****
     A smoky haze hung suspended in the air of the dingy
barroom, seemingly frozen in place.  Not even the softly
spinning ceiling fans seemed to be able to move it, and the
stale odour of spilled beer and burned tobacco permeated
everything.  The only real lighting was along the bar
itself, illuminating the forest of dark liquor bottles that
obscured the lower portion of  the mirror behind the bar,
and the stools lining the counter.  The rest of the room was
very sparingly lit, giving the shadow-draped room a
clandestine feel to it.
     The door to `C'est La Vie' opened, and as elegantly
dressed woman stepped through the door, closing it behind
her as she looked around.  Tall and attractive, she had dark
blue-black hair, and was wearing a dark burgundy skirt, with
a matching jacket over a white blouse.  She had brown eyes
that normally would look warm, even friendly, but at the
moment were coolly attentive as she scanned the room with a
searching gaze.  She had a handbag of some kind in her left
hand, and was keeping a very secure grip on it.
     "Over here," came a low voice, drifting from one of the
shadow-cloaked alcoves.  The woman turned as if unsurprised,
and walked over to the dark nook.  She gracefully sat down
at the table, opposite from the blond-haired man slouched in
his chair.  He was fairly tall and well built, wearing a
very wrinkled greyish suit.  A thin wisp of smoke curled
lazily from the ashtray in front of him, and there were two
empty beer glasses next to it.  A third, full one sat near
his hand.
     "You haven't changed in the slightest," Sylia Stingray
noted, placing her purse on the edge of the table, within
easy reach.
     "Neither have you," Fargo smirked, taking a drag on his
cigarette.  "You always say that."  He eyed her up and down
in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable, but she
didn't let it show.  "You're lovelier than the last time,"
he noted.  She ignored the compliment as well.
     "You said you had the information I was after," she
noted evenly, driving straight to the point.  "Let's have
it."  The slight traces of amusement that had marked Fargo's
saturnine features vanished abruptly; for the first time
since she'd known him, he looked nervous.
     "We can discuss extra fees later," he told her bluntly,
casting a furtive glance around the bar.  "I'll just be glad
to get rid of the information."  Fishing in an inner jacket
pocket, he pulled out a data disk and a thin, folded sheaf
of papers, and slid them across the table to her.  Sylia
took them and slipped the disk into her purse, taking a
moment to take a quick glance at the papers.  They appeared
to be personnel files, and a couple had pictures attached to
the top.
     The first one was of a man with blond hair wearing a
light blue-grey suit.  The man appeared to have a permanent
self-satisfied smirk on his face, but the steely blue eyes
that glared out of the photograph were devoid of any
feelings at all.  The second photo was of a much older man,
well into his sixties or early seventies, with grey, shaggy
hair.  A pipe was jammed between his teeth, and it made him
look good-natured and friendly for some reason.
     "Ethan Hollister," Fargo's lowered voice dragged her
attention away from the photos, and she quickly stuffed the
files into her purse as well.  "That's the iceberg wearing
the suit in the first picture.  You wouldn't believe how
long it took me just to find a first name for him; nobody
wants to admit to knowing him, even slightly."
     "Why the recalcitrance?" Sylia asked.  "From what we
encountered, he's part of a group developing illegal weapons
and technology.  There's enough of them around that he
shouldn't be unusual."
     "It wasn't recalcitrance, Sylia," he corrected her
softly.  "It was fear, bordering on terror in some of the
people I had to track down."  He took another long drag on
his cigarette, and his hand was shaking slightly as he
lowered it to the table to flick the ash from the end.
"I've never even met the man, and I'm scared of him."
     "What did you find out?" she inquired quietly.  Fargo
had seen a lot of things in his dealings with the shadowy
underworld that he inhabited the fringes of; someone who
could make him nervous was someone to be very wary of.
     "Ethan Hollister is about thirty-five," Fargo told her.
"He's British, but he's managed to lose the accent.  For a
while, he was one of the best agents in MI-9."
     "A spy," she said, suddenly looking around the dark
room uneasily.  Fargo nodded.
     "He was extremely adept at gathering information and
investigating, and he was a master at organizing covert
operations, and at making sure they stayed that way.  He
wasn't too bad at participating in them either.  Well, he
was good enough that the Americans borrowed him for a while,
and he spent about three years with the CIA.  After that, he
briefly worked as a consultant to some other foreign
countries on internal security, including Japan.  It looked
like he had a brilliant career lined up."
     "But?"
     "But he had a ruthless streak that just wouldn't lie
down," the rumpled fixer informed her.  "There's a list of
about ten reprimands for use of unnecessary force in his
British records; only the fact that he was one of their best
agents kept him from going to the cooler a couple of times.
The CIA was taken a little aback by his methods as well,
and that's why his stay with them ended after three years.
It was supposed to have been five."   Fargo paused, taking a
large gulp from his beer.  Wiping his mouth on the back of a
hand, he continued.
     "Then about two to three years ago, everything changed.
Hollister decided to participate in an infiltration
operation that was taking place somewhere in the Middle
East.  I never could get specifics, but the entire team just
seemed to vanish off the face of the earth.  Hollister
reappeared after having been missing for two months, but
he'd changed.  He'd become utterly cold, and his
ruthlessness had translated into something just short of
viciousness.  The frightening thing about him is that he's
completely emotionless and matter-of-fact about it."
     "How certain is it that it was indeed Hollister?" Sylia
queried.  "Facial appearance can easily be altered; someone
else could have assumed his identity."  Fargo shook his
head.
     "It was the real him; DNA checking guaranteed that
much, at least." he told her.  "And nobody could just assume
his knowledge of the intelligence business; it was too
extensive."  He paused, draining the last of his beer.  "No
one ever got the chance to inquire what had happened to him,
however; as soon as it was verified that he was the genuine
article, he quite calmly killed one of his superiors and
disappeared.  For him, it was absurdly easy to accomplish."
     Sylia sat quietly, her mind going over the unpleasant
news.  It had been worse than she'd expected; someone with
connections to the espionage world could draw on some unique
resources, ones that not even GENOM had access to.  Given
enough time, it was conceivable that he might even be able
to expose the Knight Sabers' identities and use it as
leverage against them.  He might even be aware of what they
were doing right now.  She suddenly felt exposed and
vulnerable, and was briefly glad that she had a gun stashed
in her purse, just in case.  Fargo watched her silently,
only the darting glances he shot at the rest of the darkened
bar revealing his inner agitation.
     "And now what is he doing?" she finally asked.
     "He's involved in developing illegal weapons
technology, as you already know," Fargo told her.  "He gets
the tech by any means necessary, from espionage to outright
murder.  It looks like money is his only motivation now, but
we can't be sure of that.  The majority of the group he's
assembled are profit-driven mercenaries; some of the men
with him appear to have personal loyalty to him, but I
seriously doubt that he has what you could call friends.
His organization is very widespread, and it's impossible to
find its headquarters.  In some ways, he's more powerful
than GENOM."
     "I really needed to hear that," she noted sourly.  "As
if we didn't have enough problems worrying about GENOM
alone."  Fargo suddenly leaned towards her, and one of his
hands clasped hers with a sudden sense of urgency.  She
stiffened, and was about to forcibly remove his hand from
hers, but his intent, serious gaze stopped her.
     "Don't underestimate this man, Sylia," he told her
earnestly, his voice pitched low.  "He's absolutely amoral,
and his organization makes GENOM look like a pack of wet-
behind-the-ears schoolboys at times.  The Old Man doesn't
get personal about things; he just sends someone else to do
the dirty work.  Hollister does get personally involved.  He
can literally kill someone without turning a hair, and he's
done it several times, usually with a smile on his face.
Please, just be very careful."  He released her hand,
slouching back into his shadowed chair.  Sylia slowly
reached out and gathered up her purse, feeling the
reassuring weight of the sidearm it contained.
     "Thank you," she told him quietly, rising and preparing
to leave.  "Was there anything else?"
     "There may be some job offers coming your way soon,"
the scruffy-looking fixer replied.  "I'll know better in a
few days; so far it's just been tentative inquiries."
     "Understood," she replied crisply, standing up.  "I'll
contact you in the usual manner.  So long."
     "Be careful," Fargo advised again from the shadows.
She nodded, and after an uneasy glance at the rest of the
bar again, left through the front door.
                            ****
     "Ready?" Bert asked, shrugging into his jacket.  Priss
nodded, zipping up the front of her jacket, the red leather
garment hugging her body tightly as she settled it into
place more comfortably.  A faint smile quirked at her mouth
as he looked at her.
     "Ready," she confirmed with a sigh, shaking her head.
Stepping close to him, she put her arms around his waist.
"You're sure you want to handle things this way?"
     "Positive," he said firmly, as his arms went around
her.  "It'll be easier on everyone else, especially Nene."
