[FanFic] - BGC/HL - Hopelessly Lost

[MegaZone]

2 AUGUST 1992

The black sky rumbled, then split wide open, brilliant white
light roaring down onto a hilltop outside a city, in front of a
bizarre stone edifice. There was a roaring noise, a tearing wind that
ripped leaves from trees in the wake of the light. A thunderous,
earsplitting crash of sound blasted glass out of buildings on the
outskirts of the city.
Then there was darkness and silence again.
In the city, hardly anyone noticed.
Three people stirred in the blackened blast zone of the light.
The largest sat up and put a hand to his head, inadvertently pushing
the baseball cap off; it flopped to the scorched earth. He groaned
and looked at his watch.

12:00
12:00
12:00
12:00

"Shit," he muttered.
"What the fuck?" another muttered, getting to his knees and
shaking his head, his thick hair shedding soot.
"Ouch. Are we dead?" the third asked, feeling his own head
for a hat and not finding one. "Shit. Lost my hat."
The big one got to his feet and looked out over the city.
Then he shrugged dejectedly. "Only if Hell is a big city," said
MegaZone.
"I kinda doubt that," Gryphon told him.
"Shall we check it out?" ReRob queried.
"Might as well," said Zoner, and they started walking down the
hill.
None of them noticed Bancroft Tower; none had looked back.

Eyrie Productions
in association with
Up Too Late Productions, DisInc.
presents

A Discordia Production
Of A WaveDrag Film

Hopelessly Lost
(It's not Undocumented Features, really.)

Benjamin D. Hutchins Brian D. Bikowicz

Copyright (c) 1993 Benjamin D. Hutchins and Brian D. Bikowicz

"Oh shit," ReRob said, hanging around in front of the Mobil
and waiting for Gryphon to get out from buying his Pepsi (being dead
is thirsty work). "This is Worcester."
"How lame," Zoner complained. "We walk into the jaws of doom
to save the entire universe, and wind up back in Worcester? I am most
pointedly not dead. That pisses me off!"
A motorcycle pulled up to the gas pumps. The rider got off,
pulled the cable out of the jack in the side of his head, and walked
toward the store, pulling off his gloves--wait a second. What was
that bit about the cable?
"I think maybe there's a little more to this than we first
thought, Rob," Zoner said. ReRob began beating his head rhythmically
against the store, chanting ancient Latin.

7 DECEMBER 1993

It was dark in the city of Worcester, dark and cold. Winter
had the metropolis in an iron grip. It was three in the morning; no
one was out. The streets were deserted, the nightspots had closed an
hour ago, everyone was home, in bed, huddled against the cold, asleep.
Well, almost everyone.
The door to an apartment near the campus of Worcester
Polytechnic Institute opened and someone stepped out of it. He was
shortish, five foot seven or so, and rather stocky; he wore beat-up
black and white hightops, black fatigue pants, and was zipping up a
leather jacket as he emerged. He had on fingerless driving gloves and
a battered gray cap, and even though it was dark, he was wearing a
pair of iridium mirrorshades.
Gryphon turned around and closed the door to E7, then glanced
at his watch; he turned and crossed Institute Road, heading for the
vehicle that waited for him on the other side. This was not an
ordinary motor vehicle; it was a gleaming blue-green Chevrolet Camaro,
its windows blacked. He unlocked and opened the door, sliding behind
the wheel with the practiced ease of someone who is well-versed in the
use of his car.
The door closed with a satisfying whomp and a hiss of air; he
sat in the dark of the car for a moment before slipping the key into
the lock. Immediately the dash lighted up, running all of its checks
(all bar graphs sweep from off to full and back, all needles to top
and back down, all eq lights and volume graph to full and down, single
sweep on the radar display, et cetera); the form-fitting seat and
ergonomically designed controls were bathed in a soft blue light. He
fastened his five-point harness, then took the lead from the headrest
beside him and jacked it into his shades. Then he turned the key.
A flash of red light hit his right eye, not damaging his night
vision, as the computer checked his retinal pattern against those
registered in its archive as authorized operators; the pattern checked
positive as primary operator. Full authorization start-up mode was
engaged. The engine, a Mark Three fusion turbine, started up with the
dull, almost internal-combustion rumble of its type, sucking air in
through the twin ramscoops on the hood. The Camaro was what Gryphon
referred to as a "proper" car, with the engine in front "where it
belonged" and the power going to the rear wheels "like a civilized
machine" (although it could be directed to the front as well), and
analog gauges (although the technophile in him accepted the bar graph
backups).
Gryphon smiled; he loved this car. There was a knock at the
passenger window; Gryphon's head swung to look. It was Zoner. He
tabbed the power locks; the passenger door unlocked with a clunk and
Zoner opened it up, sticking his head inside.
"Where you headed?" Zoner asked.
"Out," Gryphon replied. "Dunno where."
"Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all."
"Cool." Zoner threw his bag in back, got in and shut his
door; Gryphon put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.
Undocumented Features was playing, ironically enough. That was an odd
experience. Life was shit, but for now, that could be held at bay.
They cruised in what would have been silence if not for the
music for some time. The sky was thickening, the dark of the night
becoming impenetrable; the headlights of the car were having a problem
cutting through the darkness. Gryphon shrugged, switched on his night
vision systems, and turned them off; the view of the outside world
turned red inside his shades. Hmmm...image amp was getting very
little, that would be more dangerous than the lights... passive IR
wasn't doing much better...active IR patched through the variable
headlights--ah! Clear as day. Gotta love those 100,000-watt IR
lamps. Just as long as nobody looks right at them with a passive IR
sensor...ouch!
"I hate it when you do that," Zoner said.
"Why?"
"I can't see anything."
"Oh, sorry." Gryphon tabbed on the windshield IR filter.
"Since I got the shades, I tend to forget that."
"Yeah, you've got all the cheater toys...too bad you're not
rigged."
"I can still take you on, wirehead."
"Try me anytime, nature boy."
"I can't very well do that if your car's dead again."
"It's not dead! I'm having some work done to it."
"Why, so you can keep up with my car?"
"I still can't believe you bought this thing." Zoner shook
his head. His Daytona was nice, yes, and modified up the ass--but
this car had matched or exceeded most of its modified capabilities
from the factory, and that annoyed him greatly. The arms race was out
of control.
"What can I say, I'm a nut...it could be worse, it could be J.
B. Gibson's car..."
"Goddess... Christine with armor. That'd be something."
"And when the odometer hits zero--you die. Nice car."
A flash of lightning split the sky above them and thunder
roared over the music and the car's soundproofing.
"Whoa!" Zoner observed, looking up through the
semi-transparent roof. "Check that out. Lightning in December?"
"And no rain, either. This is weird." It happened again.
And again. The sky was starting up a war with itself.
"Go up to Bancroft."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"Oookaaay..."

The epicenter of the lightning phenomenon was right over
Bancroft Tower. None of the energy was hitting the ground; it was all
striking clouds and wracking the sky, lightning bolts crashing against
each other as though Zeus and Leir were fighting it out once and for
all. And the nexus of it all was above Bancroft.
"See? Did I tell you there was something about the Tower?"
"Weeeeird," was all Ben had to say. He slipped down his
shades, turned off the IR, and just watched. The darkness was even
thicker; all they could see was the Tower, illuminated by the warring
thunderbolts. Even the lights that normally shone on the Tower were
muted. The blanket of light that was the city was invisible, as
though the entire city of Worcester had up and moved since they
ascended the hill.
"I think we should get out of here, man," said Gryphon. He
sounded quite nervous.
"Yeah..." Zoner muttered. "Yeah, I think you're right.
Whatever this is, I don't like it. Let's go."
"For once you agree with me." Gryphon put the car in gear and
turned the IR back on, pushing up his shades. As the car started to
move, lightning started striking around it. For some reason, the
electronics were unaffected; except, of course, for the fact that the
radar was going mad.
"I don't liiiike thiiiis," Gryphon muttered, slewing the
vehicle expertly around the corner. The car shot out of the
conflagration--except that one bolt shot out and struck it unerringly
in the roof. The vehicle was engulfed in light-- and suddenly, they
were streaking right for the Tower, back the way they came, right into
the wall of thunderbolts.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAA--*"
The sudden storm vanished with all the abruptness with which
it had arrived. All was once again normal at Bancroft Tower, after
one brilliant flash and a thunderclap that shattered windows for a
block and a half. Gryphon, MegaZone, and the vehicle that had carried
them were gone. All that remained was a large black spot on the
pavement in front of Bancroft Tower.

"*--AAAAAAAaaahuh?!"
The Camaro plunged out of the lightstorm into another street.
It was yet night. But...
"Where's Bancroft Tower? Where the hell are we?" Zoner
demanded.
"Dunno. The nav comp is going berserk. According to it,
we're--gk? What the fuck! We are not in Tokyo!" Gryphon tapped the
nav comp's face with a fingertip. It remained true to its claim.
"According to this, this city's layout as relayed by the navsats is
close enough to error tolerances to be Tokyo. There are major
discrepancies, but according to the computer, they can be put down to
outdated local software. Rrrrr..."
"Gryphon, what the hell is going on? We didn't jump
dimensions AGAIN did we?"
"I wish I knew." They cruised easily into a side street; the
car didn't seem to be damaged at all. And there was no doubt that
this city was much more active at night than Worcester was. Also
dirtier, larger-seeming, more crowded, and populated by very strange
vehicles. And all the signs were in that strange amalgam of Japanese
and English so common in urban Japan. It did indeed appear to be
Tokyo.
"How the fuck did we wind up in Tokyo?"
"Dunno. Bancroft Tower teleported us? Welcome to The Final
Countdown, Part II. I'm beginning to see this as a surreal day..."
"And why doesn't this look like Tokyo? This place is
too...too..."
"Too futuristic."
"Yeah. And these cars are very strange." Zoner took a small
plastic case out of his jacket pocket, selected a triangular silicon
chip from among its contents, and slotted it into his chipjack.
"Well, at least I can ask for directions now...what're you gonna do,
without any chrome?"
"I suppose I'll have to rely on my natural fluency in the
language...what do you think I did all summer, work or something?"
"Argh."
"Wulp, what can I say? I got bored."
"Tell me you at least used 'trodes."
"Nope. Hypnopaedia and retention drugs. All-natural."
"Oh, yeah, retention drugs, real natural."
"More natural than running wires through my head..."
"Think we oughtta ask where we are? I mean, after all, if
this is Tokyo, we've gotta figure out some way to get back."
"Truth. Ok, fine. You've got the almighty Chip...you ask."
Gryphon sighted a slot in traffic and pulled to the curb. It annoyed
Gryphon that they were on the left. Wait a second--
"Zoner, something else is wrong here. They're driving on the
left. The Japanese drive on the right!"
"They do in 1993, in the dimension we were just in."
"You mean you think--"
"I'm almost certain of it. Look around, doesn't this city
look at all familiar to you?"
"Yeah...it looks like a big, dirty, decaying city. Like Los
Angeles in Blade Runner, or New York anytime, or Gotham--"
"Or MegaTokyo?"
"Oh no...recursion alert, recursion alert--MegaZone, what tape
are we listening to?"
"I know...spooky, isn't it? But we've proof that
transfictional universes exist, right? Roll with it," Zoner rolled
down his window and hailed a passing pedestrian in Japanese. The
pedestrian responded in Japanese--roll SAN--and, confused, told
MegaZone that he was indeed in MegaTokyo and yes, it was 2032,
February 14, to be exact--why did he ask such a silly question?
Ben's forehead hit the steering wheel with an audible wumph.
Zoner thanked the confused pedestrian for his help and rolled the
window back up. Not wishing to make a scene, Gryphon pulled back into
traffic. They drove a while in silence.
Finally, Gryphon broke that silence, saying, "Ok...we were hit
by lightning. I'm unconscious right now, slumped over the steering
wheel of the mangled, twisted mass of metal that was once my car,
piled into those concrete things by Bancroft. Either I'll come to in
a hospital and everything will be fine, or I'll die soon from lack of
blood or exposure or internal injuries or something stupid like that.
Either way, this is not happening. You are one with the dashboard,
should've worn your seat belt, deal with it later--"
"Dude, dude, you're losing it. Calm down. This is weird, but
we can handle it. Besides, I always wear my seat belt."
"Oh, well, aren't we taking this sudden inversion of the
universe well."
"It isn't any weirder than ending up in a universe we
created," MegaZone offered.
"That's supposed to make me feel better? I'm several thousand
miles and forty years from home, as well as, probably, a couple of
dozen parallel dimensions--unless I'm in a coma someplace dreaming all
of this. Wonder what Death Level I'm at...?"
"And I'm dreaming it with you? Not likely. I mean, I know
you receive me well, but--"
"You're just something my neurons are firing at me to keep my
guard up. Stress personified by my tattered mind into something I can
talk to."
"If this was a dream we'd be under the ocean or on the moon or
something by now. You know dreams can't stay constant. Stop trying
to deny it. You know as well as I that we have indeed jumped into a
new dimension. Now, how long until we run into a Vaughn?"
"Dreams can remain constant. Some of the ones I've had about
the UF universe have. Just like real life...or at least, I suppose
so...constant right through to the end, though. No weird background
shifts, characters changing persona, streets laid out differently,
rooms changing place on me--rock solid reality, till I woke up. This
is one of those. Besides, how do you know what a coma dream is like?
Shut up, you're not even here."
"I'm just telling you what I think. This is real. Somehow I
don't think a floating persona in a dream would be trying to convince
you the dream was real. Besides, UF turned out to be all too real.
So why not this? If we can create a universe by writing, why not
others?"
"You never know...maybe my subconscious is trying to get me
back for all the times I've disappointed it by waking back up to
reality."
"Well, be that as it may, we're here for the time being
anyway. We have to find someplace to sleep. We're not gonna find
anything around here. Try and get on a highway or something."
"Yes, master." Gryphon selected the next right-turn lane and
within moments was on one of those ubiquitous gently curving
multilayer expressway-type things that are all over MegaTokyo. The
road was empty, except for them, it seemed.
A light appeared in the rear view mirror some minutes later,
beginning to gain; Gryphon was seized by that familiar "someone's
behind me" anxiety. He kept glancing back at it--he was using the
regular lights now, not knowing MegaTokyo's policy on special
nightvision gear in civilian vehicles. It was growing, a single point
of white light...either a car with one light out--not likely--or a
motorcycle.
"Maybe it isn't the MegaTokyo we think it is," Zoner said.
"Could be there's nothing special about it at all, just forty more
years of technology and--"
The motorcycle passed them. Low-slung, red, fast fast fast,
carrying a clearly female rider in red leathers and helmet, brown hair
flying in the slipstream. Unmistakable.
Ben slapped a hand to his forehead. Zoner's voice trailed off
into nothing and he went silent for a moment before adding, "--never
mind."

