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	Bubblegum Chromosome
	Chapter 6
===========================================

	Erik looked about the dimly lit storehouse as he wandered
between crates buried beneath years of dust. The air was stale and
still, the light of the morning sun barely managing to pierce the
grime-caked windows.
	"Awright, listen up!" Michiru shouted. Every man present
whirled around and stared at the obese foreman which stood by the
immense roll-up door. Erik strained to translate what he was saying,
catching the general jist of the bellowed orders.
	"I want this place cleared out by tonight, got that?"
	"Yeah, we got it," one of the workers replied.
	"Good! And Erik!"
	"Yes?"
	"You do whatever the hell these guys tell ya!"
	"Yes, sir." Erik turned to the nearest worker, who told him in
passable English to start removing the drop cloths that covered most
of the crates and machinery.
	I really hate dust, he groused when the first cloud hit him
square in the face, much to the enjoyment of several other workers.

=====================================================

	Sylia stood before the grave marker which bore the name of one
of the countless victims of the quake. The silence in the cemetary was
deafening, as such places often were. It stretched throughout the
mostly clear day as if in defiance of the noises of the
city. Footsteps from behind alerted her to Fargo's presence as he came
up beside her.
	"Fargo, these meetings are getting stranger and stranger."
	"I know, but please bear with me." He paused for a moment to
look around with an almost wistful expression on his face. "If only
the rest of the city was so quiet."
	"What do you have for me, Fargo?" Sylia was growing slightly
impatient with Fargo's recent eccentric tastes in rendevous points.
	"This," he replied, handing her a small optical disc.
	"And this is?"
	"One of my sources sent this to me last night. When I got your
call, I thought of it."
	"I was wondering how you had found the information so quickly.
Could you give me the highlights?"
	"Your new friend is named Logan," Fargo began, eyes scanning
the passing couple to make sure they were out of earshot. "He paid a
visit to a local information supplier. It seems he has a shared
history with someone in GENOM."
	"Quincy?" Sylia hazarded a guess.
	"Not at all. Kate Madigan."
	"Interesting," she replied, inwardly surprised. "Could you
tell me why?"
	"That's where the story gets fascinating," Fargo said with a
small gleam in his eye. "When I tried to dig up data on Logan, I got
hardly anything, save rumors that he was in Canada six years ago.
British Columbia to be exact. Miss Madigan was there as well."
	"Really." Madigan and Logan were in the same Canadian province
together. Could they be old lovers? Sylia filed that thought away for
later. Given the circumstances she had observed last night, it was
obvious Logan had stronger motives than that.
	"Now, this is the strangest part yet. Kate Madigan had been
employed by the Canadian government. I was able to dig up rumors that
her position was rather... sensitive."
	"Okay. Anything else?"
	"Like I said, Sylia, I wasn't able to find very much
information. Now, I don't have to tell you how unusual that is. I
still have my feelers out, but you may want to carry on
this part of the investigation yourself. My contacts aren't of the
international sort."
	"One final thing, though. GENOM has placed a rather hefty
price on Logan's head amongst the less savory rabble."
	"Is that right?" Sylia had a bad feeling in the pit of her
stomach at the news.
	"They want him alive. Sylia, if I were you I wouldn't let
Logan out of my sight."
	"I understand. I'll deposit your fee within the hour." Sylia
turned to leave, and then thought of one final thing she needed to
say.
	"Fargo?"
	"Yes?"
	"Next time, don't pick such strange places for meetings."
	"I'll do my best." Sylia could almost hear the grin on his
face when he said that.