     "Okay," she replied, nodding.  "I understand your
reasons; I just wanted to make sure that's really what you
wanted to do."  She stretched up towards him, kissing him
lovingly on the lips.  He responded enthusiastically,
holding her close.  The passionate kiss stretched for a few
moments before they broke apart, breathing heavily.
     "We'd better go," he told her reluctantly.  "At this
rate, we're never going to make it out of the apartment
today."
     "And this is a problem?" she asked lightly, smiling
teasingly as she brushed a hand gently along his jaw.
Amusement sparkled in her eyes as he flushed slightly.
     "Later," he told her, giving her one last lingering
kiss.  "We've both got things to do today, and they're not
getting done by us standing here."
     "Spoilsport," she accused, scowling at him in mock-
irritation.  He grinned, bowed, and swept the door open for
her.
     "Ladies first," he said politely, gesturing.  Rolling
her eyes, Priss stepped out into the corridor, and he
followed a moment later, closing the door behind him.

THE NEXT DAY.....

     Night draped inky shrouds of smoggy darkness across the
sprawling metropolis of MegaTokyo.  As the concealing
darkness thickened, the nighttime denizens of the city began
to stir, resuming their usual nocturnal activities.  Some of
the activity spawned by the cloaking blackness was of the
kind that honest citizens preferred not to think about, but
it happened regardless of what they thought.
     In one of the shadier, dirtier downtown areas, the door
to a seedy bar opened, and a short, stocky man with short-
cropped black hair stepped outside.  About five-ten, the man
was modestly dressed in a nondescript brown shirt and pants,
wearing a black jacket.  Attentive eyes might have been able
to discern the slight bulge in his jacket under his left
armpit, indicating a shoulder holster.  The man gave the
dimly lit street a wary, searching gaze in both directions,
noting the usual sparse traffic of cars and the occasional
motorcycle, but finding no cause for alarm.  Putting his
hands in his pockets, he started walking briskly up the
street.
     The man quickly navigated through some twisted back
streets, coming out into another run-down section of city,
and again he looked carefully around.  Seeing nothing, he
started across the street, and he was about halfway across
when a voice called.
     "You are the man called `Stryker', correct?"
     The man froze in midstep, then slowly turned towards
the direction that the cold, deep voice had come from.  His
chilly gaze landed on the individual who had called him by
his street name; in his line of business, only those wishing
to meet an untimely demise used their real names.
     Standing about twenty feet away in the middle of the
street was a VERY big man.  He was at least six-foot-five,
and looked almost as wide.  He was wearing dark glasses
despite the fact that the sun had gone down hours ago, and
he was dressed in a dark blue suit.  He didn't appear to
have any weapons, but he didn't look like he needed any.
     "That's what they call me," the man replied.  He kept
his face absolutely expressionless, but inside, he was far
from relaxed.  That goon standing out there had all the
earmarks of a combat boomer, and he couldn't think of any of
his former customers, or even his current ones, who were
pissed off enough to send a boomer after him.  He made it a
point to make sure that he didn't leave behind any
unsatisfied customers; it was bad for the reputation.
     "My employer desires a conference with you to discuss
`business'."
     "Oh, really?  And just who is your employer?"
Stryker's mind raced frantically, and the inside of his
mouth had gone dry with fear; a man he could deal with, but
a combat machine was something else entirely.  If it came
down to a fight, the biomechanoid would probably eat his
pistol for him.  He braced himself and got ready to run if
necessary.
     "Someone not to be trifled with," the hulking shape
replied menacingly.  "You will come with me, now."
     "Like hell I will!!" Stryker snarled.  His hand flashed
to beneath his jacket, tearing a large-bore automatic
handgun loose from its holster; a moment later, the gun
bellowed, and an explosive-tipped bullet tore the head off
the figure as it started to charge towards him.  The
decapitated boomer crashed to the ground, oily fluids
spraying all over the pavement.  Stryker watched the dead
biomechanoid twitch for a moment, then started slowly
backing away.
     "That wasn't so tough," he noted, breathing hard from
combined fear and relief.  "So much for boomers being...."
He never finished his sentence, as a blur off to the side
drew his attention; he whirled, realizing with a sick,
sinking certainty that he was too late.
     Something smashed him with a numbing blow to the
stomach, sending him reeling to the pavement retching and
fighting for breath.   He felt someone....something grab his
gun hand, and before he could release the pistol, the grip
on his arm tightened excruciatingly.  Stryker was unable to
keep from screaming as he felt bones shatter in his wrist,
and his gun dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.  He
dropped to the pavement on his knees, sobbing in agony and
clutching his maimed arm.
     A huge blue C-55 boomer glared balefully down at him as
it loomed over the unfortunate man.  Demonic glowing red
eyes scanned the quaking human at its feet, analyzing it to
see if it would present any more momentary problems.
Reaching down, it picked up the unresisting gunman up by the
scruff of his neck, and a moment later it sprang into the
air on brightly flaring thrusters, leaving the remarkably
quiet and suddenly deserted street behind.
                            ****
     "Excellent," Madigan replied, looking at the display
monitor with a cold, victorious smile.  The image showed a
short stocky man dangling from a large blue fist.  The angle
of the view was a little strange, but that was to be
expected, since the image was being relayed from the optics
of a distant C-55 combat boomer.   "Is he injured?"
     "He is not critically damaged," a cold, mechanical
voice replied, crackling from a speaker next to the monitor.
"He has already lost consciousness from a combination of
fear and pain, however."
     "Even better," Madigan muttered to herself.  "See to it
that he does not regain consciousness until after he is
secured," she directed the boomer.  "But don't kill him; we
need him alive and able to talk."
     "I obey," the biomechanoid replied.  "He will not be
irreparably damaged."
     Madigan shut down the channel to their returning
hunter, and began walking swiftly down the long control
room.  Around her, the hum of constant activity pulsed as
several computer operators monitored their workstations,
analyzing the incoming data and reports from around the
city, and other locations around the world.  The room was
but one of many communications nerve centers located within
the GENOM tower, and almost any remote location could be
monitored from one of the consoles, including distant
boomers on a mission.  Although hideously expensive to
maintain, GENOM's information and surveillance net was
indispensable; without it, the company could not maintain
its iron grip on its far-flung ventures.
     Madigan glanced at several of the data screens as she
walked by, but nothing seemed amiss.  She ignored the faint
air of tension that surrounded each of the computer
operators as she walked by.  Even though it wasn't
officially acknowledged, the fact that Madigan reported only
to Chairman Quincy made many people nervous, especially
given what had happened recently to several ambitious
executives who'd tried to bribe her into betraying him.  The
results hadn't been pretty, and had established beyond
anyone's doubt that Madigan was loyal to the Old Man, and
had his complete confidence.
     Madigan turned her mind towards the task at hand as she
left the data room, beginning the long walk that descended
to the shielded chamber containing the Deep Psychology
Scanner.  A small, triumphant smile wreathed her lips as she
moved through the long corridors and halls, passing through
the warren of rooms and chambers with the ease of long
familiarity.  Eventually, she reached a large metal doorway
with a control console next to it on the wall.  Sliding her
ID card into the console slot, she keyed in her access code,
and the door noiselessly slid open.  Extracting her card
from the reader, she stepped through the doorway.
     The brightly-lit, humming consoles of the DPS controls
greeted her as she entered, and the on-duty technician
sprang to nervous attention upon seeing her.  He slowly sank
back into his chair at her impatient, imperious gesture and
went back to monitoring his consoles as she stepped over to
the thick observation window looking into the interrogation
chamber.
     As she watched, a large metal door in the side of the
room slid open, and a hulking C-55 boomer stomped through,
dragging a slack figure dressed in non-descript brown
clothing and a black jacket.  Almost negligently, the boomer
jerked the comatose body into the air, letting it  drop
heavily onto the central tabletop.  At Madigan's direction,
the boomer then locked down the heavy metal restraints built
into the table, securing its prisoner to the metal slab
before turning and exiting the room.
     Madigan smiled grimly at the unconscious captured man.
It had taken a few days, but her sources had finally located
the contact that had been brokering some of the deals for
the defunct mercenary group that the ADP had captured,
including their disastrous last mission.  Now, finally,
she'd get closer to the truth.  Still smiling in a chilling
manner, the lavender-haired exec turned to the DPS
technician.
     "Wake him up," she commanded.  "We have a lot to talk
about."

FOUR DAYS LATER .....

     "Concentrate, will you?!?!" Linna barked, running her
hands through her short black hair in frustration, then
disgustedly stuffing it back under her headband, out of her
eyes.   Bert once again picked himself up off the mat,
moving slowly, one hand clutching his guts in pain while she
continued lecturing him.  "If you can't pay attention any
better than that, then we'll stop right here, buster!!  I've
got better things to do than waste my time trying to drill
this stuff into you if you won't try!"
