head,
her lips pursed thoughtfully as she nodded to herself.
"I got hit by the shelf that broke," he told her,
waving off her attempts to look at his head. "I'd suggest
in the future that your clean-ups be a little more
comprehensive than just stuffing everything onto a shelf
somewhere."
"Just shut up and sit down on the couch," Priss
ordered, ducking into the small cubicle that served as her
washroom. "I've got some bandaids somewhere around here."
Sighing resignedly, Bert gestured for Sylvie to proceed
him as he started back towards the couch. Her smile a
little more evident, she quietly walked back and sat down in
the chair she'd been in before. He sat down on the couch,
still holding the pad of cloth over the cut. The sounds of
someone rummaging through a medicine cabinet came from the
rear of the trailer.
"That's your bike out there, isn't it?" Sylvie asked
suddenly, breaking the silence. "And your jacket?"
"Yes," he admitted, then fell silent. His eyes lifted
to meet hers, and he was unable to keep from flushing and
looking away guiltily.
"You've been dating each other, haven't you?" she asked
as Priss came back carrying a small paper-wrapped packet.
"That's why you haven't been around, isn't it?" She watched
as her two friends swapped an unreadable glance before Bert
sighed and nodded.
"For about a week," Priss added quietly, sighing
herself as she sat down next to him. "We've been keeping it
really low profile, especially since Nene's still a
little...shaky, and we didn't want to accidentally hurt her
feelings." Peeling the paper off the bandage, she moved
Bert's hand and cloth pad away from the gash on his
forehead, gently sticking the bandage down over it,
smoothing it out.
"And you're still a little uncomfortable with it,
right?" Sylvie suggested, glancing from Priss to Bert.
"He still is," Priss replied dryly, giving him a small
smile coupled with a gentle nudge in the ribs, "although he
won't admit it."
"I'm sorry," he muttered, flushing as he looked away
from her amused glance. "It's nothing you've done, honest."
"I understand," she sighed, reaching out and laying her
hand on his arm. "You don't have to worry about that." He
smiled gratefully back at her, unconsciously reaching over
and holding her hand with his as his eyes looked into hers.
"I was wondering when you two were going to quit
dancing around the question," Sylvie noted, loosening the
collar of her suit. She felt hot all of a sudden, and
couldn't immediately isolate a reason for it; the trailer
heating wasn't on, so why was she getting warmer so
abruptly? She abruptly became aware of certain other
....feelings... within her that were stirring as well, and
quickly stifled them, shifting around uncomfortably in her
chair
"What's that supposed to mean?! `Dancing around the
question'?!" Priss demanded.
"You two have been attracted to each other for quite a
while now," Sylvie explained, distracted from trying to
figure out why she felt funny. "It started mostly after
that kidnapping incident, but the two of you were definitely
starting to fall for each other," she judged, sighing as she
reached up and swept her hair back behind her ears. "I
don't think either of you will admit it, but I could
certainly tell; if it wasn't the one of you being worried
about the other, it was the other."
"Yeah, well, I was concerned about him," Priss
admitted, looking uncomfortable. "We've always been pretty
good friends, and I like to look out for my friends."
"Same here," Bert added quietly.
"Well, I'm just glad you decided to do something about
it finally," Sylvie told him. "You were getting pretty
unbearable the way you were moping around for a while
there." An uncomfortable silence blanketed the air for a
few minutes as she leaned back in her chair, stretching out
while everyone searched for something to say. Bert and
Priss glanced at each other, then sat back on the couch with
him hesitantly putting an arm around the attractive singer
and drawing her a bit closer. She snuggled a little closer
to him while trying to seem like she wasn't.
Still a little reluctant to show public feelings,
Sylvie noted to herself with a slight, bemused shake of her
head. Damn, but it was getting warm in here! Her face felt
a bit flushed, and she was about to open the front of her
bike suit a bit more when it dawned on her that opening her
suit further would start to look a little exhibitionist.
Frowning to herself, Sylvie concentrated on tracking down
the source of her agitation.
And realized that the source of the problem was her two
friends seated nearby.
Sylvie carefully kept her surprise off of her face; she
forgotten that she'd been concentrating on her intuitive
feelings when she'd arrived, in order to try and sense
Priss's feelings in an effort to determine what was going
on. That was the only `special' ability she had that she
tried using, the almost empathic ability that sexaroids had
to pick up on somebody's moods, and react accordingly.
A large part of that `empathy' was based on pheromonal
signals, signals that sexaroids were extraordinarily
sensitive to. They could also emit their own signals, but
theirs were much more potent, especially to humans. It was
this combination that enabled Anri to do so well at her
medical job; she could sense someone's pain, and then calm
them with soothing impulses and a reassuring bedside manner.
