From:        Fergusson, 101740.1042@compuserve.com

Take 3.  First Pegasus completely messes up the FFML address
(calling it fanfic@fanfic.comfanfic), an error that was probably a
sympton of the technician deleting my attachments.  Next, I
entrust Compuserve with the task of delivering these as
attachments.  It fails.

Windir: This should be a surprise? There are certain things that could be 
said about the corporate entity known as CompuServe, very few of them 
complimentary.

And now, I'm trying them in message.  I've gone through the
*entire* fanfic, and formatted them to 75 chars per line, in the
vain hope that it will actually come out right when I send this.
I hope it does, otherwise I'm going to be doing some serious
frustration-venting.

Lyra: Don't worry. It came out fine. Oh, by the way, this is just going 
to be a short C&C; too much to do, not enough time. 

[Editor's note: Famous last words, they were. Oh, well. ^_^]

Anyway, asides from that, enjoy the fanfic.

[Editor's note: Don't worry, we did. Except maybe for Frito; a little too 
much wit for his tastes. Then again, there was the fortune cookie I got 
at dinner tonight: "Wit is the seasoning of a meal, not the food." I 
wonder if it was telling me something. <wry g>]

               Terence Fergusson
               -- Stranded in an Anime-free College
               -- and wondering why he's tempting fate
                  (or, more to the point, the DBTFH
                  (1 Black, 1 other; a 1/7 black creature;
                  cannot be blocked by walls; tap to
                  enchant author with +3 productivity/-4
                  toughness until end of turn)) by posting
                  this.

Lyra: Because it's good?

Frito: Hey, speak for yerself, lady!

 PROLOGUE

 Now was his chance.
 A swift elbow to the gut downed one of his captors, and while the others
were distracted, Ian broke away from them and belted down the corridor,
diving into a side room, and slamming the door behind him.
 He lost no time in drawing the heavy wooden beam across the door, locking
himself in.  In a few seconds, he had retrieved his confiscated belongings;
his brown leather jacket, with his pulse-laser pistol still hanging out of
its inside pocket, and his leather backpack, complete with rations and
various camping equipment.  He had been fortunate to be still conscious
when he saw the guards taking his stuff in here.

Windir: Upon reading this prologue, my first impulse was admittedly to 
lay this story aside; this plot device has been used many times, so 
frequently that it usually degenerates into hackneyed cliche. (As in that 
particular television show on the Fox network, which may sadly have 
blocked the re-introduction of a show both near and dear to our hearts.) 
I am, in fact, rather surprised that I continued, and had the opportunity 
to discover the skill with which this particular instance was handled.

Lyra: <Nodding decisively, hand on chin> It was the writing. It's a good 
cut or two above average.

 However, one of them has no author.  It is lying on a shelf on the only
bookcase that is still standing.  It's open to a page near the beginning of
the book, except it's obvious from the size of the tome that many pages
have already been covered.

Frito: Uh-oh. I think our friend ain't gonna be gettin' home any time 
soon. <Cackles> And he deserves it! Runnin' away from a bunch a babes 
like da Knight Sabers...

 It had been his curiosity, as usual, that had gotten him into trouble.
A few subtle hints led him to a secret door in the store, which had opened

Frito: What kinda hints? Ya gotta be more specific! Da light shinin' 
under da door? Da big sign sayin' "This way to the Grand Adventure"? Da 
eldrich chantin' comin' through da PA system?

Windir: Pay him no mind, sir. It's a minor point at best.

to reveal a vertical pit as a room that would never, under the normal laws
of space and matter, have fitted into the small confines of the bookstore.
 He remembered the door slamming shut, and the stairs going around the
pit collapsing, forcing him up to the top of the cylindrical chamber.  And

Lyra: Um, how would stairs *collapsing* bring someone to the *top*? 
Unless he was going up them at the time, and trying to stay ahead of 
steps crumbling behind him. This needs to be cleared up.

 /No.  I'm not going to even think about that.  I am not going to even
consider the word `man...'  that genre./  Ian looked around fearfully.  /It
might return to haunt me./

Frito: Too late, fryboy! Yer in for it now!

 Since then, Ian had harboured an intense dislike for Japanese comics
where the characters could take a great deal of punishment (i.e. lived to
deal with the pain of recovering), and where a great deal of chaos and
mayhem happened.  On the other hand though, it had been the last time he'd
had a chance to really clean up...

Windir: A nice parenthetical expression of wit, here. As my esteemed 
colleague noted, I have a rather soft spot for authors that make a lively 
use of the English language.

 /Well,/ he thought, /maybe I'll be lucky.  I mean, just cos I'm in Tokyo,
it doesn't mean it *has* to be Manga./

Lyra: Hah. Fat chance.

