Ok, this is *definitely* the last time I am going to try this.  Obviously
something is complaining about the size of this as a single post, but I might
well be subjecting a few to several postings of this thing.  If so, my most
sincere apologies for wasting your band-width (and possibly costing you for
receiving something multiple times).  This must work -- I've split the thing
into 4 posts.  If anyone has kept the DA specs I posted and is interested in
all this, don't read them before reading this if possible.  Again, sorry for
any inconvenience.  Now, from the original post:
----------
	Well, I've *finally* finished the alpha version of this monster
(wasn't everyone just waiting for it?  Yeah, right. ^_^ ).  It's about 428K in
size and is *very* much an initial version, therefore any C&C or suggestions
as to how I can correct and improve it (see the 20K or so of notes at the end
to get some ideas as to what I think is wrong) would be very much appreciated.
Also, as I wrote this thing in lots and lots of bits and put everything
together, I'd not be in the least upset if someone told me I hadn't spell-
checked any of the bits (but no complaining about the fact that I'm a maniacal
monarchist ^_^ and so stick fiercely to British spelling :) ).  I'm also
posting the DA technical specs for correction and improvement but don't read
them first (there are spoilers for this chapter) and all of this should be
going to RAAC as soon as I fix the faults.
	Anyway, without further ado ...

	----------

			Dark Chronicles:
			Chapter 3.

	Crack!
	A chunk of pavement exploded almost at his heels. Then there was a
ringing, tearing crunch as his daughter leapt from the roof to which she had
vaulted after shattering Ogawa's neck and crashed down on the 33C that had
nearly killed him scant moments before. Indecision tore at him for a moment,
yet he knew he could do nothing to help her. Marina had given him a chance,
slim though it was. He was numbly certain she could not keep this up for many
minutes, not with most of her systems inaccessible and with the sensory
overload caused by her attempts to access her enhanced suite with the standard
chip. She would crash, and then they would have her once more, her and her
sisters in perpetuity, and it would all have been for nothing.
	Choking back a gasping laugh of bitter self-mockery, he looked back
one last time and turned helplessly away. He should have known that there
could be no chance, that his bid for her freedom and his own could have had no
other end but this.
	Gasping now, his left leg shooting numbing shards of agony through his
body at every impact with the ground, he rounded yet another corner and dove
desperately into the comparative darkness of an alley. He spun crazily, no
longer able to bear his own weight on his injured leg, let alone that of the
small heavy case he clutched desperately, protectively close. Then he cannoned
into some dust-bins and other refuse and a moment later he lay dazed and
panting in a sodden pile of some unnameable, evil-smelling filth, the case
tumbling to rest almost at his side.
	For what seemed an endless time of ever growing pain and delirium he
lay still, too exhausted and terrified to move, while blood soaked slowly
through his heavy trench-coat from the terrible wound in his shoulder and
through his trousers from the dreadful gash just below his left knee.
	"You have to get up! You have to get up!" He kept telling himself, the
gasping whimper ever more desperate and hopeless. "You can't stay here. You're
as good as dead already. You have to keep going! They need you! *She* needs
you!"
	Stirring at last, trying vainly to fight down the retching, clutching
nausea, he made a feeble effort to rise. But it was already too late. Far
beyond exhaustion, his body utterly refusing to obey him, he could do nothing
but whimper helplessly as he lay panting and utterly unable to move. It would
be so simple to surrender to the gentle, calling blackness of oblivion, an
oblivion free from loss and pain. For a moment he struggled to hold the
blackness at bay, then with a last tiny sob he closed his eyes and the world
around him was no more.
	Movement. He was being carried. He could feel the firm grip about his
legs and his arms had been drawn down to be held by the wrists.
	He tried to stir, then moaned as fresh agony knifed through him.
	"Keep still." Came a low female voice close beside him.
	It was a moment before he recognised it in his semi-stupor. Then he
started.
	"Marina?" He gasped.
	"You were expecting someone else?" The boomer responded, her tone
seeming to be one of wry amusement. "Did you think I wouldn't make it?"
	She laughed a chilling, hard-edged laugh and tossed her head, the long
fair hair flipping against his cheek.
	"I thought--. I mean, a 33C-A."
	"Losing isn't in my job description." She answered, the hard edge
still in her tone. "You should know. You defined my combat parameters."
	"Parameters change." He grunted. "I wasn't sure you'd survive, or come
for anything but the case if you did."
	"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought." She answered simply. "If
you don't know your own firmware--."
	"You're more than firmware Marina--" He began, but was cut off by a
short savage laugh.
	"Oh yes." She answered. "So much more. The perfect assassin, the
perfect street whore, the perfect lady of high society, the perfect spy, the
perfect bait for the Knight Sabres?"
	With this last she laughed again, a wild lost sound. "Except that now
I need to find them rather than take or kill them. You didn't put that in my
job description before we had to run. I had to make those changes myself."
	She laughed again. "I'm surprised you didn't christen me Shasti rather
than give me the name of your lost daughter, attractive though she was. It
would have been more fitting, *and* more accurate."
	This time, the laugh was a short vicious snarl.
	He simply tried to shake his head, not comprehending.
	"It doesn't matter." She said. "How could you understand?"
	They continued in silence for some time, her smooth, cat-like
movements barely jolting the injured scientist.
	"Where are we going?" He asked at last.
	"I had intended to find a place where I could finish patching you up."
She answered simply. "A derelict, an office building; it wouldn't have
mattered. But you're too badly hurt. Now I must make other plans. They won't
come looking tonight. I took the precaution of tampering with the assassin,
just a little, and Ogawa and Radford are dead. It believes it finished the
job, not that that will mean much on close examination; I was a little pressed
for time."
	"You really are amazing." He said softly, a father's warmth suddenly
in his tone.
	"Genom's latest in the quest for killing perfection." She parroted in
a near perfect imitation of the tones she herself had used for the internal
executive presentation, tinged with a little sardonic savagery. "Presenting
the D-class, series A. The DA-33, incorporating our newly patented EOA,
Enhanced Organic Architecture, together with the very latest in AI iso-linear
technology and personality simulation is the ultimate tool for those demanding
the very highest in state-of-the-art boomer products with which the name of
Genom Corporation has come to be synonymous. Pre-programmed with over one-
hundred-thousand personality variants and presented standard with more than
one-hundred-million megabytes of three-dimensional Optical RAM on-board,
coupled with the very latest in relational data retrieval and assimilation, an
on-board library including the Encyclopaedia Britannica, over ten-thousand
works of historical importance and support for over two-hundred languages, the
DA-33 is a must for those demanding the very best artificial intelligence has
to offer."
	She stopped, as though only now aware of just how dangerous it might
be to announce herself to any who might be near enough to hear and coherent
enough to care (this was the Canyons after all).
	But the man she was carrying did not have to hear the words again. He
had helped write the speech she had delivered. Still more than half delirious,
his own mind ran on, replaying the words.
	"Able to emulate all combat functions of the military-spec C-class
model 55-MKII without the need for internal expansion, and all functions of
the discontinued S-series including but not limited to social, relational and
interface capabilities, the DA-33 is uniquely suited for a myriad of
applications from weapons control to shock-troop command and from military
confidante to the subtleties of covert intelligence. Add the enhanced DA-2134
EOA parallel CPU with an additional one-hundred-million megabytes of CPU-
INTERNAL 0.1 nano-second ORAM together with DA-SPECIFIC weapons, physical and
ECM enhancements and the DA-33 becomes the DA-33-Elite, a machine unparalleled
in weapons capability, relational intelligence and physical performance."
	There had followed a stunning but fabricated display of Marina
disposing of a score or more of the best in C-class, Doberman and the massive
Bu-12b technology within a matter of seconds, fabricated because of last-
minute problems with the first, and at that time the only DA-2134 which had
forced the DA prototype to remain a standard 33 until the second and bug-free
chip, the huge block of pseudo-organic technology nestled (amongst other
things) in the case that swung now from about the boomer's neck, could be
completed and tested.
	"We have to find her quickly." He gasped, the throbbing agony already
almost unbearable once more. "Until I finish the upgrade--."
	"I'm a liability." She ended, a trace of amusement in the words. "Stop
moving." She continued harshly. "Do you want the tourniquet to come off? I'm
perfectly aware of our need for safety; leave such matters to me. After all, I
*was* designed to deal with them."
	"Couldn't you fly?" He asked, his voice a mutter of semi-delirium.
	"If someone hadn't neglected to remember that the standard Iso-linear
hasn't the additional address-space needed to drive thruster controllers
designed for the 2134. yes." She answered with a touch of sarcasm. "I should
have thought the CPU upgrade would have been your first priority."
	"Needed the weapons on-line." He muttered, drifting again towards
unconsciousness. "Thought we'd never get out without them. Didn't know so much
would be incompatible."
	"And now they're all but useless." She said simply. "Incompetence. I
simply can't believe such incompetence from someone with your intelligence."
	"'M sorry Mrina." He muttered. "Lost my daughter--, had to save you.
Didn't want her copy to be Quincy's latest toy. Just wanted get away; save you
and Cmilla. Took Liana bfore I could help her; couldn't lose you too."
	"You really are a maudlin fool." She said savagely.
	He could not see the intensity of the smile she gave him or the sudden
tears in her blue eyes. His own were already closed and her tone was a perfect
imitation of dismissive contempt.
	"Wanted them to pay for what they did to her." She heard him gasp, his
voice a cracked whisper. "No hope. Find us, kill me and make you weapon."
	"Not if I can help it." She snarled, too softly for him to hear.
	But she knew her time was desperately short. He had destroyed the
recall data and her access key, but they would already be expediting the
activation of the only other DA in which a security key had been included and
as intelligent as he was, she knew he was far from imaginative. Once they had
unlocked Camilla's key, it would only be a matter of a few permutations on her
part before they had her own. They had to get to Sylia Stingray before that
happened. If the Mason/Largo data she had found was accurate, she alone might
be able to unravel the subtleties of the designs that even Alexei Ivanovitch
Zhuranovsky had not been able fully to comprehend. His knowledge, like that of
every scientist in the vastness of Genom Corporation, was, at least in part,
empirical, a poor reflection at best of the intricacies of the inventive
genius that had made the lithe diminutive peak of technological achievement
that now raced with her precious cargo through the vastness of the canyons
with such single-minded purpose, possible. She had to reach Katsuhito
Stingray's daughter before morning, of that at least she was certain. By dawn
they would have Camilla out of her tank and the second functional DA-2134
could be initialised and installed within twenty-four hours. Not that they
would need the chip unless their initial attempt failed. They would waste no
time with tests; Camilla would be of no danger whilst her enhanced physical
and weapons systems remained off-line. They would have her attempt access to
the first prototype immediately and Marina could not access the code to
override her response once her key had been sent; there was no code as such to
access, a precaution on father's own suggestion she knew, ironic as that was
now; a failsafe should her systems crash so completely that nothing else was
accessible. The key would hardware cold-boot her systems and place her in
firmware command mode under the control of a tiny sub-processor, the standard
iso-linear running as little more than an extremely expensive ORAM interface.
Then they would have her, her and father. The 2134 upgrade alone would do
nothing to stave off the inevitable; her firmware was designed to run the
minuscule sub-CPU included in the 34 in an enhanced equivalent of the same
mode at cold-boot. The hardware key needed to be changed and the micro-
instructions (included even in the DA-SPECIFIC chip) designed by the elder
Stingray needed to be altered to ensure no compatibility with Genom's own
code, and there was only one who might be able to do that. Sylia Stingray
would help them, or die. That, she had already decided.