That benevolent use wasn't why they'd been created
however, she reflected bitterly. Sexaroids had been
`gifted' with heightened sensory perceptions, and the
ability to stimulate those same perceptions in humans, for a
more carnal-minded reason. Their creators hadn't stopped to
consider the effects this sensitivity could have on them
though; to the scientists, they'd been designing a machine,
never realizing that the sexaroids had their own feelings
and thoughts on the matter.
With an effort, Sylvie wrenched her mind off the
unpleasant thoughts, returning to the realization that the
reason she was feeling warm and flushed was because she was
picking up pheromone emissions from her friends. She
concentrated for a few moments, and quickly determined that
the same kinds of feelings were coming from both of them,
and at the same level: intense. After a few more moments,
she had to forcibly turn off her empathy, as what she was
picking up began to make her feel incredibly uncomfortable.
Like a bolt of lightning, it suddenly hit her just why
what she was picking up was so intense.
"Ohhhhhh my," she breathed aloud, staring wide-eyed at
them, unable to think of anything else to say. To think
that they'd...they'd ....!!!
"What?! What is it?!" Priss asked, unable to keep from
flushing as Sylvie stared round-eyed at her.
"You've been doing a lot more than just dating, haven't
you?!" The way it was phrased made the question sound more
like a statement of fact. Bert was unable to keep from
making a guilty start, and turned a hot crimson colour as
Sylvie turned her gaze to him.
"Uh, well, no, not really," he floundered. "I mean,
uh...."
"How'd you guess?" Priss asked, resigned now to the
inevitable; she should have guessed that Sylvie would figure
it out. Bert flushed again and shut up.
"You two are broadcasting like radio beacons," the bike-
suited woman informed them with a sly, knowing grin. "I
don't think anyone else will notice, except maybe Anri. We
can keep secrets though, so don't worry."
"Thanks," he mumbled. "I'd appreciate it."
"So tell me, Priss," Sylvie inquired, unable to keep
sly amusement from sparkling in her eyes as she leaned
forwards, "how'd you get Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armour here
out of his suit? That must've been some discussion,
considering how he reacted to the thought of just taking my
measurements a while back."
"Sylvie!" Priss said warningly, glancing at Bert as she
blushed. "That's really none of your business."
"Well, you must've been really persuasive," she noted.
"He was so square before, it was almost impossible to talk
to him without him turning red."
"I need a drink of water," Bert muttered, avoiding
everyone's eyes as he walked back to the sink in the rear of
the trailer, red-faced. Opening a cupboard, he began
rummaging around for a glass.
"Would you please stop that?" Priss asked, low-voiced.
"Yes, he's loosened up a bit, but don't push him about it;
he's still not entirely comfortable in his mind about it
yet."
"Why not? Aren't you enjoying yourselves?"
"There's a bit more to it than that!" Priss replied a
bit sharply. Damn it, but she wished she could stop
blushing! "And that's really none of your business!"
"Need any pointers?" Sylvie couldn't resist one last
teasing remark.
"SYLVIE!!" Priss's angry shout cracked through the
confined space of the room, on the tail end of a
spluttering, explosive exhalation from where Bert had been
taking a drink from the glass of water he'd gotten. Almost
dropping the glass, he doubled over the sink, coughing from
inadvertently snorting a noseful of water at Sylvie's
remark. "I said to lay off, goddamn it!! That's something
private between the two of us, and it's none of your goddamn
business!! Clear?!"
"I...I'm sorry," the tall, dark-haired woman
apologized, biting her lip in contrition as she glanced from
Priss to Bert, belatedly realizing that she'd overstepped
some invisible boundary and intruded on some deeply private
matters. "I...I didn't mean to...to pry or upset you,
honest." She'd never really encountered the kind of
emotions and deep attachment that was obviously at work
here; all of her experiences with the sexual side of
humanity had been superficial at best, and the thought that
it was an expression of deeper caring between two people
hadn't occurred to her before.
The brown-haired singer was standing now, her arms
stiff by her sides with her hands clenched into fists as she
glared furiously at her friend; Bert was still clutching the
counter as he coughed and gasped into the sink, red-faced.
Neither had replied yet, and she began to worry just a bit,
hoping she hadn't managed to sink two friendships with one
verbal torpedo.
Priss forced herself into a calmer state of mind, and
sat down again. She knew Sylvie hadn't meant anything
malicious by her questions, but at the same time she felt
she should have known not to keep prodding. After a few
more minutes of simmering in silence, she managed to
dissipate most of her anger. Over by the sink, Bert managed
to get himself and his breathing back under control.
