Sylvie watched as a tear slowly started down the person's? computer's?
cheek. "What you need is some hot chocolate and a sympathetic ear, girl."
She took Minerva by the hand. "I have the ear, and there's plenty of the
former in the kitchen. Let's go."

   Behind them, in the bedroom, Ed had begun to dream again...

                    ***********************************
                    
   "I've lead a thousand lives, it seems.. there's been a lot of broken
    dreams."
      - The Monkees, _That Was Then, This Is Now_

   "Does the pain ever go away?" - Dick Greyson, Batman: The Animated Series

   Somewhere, somewhen else...

   The fight was fast and furious. But that didn't stop either of them from
taunting each other.

   "You've returned to your death, coyote. I am younger, stronger, faster!"
Their blades met with a loud clang.

   "Yeah. You smell worse, too! I should have insisted on mouthwash and a
shower before the fight. Ungh!" Kickaha grunted as he parried a swing from
the ax.

   Burning Stone screamed wordlessly, and delivered a stroke that could have
split a boulder. Kickaha danced aside, and the ghila hit nothing but the
sand at his feet.

   "Fool! I will make you suffer and die a thousand deaths!" screeched the
lizard.

   "Yep. Uh-huh. Right. Where'd you learn the bad dialog, 'Stone? Robotnik
giving classes in `How to Sound Like A Dramatic Villain 101'?"

   "Yaaaahhhhhhh!!!" shouted Burning Stone and he raced towards Kickaha, who
simply stepped aside and extended a foot. The ghila tripped and rolled to
the edge of the circle, barely avoiding crossing the line. Kickaha laughed.

   "Don't cross the line, 'Stone! I don't want the guards to kill you for
trying to leave the circle. I want that pleasure for _myself_!" He stood,
waiting for his opponent to rise. Instead, the lizard spat at him. A droplet
of the spit hit the bat'leth and sizzled, tarnishing the bright finish of
the steel. The guards surrounding the circle stirred. Stone noticed, and
froze.

   "No!," shouted Kickaha. "He's mine!" He shook the venom from his blade.
"Try that again, quvHa'wI, and I'll let them take you anyway. Now try and
fight as though you still had some honor left."

   "Honor is for fools and dreamers," hissed Burning Stone as he climbed to
his feet. "All that truly matters is ... power!" He charged Kickaha,
swinging his ax wildly. Their blades clashed.

   "Well, then, I think class is in session, lizard!" He parried a blow.
"Time to learn the facts of life!"

   "Lesson number one, 'Stone: Youth and enthusiasm will never win out over
old age and experience!" laughed the coyote. He blocked another swing of the
ax with his sword, then kicked Burning Stone in the groin with his
artificial leg. The was a muted `clang!' and the ghila dropped like a rock.

   *Clang?* thought Kickaha. *What the...?* He shook the thought from his
head and continued with the fight.

   "Lesson number two: Know your enemy!" He kicked the ax from the writhing
lizard's grip and out of the circle. "Lesson number three: Don't make me
angry!"

   "And lesson four," choked out the agonized ghila. "Never underestimate
me!" He rolled over suddenly and clamped his powerful jaws around Kickaha's
calf.

   There was a bright flash of lightning and a small explosion shook the
circle. Kickaha was thrown across the circle as smoke filled the ring. When
it cleared, the onlookers received a shock.

   Kickaha had struggled back to his feet, supporting his weight with his
bat'leth. The sparking, smoking wreckage of his bionic leg hung limply as he
hopped over to where Burning Stone lay.

   The ghila had bitten into the power supply for Kickaha's leg, and the
sudden, unexpected electrical discharge had revealed the truth. On the
ground, stripped of it's disguise by the power of the current, was a 'bot.
It twitched, jerking spasmodically. The electrical shock had done it serious
damage, causing it's own power supply to explode, ripping open it's chest.

   "...Burning Stone?" whispered Kickaha.

   "...yes... #SHRRK# ... damn you ... #BZZT# ...did this to ... #ZZAK# ...
get you ... #BZZK# ... Robotnik promised ... could reverse later ... #SPZAK#
... offered chance to ... #ZZOP# ... rule Pack ... #BRZZ# ... fulfill ...
#ZZZT# ... my destiny ..."