 "Name?" he barked.
 /Well, if you're going to be like that..../  Ian bit back a sarcastic
remark, figuring he'd do better if he started to think up a story now.
He'd talked himself out of worse than this, hadn't he?
 He cheerfully ignored the fact that he had also talked himself into
worse.
 "Ian Robinson."
 "Age?"
 "Twenty-one."
 "Job?"

Windir: This seems rather a bit manipulative on the author's part. The 
purpose of this scene -- aside, perhaps, from a certain amount of comic 
relief -- is to establish the MacGuffin driving the engine of the BGC 
sequence, namely, his supposed identity as the inventor of a matter 
transport device. However, it also has -- in the rather colorful language 
of my not-so-esteemed colleague -- plot holes 'large enuf ta smash a 
truck through.' Ian is allowed to leave the ADPolice station... after 
suddenly appearing in the middle of their prison block, mind you... with 
gaping holes in his story and his record. For example, one would assume 
that the database check that Nene does at the beginning of Chapter 2 
would be part of standard procedure... yet Ian is able to leave the 
building without anyone noticing this rather obvious false name. *Or* 
taking a closer look at his gun. The author plays up Fraser's impatience 
and frustration, apparently as an excuse, but I believe something more is 
necessary.

Frito: Alright, Mr. Critic, what?

Windir: I would not presume to dictate to the author --

Lyra: <Dryly> Really.

Windir: -- but there needs to be a more plausible excuse. Pressing 
business elsewhere might work; that would give a reason beyond mere 
frustration for dropping the interview at that point. Some other hints 
that Fraser is lazy, or a slacker, might also help -- things like a 
calendar two months out of date, or an overflowing trash basket, or 
something of that nature.

 He received yet another glare, and a raised eyebrow.  "I thought faulty
equipment usually have shorter ranges?"

Frito: How come? It's just as easy ta have somethin' go wrong with a 
power surge as anythin' else, ain't it?

 On the other side of the city, a group of thugs were having an altogether
more unpleasant encounter.
 "Look, man," said the ringleader, "what do you want?"
 Their little ambush on the figure cloaked in shadow hadn't gone well.  It
had been following them for about ten minutes now, before they decided to
find out just what this guy thought he was up to.  A sort of a show of
force to demonstrate to their unwitting pursuer just who he was dealing
with.
 Yet despite the fact that they had firearms, and had eventually been
forced to use them, the guy had simply stood there, not seemingly harmed at
all.  If it was a guy.  Anyhow, one of their number was down on the floor,
hit by some sort of weapon the guy had.  It now seemed obvious who was
performing the show of force.

Frito: Sounds like somethin' outa Sanctuary or somethin'. 

Lyra: Or the Shades, in Ankh-Morpork.

 At that, one of the gang panicked and ran.  He got three paces when a
green bolt hit him in the back, taking him out completely.  Max kneeled by
his fallen comrade and checked his pulse.  Nothing.
 "So," came the voice, "do we have a deal?"
 "Yeah," Max replied woodenly.  "A deal."  /Just as soon as you turn your
back, man.  Then you'll get what's coming to you./

Lyra: Famous last words.

Frito: 'Cept for da Bloody Deckers, outa dat Foglio book. *They* was cool.

 Sometimes Ian wondered exactly how far the thing worked.  Judging by what
he remembered from Douglas Adams's book, the translation should only have
worked one way, and only if the person was present.  But through live
experimentation in worlds that had adopted a native language other than his
own, he found that not only could he understand those near him, but they
automatically understood him, no matter what language he spoke.  Seemingly,
everyone he talked to thought he replied in their native language, which
made for some awkward encounters.  Plus, he could even understand foreign
transmissions.  Maybe brainwaves were somehow caught in recording media, or
something.  In fact, the strangest thing was, he could even understand
talking computers, things that didn't have anything organic in them at all.
The only limitation to the Babel fish that Ian could find was that it
hadn't helped his reading skill any; Japanese was still a funny set of
squiggles to him.

Windir: A plausible rationalization. Perhaps.

Lyra: A paragraph that could stand some optimization, anyway. A little 
too verbose.

 This somewhat *small* limitation had in the past caused, and was
currently causing, problems.  Directions for example.  Since Ian couldn't
read the various streetsigns, or decipher any sort of map, he usually took
to asking directions from passers-by.  Said passer-by had a tendency to
look at him strangely, point at a nearby sign, and then walk off without a
word.
 To put it in a nutshell, it was annoying.

Windir: However, this is a pleasantly witty recovery.

 Nene was puzzled, perplexed, and very worried.  It wasn't often that had
happened.  As soon as Fraser had filed the report into the central
database, Nene had gotten access to it and given herself a copy to read.
 Things started getting weird when she called up the database to search
for "Ian Robinson".  She got a big negative. 

Windir: As I said. True, Nene is rather more skilled -- and more 
persistant -- than many would be; nevertheless, the mere lack of a record 
should raise the suspicion that something is distinctly Wrong. Perhaps 
another idea would be if he were released for observation, to see who his 
partners might be?