"Okay," the red-brown eyed woman finally said,
grudgingly offering forgiveness. "I know you didn't mean
anything by it." That was as far as she felt she could go
under the circumstances, but Sylvie relaxed immediately, and
gave her a tentative smile in reply. Another uncomfortable
silence fell over the trailer.
"Well, um, I guess I should get home," Sylvie finally
noted, glancing at the time and standing up. "I've got to
open the shop tomorrow, so I've got to get up early." She
hesitated for a moment, glancing at Priss. "Would....you
still want to get together for a ride later in the week?"
she asked hesitantly. "I mean..."
"Sure, just as soon as I can sit on my bike without
collapsing," she replied. "Right now I wouldn't last that
long. I'll give you a call when I'm up to it again."
"I don't want to, um, take away from your time," Sylvie
started to say, but was cut off.
"You won't be," Bert assured her, sighing as he came
back to the couch area. "We weren't trying to exclude
anyone, but being covert about this did kind of curtail some
of our activities. Don't worry; we'll manage." He looked
down at Priss apologetically. "I hate to leave, but I've
got to go as well; I've got a lot to do tomorrow in the
shop."
"Okay," Priss answered, sighing and standing up as
well. "I know better than to try and talk you out of it."
Sylvie picked up her helmet and eased out the front
door, quietly closing it behind her. A wistful smile
flickered across her face for a brief moment, then
disappeared as she jumped down the steps and walked over to
her bike. She swung her leg across the seat, and eased the
bike off its kickstand, keeping the machine balanced upright
with her legs. Placing her helmet on the gas tank in front
of her, she started pulling on her gloves.
The door to the trailer banged open and closed again as
she started to don her helmet. Lowering the headgear, she
watched as Bert sprang lightly down the steps, covering the
few steps and the short distance to his own bike in what
seemed like about four long strides. He straddled his own
riding machine, and began making preparations to depart,
humming cheerfully to himself.
"I'm sorry my teasing went a little too far in there,"
Sylvie spoke up quietly. "I didn't mean to hit any
sensitive spots."
"No harm done," Bert replied, sighing. It was
difficult to see his face in the dimly-lit darkness outside,
but he sounded sincere. "Just don't make any more remarks
like that when I'm drinking something, okay?"
"Okay, I'll try and remember that," Sylvie replied,
stifling a giggle; he had looked a little funny hanging over
the sink spluttering. She pulled on her helmet, and paused
before hitting the ignition for her motorcycle. "I hope it
works out for the two of you," she added, then hit the
switch. Her bike roared into life, and she wheeled around
and drove off into the darkness. Bert watched her leave, a
faint breeze rustling his hair before he pulled on his
helmet.
"So do I," he muttered to himself, hitting the
kickstart. "So do I."
****
"All is in readiness," Kate Madigan reported crisply.
"The non-essential personnel have been re-distributed to our
other industrial facilities, and the equipment that can be
moved without arousing undue suspicion has been relocated.
The additions to the security systems you requested have
also been implemented, and we have stationed some spare C-
55s in key locations as an added precaution. All we require
now is confirmation of the time and date of the inspection."
"Soon," Quincy rumbled, flicking through the pages of
the report he held. Off to the left of his desk, a huge
projection screen displayed blueprints and schematics of a
large industrial complex. His icy-blue eyes lifted to meet
the unrevealing blue-grey ones of his unofficial second-in-
command. "I am awaiting one more report before we can
proceed. You may continue with your other investigations in
the meantime. Has anything else come to light so far?"
"No, sir," she admitted, an expression of irritation
flickering briefly across her face. "We have extracted all
the useful information we will ever get from this Stryker;
he is currently being reconditioned in the medical wing. As
for his employer," her face tightened as her eyes narrowed
angrily. "We can find no trace of the man anywhere. He's
every bit as ephemeral at the moment as the man he's
supposedly looking for."
"No leads in that area either, I suppose?"
"We are still checking the employment records of all
companies with engineering-related work, but we haven't
found anyone close to this man's description."
"It isn't hard to change one's appearance, or merely
drop from sight," Quincy noted. "Especially if this man
knows, or even suspects that he has people searching for
him. Don't get too upset at your inability to locate him,
Madigan; he will turn up eventually."
"Yes sir," Madigan replied, a grim smile appearing.
"I'm looking forward to it."
TWO DAYS LATER ......
Bert lay sprawled on the couch, one arm around Priss,
who was slouched next to him, her head on his shoulder. They
were both quiet, drawing a kind of quiet fulfillment from
the feeling of each other's presence. Talk seemed to be
largely unnecessary at the moment; they were content merely
being together. Periodically, he brushed a hand gently
through her hair, and they exchanged a warm, intimate smile.