MegaTokyo 2032
The Story of Knight Sabers

BUBBLEGUM CRISIS

"I don't believe I just saw that."
"Well, don't just coast here-- catch her!"
"What for? Introduce ourselves? Get blown off because she
thinks we're just a couplea fanboys trying to hit on her? Oh, fun fun
fun."
"Oh come on! You're telling me you don't want to meet Priss?"
"I don't want to chase her down on the goddamn highway! Live
action Car Wars--what a great way to meet women. Maybe we'll get
arrested and meet Nene and Leon too," Gryphon said sardonically.
Nevertheless, he was accelerating. The road predator in him wouldn't
allow him to be taken by a bike, no matter how cool the rider--Kaneda
excepted, possibly, out of a combined bike/rider cool-factor. The
tach began to rise; it was nearing the 12,000-rpm redline when Gryphon
threw the car into sixth.
(The manual magnetohydrodynamic fluid transmission in the 1993
Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 Interceptor has eight forward gears, only five
of which can support legal highway speeds in its native reality. Here
in MegaTokyo? Four.)
Gryphon's mouth twitched into a near-smile as he flipped a
different tape into the tape deck, and before long, the car was filled
with the sounds of stomping feet and clapping hands, and the late
great Freddie Mercury's inimitable voice.

Buddy you're a boy make a big noise playing in the street gonna be a
big man someday / You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kickin'
your can all over the place / Singin' we will, we will rock you!

He found himself wondering if his quarry had ever even heard
of Queen. She was retro enough, he decided; she might have. He'd
have to ask.
The speedometer continued to climb, the bar graph crawling
across toward the air conditioner vents as the needle swung,; 110,
115, 120...they were beginning to gain on the motorcycle. A quick
flash of their headlights from the clear panel on the front of a
motorcycle helmet; she had glanced back. She was on to them. Now
she'd open it up--
The cycle began to pull away. Gryphon grinned and tossed the
gearshift into seventh gear. The Mark Three fusion turbine snarled
heartily. This was what it had been designed for. The Interceptor
model of Camaro Z/28 was, as its name indicated, a police pursuit
vehicle. It looked exactly like a base-model Camaro on the outside,
except for the ramscoops on the hood and the ducted ground effects.
The sounds produced by its fusion turbine were modulated to be
indistinguishable from the lower models' piston engines. Only a tiny
"Z/28 Interceptor" badge on the rear betrayed its nature, and then
only to the few who knew what these cars could truly do.
Its other virtues included a sophisticated multitarget radar
tracking and guidance system, satellite-linked autopilot with
navigational computer, and an onboard, cellular-Net-linked computer
with automatic software that was very, very close to being an
artificial intelligence (in fact, Gryphon had often meant to upgrade
it to a true AI, but never had the time). Its gleaming skin was not
steel or ABS composite, but a full half inch of Valiant Lamellor IV
armor plating--suitable for stopping Tesla-II Gauss rifle spikes and
105mm APFSDS rounds. It wasn't painted blue-green; that was currently
the color of its armor. If weighed, the Interceptor would betray its
true nature by being a full ton heavier than the regular Z/28, and of
course, anyone who got a look inside would know instantly that it was
not a normal Camaro. Edison's quarter-million dollars had been well
spent.
In other words...
They pulled alongside Priss in a couple of seconds. The howl
of her engine could be heard inside the Interceptor--she was redlined
and in top gear. The look on what of her face could be seen was one
of incredulity--and envy; Gryphon could tell from his quick glance
over that she wanted a car like this one, or at least, a bike like
this car...
Zoner smiled in a friendly manner and waved, trying to
indicate that she should pull over. Instead, she threw the cycle into
a skid, performing a neat full-speed bootleg and screaming off in the
other direction, popping a momentary wheelie.
Gryphon smiled a feral smile and rammed the wheel to the left,
his feet stapling the clutch and brake to the floorboards. His left
thumb overrode the anti-lock brakes, forcing the wheels to lock; the
Camaro twisted 180 degrees in the road, its M5 rubberized plasteel
tires wailing. As Priss's taillight swung into his HUD again, Gryphon
released the brake override; the antilock system cut in and began to
compensate. Then, as things started to grab, he put the gearshift
back down into second and let out the clutch.
The fusion turbine howled into the night; the wheels bit down
hard and the Camaro rocketed forward. The chase was far from lost.
Another flash off Priss's visor as she glanced back; she had heard the
incredible noise that maneuver had made, no doubt about it. Everybody
in that end of Japan probably had.
The laser rangefinder built into the Interceptor's sensor
suite kept pinging Priss's motorcycle and feeding range readouts to
Gryphon's HUD; he kept her squarely in the brackets as it counted
down.
Then the ceiling of the expressway crumbled in front of them
and something big, blue, and ugly dropped through. Priss attempted to
dodge the pile of rubble and biomechanoid killer; her back tire broke
free and down she went. Luckily, she separated from the bike; cycle
slid into the wall and impacted hard, while rider rolled painfully
across the expressway and fetched up against the median only a little
more gently a few dozen feet down the road.
Gryphon buried the clutch and brake, this time leaving the
antilocker on; speed dropped off so precipitously that Zoner almost
ate dash and Ben let out a hard hiss of air from his harness'
pressure. The car stopped ten or fifteen feet in front of the Buma.
"55c, would you say?" Gryphon inquired calmly.
"I'd say so," Zoner replied. "I don't see any missile racks."
"Mark would kill to be here with us."
"Yeah... Too bad we can't go get him."
The Buma surveyed its surroundings for a moment; then an
ADPolice chopper swung down into the expressway from above, opening up
with its chaingun.
"Oh look," Gryphon said, pointing. "A Wasp. How cute."
"How utterly doomed," Zoner added, laughing twistedly. As if
it had heard him, the Buma blew the chopper away, apparently annoyed
by its mosquito impression. On the shoulder, Priss stirred and showed
signs of attempting to get up. The Buma turned its attention to her.
"Hmmm..." Gryphon tabbed the switch by the headlight knob
marked COMBAT MODE. The ports over the forward machine-guns slid open
and the missile rack in the front air dam opened up; a Predator-style
targeting reticule appeared around the Buma as the laser rangefinder
took up its secondary role. Gryphon put the Interceptor in
reverse-first and opened it up. The Buma noted itself being lased and
turned to face them, its mouth opening.
"Shit--" Gryphon said.
It fired the particle cannon thereinstalled; Gryphon wrenched
the wheel to the right and dodged the bolt, then tabbed one of the
switches on the ceiling above the mirror.
A largish, four-finned missile launched from the air dam,
spiraled picturesquely, and blew the Buma to bits.
"Yes!" Gryphon said, pumping a fist.
"Good shot," Zoner said, and they shared a high five. Gryphon
put the car back into first and drove slowly over to Priss, who was
still trying to make it to a kneeling-type position.
She abruptly found herself semi-surrounded by
concerned-looking total strangers, two in all.
"Who're...you guys anyway?" she asked, pulling herself at last
to hands and knees.
"Take it easy, we're friends," Zoner said.
"Would be, anyway," Gryphon qualified. "It's not totally our
decision."
"We're on your side, anyway."
"What side is that?"
"The good guys, of course," said Gryphon with a grin. "Come
on, let us help you up."
"I can manage." She got to one knee, straightened, gasped in
pain, and fell back to hands and knees.
"Don't be so tough all the time," Gryphon said, offering a
hand again. "You remind me of someone else I know..."
"Et tu, Gryphon?" Zoner said sarcastically. He went over to
check on her bike.
Priss looked up, then slowly took his hand and let him help
her up. Nothing appeared broken--the miracle of leathers--but, like
ow?
"Your bike's trashed," Zoner called, standing over what was
left of it.
"Not like I could--ow--ride it anyway," Priss muttered. "Why
the hell did you chase me?"
"We wanted to talk to you," Gryphon said, rather sheepishly.
"It was the best thing we could think of on the spur of the moment."
"That's some car you've got."
"Thanks...I take some minor pride in it..."
"Yeah," Zoner snorted. "You take some minor pride in your car
the way I had a little something to do with Akira showing at WPI...
Well, our WPI...well, our old WPI..." He grinned at Priss and hooked
a thumb at Ben. "He loves that car more than anything else in the
world."
"Never know it--ouch--the way you beat it," Priss told
Gryphon.
"Hey--I drive hard, true, but I take care of it!" Gryphon
patted a fender with almost paternal pride. "This car never wants for
anything."
"Christ, Gryphon, you're starting to remind me of Leona."
"Worry when I start sleeping in it. Which reminds me, we've
still got no place to sleep tonight. Uh, I hate to be the one to ask,
since we've only just met and all, but do you have a couch or a floor
or something we could crash on? We're kinda desperate..."
"I don't believe this! You guys pop up out of nowhere, chase
me down, I wreck my bike, and now you want to crash at my place? I
don't even know your names!"
"Well...geez, details, details. I'm not feeding you a line or
anything here, this isn't some lame pickup attempt--I know full well
how that kind of thing would work out. I'm Ben Hutchins--friends call
me Gryphon--and my illustrious colleague is Brian `MegaZone' Bikowicz,
who takes serious offense if anyone refers to him by his legal name.
He most often answers to `Zoner'. We just hit town tonight, under
somewhat less than clear circumstances which we don't understand,
really, ourselves."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, half an hour ago we were in Worcester,
Massachusetts, and it was December 7th, 1993," said Zoner.
"Bullshit."
"Didn't think you'd believe it," Zoner commented.
"Look at it this way," Gryphon said. "What possible reason
would we have for telling you something that wild if it wasn't the
truth? It certainly wouldn't help our cause any if it was a lie.
We're confused and tired, and we need a place to crash. You, on the
other hand, are hurt, and probably tired, and you need a ride back
into town. I'm willing to give you that ride, with or without a place
to crash in return--that's the kind of nice guy I am. Look, you saw
how fast my car is--I could've just cleared out and left you to the
Buma. I'm an honest guy. So is Zoner. All we want is a little help,
and we've got some help to offer in return."
"How do I know this isn't just some kind of trick to get me
into that car?"
"You don't. All you have is my solemn word of honor that
nothing will happen to you. If you want blood on it I'll give it to
you. Besides, think about it; if we were psychos or murderers or
kidnappers or rapists or Buma or worse, in the shape you're in, we
wouldn't have to trick you into the car..."
"And you?" she asked, looking at Zoner.
Zoner shrugged. "I can't think of anything to say that he
hasn't already said...besides, he's the driver, not me."
"Well, this is an interesting development..." Priss walked
slowly and painfully over to the wreckage of her bike, looked at it
for a second, then turned around and looked at Gryphon and MegaZone,
who stood by the car smiling pleasantly. There was something about
the two of them that inclined her to trust them...and Priss was not
one to trust people by instinct. And she did dearly want to see the
inside of that car.
She limped back over and stood in front of Gryphon for a
second. Then, without warning, she belted him, a right cross, hard.
His head twisted to the right and some blood spattered the pavement,
but it swung right back; Edison and Master Caine had prepared him for
much worse. He looked quizzically at her, raising a hand to rub his
jaw.
"Making sure you're not a Buma," she said. She turned to
Zoner, found herself looking at the cockpit of an RAH-66, looked up,
and then turned back to Gryphon. "Ok. I don't know why, but I trust
you--for now. Let's go."
"You can hit me too if it will make you feel better," Zoner
offered sweetly.
"Umm... I don't think that will be necessary."
"Well, whatever."
"I'm a doctor," Gryphon mentioned as she got into the back
seat. "I could take a look at your injuries if you like. I imagine
you won't."
"Good--ow--call."
"Yeah, I thought as much. Why doesn't anyone ever trust
doctors?"
"Thanks, but I kind of like my doctors to be old enough to
drink, you know?"
"That's not fair. I am old enough to drink. And what about
Doogie Howser? He doesn't even shave."
"Who?"
"Oh, never mind."