============================================

	Priss paced about the small chamber which served as the Knight
Saber's impromptu clinic for injuries sustained in battle. The
cramped, sterile space only added to
the trapped feeling Priss struggled with in her heart.
	Nene's hurt, Sho's missing, and I'm stuck babysitting some guy
tied to a bed! she mentally raged. What the fuck is the world coming
to?
	"What's eatin' you?" he asked. Priss shot him a warning glare.
	"None of your damn business!" she snapped.
	"You'll have to forgive her," Sylia's voice said from behind.
Priss whirled around to find Sylia standing in the open doorway.
	"How's Nene?" Priss asked over the private commlink.
	"Linna and Mackie are with her now," she replied. "Her
injuries are bad, but not as serious as we first thought." Sylia could
not see Priss' eyes widen with hope beneath the faceplate of her
hardsuit. "It will take some time, but she will recover."
	"Thank God..." Priss sagged slightly as if a terrible weight
had been lifted from her shoulders.
	"Now, I think it's time we had a talk with our guest." Sylia
said, deactivating the comm and allowing her voice to be heard in the
open air.
	"Got that right, lady," he growled. Sylia looked at him, metal
straps holding him secure to the table. She hated having to hold him
as such, but there was no choice. After what he had done to those
BU-55Cs, she would take no chances on letting him run loose.
Especially not with GENOM on the lookout for him.
	Sylia pulled up a chair, allowing her eyes to run across his
barrel chest. Beneath the hair which darkened the surface, Sylia could
find no evidence of the blast which had incapacitated him the night
before.
	"Have to admit," Priss said, "I've never seen anyone heal the
way you did last night."
	"Been hurt worse," he replied curtly.
	"Mister Logan," Sylia began, "perhaps a few explanations are
in order."
	"Damn straight. Where am I? What do you want?"
	"We want to help you."
	"Bullshit." Sylia took a deep breath, counting backward from
ten to ease her irritation.
	"I know why you were there," she said in a deceptively calm
voice. "You paid a visit to one Kate Madigan." She saw Logan's eyes
widen slightly before the cold mask slammed back down. She had hit a
sensitive spot, then.
	"What, you two work for her?"
	"On a cold day in hell!" Priss shouted.
	Sylia gave a small sigh. Priss was so prone to overreaction.
	"Who the hell are you?"
	"From where I sit, Mister Logan," Sylia said cooly, "you are
in no position to ask any questions." He paused for a second, as if in
consideration.
	"Got me there."
	"Good. Now that we're on the same track, why were you at Kate
Madigan's apartment last night?"
	"That's personal," Logan snarled. "It ain't none of yer
business."
	"We came to your rescue last night, Mister Logan. I'd say that
makes it our business."
	"I didn't need yer help."
	"You little..." Priss was halted by Sylia's hand appearing on
her forearm.
	"Mister Logan obviously doesn't wish to talk right now," she
said. "Let's give him a little more time." Priss didn't miss the
meaning of Sylia's words. "We'll come back when you're more willing to
answer questions."
	Logan glared at the two women as they left the room. Once the
door shut he renewed his efforts to free himself. These metal bands
were tough, and were beginning to cut into his flesh, but it was
nothing compared to some of what the past six years had dealt
him.

	Priss removed her helmet, glad for the cool air against her
skin. She just couldn't wait to get the rest of the suit off.
	"This may take awhile," Sylia said as the two strode toward
the changing area where their ordinary clothes waited.
	"Why're you even keeping him here?" Priss asked. "He's not
gonna talk."
	"GENOM wants him. Why, I don't know, but that is reason enough
for now."