In many ways, their relationship now went much deeper
than his one with Nene had been, although he was constantly
fighting himself not to make comparisons; they were two
completely different women, with different personalities and
backgrounds. Comparing them to each other was both unfair
and unkind. Despite that, he was unable to stop himself from
noting some of the contrasts.
The biggest change he'd noticed right away was the
implied level of trust; he'd been able to tell that Nene had
been uncomfortable around him ever since his kidnapping
ordeal. She'd hidden it really well, but it had definitely
been there. Priss appeared to have calmly accepted the fact
that he'd changed, and was almost always relaxed around him.
There was also the level of intimacy that now existed
between them. Because of its newness, it felt strange to him
occasionally, which made him vaguely uncomfortable. At the
same time it appeared to have filled a void in him he hadn't
known existed. Ever since that first night when they'd slept
together, he'd felt ... whole. They'd been good friends
before, and had trusted each other, but becoming lovers had
added a new level to that trust. As a result, he was finding
it easier himself to open up. To her, at least; it was going
to take some time before he was going to be as open with
others as he had in the past, but she'd helped him to start,
and that was more than he'd ever hoped for.
Priss shifted against him, turning to face him. Her
hand reached up and gently touched his cheek, while a smile
spread across her face. The warmth in her red-brown eyes
stirred an answering smile from him, and he leaned over
towards her, kissing her. She pulled him a bit closer, her
body pliant against his while they kissed lovingly.
"So what were you thinking about?" she asked quietly
when they separated, a quizzical look in her eyes. "You
looked pretty far out for a few moments."
"Just thinking about you," he replied as quietly,
gently brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Thinking about
our relationship."
"And what about me?" She shifted around so that she was
laying on top of him, chest to chest, and folded her hands
under her chin, propping her head on them on his chest. Her
red-brown eyes were quietly serious as she looked into his
eyes from a few inches away. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he answered honestly. "I was just thinking about
how....different this feels." He
squirmed a bit, flushing self-consciously. "I mean, I like
the feeling, but it's...it just feels a little funny at
times, I guess because I've never been this..."
"Intimate?" she suggested, a slight, teasing smile
playing about her lips. The smile gave a slightly different
emphasis to the word than what he'd been thinking of, and he
flushed again.
"Intimate," he agreed with a sigh. "I mean, I've never
gotten this close with anyone before, even Nene. I
guess....I guess I was afraid to...go further."
"Why?"
"Well, I told you a long time ago why I couldn't scrape
together the nerve to ask Nene out originally," he started;
Priss nodded, a faint smile appearing as she remembered how
she and Linna had finally forced him into it. "Well, because
of that, I...just couldn't bring myself to trust anyone
enough to confide in them beyond a certain point," he
confessed. "I was afraid they'd take whatever I told them
and use it against me somehow." He sighed. "I'd never do it
to anyone myself, but the worry was always there."
"So you never told Nene about some of your past
problems?" she asked, frowning slightly.
"Not really," he admitted. "We never really discussed
my past very much, not in any great detail, and I....I
didn't want her getting bogged down in my hang-ups."
"I think that was a mistake," she told him seriously.
"You should have trusted her enough to have confided in her
more often. Okay, I admit that some things take time, but
maybe if you'd gotten more personal with her more often, she
wouldn't have felt like you'd changed so much."
"Yeah, well, hindsight's almost always perfect," he
noted sourly, a flash of pain speeding through his greenish-
brown eyes. Priss was instantly contrite.
"I'm sorry," she said, biting her lip. She reached out
and brushed his cheek in a gentle caress. "I didn't mean
that to hurt."
"That's okay; no harm done," he replied, a look of self-
reproach appearing briefly. "I rather reluctantly realized
that myself not that long ago; it's an old pain, now." They
lay quietly for a few more moments, Priss shifting around so
that she was next to him again, while he slid his arm back
around her shoulders.
"You've told me quite a bit about yourself," Priss
spoke up suddenly, tilting her head back against his arm to
look up into his eyes. "How come you've never asked about
the same sort of stuff from me?"
"Because that's your decision," he replied simply. "I
figured that if you wanted to tell me, you would, in your
own way and your own time."
"I....do want you to know some of it," she said after
another moment of silence. "I.... just haven't talked about
it in so long, I... I'm not sure I can."
"Only if you want to," he repeated softly, giving her a
gentle squeeze. "And you don't have to rush it if you do;
we've got all night, or longer if you need it." He was a
little surprised when Priss stood and started pacing
agitatedly with her head bowed and her arms clamped tightly
across her chest. Concerned, he started to stand, but she
waved him back into the couch.