Lyra: Except then you wouldn't have the delay where the Chronotroopers 
would have a chance to strike.

Windir: Oh, dear. Oops.

 A few moments after she left, her computer silently alerted the fact of
someone outside hacking into the ADP databases.  Nene's hidden tripwires
were designed to inform *her* when hacking was done; it wasn't standard ADP
security.  But since Nene wasn't there, the warning went unnoticed.  And
after about a minute, the infiltration stopped, shutting down the alarm in
the process.

Lyra: This doesn't make sense either. I know, it's a plot device, but it 
still doesn't ring true. Hasn't she ever heard of activity logs? I'm not 
sure you even need to give her a program for doing this -- if you want to 
be respectful to her hacking ability, you could say something like "at a 
level in the ADP's inefficient data systems too deep for even Nene to 
protect."

 News travelled fast.  It was particularly known for its ability to travel
faster than light in some cases.  Bad news sometimes travelled even faster.
The kind of bad news that had just been transferred happened to be bad for
Ian, and in Ian's experience, that was the fastest kind of all.

Windir: <Smiling evilly> Heh.

 There is a little part of the story of how Genom stole the knowledge of
creating boomers from the scientist, Dr Katsuhito Stingray, and how they
warped his legacy into the military scheme it was now; and a little part
how Dr Stingray's daughter, Sylia, set up the vigilante group, the Knight
Sabers, to bring down Genom and their twisted ideals.  But that isn't

Windir: "There is a little part"? "A little part" of *what*, perchance? 
The sentence is confusing; it lacks an object.

Lyra: It happens a couple of other times, too.

important right now.  What was important, was that Quincy was the CEO of
Genom, and he had recently been informed of Ian's ADPolice report.  The
words "Matter Transportation" had a tendency to cause certain corporation
search engines to go berserk.
 For those who haven't worked it out yet, this is *bad*.

Frito: Yeah! It's bad. Bad!

Windir: Frito, you are an appallingly poor George Bush imitator.

 "For some reason, the cameras never got a good shot of him.  Even when he
was interrogated, his back was to the camera the whole time.  He must have
known about them.  There's no way someone can avoid that many security
cameras so successfully.  They'd have to have known their exact positions.
That, or have been extremely lucky."
 /...and I don't believe in luck,/ finished Quincy for her silently.  Hmm.
This wasn't very good news.  It might mean that this `inventor' was working
for someone high up.  Very high, if all his records could have successfully
been wiped.  That was, of course, if he had given his real name.
 It was all so complicated.  A high-up agent would have had a decent cover
story that would have had passed computer analysis.  At the very least,
they would travel with forged ID.  And generally, agents didn't appear from
nowhere inside an ADP jail.  "Have you checked if there were any important
prisoners in the station at the time?"

Lyra: Poor guy. Just keeps getting caught in the middle. 

Frito: <Singing> It ain't easy, bein' green...

Lyra: Hush. Jim Henson you aren't.

 Most perplexing.  Well, perhaps this `inventor' would be worth observing.
"Keep him under surveillance."
 Madigan bowed, and then turned to leave.
 "Wait."  Quincy smiled.  "Keep him alive.  He may be useful."
 "Do you expect there to be an attempt on his life?"
 "Just observe him.  But make sure he's alive when I decide to have him
brought in."

Windir: From small acorns do mighty oaks grow...

Lyra: Except he's a rather large nut, isn't he?

 Chronos turned towards him.  "I apologise for the... imprecise nature of
your firearms.  I was pressed for time, and had to make do with the Mk I
plans.  Watch out for the plasma rifle overheating as well.  I'm afraid you
can only use short bursts, before it gets too hot to work.  Then you have
to wait for it to cool down.  However, this should be sufficient for now.
Perhaps when you come back, I'll have a couple of Mk II's ready."

Frito: Yah, right. And da check is in da mail, already. Sheesh. Losers. 
Pigeons. I could take 'em in five seconds, easy.

Windir: I believe that is intentional, Frito. I happen to be more 
interested in the rather convenient nature of the limitations of the 
rifles. Intentional? And on whose part?

 Ian stopped suddenly, and glanced around.  He was *sure* he was being
watched.  It wasn't Chronos; if it had been him, he would have shown
himself far earlier.  He *hoped* it was a good guy.  And then he hoped that
they knew that *he* was a good guy.  Convincing them that usually took
quite a while. Or a short battle with Chronos.  Ian knew which one *he*
preferred.

Frito: Ayup.

Lyra: I wonder if he's trained with the Doctor, yet? Might be rather 
useful, and our Gallifreyan friend has certainly had lots of practice.