     "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he wheezed, wincing as he
straightened.  "But I am trying, honest!"
     "Well try harder!" she snapped, assuming a ready
stance.  "You've got to focus on what you're doing, not
daydream!  Now let's do that again.  I'll go slower for the
first couple of sets, but we'll be picking up the pace as we
go, got that?"
     "Whatever you say, Sensei," the red-head sighed.  He
dropped into a ready stance, matching her, as he tried to
follow her advice and concentrate on the lesson.  Linna eyed
his stance critically, then nodded in grudging approval.
     "That's a bit better," she conceded.  "At least you've
got your feet positioned right this time.  You'd better be
ready," she warned him again as she started attacking.
She'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to teach him how to use
the forms she'd been teaching him in a practical
application, a genuine fight.
     After his initial request for some extra training,
Linna had opted for trying him out on few a stripped-down
fighting techniques, sort of a `quick-and-dirty' martial
arts program;  his initial lessons hadn't been this
difficult, but the lessons had now moved into some more
advanced moves.  Practicing the forms had gone reasonably
well, but now that he was trying to use them realistically,
he was encountering a few problems with his co-ordination.
Or lack thereof, he reflected sourly; despite at times
strenuous effort on his part, he couldn't seem to get some
of the proper moves hammered into his thick skull.  It was
causing Linna unending frustration, and giving him an
impressive collection of sore spots.
     He snapped his mind back to his teacher, as she started
slowly launching light punches and kicks at him.  He parried
them, trying to keep to the forms she'd been showing him, an
intense frown of concentration on his face.  The first few
sets went well enough; he was successful at blocking all of
her strikes, and was able to return the attack properly.
Then she started to increase the speed and force of her
moves.  Inside of about ten minutes, he was again asking
himself what he'd gotten himself into.
     Sweat trickled down his face, his heart pounding inside
his chest as he knocked aside another thrust at his stomach.
His breathing was laboured as his lungs struggled to meet
his body's urgent demands for air.  He'd always considered
himself to be in decent enough shape, but Linna's workouts
always made him feel like he was running uphill against a
landslide.  Her conditioning was much better than his; she
was sweating a bit, but her breathing was easy and
unhurried, unlike his, which now sounded like a steam engine
at full throttle.
     A faintly satisfied look flickered across Linna's face,
and then her bright blue eyes narrowed in determination.  He
didn't even have time to become worried as she stepped up
the  level of the sparring match again, changing some of the
combinations she was using.  It went well for another two
minutes; then he lost the pattern, and missed a block.
     The tall red-head's breath deserted him instantly as
Linna's fist impacted agonizingly with his solar plexus.
Desperately fighting for breath, he knocked her follow-up
strike aside; she'd been moving fast enough that it was
impossible to quickly break off her attacks.  Still trying
to draw air into his lungs, he succeeded in knocking her off
balance as he parried, then swept her feet out from under
her with one of his legs.  That accomplished, he hit the mat
himself, doubling over in pain as he clutched his guts.
Linna bounced back to her feet, then rushed over to him.
     "Bert! Are you okay?!"
     "Oh, just wonderful," he wheezed as his breath
reluctantly returned.  "I think that was the only place I
wasn't bruised before."   Gritting his teeth, he got to his
knees, Linna offering a supporting hand under his arm.  Her
blue eyes radiated concern.
     "I think we'd better call it a day," she told him,
sighing as she helped him to his feet.  "You did a lot
better that time, but your mind obviously isn't in this
today."
     "I was paying attention," he protested defensively,
then winced, rubbing his guts.  Linna sighed again, shaking
her head ruefully.
     "You were for a while," she admitted, "but your
attention was definitely wandering after a few minutes."
She gave him a thoughtful appraisal, her arms folded across
her chest as she tapped a finger contemplatively on her
chin.  "You're nervous about tomorrow, aren't you?" she
suddenly asked quietly.
     "Pardon?  What have I got to be nervous about?"
     "Your club opens, right?" she reminded him.  "Nervous
about how it'll do?"  He stood silently for a minute, still
rubbing cautiously at his stomach.
     "Some," he conceded, running a hand through his snarled
hair.  Turning slightly, he indicated the benches lining the
wall; at her nod, they walked over to them and sat down.
"I'm not really worried about whether the business will pay
off or not," he sighed, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I'm not doing it for the money.  I just needed something
else to occupy myself with, something not engineering-
related.  This," he gestured broadly at the room, "is
something I figure I can get some relaxation value out of."
He grinned suddenly, glancing sideways at her.  "And it's a
convenient place to work out, certainly more private than
the health club you used to work at."
     "True," she smiled.  Shifting on the bench, the black-
haired woman tucked her legs under herself in a cross-legged
position.  "And there's no spectators, right now anyway."
     "I wasn't planning on being open every day," he told
her.  "It's just me running things right now, and I figure
three days a week is all I can handle by myself.  The time
in-between will give me a chance to either unwind, work on
the suits for Sylia, or fix up anything that might get
damaged here."  He sighed and stretched cautiously, then
looked over at her.  "You and the rest of the team can get
access at anytime, though," he told her.  "I've got some
coded security access cards up in my office that I'll be
giving you a bit later."
     "That's not a problem.  I'm going to be fairly busy
myself," she sighed.  "More performances to choreograph,
more dancers to break in..."
     "You mean more people for you to torture and gloat
over," he accused, smiling crookedly.
     "That too," she admitted blandly, then grinned back at
him.  "Most of the performers I've dealt with are really
good about it, though; there's only a few whiners, but I
think they just do it to keep up appearances."  Bert
chuckled, gazing out across the room.  Linna unfolded her
legs and put her feet on the bench seat, tucking her knees
up under her chin as she wrapped her arms around her legs.
Resting her chin on her knees, she watched him for a few
silent moments.
     "Have you and Nene managed to patch things up?" she
asked him suddenly.  He stiffened, and a flash of pain
crossed his face.
     "No," he told her curtly.  "If anything, we've torn it
apart even further.  Why?"
     "Oh, well, uh," Linna stammered, flushing a little,
"you just seem a lot more relaxed than you've been lately.
I thought maybe you'd gotten back together with her."  She
couldn't completely mask the curiosity in her bright, blue-
eyed gaze as she wondered what had happened.  Given the way
he'd been before, the fact that he seemed calmer and more
relaxed was strange.  He'd been despondent over the split,
with an almost visible cloud of gloom following him; now it
was gone.  Bert flushed slightly as she looked at him.
     "I.....decided to try and move on," he told her
awkwardly, unable to keep some of the raw pain he'd felt at
the time from leaking into his voice .  "I still .... still
love her in a lot of ways, but I can't .... couldn't just
sit drowning in regrets anymore.  She left, and I finally
was able to accept that."  He kept silent about what had
followed that decision, flushing slightly as memory replayed
some brief flashes of the .... results.
     "So now what?" she asked him.
     "Now it's up to her," he said simply.  "She's got to
decide to move on herself; I can't force her to, and neither
can anyone else."
                            ****
     The Chief Inspector glared inimically at the stack of
reports that had landed in her inbox; it looked like someone
had succeeded in clearing a paper jam out of the office
photocopier, or something like that, anyway.  There had to
be about fifteen file folders sitting there, about a weeks
worth of work that had materialized almost overnight.  She
sighed disgustedly, loosening her uniform tie just a bit.
With another sigh, she picked up her tankard of steaming
coffee, and took a stiff drink of it before reaching out and
selecting the first file folder.
     She was surprised at how little there was for her to do
with the stack of reports; whoever had prepared them had
been remarkably complete and thorough.  They were concise
and detailed, and answered all of her questions immediately.
Inside of half an hour, she'd read through them all and
signed them off, destining them for their own place in the
ADP archives.
     Sipping again at her coffee, Hitomi thoughtfully
regarded the signed-off pile of investigative synopses.
She'd have to find out who'd prepared those reports; they
were much more detailed and informative than the usual ones
that crossed her desk.  That indicated a talent for
investigative work, talent she could use in the
department.....
     A knock on the door roused her from her reverie.
Setting her mug down, Chief Ichinohei smoothed out her
blouse a bit, and sat up straighter.  A second, slightly
more tentative-sounding knock rapped on the door.
     "Come in," she called.  The door opened, and a slender,
red-haired and green-eyed young woman peered around the
door, her expression filled with trepidation.  "Come in,
Nene," the Chief directed with an encouraging, wry smile.
"I don't bite, despite what some people say, so quit looking
like you're entering a lion's den."  The younger woman
entered her office, looking somewhat reassured.  Hitomi
managed to keep her face straight when she saw the stack of
file folders Nene was carrying, sighing internally.  More
paperwork.  Just perfect.
     "I, uhm, just completed these reports," Nene stated
quietly.  "Some of the detectives were a bit backlogged, so
I gave them a hand."