"I'm fine, really. I just have to do it this way," she
told him. The look on her face indicated that resurrecting
some of her memories of the past wasn't going easily, but he
respected her request and stayed on the couch. She paced
for a few more moments, her expression pained as he watched
her silently.
"I can't really remember my parents all that well
anymore," she began, swallowing painfully. "It's been so
long, and so much has happened since then...." Bert sat
listening quietly as she haltingly told him about the
aftermath of the earthquake that had stripped her parents
from her, and the unhappy childhood that had followed that.
She paced constantly, as if the physical exertion was
necessary to force the words from her, her face anguished.
It took a while to relate it all, the time she'd run
with one of the motorcycle gangs inhabiting the fringes,
discovering her talent for singing, the briefly happy period
she'd enjoyed with the leader of her gang, and then his
murder. When she came to the part of his murder, and how
the ADP had sloughed it off as just an `accident', her eyes
blazed angrily, flames seeming to flicker in their reddish-
brown depths.
"I saw the whole thing, but they wouldn't goddamn
believe me," she half-snarled, fists clenched in remembered
fury as angry tears tracked down her face. "I was just some
other biker, and not important enough to be taken seriously.
They told me I shouldn't stick my nose into police business
and left."
"And then?" he asked quietly. She glanced at him, some
of her composure returning.
"And then I went home, such as it was, and cried for a
while," she said flatly. "Then I went out to go get the
bastard who shot him. I didn't really give a shit if I
survived or not, I just didn't want him to get away with
it." She started pacing a bit more. "That was when I met
Sylia, and she offered me a job." A faint smile twitched at
her lips. "The `interview' didn't quite go as she'd
planned, I think, but she managed to convince me that her
way was better, and here I am."
"A fact for which I'm extremely glad," he noted
lightly, giving her a warm smile. She smiled briefly back,
her gaze turning distant as she turned away from him, still
caught up in the web of old memories.
Standing up, Bert gently reached out and turned her
around to face him. Reaching out again, he gently wiped away
the tear streaks from her cheek with a hand and gathered her
close in a hug a moment later. Priss hugged him back
gratefully in a suddenly vulnerable-seeming seeking of
comfort. After a moment or so, he gently tipped her chin up
with a hand, leaning down and kissing her softly and
lovingly. She kissed him back, sliding a hand up to the back
of his neck, pulling him closer. Her lips parted under his,
and the kiss became very thorough and ardent, abruptly
becoming much more than merely the gesture of sympathy and
compassion he'd intended.
She withdrew long enough for them to take a couple of
heavy breaths, and then she hungrily kissed him again. He
responded equally eagerly, as a sudden sense of urgency
became apparent in her movements. Her body pressed tightly
against his, as her hands started slowly and surely
unbuttoning his shirt, while she kept kissing him deeply.
They slowly sank back into the couch, twined in a passionate
embrace as his hands began working at her clothes as well.
****
Sylia moved through the basement corridor towards
Bert's apartment, trying to think of a way to broach the
subject she needed to discuss with him. Her chat with Nene
had helped clear the air at that end of things, but that
only solved half of the situation. In order to resolve
things fully, she needed to know just what he was going to
do. At the same time, she hoped to confirm whether or not
Nene's worries about him and Priss had been needless
jealousy.
She reached the door to his apartment and knocked.
After a few moments of silence, she tried knocking again,
frowning slightly. Still no response. Strange; she was sure
he'd said he'd be around, and she'd already checked the
shop. She started to turn away, intending to go back
upstairs and try phoning the archery range, when a muffled
thud sounded from the room.
Sylia stopped, frowning a bit more as she regarded the
door, weighing her options. She knew no trespassers had
entered the building, so it wasn't a prowler in his room. If
it was Bert in there, it was uncharacteristic of him to
ignore someone knocking. Could he have become ill? she
wondered. It was a distinct possibility, especially since
she knew he'd pulled another couple of `all-nighters'
recently, despite her standing order to the contrary.
She sighed at that thought; there were a lot of
`standing orders' that he still seemed to conveniently
forget about from time to time. He was a lot better than he
had been in the past, but there were still times when she
wanted to slowly strangle him. Maybe if he'd become sick
from overworking, he'd be more apt to listen to her from now
on. Not very likely, a voice in the back of her mind noted
wryly.
There was another soft bumping noise from the
apartment, and she decided she'd better check, just to make
sure. She stepped forwards, and tested the door handle; it
was unlocked. Carefully easing the door open, she slipped
quietly inside.