"Weird day weird day weird day," Ben muttered as he unpacked
the emergency field kit. "Fweird day." Four weeks field rations,
won't be needing those; sleeping bag, ah, useful; toothbrush etc.,
very handy; water tablets, what's the point of those anyway?; tent,
not necessary; small package of Ziploc bags, what're these in here
for?; thermal underwear, yahright, in summer in Tokyo; empty Pepsi
can, what the hell?; box of Trojans, who the hell packed this thing?!;
cordless phone?!?! Ok, that does it. Close the damn kit and put it
back in the trunk.
He picked up the small box of bathroom-type stuff and the
rolled-up sleeping bag, made certain the car was locked, and then went
into the apartment.

Gryphon stretched out on the sofa, then curled up into a ball,
pulling his sleeping bag around him. Fucking strange day. He drifted
into the fringe areas of sleep, wondering if maybe, when he awoke, it
would all be different again.
"Hey Gryph?" Zoner's voice rattled him out of his haze.
"What?"
"D'you think we're doing this for some kind of reason?"
"What?"
"You know...bouncing around like this. Do you think there's a
point to it? Like quantum leaping, you know...do you think there's a
purpose?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's oh god hundred hours and I've been dimensionally
displaced today. I'm not in the mood to discuss Quantum Leap.
Besides, I don't believe in that `here for a purpose' shit...the
universe is just fucking with us. Go to sleep."
"Ok, ok...geez, what a shitty outlook. That's my job."

Somewhere in the back of his unconscious mind, there was the
sound of a curtain being racked back. Light blasted across his
eyelids, filtering into his mind and yanking him away. He turned away
from the light, opened his eyes, then looked back. Zoner was standing
in the window, looking out over MegaTokyo (well, more like under
MegaTokyo, considering where Priss's flat was).
"Shut that goddamned curtain," Gryphon mumbled. "What're you
trying to do, kill me?"
"Morning, Gryph," Zoner said. "We're still here."
"No shit. Could we have discovered that in a less painful
manner?" Gryphon inquired, sitting up. He hated sleeping in his
clothes. "Eugh, I hate this. My mouth tastes like the floor of a
taxicab." He made a face.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Oh yeah, I love sleeping on assorted motorcycle parts. It's
a big part of my life." He rubbed his neck, then gave it a most
satisfying crack. "Augh. We have to find someplace to live."
Zoner looked around the kipple-strewn, small room, with a huge
stack of CDs in one corner, leaning drunkenly on a stereo and amp,
with speakers scattered here and there and a guitar leaning across a
chair, and comic books and newspapers everywhere, and said, "I kinda
like it here."
"You would," Gryphon replied. "Looks just like goddamn E7.
It doesn't matter if you like it here, this isn't our place. I kind
of doubt that Priss would be particularly happy if we moved into her
living room."
"True," said Zoner, cracking his neck. "I think we'd be sick
of it soon enough anyway."
"I'm sick of it now," Gryphon said. "I was never the
sleepover type."
"Hmm...well, first, we'd have to have money, which probably
involves getting jobs..."
"Doesn't that just suck."
"Doesn't it, though."
"Morning guys," Priss greeted them as she limped into the
room.
"Morning. How're you feeling today?" Zoner asked concernedly.
"Stiff and sore, but I've been worse." Priss sipped at her
coffee.
"Yeah, those hardsuits can't absorb--oops..."
Priss sprayed her coffee across the kitchen.
Gryphon grabbed at his face and cried, "Doh...! Bart! Sure,
sure, why don't you just tell her we're interdimensional psycho
killers from beyond time and space?! Ravenous Star Groaties! Spies
from Planet Zardon!!" Gryphon raved.
"Hey, it just sort of slipped, ya'know."
"Ok! I want to know who the hell you guys are, and I want to
know now," Priss asked from behind a rather large gun.
"I just told you," Ben answered.
"He's Ben or Gryphon if you prefer, I'm MegaZone or Zoner. We
did this last night, remember?"
"That's not what the fuck I meant! How do you know about me?"
"Well, um, the dimensional vortex we keep getting sucked into?
It's kinda transfictional. Where we come from you're kind of ink on
sort of a plastic cel, and they changed your voice actress once, and
everyone hated the new one. That gun looks real to me, though. What
do you think, Zoner? That gun definitely looks like the kind of gun I
wouldn't lie to."
"Actually I think it's pretty nice. Looks like a...."
"Zoner! Not now, she's going to shoot me! Back me up!" Ben
snarled.
"Well what do you want me to do? This..." Zoner snapped
across the kitchen nook and snatched the gun from her hand. "Hey,
this IS a nice gun."
"That isn't what I had in mind, but I suppose it'll do."
Gryphon eyed the weapon. "Colt M2000, isn't it?"
Priss meanwhile had begun backing along the wall away from
Zoner, eyeing him with obvious unease.
"Oh, hey, sorry about that. I just didn't want you to drill
Ben. I'd hate to have to explain that one. Here," Zoner removed the
clip and jacked the shell out of the chamber, "you can have this
back."
Priss took the proffered gun from him. "You're a Buma."
"Me, nah, I just have some modifications. I'm human, same as
you. I've got a little electronic assistance, but I can explain that
later. You still plan on drilling us, or can we discuss this
situation over some coffee?"
"Ah, I guess I can always kill you later," Priss said with a
smirk.
"I suppose so, if it makes you feel better, here." Zoner gave
the clip and shell back to her.
"Ben, would you care to join us?"
"I suppose I should." Gryphon stumbled to the kitchen table.
"Coffee. Ugh."
Zoner began the story. "Well, it all started back in the fall
of 1991..."