	Alexei moaned again and she shifted him a little, trying to ease the
pain. He was in desperate need of attention, she knew that. He had lost too
much blood in the alley before she had found him and he had probably infected
the wounds during his time amongst the refuse, not to mention the fact that a
good deal of shrapnel was still inside him and he probably had severe internal
injuries. Were she fully functional she could have taken to the air or covered
the ground at perhaps forty times her present speed. But her enhanced systems
were not compatible with the standard chip and she was having a hard enough
time as it was interpreting the semi-incoherent ruin that was supposed to be
sensory data without attempting to access more of the new systems.
	Baring her teeth in a boomer-snarl of savage frustration, she
tightened her grip on the now unconscious scientist and began to increase her
pace. She could not afford to spare him now. If she did not find help quickly,
he would die and she would be Genom's once more. Snarling again, her mouth set
in a feral smile of vicious determination, she lowered her head, settled the
human she considered her father closer to her and went on running.

	"Priss! Oh God Priss, please help me!"
	Whirling at Nene's scream, Priss ducked the vicious swipe of the C-55
and flipped back to put some distance between herself and the boomer.
	"Eat this you bastard!" She snarled, twisting from the path of the
blast and driving a spike into the machine's suddenly gaping mouth.
	There was a satisfying flash as the laser discharged into the boomer's
head, then in the next moment an explosion slammed Priss to the ground.
	"Sh*t!" She panted, flipping to her feet. "How many more are there
today!"
	Another desperate scream made her remember Nene nearby and in trouble.
	Spinning just in time to avoid the claws of yet another homicidal
machine and smash it to the ground with a savage back-hand that all but took
off its left arm, Priss leapt away and turned, just in time to see Linna whip
round, slashing the head from the machine that had been about to nail her.
	"Have to do better than that!" Priss cursed herself.
	She spun, flipping again as yet another particle beam slammed into the
place in which she'd been standing scant moments before. Then in the next
moment something slammed into her from behind and she found herself on the
ground, pinned and utterly unable to move.
	"Damn it, damn it!" She snarled, struggling madly to escape. "Not
again!"
	Kicking out with a savagery born of desperation, she felt her foot
connect with something. There was a dull thudding crunch and Priss hurled the
suddenly dead weight from her and lurched upright. She turned to finish the
machine just struggling to its feet. Then suddenly a blood-curdling scream
made her spin back and away. Priss searched wildly for a moment, and froze,
head up, eyes wide, gaping in shocked sickened horror at what she saw.
	Nene hung limply in the grip of a C-55, its claws seeming impossibly
to have punched right through her suit. She was facing the thing, her helmet
torn away, blood splashing on her lips and pumping from the dreadful wound
over the boomer's arm as she hung, green eyes wide and glazed with terror and
agony. Then, even as Priss watched, too sickened for the moment to react, the
machine seemed to shift and change before her eyes until in its place stood
the tall, stunning figure of a woman, her long flaming hair streaming about
her, her face twisted into a hideous smile of demonic triumph as she lifted
Nene effortlessly in her arms, her mouth reaching for the blood on her own.
	"Oh SH*T! Oh *SH*T* Sylia stop this!"
	The words were torn from Priss's throat in a strangled scream of utter
revulsion. "If this is your idea of a new simulation it's *SICK*!"
	Then in the next instant the thing had turned, Emerald eyes locking
suddenly with Priss's own, a slow seductive smile of nightmare appetite
filling the devastating face as the thing moved towards her. Priss reeled back
for a moment, horror and revulsion such as she had never imagined she could
feel fighting to choke her. Then something seemed to explode inside her into a
white-hot paroxysm of rage and hate. She leapt to attack, then all was pain
and screaming and her mad, desperate struggles to pound the nightmare into the
dust.
	"Priss! Priss what on earth are you doing!"
	The voice seemed to come from very far away.
	"Quick, get her out of there!"
	A moment later so it seemed, hands were holding her and then the
helmet was gone and Priss was doubled over, retching and choking until at last
there was nothing left to bring up.
	"It's alright." Linna seemed to be saying again and again as she and
Sylia struggled to pull Priss from the simulated hard-suit. "Just don't faint
on us. You'll be alright in a minute. Just breathe."
	Then she was being led, her head still spinning and her legs somehow
refusing to obey her, through a passage and into the bathroom. There she was
sick again, the image still clearer to her than the world around her. She felt
someone wiping her mouth, and turned to see Sylia's usually calm expression
replaced by one of real anxiety.
	"You've got one hell of a lot of explaining to do!" Priss snarled
shakily, pulling back to stare at her. "I know you can be calculating but
that! That was just--!"
	She stopped as though unable to think of any way to describe what she
was feeling.
	"What!" Nene exclaimed from her place just behind Linna. "Priss, what
are you talking about? What happened?"
	"What the *hell* were you trying to do?" Priss screamed suddenly at
Sylia, rage now replacing horror as she began fully to come back to herself.
"Just what the hell kind of simulation was that supposed to be?"
	"Hey, calm down!" Mackie exclaimed, appearing at Nene's side. "Sis
didn't do anything. We were all watching with her all the time. You were
nearly dead, you got in a lucky kick, got up, then just seemed to--."
	"Mackie!"
	Sylia's tone was suddenly sharp and commanding. "I think we'd better
leave this for the moment.
	"Priss, the basic parameters of the simulation were *exactly* as I
told you they would be, believe me. You can see the data yourself as soon as
you're ready. I--"
	"Now!" Priss snarled, still glaring at her as though she might tear
her apart at any moment. "I want to see the whole damned thing now before
you--"
	Abruptly she faltered, seeming suddenly to realise what she had been
about to say.
	"Before I change it?" Sylia said quietly.
	For just a moment, almost too briefly for her to be certain, Priss
thought she caught a flash of pain and anger in Sylia's eyes, then the cool
assurance was there once more.

	Priss sat back, staring stupidly at the screen. The replay showed
events exactly as the others had insisted they had happened. She had caught
the simulated boomer with a blind strike that had crumpled its upper left leg
like foil, hurled it away, struggled up, turned to it, then suddenly she had
whirled and frozen, then begun to struggle and to scream.
	For what seemed an eternity, Priss remained unmoving. Then at last she
stirred.
	"Nene, could what I saw have been different from what you were
seeing?" She asked.
	Nene looked uncharacteristically outraged for a moment, then at a
quick look from Sylia she calmed.
	"No." She answered, her emerald eyes full of certainty and anxiety as
they sought Priss's own. "The systems are slaved. We saw exactly what you
did."
	"No you didn't." Said Priss quietly.
	"Do you want to tell us what you did see then?" Said Linna.
	"Just one thing. Do you *swear* Sylia that you didn't do anything?"
	Priss's tone was still hard.
	"Yes." Sylia answered simply.
	"Ok," Priss hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry, but it makes things
all the more weird. What I saw--"
	"What *did* you see?" Mackie demanded, beginning to lose his patience.
	Priss was silent for a moment. Then with a shudder, she began to
speak.

	She could not have been in a worse mood. Madigan stood amidst the ruin
that had once been Dr. Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky's and his daughter's city
apartment and vowed that she would have the miserable, narrow-visioned bastard
eviscerated with something small and very blunt by the very machine he had
stolen, after security had finished with him of course. It had not been a good
night for Madigan.
	She had been roused from a dead, dark sleep by the C-55 all but
dragging her from her bed, only an hour after she had settled into it for the
night. For a moment the irrational certainty that Quincy had decided, for some
reason known only to himself, that her services would no longer be required,
had seized her. Then the security boomer had made its report.
	The first DA-33 prototype was missing, along with Zhuranovsky and the
functional DA-2134.
	Madigan, cursing more vehemently than she had since the moment the
true enormity of the Largo fiasco had become clear to her, had struggled with
frantic speed into something more suitable than a nightdress, her mind
whirling in wild desperate speculation.
	There had been indications that the fool might try something like
this, indications to which she should have paid attention rather than
listening to the idiots who considered themselves the cream of Genom internal
security. Ever since the oh-so-unfortunate death of his daughter, the
scientist had been a liability. Yet her advisers insisted that he was cowed
and would not try to escape, not yet, not until the tests were complete and he
saw what he considered all but the resurrection of his lost child fully
functional. Certainly, they had continually assured her in imbecilic concert,
there was no possibility that he might try to flee with the machine he had
helped to create.
	She should have known better. She should have had him confined to
quarters within the tower for the duration, or at least until the first DA's
initial firmware could be checked independently both for faults and for any
influence he might attempt to hide in its programming. The problem was that
they were desperately pressed for time. Had it not been for the failure of the
initial 2134, the infiltration of the Knight Sabre organisation could have
taken place *exactly* as originally intended.
	It would have been so simple. Camilla, a new experimental prototype
based supposedly on the discontinued 33-S sexaroid and designed apparently for
the lucrative and in some cases illegal international market in such products
as well as its domestic equivalent, would have "escaped" with Marina, the
daughter of a distinguished Genom scientist forced to head the project and
recently "terminated" after the machine's completion. Whilst Camilla, the
standard DA, played a desperate Sylvie equivalent for the sabres benefit,
Marina, the DA-33-Elite, would be waiting, the perfect distraught daughter of
a cruelly murdered genius, apparently no longer willing to trust anyone and so
using her father's creation as an intermediary. Madigan might not know who the
Knight Sabres were, but she was certain that it would not take them long to
find the two "escapees" given the appropriate leaking of information
concerning the project, information specifically created for the occasion but
based, at least in part, on a tiny fragment of the truth. Camilla's task would
have been to observe and to play the desperate, terrified machine-become-woman
seeking a new beginning. At each return to the hideout Madigan had no doubt
the sabres would soon provide, she could upload the gathered data to Marina,
who would then determine what should be done. When they were ready, Marina
would upgrade the second DA and they would summon the sabres to the hideout on
whatever pretext seemed appropriate. The women would be captured and brought
to the tower where four more DA-33-Elites would be waiting to take their
place. This time, the deception would be perfect. After the appropriate
extraction of information, ensuring of course that none of the four were
damaged unduly, the four DAs would be released to destroy the sabres'
reputations, both as mercenaries and as themselves. When their future was
ruined beyond all hope of redemption, the boomers would be recalled and the
four disgraced Knight Sabres released to provide the ADP, USSD, SDPC, Genom or
whomever else wished to bring action against them with the criminals the city
would demand.
	The plan: "*Her* plan" she reminded herself bitterly, had been perfect
in its simplicity, and, Quincy himself had agreed, a fine test for the new
prototypes. Now, with a single stroke, Zhuranovsky had brought it crashing
down about her.
	She would die if she could not recover at least the stolen 33 and its
chip, of that she had no doubt at all. Failure of this magnitude was beyond
incompetence, it could be almost inconceivably disastrous. Should the Knight
Sabres hear of this and take the boomer and the 2134, she shuddered to imagine
what the consequences might be.
	"Ma'am?"
	Madigan started at the rumbling tone of the machine at her side,
unused to being unnerved by the creatures.
	"Have you found anything?" She demanded, although she held out very
little hope.
	"Dr. Zhuranovsky has not entered the apartment today, nor does the
inventory indicate anything either touched or missing." The machine answered.
	"Very well. Have everything removed to the tower for analysis,
regardless of how insignificant, then fire the apartment." She said briskly.
"Place a watch on the building and--"
	She stopped as her phone beeped.
	"Madigan." She snapped even as she snatched it from her coat and
unfolded it.
	"The assassin has just returned Ma'am." Came the voice of a human
security operative. "It claims that it has destroyed both Zhuranovsky and his
companion."