The apartment lighting was on, but dimmed to a very low
level. Sylia glanced around quizzically; she couldn't see
anyone or anything that would have...
Across the living room, the couch moved slightly; she
couldn't see what was causing the movement, since the back
of the couch was facing the door. Abruptly, she became aware
that she could hear heavy breathing emanating from that
region of the room, along with some other sounds she
couldn't immediately identify. As she slowly started walking
softly towards the couch, puzzled, she heard what sounded
like someone whispering, and then a quiet, feminine giggle.
Some soft, intimate-sounding murmuring could be heard for a
moment, then the soft noises resumed, overlaid with the
heavy breaths, and what sounded like cloth sliding against
cloth.
As she opened her mouth preparatory to saying
something, something whipped up over the back of the couch,
nearly causing her to give a startled exclamation as it
landed in a soft heap at her feet. She regained control of
herself, heart pounding, and stooped, picking up the
unidentifiable heap of cloth; it was a woman's blouse, pale
blue with brown shoulder patches.
With a growing sense of unreality, Sylia recognized it,
and her gaze lifted to the couch just as a young woman with
long brown hair sat up on it, flipping her hair back over
her shoulders and out of her face with a toss of her head,
running her hands down her naked upper body in a sensual
manner. After another moment of total, absolute shock,
Sylia recognized Priss. The young rock singer abruptly
noticed she had a spectator as well.
"Sylia?!? OH SHIT!!" she yelped, turning a hot red
colour all over as she tried to cover herself with her hands
and arms, and attempted to duck down below the couch back in
order to get out of sight. Sylia just stared, her jaw
almost on the ground, wide-eyed, her mind unable to fully
grasp at the moment just what she was seeing.
"WHO?!?!" a second, male voice burst out from behind
the couch. Priss jerked slightly as Bert, who was evidently
under her, sat up just enough to catch a glimpse of the
slack-jawed woman standing in the middle of the room,
staring at the couch and its occupants. The movement
unbalanced the two lovers however, and they fell off the
couch with a loud thud, out of her immediate sight. The
abrupt disappearance of Priss from her vision gave Sylia
enough presence of mind to withdraw.
"I...I'm sorry, I didn't realize you two were...busy,"
she said faintly, feeling her own face turn hot. "I'll come
back later." With that, mind numb, the leader of the Knight
Sabers turned and left the apartment, closing the door
behind her.
****
"Oh, this is just perfect," Bert groaned as he heard
the door to the apartment shut, a hand over his eyes,
letting his head drop back to the carpet. Having Sylia walk
in on him while he was ... busy with Priss had been one of
the furthest things from his mind before, but now that it
had happened, he was kicking himself for not having foreseen
the possibility. He made a mental note to lock the door from
now on. The woman laying on top of him giggled suddenly.
"Did you see the look on her face?" Priss asked, unable
to keep from snickering again. She shifted around, her
smooth skin warm against his, sitting up slightly. "She
looked like someone shot her."
"Well, it was certainly a surprise," he noted dryly.
"From both ends." She laughed softly again while he sighed,
realizing that some explaining was going to be in order;
Sylia wasn't going to be very happy with the fact that he
was having a relationship with Priss, and he certainly knew
the reasons for that. With another sigh, he shifted around,
trying to get up.
"Hey, just where do you think you're going?" Priss slid
a hand along each of his arms, and grabbed his wrists,
pinning him back to the floor. Her long hair fell forwards
as she leaned down towards him, tickling his skin. Her hair
and the dimness of the room had cloaked her expression in
shadows, making it hard to tell just what she was thinking.
"Well, Sylia's going to want an explanation," he tried
telling her, squirming a bit; she continued to hold him down
firmly. "As the leader of the team, I think she deserves
one."
"What for?" the alluring singer asked, leaning closer.
Her breath felt very warm and moist on his skin. "We're both
adults; we don't need to clear everything we do with her.
It's not like she's our mother or something."
"That's true," he agreed, his pulse rate beginning to
pick up just a bit as her head moved closer to his. "But now
that she knows we're, uh, involved, this is going to affect
the rest of the team, and I think she's entitled to an
explanation in that regard."
"Later," Priss breathed, lowering her lips to his and
kissing him. He decided not to disagree with her.
****
Sylia poured herself another cup of tea, noting that
her hands had finally quit shaking. She'd often thought
that there wasn't much that could really surprise her
anymore, but that notion had just died an ugly death.
In the back of her mind there was still a numb feeling
of stunned disbelief, that what she'd seen down in Bert's
basement apartment hadn't been what she thought. She was
too pragmatic to entertain that hope for long though.
Squeezing her eyes shut against the image that was probably
now indelibly etched into her mind, she took a huge gulp of
tea from her cup as if it could wash away the memory. It
didn't.
