Anri leaped loyally to Priss's defence. "She'd _never_ do that! She hates
Genom!"

   Ed looked over at Anri. "Oh? I seem to recall someone who once thought
that the enemy of my enemy was my friend. Or was that someone _else_
standing next to Largo, and sticking a knife into Priss during that last
battle atop of Genom tower.." He recoiled in surprise as Sylvie slapped his
face and winced, shaking her stinging hand. "Hey! What the hell was that
for... Oh." It was his turn to wince as he saw the tears in Anri's eyes.
"I'm sorry, Anri. That was entirely uncalled for." He ducked his head.
"Sometimes I'm such an ass."

   Anri wiped her eyes. "You're forgiven, then. And you're right, even if
you were crude about it. If I could make a mistake like that, then Priss
could too."

   "Yeah.. but I shouldn't have hurt your feelings, Anri. If it helps any,
Minerva is going to be all over my case for doing that." He scratched his
head. "She's really come to like you two ever since you found out who we 
were."

   Anri smiled then. "Well, then, I won't have to worry about making you
pay. I know she will."

   Ed rolled his eyes dramatically. "Women.. can't live with 'em, can't get
any resale value for 'em."

   "Ooooooh.... you MAN, you!!"

                                   * * *

   Leon gave a billious look at the scruffy looking pusher sitting in the
questioning room. "You say the mystery vigilante was the one who told you to
turn yourself in?"

   The pusher nodded until Leon thought his head would snap right off of his
scrawny neck. "Yessir, yessir, yessir..."

   Daley flipped through the arresting officer's report. "It says here that
you saw the Knight Sabers approach him after you ran down the street."

   "Uh-huh! I run too fast an' hadda stop 'n catch my breath at the corner
an' I saw 'em. They hadd'em surrounded, but they weren't doin' nutthin."

   "And that was all you saw?"

   "I didn't hang around none. _He_ tole me to head right to you cops an'
thass just what I did. I don't want him gettin' mad at me none."

   Leon nodded, and waved the uniformed officer back into the room. "That's
all we need. Thanks, Ishido."

   "No problem, sir. When I noticed what he was blabbering about _why_ he'd
turned himself in, I thought you'd want to know."

   Walking down the hall, Leon wondered aloud. "Are they joining up? Or are
they enemies? This is getting deeper by the moment, partner."

   Daley shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and watch. After all, waiting
and watching are half of a police officer's life right there. Collect all
the information you can, and try to make a prediction that will let you
anticipate the bad guys, then catch them. Academy stuff, but that doesn't
mean it's obsolete."

   Leon sighed, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of Shades of
Utter Cool +3, and putting them on. "That doesn't mean I have to like it,
Daley."

   Daley looked at him. "You know, I've always wondered, partner. Just
_where_ do you buy those at? And why are you wearing them inside?"

                    ***********************************

Personal Log: Entry 152, Year 20

   It's been over three weeks now, and the Knight Sabers have left me
strictly alone. Sylia's word is her bond. Although.. from the way Priss's
suit shook the few times we've run across each other since then, Priss is
having more than a little trouble with her self control. Not that I blame
her. If I were in her position, I'd want to wipe up the floor with me.

   I seem to be running out of muggers, though. They _finally_ got the word
that the police couldn't stop me, and all that's left working the streets
are a few pitiful junkies trying desperately to mug someone for the price of
a fix. The professional muggers have all `pissed off to pastures new' as an
old friend once put it. I suppose I could have Minerva start looking for cat
burglars, bank robbers, and such. But the regular police seem to have them
well in hand.

   Sigh. Isn't this always what happens? You get over-eager, and run out of
new playtoys. Then life gets so _dull_.

   Minerva and Sylvie were right. Priss is spending every free minute she
can spare, hanging around the seedier parts of the city, hunting for me.
Fortunately, the fact that I've run out of muggers to pound is actually
working in my _favor_. I'm not out as much, and Priss is basically a day
late and a dollar short, so to speak. Something which has _not_ put her in a
good mood.

   Quite frankly.. I've seen rabid wolverines with a better disposition.
I've got to do something about this. But I'm not quite certain what. When
she figured out the Darlene/Twister thing, first she made him take singing
lessons, then forced him to build her a superbike like his own.

   I do NOT want the world to hear me sing. I have enough crimes on my
conscience already, thank you very much. Having to defend myself from
blood-thirsty hordes of music lovers wanting to lynch me for my singing is
not my idea of a good time.

   Ah, well.

   Book sales are brisk, and cash is rolling in. Not that I need it. I end
up donating most of the profits to various charities, which is getting me a
second reputation. It's an annoyance, occasionally.. I keep getting junk
email and people showing up in the store begging me for donations to their
particular cause. I swear, if I see another Dianetics type show up, I'm
going to punt the little buggers into the stratosphere.

   I haven't seen Madagan for weeks. A fact I am _profoundly_ grateful for.
Hopefully, Genom has forgotten all about me.

End Log Entry 152, Year 20

                    ***********************************

   "Threats...and Other Promises."
      - Vernor Vinge

   Ed looked up at the sound of the bell over the front door. "Welcome to
`Rare Books'. May I help you?" He looked the customer over. Tall, dark,
athletically built, and almost offensively handsome.

   "I'm here to help _you_, Mr. Edwards," replied the man. "I'm here to make
you very wealthy."

   "Oh?" Ed raised an eyebrow. "And just how do you intend to do that?"
*Something isn't right, here,* he thought. {Minerva, _carefully_ scan the
gentleman, if you please.}

   The man smiled and took what looked like a business card made of crystal
from his jacket. "You're invited to a meeting at Genom tower tonight, sir.
Someone would like to speak with you about your skill in finding hard to
find literature." He placed the crystalline card on the counter. "Show this
to the guards. They'll let you in."