     "Thank you, Nene," the Chief replied, thoughtfully
appraising her.  Nene looked tired and worn, with maybe a
slight shadow of depression evident.  She looked less
despondent than office rumour had reported her to be a few
days earlier; she may not have been able to mingle with the
rank-and-file as much as she would like to, but the Chief
tried to keep up-to-date on situations in the offices.  "You
can just drop them there in the inbox."  Nene nodded, placed
the files in the box, bowed, and then left, closing the door
and leaving the aquamarine-eyed Chief to stare in veiled
distaste at the latest batch of reports.
     "Might as well get it over with," she sighed out loud,
draining her coffee cup of the last mouthful or so of
caffeine-laden liquid.  She picked up the top file, and
again started reading.
     Hitomi's eyes narrowed as she read through the report;
it was in the same concise and detailed format that the
previous batch of reports had been.  She quickly checked all
the other newly delivered files, noting the similarities.
Thoughtfully, she leaned back in her chair, thinking.
     If Nene had prepared these reports, she had to have
done the bulk of the investigative work herself; they were
all minor cases of boomer disturbances, and as such had been
relegated to the backburner since they didn't have any
immediate urgency.  Typically, they were saved for slow days
at the office, when all the critically important cases were
either solved or held up.  Usually, the rest of the office
staff was too swamped with work of their own to even look at
anything else, but the fact that Nene had just completed a
large portion of those cases, almost half of them in fact,
indicated that she'd evidently completed her own normal
workload.
     Chief Ichinohei's eyes narrowed again at a thought;
swiveling her chair around, she logged into her computer
terminal, and started scanning through the employee
database.  After a moment or so of searching, she found the
information she was after, her lips thinning in annoyance as
the data confirmed her hunch.  Logging out and shutting down
the terminal, she  stood up, smoothing the wrinkles out of
her uniform skirt, and took her jacket down from the wall
hanger, donning it.  She swept her long, straight red hair
back over her shoulders, freeing it from being caught in her
jacket collar, and straightened and tightened her tie a bit.
Wearing a look of extreme determination, she stepped around
to her office door, and walked out into the open office
space of the Inspection division.
     The offices were mostly deserted, and after a quick
glance at the clock, she realized that it was the middle of
the usual lunch break for most of the office staff.  Most of
them; as she strode briskly down the aisle between the
desks, heading for the area where the support staffers were
stationed, she could see a young red-headed woman tapping
determinedly away at her desktop computer terminal.  Nene
wasn't even aware of what was going on around her; she never
saw the Chief coming.
     "Nene," Chief Ichinohei said crisply.  "Why are you
still at work?  You've already worked the equivalent of a
quadruple shift.  You should be at home, getting some
sleep."  The slender red-head jerked in surprise at her
words, unable to keep guilt from showing.
     "I ... I wasn't tired," she stammered in reply.  "And I
had a lot to do, so I worked late."
     " `Worked late'?" the Chief repeated, raising an
eybrow.  Past Nene, she could see a garbage can overflowing
with candy bar wrappers, styrofoam coffee cups, and what
looked like
the crumpled box from a small chocolate cake;  caffeine and
sugar were likely the only things fueling the younger ADP
officer right now.  Hitomi felt mildly hypocritical over
taking Nene to task for overworking, since she wasn't
entirely blamless in that department herself; it was a good
thing nobody knew how much caffeine she managed to go
through during a `normal' week.  Part of her job, though,
was to look out for the welfare of her people, and this
definitely counted.  "This goes a little bit beyond just
`working late'.  Is there something wrong?"
     "No! No, nothing's wrong; I'm fine," Nene replied
quickly.  Too quickly for her liking.  Hitomi eyed Nene
skeptically, but decided to respect her privacy and not
inquire any further.  If her private problems kept affecting
her in this way, however....
     "Well, you're finished now," she told the younger
woman, her tone becoming a bit more gentle.  "Go home and
get some sleep.  I don't want you back here before Tuesday
at the earliest.  Don't worry, I'll talk to your supervisor
about it," she cut off the protest the green-eyed woman had
been about to make with a hand gesture.  Reaching over, she
saved the file up on Nene's computer screen, then shut down
the terminal for her.
     Sighing morosely, Nene slowly stood and gathered up her
jacket and handbag.  After one last, questioning glance at
her unwavering superior officer, she left, followed by the
Chief's thoughtful gaze.

THE NEXT DAY.....

     "TAKE THE LINE!!!!!!!!!!!"
     The last echoes of his bellow dying out, Bert stepped
back a pace from the broad red stripe on the floor that
demarcated the archery firing line.  A pleased grin spread
across his face as he watched the twenty or so archers lined
up start firing arrows at the distant targets.  The
satisfying sound of twanging bowstrings and multiple impacts
racketed through the large room in a steady rhythm.  His
greenish-brown eyed gaze was critical as he watched the
archers, making sure that nobody was using bad or dangerous
techniques.
     "Did you really have to yell like that?" Sylvie
inquired plaintively, taking her fingers out of her ears.
"I think they must have heard you out on the street!"  The
tall young woman was just barely recognizable at the moment,
having dropped in while on her lunch break.  She was wearing
a light grey, knee-length skirt, a form-fitting white blouse
trimmed with some ruffles, high-heeled shoes, and her long,
dark-brown hair was artfully concealed under a black wig.
She was also wearing tinted glasses; they didn't affect her
sight in any way, but served to mask her distinctive golden-
brown eyes.  She was a knockout in the disguise that Sylia
had helped her devise, looking elegant and sophisticated, a
radical change from the carefree manner and appearance she
preferred to cultivate.
     Bert quickly suppressed the grin that tried to appear
as he looked over at his friend; she'd already threatened to
belt him if he commented on how she looked.  Since she'd had
to fend off several friendly advances from some of the
people now crowding his recreational facility, he could see
why she was sick of hearing about how nice she looked.  She
looked back at him defiantly, knowing what was running
through his mind, her look daring him to say anything.  He
smiled innocently, then turned back to watching the archers.
The faster shooters had stepped back and set their bows on
the racks provided, waiting for the round of practice to
finish.
     "I'm sorry about the yell," Bert spoke up a moment
later, flashing her a quick, sideways grin, "but I need to
be heard over everything else."  He gazed across the range
again, memory taking hold of him briefly.  "I was an archery
rangemaster back at university for a while; you had to
really shout the range commands in order to be heard over
everything else that was going on in the rest of the gym
building."
     "You were heard, trust me," Sylvie assured him wryly.
She glanced around at the people who populated the range at
the moment.  "Were any of the others coming by?" she
inquired.  Bert nodded.
     "Linna was here for a couple of hours this morning," he
told her.  "Priss said she'd be by later this afternoon,
Sylia couldn't say for sure what she was doing, and Anri had
to go to work, but she did stop by to say hi really
quickly."
     "What about Nene?"
     "I did ask her," he said tonelessly.  "Or rather, I
asked her voice-mail."  Depressed hurt pulled at his
expression briefly, then disappeared as he squared his
shoulders and glanced at her.  "I don't think she'll be
coming though."
     "I'm...sorry about that," she said awkwardly,
hesitantly touching his arm in sympathy.  He nodded in terse
acknowledgment, but let the subject drop.  She did as well,
thoughtfully regarding him.
     She could tell that he'd changed a lot in the last
couple of weeks.  He was less somber and definitely more
easygoing than he'd been, and there was something else about
him, a ... a feeling of .... of something.  Her unique
`abilities' included heightened empathy, allowing her to
pick up on people's moods more quickly than normal people.
She couldn't quite define what it was she was getting from
him, since he was concealing whatever it was.  She shrugged
mentally, and decided to try and figure it out later.  She
glanced at the clock on the wall, and realized she'd have to
go back to work now.
     "Well, good luck with the rest of the day," she told
him, smiling reassuringly.  "I'll see you later."
     "Take care," he smiled warmly back at her.  She gave
him a quick good-bye wave, and strode to the door out to the
front lobby, wincing as he bellowed another command across
the range as she left.
     "HOLD!!!!!!  OKAY, GO GET YOUR ARROWS!!!"
                            ****
<Add...>

                            ****
     Sighing tiredly, Bert tossed the last piece of
discarded paper into the garbage can, giving the now-
deserted range one last glance.  Everything seemed to have
been cleaned up satisfactorily.  He grabbed the broom he'd
swept everything up with, sticking it in the closet
allocated to cleaning supplies, and turned his attention to
checking the equipment.  After ensuring that everything was
properly store d and put away, he flicked the lights off,
closing the door.