There was a hesitant-sounding knock at the front door.
Despite herself, Sylia jumped, almost dumping her cup on the
floor. Quickly composing herself, she took a deep breath,
praying she could maintain her usual poise, and called for
whoever it was to enter.
After a moment that seemed to stretch forever, the door
swung open, and Priss walked through. The tall, attractive
singer was wearing jeans and a faded blue sweatshirt that
hung loosely on her. With an effort, Sylia managed to keep
from looking over to the chair where Priss's blouse sat
folded up; she'd been so shocked she'd forgotten to drop the
garment as she'd left the apartment. Priss calmly walked
over to the couch across from her and sat down.
A somewhat sheepish-looking Bert followed after the
brown-haired woman, closing the door before coming over to
the couch and sitting next to her. The minute his gaze met
Sylia's, he turned bright red and looked away, pulling
briefly at the neck of his shirt as if it had just started
strangling him. Priss was concealing her current state of
mind behind a cool, almost expressionless mask, and for a
moment Sylia envied her apparent calm. At the same time,
she recognized Priss's usual defense for when a discussion
was going to possibly intrude on personal matters she didn't
really want to discuss. An awkward silence fell as everyone
present fumbled mentally for some way to start a
conversation.
"I guess I owe you an apology for, ah, intruding while
you were ... busy," Sylia began delicately. Her cheeks
coloured slightly as she fought to maintain her composure.
She realized that her efforts weren't meeting with with much
success, judging by the faint hint of sardonic amusement on
Priss's face. Bert merely sat silently, looking
uncomfortable.
"Did you see whatever it was that you were looking
for?" the brown-haired singer asked archly, unable to keep a
faintly wicked-looking smirk from appearing. "You certainly
stared long enough while you were there."
"Priss!!" Bert's strangled exclamation drew a sideways
glance from her, while Sylia turned bright crimson.
"I think I saw all I needed to," Sylia replied as
coolly as she could under the circumstances. "Which leads
to the question of just what do you two think you are
doing?"
"What, you want detailed descriptions?"
"Priss! For God's sake!" Bert's face was a study in
consternation and embarrassment, and he looked like he was
ready to try hiding under the couch.
"Well what do you want me to say?!" she demanded,
sparing a glance for the extremely flustered Sylia as she
turned towards him. "I don't think I should have to sit
here and justify myself to someone else just because I'm
having a relationship with someone! I am an adult, and I've
been making my own decisions and accepting the consequences
for years now, thank you very much!"
"I wasn't questioning your maturity, Priss," Sylia
interjected coolly. She'd managed to pull herself together,
and was determined not to let the younger woman rattle her
any longer. "I'm more interested in whether or not the two
of you considered the consequences that your involvement
could have." She sighed, closing her eyes as she rubbed at
her temples. "How long has this been going on?"
"A little over a week," Bert replied quietly. "I
suppose the night of Priss's last concert was when it really
started."
"The night of the concert?" Sylia repeated. He nodded.
"We'd .... talked a bit before that, off and on," he
told her. "It wasn't really until the day of the concert
that I admitted I was," he cleared his throat and seemed to
brace himself, "in love with her. After the concert, well,
uh, it...just sort of....happened," Bert mumbled, flushing
brick red.
"You mean you didn't consider the repercussions at
all?!" Sylia asked, appalled.
"Lay off him, Sylia," Priss replied defensively. "We
both thought it over. Hell, I couldn't find him for hours
before the concert, and, knowing him, he was holed up
somewhere agonizing over what he should do. Right?" she
turned towards him, raising an eyebrow questioningly and
prodding him with a finger. "I'm right, aren't I?" she
persisted.
"Yes," he admitted, sighing. "I spend a long time
questioning myself," he told Sylia. "And whether it was
genuine feelings or just physical attraction. I...."
"But have you considered how this is going to affect
the entire team?" Sylia interrupted.
"You've lost me." Bert's face was slightly baffled
looking.
"I'm referring to your usual custom of being, shall we
say, overprotective?" Sylia suggested.
"That's not going to happen," Bert assured her. "I can
control myself."
"Besides the fact that I can take care of myself,"
Priss amplified. "Anyone who tries to `protect me' is going
to get their ass kicked across the battlefield."
"Oh, really?" Bert raised an eyebrow as a challenging
grin spread across his face. "It might be fun to watch you
try it...."
"Try nothing, buster," she glared at him. "I don't
need a guardian, and I've been at this longer than you have.
If I wanted to, I could kick your armoured ass up between
your ears, so just forget any `protect the distressed
damsel' kinds of notions."