   He looked down at the card. Cut from a single slice of perfect quartz,
engraved letters inlaid with gold leaf marched across its glimmering
surface. Only one word, but only one was needed. A single name. Quincy.

   Minerva interrupted at that point. {I'm not sure how you did it, but you
called it the first try, boss. It's a boomer. A 33-S, to be precise.}

   That caught his attention. {A sexaroid? I thought Anri and Sylvie were
the only ones currently on Earth. The rest are supposed to be off planet.}

   He could practically hear Minerva shrug. {We're talking about Genom here,
b'wana. They don't exactly pay a lot of attention to the law, you know.}

   He turned his attention back to the sexaroid. "I gave Madagan my answer
the first time, tin can. That answer hasn't changed. I want nothing to do
with either Genom or Quincy. Clear enough? Get out of my shop, and tell your
masters to stay out of my life. End of message."

   The boomer evinced no surprise at his knowledge of what it truly was and
nodded politely. "It would still be to your best interests to meet with Mr.
Quincy, sir. But I shall inform him of your message and of your feelings in
this matter. The invitation remains open. Good day."

   The bio-machine turned, and left. Ed stared angrily at its back as it did
so. When the door swung closed, he began to swear loudly.

   Minerva spoke up. {Boss...}

   "..evil, vile, corrupt, foul.. ehh?" {What is it? Why the private link,
m'dear? No one is in the shop now..}

   {I guess they just couldn't resist, boss. The card is a plant.}

   {Excuse me??}

   {There's molecular micro-circuitry buried under the gold leaf, boss, with
the crystal acting both as a solar power source and a sounding board. The
entire card is one very _nicely_ disguised bug.}

   Ed's eyes flashed golden for a brief second, as his fingers clenched
tightly around the card. It exploded into a spray of brilliant glittering
shards. His fist shook as he ground them under his heel, enraged. A mile
away, in a safe house, a Genom technician flinched painfully as her ears
rang to a squeal of harsh feedback.

   "Oh.. I'll be visiting Quincy tonight, baby. But it isn't going to be
quite the visit he expects."

/*
** <inform Sylvie and Anri of meeting>
*/

   The highway was a deserted section of Mega-Tokyo due to its bridge having
collapsed a long time ago and the city hadn't bothered fixing the damage.
Thus, no one was around to see the sudden flare of purple light, nor the
bone white car which shot forwards from its arrival point with a squeal of
rubber. The car was of an ancient make for Mega-Tokyo, but little else about
the unusual appearance would have been found evident as it suddenly
vanished.

   It had not vanished. Now it was cloaked by the spells woven into the car
by the person sitting in the passenger seat, which should have been the
driver's side in Japan. And that person was pleased.

   "Perfect!" Darlene chuckled.

   "Where do we go first?" the driver asked her.

   "It's night so de-cloak when we start running into cars," the mage
advised. "Bet you we run into Priss within two hours."

   The person in the back seat grinned. "No bet; that's a given."

   "True," Darlene admitted.

   "Hey, clear race track. Onward, Mortis!" the driver chuckled and the car
accelerated. A lot. Darlene rolled her eyes in exasperation.

   "Grim..."

                                   * * *    

   Up in orbit, Minerva detected the strange energy surge. *That dragon
again?* she wondered. But no, it came from the wrong location so what...?
Her thought processes froze. *Could it be...?* Quickly, the AI scanned the
city but whatever the cause was she only got a ghost image of...something...
before it disappeared. Repeated tries got even less.

   "Ed's going to want to hear about this," she murmured.

   Was Twister back?

                                   * * *

   Priss had been riding the highways more often lately due to her current
frustrations with that mystery man who had torn apart a Boomer like it was
nothing. Soon, the normal routes grew boring so she started on the lesser
used paths where there were fewer THP cars and opened up the gas. Her
pleasure in the acceleration must have distracted her, how else could that
old-looking car have gotten behind her? She glanced at her speedometer and
blinked.

   *How the fuck is that piece of crap keeping up at 220km?!* she thought,
amazed. The white ghost behind her was silent. Too silent, she couldn't even
hear the engine, which should have been howling like a demon! *Is it that
asshole?* she wondered.

   Then, impossibly, the car switched lanes and somehow went from 220 to 300
in one second, zipping by Priss as if she were standing still. She couldn't
believe it!

   "How the HELL...?!?!" Priss demanded aloud. Up ahead, the car braked to a
dead stop just as fast in deceleration as acceleration. It seemed a clear
invitation to her so she warily applied her own brakes and coasted to a stop
beside the white car with black, impenetrable windows.

   The driver's side opened and a familiar red-headed face popped up to grin
at her. "Hiya, Priss!" Darlene giggled. "Like the car?"

   The singer sat, stunned, on her bike for a moment before she jumped off
and met her friend in front of the car with an enthusiastic hug. "Darlene!!
About damn time you came to visit, you little..."

   "Been busy," the red-head admitted as they separated. Priss snorted.

   "I bet. What's the deal with this old thing and why were you chasing me
with it?" the singer demanded.

   "Huh? Oh, this is a car made for America; the sides are reversed,"
Darlene explained. "I wasn't driving."

   "You weren't? Then who's the asshole who was?" Priss demanded.

   The true driver's door opened and a long pole with a wicked-looking,
curved blade on the top came into sight before its owner slid out of the
seat and stood, closing the door behind. Priss paled as she saw
light-absorbing, black robes covering the whole body. The only portions of
the driver visible was the skeletal fingers gripping the scythe and the
somehow amused-looking skull in the robes hood. The singer's hand suddenly
clenched on Darlene's shoulder, hard.

   "Priss, meet Grimreaper. Grimreaper, this is Priss," Darlene said for an
introduction.

   I'M HAPPY TO FINALLY MEET YOU, PRISS ASAGIRI, the robed being said
cheerfully. Priss' eyes almost popped out from their sockets.

