Stormwalker <dougreeves@earthlink.net> presents . . . 

31 December 2036
11:20 PM

     Sitting alone in her darkened apartment, a young woman
desperately tried to ignore the world around her.  Sounds of
celebration--the rumble of music, the cheering revelers--intruded on
her solitude, torturing her with the joy and freedom she would never
again know.  Outside her confining walls, people were happy, and Nene
Romanova hated them for it.
     Any cause for celebration in her life was long since destroyed,
crushed to powder under the oppressive heel of GENOM.  So much had
been lost, beginning that fateful day two years before.  Linna had
fallen, Priss had walked away, and the Knight Sabers could do little
without them.  She and Sylia had tried to carry on, but it simply
would not happen.
     Boomer terrorism had only become worse with their fall; AD Police
had been GENOM's next target.  Thrice in the last year, AD Police
headquarters had been attacked, and Nene had lost friends in those
battles.  The chief, Daley, and others . . . worst of all had been
Naoko, who had died in her arms.  Mounting losses had embittered the
entire force; unappreciated and overmatched, many ADP officers
scarcely knew why they bothered to fight anymore.  Of late, Nene had
found herself understanding them.
     A soft knock at the door, barely audible over the surrounding
noise, caught her attention.  She ignored it, hoping it would go away. 
It didn't, and the second knock was louder.  Still Nene sat, not
wanting to be disturbed, until a third and stronger knock brought her
to her feet.  Angry at the intrusion, she trudged wearily to the door,
unbolted it, and jerked it open.  The sight that greeted her there,
though, froze the sarcastic greeting on her lips.
     Arrayed in a black, silver-marked full-body suit, her visitor
could once have been called beautiful.  Eyes of ice, deep blue and
bitterly cold, bored straight into Nene's soul.  Raven-black hair
offset unnaturally pale skin, and her familiar features were hardened
into an emotionless mask.  Her appearance was more ethereal than real,
a spirit given earthly form.
     "Linna," Nene gasped in shock, stumbling backward.  "You . . .
you're dead," she stammered.
     "I was dead," the apparition spoke, stepping through the doorway. 
"They didn't have the decency to leave me that way."

**********
Cry of the Phoenix
A Bubblegum Crisis fanfiction by Douglas A. Reeves

Chapter One - Rebirth
**********

     "I'm on my way, Nene.  Don't tell her *anything* until I get
there," Sylia finished, her tone commanding.  Setting down the phone,
she stopped for a moment to let the realization sink in.  Linna was
alive.
     Two questions immediately came to her mind: "How?" and "Why?". 
Someone, most likely GENOM, had gone to the trouble to revive Linna
after two years; this was not a simple task.  Furthermore it demanded
that preparations had been made at the point of, and probably before,
Linna's death.  A scheme of this magnitude would not be embarked upon
lightly, even by their monolithic corporate nemesis.  It had been done
for a reason, and the possible nature of that reason disturbed her
deeply.
     Rising from her seat, she began to turn the situation over in her
mind.  Was it simply an elaborate trap?  Quite possibly it was, but
why would such a trap be laid after so long?  The Knight Sabers, after
all, had been inactive for nearly two years . . . but what other
reason was there?  Assuming, then, that it was a trap, how could it be
thwarted?  She refused to leave Nene for the wolves . . . and then
there was the matter of Linna herself.  If she was truly alive, Sylia
had an obligation there as well.
     Resolution pressed her into action, and she selected two firearms
to carry along with her other equipment, an automatic pistol went in a
shoulder holster, and a hold-out tucked neatly into her coat's loose
sleeve.  With a silent prayer to whatever fates might be listening,
she slipped on the jacket, checked the electronic locks, and departed. 
If it was indeed a trap, she would need to be there quickly.  If not .
. . she would know soon enough.