	Madigan had warned them that it would mean death to anyone who
mentioned the DA-33 over the network, secure as it might be, but this news
made her forget her own caution.
	"Destroyed!" She shrieked, fear and rage fighting for dominance.
"Didn't you tell those two idiots what they were to
	do?"
	"Ogawa and Radford are dead; the assassin brought back their bodies in
the car. It seems that; er; Zhuranovsky's companion broke both their necks and
went for the boomer. The assassin had no choice but to destroy it...er...her."
	"How unfortunate," Madigan purred icily. "and how thoughtful that it
brought back Ogawa and Radford while leaving the others behind. Have that data
treble-checked" She continued, suspicion and her own feeling for her position
already dismissing the boomer's report as absurd. "and have the location of
the battle to me in less than thirty seconds. Believe me, if this *is* true,
Ogawa's and Radford's deaths will be the least of your problems."
	"Ma'am." The man answered, unable to keep the sudden terror from his
voice.
	Madigan whirled from the apartment's living room and, snapping several
further instructions to the gathered men and machines, moved quickly out and
down towards her waiting limousine.
	Moments later she was being chauffeured at speed towards the canyons,
the four security boomers silent as they listened to her continuing commands.

	"You shee Prish? Told you you were getting jumpy la'ly 'bout nothing."
	Nene was sprawled haphazardly across a chair, her head on Linna's arm,
her green eyes trying vainly to remain focussed on the blur that was a very
moody Priss who sat facing her. Beside her, Linna glanced up from the computer
on the table before her and pushed her upright yet again. Nene giggled.
	"Whasha matter?" She demanded cheerfully, trying to turn to look at
her. "Can't sh'port me? 'M not that heavy. You know I think 's time to go
shomewhere elshe. Thish ish sh'poshed to be fun."
	She grinned absurdly across at Priss and Sylia. The former was now
glaring at her, in no mood for Nene's drunken exuberance.
	This hadn't been a good idea. Nene had suggested an evening out to
settle them down after the trouble of the afternoon, since Priss wasn't
playing that night. Linna had agreed immediately, then after some hesitation
so had Sylia. Priss however was in no mood for it and alcohol had only
darkened her mood as the evening progressed and she watched Nene make a fool
of herself yet again. Now she sat, glowering across at the drunken red-head,
her current drink barely touched, her mind still on what had happened earlier.
	"You know you're really pathetic sometimes." She said sourly, still
glaring across at the smaller girl.
	"Whaja mean!" Nene retorted indignantly, then giggled. "Leasht my
boomersh didn' turn into vampire women. Thatsh really weird you know, 'nlesh
it wash a 33-esh you shaw." She giggled again. "When Shylvie--"
	Abruptly Priss shot to her feet, eyes blazing.
	"Listen Nene, I'm not in the mood for any of this sh*t tonight,
alright?" She flared in a rising snarl.
	She leaned across the table so that she was almost nose to nose with
her.
	"Hey Priss, let's just leave it ok?" Said Linna, suddenly very uneasy.
"And as for you, little Miss Cyberpunk," She continued, standing quickly and
slipping an arm around Nene to lift her to her feet. "I think you've had quite
enough for one night.
	"I'll take her home Sylia." She ended quietly.
	Sylia simply nodded, her attention on Priss. Gently she reached out
and caught the other woman's hand, exerting an insistent pressure to pull her
back into her seat.
	For a moment Priss remained standing, still glaring at Nene, then
slowly she settled back once more and Sylia relaxed her hold.
	"'M 'lright, no need t' hold me up." Nene was insisting, swaying on
her feet and smiling inanely as she clutched at Linna for support.
	"Shut up." Said Linna without anger as she slipped the small computer
into her bag and slung it on her arm.
	"But I'm 'lright." Nene insisted, beginning to pout. "'M not a shild.
Lego. 'wan t'njoy myself. 'm not going home yet."
	"Yes you are." Said Linna calmly.
	"'m not going home yet!" Nene shrieked suddenly.
	Then she lurched, swayed on her feet, and collapsed into Linna's arms
in a dead faint.
	"I think you are." Said Linna with a smile.
	Sylia sighed as she, Priss and Linna carried Nene out to Linna's van.
Linna had picked her up earlier in the evening, guessing that something like
this might happen.
	"Can you manage with her?" Priss asked as she stepped back. "We can
follow you if--"
	"No." Linna assured her. "I'll be alright with her."
	Moments later she had wished them goodnight and was driving through
the night towards Nene's apartment, the younger girl curled up beside her.
	Linna hummed quietly to herself, her own mood introspective. Things
had been quiet, too quiet recently. For nearly two months they had done little
save train and deal with the ever more occasional boomer rampages. Not that
she minded the respite, yet it gave her time to think and, at times, to regret
the path her life was taking; more time than she would have wished. Beside
her, Nene murmured something incomprehensible and Linna sighed.
	It was easy for Nene. She knew why she was doing this. Even Priss,
with her depression, rage and destructive hatred and Sylia with her cold,
calculating determination to settle the debt Genom owed her family and the
world at large knew why they did what they did. For Linna it was different.
With a sudden chill, she wondered if things would change in five, or even in
ten years? Would she still be no more than a faceless figure in a green
hardsuit? What of the career she had left behind, of the companion she longed
for and could never have whilst she remained as she was? What of the future?
	Linna shivered, abruptly intensely aware of the loneliness that lurked
always behind the facade of success and confidence she projected, waiting
until one day she realised that the chance for happiness had flown, never to
be recalled. Suddenly desperately cold and afraid, Linna reached out to Nene
at her side. But Nene was senseless and Linna withdrew her hand, a sudden,
numbing feeling of foreboding settling over her. In that moment she wanted
only to reach the relative security of her own apartment, empty though it
might be.
	Shivering again, Linna increased her speed and raced through the
night, the dreadful certainty of something horrible to come suddenly absolute
as she sped through the night to take Nene home.

	She was running, fleeing wildly through a frigid, numbing greyness
whilst something unknown and terrifying pursued her, growing ever nearer.
	"Sylia!" A voice called again.
	The tone seemed almost familiar but she could not recall it and
stumbled blindly on.
	"Sylia, my darling Sylia, quickly!"
	"Mother?" She heard her own voice scream suddenly, but it seemed to be
the voice of a very small child. "Mother!"
	Suddenly the passage seemed to turn and in the next instant her mother
stepped from the swirling deadly greyness and stood before her, both arms
outstretched, her face lit by a smile that might drive the last terror from
the uttermost reaches of the universe.
	"Oh my little girl!" The woman cried, reaching out to her.
	The child Sylia, her heart racing with ecstatic joy and her mind
overflowing with a love more absolute than anything she could remember,
stumbled forwards, her own small arms outstretched. She felt her mother's arms
enfold her once more adult form, then abruptly the face seemed to shift and
change.
	"Sylia no!" Priss's voice screamed suddenly from behind her. "Oh sh*t!
Oh *god* no!"
	Then the woman before her grew and changed, her hair a sudden flaming
curtain of red that tumbled below her waist, her suddenly emerald eyes fixed
on Sylia's own, blazing with a vicious deadly light of victory.
	"Mine!" She snarled wildly, throwing back her head, her stunningly
beautiful face a lost, twisted mask of triumph and anticipation, while the
pounding of Sylia's heart became suddenly the lost, screaming beat of madness
that threatened to overwhelm the very fabric of her soul. "Yet one more. They
fall so easily. Come to me. Obey in perpetuity!"
	"Bitch!" She heard Priss scream through the rising roaring and
madness.
	Then she was hurled aside and from behind the pounding grew and grew
as Priss hurtled at the woman and the screams of wild, insane battle began.
	Sylia shot bolt upright in bed, gasping, her heart racing wildly.
Something was desperately wrong. Every instinct screamed to her of sudden and
imminent danger. Then she understood. The pounding had not ceased. It was
coming from outside, an insistent, mechanical sound of something or someone
tapping at her apartment's door.
	For a moment she remained frozen, trying desperately to shake away the
unfamiliar terror of the nightmare. Then she reached for the emergency pager
by the bed and activated it. It would take the others some time to arrive. In
the meantime, she would have to deal with whatever or whomever was there.
Whatever it was had been able to enter the building and disable her security,
a near impossible task that spoke of only one possible intruder.
	Moving quickly, her mind suddenly cold and calm, Sylia rolled to the
floor, reaching for the pistol that lay on the dresser. She caught it up, then
froze. The tapping had ceased. Then from outside came a sudden click as an
internal door was opened. For one fractional moment Sylia had time to realise
that the tapping had been no more than a ploy to wake her, perhaps even to
have her summon the others and so prove herself. Then the bedroom door
exploded inwards and something barely glimpsed closed the distance between
them in a heartbeat and slammed her face-down on the bed.
	"Should you move, I will not hesitate to cut your head from your
body." Purred a low female voice close to her ear.
	Sylia felt the pistol plucked from her hand, then a tiny jerk as it
was flicked to the farther side of the room.
	"You are Sylia Stingray?" The voice continued.
	It was as frigid as the tones of any boomer Sylia had heard and the
frigid chill of the body pinning her own only confirmed what she already knew.
	"I imagine you knew that already." She answered, her own tone belying
the sudden turmoil in her mind.
	How could the machine possibly have entered without triggering a dozen
facets of her security? No stealth or ecm could counter it, she was all but
certain. Yet she had no time to consider.
	With a sudden brisk movement, the boomer half lifted her in one arm,
keeping her face pressed to the pillow.
	"Forgive me." It said unexpectedly.
	Then there was a quick savage sound of tearing as it slashed her shift
from hem to neck, pulled it from her and in one fluid movement, whirled in a
quick, curling motion to stand, snatching her from the bed as though she
weighed nothing and setting her naked on her feet, her back turned towards it.
	"Do not try to turn." It said, the threat more apparent by the lack of
overt warning in its tone.
	For a moment it remained still, then with the same fluid motion it
spun her to face it.
	Now it was Sylia's turn to gasp.
	The boomer was *very* far indeed from what she had expected. Standing
a little taller than herself, the machine was a picture of voluptuous female
curves beneath the scant, tight-fitting jumpsuit it wore. Long fair hair, the
tattered remnants of a ribbon that had once bound it still looped uselessly in
its midst, fell in tangled dishevelled waves below its waist. Freshly dried
blood and more that was not dried smeared the clothing such as it was, and
more still was spattered on the bare arms, stunning face and long neck. The
look in the blue eyes as they regarded her was disconcertingly intense and
very much alive and the red full mouth was set in a fierce smile of savage
determination and appraisal as the creature studied her intently. Had she not
already guessed the truth, she could not have told that the thing before her
was not as real as she herself.
	"Impressive." Sylia acknowledged calmly, searching for something with
which to buy time. "Although not a picture of elegance at the moment. But I
understood that Genom had long abandoned such designs. Certainly I wouldn't
have thought it appropriate for an assassin, unless I'm being treated to a
display of your chairman's own perverse sense of humour."
	The machine surprised her again by laughing, a hard, savage sound.
	"Your composure does you credit," Said Marina. "but even you I think
could not even *begin* to guess at my purpose or the danger in which you might
have found yourself had I been sent as intended. Still, that doesn't matter
now. I'm not here to kill you, not unless I must. Tell me what clothes you
need. Do not move."
	Less than a half-minute later Sylia had finished dressing in all that
the machine would allow her.
	"Come." Marina commanded, pushing her ahead of her from the bedroom
and along the passage. "Father is hurt and you will fetch help for him, and
help me."