   "I... No... A..." she stammered, then fainted dead away, Darlene caught
her as she crumpled. The mage giggled.

   "Got you!" she said triumphantly.

   BWAH HAHAHAHAHA, the skeleton laughed, I LOVE IT!

   "Turn off 'Death's Voice' will you, Raj?" Darlene asked him.

   SURE, JUST BE "a sec, there," a more human-sounding voice finished. "God,
I never get tired of that."

   "Better not, given how much time I put into it."

   The one of the back doors of the car opened and a lean, young man with
black hair stepped out to stretch. "You have a mean sense of humor,
Darlene."

   "Thanks, Dave," she replied, dimpling. "It's a calling."

   All three chuckled.

                                   * * *

   "GENOM Corporation. We make everything you need, and you need
    everything we make. Buy it, or we'll kill your family."
	   - failed slogan proposal, 2290 A.D. 
        {courtesy of Ben `Gryphon' Hutchins}

   Genom tower was a _huge_ building. Ed had seen taller ones now and then
in his travels, but none with such an.. arrogant? Yeah, that was the word.
An arrogant attitude. The entire building seemed to say that Genom was the
destiny of mankind, or some other grandiose statement like that.

   He despised it at first sight.

   He'd was dressed a little differently, tonight. Usually, when in the
shop, he wore a sweater and a sports jacket, trying for a professorial air.
But tonight he wanted to make something perfectly clear to Quincy.

   He stepped into the main lobby, and headed for the elevator. An armed
guard confronted him.

   "Where do you think _you're_ going, fella?"

   Ed reached into the pocket of his jean jacket and pulled out a handful of
crystal dust, pouring it out at the guard's feet. He pointed at it.

   "To a meeting with Quincy. You were told to expect me." He stared at the
guard. "That _was_ my invitation. It used to be a solid quartz business
card, until I became.. upset with it. You want me to get upset with you,
son?"

   The guard darted a quick glance at the glittering pile at his feet, and
waved to his partner. "Ahh.. Jake? Ya wanna check and see if there was an
appointment for a Mr... err..."

   "Anthony Edwards."

   "Anthony Edwards, right! Jake.. Uhh.. Jake.. could you _hurry_? Please?!"

   While he was waiting, Ed heard a buzz in his ear. {Boss? I got something
important..}

   {What is it, pretty lady? Can't it wait?}

   {I've got another sighting, boss. The readings were similar to those I
got off of Charcoal. But _much_ stronger. It might be Twister.}

   Right about then, the guard behind the desk looked up. "Ralph? He's
cleared for Mr. Quincy's office," he said nervously. "And we're supposed to
insure that he arrives there as rapidly as possible."

   Ralph nodded, and came closer. "Sir? If you'd care to come with me?" He
waved Ed towards the private elevator. "I'll see that you're escorted there
immediately."

   {Baby.. I got my hands full right now. You keep a close watch, and do
your best to see if you can't track Twister down.} A thought struck him.
{Keep a sensor out for the Sabers, pretty lady. He'll likely stop by to
visit with them and say hello.}

   {Will do, boss.}

   Ed followed the guard into the elevator, and watched as he slid a card
into a slot under the control panel. A heartbeat later, they were rocketing
upward at a speed that bent the guard's knees. He looked over at the guard.
"Fast elevator, son."

   "Built by Genom, sir. The best available!"

   Ed snorted at that, but didn't bother arguing. He had a bigger target
tonight. He looked up as the doors opened with a musical chord, rather than
the standard *ding* sound. *Figures*, he thought. *No matter _how_
unimportant the game, Genom _always_ has to try a little one-upsmanship.*

   "The end of the hall, sir. They're waiting for you."

   "Thank you, son. And a word of advice..."

   "Sir...?"

   "It never hurts to scout out a piece of cover _before_ the shooting
begins. You have a better chance that way. Remember that when you get back
to your post."

   The guard looked at him warily. "Thank you, sir."

   Ed grimaced. "Just trying to keep a clean conscience, boy. Now run along.
I got folks to palaver with right now."

   He started down the short hallway, and rapped on the door. An elderly
voice spoke out. "Come in, Mr. Edwards. We've been expecting you."

   "I rather thought you were, old man." He pushed the door open and stepped
inside. Quincy's office held a small group of people. Quincy himself,
Madagan, and several types that looked like lawyers. A small, tight
semi-circle of chairs faced the front of Quincy's desk, with an empty one in
the center. He took it, and sat.

   "So. You went to a great deal of trouble to get me to come here. Say your
say, and get it over with. I don't particularly care to be here." He stared
rudely at the head of Genom. "I don't like Genom, I don't like you, and I
don't like being here."

   Quincy never blinked. "That is what we are here to change, Mr. Edwards.
Genom wishes to purchase your services. You are somehow able to obtain
reference works that we cannot. We wish for you to do so on our behalf. We
are willing to compensate you for your efforts, most handsomely."

   One of the lawyer-types leaned towards Ed with a sheaf of papers. "We
have a contract here, that binds Genom to pay you over one million yen per
book, _exclusive_ of whatever you may have to pay of obtain it. In addition,
Genom will provide an unlimited line of credit for you to draw upon for
travelling expenses, payments to book owners, daily living expenses and any
necessary.. easements to customs officials."

   "No."

   "I understand," burbled the lawyer. "The fee per book is negotiable, and
we can raise it for items that are especially difficult to acquire.."

   "I. Said. No. What part of 'no' don't you understand, little man?" He
turned hard eyes toward Quincy. "Lose the lawyers, old man."

   Quincy raised a single finger, and the legal crew fell all over
themselves trying to leave the room as fast as possible.. The bodyguards
remained, however, as did Madagan. "So, Mr. Edwards. What might you wish to
say that you do not wish them to hear?"