     It was an effort to get up the stairs to the second
floor, but he finally managed it.  He did a cursory
inspection of the exercise rooms, and the small video
arcade, but they were clean and looked undisturbed; they
hadn't gotten a tenth of the traffic that the archery range
itself had received.  He hadn't realized that there were
quite so many people who wanted to shoot holes in targets as
a way of relaxing.  With a rueful grin at the thought, he
wearily made his way to the small lounge, where he was
reasonably sure there were still some snacks left over.
     His hunch proved correct, and after getting a cup of
coffee, he sank into the couch with a plate holding some of
the leftover sandwiches that had been provided for the
range's opening day.  They'd gone a little dry, but they
tasted fantastic at the moment.  He wolfed them down, taking
a long draught of coffee as a chaser, then set his cup aside
and stretched out on the couch, sighing in relief.  Peace
and quiet at last.....
     "This a private celebration, or can anyone join?" A
woman's voice asked, amusement in her tones.  He sat up, a
welcoming smile spreading across his face.
     "One more wouldn't hurt," he conceded as Priss came
over to the couch, sitting down next to him.  She was
wearing her usual red biking leathers, her hair pulled back
into its accustomed ponytail.  "Might even add to the
enjoyment," he added, just before leaning over and kissing
her.  She kissed him back, her arms wrapping around him and
hugging him closer.  Their greeting stretched for a couple
of moments, before they separated and sat back on the couch,
keeping one arm around each other.
     "You look a little worn out there," she noted, brushing
his hair out of his eyes.
     "You try shepherding one-hundred and fifty or more
people around all day, making sure nobody accidentally turns
someone else into a pincushion, and we'll see just how
energetic you are afterwards," he sighed, letting his head
drop back to the back of the couch and closing his eyes.
"It was exhausting."
     "I saw you directing the traffic," she told him dryly.
"You can keep the job, thanks."
     "You did?  When?  I don't recall seeing you during the
afternoon."
     "You were busy enough that I figured it would be better
not to disturb you," she explained gently.  "I hung around
the place for a couple of hours, then left to get some
dinner.  By the time I came back, you'd kicked everyone else
out and cleaned up.  I let myself in, and here I am," she
said simply.
     "Well, I'm glad you're here," he told her.  "I need the
company right now."  She smiled at him, and they sat
together quietly for a while.  Bert started to nod off as he
sat there, the long day catching up to him finally.
     "Hey, don't zone out on me now."  He was dragged back
to the here and now as Priss gave him a very ardent kiss,
pulling him close.  Despite his tiredness, he found himself
responding, his lips melting into hers as he held her
tightly, enjoying the warm closeness of her body and the
sweetness of her lips against his.
     The phone hanging on the wall rang urgently, but he
ignored it, concentrating on the woman he was holding; he'd
already answered enough phone calls today, and he wasn't
answering any more for any reason.  He withdrew his lips
from hers long enough to take a breath as the phone rang
again.
     "Aren't you going to answer it?" she asked, her red-
brown eyes on his as she gently caressed his face.  He shook
his head slightly, tightening the grip his arms had around
her.
     "There's only one way I'll answer the phone right now,
and it hasn't happened yet," he told her.  He kissed her
again, ignoring the persistent clamour of the phone.  She
didn't protest, her lips parting as he kissed her deeply.
The phone fell silent as they gave some serious attention to
the kiss.
     The phone abruptly exploded in a cacophony of ringing
again.  At the same time that it rang, both of their pocket-
pagers added shrill beeps to the noise.
     "God damn it," Bert muttered, as Priss broke off the
kiss; she bore the same disgusted look he knew he had on his
face at the moment.  "Why NOW?!?!"  The phone and pagers
shrilled again in perfect unison.
     "You'd better answer it and find out," she sighed.  He
reluctantly released her, and stood up, wiping his mouth
with the back of a hand.  Priss flopped over onto her back
on the couch staring at the ceiling.  It figures, she
thought resentfully, just when we start getting warmed
up....
     "Yeah, what is it?!" the tall red-headed young man
answered the phone, unable to keep from snapping.
     "And a pleasant evening to you, too," Sylia Stingray's
voice replied coolly over the phone.  Bert sighed and placed
a hand over his eyes, leaning against the wall as he did so.
     "I'm sorry, Sylia," he sighed apologetically.  "It's
just been a really long day; I didn't mean to sound snarky."
     "I understand," she replied, her tone warming up
slightly.  "I'd heard that you were really busy today.
Well, I'm sorry to have to call you up like this, but we've
got some work to do tonight."
     "Give me the details."
     "It's a combat boomer rampage," she said simply.
"We're going out to stop them before they can do any more
damage."
     "Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."
     "Fine," she approved.  "We'll be ready and waiting.
Oh, do you know where Priss is?"
     "Yes," he answered truthfully enough, looking across
the room to where the attractive rock singer was sprawled on
the couch.  "She's here giving me a hand at, uh, putting
everything away."
     "Pass the word on to her as well," his boss directed.
"We'll need everyone tonight."  After his assurances that
he'd pass the information on, she hung up.  He irritably
banged the receiver back into its cradle, turning towards
Priss.  She'd already stood up, resignation in her
expression.
     "Duty calls," he told her sourly as he walked up to her
and put his arms around her waist.  "That was Sylia," he
informed her.  "There's some boomers running loose that
we've got to go and stop."  A reckless grin spread across
her face at the news, eliminating the dissatisfied look
she'd had; belatedly, he remembered that fighting boomers
was one of her biggest kicks.  Okay, so it was one of his as
well; he didn't really feel up to it at the moment, and
instead would have preferred a quiet night at home, with
her.
     "Don't look so glum, lover," she told him giving him a
quick, teasing kiss.  Eager sparks were flashing in her
eyes.  "There's always later.  Come on, or we'll miss the
fun!"  She pulled loose from his grasp, and ran out the
door, snatching her motorcycle helmet from the chair by the
door as she passed it.
     "Fun, she says," he snorted to himself as he watched,
grinning ruefully a moment later.  He had to admit that he
was looking forward to some action himself, despite the
fatigue.  Shrugging to himself, he flicked off the lights
and left.
                            ****
     "Hi Priss!" Sylvie greeted her cheerily as the brown-
haired singer entered the changeroom, peeling off her
jacket.  The tall, golden brown-eyed woman was already
dressed in her softsuit, the stretchy, revealing garment
hugging her curvaceous figure perfectly.  She looked
excited, an excitement Priss shared, but for different
reasons.  It was going to be their first time out on an
actual boomer hunt in a long while.
     Sylvie was looking forward to actually using her suit
in a real situation, while the young rock singer was just
looking forward to a good fight.  Since her concert success,
she was positive that her leg was, finally, completely
normal; it didn't hurt in the slightest anymore.  There was
a reckless eagerness crawling through her at the thought of
being able to trash boomers again.
     "Hi Sylvie," she replied, chucking her jacket into her
locker as she started undoing her blouse.  "How was work
today?"  She was unable to keep a mischievous smirk from
forming as her friend blushed slightly.  While Sylvie knew
she had an attractive body, and was completely comfortable
with that fact and knew how to use it to her advantage, she
still found it slightly embarrassing to have complete and
total strangers showing up at odd times of the day to ask
her out for a date.  When she'd stopped in at Bert's archery
range, no less than fifteen guys she'd never seen before had
approached her, praising her looks and asking for dates in
the same breath.
     She had no problems at being able to discern the real
reasons they'd approached her; her senses were attuned to
picking up those kinds of feelings from people, given what
she was.  She sent them all packing as soon as they showed
up, but it was beginning to become tiresome.  She'd only
ever told Priss once, in confidence, that she hoped she
could someday find some nice guy who liked her for something
other than her figure, but so far all she'd encountered were
men with one thing on their minds, and it wasn't getting to
know her.  Well, not in the sense she would have preferred,
at least.
     "It was okay," she replied noncommittally, watching as
Priss stripped off her clothes, and donned her softsuit.
"About the usual."
     "More broken hearts, huh?" the red-brown eyed woman
grinned slyly.  Sylvie flushed again, becoming a bit
irritated.
     "What have you been up to?" she changed the subject
with an effort.  "I haven't been able to get ahold of you at
all, lately.  I even stopped by your place the other night,
but you weren't home."  She studied her friend closely,
paying attention to her intuition as she watched her pull
her softsuit up, sliding her arms into its sleeves.
     "Me? Oh, nothing much," Priss answered vaguely,
reaching behind herself and fastening the softsuit closure
snaps.  "I've just been out and around, that's all."  She
finally succeeded in getting her suit secure, and spent a
minute or so getting it settled more comfortably on her
body.
     " `Out and around'?  With who?"
     "Nobody," Priss replied quickly.  "I've been biking a
lot; that's why I haven't been home."  Sylvie detected a
definite trace of defensiveness in the reply.