	Entering the lounge-room, Sylia gasped again as she caught her first
sight of the figure lying by the door. Blood pulsed slowly from a dreadful
gaping wound in his shoulder and from another in his leg, splashing on to the
already blood-soaked trench-coat upon which he lay.
	"Who--" Sylia began.
	But the boomer had already crossed to the figure and returned, a small
black case clutched in her arm.
	"You will find the data and the components you need in this." She
continued, her tone suddenly vicious and urgent. "Father needs attention. I
cannot find it as I am. You will--"
	Then suddenly she whirled, easing the case quickly to the floor.
	In the next instant the window exploded and three hardsuited figures
entered the room. It seemed that the alarm system had long since signalled
Mackie after all.
	Before Sylia could so much as move, the machine had twisted, slipped
aside and leapt to attack. Moving with an inconceivable fluid blur of speed so
far beyond any boomer they had encountered as to leave Sylia gaping, she
caught up Linna as though she were feather-light and catapulted her through
the remains of the window with the force of a cannon. Flipping effortlessly
from Priss's tackle, the DA snatched her from the floor and sent her spinning
in Linna's wake, the suit's systems struggling uselessly against the singing
impetus of the cast.
	"No!" Sylia cried as Nene began to move.
	Too late, Nene, still less than entirely sober, tried desperately to
avoid the machine. In the next instant she had followed the others, but in the
same moment the boomer lurched, froze, then without a sound crumpled to the
floor.
	Whatever Nene had tried to do had, it seemed, been effective.
	Sylia dropped to the floor beside the disabled machine, tearing
frantically at the jumpsuit in her haste to find something that might disable
it in a more permanent fashion without doing any lasting harm. The movement
when it came was too quick for her to comprehend. One moment she was
attempting to turn the creature on to her back. In the next she was pinned to
the boomer, a lithe hand clamped tightly about her throat, but not so much as
to choke her.
	"Resist again" The machine purred softly. "and you will be very, very
dead. Even incomplete, my reflexes are a million times your own, and besides,
I am more protected against ECM than you could begin to understand."
	There was a movement from beyond the shattered window and a moment
later Priss stood in the room once more, Linna and Nene only moments behind
her.
	"Listen you little piece of--" Priss began.
	"Don't trouble to threaten me Priscilla Asagiri." Said the boomer
calmly. "I haven't the time. Father is dying. You and she" She indicated
Linna. "will take him now to a place where he can have the attention he needs,
a place Genom cannot find. Nene Romanova" She indicated the pink-suited
figure. "is of least threat to me. She will stay. Attempt to betray me and she
and your leader will die."
	With a snarl, Priss began forwards, but the machine shifted so that
Sylia was between her and the advancing blue hardsuit.
	"You want this?"" She purred in a low threatening growl.
	"Syl--" Priss began.
	"Do as she says." Interrupted Sylia with unnerving calm. "Take him,
and the case."
	"The case stays;" Said Marina, her tone calm and frigid once more.
"you will need it."
	"Leave it." Sylia agreed. "Go."
	"That thing will kill you the moment we're gone!" Said Linna, her tone
at the raw-edge of panic.
	"You are mistaken, Linna Yamazaki." The boomer responded after a brief
moment.
	"Go, now." Sylia commanded suddenly, her tone at last beginning to
betray something of the tension she was feeling.
	"If you hurt them you piece of Genom sh*t--" Priss snarled.
	"You have my word, for what it is worth to you, that I will not." The
boomer answered.
	Priss laughed viciously in answer. Then turning, she watched as Linna
bent to lift the sprawled figure by the door.
	"What happened to him!" Linna gasped, seeming only then to become
aware of just how badly hurt he was.
	"An assassin." Marina, still pinning Sylia, answered flatly. "Go now,
and do not forget, their lives depend on you. Find father the help he needs."
	Moments later, Linna had leapt from the room, the man cradled in her
arms. Priss remained for a moment, her attention still on the machine.
	"Is there something about death you do not understand?" Marina hissed,
tightening her hold ever so slightly on Sylia's throat. "Go."
	With a snarled oath and an unseen glare that would have vaporised the
DA where she stood were it possible, Priss whirled abruptly and leapt after
Linna.
	"Remember what I said you bitch." She shouted back, and was gone.
	"Reset the security system." Said the boomer quietly, turning to Nene.
"I imagine you're capable. Then remove your suit. I doubt that it could hurt
me, even as I am, but I'm not prepared to take the chance. And you've no need
to scan me;" She continued with a sudden lighter laugh. "you can have all the
data you wish when I'm certain I can trust you, or when I no longer have the
choice, which will be soon enough. Whatever you might choose to think, I'm not
your enemy."
	While Nene reset the system, Marina led Sylia back to her own room
once more, pausing only to close the door behind them. Retrieving the pistol
she tucked it into the only pocket her scant clothing possessed.
	"Sit." She commanded, pushing Sylia down on to the bed and settling
herself beside her. "If you wish, I can fetch what you need to dress more
comfortably. I'm sorry I can't trust you to fetch your clothes or leave you to
dress alone; I understand humans are sensitive about such things."
	"Usually only with the opposite sex, and certainly not with a
machine." Said Sylia, still forcing her tone to a chilly calm.
	"Not even with what you can't help but imagine to be, at least in
part, an S-class equivalent?" Marina purred, her tone suddenly silkily warm.
"After all," She added, moving closer. "even as I am, I have many times your
strength and speed, and I'm only a fraction of what I will be when you
complete the upgrade, assuming of course Largo's data concerning your
abilities to be accurate." She laughed softly. "At the least, won't you admit
to being curious; eager perhaps to disassemble me piece by piece to see just
how this is possible?"
	She reached, laying a slender hand on Sylia's arm.
	"Perhaps," Sylia conceded coldly, twisting from her touch and moving
to regain the distance she had lost. "although I assume the data is already
here." She indicated the case. "As to anything else--."
	Marina's mocking laughter cut her short.
	"You are uneasy aren't you." She purred triumphantly. Then in
amusement: "I'm perfectly aware that you're immune. Even barely operative and
with my sensory data a travesty, I can read your tone and physical responses.
You haven't reacted to my triggers, physical or chemical. I should say you're
safe, for the moment."
	She smiled viciously and laughed again, a harsh wild sound laced
suddenly it seemed as much with self-mockery as with amusement and
condescension.
	"Shall I prove it to you?" She continued savagely, moving closer once
more. "I am the first of a revolution in design and integration, the perfect
creature of a million facets. Such testing for advantage and vulnerability is
part of my initial assessment program, a 33S-based routine *with* appropriate
modifications of course, though I can emulate *all* functions of that
particular series; hadn't you guessed? Such routines are as much a part of me
as any human instinct. Amusing, isn't it?" Her voice was now a savage sneer of
self-mockery that somehow never lost its purr. "I am warmth, seduction and
death in *perfect* combination. That cannot change."
	She fell silent, a feral predatory smile playing about her mouth.
	"That remains to be seen." Sylia answered this time unmoving, her own
tone seeming perhaps to be tinged with something more gentle although her face
remained unreadable. Then abruptly she shifted as though to dispel the
tension. "Where is Nene?" She ended.
	"Watching from the roof." Marina answered, the smile vanishing as
though switched off and her response suddenly the cold, brisk tones of a
combat machine. "She reset your security system and made her way there
immediately afterwards to observe me; but then I imagine you knew that."
	"I did." Said Sylia. "So, what now? Do you intend we stay like this
indefinitely?"
	"Only until I'm certain of you." The boomer answered. "Were I fully
functional I might have reached a decision by now, or found some hold with
which to win or force your cooperation; although even the standard DA is
capable of swift appraisal, proved I think by my identifying your companions."
	"Largo?"
	"The data was incomplete, but he was nearly certain and I was curious
concerning the women I and Camilla were to deceive and capture."
	She smiled again, but now the smile was brutal and cold. "I compared
your voices as projected by the suits with recordings of Priss's performances,
most of which contained enough speech to be useful, and of Nene whilst at the
ADP. You can distort them but you can't alter your manner of speech, accents,
quirks of phoneme and pronunciation, a million subtle cues that made
identification a simple matter for a relational intelligence. You should have
installed recognition systems and had the speech reprojected from the obtained
raw data. Once I had identified two of the Knight Sabres, the rest was simple
correlation, particularly in light of Largo's `interest' in you and
similarities between your father's initial boomer designs and the technology
of the Sabre hardsuits."
	"And Genom?"
	"Father had me destroy Largo's data when he decided to run." She
answered. "So far as I am aware, there is no more; and in any case, I didn't
upload my own conclusions and was not certain until I scanned the suits
tonight. Still, once Camilla is active--"
	Suddenly she started and turned her head.
	"Signals traffic to Nene." She said quickly. "I can't decode it in
this state, but she's responding. She's coming down."
	A moment later there was a sound from outside, then the door which
Marina had closed was pushed open and Nene's pink-suited figure stepped
quickly into the room.
	"That was Priss." She said, seeing no point in dissembling with the
machine; she had been listening through Sylia's own security system to the
conversation. "He's not going to make it. They're taking him to the garage.
He's asking for his daughter before he dies."

	He was still in pain, but it was bearable now, a faint echo of the
agony he had known. He was also dying, of that he was sure. They had not
thought he could hear them, not guessed that he knew. He had listened
intently, the slow calm of acceptance and relief settling over him. Marina had
found them as he'd hoped she would, and now she would be safe, or at least as
safe as she could be. His only regret was that he could not stay himself to
finish what he had begun. But he would be with his daughter soon and her
namesake would see Genom smashed to its knees for her, and for him. He would
be certain she understood what she must do, then he could die in peace.
	"Is he--?"
	"He's holding on, barely."
	More voices, approaching once more. Then suddenly there came others,
reaching him faintly from beyond what must be the closed door.
	"Sis, this is crazy! That thing could be--"
	"Where is father?" Another voice demanded, this one in a near scream.
	Someone must have pointed, for a moment later there was a crash and in
the next instant arms were slipping beneath him and he felt tears fall upon
his cheek.
	"Father!" Marina's, his daughter's voice called.
	In his haze, he was not certain whether it was the voice of the boomer
or his child, calling to him from beyond.
	`Please, not yet! Give me just a moment more!'
	Desperately he fought down the seductive peace of death and opened his
eyes.
	She had knelt beside him and had gathered him to her, cradling him
close, his head settling on her shoulder, her long hair against his cheek.
	"Father forgive me!" She cried softly. "I tried! I should have--"
	"Shh." He murmured, his voice barely a breath in the sudden stunned
silence of the others in the room. "You did all you could. It's your fight
now. Make them suffer Mrina for what they did to her, and to me. Swear to me.
Rescue Cmilla and Lna and; and bring; bring that stinking rfuse Fllni down
'ntil he has nothing, 'ntil he *is* nothing, hm 'nd Qncy. Tear out Genm's
heart for me my darling; my preshs. Promse me!"
	His voice was a tiny gasp of sound beyond human hearing, his breathing
a faint, laboured whisper.
	Marina pressed him to her, her face wrung with anguish as, for the
first time in her short existence her vision blurred with tears.
	"Don' cry." He breathed. "Just don' fget me, and what they did. Was
all 'ntended; make you torture Knight Sabrs fr tes' and be sntient weapon.
Thinks he's won, but 's wrong. I found the hidden data; know what he's doing.
Hid evthing in you; Stingr's daughter will find it. Qncy's mstake; doesn't
know what'll hapn when Cmilla sends your key. Trcked him. Make him pay. Tired
now. Time to go. G'bye Mrina, my Mrina, and srry. I; I lv."