   "What I said before. No. I won't work for you, I won't help you, I
wouldn't even spit on you if you were on fire. Get it straight, Quincy.
because I'm saying it once and once only. Genom burned me once before. And
Genom isn't going to get away with it a second time. Hell will freeze over
before I ever help Genom, and the _only_ payment I'd ever accept from you
would be the heads of yourself, Madagan and Brian Mason in a silver plate."

   "That.. would not be advisable, Mr. Edwards. Genom is your friend, no
matter what you might believe. I suspect you will find yourself in urgent
need of liquid cash very shortly, and Genom will be the only place you will
be able to find that money."

   Ed's eyes narrowed. "Just what do you mean by that, old man?"

   "I understand that your bookstore is uninsured, Mr. Edwards. A dangerous
state of affairs that one should always take care to avoid." Quincy's face
showed nothing. "It's always a tragedy when books are burned and valuable
information is lost to the ages. Don't you agree?"

   "So.. that's what this was all about. You're playing your old game of
trying to get a handle on a person," he snarled. "Well, if I want your
advice, I'll open your head and sift through your brains for it."

   "Everyone has a price, Mr. Edwards," replied Quincy calmly. "The _only_
question is what that price might be. Tell me, what is _your_ price?"

   Quincy was surprised to see a flare of golden light come from behind Ed's
glasses. It faded quickly as Ed closed his eyes. "Quincy, you really don't
want to know. Trust me. What I want.. you _can't_ afford. You don't have
what it takes." He stood, causing the bodyguards to twitch. "You're playing
outside your league, old man. _Way_ outside. I understand that Genom is the
only thing that means anything to you. If you keep this up, you could see it
destroyed in the cross-fire."

   Quincy's expression didn't change. "You claim to have that sort of
power?"

   "No. But what's following me _does_. And if there's a showdown between
myself and my enemies in Mega-Tokyo.." He shook his head. "Quincy, the
earthquake of 2025 will look like a peaceful stroll in the countryside by
comparison. If you were lucky, really, REALLY lucky.. the planet _might_
still be left standing, after the battle." He turned toward the door. "Good
evening, Mr. Quincy"

   Quincy shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot accept that answer." He
addressed the guards. "Detain him."

   The boomers quickly grabbed Ed by the shoulders and attempted to force
him back into the chair. They were surprised when he remained standing. A
second, more forceful try was just as ineffective.

   "Right. Now I'm pissed," Ed gritted out. He grabbed the first boomer by
the throat and squeezed. As Quincy looked on, mildly astonished, the
android's neck was crushed like a styrofoam coffee cup. A back-handed slap
removed its head. Ed tossed it to one side and went after the second,
driving his fist into its gut, and out through its spine.

   The remaining two boomers immediately upgraded their threat estimates,
and opened fire with their lasers, taking care to avoid involving Quincy.
The beams damaged the office, but did little to stop or even slow Ed. A
moment later, the two boomers were spare parts scattered around the floor.

   Quincy gazed at him dispassionately. "So.. you are not human. And from
the _interesting_ display you have provided, I suspect you are also the
mysterious bar patron and vigilante we have been searching for these past
several months." The faded ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Teleportation
is a powerful tool. Possessing it, Genom would be the pre-eminent
corporation on the planet. With your assistance, Genom would leap far ahead
of all others."

   Brushing the ash from his jacket, Ed gave him the sort of disgusted look
that most people usually reserved for times when they found mold on a slice
of bread. "Quincy, you simply enlarge my understanding of the depths of
human depravity. I couldn't believe the Crystal Knight when he told me about
your attempts to hire both himself and Largo. I see I was wrong." Quincy's
eyes narrowed at that statement.

   "You are a friend of the Crystal Knight?"

   Ed took several steps forward to stand in front of Quincy's desk. "I'm
_me_, Quincy." He slammed a fist on the top of the desk, splitting it in
two. "And that's none of your business."

   He felt a distant tug on his shoulders, and turned to see Madagan, her
eyes burning brightly. "And the psionist takes her shot. One word for you,
girl. Don't." He jerked his shoulders sharply, causing Madagan to shudder
painfully at the mental feedback.

   "What _are_ you?" she choked out.

   "None of your concern. And none of Genom's concern, either. Leave me
alone and I'll extend the same courtesy to Genom." He heard the door behind
him open. "More boomers, no doubt. So I'll take my leave." He walked to one
of the windows and kicked. "This isn't my world. It isn't even my universe.
I don't want a fight. I just want to find my way home, Quincy. Nothing more.
But if you get in my way.. No threats, old man. Just be ready for a war if
you do."

   With that, he stepped out through the hole in the glass and plummeted
towards the ground.

                                   * * *

   A bone white car cruised past Genom tower. The driver blinked in surprise
as an indigo streak fell from the sky and crashed into the pavement by the
side of the street, missing them by only a few feet. He stopped the car and
turned to the person in the passenger seat.

   "Dave.. did you just see a guy in a jean jacket fall from the top of that
skyscraper and _not_ die?"

   Dave looked out the rear window. "Jean jacket, lumberjack shirt, and a
really _ugly_ looking Stetson?"

   "Check."

   "Yup."

   Dave looked at Grim. Grim looked back at Dave. They both nodded.

   "Life in Mega-Tokyo."

   "Uh-huh."
 
   Grim stepped on the gas and drove away.

                                   * * *

   Ed swore at the tail-lights of the car that had just left. "You could
have given me a hand, dammit!" He looked down at his legs, which were sunk
knee-deep in the concrete sidewalk. He shook his head, then pulled his feet
free, leaving two shattered holes in the walkway. "Why me? Things like this
_never_ happen to Superman."

   He walked away, muttering, "I better get started looking for a spot where
Minerva could beam me up without any witness. Or maybe I should just _walk_
home. Goddess, what a day I'm having..."