   The voice faded away.

   Kickaha had a horrified look on his face. "You hated me that much,
'Stone? Oh, Mother Earth! How could you do this to yourself? Did I hurt you
that deeply?" He began to shiver uncontrollably. Pyre rushed over and
grabbed him by the arm before he fell. He shrugged the wolf away.

   "Damn it, you idiot, you're in shock! You need help!"

   "Perhaps, old friend, but I have a job to finish first." He steadied
himself and raised his sword. "Now it ends, Burning Stone. May Mother Earth
and Father Sky be merciful in their judgement."

   The blade flashed downwards.

   Then Kickaha allowed himself to collapse.

                                   * * *

   Another time, another place...

   Planet Werthahekahwee, Deep Periphery, June, 3060 A.D.

   "Leutenant Becerra!"

   "Yes, Sir?"

   "You just volunteered to do a foward recon of the Jade Falcon front
lines."

   He blinked. "I did sir? I don't remember.."

   "You volunteered five minutes ago. Is that clear, Leutenant?"

   He sighed. "Yes, Major. Skin, armor, or 'mech?"

   The officer behind the desk rattled some papers. "I see here that you
once served with the 1st Sommerset Strikers, and are current with both the
SLH-X1 Sloth combat armor and the IFR-X1 Infiltrator reconnaissance stealth
armor as well as with your battlemech. Due to a paperwork error *kaff-kaff*
you are the only person I have on planet at the moment who is."

   Ed nodded. "I'll take the Infiltrator suit, sir. If that's allowed." *And
three guesses whose error _that_ was, eh? You incompetent idiot. You're not
fit to command a kindergarten classroom.*

   Major Pedersen smiled. "That's what I had in mind, Leutenant. It's being
rigged with extra sensors, recorders and memory modules at this very moment.
We want an in-depth scan of the Falcon emplacements and whatever you can get
on their support units, as well as any possible re-enforcements that may
have arrived. There are rumors that they've brought in several solahma
units." The major frowned. "And you'd best be certain to bring this mission
off sucessfully. _MY_ promotion depends on it."

   "Yes, sir." *So you intend to take all the credit too. Figures. If it
weren't for the fact I've got friends out there on the front lines, I'd
bilge this mission and let you take the fall, you cowardly little stravag.
Bet you got your commission by way of Katrina Steiner's bed.*

   "If that will be all, sir?"

   "No. We suspect that the 1st Falcon Guards are here. Your orders are to
verify that. You will stay out there until you do." Major Pedersen nodded at
him. "Dismissed."

   Ed saluted and left. Eight hours later, he was dodging incoming fire from
both Jade Falcon forces and his own side. When he returned, Major Pedersen
demanded to personally debrief him. Thirty minutes after that, Leutenant
Becerra had the transfer he wanted, and Major Pedersen had a broken jaw.

                                   * * *
   Yet another world...

   Denver, North American Protectorate, 2070 A.D.

   "I don't _care_ whether it can be done or not, Detective. I want it done
ANYWAY! Is that clear?" The police commisioner for the Denver metroplex
stared over the desk at her. "The UN Peaceforcers are on my back over this.
They want this `Erythrina' caught _now_."

   Detective Erin Mitchell yawned and ran her fingers through her waist
length, jade green hair. "If they want her that bad, why don't they catch
her themselves. Besides, she's just another net ghost. She hasn't hurt a
single innocent citizen. All she's done is embarrass Peaceforcers. She makes
them look like the jackasses that they are. And I'm all for that."

   "You won't be. They're sending a Peaceforcer Elite to oversee the
investigation."

   She stiffened in her chair. "A cyborg? Why?"

   "Because they've finally had enough, Detective. An Elite cyborg has the
authority to cut Denver off from the net."

   Mitchell went grey under her facial tattoo. "They can't do that! It would
crash the city! Thousands of innocent people would suffer!"

   "The Peaceforcers don't care about that, Detective. They're called
Peaceforcers for a reason. They don't care about justice, or innocence, or
anything but enforcing the peace." The tired commisioner rested his head in
his hands. "They've officially defined this Erythrina as a threat to
themselves, and technically, that makes her a threat to world peace. That
allows them to do anything they like, Officer Mitchell. When it comes to
keeping the peace, the Peaceforcers are above the law."