 A Chronotrooper stepped out of the shadows of one of the warehouses,
levelling its plasma rifle at him.  "You are Ian Robinson?"
 Nervousness tended to make Ian sarcastic.  "Nope.  I only look like him."
 "We've been hired to take you in.  What do you think about that?"
 "Did Chronos tell you about all the *others*?"
 "Others?"
 Ian smiled evilly.  "Never mind," he said cheerfully.

Lyra: Nice bit of psychological warfare.

 The Chronotrooper shouldered its weapon, and moved into a more
threatening posture.  "I don't think I need this.  You look like someone I
could take easily."  The helmet moved slightly as it glanced at Ian's
weapon.  "We've already seen what bullets do to these suits."
 "Oh, so Chronos *hasn't* told you about the others then.  Think you know
everything about that suit you're wearing?"
 The suit took a step towards him.  "I think you're bluffing."
 "Hang on," replied Ian, "before you charge me, tell me something.  Are
you some gang that Chronos picked off the street?"
 A couple of shots later had the suddenly charging Chronotrooper on the
floor, looking down at its cracked leg armour.  "Guess so," quipped Ian.

Windir: One does pick up a certain amount of panache, living on the run. 
Usually. If one survives.

Lyra: And just how would *you* know about that, Mr. Academia-in-Action? 
<Looks pensively at her artificial arm.>

 And then all hell broke loose.

Lyra: It always does, somehow.

Frito: Yeah. <Snickers> Ain't it great?

 Vernon's screams echoed across the communicators.  For a moment, all the
others could do was look on as their friend was held by the neck, clutching
at the boomer's arm.  Unlike Ian, they knew exactly what they were facing.

Frito: Oops. I forgot 'bout dat. There's *some* advantages ta bein' on 
home turf.

 It occurred to Ian that he wasn't going to get very far saying witty
things like `uh' or `er', so he took one more step back, and dropped out of
view as plasma bolts blazed overhead.
 Cold water hit him like hammer on an anvil.

Windir: "Ah, I see you know your Gothe."

Frito: Huh?

Lyra: Wrong series, Windy. Though the way this universe is set up, you 
never know...

Frito: For a minute there, I thought I was in a Ranma 'fic! Ayahhhhh... 
SPLOOSH! <He brandishes his Coke like a torch, and manages to splash 
Windir. Windir does not look amused.>

Windir: <Dangerously> Frito...

Frito: Um... I din't mean it, Windy... <Small voice> uh-oh...

Windir: Boot to the head! <He attempts the kick, skids on the spilled 
pop, misses... and kicks Lyra's tub of popcorn over into her lap.

Lyra: HEY! <Grabs Windir with one hand, tugs open the collar of his 
velvet smoking jacket, and pours her Mountain Dew down his back.>

Frito: <Cackling> FOOD FIGHT! <Windir and Lyra look at him, look at each 
other, and nod together. Frito begins backing away nervously.> Um, guys? 
All in fun, right? Guys?

Windir and Lyra begin chuckling evilly, and start stalking Frito.

Frito: YOW! <Turns around and starts running out of the theatre, with the 
other two-thirds of the team in hot pursuit.>

 Ian was *not* having a good day.  It had started off alright, except for
a brief encounter with an iron bar belonging to a jail cell, and a slightly
longer encounter spent infuriating a police detective with Technospeak.
*Apart* from that, it had been a glorious day.  Reasonably warm, not too
hot, or cold, but most of all, *quiet*.  No one shooting at him, or chasing
him.  Sure, some guys had given him some funny looks, or maybe even glared,
but up until thirty-five minutes ago, his life had not been even the
slightest bit of danger.
 Now he was five feet underwater, attempting to avoid plasma bolts shot

>from a Chronotrooper who was standing on a jetty just above him.

 On top of all that, his ankle had started hurting.

Frito: <Wiping whipped cream off his face> Ain't life a bitch?

Lyra gives him a friendly rap on the noggin. With her artificial arm. 
And, just to be nice and avoid any future allegations of abuse, even 
pulls him out of the seat wreckage afterwards.

 However, despite the pulse laser being lighter and far less damaging by
itself than plasma bolts, it does have one major advantage.  Because pulse
lasers are made out of light, they are effected by the same laws as normal
light; reflection, refraction, etc.

Windir: "Affected," I believe.

Lyra: Uh-huh. So why would that be a benefit? Sure, you can use the 
effect if you're good. It can also cause real problems if you're not 
paying attention. I oughta know...

Windir: Indeed. <Looks inquiringly at her> I still wonder, sometimes, 
exactly why you gave up your rather, ah, physical, activities to join our 
little band.

Lyra: <Shrugs> Adrenaline rushes get boring after a while.

 Twenty to ten.  Within forty minutes, Ian's situation had changed from
"cheerfully searching for a place to crash" to "running for his life,
filled with terror", as so often happened. 

Lyra: <Shrugs again> You see 'em come, you see 'em go. Like you said, it 
happens.