     "Priss," she said seriously, looking her friend
straight in the eyes.  "Please don't lie to me.  I can tell
that something's up, because that's the vaguest answer
you've ever given me.  You've always been honest with me
before, why won't you do the same now?"  Her question had a
somewhat plaintive note to it, making the attractive, brown-
haired singer flush guiltily.
     "I .... I'd like to tell you, really I would," she said
awkwardly, not quite meeting Sylvie's gaze.  "But, I ... I
can't, not right now.  Maybe later."  Sylvie gazed
thoughtfully at Priss for a moment, considering everything
she'd observed over the last few weeks.  She opened her
mouth to say something, but was cut off by an impatient
yell.
     "Would you two please hurry up?!?!"  Linna shouted into
the room.  "We haven't got all night to wait!!!  Come on,
the damn boomers aren't going to just leave by themselves!!"
     "We're coming!!!"  Priss hollered back.  "Hang on a
second!!"  She and Sylvie exchanged a quick glance, nodded,
then sprinted for the door to the changeroom.
                            ****
     Sylia looked around the somewhat crowded hardsuit
storage bay room.  We've come a long way, the thought
briefly flickered across her mind.  Counting herself, there
were six brightly enameled hardsuits crammed into the small
room, a private army.  She'd originally created the Knight
Sabers as a means of striking back at GENOM for everything
they'd done to her, and their perversion of her father's
work.
     Over the years, however, the original purpose of
revenge against the mega-corporation had become clouded and
diffuse, no longer her sole motivation.  She still hated
GENOM, and wanted to bring the company down, or at least
reduce it somehow, but that had proven to be more difficult
a task than she'd imagined it would be.  Instead of
extracting vengeance, the Knight Sabers were fighting a
rearguard action in trying to stop boomer depredations, a
rearguard action that, at times, seemed to be losing.
     The problem, she realized wryly, wasn't a lack of
effort on her part, or on the part of her teammates.  The
problem was that her conscience wouldn't let her just stand
idly by while innocent people were being killed; she cared
too much about the city, and couldn't abandon it in order to
pursue her own vendetta.  Everyone gathered in the room with
her right now shared that quality to a greater or lesser
extent, that determination and drive that allowed them to
keep going despite the apparently overwhelming odds and do
`what was right'.  That was partly why she'd chosen the
people she now counted as close friends to join her on her
crusade.
     Or had them chosen by circumstances, she amended
silently, looking over to where Sylvie was donning her
helmet;  the tall young woman was visibly excited at the
prospect of getting to use her new suit in a real fight, and
was fidgeting as she stood there.  In a way, Sylia found it
ironic that someone who had been created as an extension of
her father's work on boomers was now a member of the Knight
Sabers.  It was somehow oddly fitting that Sylvie was now
helping them carry on their crusade against GENOM, a company
that wouldn't scruple to use her in an instant for their own
dark ends.
     Sylia's glance slid sideways to a tall, silver-armoured
shape.  SkyKnight was leaning against the wall, his helmet
already on, his visor down so that his expression was
concealed.  His arms were crossed over his chest, and he
almost looked relaxed.  The eerily glowing red eyeslot in
his helmet visor seemed to be surveying everyone else at the
same time, an effect she knew he'd purposefully designed
into his suit.  SkyKnight was the random factor that had
changed everything irrevocably, the first new Knight Saber
that circumstance had brought to her.
     In the beginning, Sylia hadn't been going to increase
the membership of the Knight Sabers to beyond the original
four, unless a severe accident or injury removed one of them
from being able to participate for an extended period of
time.  She'd fervently hoped that she wouldn't be forced
into that task; it hadn't been easy locating people with the
right qualities the first time.
     Fate had promptly thrown a wrench into her carefully
laid plans with the arrival of a tall, red-headed stranger
who knew an uncomfortable lot about her and the Knight
Sabers organization.  Compounding the shock had been the
unique reasons he'd given her for his knowledge.  Careful
checking hadn't found any reason to disbelieve his story,
and she'd decided to accept him into the group.  She'd had
some reservations at the time, but she couldn't just let him
walk away, not with everything he seemed to know about them.
Something within her had balked at the thought of cold-
blooded murder of a total stranger, so that left allowing
him to join as the only viable option.
     Sylia's lips twisted in a brief, wry smile.  There'd
been a few times since then that she'd questioned the wisdom
of  that decision, mostly after discovering his unfailing
knack for getting into jackpots of some description, usually
because of his chivalric leanings.  That, and his penchant
for inventing things guaranteed to exasperate her.  In
retrospect though, she wouldn't have changed anything.
     Well, maybe one thing, she corrected herself, gazing
across the room to where Nene was standing.  Like SkyKnight,
she had her helmet on and the visor sealed already.
Standing ramrod straight, her body language very pointedly
indicated that she was ignoring him.  He was reciprocating
by seeming to ignore her ignoring him.  Sylia felt like
slapping the both of them at times over the way they were
behaving, and unclenched her gauntleted hands before she
could succumb to the urge to carry out the thought.
     She could understand some of Nene's difficulties in
adjusting to the way Bert had changed since his encounter
with Hollister; she didn't think she'd fully adjusted
herself yet.  At the same time, she could see why the tall
red-head had been hurt by her remarks.  The problem was that
they were both firmly entrenched in their opinion that it
was the other's fault, and that they weren't going to
apologize first.  The result of their combined
intractability was the gulf of silence that stretched
between them now.  She hoped they'd be able to bridge that
chasm before too much longer.  The team couldn't afford
divisions between its members, not with their foes ready for
the slightest opportunity to exploit.
     With a sigh, Sylia picked up her own helmet, shaking
off the gloomy and unwanted thoughts for the moment; they'd
just be a distraction for what they had to do now.  The
helmet slid easily over her head, like it had countless
times before, the contacts between the helmet, softsuit and
hardsuit clicking into place.  Her viewscreen flashed into
brightly glowing life, proclaiming her suit ready for
action.  She stretched for  moment, settling her suit into
place a little more comfortably.
     "Everbody ready?" she asked rhetorically, unable to
keep a small smile from pulling at her lips at the
enthusiastic responses her query received.  Turning, she led
the Knight Sabers forth to battle once again.
                            ****
     "I guess they knew you were back from your vacation,
Leon," Daley half-joked, glancing at his partner.  "They
decided to give you a party."  Beside him, staring fixedly
through a pair of binoculars at several distant blue boomers
as they blew apart storefronts and abandoned cars, Leon
didn't reply to Daley's remarks as he lowered the
binoculars.
     His squad was stationed at the entrance to the street,
and had erected some barricades to shelter behind.  They
were setting up some heavy weaponry and getting ready for a
fight.  This time, Leon was going to let the boomers come to
him, even though the fighter in him hated the idea.  He
didn't have much choice though; there weren't any K-17 units
in the area and he didn't want to lose any more men.
     "Well, they're going to be bloody sorry they did, and
goddamn soon," the tall, brown-haired inspector growled.  He
directed a steely, blue-eyed gaze of resolve at the
approaching biomechanoids.  "I'm going to make sure they get
the message this time."  He raised an arm, and his men
quickly took up their positions, loading and readying their
weapons.  Intently, Leon watched as the boomers began moving
their destructive rampage towards the entrenched cops,
preparing to give the order to fire.
     "CHAAAAAAAAARRRGE!!!!!!"
       The somehow cheerful-sounding battlecry split the
air, making all the gathered officers wince in pain at the
volume level.  The snarl of powerful jets from above made
everyone duck as something silver flashed by in the night,
whipping up papers and dust with its passage.  As the ADP
officers looked up, SkyKnight landed smack into the middle
of the crowd of boomers.
     "Oh SHIT!!  Everybody, TAKE COVER!!!!!!" Leon bellowed,
as the boomers snarled, all converged on the gleaming silver
figure at the same time.
     Instantly, the scene dissolved into a chaotic mˆl‚e of
flailing weapons, laced with the occasional bolt of bluish-
white or red energy, followed by explosions.  As the ADP
dove for whatever protection they could find, hissing
thrusters announced the arrival of the rest of the Knight
Sabers.  Leon carefully lifted his head far enough to peer
over the hood of his patrol car; as he wached, five more
armoured shapes landed, three of them immediately plunging
headlong into the tangled swarm of combatants.
     The white Knight Saber who always seemed to be in
charge hung back, shooting at the biomechanoids on the
fringes of the combat; periodically, a headless boomer
crashed to the pavement, proving the efficacy of her
weapons.  The red-pink Knight Saber was also hanging back
and sniping, her shots precisely timed, and damaging the
boomers in critical areas like the optics; what the red-pink
suit lacked in raw firepower, it apparently made up for in
finesse and accuracy.  Daley suddenly grabbed his arm, and
pointed into the seething fight.
     "Leon!  There's six of them now!!"