"You're trying to tell me you altered an entire universe to
match your story. Travelled to that dimension, leapt from there to an
alternate Worcester, and then from there to here," Priss asked, just a
wee bit incredulous.
"You're right, that is a really lame story. The truth is
we're refugees from the Fire Maidens of Outer Space and we came here
because we were sick and tired of the non-stop adoration and sex. We
wanted to be mistreated and have our lives threatened by a woman, so
we came to you," Zoner summed up. "Now, point that gun at him again,
he just loves it."
"Zoner, if I survive this you will die. Slowly. Painfully.
And in a very inglorious manner. A manner that will gain you no
respect on the net at all. A manner that will make the net go, gee,
what a lame fuck that Zoner was. Besides, you're lying, we're really
The The Eye Creatures."
"Hey Crow--rock climbing."
"Rock climbing, Servo."
"Joel? rock climbing."
"Hey, Cambot, rock climbing."
"How much Keefe does this film have?"
"Miles O'Keefe!" they chorused.
"Sorry, Joel, but you won't be watching E.T. this
Thanksgiving. Instead you're going to watch this cheap
Czechoslovakian rip-off called Pod People. It has nothing to do with
pods. It has nothing to do with people. It has everything to do with
hurting. Oh, and just so you don't feel left out, at the end, E.T.
goes home. Ball's in your court, Spielberg. Oh, and I've had Amy
Irving. She's hot!" Gryphon rambled.
Priss was reduced to a quivering ball of laughter, at the same
time quite convinced that both men were totally insane.
"I think we broke her," Zoner observed.
"That we did. But really, I mean gee, wouldn't you? Wouldn't
you laugh if your head exploded? No...I guess you wouldn't. I
would..."
"But to regain some semblance of seriousness. Ben and I are
from a different plane of existence. To us this is a fictional
universe. Of course the universe is infinite in size, and there are
an infinite number of them. So it's no big surprise that it really
exists. It could be worse, we could have ended up in Rocket Attack
USA."
"Um, I know I'm going to regret this. But what is Rocket
Attack USA?"
Zoner cringed a little; he knew what was next.
Gryphon took a deep breath and began, "Well, first of all, Sam
Waterson sends the spy guy in the Piper Cub over to Russia, to the
restaurant with the bad service, and then he meets the girl who dates
a pig, and he lives in her closet for ten years while they develop the
United States rocket program! Yeah, yeah, and like a fine wine the
relationship between the spy girl and the fat stinky balding Russian
pig guy only gets better--and that's disgusting! Enter Leonard
Nimoy/Bill Bixby type...he hands 'em a megaton of TNT, leads 'em into
the woods and suddenly they're having a teary departure like we're
s'posed to care--I mean, we didn't even know the guy was s'posed to be
a Brit, y'know...all he did was say things like `Cheerio' and `good
boy', gaaah. And then Suie the Pig Girl gets shot, in one of the
least dramatic scenes since Date with an Angel, Spy Guy muffs the
bombing on the missile guarded by the Fotomat and then he gets shot in
the same place as Suie the Pig Girl! Oh, cut to New York, where Art
Metrono and Harry Connick eat pizza and buy ties for their stupid
girlfriends and Harry Truman gets off a plane by the sewage dump and
then a blind guy goes by and says `Help me,' what the hell was that
supposed to be?!? And then there's the glorious ending where the
entire center of New York City explodes (except for the perimeters)
and all we learn is that you're supposed to live in the suburbs, not
in the city!"
Priss just sort of stared, slack-jawed.
"Well, you asked," was all Zoner said.
"You guys are very, very strange. But you've convinced me.
Bumas aren't that odd and the way you're talking you must be from
another dimension."
"So, care to introduce us to the rest of the Knight Sabers?
Or should we just go and surprise them ourselves?" Zoner asked.
"Sure! Let's risk getting shot three more times! You can
pick your friends, but time travel partners you're stuck with."
"Hey, it was just an idea... I'd like to shock Nene a bit...
hehe."
"You are cruel. I would be forced by the commands of my
genetic structure to defend my fellow gweep, you realize."
Zoner nodded solemnly. "So, how about it Priss?"
"I guess it couldn't hurt."
"You think Sylia might have jobs for us? We're going to need
to get some new clothes, food, living space, etc... And I think it
might be hard to get a job through normal channels."
"Well, you'll have to talk to her..."
"Bad idea, bad idea, very bad idea, big, big bad, big bad
thing, bad, bad idea."
"Problems, Gryph?"
"Well um... You know... Um... You do remember what kind of
legitimate business the good doctor Stingray runs don't you?"
"A lingerie shop."
"Yes. And I have such a pressing desire to work in a lingerie
shop. It's always been a career goal of mine. There must be a
McDonald's in town. Or some construction work. I have experience
with construction."
"And I suppose you're going to be able to satisfy the
government requirements. Like citizenship. Besides, I was thinking
more along the lines of working on the Knight Saber end of things."
"Yeah, there's legitimate work. I can see myself filling out
my tax report. Occupation, hardsuit technician. Wait a sec, let me
try something...." Long thoughtful pause. "Crosspatch subsection
four to circuit DN413... Would you like fries with that?... Ok, I'm
in."
"Nice to have you aboard... I figure you're pretty good with
the electromechanical end of things and I'm not bad at the electronic
end. Having skillwires has its advantages. Besides, I'm sure the
Knight Sabers could use a doctor, eh?"
"True...and there are just so many things to do on the
electromechanical end of those hardsuits..." Gryphon was starting to
warm to the idea. "At last, a real budget. No more of this
nickel-and-dime five-digit shit...we're talking millions of bucks'
worth of gear here. The armor is probably foamed duranium, injection
cast. The circuit paths are probably molded right in. I can't wait
to get a look inside of them. Wonder what temperature the casting
runs at?"
"You're drooling, Ben... Anyway, how about we take a shower
and head out into the world? Ok Priss?" Zoner asked.
"Oh boy, a shower. Wish I had time to wash my socks. I feel
like such a slob. Next time I'll pack extra clothes before jumping
dimensions."
"Take it easy, there isn't much hot water," Priss warned.
"That's ok, Zoner likes cold, builds character."
"We could always conserve it by sharing," Zoner offered,
receiving a look cold enough to freeze dry from Priss. "Hey, it was a
joke. Really."
"Like I said, Zoner likes cold, builds character."
"Hey, I'm sorry, actually I like it real hot. I may be metal,
but I still have some flesh... Sometimes the lech sort of sneaks out
when I'm not watching."
"Brian, you're a lech," Ben quoted Zoner's old roommate Paul.
"Can we please just drop it? Besides, I wouldn't want to get
on Leon's bad side."
"Leon has a good side?"
"Hey, go easy on the guy; he's a cop, but he's an all right
sort of guy."
"Last time I checked, those two things did not go together."

"They're what?"
"From another dimension."
"Have you been drinking?"
"Linna, I'm serious. If you let them talk for a while, they
can prove it."
"Gryphon? Rocket Attack U.S.A., if you would be so kind?"
"Ahem. Well, first of all..."

"I suspected as much. Have either of you read Dr. Eiji
Kosawa's paper on the possibilities inherent in transfictional
interface?" inquired Sylia.
"No," Zoner replied, "but then again, we're living it."
"Good point."

Gryphon was walking down the street later that day, feeling
pretty good. He had left Zoner back at Sylia's, discussing the ethics
and physics of transfictionality, and was walking toward the video
arcade that Linna had told him about, his clothes clean and with some
money in his pocket. Life wasn't really all that bad. Dr. Stingray
had seemed impressed with his knowledge of electromechanics--the money
in his pocket was an advance on his technical support and assistance.
Having an actual medical doctor around was always a plus as well.
He went into the arcade and was surrounded by the familiar
atmosphere of one: sound effects and garish lighting, and in the
background he could hear the thudding bass of a techno song,
Information Society's "Can't Slow Down", he recognized. A classic, by
this time period. He smiled and went inside, looking around at the
games. He was looking for something a little more archaic than he was
used to back "home" in Worcester: an old-style video game, maybe even
an early goggles-and-gloves VR game like Gunslinger or Starfighter
2121. It occurred to him then that there were no couch-and-jack games
here. Most of them were old-style analog games, and there were a lot
of cockpit simulators. He smiled to himself. Forty years in the
future from his Worcester, MegaTokyo was behind in some areas of
technology, just starting the Chrome Revolution that had happened in
1965 "back home". Actual hardlink cyberjacks were rare, toys or tools
of the very rich and very dedicated--Dr. Stingray had one, but then,
he knew about her.
Here, VR was common, but it was almost all G&G, with a couple
of 'trodes here and there. Yet the cars were so much more advanced
than most of those back home, in common usage. Sure, his own car was
even with or better than most here, but that was a special case. The
average sarariman here had a better car than most of the folks "back
home". It was weird.
After a few minutes of searching, he did in fact locate a Wing
Commander ][ machine. There was someone in one of its three pods
already, but that didn't matter; video gamers crashed each other's
games all the time, and Gryphon was willing to bet that the same
occurred here. He climbed into the third pod and closed it, then fed
the manual pay slot some coins and fitted the goggles to his head and
the gloves to his hands. He settled into the seat and, curious to see
if it would work, dug his WC][ saved game disk from back home out of
his coat pocket and slotted it.
Not only did it fit, it worked. The computer pinged and
showed him his scores, rank, comparative ranking at this arcade (about
the same as back home), and his current configuration (gender, sexual
preference--so the machine would know whether or not to include the
minor-plot-point romance between the PC and Colonel Devereaux--age,
reflex scores, etc., etc.).
Then he watched the countdown flash, and then, with a burst of
static, he was in a briefing room, and Colonel Devereaux was
instructing him to launch immediately and proceed to Nav 1 in support
of First Lieutenant Romanova, who was in trouble with a squadron of
Drakhri medium fighters. Gryphon saluted and ran to the launch deck,
and within moments, Major Benjamin D. "Gryphon" Hutchins of the Terran
Confederation Space Navy, service number 006-86-3510, was streaking
across space in a North American F-44G Rapier II medium starfighter.
He kept his thumb on the afterburner switch the whole way; Romanova
needed help, and that was all there was to it.
He was too busy playing the game to think about the
implications of the name.
Within a few minutes, the fight was in view; Romanova's ship,
a light DeHavilland F-54C Epee, was badly damaged and not able to make
full speed, and the four Drakhri, one trailing sparks itself, were
pursuing and harassing the wounded fighter at long range. Eventually,
its engines would fail at that speed, and then the persistent Kilrathi
would have it for lunch.
Gryphon keyed his InterCom and announced, "Lieutenant
Romanova, this is Major Hutchins, vectoring to assist."
"Glad to see you, sir," a woman's voice, young, replied. The
screen showed static; apparently the Epee's comm systems were damaged.
"What's your handle? Mine's Sidehacker."
"They call me Gryphon," Gryphon replied, kicking burners again
and diving down on the Kilrathi from the sun. "Hold tight--comin'
in." He opened up with his Rapier's full armament, lasers and
particle cannons, as he came down, raking one of the unsuspecting
Drakhri from nose to stern. The fighter heeled to starboard and
exploded as the other three, startled, scattered. Gryphon sent a
Pilum FF missile after one of them and then peeled off to engage
another, opening up his throttles all the way. He kept doggedly on
this one's tail, firing when he could get a clear shot, and soon
knocked down its shields and began chewing into its engines. Then his
seat kicked him in the butt and the slot alarm howled; one of them had
gotten onto his tail and was doing the same thing to him he was doing
to the Drakhri in front of him. He kicked the burner and rolled to
confuse his adversary, getting in a burst at the one in front of him
as he passed it; his radar informed him that his target blew behind
him as he passed, but he was still getting hit by the bastard behind
him.
He threw the Rapier II into an afterburner skid, the craft's
orientation changing as its direction remained constant for a moment,
and faced the Drakhri while moving away from it. This let him absorb
a couple of its hits with his intact forward shields, let the rear
shields build back up for a second, and--most importantly--get off a
few shots, and try for a missile lock. He didn't get it, but he
knocked a decent dent in the enemy's shields before blasting the
burners again and shooting past and below him. The Rapier rocked with
hits again, this time from the side. Gryphon cursed; the other one
had made him. He threw the fighter into a neat spiral as the other
Drakhri's guns hammered at his flank, and then the fire ceased. He
spun the Rapier to port to look; his tormentor was expanding into a
cloud of superheated gases as the Epee flew past, executing a victory
roll. He keyed his InterCom again.
"Nice shooting, Sidehacker," he called, pulling an Immelmann
and hearing the missile under his wing pinging for a lock on the
approaching Drakhri. He opened up with his guns again as he let it
pass and pulled in behind it, and when the tone of lock came, he
released a missile. It powered forward, punched through the Drakhri's
weakened shields, and blew it to bits.
The rest was history; they returned to the Concordia, were
debriefed, Gryphon got a bronze star and punched out of the game. As
he climbed out of the pod, he looked over at pod one to see just who
he had been flying with.
She was a pretty girl, about his age, with long red hair, and
big green eyes, and he could swear he'd seen her before. She was
wearing an ADPolice uniform, the office-duty kind with the knee-length
skirt and the high white boots. She turned to look at him, smiled,
and walked over.
"Thanks for the save," she said, "you came along just in time.
I'm Nene. Nene Romanova. Do you have a name?"
Gryphon grinned. I knew she looked familiar. "Yes, as a
matter of fact I do. My name is Hutchins, Benjamin D. Hutchins, but
I'd like it very much if you were to call me Gryphon."
"Gryphon?" She laughed, and it was a pretty laugh. "Do you
love the game that much?"
"Hmm? Oh, no. It goes much further than that. Sometime when
we have a couple of hours free I'll start at the beginning."
"Do I know you?"
"No, not yet. Give it time, I've only just gotten to town
last night. Your friend Priss was kind enough to put my associate and
I up for the night."
Nene's eyes widened. "Priss? Kind? I thought I'd never live
to see the day."
"Well, we sort of saved her life," Gryphon was saying as they
walked outside. "We kind of ran into her on the highway--well, not
actually...ran into her...shit, that'd be a big practical joke--and
there was a wandering Buma...so I kind of blew it up."
"Blew it up?"
"Yeah. You know, with a missile. Boom!" He laughed. "They
make pretty explosions."
"You had a missile launcher with you on the highway?" Nene
inquired. "That's illegal, you know."
"Oh, come on. You aren't going to arrest me, are you? We've
only just met."
"No, I guess not--since you saved Priss and all." She smiled.
Gryphon had the sudden feeling he was going to die, but it passed.
"Where did you come by this missile launcher?"
"Well, it's part of my car, you see," he said, and told her
the whole story--up to but not including his knowledge of her
out-of-work activities.
Needless to say, she didn't believe him.
"Whyever not?" he asked, wounded-sounding. "Priss believed
it. Ms. Yamazaki believed it. Hell, even Dr. Stingray believed it.
She and MegaZone are probably swapping theories on transfictionality
right now."
"Oh, come on," Nene said, reproachful. "You expect me to
believe that Sylia actually believed that fairy tale?" She seemed
to realize then just what the list of names he had given her meant.
They were standing in front of Sylia's building.
"You...you know," she whispered, backing away.
"Nene Romanova," Gryphon said, bowing low and presenting his
card, "I present myself, Dr. Benjamin D. Hutchins, M.D., Esquire,
General Physician, Surgeon, Cybertechnician, Hardsuit Designer,
Shaolin Priest, Terror that Hunts in the Night, and Gweep at Large."
"Gweep?"
"Gweep, hacker, cracker, keyboard cowboy, cyberjock,
programmer, wizard, netgod. Or, in your case, goddess. Computer
operator with an anarchist streak. One who runs the 'Net without
doing the suicidal braindance thing."
"Anarchist? Me?"
"Don't lie," Gryphon said with a knowing grin. "Gweeps can
always tell their own kind. Go on, tell me you didn't feel a kinship
when you saw me."
"Well..."
"Aha! See? We're of a blood, you and I. A rare and dying
breed in this the age of regulation, crackdowns, and jackheads. Is
Stallman still alive?"
"No...NetWatch got him last March."
"Damn! There goes the last of the Great Old Ones."
"Tell me about it. Still, his son's still out there, and so
is Bob Morris IV--he crashed the entire Orbitsville 'net last month
with some kind of tapeworm. NetWatch is still trying to sort it out.
They never will, though--all of 'em together don't have an eighth of
his brains. The guy is just incredible. And the Android's still out
there--I don't think they'll ever get him." She realized she had been
rambling, and blushed slightly. "Sorry."
"No, thank you. I've been away for a long time. I needed to
get back in touch. Sometime, you'll have to show me the 'Net--I'd be
willing to bet it's changed a lot since I went away." He smiled.
"I'm glad 'Droid's still out there. I'll have to get in touch with
him, see if he remembers me."
"You know Android?! Android at WPI?"
"Oh yeah. We go 'way back."
"How far back?"
"1991."
"You don't look even remotely that old..."
"It's a kind of magic."
"I see."