   "Isn't there anything we can do to prevent this, sir?"

   "Only bringing in Erythrina, Detective. They've already made up their
minds and they don't want to be bothered with the facts." He glared at her.
"I _know_ you have connections in the black net, Detective. That's why
you're tolerated in the department. Because you have sources that no one
else has. Use them. There isn't any choice any longer, Mitchell. There's no
fence to sit on. It's Erythrina, or us."

   She looked back bleakly.

                                   * * *

   Yet another world...

   Planet Genowara, Galactic Core, Spinwards, 2402 A.D.

   "The rest of the assault team is ready, sir."

   "Are the Blackcollars set?"

   "They're in place, sir. The Ryqril don't have a chance."

   The old major spun around. "Are you naturally that stupid, Leftenant? Or
do you study at it? War is the _single_ most uncertain action humans ever
undertake. Of course the Ryqril have a chance. It may be improbably small,
but it's still there. Never forget that. If you do, you'll end up in a body
bag, and it won't necessarily be the enemy who'll put you there!"

   "Y-yes sir, Major Two Bulls."

   "Good. Now get your head out of your ass and armor up, boy. You got five
minutes. After that, we leave you behind."

   The younger man scrambled to obey, and the major looked at him irascibly.
*Stupid little puppy'll likely get himself shot to pieces in the first five
minutes,* he thought with a sigh. *Looks like I'm going to have to add a bit
of baby-sitting to the list for today. God, was I ever that green?*

                    ***********************************
 
   Ed shot up straight in bed, shivering. *Damn. Haven't had _that_ dream in
quite a few years. Now if I could just make then stop completely.* He looked
around, noting the feminine decorations in the room. *You know, I'm _really_ 
getting tired of waking up in strange beds. It gets old after a while.*

   He noticed a stack of clothing on a nearby chair, with some towels
nearby. *Guess Minerva planned ahead. Bless her.* He grabbed the clothing
and headed for the bathroom. Cleaning up quickly, he headed to the kitchen
where he found Sylvie and Minerva deep in discussion. Minerva smiled at him
as he walked in.

   "How are you feeling today, boss?"

   "I've had better days. And better nights." He gave an ironic smile. "And
you, pretty lady?"

   "I've been having a long talk with Sylvie." She waved a hand across her
body. "This was a pretty big change for me. She had some insights on what
it's like to be both organic and inorganic at the same time."

   He nodded to Sylvie. "Thank you, m'lady. I appreciate that. It looks like
our lives are going to be going through some unexpected changes, and we can
use all the help we can get." He fixed himself a bowl of cereal and sat,
absently picking at it.

   "Bad dreams again, lover?"

   He blinked, surprised. "How did you know?"

   Minerva smiled and pointed at the bowl. "You always do that. Get some
cereal and then ignore it. After twenty years, it was kind of hard to miss
the signs."

   He frowned, and pushed the untouched bowl away. "I'm going to take a walk
and get some fresh air."

   "What about Sylia?" asked Sylvie.

   "What about her? Where could I possibly go? It's not as if there's any
place I can escape to. After all.. I gave my word." He headed out the door.

   "He isn't taking this very well," observed Sylvie.

   "He never does," replied Minerva.

                                   * * *

   "You're a triple-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich.. with arsenic
    sauce!"
      - Thurl Ravenscroft, "How The Grinch Stole Christmas"

   In an temporary office that had been set up for him at one of Genom's
other buildings, Quincy was viewing the recordings that had been made of the
battle. "Fascinating," he murmured. A soft rap at the door caused him to
pause. "Enter, Ms. Madagan."

   Kate Madagan stepped through the door, her arms full of files. "I have
the preliminary reports, sir. As well as my personal impressions, as
requested."

   "And those impressions are?"

   She squared her shoulders. "Sir, after what I witnessed in the plaza, it
is my opinion that we should not pursue this any further. I seem to have
vastly underestimated the potential danger that Mr. Edwards represents. The
mecha he was piloting was, at the very least, a full generation beyond our
current technology. His physical survival of the explosion of its power
plant indicates that his personal abilities were underrated as well. The
technicians assigned to examined those few scans that survived the battle
estimate that when the fusion reactor powering the mecha blew, the resulting
blast was in the kiloton range. Their judgements are tentative at the
moment, however. The sudden arrival of and interference by Ms. Stefanson
tended to introduce a large amount of uncertainty in the readings." She
sighed. "Further attempts to pressure Mr. Edwards could prove both
counter-productive and non-profitable."