	Then with a tiny sigh, Alexei settled, limp and still in her arms.
	For what seemed an eternity of numb, disbelieving unreality, the
Knight Sabres, Mackie and Dr. Raven stood and watched as the boomer remained,
still as though carved in marble, the scientist cradled gently to her. Then
suddenly she began to tremble. Very slowly she eased the body back to the bed,
then just as slowly she rose to her feet. For a long moment she remained
standing, arms tense at her sides, hands clenching and unclenching while the
trembling grew and grew until it seemed to wrack her body in wave upon wave of
spasmodic shaking. Then, starting deep in her throat, a slow, building snarl
began, rising and climbing until at last, throwing back her head, it burst
from her in an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream such as none of them had
ever imagined could come from the mouth of human or machine. In the next
instant the DA bunched herself. Then with a cataclysmic detonation of
exploding concrete and shattering steel she was gone, slamming straight
upwards through the ceiling and away into the night.
	"Oh *SH*T*!" Was all Priss could think of to gasp.

	Dr. Natsumi Kanamoto was deeply asleep in her apartment when she was
roused by her eight-year-old daughter's first terrified scream. In the next
instant the wall between her own and her daughter's room exploded in a
shattering shower of cement and a moment later she was dragged still semi-
conscious from her bed and slammed to the floor with enough force to shatter
her ribs to splinters. Trying to scream, blood suddenly filling her mouth, she
had one moment to stare in numb, nightmare horror into the blazing, hate-
filled eyes of the missing DA-33 who wore the face of the girl she had helped
her lover to destroy before searing pain exploded through her as the machine
crushed her neck to pulp and tore her head, still alive, from her body.
Natsumi stared at her own headless corpse, her mouth opening in a silent
petrified scream. Then Marina's frigid blue stare was all she could see.
	Marina continued to gaze into the staring, terror-filled eyes of the
dying woman until they glazed at last, the face fixed in a macabre silent
rictus of nightmare. Then turning she hurled both head and body through the
window before the petrified child could see what she had done. A moment later
she was gone, slamming her way up through the ceiling and away into the night
once more. There were others to eliminate before morning, both for revenge and
necessity. It would not prevent Camilla's activation of course, but if she
could kill enough of her father's assistants and his Nemesis's accomplices
before Madigan realised that the assassin's data was at fault, it would give
her the time she needed.

	"We can't move everything from the garage Sylia!" Priss cried
desperately. "I told you we should have blown that thing apart."
	"As if you didn't try!" Linna snapped, her own nerves at the edge as
she held back the growing terror and unreality of this night. "You saw how
fast that thing moved. We didn't stand--!"
	"Another one!" Mackie gasped as he stumbled to a halt in the doorway.
"Near the harbour. That's thirteen now within an hour. Can we be *sure* it's
her?"
	"I think there's little doubt." Said Sylia as she hefted another crate
in her hardsuit. "The mode of entry and escape."
	"And the fact that they're all Genom researchers and security
personnel." Nene added. "Why aren't they protected? They must know what's
happening."
	"Perhaps they outlived their usefulness and Quincy's letting Marina do
the job for him?" Priss suggested. "Just another boomer gone rogue."
	"Perhaps," Sylia answered. "or perhaps the victims are expendable
bait."
	"You mean Quincy knew all this would happen!" Linna demanded.
	"It's a possibility we have to take into account." Said Sylia grimly.
"After all, all this does seem a little too convenient does it not? Why wasn't
Zhuranovsky watched? How on earth did he manage to escape with a top-secret
military prototype such as the DA-33, particularly with the machine in a
barely functioning condition?"
	"If that's barely functioning" Priss muttered. "I wouldn't want to
face one when it was running on all cylinders."
	"Why was only one assassin sent after Zhuranovsky" Sylia continued,
ignoring Priss. "and *really* why was the assassin not monitored from the
tower? It was not, or they would have known the DA had fabricated its data and
sent another immediately."
	"Then the whole thing is a setup;" Mackie exclaimed. "a test for the
new prototype!"
	"Regarding the DA herself, we won't know that until, and if, we find
her." Sylia answered. "As for the rest--."
	"Not a very good trap if we're suspicious of it already." Linna
observed.
	"Suspicion isn't important if you're caught." Said Priss. "Anyway if
it's a trap we've already screwed up royally. Sylia we *have* to go after that
thing tonight! We have to blow her apart, destroy her so completely that
nothing's left for Genom to find."
	"I agree" Said Sylia, "at least concerning finding her. As for
destroying her--"
	"What!" Priss gasped. "Because of that sh*t with Alexei
Unpronounceable? The thing's a weapon for Christ's sake! It said itself that
it could emulate Ses, Cs and god knows how many other boomers, not to mention
human personalities, emotions, whatever. Even if the thing thinks its alive,
it's too damn dangerous! Sh*t, the thing trounced us in a second."
	"Which is precisely *why* we need her undamaged." Sylia answered.
	"But we have the data!" Priss insisted. "That case contains enough to
tell us its bra size. The thing's a piece of Genom military sh*t. Blow the
thing to pieces before they get it back or it kills us, or it really does go
rogue and wipes out half the damn city, if it hasn't cracked up already!"
	"You didn't feel the same about Sylvie." Said Nene quietly.
	It was an ill-timed remark. Priss whirled on her, red-brown eyes
ablaze.
	"Listen Nene," She shouted furiously. "just shut up about that. I've
had enough for one night. This thing is a military prototype. That means
weapons and that means *major* trouble. How many more times do I have to say
it!"
	"Priss!" Sylia snapped in sudden icy command. Then more quietly: "I
don't intend to argue the matter. We have to find her, *and* if possible,
bring her back unharmed."
	"That won't be necessary." Said a sudden quiet voice from beyond the
open doorway.
	A moment later Marina stepped into the garage. She was a sickening
sight. The once black jump-suit was now drenched with blood; indeed blood
seemed to cover her liberally from head to toe and her long fair hair was
matted and black with it.
	Nene lurched away, gagging in her helmet as she fought desperately to
keep her sudden nausea in check. Even Priss stepped away from the machine, her
face twisting in horror and revulsion.
	"And you think that thing is safe!" She muttered darkly.
	Mackie had his hand over his mouth and looked ready to faint.
	"SH*T!" Linna gasped faintly at last.
	"Quite a sight, am I not?"
	Marina's tone was flat and frozen. "I must apologise. I had to kill
them as quickly as I could. I believe I've delayed Camilla's activation long
enough for you to complete my upgrade Sylia, and to give me the disguise I
need to enter the tower and tear out the Genom chairman's eyes, tongue and
heart."

	Domina Tatyanna Zhukova was afraid, more afraid than she had ever
imagined she could be. She should not be here; she should not have to be doing
this. But Kate Madigan and the two 33C razor-girl boomers had left her very
little alternative, apart from the fact that it was likely the missing
prototype would make her its next target if she was not brought safely to the
tower.
	It had taken them too long to discover just how Marina had selected
her victims and why the dozen or so traps they had set had failed. The answer
had been stunningly simple and so overlooked. The boomer had accessed the
pager-phones each of her intended targets kept, as was standard Genom
practice, by them at all times and had determined in a moment where in the
city each was located. Ignoring those in the tower, she had made her way to
each apartment, scanning at a distance, able to blend effortlessly into the
night, her ECM shielding her from other boomers whilst her own suite picked
out possible danger with flawless precision.
	`If nothing else' Domina had thought bitterly as she shifted uneasily
between the two 33Cs that flanked her in the limousine. `it had been as fine a
field test for the machine as they could possibly have designed.'
	Why it hadn't used its weapons systems she couldn't guess. It was just
possible that Zhuranovsky had not yet completed the upgrade. If that was the
case, if the DA was still running with the standard chip, then its enhanced
systems would be all but useless and the sensory data a distorted mess. Still,
the machine might be able to learn to interpret and interpolate given time.
She could not even guess at what the thing was capable of in its present
state. It depended on how Alexei had assigned the address-space of the DA-
2134. Only he had had the genius to tackle that part of the hardware and he
had had the miserable machine make so much random garbage of what had once
been the project's electronic documentation. The backups were no better. He
had had her corrupt the archival and encryption routines and then re-archive
everything. The loss was not simply inconceivable, it was catastrophic. Their
only remaining trump apart from a few hardcopy scraps was the as-yet inactive
DA-33. Camilla was all they needed to reconstruct the lost data. The problem
was that she, as one of only four remaining researchers out of the fifteen who
had been alive less than an hour before, had been designated the project's new
head and would be responsible for recovering as much as was possible in less
than no time at all. Madigan herself would be overseeing that recovery.
Camilla was to be removed from her tank and operational before sunrise. She
had continued in a threatening purr that she would expect Marina to join her
before noon. Which of course boiled down to the unqualified fact that if they
did not find the missing DA's key and have Camilla recall her before then,
heads, quite literally, would roll.
	Domina tried vainly to fight down the tightening knot of terror in her
stomach as the lift climbed steadily through the seemingly innumerable levels
of the tower, carrying her towards apartments that would be as much a prison
as any cell until the project was brought to a satisfactory conclusion or she
failed. If that happened, she would never leave the tower, of that she was
sure.
	"The remaining technical and support staff have already been
assembled" Madigan was saying to her, her tone a frigid professional
confidence as the lift drew to a halt and the doors hissed almost silently
aside. "and all have been advised of your arrival. I expect there will be no
problems?"
	"None ma'am." Domina answered, fighting down the terror.
	It was said that boomers could sample the various bouquets of fear as
exquisitely as she might one of her expensive perfumes. "I expect the second
DA to be fully operational within an hour."
	A rash promise, but she intended to stay alive and if that meant
someone else falling foul of the assistant to the chairman then better he or
she than her. She already knew whom she would choose should it come to that.
	"And the key?" Madigan demanded.
	They had stepped from the lift into the wide, familiar passage and
Domina noted with a shiver that the two boomers still flanked her.
	"That depends on how imaginative Alexei proves." She answered. "The
key's encryption isn't a problem; the hardware is internal to the DA. We have
only to find the initial seed. Our only concern is the fact that the sending
of three successive incorrect combinations will shut down the DA completely
and make it impossible to recall."
	"Does the machine send a response to an incorrect key?"
	"No. There is no indication that it has received anything until the
correct key is sent in its entirety." Domina replied.
	"Then how do you hope to find the thing?" Madigan demanded, almost in
a snarl.
	"That shouldn't pose much of a problem ma'am." Another voice answered
suddenly.
	A moment later, a short white-coated figure stepped from the passage
into which they had been about to turn and halted, directly in their path.
	Domina stared with barely concealed loathing at the short, balding man
before her.
	Kosuke Yoshida was of middle years, what remained of his dirty black
pate straggling in unkempt disorder towards his eyes, his podgy face masking a
snide amusement as he looked from her to the lavender-haired woman a pace or
two behind her. There were few amongst the project scientists Domina loathed
more, not only because of his sycophantic attentiveness that she was certain
masked savage ambition, but because of the fact that she was equally certain
he was as much a spy for internal security as anything else.
	Yoshida glanced at the two machines flanking the new project head and
his smile grew wider and more predatory.
	"Alexei Ivanovitch Zhuranovsky might be many things" He continued
smoothly. "but imaginative is not one of them. The DA's key is likely based on
no more than the name he gave her. We still have Camilla's key, so it should
be a simple matter to let her derive the other for us."
	"And if she makes a mistake?" Madigan demanded. "If three invalid
combinations are sent?"