"Hey," Zoner said as Gryphon and Nene entered the living room
of Sylia's apartment, "looks like the gang's all here, eh?"
"Yeah," Gryphon said, sitting down at the end of the couch.
"That arcade has the coolest Wing Commander ][ game...you gotta try it
out."
"Any jack games?"
"No...this timeframe hasn't gotten there yet. I'd say the
cybertech here is roughly like it was in the Sixties, back home."
"No kidding? Yet the cars and the robotics are way advanced.
I could make a killing with cybertech breakthroughs here. hehe."
"I know. Funky, isn't it?"
"Just so I don't feel so alone," Priss said then, "who here
feels that this is a completely surreal day?"
Everyone raised a hand, Gryphon and Zoner included.
"Good. I don't feel quite as bad now."
"Hm." Gryphon looked outside, watched the sun sink behind the
buildings to the west. "It's almost nighttime on Friday in
MegaTokyo...what to do...what to do..."
"Well, I don't know about you," Zoner replied, "but I'm going
to go get some clothes."
"Good idea. Got any idea where there's a decent mall around
here? I can take three passengers, if the two in the back are small
and friendly."

"All right, I'm coming out. Tell me what you think." Gryphon
opened up the fitting room and emerged, clad from head to toe in
black. Jungle mosh boots with black canvas sides covered his feet;
black ripstop fatigue pants were secured about his waist with a black
web belt. His black T-shirt was one of two articles of his clothing
that had any color to it at all; it was emblazoned with a neon green
and orange general arrangement diagram of a K-12 Armored Trooper. The
other item of color on his person was his hat; although black, it had
a silver Batman logo on the front. Final coverage was provided by a
black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"Gryphon, you're a Goth," MegaZone remarked.
"Et tu, Brutus?" Gryphon replied, glancing pointedly at the
shopping bag in Zoner's hand, which contained fifteen identical black
T-shirts and five identical pairs of black jeans.
"At least my shoes have color."
"Well, I haven't bought the red Converse yet. Besides, is
this black thing really a shock to you? I mean c'mon. I've been
wearing black for years. Even my costume is black."

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Sylia wandered down to the basement office Zoner had
established for himself. She had offered him a place on the top
floor, but he mumbled something about photons and asked for the
basement. She had simply given him the space he asked for and the
network connections and let him at it. He was rarely seen by anyone
else, simply sending out the latest schematics and mechanicals to the
SCAD/M system. He seemed a virtual hermit, working odd hours and
avoiding everyone else. The office was he private haven.
Well, she had to admit he had contributed a great deal to
refining the hardsuit control systems. Though he was still trying to
convince the team to get rigger implants. She had vetoed that idea.
She didn't really feel comfortable with the idea of cyberware.
The office was easy to find, MegaZone had rigged up a
blacklight and painted the door hideous Day-Glo(tm) shades, but in a
rather intriguing geometric pattern. A large Sacred Chao in blue and
yellow dominated the center of the door. A plaque next to the door
read "MegaZone: Cybernetics and Control Systems Design", underneath a
small note read "Things to make us go." She was about to knock when
the door opened and Zoner's voice said, "Welcome to my inner sanctum.
Please enter." Sylia shrugged and did just that.
The office was a combination of fastidiously neat areas and
wild zones. Along one wall a comfortable looking couch hid in the
shadows of a towering case of books and data cartridges. A slightly
frightening compilation of tubing and machine parts lurked in the
corner, the room lights were off, a bank of monitors provided the
eerie glow which cast the room into stark shadow, and behind a desk
across from the monitors Zoner slouched in a large recliner.
"You wanted to see me?" Sylia asked.
"Yes," his eyes looked at her, but his voice didn't come from
his body, but seemingly from the room itself. A nice surround system
she assumed. "I wanted to ask you a few questions on a project of
mine. Oh, but I'm being rude. Just a moment." The room lights
flickered to life and several of the monitors deactivated. He reached
up and removed the interface cables from behind his ears. "There,"
this time the voice was his own, "this is probably more comfortable
for you." A smile played about his lips.
Sylia shuddered inwardly, she couldn't imagine someone being
so comfortable with their mind hooked up to a machine. "What
project?"
"Well, I've been feeling like I'm not holding up my end of the
bargain. I haven't been contributing directly to the Sabers. I want
to start working on the field ops. I've been able to rework the
suits' control systems to give a faster response and a finer motor
control. As best as I can do without rigging the operator..." Zoner
glanced at Sylia questioningly.
Her frown was all the answer he needed.
"... but anyway, other than some of the basic research and
net-running I've been doing for the team, I decided to work on a suit
for myself. Now that I'm just about done I'd like to get some
feedback from you. You have much more experience than I. Care to
take a look?"
"Certainly, I'm interested in seeing what you have done."
"Great, just a sec." He reached for an interface cable but
decided to use the boards instead. He called up an image of the armor
on the largest monitor. It seemed very fuzzy. "Oh, here, put these
on." Zoner handed Sylia a set of goggles. With the goggles in place
the image became a three dimensional view of the armor.
Sylia looked at him questioningly, "What about you?"
"I've encoded a signal on the monitor and I wrote some
software for my eyes. I don't need the goggles. I do most of my work
in cyberspace anyway, so I don't rely on this system. That's why I
didn't waste any money on a holotank. Anyway, I started with the
basic hardsuit design. From there I pared it down to its present
form. The basic suit provides protection and strength boosts to the
operator. In my case my internal cybernetics already give me a decent
strength and reflex increase, and I didn't want to interfere with
that. But I can't go into combat without some armor, that'd be
stupid. It's not even an option. So I started with a basic
BallisTech shell, same as the conventional suits. But since I don't
need the increased strength I dropped the flat motor technology and
used a full myomer articulation. To do that with a conventional suit
would require a large powerplant, but since I didn't need the strength
I used just enough myomer to articulate the armor without interfering
with my movements."
"It should be like you're not even wearing it."
"Exactly, so it shouldn't interfere with my reflex boosting
either. I've fitted a full suit sensory system so I can rig the armor
and maintain a full situational awareness. The space made available
by removal of the large motor systems, and the actual power surplus
I've realized, goes into weapons systems. High-intensity pulse laser
generators are installed in a helix around the forearms. They feed
small focal arrays on the fingertips via fiberoptics. I can control
the pulse through the 'trodes, aiming is as simple as pointing. I've
installed a set of monomolecular edged claws in the backs of each arm.
When I'm rigged my internal wolvers are cut out and the standard
reflex is redirected to the suit."
"You've done a lot of development work. It appears to be a
basic exo-skeleton based on your physiognomy. So, you can use the
same fighting style in or out of the suit?"
"Yes, that was one of my requirements. I've been fairly
successful thus far. I wanted to build on my past successes, not
start from scratch. An evolutionary revolution in hardsuit design."
He shot a glance at her.
She didn't smile.
"Well, what do you think?"
"What do these power level indications mean?"
"Hmm... oh, I haven't fully documented everything yet... I
also have add-ons for a harsher environment." Zoner quickly called up
a secondary window. "A backpack flight and missile system. The
flight aspects are based on your hardsuit, but without as much
endurance. I sacrificed some of the propellant storage and heat sinks
to add this." He zoomed in on the window. "An anti-armor missile
system. It carries four missiles in a 'clip' or sorts and one in the
tube. When activated the tube swings into position over my right
shoulder. The missiles acquire their initial lock via laser
designation with the low-level output from the arm lasers. They also
have a rudimentary image recognition system which gives them a chance
to home on the target if the designation is lost. After firing the
tube swings back into position and another round is shoved home.
Total time from firing to launch ready, point-eight-seven seconds.
Not too bad. And it packs quite a punch."
Sylia took over at the console, nudging Zoner out of the way.
She seemed very intently absorbed in the data. Zoner just stood back
and grinned. Sylia used the touch-screen to scan through the menus,
almost faster than Zoner could keep up. "So, this gives a strength
boost factor of one-point-one-four, protection comparable to a
standard Stingray hardsuit, the lasers give a punch point-eight-seven
times as effective as Priss' railgun, but with a sustainable rate of
fire. Good use of space," she gestured to the, apparently hovering,
image, "the extra heat sinks should keep the suit at 69% of the
standard operating temperature. The sensor web should work ok, but I
recommend installing a standard helmet imaging system as a backup.
What about force sensors?"
Zoner was startled out of his reverie and turned back to the
image.
"Force sensors? Oh.. yeah... I was thinking of using a
standard undergarment with sensor weave. Solely as a backup mind you,
I'm working on interface software so all my motor control signals
drive my body and the suit directly. It's a bit of a project, but it
should give me a point-zero-zero-three second delay. Far better than
the normal suits. But then, I'm rigging."
"Ok. Are you using standard telemetry units to link with the
team?"
"I'm using the standard protocols, but I decided to test a new
design. It's a bit more compact and draws less power than the old
design. And it should have a higher reliability, if it works the way
I think it will. Consider it a test installation, if it works ok in
my suit it'll go into the other suits when we do SLEP."
"I'm not sure I like the idea of testing a system in combat,
but it is your life on the line." She continued to scan the suit's
data for several minutes. "What is this?"
"Oh, my pride and joy. A nanotechnological suit maintenance
system. I've based the designs on the nanohealers I have in myself.
Like I said, the suit is based on me."
"Is this transferable to the standard hardsuit?"
"Theoretically, but it would take some reprogramming and
retooling. I engineered these to work with the myomer systems and
sensor web in this suit. I would have to redo the design to work with
the traces and armatures in the conventional suits. I've done some
preliminary studies, but I want to work the kinks out in this system
first. I would hate to debug a few thousand of the critters. Be neat
if they went nuts and started weaving myomer all over the place.
Nanospiders, weee...." Again he shot her a look.
Again she didn't smile.
Sigh. "So, how about it?"
"How about what?"
"Well, I wanted to get your approval before I diverted the
materials and machine time to produce the LightSaber, as I call it..
It is your call after all."
"Oh, very well. Go ahead with production. I'll authorize two
sets of components, one for use and one for spares. Will you need
anything else?"
"I was hoping to have Nene look over my code a bit. I know
what to do, but she has better technique. I'm sure she could tighten
up my code."
"Very well, I'll let you know when she is free from her other
duties. Will that be all?"
"Yes, thank you."
"My pleasure."
Zoner approached the aforementioned pile of tubing and parts.
"Would you like some espresso or cappuccino?"
"That is an espresso machine?"
"Yes, I built it as sort of a meditation exercise. Like
kitbashing. But it works, and makes a damn fine brew. Did you want
some?"
"No thank you. Have a good day." She strode purposefully out
of the office.
"Geez, I think it cooled off twenty degrees while she was
here. I've got to loosen her up," Zoner commented to the empty
office.ONE MONTH LATER