Windir: <Dryly> I see.

 Sylia stood up, revealing herself.  She could almost sense the wave of
shock going through the two suits.  They were human, that was for sure; the
suits were just that.
 "Oh shit, the Knight Sabers!"  To them, she was just a female in an
stylised white hardsuit; one quarter of the vigilante group dedicated to
bringing down Genom.  They had already seen two of their friends killed by
various factions in MegaTokyo, one of them being their own employer.
Another two had been badly injured, both by the target they had been sent
to catch or kill.  At this point, they didn't even want to know what the
Knight Sabers intended to do with them.
 Without warning, they opened fire.

Lyra: I like this moment, really. Not sure why... oh, except for that 
exclamation. It's priceless. <Grins>

Frito: And ya think *you* hadda bad day...

 Every city has a part like this.  In modern-day Tokyo, it was Shinjuku;
in Ankh-Morpork, it was the Shades; in New York, it was Harlem.  You get
the idea. 

Lyra: Uh-huh. What'd I tell you?

Frito: Aw, dese guys are pushovers. 

 "We have to go in *there*?"
 "Aw, come on Linna.  Where's your sense of adventure?  All we gotta do is
catch up with the boomer and trash it.  And find out why the hell it's
following that guy," she added as an afterthought.

Frito: Ya said it, baby! I mean, comeon! Ya got an M-16 tank ta wear, and 
dese schmoes ain't got a clue!

 Ian was nervous.  Very nervous.  The atmosphere in this place was
palpable, and it was rife with tension.  He was *sure* he was being
watched.
 He still had twenty-five minutes to waste.

Lyra: <Smiling oddly> Be afraid. Be *very* afraid...

 Ian started to worry when he noticed that a number of people were leaving
the area he had just entered.  Everyone seemed to be vanishing into the
woodwork.

Frito: Uh-oh. That ain't cool, buddy. Stay loose.

 He started to worry more when he noticed that there were some people who
*hadn't* vanished.  They were looking nonchalantly at him.
 Ian slowed down his pace, and came to a stop.  He took a step back, and
turned.
 He didn't get very far.  In fact, right behind him, he found a large,
well-muscled torso.  It was wearing a black T-shirt with a burning skull on
it.  He looked up.  About a foot above him was a bearded face, grinning
down at him.  This was impressive, since Ian himself was around 5'9".
 He wondered if they could hear him swallow.
 As he backed away from the guy, he became vaguely aware of a ring of
similar people surrounding him.

Lyra: I keep expecting him to pull out a green mask, here...

Windir: Perhaps, but he does not bear the slightest resemblence to Jim 
Carrey.

 He wondered what would happen if he drew his pistol.
 The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked answered his question.
 "Uh, hi guys," he managed weakly.  "I hope you don't mind, but I'm kind
of running away at the moment, so I really shouldn't...."

Lyra: You mean *they* really shouldn't... 

Windir: Attempting to detain someone already pursued by rather nasty 
fellows is not precisely a good career move, I believe.

 It hadn't yet occurred to Ian that if a fight broke out between the
boomer and the police officers, he would be in the line of fire.

Windir: Minor problem.

Lyra: Not so minor, I'm afraid.

 In metaphorical terms, the match was hovering over the fuel.
 And from the sky, four females in hardsuits came to light it.

Frito: BOOM! Boom boom boom! He he he...

Lyra: Oh, you're ready for another chant of the B5 mantra?

Frito: Erp... <Sheepish look> Uh-uh, I'll be good. Promise.

 "It's the Knight Sabers!"
 /Who?/  Ian looked up as four coloured suits flashed by and landed
between him and the boomer.  /Knight Sabers?  Who the hell are..../
 And then it happened.  That feeling he got every time he successfully
identified which book he'd landed in.  Sometimes it was a feeling of
elation, sometimes one of thankfulness, sometimes even one of depression.
This time, it was one of sickness.
 The Knight Sabers.  Four vigilantes fighting robots in the near future.
Ian wasn't a fanatic about manga, but he'd been introduced to it well
enough to finally recognise "Bubblegum Crisis".
 Megacorporations battling for control.  Individuals became pawns for use.
On a piece of paper somewhere, Ian had said he was a scientist working on
Matter Transportation.  He now thought he had an inkling on just why so
many people were after him.
 The realisation just made getting out of here a more urgent objective.

Windir: Another Maalox moment, I believe.

Lyra: Or another tally on the OSQ.

Windir: OSQ?

Frito begins snickering.

Lyra: <Blushing> The "Oh, sh*t" quotient.

Windir: Ah. <Wisely decides to say nothing further.>

Lyra: <Still blushing> Nicely done, anyway. Good scene.