     "What the hell did they do?! Take an ad out in the
paper?!" Leon demanded, squinting into the churning
confusion.  White, red-pink, green, blue, silver-blue....and
red-gray.  As he watched, the red-gray suit was slugged in
the wind by a boomer and knocked sprawling.  As the boomer
sprang savagely at the downed battlesuit, whipping its claws
downwards, a sizzling red-white energy beam from SkyKnight
tore it in half.
     As the red-gray hardsuit struggled to regain its feet,
the blue and green suits stepped smoothly in front of their
fallen comrade, deflecting the other boomers who tried to
exploit the momentary advantage.  SkyKnight continued to
hammer at the other boomer he was occupied with; it seemed
to be more advanced than the other C-55s, and it was giving
the silver-garbed hardsuit a good fight.  He didn't seem to
mind in the slightest.
     "Their new recruit isn't doing so great," Daley noted,
as the red-gray suit was flattened again.  Leon nodded
silently; obviously the newest Knight Saber wasn't as
proficient at fighting as the rest were.
     As he watched the fight, it suddenly struck Leon that
there was something familiar-seeming about the Knight
Sabers' newest recruit.  It was impossible, since he'd never
seen anything even like that design before, but he couldn't
shake the feeling he'd seen it somewhere.  Shaking off the
vague, disquieting feeling, he turned to his men, who were
also speechlessly watching the fight.
     "Okay, everybody listen up!" the tall Inspector barked
over the howl of the glorious-looking brawl that was
unfolding a few metres away.  "I know what our standing
orders are supposed to be, but this is what I want done
right now..."
                            ****
     "There's a lot of them tonight!" Linna panted over the
comm channel.  "They're everywhere!!"  Jerking aside from a
scything claw strike, she whipped her mono-streamers through
the offending blue combat machine, slicing it lengthwise
into harmless chunks.  Spinning smoothly, she drove her
knuckle-bomber into the back of another boomer, destroying
it instantly.
     "They're interfering with each other more than anything
else," SkyKnight replied coolly.  "That gives us the edge.
Speaking of edges...."  The biomechanoid he was facing let
out an unearthly mechanical howl as he savagely gutted it
with an uppercut, his sword-blade extended.  The dead boomer
joined the growing heap of spare parts on the pavement,
spewing orange-brown liquids everywhere.
     "Don't get overconfident," Sylia's voice warned
crisply.  "It only takes one to kill you."
     "Aw, lighten up, Sylia!" Priss's voice replied
cheerfully.  "These guys are pushovers!"  As if proving her
point, she blew the legs out from under one killer C-55 with
a leg sweep, the impact-blasters on her suit boots doing
most of the work.  Dropping under a nearly point-blank
particle beam shot, she nailed her attacker with a volley of
railgun bolts.  Riddled with the long spikes, the dying
cyberdroid collapsed in an oily heap.  "Yeah! Take that, you
boomer bastards!!"
     As she lined up on another biomechanoid, there was a
crashing report from the direction of the ADP lines, and the
boomer she'd been about to trash flew apart as an explosive
shell tore through its armour carapace.  The blue-hardsuited
woman whirled towards the direction the shot had come from.
     "HEY!!!"  she hollered angrily.  "That one was mine,
you assholes!  Go find your own!"
     "There's plenty to go around," Sylvie reassured her,
firing her arm guns at a dodging C-55.  She wasn't doing
quite as well as she'd expected; actual combat was proving
to be more work than she'd anticipated, and she'd already
learned the hard way not to underestimate her opponents.  If
her friends weren't around to help....she shivered slightly
at the thought.
     "Watch your back!" A crackling red laser bolt
distracted the blue boomer who'd loomed up behind the red-
gray hardsuit for an instant, just long enough for Sylvie to
spin around and end the matter by driving her swordblade
through the boomer's skull.
     "Thanks, Nene," she gasped, breathing hard from the
shock of the near miss as she stepped back from the dead
`droid.  Another crashing report rang out, and another
boomer died messily on the fringes of the main fight as she
did.
     "Well, how about that?" SkyKnight remarked as he
casually crushed another rogue C-55 headfirst into the
pavement.  "The long arm of the law is actually being
effective tonight!"
     "Keep your mind on the job!" Sylia snapped.  Her palm-
cannons fired, spitting a hailstorm of red energy beams at
the hulking boomer that had just appeared behind the silver
hardsuit.  SkyKnight didn't even look back; as the boomer
staggered backwards from the white hardsuit's shots, he
thrust his right arm back over his shoulder and fired his
particle lasers.  The boomer flashed into a spinning storm
of scrap and debris.
     "I did know he was back there," SkyKnight commented
mildly, his glowing eyeslot swinging around to regard her.
"But thanks anyway."
     "Hey!  Come back here, you cowardly pile of shit!!"
Sylia and the silver hardsuit turned in time to see Priss's
blue hardsuit charging off up a side street, after a boomer
which seemed to have exercised the better part of valour,
and was retreating.  The two blue forms vanished into the
darkness, propelled by their thrusters.
     "Priss!!  Come back!!" Sylia shouted over the comm.
"We don't want to get split up!!"
     "Relax!  This'll only take a second or two!" she shot
back.
     "I'll make sure nothing happens to her, boss,"
SkyKnight volunteered.  Before the white hardsuit could
answer him, the silver-blue battlesuit shot into the
darkness after them, jets droning sonorously.
     "Damn it!!" Sylia swore loudly.  "SkyKnight, get...."
     "Sylia!! Look out!!" Linna cried, just before a blue C-
55 took advantage of her momentary distraction, and slugged
her in the stomach.  Her breath left her lungs in a jarring
whoosh as she hit the pavement, bright lights flaring
briefly in her sight.  As she fought to roll over and get
up, the boomer was blasted from behind by a combined salvo
of fire from the remaining Knight Sabers.  As the boomer
floundered, momentarily uncertain of which foe to go after,
the white-hardsuited woman rolled to her feet and neatly
bisected it with her arm blades.
     "Are you okay?"  Nene's voice asked concernedly.  The
red-pink suit was there next to her suddenly, giving her an
arm to lean on.
     "I'm...fine," Sylia gasped, gratefully accepting the
support nonetheless.  "Just...winded."  It suddenly dawned
on her that the battlefield had fallen mostly silent.
"Any...more...boomers?" she asked, looking around the
battlefield.
     "Nope," Linna answered with a great deal of
satisfaction, surveying the scattered wreckage.  "We got `em
all."  Behind her, Sylvie was standing hunched over, her
hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.  Her red-
gray suit was dented and scratched-up a bit, but otherwise
unharmed.
     "That was almost too easy," Sylia muttered to herself,
unease trickling through her mind.  Her blue-visored helmet
swung towards Nene.  "Are we clear, Nene?"
     "Nothing else nearby, Sylia," she replied easily.
"We're clear."
                            ****
     "GOTCHA!!!" Priss crowed exuberantly, dropping feet-
first onto the fleeing C-55 from behind.  The boomer crashed
to the asphalt on its face, skidding to a stop as the blue-
hardsuited woman rode it like a surfboard.  As the downed
biomechanoid struggled to rise, she fired a railgun spike
through the back of its skull casing, stilling it.
     "Having fun yet?" SkyKnight asked dryly, swooping up
next to her and landing with a slightly ponderous clank.
     "You'd better believe it!" she told him as she
clambered off the dead biomechanoid.  Judging from the tone
of her voice, she was grinning from ear to ear.  "It's great
to be back in action; I haven't had this much fun in ages."
     "Well, gee, thanks a lot!" he replied in a wounded
tone, grinning inside his helmet.
     "You know what I mean,  you smartass!" she retorted
with a laugh, elbowing him in the ribs.  "Admit it; you
enjoyed it too, didn't you?  The fighting, I mean," she
added warningly.  Bert smirked to himself, and changed what
he'd been going to reply.
     "I guess I did," he admitted, then frowned to himself.
"It seemed awfully easy, though," he noted.  "Those boomers
weren't nearly as tough as the last time."
     "You worry too much," she told him.  "Come on, let's
get back to the others before Sylia has a fit."
     "No arguments from me on that score," SkyKnight
chuckled, turning slightly to wave in the direction their
friends were.  "Well, ladies first and all that...."
     The harsh scream of a crackling, greenish-white
particle beam cut short his speech as it slammed square into
his torso, hurling him backwards to smash into the concrete
side of a building.  SkyKnight didn't touch the ground
between the point where he'd been standing, and when his
faceplate hit the pavement after being shot and bounced off
the wall.  After a moment, the silver battlesuit groggily
started moving, trying to get up.
     "BERT!!" Priss started to run towards him, forgetting
about everything else momentarily in her concern.  The
whining crackle of more particle bolts burning past brought
her up short.  Dodging, she spun towards the source of the
offensive fire, charging her own weapons.