================================================

	It was something they never thought they'd see. Of course
there was the risk for even worse, given what they did, but it was
something they had never considered. Especially not to the one they
were looking at.
	Seeing Nene lying in that hospital bed drove the lesson home
with a bullet. It could happen to *anyone*.
	The thin sheet rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Bandages
covered patches of her face and an ugly purple-black bruise adorned
her left eye. The worst of the wounds were concealed by the pristene
white sheet.
	Linna took her hand, careful not to jostle the needle embedded
in the skin. Tears of anger welled in the depths of her blue eyes. The
memory of Irene canme unbidden to her, vibrant one moment and...
	Nene is not going to die, she reminded herself. Even the
doctors said so.
	"Whoever did this," Mackie whispered from her right, "they're
gonna pay."
	Linna reluctantly released Nene's hand, setting it gently back
onto the bed.
	"Come on, Mackie," she said, "Sylia's expecting us." She rose
from her chair just as the door to the room slid open. Linna and
Mackie turned as the two men entered the room.
	"I don't think I've had the pleasure," the taller one said as
he made room for the second. "I'm Leon McNichol, ADPolice. This is my
partner, Daley Wong."
	"ADPolice?" Linna asked, glancing at the badges on their
chests. She knew full well who those two were. She had to play dumb,
though. 
	"That's right," Daley said.
	"Are you two in dispatch with Nene?" Mackie asked with a touch
of wonder. Linna had to repress a giggle. Mackie was pretty good at
the wide-eyed kid bit.
	"Nah," Leon replied with a chuckle. "Daley and I are in Boomer
Crimes Division."
	"Are you investigating what happened?" Linna asked. Maybe she
could get some information the Knight Sabers could use.
	"Who are you, anyway?" Daley asked.
	"I'm Linna and this is my neighbor's son, Mackie."
	"You babysit him?"
	"Yeah. She works a lot, so I help take care of him." Linna was
glad she couldn't see the embarrassed flush on the other's face.
"Nene's a friend of mine."
	"Never heard her mention you."
	"Really? Dectective McNichol, she talks about you all the
time." Linna suddenly felt the urge to bolt. This was getting way out
of hand.
	"Oh?" The sudden swell in his chest was almost embarrassing.
	"Was it a Boomer?" Mackie asked. Linna did not like the tone
in his voice. Daley and Leon traded looks before the former answered.
	"We think so."
	"Detective... Wong?"
	"Yeah."
	"Do you have any idea why a..."
	"We can't discuss an ongoing case," Leon said with finality.
	"I'm sorry about Mackie," Linna said, "but Nene's his friend,
too. He's just worried, that's all."
	"Well, the doctors say she'll recover. Anyway..." A sudden low
moan ended Leon's sentence. All eyes locked on Nene, whose face had
taken on a pained grimace.
	"Nene?" Mackie asked as he leaned over her. "Nene, can you
hear me?"
	Linna could only watch as Nene's eyes fluttered open. The
drug-clouded orbs locked on Mackie for a moment as if she were
uncertain of what she was seeing. Confusion became replaced with
terror as the screams burst from her throat.
	"SHO! SHO, PLEASE!"
	"What?"
	"Holy..."
	"Nene!"
	"SHO STOP IT! STOP IT, PLEASE! SHOOOOO!" The door slid open
again, a nurse rushing in with a sedative in her hand.
	"What's wrong!" The nurse ignored Leon's shouted question as
she injected the sedative into Nene's arm. The thrashing girl
immediately calmed, falling again into a deep slumber.
	"I'll have to ask you all to leave now," she said in a tone
that would brook no arguement.

	Leon glanced at the elevator that Linna and Mackie had taken.
His mind was awhirl with conflicting thoughts and theories.
	"Sho," Daley said, "say, wasn't that the name of the kid Priss
Asagiri said Nene was looking after?"
	"Yeah." Something was completely wrong with this picture, but
what?
	"They way she was screaming, you'd think..."
	"No way," Leon said. "I checked the information she gave me,
It's valid." Leon kept staring at the elevator. A couple pieces of the
puzzle may have just fallen into place.
	"Leon..." Daley admonished, "you're hiding something."
	"Huh?"
	"A good partner knows these things. So out with it."
	"When I ran a check into Sho's background," Leon began, "I
found that his last known address was an orphanage in one of the lower
residential blocks."
	"Really? What was he doing with Nene, then?"
	"Here's the strange part. The Koban is investigating a missing
person's case. Guess who the profile matches?"
	"You're kidding!" Daley's eyes widened as the connection
completed itself.
	"Fraid not. Looks like a visit with Priss is in order."
	"As well as that orphanage. Leon, this may be even bigger than
a simple kidnapping."
	"One thing we can be certain of is that a Boomer is involved.
If this wasn't on an ADP officer, we'd have enough to take this from
the Koban."
	"No doubt."