                    ***********************************

   The next morning...

   Priss groaned and slowly opened her eyes. Had seeing...IT been just a
dream? The singer looked at the couch she was on and recognized it. *Wait a
minute, I'm in Darlene's place!* she realized. She looked to the kitchen
when noises from that locale caught her attention and there her mage friend
stood, regarding the surprised Priss with amusement.
   
   "Good morning, sleepyhead," Darlene cheerfully greeted the blinking
woman, smiling impishly as she held a bowl containing breakfast.
"Faint...er, sleep well?" Priss recalled at that moment just WHY she had
fainted.
   
   "You... You.... I ought to strip you naked, dip you in honey, and dangle
you by your feet at Leon's front door!!!" Priss declared ominously as she
slowly rose from the couch. "Where have you been?! Who...WHAT the hell WAS
that last night?!"
   
   Darlene blithely continued making breakfast, totally ignoring Priss'
mood, much to the singer's rising ire. "That was Raj, or rather, Rajish
Perumal. I usually call him Grimreaper or Grim though. He's a friend that I
knew in my home universe before I originally left it, along with Dave but
you didn't see him. The 'Death' bit was something I made for Grim a long
time ago and we both get a kick out of it," she finished with a smirk at
Priss.
   
   "I bet," Priss grumbled, giving the red-head the Evil Eye. "Are they here
now?"
   
   "Well," Darlene said, tasting whatever was in the bowl, "they thought
they'd hang out in Mega-Tokyo on this little 'shore leave', party for a
while, then come back."
   
   "Shore leave?? What'd ya mean by that??"
   
   The mage looked a little abashed. "I... It took me a while before I
decided to visit here again. I wanted to look older and you know how long it
takes me to age. I got involved in a few things and... well..." She looked
at her friend with a little trepidation. "It's been almost four centuries
since I left."
   
   Priss stared at her, then numbly sat on the couch as the fact sunk in.
"Four...?" She had to admit, the mage DID look older, a little over a year
more.
   
   Darlene sighed at the expression on the singer's face. "I haven't really
changed too much, just a lot more memories in my head now." She giggled.
"Certainly you could tell by the joke we played on you."
   
   That reminder made Priss scowl, and would have retorted but then they
heard a door downstairs open and excited voices could be heard. Darlene
grinned.
   
   "I left a few messages around so that should be the others."
   
   Indeed, Priss could hear Nene, Linna, Sylvie, Anri, and the more subdued
Sylia. Priss thought of something to ask the mage, "Hey, do you have
anything to do with this Goldeneyes character?" Darlene blinked and looked
at the singer in honest confusion.
   
   "Who?"

                                   * * *

   "Minerva.. have I ever told you just how much I hate getting up in the
morning?"
   
   The computer laughed. "Only once a day for the past twenty years, b'wana.
You simply aren't a morning person. Don't worry.. I fixed you an entire pot
full of Morning Thunder."

   "You _are_ thoughtful, pretty lady." He yawned and stretched, heading for
the shower. "Nothing like a mix of black tea, chickory and mate' to start a
morning right. Unless it's Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, eh?"

   "Covered that too, boss. Breakfast has already been prepared, and it's on
the table. I thought you might need it, after last night." She made a
disapproving sound. "Along with some of your cuban cigars. Bleah. Boss, I
honestly believe you'd be better off smoking a piece of old rope."

   "Some of those _taste_ like old rope, m'dear.. that's why I like 'em."

   Minerva gagged. Loudly. "You have the most atrocious tastes, lover."

   "Yep.. that's me. The man who grossed out an entire planet."

   "Well, so far, so good, boss. No signs of Genom yet, the morning is clear
and bright, and all in all it looks like a pleasant day ahead. You don't
have any appointments for the day aside from your regular lunch with Sylvie
and Anri." She paused briefly, and Bach filled the break as she checked the
morning news. "Nothing about any accidents at Genom tower, boss. All's quiet
on the Western Front, so to speak."

   Ed humphed. "Maybe Quincy learned a lesson from the previous times
someone's trashed his office. But I doubt it." He finished up his shower and
dressed, then turned towards the breakfast nook. "I'll head downstairs just
as soon as I finish breakfast." He paused. "Minerva..?"

   "Yes?"

   "Stay alert, baby. I don't know why.. but I have a bad feeling about
today."

   "You're still edgy over last night, that's all."

   "Maybe. And maybe not."

   Minverva then said The Words That Should Never Be Said. "Come on, boss!
It's a beautiful morning! What could _possibly_ go wrong?"

                                   * * *

   "bortaS bIr jablu'DI' reH QaQqu' nay'."
   (Revenge is a dish best served cold.)
      - tlhIngan proverb.

   "Revenge.. is better than Christmas!"
      - Elvira, the Mistress of the Dark

   Ed looked to the door as a beautiful young woman entered. Something about
her seemed.. wrong, but he put that down to a case of nerves over his little
confrontation with Quincy the previous night.

   "May I help you? Is there something in particular you're looking for,
Miss..?"

   The blond shook her head. "I'm here on business, not pleasure. I have a
message for you, Mr. Edwards."

   His brows drew together. "And the message is..?"

   Long, humming, claw-like blades slid from her fingertips. "Genom doesn't
like it when little people refuse to accept their proper place in the
world."

   "Their proper place in Genom's schemes, you mean." His lips thinned. "If
they programmed you with even the slightest bit of information about me,
you'd know that those little toys of yours can't even scratch an itch on my
back, you cheap-jack Terminator knock-off. So leave my place now, before I
decide to disassemble you for spare parts."

   The razor doll smiled in a disturbing fashion. "Oh.. I know." She waved a
careless hand through the air, the claws effortlessly cutting gashes in a
walnut bookcase. "These are simply to get your attention, sir. So that we
might ask you one more time. Will you accept Genom's generous offer for your
services?"