 It wasn't winning.  It knew that as a cold fact.  It also knew that it
wasn't *designed* to win under these conditions.
 It detected rather than heard the railgun firing.  It estimated that a
direct hit would cause critical damage to power systems, effectively
causing total shutdown.
 And then it detected Ian's presence in the line of fire.
 Destroying targets of opportunity was only its secondary objective.  Its
primary objective was to follow and watch this man.  And protect him at all
costs.

Windir: To mighty oaks, indeed.

Lyra: Or big nuts.

Frito: Aw, he ain't got no --

Windir: Boot to the head!

This time, Windir didn't miss.

 Why had he looked up at her just before he disappeared?  He had seemed
frightened of something.  Frightened of what?
 Who was he working for?  And what was this new faction all about?  Nene
foresaw a lot of work ahead of her analysing the scraps she'd found.  As
well as all the data she'd intercepted from the surveillance boomer.
 She resolved to answer those unanswered questions later.  The guy would
turn up somewhere.  Nene was sure of it.

Windir: A definite bone among the dogs, here, if one wishes to re-use 
that rather tired cliche. 

Lyra: It'd be interesting to follow-up on this later, and see just what 
they all make of it...

Windir: Perhaps, but that is not the author's story.

 /Aw man..../  Ian hurriedly leapt behind a potted plant as the monster
started to flick energy bolts at _him_.  He set to work, feverishly pulling
down on the charging mechanism; the pulse-laser pistol only stored a
limited charge before it had to be `recharged' by pulling a hard-to-move
mechanism back and forth once, similar to a pump-action shotgun.  With Ian,
it always seemed to happen at the _worst_ possible times.

Lyra: Another manufactured plot device?

Frito: Aw, it's just anodder gimmick.

Lyra: Cute one, though. 

 He dodged out of cover just in time to see that others had responded to
the threat.  Five teenage girls, to be precise.  The _young_ half of
teenage.  There was something familiar about them, that tugged at Ian's
mind.  He shook it off and started to run towards the monster, gun
upraised.  The monster hadn't noticed them yet; it was still concentrating
on Ian.  Those girls were going to get themselves killed not knowing when
to run and when to....

Windir: I believe this also falls under the 'famous last words' cliche, 
which the narrator remarks upon.

 "JUPITER POWER, MAKE UP!"
 /Huh?/

Frito: You don't wanna know. Ya really don't wanna know. He he he...

 Suddenly, he stopped.  His eyes widened slightly as he realised
something.  Sailor fuku.  Meatballs.  Senshi.  It all fit.  Ian realised
just who it was who had replaced the Knight Sabers in this book.
 "Oh no," Ian muttered under his breath.

Windir: Some things are more memorable than others, no doubt.

Lyra: For particularly good reasons.

 Long ago, back before all this business with the bookshop had ever
happened, back when the worst Ian had to worry about was homework being in
late, Ian had been `introduced' to Japanese anime by a friend of his.  One
of them had been a dubbed series named "Sailor Moon".
 "CRESCENT BEAM!"
 "Oh god, oh man, oh shit...."
 Ian, personally, couldn't stand it.  The closest thing he had to compare
it with was an American TV programme called "Mighty Morphin' Power
Rangers", a show so corny and stupid that it didn't even merit watching for
the idiotic monsters.  The plot of each episode of MMPR was identical to
every other one. New monster goes around causing chaos.  Power Rangers go
and trounce new monster.  Evil megalomaniac sorceress controlling operation
causes new monster to grow to Godzilla height.  Power Rangers call their
dinosaur inspired mechanoids and trounce Godzilla-size new monster.
Admittedly, they didn't then all go back home and have a round of ginger
beer, but the last five minutes of each episode appeared to be devoted to
learning some kind of moral.  Apparently, Power Rangers had done really
well in the States.

Lyra: You know, I think our friend here would really get along with Mike, 
right about now.

 He was stuck for twenty-four hours in the middle of a book he neither
liked nor cared about.  A little girl's book.  He believed `kawaii' was the
word his friend had described it.  Japanese for "cute".  And that it was.
Ian could almost puke.
 "FIRE SOUL!"
 He was in their reality now.  He was bound by their laws of physics and
their way of doing things.  He was, to all intents and purposes, trapped.

Frito: Dum, da DUM dum! Dum, da DUM dum dum DUMMM...

Windir: Frito, if you are going to attempt to hum the Dragnet theme, you 
could at least attempt to hum in tune.

Author's Notes:  Fourth chapter.  It's over, thank god ^_^

Windir: <Raising an eyebrow> Oh? You seemed to handle it quite capably.

Frito: Yeah, you did pretty good!

Lyra: I thought you said you didn't like it?

Frito: Um, well... <Shuffles feet> I lied.

Books/Bubblegum Crisis/Sailor Moon
"Boomers and Youmas"

Part 2 : "Kawaii Just Doesn't Cut It"

Frito: <Making Bambi eyes> What'sa matter... don't you like me when I'm 
cute?