=================================================

	Daley stepped out of the ADP cruiser and took in the
orphanage. It was a small two-story building nestled in one of the
outlying sectors of Mega Tokyo nearest the rural areas. The lawn was
neatly manicured. Hanging from a nearby maple tree was a simple
rope and plank swing with other playground equipment taking up
residence outside the tree's canopy of leaves.
	"Not bad," he muttered as he walked up the concrete path to
the door. The white paint on the orphanage was faded, yet the surface
was unmarred by grafitti. The walk was not cracked, yet the surface
had been worn smooth by time and the elements. Whoever ran
this place went to decent lengths to keep the exterior at least neat.
	The door opened on the second chime. Behind it stood a portly
woman in a simple blouse and dress ensemble. Her graying hair was
cropped at her shoulders, kindness gleaming from her eyes and wrinkled
face.
	"Yes?" she asked in a grandmotherly voice.
	"I'm Detective Daley Wong, ma'am, ADPolice," he said as he
produced the proper identification. The older woman's eyes widened
slightly at the sight of his badge and ID card. "May I come in?"
	"Of course, Detective." She stood aside and allowed Daley to
enter. The main hallway was done in dark wood tones from the floor to
the ceiling. Daley caught the scent of baking bread on the air as the
door closed behind him. For an orphanage, the place was rather homey.
The children playing here and there only enhanced the cozy image.
	"Would you be the owner of this place?" he asked as she
stepped in front of him.
	"Yes, I would. How can I help you, Detective?"
	"Daley's fine. Can we speak somewhere private? I have a few
questions to ask you."

	The office carried the same scent of warm bread and lazy
summer afternoons as the main hallway. Mary Hooper sat across from
Daley, her desk heaped with paperwork. He took a small sip of the iced
tea she had offered him before speaking.
	"Mrs. Hooper..."
	"Gran. All the children call me that."
	"Um, no offence, but I'm not a child."
	"When you get to be my age," she chuckled, "you get to call
everyone under sixty a child."
	"All right." Daley couldn't help but grin. "Anyway, Gran, you
had a young boy here by the name of Sho, didn't you?"
	"Yes, I did." Daley scrutinized her reply, the regret and
concern mixed with a trace of fear. "The poor dear. He ran away, you
know."
	"I know. The Koban is looking for him. Would you mind telling
me my he ran away?"
	"Why is the ADPolice also looking for a missing boy?" Daley
couldn't begrudge her the question.
	"We have evidence that supports Boomer involvement."
	"Detective, you must be joking! Sho wasn't kidnapped, he..."
	"Gran, we have reason to believe that he may have become the
victim of a Boomer crime." Daley hated how he had phrased it the
second Gran's eyes squeezed shut. It was never easy telling loved ones
and guardians that a kid may have been kidnapped or killed by a
Boomer.
	"Damn machines," she whispered, "they should all be banned and
scrapped!"
	"I know a lot of peope who'd agree with you. Gran," Daley
leaned across the desk, "why did Sho run away?"
	"You wouldn't believe me."
	"Try me." This was getting good. Gran picked up her
tear-streaked face and took a small sip of tea from the porcelain cup.
	"Sho was having problems with the other children here," she
said at length.
	"Was he getting into fights?"
	"No, oddly enough. It seemed that none of them could quite
muster the nerve."
	"What kind of problems was he having?" Gran paused for a
moment as if considering how to answer.
	"I'm not quite certain, really. Other children began to
whisper about him, calling him a freak."
	She's hiding something, Daley thought as she continued.
	"He would get these terrible headaches, and begin to break
things. We took him to a doctor on several occaisions, but they never
could find anything wrong."
	"So, Sho was violent?"
	"No, he was a good boy..."
	"Gran," Daley said as he set down his own tea cup, "you just
told me he broke things when he had these headaches and that the other
children were afraid of him. That sounds pretty violent to me."
	"He... I mean..."
	"Mrs. Hooper, what was going on in here?"
	"Detective Wong, you probably won't believe what I'm about to
tell you." The sombre tone of her voice shook something deep inside
Daley, a sick feeling beginning to rise from the pit of his stomach.
	"Tell me." Gran stared into Daley's eyes for a moment, clearly
unsure if she should speak.
	"The other children here said that when Sho had his headaches,
strange things would happen. Pictures would fly off the walls, chairs
and tables would move, and other things."
	"Huh?"
	"At first, I thought they were just childish fantasies. You
know how they love to play pretend. But then, I saw it for myself."
	"Go on." What the hell?
	"Daley, I want you to come with me." Gran Hooper rose from her
seat, wincing from the twinges in her back. She walked around the desk
and toward the door with the young man falling in step behind her.