   "What? Do I have to tatoo it on Quincy's forehead? I said _no_. No books,
no teleportation. Nothing. Now leave this place."

   The boomer nodded. "Mr. Quincy has your answer, sir. Now, here is his."

                                   * * *

   As Darlene and her guests chatted, a sudden explosion interrupted them.
Sylvie ran to a window, and saw smoke pouring from the shattered storefront
of the bookstore down the street.

   "Oh my god! That's Ed's place! Someone call emergency services!" she
gasped.

   Priss had been hot on Sylvie's heels, and looking out the window at the
devastation, shook her head. "Don't bother. It doesn't look like anyone made
it out alive. Looks like the entire lower floor is trashed. Need the fire
department, though." She put an arm over Sylvie's shoulder. "If it's any
comfort, he likely didn't feel anythin..." Her jaw dropped.

   Sylia looked over from the phone. "What is it, Priss?"

   "Hoooooly FUCK! There's someone coming out!"

   Sure enough, when Nene and Linna poked their heads around her, they could
see a figure wearing smoldering clothes slowly picking it's way around some
of the larger chunks of rubble that filled the street directly in front of
the now ruined bookstore.

   It turned it's face towards the sky, and in a voice that could have
shattered steel, the figure screamed, "QUINCY!!!"

                                   * * *

   As he stood in the middle of the street, watching the fire department put
out the blaze, Ed's temper flared hotter than the flames. The bomb inside
the razor doll had been most carefully calculated. Most of what had been
inside it had been a firebomb, intended for arson, not blasting. Aside from
the windows and furnishings, little had been damaged. The building was still
structurally sound, and he could rebuild any time he liked. But the books
had all gone up with the fire.

   "I've been sent a message," he muttered. "A message from Genom." He felt
a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Sylvie standing there.

   "Are you all right, Ed?"

   The muscles around his left eye twitched wildly. "No. I'm not all right,
Sylvie. Genom just pushed me. And now I'm going to push back." He gave her a
quick hug. "Looks like your friends are coming, and they'll ask questions I
can't answer. You take care, and take care of Anri. I'll try to be back." He
whirled, and ran off down the street before the other women arrived.

   Sylia walked up, and frowned at the running figure in the distance.
"Why is he leaving, Sylvie?"

   "I don't know. And I'm afraid I don't _want_ to know."

                                   * * *

   As he shimmered into visibility on the main transporter pad, Minerva saw
the grim expression he wore, and winced inside.

   "Get the Enforcer ready, Minerva. Quincy is going to pay for this one. He
went too far with this. Now it's my turn."

   "No, boss! Please! This isn't right!"

   A snarl answered her. "I am _not_ concerned with what's right or wrong at
the moment, girl. It's payback time. Get. The. Enforcer. Ready. NOW. Do you
understand? Or will I have to use the override codes?"

   She answered him reluctantly. "Aye, aye. I understand and will comply.
But.. boss?"

   "_WHAT_?"

   "It was your farewell gift from the Sommerset Strikers. Do you really
want to take it into this? You'd hate yourself if it was damaged." She
hesitated. "We still have several of the Chameleons.. and I can prep one of
those just as fast, if not faster."

   He stood and stared for a moment, then nodded curtly. "A Chameleon, then.
Prep it. You have an hour."

                                   * * *

   "Why is it always giant... humanoid... robots???"
    - Ben `Gryphon' Hutchins, "Undocumented Features 1"

   Ed looked up at the 10 meter tall, 50 ton BattleMech lying prone on the
deck of the Calypso's cargo hold. A marvel of 31st century technology in its
native reality, where it served as the ultimate war machine.

   A mirthless grin crossed his lips, failing to reach the cold rage in his
eyes. "Ready or not, Quincy.. here I come."

   Popping the hatch, he stepped inside the cockpit that filled the head of
the anthropomorphic machine. Since the battlemech was lying on it's back,
everything was on its side. That didn't bother him. Strapping himself in the
pilot's seat, he began the start-up procedure.

   Once the fusion engine had ignited, he slipped on the neuro-helmet and
put the battle computer on-line. He didn't bother with the medical monitors
nor the cooling vest. He didn't need either one, and he wasn't trying to
hide his differences from fellow mercs any longer.

   He punched a button on the command console, and began the identification
sequence. A computer-generated voice sounded through the neuro-helmet's
speakers. "CLN-7X Chameleon 450376YM2232 online. Proceed with voiceprint
identification."

   "I am Edward Anthony Becerra."

   "Voiceprint pattern match obtained. Working... Please give the password.
Warning: If an incorrect password is entered, intrusion countermeasures will
be taken. You have one opportunity."

   His next words rang with unconscious irony. "Killing a man is never easy,
and never should be."

   The computer responded with, "And who taught you this?"

   "Kai Allard-Liao."

   "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Becerra. Note: There have been two authorized
modifications to this machine since it has last been used. The three small
torso-mounted lasers have been replaced with small pulse lasers and linked
with the anti-missile system. The large laser mounted on the right arm has
been replaced with an extended-range particle projection cannon."

   As he listened to the machine make its report, his eyes drifted to the
coaming overhead, and the symbol painted there, an iron gauntlet
superimposed on a stylized, flaming sun. The symbol of the Federated
Commonwealth. Below it was stencilled a quote. "It's time to earn your
princely pay as a Mechwarrior." - Natasha Kerensky. *I wonder.. do they even
remember me?* Then he shook the memories from his mind. Old habit seized
hold of him, and he slid into the startup checklist without conscious
thought.