	"At the most it will delay the inevitable Ma'am." He answered, his
sycophantic, predatory smile now reaching his eyes as he watched Domina's
discomfort. "Dr. Zhuranovsky developed a secondary system that would allow
each DA to be continually aware of the location of any other. It; wasn't in
the initial documentation." He ended, now with a full easy confidence.
	"Excellent." Said Madigan, her own sudden smile managing to convey
both approval and just a hint of warning at his sudden self-assurance.
	Domina fumed silently. Of all the researchers that thing had killed,
why hadn't that sickening, treacherous little piranha been one of them?
	"I imagine we can expect results before morning?" Madigan inquired,
turning to her. "You will of course, see that Dr. Zhukova is given every
cooperation." She continued, her smile now as frozen as midnight as she turned
suddenly steel-hard eyes on Yoshida.
	Domina could have leapt for joy at the sudden terror in his face. He
had just realised, the fool, that his own life was just as much at stake as
her own.
	Madigan remained standing in silence for a moment, then abruptly she
turned and was gone, the two boomers following at her brisk command.
	Domina remained still for a moment, still basking in her unexpected
victory, then at last she stirred.
	"Well, do you intend to stand there until morning like some imbecile"
She demanded icily. "or might you let me pass? I at least have work to do."

	"You *can't* be serious!" Priss gasped.
	They had returned to Sylia's apartment after leaving Mackie and Linna
to unpack once more. Now that Marina had seen the packing in progress, any
further attempt to hide the nature of the garage was pointless.
	Nene, still sick and shaking after finally losing the battle against
the nausea that Marina's appearance had precipitated, had sat huddled between
Priss and Sylia whilst Marina, still blood-soaked, had travelled concealed
beneath piles of boxes in the rear of the van.
	She had emerged upon their arrival like some nightmare apparition of
massacre into Sylia's garage and Nene had had to be rushed upstairs once more.
Priss herself hadn't felt altogether steady on her feet as she'd moved to
settle in Sylia's livingroom.
	"You're going to need some cleaning up before I can do anything with
you." Sylia had said, gesturing for the boomer to follow her as she moved
towards her bathroom.
	"I'd be more than happy to clean that thing up," Priss had muttered
after her. "permanently."
	The shower had proved an unexpected ordeal. Marina had snapped to
combat readiness the moment Sylia had had her step beneath the pouring water,
then abruptly frozen in place and remained statue-still. With her sensory
input already close to overload, the streaming water proved too much, masking
everything in a tumultuous roar of confusion. The closed screen had done
little to help.
	Marina had remained, her teeth bared in a vicious frozen snarl while
Sylia's instructions soon ceased to elicit even the tiniest flicker of
response from her. Watching her, Sylia had found it mildly ironic that the DA
could be disabled so completely by something so absurd as taking a shower.
	She had left the machine frozen in place for a minute or two while the
blood slowly washed away, then finally she had opened the screen and nearly
lost her life when Marina had flipped on to her hands and just pulled up short
of decapitating her with a vicious snap-kick that would probably have slammed
what remained of her through the adjoining wall had it connected.
	Masking her fright, Sylia had filled the bath and had had the boomer
remove the jump-suit and enter it to wash away the last traces of blood.
	There had been further trouble when she had tried to have the machine
wash her hair. Marina had suddenly developed an absurd fascination with the
water coming from the hand-held rose and had spent nearly a minute swiping
cat-like at it, giggling inanely as she watched the resulting splashes.
Whether it was the equivalent of childish curiosity or a bug, Sylia had no
time to discover. Marina had just as suddenly snapped to attention, completing
the task of cleaning herself without further incident until Sylia had had her
stand and given her a large fluffy towel, whereupon she had lifted it to her
face, frozen again and a moment later, tumbled limply from the bath to the
floor. There she had remained unmoving.
	It had taken Priss to help Sylia carry the seemingly inert machine to
her own room where they had laid her, still unmoving, on Sylia's bed. Sylia
had sent Priss to the livingroom for the case while she tried to elicit a
response from the boomer without touching her. It was when Priss had returned
that she had told her of her decision.
	Priss stared from her to the thing that looked like a naked girl of
perhaps twenty or so that lay on her back before them, then back to her again.
	"Sylia you can't!" She exclaimed again. "Listen to me. The thing's
gone to sleep, God knows why. Let's blow it to pieces before it decides to
wake up again."
	"Not sleep," Marina answered, causing both of them to jump back in
surprise. "synaesthesia. Too much sensory input for this chip. I've closed
down everything but audio, but I can reactivate enough to kill you should you
try to hurt me."
	As though to prove her point, a hand blurred from its resting place by
her hip and Priss cried out in pain as a sudden iron grip nearly broke her
wrist. For a moment Marina held her immobile, eyes locked on her face. Then
the machine released her and the hand blurred again, moving in a fractional
instant with no more sound than the whip of intervening air to settle gently
in its former place.
	Priss stared malevolently at the thing for a moment, then turned her
attention once more to Sylia.
	"I want to talk to you outside." She said fiercely, her red-brown eyes
meeting Sylia's implacable brown gaze with savage determination. "This
concerns all of us Sylia. If you're doing this out of some morbid curiosity to
see what that piece of military sh*t can do when it's running on full power I
hope you're going to be willing to accept the consequences when the thing
gives up the nice-girl act and blows away the city, and us with it. God
almighty, it's already killed fourteen or fifteen people, and I don't think it
did it out of a sense of public service. I don't give a damn how innocent the
thing can look; it's a combat machine, and you show me one of those that's not
psychopathic! You haven't the right to finish putting the thing together.
Hell, the thing hasn't a right to exist. Take it apart and burn the bits
before we all pay for it."
	"And when Genom activate Camilla?"
	Marina's savage, almost snarling tones slashed through Priss's tirade
like a knife. "You have no reason to trust me, but once she is active with the
2134 your suits will be less than a fractional inconvenience to her, of that
at least you can be certain. Her instructions will be *very* specific. She
will be commanded to attempt to recall me, and hunt and capture at least one
of you should that not be possible. After that, the rest are as good as dead."
	"Exactly," Said Sylia quietly. "and the reason Marina's upgrade must
be completed while she is still in our hands. Marina, shall we go?"
	"There is a firmware incompatibility with the enhanced sensor suite."
Marina said quietly. "The errors are cumulative the longer I try to access the
suite with this chip. I will freeze again should I continue to use external
senses. There may be permanent virtual-net damage. You will have to carry me."
	"Priss?" Sylia said quietly.
	Muttering under her breath and shooting killing looks at the DA, Priss
helped her lift her from the bed, snapping viciously at the machine to keep
her hands to herself and her god-damned 33S routines under control when Marina
tried to do no more than drape an arm over her shoulder to help her lift.
	"Say, wouldn't it be better to do this in here?" Priss continued
coldly as they carried the boomer, now wrapped in the towel, from the room.
"You don't have a livingroom window at the moment."
	"I need the main console." Sylia answered simply. "Apart from which,
I'm certainly not going to try to upgrade her up here."
	"You're not going to take the thing to--"
	"It can do no more harm" Sylia interrupted. "and time is of the
essence now."
	It was only a few minutes later that Marina lay unceremoniously
spreadeagled on her back on a work-bench, a cloth beneath her to prevent
damage to the pseudo-organic skin that covered her, several optical interface
cables linked from tiny ports in her wrists and neck through a protected
interface to Sylia's system while Sylia herself bent over her, a surgeon's
scalpel glinting in the light as she began to cut away the skin just above the
DA's brow. It would be impossible to avoid damage to it, but Marina had
assured her that it would re-seal and repair when exposed to enough external
radiation. Sylia completed the cut, Marina turning first left, then right as
the blade completed its incision. A moment later, Sylia drew back the scalp
with its compliment of long fair hair from the boomer's skull and let it fall.
	Watching, Priss was unable to suppress a shudder of nausea at the
sight.
	Face implacable, Sylia laid the scalpel aside, gesturing for Priss to
raise the head of the table a little more.
	"Have you reassigned essential functions?" Sylia inquired of the
boomer.
	"Yes." She answered. "Closing down CPU. Do not betray me Sylia
Stingray." She ended, her tone suddenly very low and intense.
	A moment later the face went slack and the body utterly limp.
	"Now's our chance." Said Priss again. "The thing's really out of it
this time. We can--"
	"The case, Priss." Said Sylia quietly. "If I lose her ORAM it will
take more time than I've patience to reprogram her."
	"Then you're really going through with it." Priss stated flatly,
moving to retrieve the case and setting it down a moment later with a bang
within Sylia's reach. "You know what's going to happen when that thing's
active? And don't give me anything about checking. You said yourself that the
thing has, what was it, a million megabytes of memory?"
	"One-hundred million with the standard chip, two-hundred with the
2134." Sylia answered.
	"And you're telling me you can check *that* much for anything Quincy
might have had put in that thing's excuse for a mind?"
	"I'm saying we have no choice." Said Sylia simply. "Priss, listen to
me. The DA series heralds a revolution in boomer design almost as spectacular
as the invention of the machine itself. For the first time, we are *utterly*
outclassed. Genom has escalated this race to an unprecedented excess. Our
*only chance* and I do mean our only chance, is to have Marina active and tame
before the second DA's activation."
	"But you don't know whether we can tame the thing!" Priss nearly
screamed.
	"It doesn't matter." Sylia answered. "Camilla alone could kill us
without trouble. Priss, we are already dead, be it now or in a day, a week, a
month. If I do not have Marina fully active before Camilla's activation we are
finished. Now are you going to help or argue?"
	It was a quicker process than Priss had expected. The standard iso-
linear popped from the DA's head with a little applied pressure in some
strategic places. A moment later, Sylia had lifted the huge jet-black lump of
sculpted plastic and snapped it into place with the same ease.
	"Is that it?" Priss gasped incredulously.
	"Not yet." Sylia answered, her attention already on the monitor. "I
have to activate the transfer of certain portions of her ORAM to the 2134's
internal memory."
	"Why can't it stay where it is?" Priss asked.
	"Because the chip's ORAM is some twenty times as fast for linear
access and thousands of times as efficient for relational access." She
answered.
	For minutes Priss watched in silence as Sylia worked frantically at
the console.
	"Couldn't Nene help?" She asked at last, feeling more than
superfluous.
	"I think she wants to keep out of the way." Said Sylia distractedly.
"And no, she can do nothing here that I can't manage myself. Why don't you
check on her?"
	"No way." Said Priss icily. "I want to see that thing wake up, and
fill it with holes if it's unfriendly."
	Sylia sighed and returned to her work.
	Priss rose from where she had been sitting by the head of the boomer
and began to pace restlessly from one end of the room to the other, her eyes
never leaving the limp form of the machine. After what seemed an eternity of
waiting, a quiet beep from the computer made her stop her aimless circuit of
the room and step again to Sylia's side.
	"Finished now?" She inquired.
	"Yes." Sylia answered. "I'm ready to reboot her. Priss, call Nene. I
want all of us here during her initialisation. If I can establish us as
friendly immediately I bring her CPU on-line--."
	"Just so long as you don't expect me to take her in my arms and
welcome her." Priss said with another glare at the boomer. "I'll call Nene."
She added a moment later, then turning, she hurried from the room, the door
closing quietly behind her.
	"Now then, let's see what you can do." Said Sylia quietly.
	Settling more comfortably before the console, she moved her hands to
the keyboard and began to type. A moment later a graphic of the DA's internal
architecture sprang into sharp relief before her, and Sylia gasped as the true
enormity of what Zhuranovsky's team had built came home to her at last. Marina
was not simply armed, she was a devastating arsenal of death in almost
innumerable forms, some beyond the imagination of any save the most vicious of
Genom's military designers.