   "A succinct analysis." Quincy smiled. "In point of fact, your conclusions
are quite similar to my own, Ms. Madagan. Our book-seller is far more than
he appears on the surface. Attempts at physical harassment were in error.
That error is understandable, however, given our lack of information."

   Outwardly, Madagan didn't react. Inside, however, she gave a mental
shudder, and a tight knot in her gut relaxed. She had feared Quincy would
take issue with her recomendation to avoid any further conflict. "In
addition, sir, we have reason to believe that he has access to material
resources that we do not."

   Quincy raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

   Madagan extracted a paper from the sheaf she was carrying. "A small
fragment of the mecha's armor survived its destruction, due in part to the
Crystal Knight. It was sliced from the right arm of the mecha by one of his
diamond swords. Chemical analysis shows it to be a highly exotic alloy,
composed largely of rhenium."

   "I'm given to understand that rhenium is a mere chemical curiosity. It's
far too rare to be of any widespread commercial use."

   "Yes, sir. But the 10 kilogram chunk that was recovered contained more
rhenium than is currently produced world wide." She ran a finger down the
page. "The only known commercial source is flue dust from the roasting of
Arizona molybdenite. Production is at less than 3 tons of Cottrell dust per
year, resulting in less than 1/4 kilogram of rhenium. The sample of armor is
over 24% rhenium, or slightly less that 2 1/2 kilos of it. Or the equivalent
of ten years production in the sample alone. The metalurgists flatly refused
to estimate the amount that must have gone into the construction of the
entire mecha." She paused. "The company that owns the mine and refines the
dust is, unfortunately, wholely owned by the Chang Conglomerate."

   Quincy paused and pondered. "Interesting. I trust repair of the damaged
floors of Genom tower progresses rapidly."

   "Yes sir. Your office will be ready by tomorrow morning, with the
remander of the tower fully repaired by the end of the week."

   "Good." He turned his chair back towards the monitor he'd been watching.
"Every being, no matter how powerful, has a weak point, Ms. Madagan. Even
our.. acquaintance, the Crystal Knight, was shown to be vulnerable to an
attack on his friends. He risked his own life to save that of the pink
Knight Saber." He tapped a key, and the monitor went blank. "Maintain a
discrete surveillance on Mr. Edwards. But take no chances on our being
connected to it. Everyone has a price, Ms. Madagan. We need to discover
his."

   "Yes, sir. But sometimes that price can be very high. Can we afford to
pay his?"

   "If Genom is to remain the most powerful corporation on the planet, we
cannot afford _not_ to. The corporation that controls teleportation controls
the world."

   He waved Madagan out of the office, steepling his fingers together. "This
isn't even your universe, eh? What a fascinating statement, Mr. Edwards." He
smiled. "Fascinating, indeed."

                                   * * *

   Sylia walked into Darlene's apartment. "Where is Edward? I need to speak
with him."

   Minerva looked up. "He went for a walk, Ms. Stingray. He wasn't feeling
very good."

   "Do you know where?"

   Minerva shook her head. "No.. he asked me not to track him for a while.
And if I did know, I couldn't tell you. I hope you understand why."

   She nodded. "Your primary loyalty lies with him. I can't fault you for
that. Besides, I believe I may have an idea where he's gone."

   "It isn't going to be a confrontation, is it?"

   "I hope not, Minerva. I certainly hope not."

                                   * * *

   At ADPolice headquarters, Bochinski threw a unfinished report at the
wall. "Why the hell do they still have us looking for him? We haven't seen
the Vigilante for since the attack! He's probably left the damn country!"

   Wadderson spread her hands. "Ours is not to question why and all that
crap, partner. We just do the job. And right now, part of that job is to
keep an eye out for Mr. Mysterious." She rubbed her chin. "Besides, _you_
were the one who submitted that report that claimed he was at the controls
of the machine that trashed Genom tower. I expect there's more than a few
bought and paid for politicians who want to get on Genom's good side by
finding him."