Gryphon was down in the lab he had staked out as his, behind
Dr. Raven's bike shop, tinkering around with some hardsuit parts.
Zoner had taken the day off and gone to the carnival that had blown
into town a few days ago; Nene and Linna had gone with him. Priss was
rehearsing with her band. Sylia and Mackie were off doing something
mundane, shopping or something along those lines. He was all alone.
That didn't bother him; he usually came up with better ideas alone.
He pushed a railgun capacitor idly round with a wrench, then turned to
the SCAD terminal he was working at and punched in a couple of
figures. He grinned. He had been right; the hardsuits' external
plating was indeed foamed duranium, and was made by a process of
injection casting at around 1,750 degrees F. Efficient, but not the
strongest material available. Gryphon had an idea for a forged-alloy
system that would make the suits almost 45% more resistant to damage.
All he had to do was find some depleted dalekenium someplace...
The door to the lab hissed open and Zoner walked in,
looking--of all things--happy. "Yo, Gryph, whasup? You gotta check
out that carnival, man, it's the greatest. It's even got decent
rides."
"Hm?" Gryphon asked, looking up. "Oh. Mm...I
dunno...carnivals aren't really my thing, you know?"
"Lighten up, man, you work too much." Zoner came over and
stood behind Gryphon, looking at the screen. "Speaking of which,
what're you working on?"
"Just kicking around a couple of ideas for armor upgrades to
the hardsuits," Gryphon replied, punching up a general spec. "See, if
I make the big castings, the ones that don't vary from suit to suit,
with drop-forged BallisTech alloy instead of foam-cast duranium, and
then machine the custom bits out of the leavings, it adds a couple of
man-hours to the fabrication time, but you get a 45% increase in
strength across the board, and who cares if it takes a couple more
hours per suit? It's not like we're in a booming market here."
"Looks decent. Sylia seen this yet?"
"No, she's out. Check this out." Gryphon tabbed a few more
keys and another image appeared, that of a person's forearm and hand,
encased in a wireframe of an armored limb. A wireframe of some sort
of weapon system was overlaid in red, and the arm ended in a robotic
waldo-controlled hand. "This is a redesign I've been thinking of
doing to Priss's right arm sometime."
"You should probably ask her--I imagine she wouldn't like it
if you just started cutting up her arm."
"Gods, but you're funny. Seriously, take a look. I've left
the railguns here, here, and here, but by using the new myomers
instead of the flat-motor armatures in the arm articulation, I can
save enough space to replace the chaingun with a particle cannon.
That'll give her a 60% firepower boost on the long-range end of the
curve, and 10% in the up-close curve. If I array the heat sinks like
so, I can squeeze fifty BTU/S out of it, and feed seven or eight watts
to the thermocouples at the same time, and her arm stays nice and
comfortable. Recoil shock is absorbed by the armature and shoulder
rams, same as with the chaingun. Tie the targeting system
across--easy enough, no?--and voila! And, with the myomers, the
crushing, gripping, and punching strength of that arm is increased by
over 8,000%!"
"Not bad, not bad. I could probably work out a better
circuitry system for arm control to give it a finer level of control.
Maybe bleed a little tech across from the cybernetic controls used for
implants, surface pickups. It would be simpler if we could get them
to use cybernetics to rig the suits. Too bad only Sylia has the ware,
and I haven't told her yet... What would happen if you stripped all
the flat motors and did all the musculature with myomers?"
"I'm working on that--I'll show you in a second what that's
leading up to."
"You've been busy."
"I try."
"You ought to go out, relax, have some fun. You've been
working awful hard lately. If you work too long you'll get too
focused. Get out and relax and you might get more big ideas."
"Fun is for other people. Besides, I'm having fun. You
should see what I've cooked up for myself."
"I knew you'd get around to building your own toys someday.
What is it, a hardsuit?"
"Of a sort." Gryphon punched up another drawing. The screen
blinked to a view of an interesting-looking battlesuit, one which
showed very different design influences than Sylia's hardsuits. It
wasn't as sleek and pretty to look at; in fact, it had all the
downtown chic of a dump truck, but Zoner liked it anyway, just because
of its angular, vicious look. Also unlike the Knight Sabers' suits,
it had a face of a sort, two rectangular eyeslots and a sharp,
frowning mouth line. It looked very, very nasty. Something was
protruding slightly above the points of both shoulders; closer
examination showed one to be labeled "8 Tube Missile Canister--Idle
Mode" and the other "2mm Minigun--Idle Mode". The glowing green
letters underneath the schematic read "Iron Man Variable Threat
Response Combat Armor Model XI Mark III--General Arrangement--Drawing
1 of 4,225".
"Iron Man? Changing comic-book heroes? Gryphon, you're
weird."
"It isn't exactly like the Model XI Iron Man armor you see in
the old comic books, which is why it's labeled Mark III instead of
Mark II. The power delivery systems are a bit different, and I had to
fudge some of the weapons to get them to fit, at least on paper. It's
also a little stranger than the old Stark designs, considering the
Stingray design influences in it--Sylia happened by a while back when
I was messing around with the endoframe design and we wound up having
a six-hour technomantic brainstorming session."
"Kind of a `techie bonding' thing?" Zoner asked, a slightly
jealous tone slipping into his voice.
"Bestow upon my humble self a small break." Gryphon
reconsidered, then said, "Yeah, I suppose, I guess you could call it
that. Anyway, check it out; this is the neatest thing. You know how
Iron Man's armor works, right? It doesn't get motive power from
armatures or a linear frame like the hardsuits. It's not even `hard'.
Instead, most of its armor and strength capacities come from the
molecular force fields that actuate it. The whole thing is a huge
tessellated-fabric computer system. With the power off, it feels like
heavy cloth. Power it up and it'll stop artillery and rip right
through battleship armor with its bare hands. I can't wait to
actually wear this thing."
"I didn't know you knew enough about force fields and the like
to make this."
"I don't. This disk," said Gryphon, holding up an optical
minidisk, "contains the complete technical readouts and diagrams for
the fabrication of the Model XI Mark II Iron Man armor. I got it
straight from Tony Stark."
"Edison?"
"Bingo."
"And you've been waiting until you had the facilities to make
it."
"Another two points for the Zoninator. Like I said, Sylia and
I had to fudge a few things to make it work--the technology and
facilities here are a little less effective than the ones Tony had to
work with--but work it will, once I get it finished."
"So it should be stronger than a hardsuit?"
"Much. I figure this suit will be able to bench-press around
fifty tons at full power. The real improvements will be in weapons,
though. Check this out." He tabbed the remote again; the wireframe
schematic became a full-blown UVGA virtual diagram, super smooth
animation, as though film footage of the actual suit was on the
screen. Zoner had to admit, with the glowering frown-line on the
faceplate and the silver and gray matte color scheme, the thing looked
mean.
The protrusion on the right shoulder swung up, over, and
locked down, revealing itself to be a missile canister with eight
small tubes in it; the one on the left shoulder became a six-barrelled
minigun. The left forearm guard unfolded into a little two-barrelled
autocannon-like arrangement, and the right hand presented its palm to
the "camera", showing a small circular impression.
"The missile rack is obvious," Gryphon said. "It fires little
missiles about the size of road flares, which can hit their maximum
speed of Mach 2 in around five seconds. They cold launch with jets of
liquid nitrogen, like the missiles in my car, and the sustainer kicks
in after about a half second. See the little bulge on the side of the
helmet? That's a laser designator for the missiles. I can reset the
blink-rate eight different ways and target each missile independently,
in a matter of a second or two, theoretically. I can tool the
machines up to make all kinds of mini-missiles; so far all I plan to
make are the HEAT, incendiary, and smoke rounds. I don't have the
budget for depleted uranium penetrators, and I don't want to even
think about making the 1.8 kiloton subnukes."
"You've got the plans for subnukes? I want copies," MegaZone
declared.
"Too bad. Anyway, check out the minigun. It's pretty much
your standard six-barrelled rotary minigun, with the motor packed
inside the 1,800-round spiral magazine for compactness' sake. The
rounds are 2mm caseless tungsten penetrators, coated with Teflon. I
like the image of shell-casings flying around, but I decided they were
too much of a pain in the ass."
"Hey, nice design. With a few changes I think I could base a
nice personal weapon on this. Make a good smart gun. Say, what about
a hollow centered flat motor system built into the circumference of a
hardsuit arm?"
"You'd run into problems aligning the hand so it doesn't get
in the way. That'd be a pain. But it would look neat. Anyway, the
little chaingun on the right forearm guard uses the same kind of
ammunition; there's a cassette system that snails the ammo around the
arm. I've got around two hundred rounds in there, and I'll make up a
couple more mats to carry in the belt utility slots. The other
gauntlet has a beam saber projector--basically, a focused particle
beam with a set of magnatomic field generators that sculpt the
particle emission into a blade shape. Very nice. The missile rack,
the minigun, and the gauntlet weapons are all modular, and can be
removed, so if I come up with other things, they'll be easy to mount,
and if I want a sleeker profile, less of that `loaded for bear' look,
I can leave them off and just go with the built-in weaponry. Speaking
of which:
"The round thing on the chest is the unibeam, a tunable free
electron laser plate. I can throw the equivalent of a Klieg light,
cone it down to a pocket flashlight, or melt a hole in an M1 tank with
it, or pretty much anything in between. It's tied to the targeting
system too, in case I need to use a really large laser designator, or
designate a target through a lot of smoke or water or the like. The
helmet designator isn't all that powerful."
"Of course, the things in the palms are Iron Man's signature
weapons, 32mm palm repulsors. They're basically neutron guns; they
use a laser pulse to clear the pesky air molecules out of the way for
a focused neutron force beam. On the default settings they don't do
burn damage, just concussion, but I can set them to do things like
neurostun and full beam burn, too.
"If I want that, though, all I really have to do is use the
pulse bolts--repeating plasma generators in both forearm guards. They
sculpt the pulses using the magnetronic fields around the gloves
themselves--ingenious, and it explains why the suit looks like it's
throwing the pulses right off the gauntlets. The neat thing about
pulse bolts is, rather than be weakened by range, they increase in
power, pulsing as they go and adding to their overall power with
ambient static and air friction and like that, until they destabilize
at a half-mile or so. I'm not too sure how they work, really.
"The cybercontrol systems are tied to a direct Tactical Helmet
Virtual Reality, a helmet holotank, and that combined with the fast
control computer, the cybernetic response net--basically, a set of
rigtrodes--and streamlined software should give me a 25% increase in
reaction and action times over the standard hardsuits. The boot jets
and avionic software are real pieces of work; I figure I can make
sustained flight at supersonic speeds with them, and complete control,
no sweat. Tony really is a genius. Someday I hope to be half as
smart."
"Don't sell yourself short; I've seen what you've done on your
own and been impressed by it, after all, and you know what it takes to
impress me."
"True. Anyway, Sylia took a look at the data on the third day
we were here, and it turned out I was lucky enough that she had a
nanotank big enough for it, down in the subbasement. Turns out it's
left over from her father's Buma research; she doesn't do any nanotech
work herself, and most of the fabrication work on the Iron Man suit is
nanotech, not gross hands-and-tools stuff. So it's down there perking
away."
"Cool. So, when should this new suit see the light of day?"
"I dunno. Depends on when I have time to work on it. Like I
said, because of the nature of the flex-metal and stuff, I can't
actually build most of it by hand. I just fed the data to the
nanotank computer and the nanomachines are doing the rest. The suit
itself is almost finished--probably another two days--but I've been
putting off making the powerplant because I'm going to have to
fabricate that by hand, and if I screw it up, it'll probably be really
bad."
"Why? What is it?"
"I think I've figured out a way to make a workable microfusion
generator."
"No shit."
"No shit. Problem is, I don't dare to try and make one,
because if I screw up, it'll probably explode the first time I test
it, and I think the city of MegaTokyo would get a little irritated
with me if I set off a small H-bomb in the Canyons. Not that I'd be
around to care."
"Well, hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I
thought you couldn't make magnets powerful enough to contain the
reaction and still have a plant small enough to use in a hardsuit. As
I recall, that was why you stopped working on the Griffin suit you
were going to build last summer in Worcester."
"I couldn't--not until I got this data from Tony, anyway." He
sighed. "If I make this thing work, I can start rebuilding the
hardsuits for this kind of power. Shit, if it works, I can refit them
to use full-body myomer actuation. Computer projections of lifting
strength show that a standard hardsuit, with its endoframe reinforced
and fully fitted with myomers, would have eighty times the strength
they have with the flat-motors. It'd be able to press over forty tons
without much of a problem. Can you imagine Linna going hand-to-hand
with that kind of strength?"
"Gah, I'd have to rework all of the wiring controls and
interfaces to handle that kind of power. Auto-dampeners and the like,
a flinch could kill someone. I think you're blowing the technology
curve right off the map, chummer. Why not just build them all
flex-metal forcefield suits like this?"
"What, and step on Sylia's toes? She's just got a different
design philosophy than Tony Stark, that's all. Soon as I finish the
fusion plant, her own designs will probably show more potential than
the Stark design. Hell, the `me' over in that universe has the same
design philosophy as she does. You should see the Mark Four Griffin
suit in person. Jesus, what a pig! It's a thing of beauty. A work
of art. Eight feet tall if it's an inch. Probably weighs three tons.
Three-quarter-inch armor plating with articulated layered joints,
myomer musculature enhancement, six interlinked onboard computers, the
particle accelerator that ate Toledo... Totally intense."
"The Time Lord? He's real?"
"Everything's real, somewhere in the multiverse, right? Great
guy, too. 'Course, I'd think that, 'cause he's me and all."
"You have been busy."
"Yeah, and I'm not done yet. Listen, I'm going to construct
the upgraded railguns, myomer articulation, and particle gun for Priss
around a subframe I designed to fit my arm, and connect it to a mobile
power unit for testing and demonstration. Think you could do me a
favor?"
"What?"
"I need a Blue Buma to do the demonstration with."
Zoner's eyebrows shot up. "Intact?"
"Preferably, although I wouldn't mind if it wasn't running
around the lab blowing things up. This stuff is expensive, after all,
and I haven't done all that much to earn it yet."
"Ooookaaay...I'll see what I can do..."