     Nene shifted uncomfortably in her chair, not really knowing how
to act.  There before her was a friend she had believed lost for two
years, and yet she could not talk to her.  What would she say, even if
she could?  And could she really, truly believe that this *was* Linna? 
It was difficult, and yet . . . she did believe.  Against all her
investigator's and hacker's instincts, she believed.
     If Linna needed anything, it was comfort and reassurance.  Her
eyes, at first piercing and cold, now seemed frightened, even haunted.
<What has she been through . . . ?> Nene wondered, unable to imagine
it.  She wanted to help, but she had no idea how she could.
     A sharp, sudden knock at the door broke the spell over them, and
Nene quickly rose to answer it.  Checking the peephole to verify the
caller's identity, she unbolted and opened the door for Sylia.
     Linna looked up, uncertainty replacing a momentary panic in her
expression.  "Hello, Sylia."
     Sylia glanced down at a small scanner in her palm before meeting
Linna's gaze.  "So it is you, after all," she responded
noncommittally.
     A pained look crossed Linna's face at the evident distrust. 
"Yes, it's me."  With a sigh, he added, "I suppose I have a long story
to tell."
     Sylia nodded, again glancing at the scanner.  "Yes, I would say
that you do."  Taking a seat opposite Linna, she set her attache case
on the coffee table and opened it up.  Inside was an assortment of
electronic security devices; she checked the readouts on two of them,
then closed it up again.  Finally she settled back in her seat, as
Nene chose one closer to Linna.
     Once they were settled, Linna took a deep breath.  Her eyes
clouded with sorrow, and she hesitated a moment longer before
beginning her tale.  "I don't remember much past mid-December . . . I
guess that's about when I died . . . but I remember waking up in this
lab of some sort.  I remember voices, talking about bringing me back,
and how they were going to control me.  They . . . ," she shuddered as
remembrance slowly returned to her.  Tears formed in her eyes, and she
bowed her head a moment before continuing.  "They did experiments on
me . . . they tried to 'program' me, I guess you would say."
     Unable to stand the sight of her friend's suffering, Nene reached
out and took her hand, holding it gently.   "Thanks, Nene," Linna
whispered softly.
     Silence fell for several moments as Linna composed herself again. 
"Finally, today, I escaped.  They tried to move me to another lab, and
well . . . scientists aren't great fighters.  With all these New
Year's crowds, I was able to escape without being followed."
     Sylia sighed.  "I suppose that explains it adequately.  You do
understand, Linna, that it is difficult for us to trust you, after two
years--"
     "Two YEARS?" Linna interrupted, shocked.  "I've been . . . it's
been two years?"
     Sylia nodded silently, trying desperately to hide the compassion
she felt.  She could not allow herself to trust . . . not yet.  It had
been her misjudgment that had brought Linna's death, in the first
place, and she would not be ensnared again.  She could not afford to
believe in miracles, not until she could gather more information . . .
until she could be certain.  Even then, she would have to be cautious.
     "Two years," Linna echoed, her haunted, desperate tone tearing at
Sylia's resolve.  Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.  "I have
nothing.  No home, no job, no life . . . they took it all away from
me."  For a moment, she sat stunned.  "They took it all away," she
finally repeated, her voice hardening.  "Sylia, you have to trust me,"
she pleaded, the words coming out in a rush.  "Run whatever tests you
have to, do whatever you must, but you *have* to trust me.  I . . . I
can't let them get away with this.  I want back in."
     Forcing her own emotions down, Sylia nodded cautiously.  "Very
well.  Come with us, and we will see what can be done."

     It seemed to Linna that an eternity had passed when the car
finally stopped.  "Are we there yet?" she asked dryly.
     "Indeed," answered Sylia as she shut off the engine.  "I
apologize for the blindfold and the roundabout route, but our new
headquarters must remain secure until your story can be confirmed."
     "I understand.  Let's just get this over with."
     "Of course."  Parking the car, Sylia got out and led Linna
upstairs.  There, the blindfold came off.  The decor, Linna noted, was
strikingly familiar . . . and yet it was different as well.  Darker,
with no natural lighting . . . 
     "The old place had windows," she commented idly.
     Sylia nodded; Linna had passed the first test.  She no longer
doubted the former Saber's identity, but she had other concerns as
well.  "Yes, it did," she answered quietly.  "If you will excuse me a
moment, I need to prepare some equipment.  Nene, could you find Linna
something else to wear?  I will need to examine that bodysuit as
well."
     Linna turned a little pale . . . "You don't think they're
tracking me, do you?"
     Sylia allowed herself a slight smile.  "No, I was careful of
that."
     Nene nodded.  "So that's what's in that case.  I've wondered . .
. ."
     "Among other things.  Now, if you would . . . ?"
     "Sure," Nene grinned, motioning for Linna to follow her.  "Come
on, I'm sure we can find you something that fits . . . ."
     When the two of them were gone, Sylia took a few long, deep
breaths.  This whole situation unnerved her; there were too many
questions without answers.  Still, she reminded herself, she had taken
every precaution to insure their security . . . and the tests she was
about to run would provide some of the answers she sought.