   Bochinski made a rude noise. "Politics. Bah. Bunch of chair-warming
idiots and incompetants who couldn't get a job anywhere else. You ask me,
we'd have been better off if they'd all died during the quake."

   "Maybe so, but we still have a job to do if we want to keep drawing a
paycheck." She picked up another report of a sighting. "It _would_ be nice
if they'd stop sending us every drunk with the DT's who thinks they've seen
him."

                                   * * *

   "There never is [profit] in revenge. Let the dead rest, and the past...
    remain the past."
       - Jean-Luc Picard, "ST:TNG - The Battle"

   Sylia was right. She found him where she'd expected to; in the remains of
his book store. He sat staring at the ashen remnants of the books and
scrolls, the wreckage of an overturned counter serving as a makeshift seat.
She stepped up behind him, but before she reached him, he spoke.

   "Revenge is an ugly thing, isn't it? It steals the soul." He shook his
head, refusing to look at her. "I gave up my honor, my responsibilities,
everything. All for the sake of revenge. A meaningless revenge at that." He
waved a hand at the room around them. "There's nothing here that I couldn't
replace. I could have restored everything here with a single, simple command
to Minerva. For that matter, I could simply have walked away. Just left it
all behind, and found someplace else. I was stuck in this reality until
Valanna came along, but there was still an entire galaxy out there for me
explore." He clenched a fist. "But I wanted to _show_ Quincy.. to rub his
nose in the idea that he was a fool when he challenged _me_." A grim look of
self-contempt slid across his face. "I did it because I was furious that he
_dared_ to think he could take me on as an equal. Megalomania at its worst."

   "And what does that say about my own actions against Genom?" Sylia asked
quietly.

   "Absolutely nothing." He smiled painfully. "Sylia, I don't pretend to
know you like a friend, but you're not doing what you do for revenge. You're
not doing it for yourself, either. Not any more, at least. You're doing it
for them, the people of Mega-Tokyo. You're doing it because someone _has_ to
do it, and you and the Knight Sabers you created are the best suited for the
job. Pun intended." He rubbed the back of his neck, and continued. "What I
did was done for reasons wholely selfish, and entirely petty."

   "And that bothers you?"

   "OF COURSE IT DOES!" he snapped. "I.. Oh, hell." His shoulders slumped.
"Sylia, I thought I'd gotten away from all this a long time ago. Habits of
thought and action." He shivered as old, ugly memories stirred in the back
of his mind. "Things like.. Dying soldiers aren't dying soldiers, they're
`acceptable losses'. Scorched earth doesn't matter.. it's `denying resources
to the enemy'. People left homeless, dying of exposure, starvation and
plague.. they aren't important, they're merely `collateral damage'. The
means don't matter.. only the ends you achieve. Political expediency." He
spat out the last two words with a cold venom that impressed Sylia. "And I
let myself fall to that. Again."

   "At least you're able to see that clearly now. Of course, it would have
been better if you'd seen it in the beginning," she added dryly. "And what
exactly do you mean by again?"

   "Remind me to tell you about the Fall of Strana Mechty, someday. A day
when I'm feeling particularly self-abusive." He looked over his shoulder at
her. "Have you come to pronounce my sentence, Sylia? Do I get a last meal?"

   "In a way, I have. You have much to make restitution for, but you can't
do it and abuse yourself up at the same time." She stepped over a burnt
scroll and sat next to him. "First of all, you will remain here, in this
universe, for the present. I think you've learned that running from your
problems doesn't solve them. Next, your assistant Minerva assures me that as
far as wealth is concerned, you have no worries whatsoever. So you will
rebuild this shop, and you will arrange to funnel the profits, as well as
additional funds as needed, into a fund to repay the damages you caused
during your rampage. If you need help, I will arrange for my business
contacts to aid you. You will also reimburse _me_, personally, for the costs
I incurred during our battle." She paused at that point, looking at him
expectantly.

   Ed blinked in surprise. "That can't be it. It's too bloody simple."

   She smiled suddenly. "Good. You may be inclined to foolish acts of
impulsive rage, but you are not stupid. You, Mr. Becerra, are about to
receive an education in the practical realities of dealing with the
responsibilities that come with power."