	Daley braced himself as Gran opened the door in a hallway
adjacent to the one in which her office rested. He stepped into the
darkness, eyes scanning the shadows for anything out of the ordinary.
When Gran flipped the lights, he found it.
	"Oh, God..." The walls were festooned with cracks. Daley could
see where the staff of the orphanage had tried to clean up a huge
mess, merely having shoved ruined furniture off to the corners in
small piles of cracked and splintered wood. The only other place he
had seen damage like this had been Nene Romanova's apartment.
	"SHO!" her words cried in his mind. "PLEASE, SHO, STOP!"
	Was it possible? Could it have been that innocent looking
eleven-year-old boy?
	"He had another headache in here," Gran said from behind him.
"It was a terrible one. I saw the walls cracking as if something were
hitting them, but the only person in here was Sho."
	How was it possible?
	"The tables and chairs were flying about." Gran's voice was
becoming laced with fear, now. "A lamp even got stuck in a wall, right
over there." Daley looked and saw the base of a lamp sticking out from
a fracture-laden spot inside a huge crater. "That's when I knew the
children were not merely pretending, or telling fibs."

	Daley walked back to the waiting squad car, feeling as if the
world had suddenly decided to change all the rules on him. He hadn't
said word one about Sho being with Priscilla Asagiri or Nene Romanova,
yet what he had seen and heard seemed to explain a good deal about
what had happened at the dispatcher's apartment that night.
	But it didn't explain enough. How could a young boy be
responsible for that kind of destruction? How could he have
hospitalized an ADPolice officer like that? Even dispatchers had to go
through basic training!
	Mutant? The thought brought Daley up short before he could
crank the car's engine. He personally thought that the mutant
phenomena that some scientists were shouting about had some merit, but
not so much so that he would base an investigation on it. He'd get
laughed right out of the ADP.
	Once Nene was cognizant again, he would ask her about what had
happened. If necessary he would do it without Leon present. If she
mentioned anything about a headache, then he had a real problem on his
hands.

==================================================

	Sylia watched the video from Fargo's optical disc again. On
the monitor, she saw Logan whirl on the skeletal frame of a rising
Boomer - looked like a B-class - and bring those claws of his to the
ready. The blades easily sliced through the metal of the Boomer,
bringing it down in a shower of sparks.
	They aren't Rippers, she thought while she took a sip of
strong British tea. Sylia hadn't slept in almost eighteen hours, and
the caffeine helped. Rippers were a fiberglass- derrivitave alloy
which extended through the fingers, not through the knuckles. Nearly
all combat-type Boomers had them, as well as the upgraded humans -
Boomeroids - that were still around from before the cyber upgrade laws
had been passed. Human beings were prohibited from gaining anything
more than basic upgrades to enhance eyesight, hearing, and stamina.
	But black market jobs were still around, despite the efforts
of the ADPolice. Could Logan's upgrades be off the streets? Sylia
pulled up the x-ray of the man's body, and noted again that his entire
skeleton was coated with metal, perhaps even replaced by it.
	But that didn't make sense! Cybernetic upgrades often replaced
organs, or entire limbs. Why just the skeleton? The claws were
plausible, but an entire skeleton? Such a thing would have required
Logan's entire body to be taken apart! *No* human could survive that.
For a moment, Sylia entertained the question of whether Logan would
fall under the "Seventy Percent Law" that declared anyone with less
than thrity percent of their original organics Boomeroids.
	It was just so bloody damned odd. Sylia allowed her mind to
backtrack, recalling what Fargo had told her. She brought up the
information from the disc. Logan was rumored to be in Canada at the
same time as Kate Madigan, who was employed by an agency within the
Canadian government. Ah, there it is. Department K. Sylia took another
sip of tea and called up the files she could get on what was said to
be Canada's real intelligence agency.
	Department K, an agency funded on the government's black
budget, was originally a counter-intelligence program. It was
surprising how few outside the nation's borders really thought of them
as a real power in any sense, much less a military one. 
	The only real information about Canada's Department K was a
scandal during the year 2024. The Canadian Parliament had launched an
investigation into the department on allegations of unlawful
experiments, supposedly in the field of eugenics. The inquiry was
based upon reports of illegal experiments on humans. 
	"2024," Sylia muttered, "that's about when Boomeroids began to
crop up." Could Department K have conducted cybernetic human research
for military purposes? It seemed plausible, but somehow didn't quite
fit with Logan. If the man had been an experimental Boomeroid, then
what would have been the point? GENOM's research into those fields
seemed decades ahead of what Department K had done. What was it, then?
	During her research of the topic, Sylia had come across a
project spearheaded by Department H - an organization whose very
existence was yet barely confirmed - and Department K which had been
labeled Weapon X. So far Sylia had found negative shit about either
Department H or Weapon X, but the rumored purpose was both intriguing
and disturbing.
	Logan, she thought, you are indeed an enigma. The metal which
coated his bones and made his claws had yet to be identified. A scan,
performed while the man was still unconscious, had shown a molecular
structure unlike anything she had ever seen. The structure was like
diamond in its four-teired formation, yet a hundred times more dense.
>From the preliminary scans, such a metal could withstand thousands of
tons of force.
	But where had it come from? GENOM - to the best of Sylia's
knowledge - hadn't really delved into alloy research since developing
the Abotex armor most Boomers used. Then...
	"Oh, damn." Sylia started at the sight of the monitor from the
clinical room. The bed to which Logan had been secured was now empty.
"Great. *Just* great!"