"Oh yeah?! You and what army?!" he glared back,
slightly offended. "I happen to care a lot about you, and
if I think you need help, then I'm going to help, damnit!!"
"IF the two of you don't mind!" Sylia cut in sharply,
resisting the urge to scream. "This is exactly what I was
talking about!! This bickering and arguing at the drop of a
hat! Can't you two please cut it out?! I'm sick of putting
up with that kind of... of..." Sylia searched for the
proper word in frustration.
"Bullshit?" Priss suggested.
"Exactly! Bullshit!" Sylia snapped peevishly. "We
can't afford it on a mission, do you understand me?! When
we're in the middle of a firefight is not the time to start
getting bent out of shape because you think someone's being
overprotective!"
"It didn't happen the last time, Sylia," Bert reassured
her, "and we were in some fairly serious trouble at the
time, so I don't think it'll be a problem."
"I suppose that's something, anyway," Sylia sighed
deeply. "While we're on the subject of overprotectiveness,
have you considered what this is going to do to Nene?" A
thick silence fell across the room for a few moments.
"I've thought about it," he admitted, a pained look
twisting his face. "I..."
"He hasn't done anything for weeks without first
worrying about what it might do to Nene," Priss quietly
spoke up.
"I decided it was time to move on," Bert added,
spreading his hands helplessly. "I still love Nene in a lot
of ways, but sitting drowning in regrets and hoping she'd
come back wasn't getting me anywhere except deeper into
depression. I've moved on, and she's going to have to
realize that she has to as well." He fell silent, and sat
looking wistfully into space, a quietly sorrowful look
cloaking his features. The silence deepened as everyone
became momentarily preoccupied with their own thoughts.
"Bert and I discovered we cared for each other a bit
more than we'd realized, and we decided to go with that and
see where it went, Sylia," Priss quietly picked up the
explanation after a hesitant glance at him. "But we've been
very careful not to hurt Nene; we haven't been going out in
public together, and we've made sure we carried on in our
usual manner when we have been seen in public."
"Bickering and arguing," he wryly interjected. A
faint, grudging smile pulled at Sylia's mouth, while Priss
grinned sheepishly.
"So no one else knows about this yet?" their leader
queried.
"Except Sylvie," Priss replied, a faint hint of colour
appearing in her cheeks for the first time as she glanced
sidelong at Bert. His face was also a bit warm-looking.
"She, uh, cornered us about it and was able to guess what
we'd been up to."
"How long were you planning to keep up the charade?"
Sylia asked them bluntly. "I think you owe it to Nene to
tell her to her face what the situation is now, rather than
let her find out through hearsay."
"I know," Bert sighed. "And as soon as I get the
chance to break it to her gently, I'm going to." He lapsed
into silence again, looking glum. He knew what Nene's
reaction was likely going to be, and there was just no way
he could avoid hurting her with what he had to tell her.
"I'd appreciate that," Sylia said quietly.
"Was that everything, Sylia?" Priss asked, glancing at
a now-depressed Bert. Sylia nodded; she wasn't overly happy
with what she'd uncovered, but there really wasn't anything
she could do about it. Priss nodded in reply. Getting up,
she started for the front door.
"I'll let you know when I've .... told Nene what's
going on," Bert told Sylia as he also stood. He followed
the attractive singer to the doorway, hesitating for just an
instant, almost as if he wanted to say something else.
Whatever it was, it remained unsaid as he stepped into the
hallway, letting the door swing shut behind him.
"Just a moment," Sylia called out suddenly. Footsteps
that had been fading in the direction of her front door
reversed course as first Bert, then Priss, stepped back into
the room, curious looks on their faces. Sylia suddenly
found herself blushing again. "You forgot something," she
said as she pointed to the folded blouse lying on the nearby
chair.
Priss, a big grin on her face, crossed the room to
retrieve her wayward blouse as Bert turned an even deeper
shade of red than before. Mission accomplished, Priss
rejoined her lover, and, with a wink for Sylia, followed him
as he turned and left the room again. As the door closed
behind them, the utterly speechless Sylia heard them start
arguing again.
"So you think you can kick my ass, do you? Well I...."
Thankfully, the door closed completely at that point,
sparing her any further sound from the pair.
Sylia sighed shakily, her mind still whirling in a
welter of embarrassment as she unconsciously ran her hands
through her hair. It was bad enough she'd been so flustered
by what she'd seen earlier that she'd forgotten to just drop
Priss's blouse before leaving the apartment, but why did the
young singer have to rub it in by winking?! Sylia's face
crimsoned again as her subconscious gleefully provided
several somewhat naughty reasons for the wink, and she again