Lyra: Maybe we could give him to the rabbits at the Destiny Production 
Office for a while?

Windir: No, I fear it would be too much.

Lyra: For him?

Windir: For *them*.

 There are many facts of life.  Some of these are particularly strange
facts, and some are only based on superstition or hearsay, but there
appears to be truth in most of them.  Like, whenever you plan a picnic, the
skies cloud over.  Or when you get a plumber around, they can never make it
today, it's always "next week, maybe the week after".  It is often said,
that fact is stranger than fiction.  This is very true.
 One group of facts are known vaguely as Murphy's Laws.  However, one of
his laws sums up the whole group quite succinctly, and was known more
famously as Murphy's or Sod's law.  It goes like this: "Anything that _can_
go wrong, _will_ go wrong."
 Fiction is riddled with such key phrases, where the hero suddenly says
something like: "That was too easy," or "_This_ is a heavily guarded
fortress?" or some other boastful sentence like that.  And then storms of
monsters rush in, surprising the said hero.  You _know_ what's going to
happen as soon as they say it.  And so, it becomes a fact.  A fact of
fiction, if you will.
 Whenever someone thinks or says that "Things just couldn't get worse,"
the universe has a way of rearranging things so that they do.  This is a
well-known fact, and has led various cultures to come up with superstitious
phrases designed to protect people from the consequences of this fact; such
as "touch wood", for example.  Ian has promised many times to give up
intoning the former of the two phrases mentioned, but old habits, bad or
good, do die hard.
 The universe isn't fussy about _when_ it gets people back.  Just as long
as they _are_ got back.
 In Ian's case however, the universe usually makes an exception.
 Improbability fields have nothing on what the universe sometimes does to
get Ian Robinson back.

Windir: A most intriguing dissertation. I like it.

Lyra: Oh. <Rolling eyes> Heaven help us if you ever get *excited* about 
something. I doubt the universe would survive the experience.

Windir looks mildly puzzled.

 Ian came back to his, admittedly ragged, senses to find all five girls
looking at him.  He wondered why.  He ran his still recovering mind over
the last few minutes to find out the reason.  Unfortunately, he was trying
to get over his preliminary shock over the current events, so he wasn't as
quick as he usually was.
 /Fighting the monster futilely... no, there _are_ some people stupid
enough to do that other than me.  Firing off lasers in a modern day
world... nah, they'd never think it was anything than another gun.  I hope.
Besides, it doesn't shine a candle next to their powers.  Watching them
transform... uh... um... they _might_ have noticed it..../  Ian glanced at
them.  /Of course, they were rather focused on the monster at the time..../
 /Sticking around in the vicinity of a crazed monster... uh-uh, as before,
there are people stupid enough to stick around and watch fights like this.
Screaming "No" just after they whipped the monster's ass... nope, that
couldn't..../  He stopped, and went over that thought again, more carefully
this time so his mind could cope.
 /Uh oh./

Lyra: Heh. Another good passage. I really like these moments of Awful 
Realization, you know...

 Ever so carefully, hoping not to break any stalemate that might be in
force, he put his gun away.  He thought he could hear the senshi whispering
fiercly to each other.  He turned, a little faster than he really wanted
to, and started making for the nearest exit.  The words "Dark Kingdom" and
"Youma" drifted to him from the girls, as well as the strange paranoid
feeling of furtive glances being directed at him.  He started walking
faster.  Not running, at least, not yet.  He'd learnt that lesson the hard
way; running brings attention.  He remembered reading a very good book that
had something about that.  Something about the time to run was when someone
said....
 "Hey, you!"
 /Oh yeah, that was it./
 Ian ran.

Windir: With a herd of crazed sumo wrestlers in pursuit, no doubt.

Frito: Windy, is dere somethin' wrong with your eyes or somethin'? Those 
are some bodacious babes!

Lyra: <Dryly> Depends on how you look at it, Frito. 

 The woman behind it looked at him, or rather the state of his attire, in
astonishment, but Ian gave her no chance to respond.  He placed the note
carefully in front of her, and said, half in a daydream, "One coffee,
please."
 The waitress turned and picked up a mug.  She got as far as the coffee
machine when Ian cleared his throat.
 "I meant a pot," he continued, stopping her in her tracks.  "Black,
please."

Lyra: If he starts asking for chicken, or the waitress breaks into soul 
music, I'm going to scream. Or kill the author. I'm not sure which. 
<Grins nastily>

 Beryl smiled at that.  "Good.  You impress me, Kunzite, with your quick
thinking.  I hope you will not disappoint me again."
 /Irony,/ thought Kunzite with despair.  /I think I liked it better when
she was more open with the threats./  "Yes, my Queen."  He bowed at his
mistress, and then disappeared into the darkness.

Lyra: Sounds like she's been taking lessons. I wonder how much Havelock 
charged her?