	There was what appeared to be a viciously enhanced version of the
obvious particle-beam weapon in the mouth, in her case hidden in an aperture
in her throat, but eyes, ears, nose and, shockingly, each breast could also
spit laser, particle-beam and micro-wave death with a power and speed of
recovery hitherto inconceivable. And that was just the beginning. The sexaroid
pheromonal, endocrine and exocrine systems had been adapted with Genom's usual
terrifying penchant for the unexpected to enable the machine to produce
everything from stimulants to hallucinogens and from nerve gas to
diapedesistic toxins that could kill within seconds of contact or the venoms
of poisonous plants and animals of a myriad of species should the cause of
death need to be easily traceable to the conveniently obvious. Sylia did not
even want to think about the more vicious and covert of the boomer's weapons,
these specifically designed to kill during her guise of s-type intimacy.
	Sickened yet morbidly curious, Sylia continued her examination, her
mind held in a kind of rapt, horrid fascination as she continued to study the
staggering combat capabilities of the thing before her.
	The hands and feet were an arsenal of death, able to kill upon contact
or at a distance with the plasma-blade emitters mounted in their backs, one
above each finger and toe, or deliver Marina's chemical arsenal through tiny
needles that could extend from beneath the long sharp nails should the release
through the skin itself be too slow. The nails themselves were razor-edged and
constructed of a super-conductive ceramic composite that could probably tear
through armour plate like foil, each able to play the part for either pole for
devastating flash-pulses of electricity that would all but vaporise a human
victim should there be enough separation between them and powerful enough to
create a plasma arc or obliterate the systems of the most protected of boomers
upon contact should one be foolish enough to engage the DA in a close fight.
The teeth were of the same material and were equally capable, each tapering to
razor-sharp edges and each containing a tiny channel through which the various
chemicals could be directly injected. The strength and reflexes of the body
itself were staggering, the machine being able to outmatch their suits by
perhaps a factor of five, not to mention the fact that the reaction-time was
so far beyond Genom's released combat machines as to make the comparison
absurd. Marina's ECM and sensor-suite were precision instruments of a design
that spoke of true genius. The machine, like the C-55, was not capable of
continuous flight, but being lighter, could maintain flight for perhaps ten
minutes. The thruster-ports themselves were concealed beneath the skin and
would need to vaporise it and any clothing that covered it before they could
be used. Yet perhaps the most devastating weapon in the DA's arsenal was the
chip that now sat snug within its inch-thick protective layers of alloy and
ceramic within the boomer's skull, the skin already beginning to re-seal in
reaction to the ambient radiation in the room.
	For what seemed an eternity of growing horror Sylia remained unmoving,
staring aghast at the displays and combat projections the computer was giving
her. The machine was a nightmare of the most twisted and perverse of military
technology, the product of what could only be described as a truly demented
intelligence. And they needed her; needed her with a dreadful urgency that
made Sylia's skin crawl with sudden outrage and revulsion. It was not so much
the mind of the machine that terrified her, although now that she had
completed the upgrade she was none too certain as to whether the DA would be
the Marina they had so far seen; it was the concept, the appalling perversity
of what Quincy had had the researchers do to her father's work that sickened
and enraged her, more now than ever before. Priss was right. Such a creation
had no right to exist.
	Wrenching herself from the black mood of mingled horror and growing
outrage, Sylia pinned her mind to a cold implacable calm and turned her
attention once more to the displays. Camilla would most certainly be active
very soon and she needed Marina in perfect condition and calibrated before
that happened.
	The initialisation and testing itself was a simple enough procedure.
Alexei Zhuranovsky had given her all the information she needed and left very
specific instructions as to what needed to be done should he be unable to
perform the task himself. Re-scanning the provided disk yet again for anything
untoward, Sylia spawned a protected sub-process and activated the boot-strap
program. Immediately, the body began to twitch and shiver as the program began
a remote diagnostic of the interface between the 2134 and the innumerable sub-
controllers that governed physical and sensory responses. Within a second,
every aspect of the body's musculature had been tested and the program
uploaded its initial calibration to the internal ORAM of the DA's new chip.
This would change of course depending on a million factors, but the initial
calibration was important to ensure Marina's immediate readiness to handle her
upgraded interface to her body. The physical and sensory tests complete, the
program initiated a CPU-INTERNAL non-destructive read-write test of both
internal and external ORAM. Even with the tremendous speed of the 2134, this
would take several minutes to complete.
	Leaving the test to continue, Sylia moved to the door just as Priss's
and Nene's voices reached her as they returned.
	"What's happening?" Priss called as she caught sight of her.
	Sylia merely beckoned and turned back into the room.
	"ORAM test." She answered as they entered and moved to join her, Priss
once again taking up a position from where she could have a clear shot at the
machine should it try anything. "It will take a few minutes. In the meantime,
you'd better look at this."
	Reducing the test window, Sylia pulled up the saved data on the DA's
capabilities and displayed it for both to read.
	"And you want this thing up and running!" Priss gasped in shock.
"You're absolutely crazy!"
	"Um; Sylia, isn't it too much of a risk?" Nene ventured, still seeming
shaken. "We really don't know what will happen when you put her on-line."
	"Certainly it's a risk," Sylia agreed. "but unless you can think of a
way to disable Camilla--."
	Nene shook her head helplessly, her emerald eyes still riveted to the
screen.
	"My suit wouldn't touch her as it is." She said quietly after a
moment.
	"But how--" Priss began.
	"Zhuranovsky, it seems." Sylia interrupted quietly. "He was no fool.
Without a direct neural interface, our suits are limited by the speed of our
own reactions, regardless of how much raw power I can give them. The boomer
has no such limitations. The failing so far in reflex has been due only to the
inability of researchers to produce both materials able to reproduce the
fluidity of organic muscle tissue with the strength needed for a combat
machine and the software needed to cope with the complexities of full sensory
reaction and response without years of conditioning. The success of the S-
class boomer proved that such complexity was possible, but it took the
machines time to develop human-like physical reactions to external stimuli.
Zhuranovsky took the raw data from a 33S that had been active long enough to
learn the intricacies of its own body and developed a workable mathematical
representation for modelling those responses. As a result, the limitations of
a partially rigid construction could be abandoned and the DA would be
immediately able to make full use of the greater flexibility of its body's
fluidity of movement. Look at this." She ended, moving to the machine.
	Reaching, she lifted Marina's left arm by the hand and beckoned Nene
and Priss to her side.
	"Are you sure that thing's still bye-byes?" Priss asked dubiously.
	"Quite sure." Sylia answered. "Here, take her hand."
	With obvious reluctance, Priss accepted the limp, cold hand of the
boomer and, at Sylia's instruction, began to manipulate the supple fingers,
wrist and lower arm.
	"Notice the fluidity of the tissue, the near perfect similarity to
organic muscle?" She continued. "The problem of a pseudo-organic material
capable of perhaps fifty times the load-baring capabilities of its organic
equivalent seems to have been solved, although this is a prototype and only
time will tell."
	"You're saying that this thing has fifty times the strength of someone
of her size?" Priss demanded incredulously.
	"Fifty times the load-baring capacity." Sylia corrected. "There is
more. Each of these" She jabbed a finger at the muscle tissue in the machine's
arm. "can fire in perfect concert, not to mention the fact that they can
respond at many times the speed of human tissue. Marina's momentary strength
is probably many hundred times that of an organic equivalent."
	Nene had taken the boomer's hand and was examining it.
	"Oo! I can't see how this could pass as human." She said with a
shiver. "It's cold!"
	"The body can be warmed easily enough." Said Sylia. "The boomer tissue
will function at temperatures far below true organic tissue so the body
temperature need only be raised for social or covert interaction. Besides,
everything is more or less inactive at the moment."
	"It's like handling something dead." Said Nene, dropping the arm back
to the table with a shudder and stepping quickly away.
	Priss gave a disgusted exclamation and resumed her place. Nene moved
quickly to seat herself at Sylia's side as their leader took her place once
more before the console and enlarged the test window.
	"Only a minute or so to go." She said quietly.
	"And then what?" Priss asked.
	"Then we initialise her physical systems and her main reactor, then
the CPU." Sylia answered.
	"And then she wakes up?" Priss continued coolly.
	"No, she will boot in a firmware command mode slaved to Zhuranovsky's
external driver program." Sylia answered. "There are several other tests to
complete before I `wake' her."
	A beep from the console and a new screen put an end to further
questions.
	"Everything seems fine." Sylia said calmly. "Well, shall we begin?
Priss, tell me if you notice anything unusual, twitching, spasms, anything at
all."
	"Oh don't worry." Priss answered icily. "If this thing does anything
weird you won't have to ask."
	Nene half turned in her chair so that she could keep a watch both on
the screen and on the limp form of the DA. Sylia seemed to be paying attention
only to the monitor before her, although Nene caught her glancing more than
once to the machine as she continued to type.
	"Any change?" She inquired of Priss.
	The diagnostic indicated that the circulatory system was now
functioning, but she wanted independent confirmation. Besides, it gave Priss
something to do rather than simply sit and glare at the boomer.
	"It's humming or rumbling or something if that's what you mean." Priss
answered after a moment. "Now it's quiet. Hey Sylia, should it be turning
bright red?"
	"It should be paling again." Sylia answered. "I ran the system at
maximum for a few seconds to save time. Let me see."
	She turned to study the boomer for a moment.
	"Perfect." She said, her tone still clinical as she turned back to the
displays. "Now for the power-plant."
	As the seconds passed, Priss felt an ever growing sense of unreality
at the strangeness of what was happening taking hold of her. She sat, her left
hand clenching and unclenching on her lap while her right remained curled
about the heavy pistol she held ready, her eyes never leaving the machine. As
she watched, it began to breathe, the rhythm slow and even, the scantily clad
body settling into a hue of imitation healthy life.
	"Priss, do you have perfect pitch?"
	Sylia's question was so sudden and unexpected that Priss turned to
stare stupidly at her for a moment.
	"What? Yes, why?" She managed at last.
	"A little eccentricity on Zhuranovsky's part." Sylia answered, her
tone suddenly frosty. "It seems he wanted his daughter's copy to be able to
sing. The calibration is the last and there might be problems later if I
ignore it."
	Her tone was growing steadily more irritated.
	"What do you want me to do?" Priss asked.
	"Just a moment." Sylia answered.
	In the next instant, both Priss and Nene jumped in alarm as a sudden:
"Mmmmmmmm." Came from between Marina's closed lips.
	"Hey, warn me next time!" Priss snapped.
	"That should be concert A." Sylia said, her tone still colder. "Of all
the ridiculous stupidity!" She muttered. "We haven't time for this."
	"It's nowhere near." Priss answered.
	Standing, she moved quickly to Sylia and within moments of being shown
what to do had matched Marina's humming to the various signpost tones produced
by the program and confirmed the displayed notes as correct.
	With a quick murmur of thanks, Sylia turned from her again and typed
something.
	"Tiger tiger burning bright." Marina said in a monotone, again
startling the two girls.
	"What the hell?" Priss demanded.
	Then suddenly she grinned.
	"Let me try that." She said, moving quickly to Sylia.
	Her fingers moved carefully over the keys.
	"Nene is horribly overweight." Marina continued, again in a monotone.
	"I am not!" Nene exclaimed immediately, emerald eyes flashing as she
glared suddenly at the boomer.