====================================

	The floor was ice cold against his bare feet, yet Logan
ignored the chill. Cold white walls seemed to stretch on forever, the
soft light offering no shadows in which he could hide.
	Those armored women would learn he'd busted loose before too
long. If Logan couldn't find a way out soon... 
	"Huh?" he froze at the slight sound. The acoustics in this
place were fairly good and when combied with his extraordinary
hearing, magnified even the smallest sounds. Logan flung his back
against one of the walls of the corridor. The metal was ice cold
against his sweaty back. Nostrils twitched as he scanned the air for
any scents.
	He heard it again, the soft clack of metal on metal
accompanied by mumured words he couldn't make out. They were being
deliberately quiet, moving as silently as those suits could allow.
	They know, Logan thought as the adamantium claws broke through
his flesh. He forced himself to be calm, to seek the still point
within himself and see the situation without the red anger.
	He was up against five armored fighters. From what he had seen
of them, they were damned good at what they did. Shredding Boomers was
routine for the Knight Sabers - who else could they be? - but he was
no Boomer.
	He was outnumbered, and any combat would be up close in
confined spaces. Given what he had seen of the Knight Sabers, that
thought was none too appealing. His only option was to run, try to get
around them.
	Fat chance of that, he thought as he took off away from the
approaching steps. This was *their* turf, and he didn't know what
surprises they had in store. Logan snorted as he ducked around another
corner. He'd been in worse jams than this before. Maybe if he
could find a vent somewhere, he could...
	He caught the scent that the air conditioning carried, and let
out a low growl. These women were *good*.

	Sylia saw him appear from the corner, her hardsuit's motion
detectors having warned her of a rapidly approaching threat. Priss and
Linna were drawing in from the north. Mackie was in Raven's Garage,
another front for the Knight Sabers' enterprises, unaware of what was
happening in the corridors below. Sylia was relieved at that. She
truly hated for Mackie to face the kind of danger she and her
compatriots did, which was
the main reason for his role as support in case extra firepower was
needed. Besides, his mechanical expertise had proven useful more often
than the obscene firepower of his own battlesuit did.
	Sylia Stingray knew she had to be careful. She wasn't up
against a Boomer, but against a man. A man with a metal skeleton,
claws that could shred damn near anything, and a self-healing power
that was almost beyond belief. But he was still flesh and blood.
This would be...
	She saw him tense. Logan's growl came through the sound
systems of her hardsuit with cyrstal clarity. He knew she was there,
that she was behind him. 

	Logan whirled and lunged at the white-suited woman with the
cool voice. The claws flashed, and he felt himself yanked forward
while she sidestepped clear. 
	She's quick, Logan thought. He tucked into a commando roll and
came up a half- second later to see the Knight Saber launching a fist
at his stomach.
	Her technique was good, Logan noticed as his claws nicked at
the armor-plated arm, and her speed was almost blinding. He ducked a
swipe to the head and felt a metal fist slam into his ribcage like a
rocket.
	A feral growl escaped his lips as his healing power took
effect and the red haze began to creep in at the edges of his eyes.
This was gonna be a *good* fight.