   / Fusion plant .. switched on. Power to operational parameters. Go. /
   / Gyros .. running .. up to speed. /
   / Engine .. ready. /
   / Battlecomputer, targeting system and Heads-up display. Go. /
   / Commo system .. working. /
   / Tactical. On. /
   / Weapon systems ... /
   / Particle Projection Cannon - Weapon on safe, power connection green,
     power nominal. On-line. /
   / Lasers - On safe, power connections green, power nominal. On line. /
   / Chainguns - On safe, ammo loaded, full ammo cassette. On line. /
   / Control systems and neurohelmet feedback .. nominal. /
   / Checklist complete. Mech is battle-ready. /

   Staring at the green boards in front of him, he emerged from his trance
and finally spoke up. "Minerva, prepare to beam me to whatever open plaza is
closest to Genom tower."

   He twitched slightly as he felt the transporter effect take hold. A brief
moment later, the Chameleon was standing in the middle of a large square,
with a crowd of terrified bystanders running away from him.

   The HUD in his neuro-helmet stabilized, and suddenly popped up a map
display. Less than two kilometers from Genom tower, he noted. Aside from the
plaza surrounding the tower itself, the map didn't seem to have anything
closer. A few taps on the Optisight-12 battle computer, and a cursor traced
a bright red line from the target to his current location. He nodded,
satisfied.

   "You attacked me in my own home, old man. Now I'm coming for you in
yours."

   As he looked over the plaza, an ironic smile darted across his face. If
he was going into battle with Genom, he was going to do it _right_. He
reached over to an auxiliary console, and touched a hidden switch. The front
panel swung open to reveal a strictly non-regulation CD player tucked away
among the circuitry. A moment later, music filled the cockpit. As he turned
back to the controls, trumpets and drums played in the background. "Ride of
the Fire Mares" echoed in his ears. *Theme music,* he thought. *Every good
battle should have some.*

   The 'Mech began to slowly walk down the street, all sensors extended. Ed
wanted Quincy's head, but some tiny remnant of common decency kept him from
deliberately harming any civilians. He carefully stepped around and over the
automobiles and trucks, taking care to avoid damaging the street any more
than he could, given the immense weight of the war machine.

   As he headed towards the tower, a threat display began bleeping quietly
at him. Something with military potential was on the other side of the
corner he was approaching, but the battle computer didn't recognize the
configuration.

   *Stupid of me,* he thought. *All the threat profiles are set up for
weapons and vehicles from its native reality. Should have updated the
database, dammit.*

   He cautiously rounded the corner, and was confronted by a hastily erected
barricade manned by members of the ADPolice. He zoomed the sensors, and
grimaced. "Figures."

   "Halt and dismount from your mecha, in the name of the law," announced an
officer at the front of the barricade.

   "I'm afraid I can't do that, Officer Bochinski. In fact, I'd appreciate
it if you and your men would kindly remove yourselves from my path. I have a
bone to pick with Genom, and while I don't want to hurt any cops, I don't
intend to let the ADPolice interfere with me."

   Bochinski looked startled, and peered at the mirrored canopy. Despite the
distortion caused by the loudspeakers, the voice sounded familiar. "It's
you, isn't it. The person from the bar. The mystery vigilante."

   "Got it the first try, Officer. And thank you for not using that
_annoying_ nickname."

   From the rear of the barricade came a smart-alecky voice. "What annoying
nickname? Goldeneyes?"

   An exasperated sigh came from the mech's speakers. "I supposed I should
have expected that one..." The machine turned back to face Bochinski again.
"Now, if you'd kindly step aside...?"

   Bochinski shook his head. "I can't allow you to go any further. Please
dismount your mecha, and surrender yourself. Otherwise, we will be forced to
open fire." The other officers behind the barricade leveled anti-boomer
weapons at the 'mech.

   An arm swung up and rubbed back and forth under the cockpit, giving the
humanoid 'Mech the eerie appearance of a man pondering a difficult problem.
"I aim to get Quincy, Bochinski, and get him I will. But I understand duty.
If you must, then you must. Nothing personal, I know. So, to make it simple,
go ahead and open fire. I won't hold it against you."

   Bochinski gawked at him, but when the 'mech took a step forward, he gave
the order to fire.

   When the smoke cleared, the ADPolice received a rude shock. Aside from a
few scorch marks and some slight dimples where grenades and rockets had
struck, no damage had been done to the machine.

   "Ten tons of armor, Officer," said Ed from the cockpit. "And every ounce
of it a rhenium-tungsten-tantalum alloy that makes vanadium steel look like
cheap tin foil. You can keep trying, if you like, but it will take more than
the ADP has to stop this machine."

   The Chameleon took another step forward, and a pair of pulse lasers
lashed out, burning away the wheels and engines on the vehicles used in the
blockade. "That's simply to keep you from following me. I really don't want
to hurt _anyone_, aside from Quincy. And if you want to try to keep people
safe, call ahead and have them evacuate Genom tower. Now. But leave Quincy
there." Then it carefully stepped over the barricade, and continued on.

   As it left the roadblock behind, Bochinski watched it head towards Genom
tower. He threw up his hands. "You know.. I think Quincy just might have bit
off more than he expected to. This isn't going to be pretty." Then he
grabbed a mike and called it in.

                                   * * *

   At 65 kilometers per hour, it didn't take very long to reach the tower.
Most of the delay came from trying to avoid hundreds of panicked motorists.
Vengance or not, rush hour traffic in Mega-Tokyo remained the snarled-up
nightmare it had always been. Even a 10 meter tall war machine had trouble
picking its way around the cars jam-packed in the streets.

   Entering the plaza around Genom, he noticed the array of combat model
boomers lined up before the tower. *Looks like Quincy wants to do this the
hard way. Fine with me.*

   A group of twenty BU-88 missile boomers opened fire simultaneously. The
smoke of their launch obscured the front of the tower. Ed turned control of
the torso-mounted pulse lasers over to the battle computer, under an
anti-missile program. Then he started in swinging.