Having found their way to Sylia's bedroom, Nene quickly began rifling
through one of the closets.  "Let's see . . . this . . . no, this . .
. yeah, and this.  That's it," she decided, some of her old
cheerfulness surfacing as she decided on an outfit for Linna.  "Not a
perfect fit, but it should be pretty close, at least."
     Linna smiled weakly, accepting the chosen garments.  "Thanks,
Nene."  For a moment she hesitated, glancing around nervously.  "Umm .
. . where do I change?"
     Nene giggled.  "Don't worry . . . it's just us.  Mackie's gone
off to Europe for college."
     Linna had to laugh a little at that, actually breaking a smile
for a moment.  Turning around, she prompted, "In that case, could you
help me with that zipper back there?  I don't think they wanted me to
take this off, and there's some sort of clasp holding it."
     Nene nodded, finding the hidden catch at the top and releasing
it, and Linna slipped out of the one-piece outfit, kicking it aside in
disgust.  Turning back toward Nene, she picked up the panties that had
been chosen for her and was stepping into them when Nene gasped.
     "What?" she questioned, suddenly self-conscious.
     "Your . . . your stomach . . . ," Nene indicated, and Linna
looked down to see a jagged scar that stretched completely across her
abdomen.  "That's . . . ."
     Linna shivered violently at the sight, closing her eyes.  "I . .
. I . . . ," she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, and drew a couple of
deep breaths as she brought her revulsion under control.  "I never
knew it was that bad.  I mean, they told me I died, but . . . I never
actually saw this before.  How did . . . ," she began to question,
then shook her head.  "No.  I don't want to know."
     Tears shimmered at the corners of Nene's eyes.  "Oh, Linna . . .
that's so terrible."  Reaching out, she drew her friend into a tight
embrace.  "I'm so sorry this happened . . . ."
     Linna held her for a moment, then drew back and smiled gently. 
"Nene, it's not your fault.  It's not anybody's fault, though I'm sure
Priss blames herself . . . ."
     "Yeah, Priss . . . ." Nene whispered, her voice trailing off.
     "What?" inquired Linna.
     "I'll . . . I'll tell you later.  I'm sure Sylia's waiting for
us."
     Linna nodded, and started getting dressed again.  "All right. 
But I want to know . . . ."

     When that was done, they found Sylia waiting for them in the
living room.  She glanced appraisingly at Linna, then at Nene, who
nodded slightly at her.  Glancing back at Linna, she held her gaze
there for a moment before speaking.  "The equipment is set up.  I will
be performing a base physical scan, looking for implants and/or
cybernetics; also, I will be scanning your central nervous system in
detail, to locate any damage caused by the trauma of your death and
revival." <And GENOM tampering . . . ,> she added mentally.  "Are you
ready, Linna?"
     "Yes, I'm ready."
     "Good.  If you'll follow me, I will try to do this as quickly as
it may be done."
     Linna nodded, and the three of them made their way down the hall
to a heavy security door.  Sylia placed her palm flat against the
scanner, then spoke, "Identity Stingray, Sylia, one one alpha."
     "Identity confirmed," the computer responded in a synthesized
monotone, and the door opened to reveal a small but very well equipped
medlab.
     "If you'll lie down over there," Sylia indicated the diagnostics
table, which was surrounded by several pieces of automated scanning
equipment,  "we will get started.  I will be in the next room
monitoring the readings."
     Again Linna nodded her assent, and Sylia left through the door
they had entered.  Nene found herself a convenient chair and plopped
down next to Linna.  "This is going to take a while," she sighed, "but
I'll try to keep you entertained."
     "You were going to tell me what happened to Priss," Linna pointed
out.
     "Right to the point, huh?" Nene started to smile, but then that
smile faded.  "You see, that's just it.  We don't know.  She walked
out of here after you died, and we haven't heard from her since . . .
."
     
     Sylia nodded, glancing at the readings.  The preliminary scans
showed a general lack of implanted hardware, though her physical
search of the bodysuit had turned up a dormant homing beacon.  It had
been rigged with a timer, it seemed, and would have begun transmitting
the next afternoon.  The use of such devices was standard prison
procedure, she knew, which said something about the conditions Linna
had been kept in.
     The neural scans were less mundane.  Degradation in overall
function was negligible; it seemed her brain had compensated for what
damage had been done.  The damage itself, though, was clear . . .
portions of her brain were "dark" on the scan.  The tissue was alive,
but the synapses did not fire, as though they had been removed from
the brain's neural net.
     As she pondered that discovery, the second set of readings came
through.  Again, there were few surprises . . . large segments of her
internal organs were constructed from cloned tissue.  Very slight
degradation in peripheral nerves indicated cryogenic storage of the
body for long periods . . . but that was expected as well. 
     She let the system run a while longer, recording data to form a
new baseline for Linna's records, then finally shut it down.  More
testing would be required to determine the extent of damage to Linna's
nervous system, but that could wait.  For all that Sylia could tell,
Linna was everything she claimed, and her mental function seemed free
of alteration.  At last, she allowed herself a slight smile.  Linna
was indeed alive, and perhaps, just perhaps, the Knight Sabers might
be back in operation.  Of course, there was still one uncertainty, but
one of her street contacts had a lead on that . . . 