	Sylia refrained from alerting Priss and Linna, confident that
she could handle Logan alone. She ignored the blinking light that
showed the damage to her hardsuit, though she knew the trio of cuts to
be almost deep enough to break the skin of her arm. 
	A crosshair on her Heads Up Display locked onto Logan's claws,
her suit's Threat Assesment Protocols showing them to be his most
lethal attributes. Sylia's experience in battle, however, knew that to
be wrong. From what little she knew of him, Logan was an exceptional
fighter, maybe even Linna's equal in martial arts if not better.
	They began to circle. Sylia focused on Logan's entire body
while the suit's TAP system tried to anticipate the next attack. She
deactivated it, relying on her own skill. This was no Boomer. In ways
he was less of a threat. In other ways, though, he was more dangerous
than most cyberdroids. At least Boomers were more predictable than
people were...

	Logan feinted with his left hand, the armored woman reacting
as he'd anticipated. He seized the opening and launched a claw swipe
at her midsection. Her other hand appeared from nowhere to deflect the
blow at his wrist. Logan dodged left instinctively, narrowly dodging a
shot to the head and following up with a slash toward the right leg.
He was rewarded with a feminine shriek of surprise and pain. The
Knight Saber leapt backward and landed with favor to her wounded leg.
Logan nearly pressed the attack when a glowing blade appeared from her
right arm.

	Sylia clenched her teeth against the searing pain in her right
leg. She could feel the blood flow freely down its length from her
wounded thigh, her suit crying major damage while her HUD flashed red
in reply.
	The wound was bad, but not immediately fatal. Logan's claws
had thankfully missed the artery, but the blood loss would
significantly slow her down in a few moments. She put more weight on
her left leg while she fought the agony in her right and berated
herself for not stopping that attack. If nothing else, Logan was
*damn* good at what he did.
	"Sylia!" Priss's voice shouted in her ear, "Hang on! We're
almost there!"
	"Hurry it up, Priss," Sylia grunted. Logan had just gotten
lucky, that was it. And if he got lucky again...
	She could end up dead. Sylia had sorely underestimated this
Logan fellow. She would not do so again.

	Logan's eyes fixed themselves on the humming blade from the
Knight Saber's arm for a moment. So, she wanted to up the ante? That
was fine by him. He just hoped he wouldn't have to kill her. He
doubted his chances of that, anyway. The others were bound
to be...
	"RRRAAAGH!" He felt the darts embed themselves into the flesh,
stopping short at the shoulderblades.

	"Hold it, you bastard!" Priss glared at Logan's bleeding back
while her hardsuit assessed the damage to Sylia's. The latter was
hurt, and badly. Priss's rage grew as she saw the blood staining the
right leg of Sylia's suit.
	"Three on one?" Logan asked. The rail spikes popped out of his
back with a sickening sound. The wounds vanished shortly after.
	"I'm gonna make you pay for that, you scumwad!"
	"Yer pretty good at namecallin'," Logan snarled as he turned
to face Priss and Linna. Sylia's blood dripped from his claws.

	Sylia readied the small cannon on her arm. If nothing else,
she knew that Logan could take near-metahuman levels of punishment.
There was no reason to be nice.
	"Surrender, Logan," she heard Linna growl. "You're not getting
out of here."
	"Screw surrender, let's just get rid of the bastard! I *knew*
keeping him here was too much trouble!"
	"Then let me... DAMN!"

	Logan fell to his knees when the blade slid out. The pain was
extreme, as bad as anything he'd ever felt before. His nerves burned
with white-hot fire while his blood flowed onto the cold floor and his
healing factor fought to reverse the damage.
	"Take him back to the infirmary."
	"Sylia? Have you gone nuts?!"
	"Just do it! And make certain he's properly restrained!"
	"I..."
	"That's an order!"
	Logan heard it all through a thick haze. He couldn't remember
the last time he'd been hurt this badly, but he knew he would recover.
It would take awhile - at least several hours - and by then he'd have
no chance of getting out again.
	Metal hands grabbed his arms and lifted him easily while
holding him prone.
	C'mon, healing factor! Knit, already!
	"You caused us a *lot* of trouble, here," he heard the voice
of the green Knight Saber say.
	"Uuhhh..." What the hell was that blade made of?