     Her stomach seemed to drop as she saw about twenty
wickedly-fast C-55 combat boomers charging towards them.  A
few of the killer machines spat some more searing,
incandescent green beams at her as they drew closer, coming
uncomfortably close to hitting her as she ducked.
Belatedly, she realized that these boomers were the uprated
C-55 types, the C-55Es that she'd heard about.
     "Sylia!! Come in!! Sylia?!  We could use a hand here!"
she radioed, blasting away with her laser cannon and
railgun.  The boomers almost contemptuously dodged her fire,
and she realized that this fight wasn't going to go quite as
easily as the last one had.  Twenty boomers was just too
many for her to handle by herself.  She briefly prayed that
no red boomers, the really heavy-duty combat ones, would
show up as well.
     "Shit," she muttered, casting a quick glance backwards;
SkyKnight was still getting to his feet, stunned by the
unexpected shot.  Well, you always wanted to go out
fighting, her mind pointed out.  It looked like she was
going to get her chance.  Shouting her own war cry, Priss
leaped forwards to the attack, blasting away, hoping to buy
SkyKnight enough time to recover.
     The blue hardsuit disappeared under the wave of
snarling boomers, as the sounds of heavy impacts and energy
beams exploded through the street.
                            ****
     Bert woozily shook his head as his breath returned and
the ringing in his ears subsided.  Damn, but that shot had
hurt!  More because he hadn't been expecting it than
anything else.  It hadn't breached his armour, but being
knocked backwards into the unyielding wall behind him, and
then falling on his face had a good deal to do with why he'd
been shaken up by it.
     His helmeted head jerked up as explosions piercing the
air, just in time to see Priss get swarmed by a horde of
snarling C-55E boomers.  An icy clarity dropped across his
mind as he struggled to his feet, drawing upon some hidden
reserve and forcing himself to remain steady.
     For a minute, it looked like everything was going well;
one boomer was down on the pavement, its biomechanical guts
spread all over the pavement, and Priss was liberally hosing
down the other blue machines with laser fire.  Her fire was
not very effective, though; because there were so many
boomers, she couldn't concentrate on any one long enough to
be able to down it.
     As SkyKnight watched,  still trying to pull himself
together, she was suddenly double-teamed by a pair of
boomers who sprang from between their cohorts.  The blue
hardsuit was simultaneously hit in the head and the small of
her back by the boomer strikes.  With a strangled scream,
Priss dropped to the pavement, only to get hauled up by
another boomer and held immobile by an armoured arm around
her neck.  Two other boomers seized her arms, and a third
one stepped around to in front of her, drawing back its arm
for a lethal strike as its claws popped out.  The helpless
Knight Saber struggled feebly against her assailants, still
dazed and unable to prevent what was coming as the boomer's
arm speared forwards, centering on her chest.
     SkyKnight shot forwards, his flight system screaming as
he raced the boomer's thrusting arm, time seeming to
suddenly slow down to a crawl.  Correctly interpreting his
intent, several boomers sprang forwards to delay him,
slashing with claws and firing particle beams.  Twin snap-
hisses cracked through the air, as huge, glowing blue arcs
were carved through the space in front of the charging
silver battlesuit; two boomers dropped in their tracks, rent
asunder by the sizzling plasma blades extending from his
hardsuit arms, and the rest retreated out of reach.
     Just as the boomer's arm was a hairsbreadth away from
forever ending Priss's career,  SkyKnight reached the
embattled woman and whipped his lightsaber blade through the
boomer's arm, severing it at the elbow.  The momentum of the
boomer's strike carried its clawed hand onwards, striking
Priss's hardsuit in the chest, pointed blades first.  The
arm fragment flipped up and struck her helmet faceplate as
the blades scratched twin shallow gashes across her
breastplate armour.
     The severed arm dropped uselessly to the pavement as
the silver Knight Saber whirled towards the boomer that had
just attempted to kill his comrade; it was extremely risky
using his energy blades this close to her, but he had no
choice, not if he wanted to save her.  The one-armed boomer
started to draw back further, snarling in thwarted fury, but
a downward slash from SkyKnight's other lightsaber blade
bisected it diagonally across the torso, dropping the
renegade boomer in its tracks.
     The blue energy blades snuffing out, the silver Knight
Saber spun back towards his captive teammate, launching a
blistering punch apparently at her head.  Priss gave a
strangled shout, and jerked aside, or tried to; with all the
boomers holding her, her movement was drastically curtailed.
SkyKnight's arm whistled past her head, over her shoulder;
she heard a loud mechanical snap-clang noise, closely
followed by the solid `thunk' of an impact of some kind.
Almost instantly, the boomer arm around her neck loosened
and fell away.
     SkyKnight tore loose his extended swordblade from the
head of the boomer that had been slowly choking Priss from
behind, using the momentum  to backhand the boomer on her
left that was still holding her arm.  The boomer ducked and
released her, springing away as Priss ripped her other arm
free.
     "Hey!! What the hell...?!?!  OOOF!!!" was all Priss was
able to get out before the silver hardsuit grabbed her
armoured form around the waist, and then catapulted into the
air in a parabolic trajectory that carried them clear of the
murderous pack of biomechanoids.  At exactly the same time,
several boomers recovered from his charge enough to try and
kill them.  Claws and energy beams sliced the air just scant
inches beneath the two hardsuits as they shot upwards.
     "You....you jackass!!" she wheezed as he dropped her to
the pavement, then spun towards the boomers and braced
himself to receive the brunt of their next attack.  "You
could have at least warned me what the hell you were going
to do!!"
     "No time," Bert's modulated voice replied laconically,
sounding eerily calm.  "Had to get you clear of the pack;
quickest way."  The fifteen or so boomers remaining began to
spread out in a skirmish line as they advanced menacingly
towards the two Knight Sabers.
     "Well, thanks anyway," Priss said quietly, reaching out
and touching his shoulder, even though he couldn't feel it
through the suit.  "I owe you one."
     "I'll collect later," he replied whimsically, risking a
quick glance back at her.  "Right after I finish cleaning up
the garbage."
     "Oh, riiiiiight," she snorted derisively.  "Not even
you can handle fifteen-to-one odds, Mr. Invincible `Heroic-
is-my-middle name' Knight!"
     "Never tell me the odds," SkyKnight admonished her
cheerfully.  "I like gambling once in a while."
     "Besides," she added, a rising whine coming from her
laser cannon as she began targeting the C-55Es, "I want my
share of the action, so don't bother trying to hog all the
fun."
                            ****
     "I'm sorry, but orders are orders," Leon called across
the hood of his patrol car.
     "Well, we're not surrendering," the white-suited Knight
Saber replied flatly.  She was standing ramrod-straight as
she faced him, separated by a twenty-foot stretch of open
pavement.  Behind her, the remaining multicoloured hardsuits
were standing tensely, waiting to see what would happen.
"Now if you'll excuse us, we have got work to do."
     "And I've got mine to do as well," Leon replied
levelly.  The white hardsuit nodded, as if in understanding,
and made a hand gesture to the rest of the hardsuited
vigilante group.  They started slowly backing away from the
gathered cops, alert for any sign of aggression.  Sighing
internally, Leon started to give the order to fire,
intending to try disabling the Knight Sabers, when the
squeal of the dispatcher's frantic voice erupting from the
radio cut him off.
     "Unit 12!!! Come in Unit 12!!!!  Reports of a massive
boomer firefight ten blocks est of your location!!!  Two
battlesuits are reported already on-scene, and they're
engaged with approximately ten C-55 boomers!!  Please
respond, over!!!"
     "Shit!" Leon snarled, forgetting about the armoured
women, and diving for the radio microphone inside his patrol
car.  As he lunged inside the cruiser, grabbing for the
mike, four furious blasts of hissing sound announced that
the Knight Sabers were already on their way.
                            ****
     "Well," Bert panted hoarsely, sweat trickling down his
face inside his helmet as his eyes raked the displays.  "At
least we're down to ten boomers."  Around him, the blue ring
of biomechanical killers tightened a bit.
     "That's still five-to-one odds," Priss retorted, warily
watching the boomers as well, her breathing every bit as
laborious as his.  She and SkyKnight were standing back-to-
back, encircled by the remaining C-55E boomers.  They'd
fought off the killers several times, managing to disable
some of them, but it hadn't been easy.  The noose was slowly
tightening now, and she knew it was only going to be a
matter of time before they got hit more seriously than they
already had been.  "You okay?"
     "Fine; just a scratch," SkyKnight replied, ignoring the
cold feeling that slid through his guts whenever he thought
about the gash through his neck armour.  It had bled
slightly, but not seriously.  Another inch or so over to the
right, however ....   "What about you?"
     "I'll live; I've had cracked ribs before."
     "No reply on the comms?"
     "If yours won't get through the jamming, I doubt mine
will," she replied tightly, flexing her gauntleted hands,
wishing she could stop sweating.
     "It was worth a try."