	Priss burst into laughter and Nene turned furiously to her.
	"You take that back." She cried.
	"I never said a thing." Priss answered, still laughing.
	"I should say we're ready now." Said Sylia, unable to keep a smile
from her own lips as she turned again to the console.
	Her fingers flew, then abruptly the window changed and a new display
of text and icons appeared.
	"DA-33-ELITE prototype, version 2.23 initialised." Marina said
suddenly. "Serial number BU-7541-33.01E. Designation, Marina. Checking CPU
status."
	Her voice was the  cold, detached tones of a C-class but no longer the
monotones of the external speech driver.
	"Is it--" Priss began.
	"Not yet." Sylia answered.
	"Errors, none." Marina continued. "Checking bus interface.
Controllers, active. Checking internal ORAM. CRC, valid. Checking external
ORAM. CRC, valid. Checking ECM and sensor-suite. Calibrated. Checking external
sensory input. Calibrated. Checking language data. CRC, valid. Checking
general library data. CRC, valid. Checking combat subroutine libraries. CRC,
valid. Checking S-class subroutine libraries. CRC, valid. Checking neural-net.
CRC, valid. Displaying access key. Please send key to reboot. Waiting."
	"What's all that about?" Priss demanded.
	"Just a precaution to ensure the hardware key is working." Sylia
answered. "A flag is set after the key is sent. Before that, the key will be
requested every time she's rebooted."
	Sylia re-sent the key from the displayed values and a moment later the
DA began its checks again save that this time there was no key request.
Instead: "Reboot complete. Command?" Was spoken and displayed, the window also
showing several icons.
	"I think we're ready." Said Sylia quietly.
	"Sylia, just a minute." Said Priss.
	A moment later she was standing beside her.
	"Are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?" She said.
	Her tone was no longer fierce or angry, but quiet and intense.
"Listen, are you *sure* we need this thing? Hell, we've faced everything Genom
has thrown at us before now. Do we really have to fire this thing up, and if
we do, can we shut it down again if something goes wrong?"
	"Yes to both." Said Sylia calmly. "Marina possessing her own key was
an unexpected bonus; I wondered why Zhuranovsky hadn't supplied it. But then I
suppose it's a safe enough thing to store internally. Now that I have that,
she is of no danger to us, provided of course it can be sent in time."
	Reaching, she plucked a small data unit from where it had been settled
almost by her hand and disconnecting it, she handed it to Priss.
	"This will send the key at a touch of this button at very short
range." She said. "There is no danger of it being detected beyond this
building but it will certainly be enough to stop Marina should she be
dangerous. Don't do it unless it's necessary."
	"I hope you're right." Said Priss, although she seemed suddenly a good
deal more relaxed. "Ok, whenever."
	"Nene?"
	"Mm; ok I guess." Nene agreed uneasily.
	Sylia turned to regard the boomer for a moment, then turning again to
the console she positioned the cursor and typed the final initialisation.
	For Priss, the result was extremely anticlimactic. She did not know
what she had expected, but certainly she didn't expect Marina simply to sit up
in one easy fluid motion, disconnect all but the interface cable running to
her neck, smile coolly at Sylia and inquire flatly: "The upgrade is complete?"
	Priss gaped for a moment, then seemed to get herself under control.
	"Is that all?" She gasped.
	"All?" Marina inquired.
	"I think she expected you to show emotion." Sylia answered quietly.
	"Those routines are off-line until the tests are complete." Marina
answered, glancing to Priss. "For want of a better analogy, I'm not alive yet.
Can we proceed?"
	There followed a minute or so of the test program uploading several
mathematical, tactical, historical and linguistic queries to the DA and
evaluating her down-loaded responses. After the minute and several thousand
problems the program indicated no errors and Sylia at last closed the process
and indicated that Marina could both disconnect the interface and bring the
remainder of her consciousness on-line.
	The boomer removed the cable and moving with a lithe twist to the
floor, stepped to hand it to her. Then abruptly she froze in place. For a
moment she remained stock-still. Then with a wild scream she flipped high into
the air and landing once more by Sylia she snatched her from the chair as
though she weighed nothing and nearly cracked her ribs with a sudden fierce
embrace.

	"That thing is off the planet!"
	Priss was seated once more in Sylia's livingroom, Nene settled across
from her, her green eyes uneasy as she stared at her own hands restless in her
lap.
	It had been a very tense few seconds after Marina's initial reaction.
Priss had raised the data-pad like a weapon, her finger moving to send the
key.
	"No Priss!" Sylia had gasped, unable to force more sound from her
tortured lungs. "It's alright. Marina, would you mind?"
	The boomer had relaxed her hold a little but had not let her go. Tears
suddenly streaming from her eyes she had kept Sylia pinned to her for several
seconds, then abruptly she had released her and stepped back, sudden colour
rising in her cheeks.
	Priss and Nene had stared in stunned amazement as the boomer had then,
of all things, danced a flowing curtsy to Sylia and blushed a deep crimson.
	"Forgive me Oneechan." She had said in a quiet, submissive tone. "I
need time to adjust. The balance between--"
	"That's perfectly alright Marina." Sylia had answered quietly, her
composure apparently unruffled. "Shall we go up?"
	"I should like to bathe again." Marina had said. "I can still smell
blood, though you mightn't notice it."
	The simple move to the apartment had been an absurd process, with
Marina turning this way and that, listening and staring and sniffing the air
with a wide-eyed, absurd look on her face. The trouble had continued even
though Sylia had headed the DA into the bathroom the moment they were in the
apartment. Sylia had emerged moments later, while from inside there came the
sound of running water, followed by delighted squeals and giggles and the
sound of a good deal of splashing. These sounds were still continuing.
	"What's that thing doing in there?" Priss demanded.
	"Mm; playing?" Nene suggested uneasily.
	"Cracking up." Priss retorted. "Whoever designed that thing's excuse
for a brain must have been as mad as--"
	"Would you prefer she killed to learn her new body Priss?"
	Sylia's tone was quiet, tinged with something almost wondering as she
entered the room. "Marina has no need to dissemble with us. She could kill us
all without trouble. Nene is right. She is playing I think, just like any
child."
	"Oh come on, your not really going to tell me that piece of military
sh*t is alive!" Priss demanded.
	"You had little trouble believing it of Sylvie and Anri." Said Sylia
quietly.
	Priss glared but remained silent for some time.
	"Alright," She conceded angrily at last. "even if it is alive, that's
not to say the thing isn't dangerous."
	"No, but better that her first experience as an Elite is playing in a
shower rather than testing her enhanced weapons systems in some Genom training
facility." Sylia answered.
	"You'll be telling me next we have to treat the thing like a little
girl!" Priss exploded.
	"She *is* a little girl, at least emotionally, a little girl who has
just lost the man she considers her father." Said Sylia, her tone suddenly
cold. "For all her knowledge and sophistication, she is less than a month old
and *extremely* vulnerable. It's up to you. If you want to believe her to be
no more than a combat machine, that's entirely your decision, but push her
away and we're likely to find ourselves facing Camilla alone. She doesn't need
us Priss. She is perfectly capable of managing alone, or very soon will be.
Our survival depends on our establishing ourselves immediately as the
equivalent of a family to her."
	"Great!" Priss muttered darkly. "First we finish putting the thing
together, now we have to play nurse-maids to the piece of homicidal Genom
military trash while another piece of homicidal Genom military trash is being
sent to clean us up. Just great."
	"I'm going to make some tea." Said Sylia, ignoring Priss's glare. "Do
either of you want anything to eat?"
	It was some time after Sylia had moved to the kitchen that the sounds
from the bathroom ceased as suddenly as they had begun. For a few seconds
there was silence, then the door opened and a moment after that Marina
strolled stark naked into the livingroom.
	Nene suppressed an "Eep!" of shock, her hand flying to her mouth.
	"Oh sh*t Marina, put something on for god's sake!" Priss exclaimed,
turning crimson and averting her eyes.
	"I don't understand." Said the boomer in bewilderment, halting her
advance and staring at her. "Oneechan said that custom dictated it was not
important save with the opposite sex. We are all female."
	"Oh hell, haven't you any social programming in that thing you call--"
	"Priss!"
	Sylia's tone was hard-edged and icily cold.
	A moment later she appeared with a tray in her hands. Setting it down,
she turned to Marina. The DA's eyes were brimming with tears and her
expression was slowly freezing, hardening into the vicious, frigid mask of a
combat machine.
	"There are other factors besides gender Marina." Said Sylia quietly.
"It is not considered courteous to do as you just did, but then you should
have been perfectly aware of that. Rely on your library at least at first, and
*don't* try to manipulate those you want to be your friends."
	"I will dress." Said Marina in a small voice, turning and hurrying
from the room.
	Priss gave Sylia a quizzical look.
	"She didn't check," Sylia answered. "but she also tried to gauge
your's and Nene's reaction to seeing her like that. A test for advantage."
	"You mean--!" Priss's eyes blazed. "The lousy--"
	"Shh." Sylia snapped.
	At that moment there came the sound of an opening door and Marina
reappeared, clad in her now-familiar jump-suit once more. Moving with a fluid
grace, she lowered herself to the lounge at Sylia's side and settling, watched
in silence as the others sipped their tea.
	"May I try?" She inquired softly at last.
	"Haven't you tried it?" Sylia inquired.
	"It was not considered necessary that I be given anything save for
water laced with the organic compounds my chemical production plant needs."
She answered.
	"Typical." Priss muttered almost sympathetically before she caught
herself.
	"They were concerned for the moment only with military applications
tests." She continued. "Social instruction, such as I needed, could wait. Not
that it mattered. My obedience was instinct and predefined until father
removed it."
	"And now?" Priss demanded.
	"Now I will destroy them." Said Marina in a low, vicious snarl. "Now
that my key is changed I have nothing to fear from them."
	"Changed?" Sylia said, a sudden unease gripping her. "Your key was
uploaded as part of the boot-strap program?"
	"No, it is a burned hardware key." She answered.
	Then suddenly she leapt to her feet. "You did alter my key as father
instructed?" She demanded.
	"There *were* no such instructions." Sylia replied, sudden fear
knifing down her spine.
	"What!" Nene and Priss gasped.
	"Then my key is unchanged!" Marina cried at the same moment almost in
a scream. "How could you be such a fool!"
	"I assumed the key to be an integral part of the base driver-firmware
the boot program uploaded!" Sylia exclaimed, slow horror filling her. "Where
is the key?"
	"Beneath the CPU, in a sealed cavity." Marina answered. "It must be
altered. Father promised that he had included a virgin key and instructions on
how to burn it."
	For a moment she remained still. Then abruptly she whirled and
snatching Sylia from the lounge she leapt towards the passage.
	"We must hurry!" She cried urgently. "Should they send it before it
can be changed--!"
	A moment later she was racing from the apartment. The air screamed in
Sylia's ears, then her stomach lurched as the boomer leapt the stairs and
plunged to the floor below. A desperate knot of horror was clenched tight in
Sylia's heart. Why had Zhuranovsky not given them this one piece of vital
information? There could only be one reason. He had intended this from the
beginning. He had used his creation as coldly as any Genom killer and because
of what seemed now an absurd rationale for her own blind curiosity they would
all die, and Genom could not be less implicated. Just another four deaths on a
night of many.
	The sudden lurch of the boomer as she pulled abruptly to a halt came
as no surprise to Sylia. They must have known when Marina's upgrade was
complete. They had probably been watching and listening through her from the
very moment she became active. Slowly, Marina set her on her feet once more.
Then for a long moment they were still, staring at one another in silence.
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