======================================

	Sylia winced when Priss tightened the bandage around her leg.
The air was cool against her exposed skin. A paper-thin smock was
ill-suited to air conditioning.
	He had gotten lucky. That was all. But it was almost enough.
	"I had thought these suits proof against such assaults," Sylia
muttered as she stretched her leg outward. The anesthetic dulled the
pain, and the wound would heal. But, for at least another day, it
would be a real bitch. "I suppose I should be grateful the
hardsuit kept his claws from cutting any deeper."
	"Much more and he would've taken your whole damn leg," Priss
growled from the floor. Sylia looked down at the other woman,
unembarrased from having Priss's head practically between her legs.
"Shit, what're those things *made* of?!"
	"I don't know, but they're more durable than anything GENOM
uses."
	"Think that's why they want him?"
	"I think it's very likely, Priss." A Boomer coated with that
kind of alloy could withstand impossible abuse. "But that doesn't
explain where the metal came from, nor how it ended up in his body."
	
	Linna glared at Logan, the latter on another table with metal
straps wound around his body in intervals of six inches. He had no
leverage, now, no chance of getting out.
	"Unbelievable," she whispered with a shake of her head. In the
back of her mind lurked the images of Logan's blood literally being
pulled back into his body while the rent flesh sealed itself. In the
space of an hour, the injury Sylia's arm blade had caused was little
more than an ugly scar. Thirty minutes later, the scar had faded to a
dull off-white. Now, after three hours, there was no evidence
whatsoever that he'd ever been hurt at all.
	He's good, she thought to herself while she shifted in the
straightbacked aluminum chair. For a lone man to injure Sylia Stingray
was impressive in and of itself. For him to have done so against Sylia
in her hardsuit was inconcievable.
	But that didn't change the fact that Logan's claws had damn
near cost Sylia her right leg. 
	"Computer," she called, "replay security logs. 0100 - 0130
hours." A monitor on the far wall obediently flickered to life and
began to play the images of Sylia's fight with Logan.
	Good technique, Linna thought. Very good technique. Sylia was
holding back, that much was obvious, but Logan certainly wasn't. Up
close, he was a major threat. The blows Sylia landed to his head and
abdomen would have been enough to kill an ordinary human, but Logan
merely shrugged them off. Not even an enhaced human could have
done *that*.
	Linna saw Logan engage Sylia again, this time trying to
out-smart the Knight Saber instead of trying to overpower her. The
claws ripped through the hardsuit like paper mache', and Sylia
retreated.
	Linna was grudgingly impressed. Logan appeared to be an
excellent martial artist. Under other circumstances, Linna might have
enjoyed testing her skills against his.
Unfortunately, these weren't "other circumstances".
	"Tch. Ya didn't get my good side."
	Linna started at his sudden voice. Logan's ice-blue eyes
stared into the faceplate of her hardsuit - worn now for protection
more than for anonymity - while he appeared to sniff the air.
	"She was holding back, you know," Linna said.
	"I know. I wasn't born yesterday." He sniffed again and
grinned.
	"Something funny?"
	"Not really. Just wondering what's got you so nervous."
	"What?"
	"Yer sweatin' hard in that suit o' yers. I can smell it from
here."
	"Logan, if you're trying to insult me..."
	"No insult. I can smell it. Just like that woman who helped
you drag me back here. She wasn't on the roof that night. And I ain't
seen that boy anywhere, either."
	"A boy?" Mackie? Inside that battlesuit of his, no one would
suspect that he was barely a young man yet.
	"Linna," Sylia's voice said over the hardsuit's comm channel,
"report to Treating Room Two."
	Linna rose and left without a word. Once the door shut, she
made sure that all the locking mechanisms were fully engaged. Why
Sylia wanted him here, especially after his recent escape attempt, was
beyond her.
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