   BU-12's and a swarm of C-55's used the cover of the missile smoke to try
and rush him. One managed to leap up upon the left leg of the Chameleon, and
clawed it's way up to the cockpit. Swinging wildly, it tried to smash in the
canopy. Unfortunately for the C-55, it was neither glass nor polycarbonate.
A large metal hand rose and mashed the boomer against the thick Aluminum
Oxy-Nitrate that formed the Mech's canopy.

   *Personal note,* thought an irreverent corner of his mind. *Install
windshield wipers.*
   
   As he crushed, lasered, and otherwise destroyed the attacking boomers, he
began to grow suspicious. This was all too easy. Far too easy. It had to be
a distraction. So when the threat board signaled an aerial assault, he
actually felt relieved. The trap had been sprung. Until he got a close-up of
what was about to attack.

   It wasn't hard to mistake them, even though he'd never actually seen them
before. Oh, there were the infrequent pictures of them he'd seen on the news
at night, and sometimes in the newspapers. And there was Bert Van Vliet's
description of the cursed things from his `Bubblegum Zone' stories. But that
wasn't quite the same as seeing them in person. The black and white
coloration of their external armor, along with the clawed extremeties, was
all the ID he needed.

   Dobermans. Twelve of them.

   *Judas Priest! Where the FUCK did Genom get _those_?!* Then he banished
the thought from his mind, and opened fire with the particle cannon on the
'Mech's right arm.

   He got three of them with the first shot. The particle projection cannon,
an anti-mech weapon which had been designed to vaporize nearly a ton of
armor with a single shot, went through the Dobermans like a bullet through
jello. The remaining boomers, seeing the ease with which the PPC had reduced
their companions to slag, broke formation and attacked him from every
direction. They were moving too fast for him to hit again with the arm
mounted anti-battlemech weapons, and the pulse lasers in the torso were too
low powered to do much damage with a single shot.

   "Damn! Fast little S.O.B.'s." He stopped for a moment, and the boomers
took the opportunity to charge him. Things started to get serious at that
point. Their claws, sharp as they were, couldn't do much more than gouge the
rhenium armor plate. But if they took it into their minds to go after the
canopy.. the ALON was tough, but it couldn't stand up very long against such
a concerted attack.

   "No wonder the USSD uses them," he muttered. "The little buggers make
C-55's look like Robbie the Robot, combat-wise. They move faster than a
cheetah on crack! I can't kill what I can't _hit_!"

   He slaved the twin 30mm chainguns to the battlecomputer, and quietly
thanked Minerva for filling the ammo bins with depleted uranium rounds.
Between those, and the pulse lasers, he got another two. The seven Dobermans
left closed with him, clinging to the 'mech and trying to dig their way
inside with their claws. Several frantic minutes of slapping later, he was
left with several small dents in his armor, and half a dozen crushed
boomers. A six-inch gash in his canopy attested to just how close one of
them had come to getting inside the cockpit.

   The final one attempted a suicide dive straight at the head of the
Chameleon. It ran into the massed fire of four lasers, two chainguns, and
one particle projection cannon. It didn't just blow apart, it simply
_vanished_ in a fireball.

   Then Ed turned and stepped the 'Mech over the wrecked boomers littering
the plaza, and across to the tower. Scanning it indicated a section that was
mostly structural steel, and he tapped on that gently, like a man knocking
on a door. The building rang like a bell.

   "Yoo-Hoo! Can Quincy come out and play?!" He hammered a little harder.
"I'm in a hurry!"

   "Quincy isn't here at the moment. Did you want to leave a message?" came
a voice from around his feet. Ed closed his eyes painfully. *Please. Not
now. A joke _that_ bad can come from only one person. And _him_ I REALLY
don't need at the moment.*

   He shook his head, then opened his eyes and looked down. It wasn't the
day for his prayer to be answered. Standing there below were four motoroid
encased hardsuits of familiar design, along with a fifth hardsuit of a type
and design he'd never seen before, but recognized instantly.

   The entire plaza echoed to his next statement.

   "Goddess, I _HATE_ my life. I _really_ do."

   The mech turned slightly, facing the five armored figures. "Look. All I
want is Quincy and to remove Genom from the face of the earth. Can't you
just go away and let me have him? We'd _all_ be better off, and that's the
truth! Please?"

   The white Saber stepped forward. "That's impossible, and I think you know
that as well as we do. While destroying Genom is a commendable idea, the
collateral damage that would result would cause irreparable harm to the
lives of millions of innocent people."

   Ed shouted into the mike so loudly, it squawked, overloaded for a moment.
"I DON'T CARE!! CAN'T ANY OF YOU SEE THAT?" Then less violently, he
continued. "This is the second time that something of Genom's has stolen my
life. No more. It ends here." He killed the loudspeakers. {Minerva? The
Sabers have a private, encrypted com-link. Find it, break it, and put me
through to them. Now.}

   A few seconds later, a display lit up on the comm console. {It's done,
boss. Maybe you can talk your way out of this?} She sounded hopeful.

   {Only if I get to leave with Quincy.}

   The hope in her voice died quickly. {Inshallah, boss. Inshallah.} she
replied in dull tones.

   {I stopped believing in gods the day Largo attacked me in Utopia
Planetia, girl.}

   He switched over to the comm console and tried the channel. "Am I correct
in thinking I'm addressing the Knight Sabers? As well as the Crystal Knight?
I certainly hope so, as I don't particularly care to blast the rest of the
conversation all over Mega-Tokyo, for the world to hear."

   A slightly shocked Sylia answered him. "You are.. but _how_ did you
access this channel? It should be impossible."

   "There is very little that's impossible for me, Sylia. And right now, I
WANT QUINCY. I'm going to get him. No matter _who_ stands in my way. Nothing
is going to stop me. Not the ADPolice, not you and your Sabers, and not
Twister."