 Another interesting point was that the power base hadn't been centered on
Earth.  Indeed, each of the planets had their own linage and kingdom, but
as often occurs, there was one nation upon which all the others rested on.
 Of course, that's all so much dust now.
 Moondust, naturally.

Windir groans; Lyra chuckles, while Frito looks confused.

 Ten minutes later, the senshi meeting was over.  Everyone was heading
home - generally by the scenic routes - and Usagi was no exception.  Luna
suspected Usagi had deliberately chosen this route _just_ so that she could
say....
 "Oh, look, an icecream parlour!  Let's go in!"  Luna mentally chalked one
up on her princess.

Windir: Certain things are indeed predictable. <Looks down at Frito> And 
certain people.

Frito: Hey! What's dat supposed ta mean?

 Secret identities are always very hard to keep.  Most known superheros
try to keep them secret by wearing masks, or trying some subtle change of
appearance: taking off glasses, for instance, or wearing a ton of powered
armour.  It varies with personal preference.

Lyra: Heh.

 Ian wiped his eyes again, wishing they'd stop watering so he could see
properly.  With a final hack, he brought up the last of the icecream, and
swallowed it properly.  His vision cleared slightly, and he noticed that
he'd finished his icecream.  He moved to get up and leave as soon as
possible.

Windir: One would almost think the author had experienced this. Again, 
well done.

 Ian yelped and fell back in his chair, forcing the cat to leap onto his
chest.  He lay there looking at the ceiling for a while.  It was at least
something that wasn't about to jump out at him.  It stayed where it was,
and if it was about to move, it would give him prior warning.  So relaxing.

Windir: Unfortunately, it is but a temporary phenomenon.

Lyra: <In a just-where-did-you-get-*that*-idea tone> Oh, really?

 From the shadows of a nearby alley, an unseen observer looked on as a
young man wearing a brown weatherbeaten leather jacket raced out of the
icecream parlour, and skidded around the corner, out of view.
 About a minute later, the observer watched as a young girl and her cat
also emerged, looking both ways in consternation, before walking off in, as
luck would have it, exactly the same direction.
 Unnoticed, the observer slipped further back into the alley.  Things
appeared to be going well, but it was a pity that Ian hadn't teamed up with
the Senshi yet.  That was disappointing.  Mind you, he'd only had an hour
here so far, but for the plan to work, it had to be seen that Robinson and
the Sailor Senshi were working together.

Lyra: You'd think he'd know better by now. Ian seems to have -- well, not 
just a habit, but a positive *talent* -- for getting caught in the middle 
of things like this. Poor guy.

 This is all very tiresome, and there can never be _one_ generalisation,
since somebody somewhere will think of an inventive way to be original, so
all that is really needed is that Ian is classed as a hero, and heroes are
generally very hard to kill.

Frito: Sez you!

Windir: I believe the author was discussing the word 'kill,' Frito. 
<Smiles evilly at him> He said nothing about 'Grievous Bodily Harm,' now, 
did he?

 The whole point about all this, is that you have to realise that there
are forces in this realm that are often working in the background.  If
Chronos attempted a full frontal assualt to destroy Ian Robinson, it would
most assuredly fail.  Probably.

Frito: Somethin' ya can really count on, you bet. <Mutters something 
about 'bloody clever authors.'>

 But, something is most certainly different this time.  Chronos was just a
little ticked off by his meeting with Beryl.  He felt that Beryl needed to
be taken down a peg or two.  However, he couldn't do that _himself_; that
would be breaking the rules.  He needed Beryl later, so any outright
confrontation would end up with Beryl concentrating more on Chronos than on
the Senshi, or even Ian.  Obviously, Ian would have to be the one to anger
Beryl.
 Something unprecendented is going to happen.
 Chronos is going to actually help Ian.  Even if it _is_ in the short
term.

Frito: Heh heh heh. Watch that last step, buddy, it's a lulu!

 End Chapter 6

Windir: Ah. So it's that time, is it?

Frito: Where's da next part?

[Editor's note: It had better be *soon*. Like *really* soon. Trust me. 
You thought a DBTFH was bad, wait'll I sic a rabid Frito on you... ^_^]

Windir: <Shudder> Something to be devoutely avoided, I can assure you.

Lyra: <Looks impishly at Frito> Funny, I never notice the difference.

Frito: Why, you --

Frito jumps up and tries to tackle Lyra; she hops lightly up on the 
seatback and runs for the emergency exit, shooting taunting looks back at 
him. Windir settles back, shaking his head ruefully... but with a slight 
smile on his face.




Travis Butler
(The Professor, once on Myth and Magick!, now floating off in cyberspace;
 tbutler@tfs.net, <http://www.tfs.net/~tbutler/>;
 Mac page <http://www.tfs.net/business/tbutler/>)

...Cats are the proof of a higher purpose to the universe.