SEVERAL DAYS LATER

Gryphon ran to his lab with Zoner hot on his heels, shouting
behind him, "Don't leave without me!"
"Gryphon, what are you doing?" Zoner asked. "You haven't even
tested your armor yet, you don't know if it'll even work!"
"Sure I do," said Gryphon as they entered the lab. "All the
subsystems worked before I had the tank assemble the thing, didn't
they?" He kicked off his shoes and tossed his sweatshirt across a
chair, then went into a fitting room, and came out dressed in the male
version of a hardsuit undergarment.
"Only in simulation testing! What about the driver software?
None of that's been tested yet in real life--"
"Consider this a field test then," Gryphon interrupted, going
to the bay where his new armor stood. "I'm needed, and the suit's
done. This is a perfect opportunity. Besides, I've done tons of
simulation tests. It's ready." He opened it up and took out the
trunks, pulling them on, and then the boots. The leggings dropped
into place almost automatically, sliding into the tops of the boots
and locking down. The clamshell of chestplate and backpiece came
next, sealing easily, and the gauntlets; the sleeves did just as the
leggings had, sliding down his arms and locking into the tops of the
gauntlets automatically, with a sound reminiscent of a Slinky
navigating stairs. Gryphon put on the helmet, turning it a couple of
times to make sure all the rigtrodes had worked their way through his
hair and into direct contact with his scalp, and then he snapped it
into the neck cuff and flipped the faceplate down.
There was a brief hum as the microfusion reactor powered up,
and then, with a slight zap, the force field came online and the suit
stiffened, turning from a somewhat loose-fitting metallic jumpsuit
with strange accessories into a suit of rigid, formidable armor.
Inside, the Tactical Helmet Virtual Reality erased the helmet from
Gryphon's field of view and hearing, replacing it with an
unadulterated view of the outside world. Turning his head, he noted
that everything scrolled smoothly. It was as if he wasn't wearing a
helmet. He looked around with his eyes; all the projector units were
online. He honestly couldn't tell he had a helmet on, except that he
could feel it. The status readouts and menus glowed greenly, hanging
in midair and moving to stay stationary in his field of vision. Right
now they were reporting a nominal status across the board, something
for which he was quite glad.

SE Iron Man Model XI

STANDBY MODE
Reactor Nominal
All systems 100%

Gryphon smiled as he felt the Power flow through his creation.
Even without doing anything he could feel its might. Truly, this was
a tour de force. Standing still it exceeded his wildest speculations.
"Wow!" Gryphon breathed, and laughed. "It works," he reported
to Zoner, and then headed for the door, feeling the reassuring
closeness and weight of the suit around him and the firm,
reverberating thunk of his feet hitting the metal flooring. The
rigtrodes were doing their job perfectly. Zoner imagined Gryphon
could get another 30% speed or so if he hardjacked the suit, but
they'd been all through that before.
"Great, let's go, they're waiting. Looks good, by the way."
"Thanks. Like the colors? It's supposed to be more
foreboding than the usual Iron Man, or something, which is why it
isn't standard Iron Man red and gold. Too bad though...I like the
`Golden Avenger' nickname. Maybe I'll change it when I upgrade and
redesign, 'cause you know I'm going to...but for this design, these
colors work."
"Yeah, I agree. I like it."
"Good."

They raced up the side of the GENOM Tower, Priss in the lead,
Linna after her, and Gryphon flying above them, while Sylia, Nene, and
Zoner took the more direct route, straight to the roof. They weren't
long in encountering resistance; three Model 12 combat Buma raced out
to meet them.
"Got the one in back," Iron Man announced, and throttled his
boot jets up for the attack, powering over the first two and vectoring
straight at the third.

SE Iron Man Model XI

FULL ASSAULT MODE
Arming All Weapons
All Systems 100% Combat Ready

The missile rack swung into position with a sharp click as the
minigun locked down on the other side; the laser designator put its
red triangle around the Buma as it fell back and opened up with its
chaingun. Gryphon, grounding with computer-assisted ease, ignored it;
Threat Assessment didn't even register the slugs as they pinged off
his armor. Instead, he made sure the Buma was securely targeted and
launched his missiles, all eight of them.
They ripped free of their weather-sealed tubes in a quick
cycle, port to starboard and top to bottom, spiraled beautifully as
their little stabilizer fins popped out, and then hit home, blasting
the crablike combat Buma's chest and blowing an optical boom away.
Howling in outrage, the machine fired its own spread of missiles back
at him.
The minigun twitched on his shoulder as his THVR informed him,
"ANTI-MISSILE SYSTEM ENGAGED"; then it opened up with its breed's
characteristic buzz, the THVR informing Gryphon as each individual
incoming target was intercepted and destroyed by its fire stream.
"All right!" he shouted to anyone who might be listening.
"The Goalie works!" Gryphon had programmed the point-defense
capability into the minigun himself; it was an application Tony Stark
had not foreseen for the weapon, and he was justifiably proud that it
worked. He turned the minigun on the Buma next, opening up with the
right-gauntlet chainguns as well. The wounded combat machine ignored
his bullets just as he ignored its. He had expected as much, but he
had to try, no? Besides, he wanted to test all of his weapons.
The Buma jetted backward and fired a round from its bazooka to
cover its retreat; Gryphon's left gauntlet flashed up, palm opening,
and a pinpoint repulsor shot detonated the shell a good twenty feet
distant, although Threat Assessment informed him that his armor could
have easily withstood the impact. He launched himself after it, fists
extended before him, and, traveling at 350 mph and accelerating, hit
it with a body shot that would've done any NHL defenseman proud.
Crashing against the wall of the Tower, it backhanded Gryphon with its
cannon arm and knocked him clear.
Rolling to his feet, Gryphon suddenly found himself surrounded
by explosions as the Buma blanketed his general vicinity with bazooka
shells and machine-gun ammunition. Smiling, he backed up a couple of
steps and tried his next weapon, jacking the unibeam up to maximum
intensity and firing.
The six-inch laser bolt punctured the Buma's torso clean
through and continued on into the building beyond it. It gathered its
remaining strength and charged as if intending to take Gryphon over
the far guardrail and off the building. He set himself and, as it
approached, launched a wheel kick at it.
The armor responded beautifully, and the kick pitched the Buma
right back to the wall. Gryphon pressed his advantage, closing on it
and delivering a series of punches, strikes, and kicks. The feedback
from the suit's external tactile sensors was perfect, and the lag time
from the 'trodes almost nil. Gryphon was adjusting to it even as he
fought. He backed off a step or two, parrying the Buma's own clumsy
punch attempt. Then, tiring of the dance, he activated the beam
saber, and his next parry took off its gun arm. He then backed off
and blasted it with full-power repulsors, halting its enraged charge
effectively, as well as blowing off its remaining arm and the leg on
that side. Switching to pulse bolts, he reduced it to twitching slag.
Standing over the smoldering remains of his first adversary,
Gryphon remarked to himself, "I guess I'd call that a successful first
field test. Better see how the others are doing." He looked up and
subdivided off the center of his vision for a mag-20 look up top; he
couldn't see much from that angle. Looking up and down the road, he
didn't see much either; Linna and Priss had passed him, their battles
being a bit more mobile than his own. Shrugging, he deployed his
powered boot skates and zoomed up around the curving Tower Road to see
if he could be of assistance.
The answer to that question was "no"; by the time he arrived
at the top, Linna and Priss had dealt with their adversaries (although
Priss had caused a nasty case of chamber searing in her autocannon to
pull it off), Nene had killed her 55-series Buma adversary (wonders
just never cease), and Zoner and Sylia were quite well-involved with
some clown in a battlesuit that reminded Gryphon of the Firepower suit
he had seen in a comic book a few times, except minus (fortunately)
the nuclear missile on its back. Zoner ended up getting intimate with
a wall, and the clown in the battlesuit was trying to pry off Sylia's
helmet. Zoner was occupied freeing his LightSaber custom combat suit
from its crater.
Gryphon locked his targeting system on the grey GENOM
battlesuit and got ready to paste him with pulse bolts, but before he
got the chance to light up the night, the guy in the suit committed
the Number One Tactical Error of armored combat; he opened his helmet
to gloat, which gave Sylia what, in armored combat tactical schools,
is referred to as a Truly Golden Opportunity to Stick an Eighteen-Inch
Bayonet Through His Neck. Of course, not being stupid, Sylia took
full advantage of said opportunity.