     It was the next evening, and Linna drew the trenchcoat more
tightly around herself as she slipped through the crowded doorway. 
Two years had changed the place.  Once, Hot Legs had been the regular
stage of Priss and the Replicants, pulsing with life and the
rebellious spirit of youth; now, it was a haven for drug pushers,
addicts, prostitutes, and various other cast-off debris of society.  A
thick, acrid smoke hung in the air, heavy with the scents of various
illegal substances.  Pale, lifeless forms drifted around the bar, the
fire gone out of their eyes.  It was not the sort of place she would
ordinarily look, but somehow she knew Priss would be here.
     She was not wrong.  The former rock singer was at the bar,
downing what looked to be her fourth shot of some poison or another. 
She was less than a shadow of her old self; her long, brown hair fell
in unkempt, unwashed tangles over her shoulders, her biker leathers
were tattered and torn, and she herself looked just as bad.  Priss had
always been a fighter, and a collection of bruises combined with a
nasty scar along her cheekbone showed that one thing, at least, had
not changed.  A small crowd clustered around the once-popular
performer.  Some offered her encouragement, others spoke in whispers
about how far she had fallen.  Gathering her confidence, Linna pushed
her way through the congregation and took the next seat at the bar. 
Gazing at her old friend, she whispered, "You look as dead as I was."
     "What the hell do you know?" Priss lashed back viciously, not
bothering to look up from her glass.
     "Forgotten me already?" Linna asked bitterly, gesturing at the
quartet of shot glasses in front of Priss.  "Or is that the point of
this exercise?"
     Priss started violently, her hands balling into fists as she slid
off the barstool.  Nobody talked to her like that . . . "All right,
you want a--" she stopped in mid-sentence as she finally looked up,
and her eyes widened in recognition.  There, in a trenchcoat and
poorly-fitting combat fatigues, was a ghost of her past.  "Linna?" she
asked in disbelief.
     The anger in Linna's eyes faded, replaced by compassion.  "Yeah,
it's me."
     Priss staggered, taking a step back.  "Can't be . . . I saw you
die.  We . . . we buried you."
     Linna nodded.  "Yeah . . . but someone thought I was more
valuable alive."
     "Impossible.  You're a boomer copy . . . or a clone . . . or . .
. ," she glanced at her discarded glasses.  "Or I'm hallucinating. 
Maybe I just need a little more of this stuff, and Sylvie will come
back, too."  Amused with her deduction, she reached for the bottle to
pour herself some more.  "Go bother someone else."
     Linna's backhanded blow laid Priss across the bar.  "Get a hold
of yourself!" she screamed, grabbing the singer by her shoulders and
lifting her to her feet.  "Is this what I died for?" she demanded, her
voice dropping to a harsh whisper.  "So you could drink yourself into
oblivion?"
     "Linna . . . I . . . ," Priss stammered, trying to collect
herself.  Shaking her head to clear her mind, she blinked back tears. 
"I can't . . . I want to believe, but I can't.  The dead don't come
back."
     "I can prove it to you, Priss . . . but you have to come with me
. . . get out of this hellhole."
     Priss wavered for a moment.  "This has gotta be a trap," she
slurred.
     "What have you got to lose, Priss?" Linna asked gently, offering
her shoulder for support.
     Priss accepted, leaning on her . . . she was more drunk than even
she had realized . . . "What the hell . . . why not?"
     "Let's go then," Linna answered, drawing some money from her left
pocket and tossing it to the bartender.  Leading Priss carefully up
the stairs, she whispered, "Sylia's waiting for you.  We're back in
business."

**********
End Chapter One

------------------

Author's notes : Oh, does it feel good to be writing again.  To those
who've seen this before, I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to it.
For a while I was really busy, and then my life went to hell.  I've
since crawled out of that abyss, and here I am again.

Special thanks go to Nicholas Leifker and Barry Cadwgan, for their C&C;
most of the changes in this draft are the results of their suggestions,
and it's much better for their help.
 
As always, comments and criticism are welcomed.  Hope you enjoyed it.


-- 
*************************************************************
Douglas A. Reeves <dougreeves@earthlink.net>                   
Tempest - http://home.earthlink.net/~dougreeves/             
------- The Tempest is currently under reconstruction. ------
------------- Feel free to take a look, though. -------------
*************************************************************