   He looked at her, eyes wide. "And you said that all in one breath, too."
She shot him an irritated look, and he shrugged. "Can't help it. I think my
mother was frightened by a stand-up comedian before I was born." He stood,
and scuffed his feet through the ashes. There was a muted clank, and he
stooped to see what he'd struck. His jaw sagged.

   "I'll be dipped in horseradish!"

   "What is it?" Sylia stepped over, curious. She watched as he bent, and
lifted what looked like a sword of some sort from the floor. She frowned.
"That was hanging over the door to your office, wasn't it?"

   He nodded, amazed. "This.. was a gift from a friend. I thought it was
lost with the books." He brushed the ashes from the scabbard, revealing what
looked like a ninjato. "Franklin Sakamoto gave this to me years ago. We'd
been jumped by a dozen assassins from the Black Dragon Society. They were
after him, and I managed to delay the bishonen bastards long enough for him
to grab a gun and sound the alarm." He held up the blade with both hands,
balancing it on his upturned palms. "I took this from one of the assassins.
It was supposed to be the blade to kill Franklin. Instead, Franklin gave it
to me, as thanks." He shrugged. "He didn't know what I was, and thought I'd
risked my life for his. So he tried to honor my 'noble spirit of courage'.
He told me that this blade would never fail me."

   Sylia hmmmm'ed quietly. "It certainly seems as if he was correct."

   Ed made a non-committal sound. "Hey, it wasn't as if I was in any real
danger from those pretty-boy idiots. Those fools could've beaten me over the
head with their swords all day long, and the most it would have done is
mussed my hair, and given me a headache from the noise." 

   She frowned. "Sakamoto.. the name sounds familiar. Franklin Sakamoto, the
illegitimate heir to the throne of the Draconis Combine, wasn't he?"

   Ed favored her with a startled look. "Yes. But how did you know? That
wasn't even in this universe!"

   Sylia smiled. "Both the game and the cartoon exist in this reality, as
well as, I assume, they do in your own. I took the time to watch all
thirteen episodes."

   "Ahh.." A faint grin danced on his lips. "I should have thought of that.
And more to the point, I should have expected it. What I know of you told me
that you'd _never_ give up on a puzzle." He caressed the blade. "I'd better
put this someplace safe. It's obvious the shop isn't secure any longer." He
addressed the room. "Minerva?"

   "Yes, boss?"

   "Tuck this away in the armory, pretty lady. And clean out the rest of my
personal belonging, as well. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice,
shame on _me_."

   Sylia watched as the sword shimmered and vanished. "Interesting. So that
is the technology everyone is so anxious to acquire. You may have gone about
it improperly Edward, but you were right in keeping it out of their hands.
It could be quite easily abused."

   "I shouldn't have made the mistake in the first place. But thank you.. I
think."

   She nodded. "As long as you realize that, you're learning."

   "Too schoon ve get old und too late shmart," Ed sighed. "True no matter
_what_ universe you live in." He brushed the ashes from his jeans, and
turned towards the door. "Well, time to get started, I suppose. I've got to
rebuild a shop, and a life. Soonest begun, soonest done."

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

   "In my life I've seen the mystery begin/And in my time I've felt some
    wonderful things/Winds will change bringing us something new/So little
    time still there's so much we can do..."
      - 'Find The Key To Your Life', "TMNT2"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
   And that's it for this part of `Tangled Skeins'. But the story will
continue. I hope you've all enjoyed it.

   Bubblegum Crisis is (c) Artmic, Inc. & Youmex, Inc., and is used without
permisssion.

   All BattleTech references and material are (c) FASA, 1980-1996, and are
used without permission. All other characters are (c) by their creators and
are used without permission, with the following exceptions: Twister is (c)
Darren Steffler. White Wolf and his bar are (c) Hitomi Ichinohei.

   Doc Mui is (c) Pearson Mui. PCHammer is (c) Martin F. Rose. Thank you for
letting me mention you in the story, guys.

   Ailuro and Natasha are NON-fictional characters, friends of mine who have
given me permission to use them in this story, and their characterizations
are (c) by them. Please respect that.

   The song "All I have to do is Dream." is (c) 1958 by the Everly brothers.

   This story is (c) Edward Becerra, with the exception of certain scenes
written by Darren Steffler and John Collins. Thank you, guys.