20 JUNE 2032

One of the shutters in Gryphon's apartment windows was
malfunctioning, as it had for some time. Only one of the louvers in
the north window's shutter was stuck open, but it was inconveniently
placed so that, at about three in the afternoon during this time of
year, it directed a single, sharp-edged slash of brilliant sunlight
across the approximate area of the bed where Gryphon's face was.
Therefore, it was no surprise to him that he awoke at three-fifteen
with a shooting pain from his eyes to the back of his skull. It was a
sunny and irritating day. Grumbling something unintelligible, he
turned over so that he faced away from the sunlight, burying his face
in the pillow.
About that time, his secondary sensory systems came back
on-line (he had been operating on tertiary input before this point),
and his mind, which was starting to spin up, came to a startling
realization from the new data that was coming in.
He was not alone.
This was a significant deviation from the usual "three-
fifteen-in-the-afternoon-and-I'm-bloody-well-still-in-bed" routine.
His eyes snapped open, but he managed to keep from flinching,
and his mind raced momentarily as he attempted to guess who it might
possibly be. What had he been doing the previous night? The
Replicants had released their new EP, Storm Warnings, the day before,
and the release party had been at his apartment. He looked round (he
could see the bulk of the apartment from his vantage point); yes, the
place was a total disaster area, as befitted the site of a somewhat
rowdy release party. He was slightly relieved by the fact that it was
mostly just trash and clutter; there had been few spills and no
uncontrolled ralphings that he could remember. Then again, "remember"
was a spotty term at best, at the moment.
Try to reconstruct. The party started to peter out at about
midnight. Zoner had left around then with Sylia, which was a surprise
of a sort. The rest of the band had filtered away by one or so. By
one-fifteen it had been just him and Priss, listening to the EP and
commenting on the quality of the recording and Gryphon's new stereo
system.
At this point Gryphon felt he had to check something, so,
turning onto his back, he glanced to his left with his eyeballs
sharply angled, and his fears were confirmed. Discarding what, for
the moment, was the useless and possibly even dangerous realization
that she looked quite peaceful asleep, Gryphon went back to his
attempt at figuring out what had gone down.
Then there had been the token attempt at cleaning up. This,
he decided, must have been the source of the neat geometric stack of
pizza cartons on the kitchen counter. Then there had been the matter
of putting paid to the remaining liquor (no one had taken it), which
included such things as a half-inch or so of Jagermeister, an inch
(perhaps more) of Rumple Minz peppermint schnapps, something
unidentifiable and green (thinking back, Gryphon decided with some
trepidation that it must have been the last of the drummer's
absinthe--oh, shit), and what, by the time they got to it, they had
snickeringly proclaimed to be "just a little" of the martini mix left.
And then...
Oh, shit.
Again, Gryphon managed to keep from physically startling as
his memory spun fully up and replayed for him the events of the
previous morning...
Oh, shit.
He wasn't quite certain why he though this was quite so bad as
he thought it was.
But, he was quite certain that it was.
He tried to think of a plan. There must be something he could
do to minimize the backlash from this. Perhaps if he got up now and
quietly relocated to one of the armchairs, he could pretend he had
been there, all night, and she would just think it had all been a
dream.
Perhaps if he jumped out the window.
No, best thing to do would be to stay right where he was. The
least he could do now was own up to it and face the music...
Although, he was hungry...perhaps he should get up and do
something about breakfast.
Beside him, Priss stirred. The light had worked its way
across to her. She stretched, groaning softly as various bones popped
back where they belonged, and then turned over, throwing an arm across
Gryphon and snuggling closer to him (mammalian instinct, I guess).
Then her eyes, so close to his own that he could actually read the
little "BAUSCH & LOMB" printed on the irises, snapped wide open.
"Er..." Gryphon searched his mind for something appropriate
to say. What does one say in a situation like this? You can't go,
"Aaaaaauuuuuggh! Aaaaaaaauuuuugggghh!!!! AAAAUUURRRGH!" It's not
even an option. "Did you sleep well?" just doesn't seem appropriate.
He had to think of something that was gentle, unthreatening,
unincriminating, yet not taking a completely self-blaming stance
either--something that implied tacit acceptance and a (how he hated
this expression) stiff upper lip, something clever and perhaps a
trifle witty to break the tension with some humor. Something like...
"Uhm...morning..."
No, that wasn't it.
Especially not in that nervous, "please-don't-hurt-me-I-just-
work-here-lady" tone of voice. Oh well. Too late, it was said...
She looked at him, confused as hell (just as he had been). He
could almost see the progression of memory across the back of her
eyes, party, windout, cleanup...
Priss actually flinched with the memories, blinking almost
audibly and swallowing hard. She pulled back slightly out of reflex,
then tried to say something, but all that came out was, "Wh--wha...uh,
wh--wh..."
"I think so," Gryphon replied.
Her bewildered and even slightly panicked expression settled
into a look of mild consternation. "Well, isn't this a kick in the
ass."
"I'd go along with that, yeah," Gryphon replied.
She turned on her back, putting her hands behind her head, and
they lay like that for a long time, side by side, looking at the
ceiling and ruminating.
At length she turned her head to look sidelong at him and
said, "You know something?"
"What?"
"I'm okay with it."
"Yeah. Me too."
"Well, that was easy." She laughed. "This is fucking
surreal."
"Yeah, I'll go along with that."
"Dire Straits seems to have an odd effect on me."
"I think it was more the half-inch of Jagermeister."
"I dunno..." She laughed. "Look at us, we're fucking
analyzing it! Dammit! This is weird."
Gryphon laughed as well. "Uh huh." Then, thinking of
something, he let out another laugh, a short, choppy bark of amusement
(the kind which he always gave when he had just thought of something
funny).
"What?"
"I just realized something. I don't have a hangover."
"Huh. Neither do I. In fact, I feel great."
"So do I. Hey, cool! We've discovered the secret cure for
the hangover! Coolness. Too bad we can't tell anyone about it. We
could make a mint." They both broke, dissolving into helpless
giggling for upward of three minutes.
When he had recovered, "If that's what happens when Dire
Straits is played, I should go and get the rest of their albums."
She hit him in the shoulder, hard.
"Ouch! What? That's my first law in action. I believe in
complete honesty. I say what I feel. I think it's a good policy, and
if everyone did it the human race would have a lot fewer problems."
Priss reflected briefly, then said, "Hmm. Good idea...but it
took me a little off guard..." She smiled and turned back onto her
back, humming the intro from "Money for Nothing" softly.
At the appropriate point in the music, Gryphon cut in with the
vocal. It seemed the appropriate thing to do. Momentarily,
frustrated with the vocal medium's inability to carry the hard-edged
rasp of the actual guitar, Priss fumbled on the floor next to the
mattress Gryphon had serving as a bed, found the stereo remote, and
turned on the actual song. The speakers hidden all over the apartment
were ready as usual. Gryphon's Sony NGX-2401AXL let it rip.

Now lookit them yo-yos
That's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin'
That's the way you do it
Money for nothing and your chicks for free
No, that ain't workin'
That's the way you do it
Lemme tell ya
Them guys ain't dumb
Maybe get a birthstone on your little finger
Maybe get a blister on your thumb

We got to install microwave ovens
Custom kitchens, deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators
We got to move these colour TVs

The little faggot with the earring and the makeup
Yeah buddy, that's his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot he's a millionaire
We got to install microwave ovens
Custom kitchens, deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators
We got to move the colour TVs

We got to install microwave ovens
Custom kitchens, deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators
We got to move these colour TVs

I shoulda learned to play the guitar
I shoulda learned to play them drums
Now lookit that mama, she got it
Stickin' in the camera, man
Oh we could have some fun
And he's up there--what's that--Hawaiian noises
You bangin' on the bongos like a chimpanzee
Oh that ain't workin'
That's the way you do it
Get your money for nothing, get your chicks for free

We got to install microwave ovens
Custom kitchens, deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators
We got to move these colour TVs

Ooooooooo--oo!

Listen here--now--that ain't workin'
That's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin'
That's the way you do it
Money for nothing and your chicks for free
Money for nothing
Chicks for free

As the song was petering out and swinging into the next one,
Gryphon started to get up to go and fix something to eat, when
suddenly Priss caught his arm and yanked him back to the mattress.
She looked into his startled eyes and allowed herself just
enough time to say, "No, it's definitely Dire Straits," before
commencing.

I want my MTV.

7 DECEMBER 2032

A man was riding peacefully through the center of town on a
motorcycle, wearing a suit of close-fitting polycarbide armor that
made him look like either a riot cop or an offroad racer. The bike
was an interesting design, American-looking, with heavy front shocks
and strange tubes on the sides of the front wheels, apparently part of
an elaborate suspension system. The snarl of the big engine
underneath him echoed in the streets, and the big twin headlights lit
up the road before him well. Streetlights raced across the silvered
surface of his armor and the bike; both were completely unpainted, and
the face of the helmet was black. He twisted the throttle and
accelerated onto an expressway. It was after midnight; although
in-town traffic was about average, there was no one on the expressway.
The cycle howled down the expressway at close to 150 kph,
rider tucked low behind the black windscreen, presenting the most
aerodynamic profile possible. Speed climbed steadily, and within a
few minutes, the cyclist had caught the attention of the only other
person out on the road at that time: ADPolice Inspector Leon McNichol,
driving his car back to the station. The silver cycle whipped past
him going a good 200 kph and climbing, and Leon put on his lights and
siren and gave chase.
It wasn't easy; even with the extra power of his police
pursuit car, he had a challenge just keeping the silver bike in sight.
The rider had noticed him, but didn't seem to care; instead he hunched
a little lower over the handlebars and kept ahead of him. Leon
thought of calling for backup, then disregarded it; the guy was just
speeding, after all, and didn't look particularly inclined to
violence, although there was definitely a military look to him and his
bike. He clicked the supercharger on and pressed the accelerator,
making a momentary gain. There was a flash as the rider glanced back,
Leon's headlights catching his facebowl; then the bike sped up to
match him, maintaining its lead. Leon cursed; how fast was this
thing, anyway? It was outpacing him as easily as that damned antique
Chevy that had made such a laughingstock of him down at HQ. He didn't
like to think about that.
Suddenly, his concentration on the road was broken by his
radio, calling out an all-call; rogue Buma in district seven, all
units respond. Leon smiled; the quickest route to the location they
gave was right off this next exit. He began to slow down, abandoning
his pursuit of the biker in anticipation of the off-ramp. You're
lucky tonight, pal, Leon thought to the biker. Keep riding, and we'll
meet again someday.
The biker sheered off at full speed, throwing sparks from his
left kneeguard as he banked hard and shot down the offramp. Leon's
brows knitted quizzically as he followed, taking the offramp at an
unsafe speed in his determination to keep up with this guy.
It wasn't easy; the silver bike was very agile, ducking and
dipping through the backed-up in-town traffic, and once it even
performed a rocket-assisted leap right over a packed intersection.
Leon managed to keep it in sight, even so, and as he drew near the
area where the Buma call had come from, he saw something that made him
groan.
The guy on the silver bike was driving right at the Buma, a
Bu-55c that had taken it upon itself to rampage through the video
arcades. There were no other units present yet, and the Buma had
noticed the biker. It turned and set itself to meet his charge. Leon
stepped on the gas, hoping to get there in time to do something to
save this brave idiot.
He needn't have worried. The front fairing on the bike opened
up in two sections, one just above each headlight, revealing twelve
stubby little circular objects. When they shot forth, spewing vapor,
Leon knew they were missiles. The Buma was temporarily hidden by
explosions; when it emerged from the smoke cloud, it was missing an
eye, a hand, and a decent chunk of one thigh, and it was pissed off.
The Buma's mouth opened as it prepared to fire its particle cannon.
The silver motorcycle performed another of those incredible
leaps just as the Buma's blue bolt shot forth to blow a decent-size
hole in the pavement where it had just been. In midair, its
components shifted, changing form around the rider. The suspension
swung downward, heavy shocks paralleling the rider's upper arms as the
twin-tubed armatures locked against his forearm guards; the fairing
swung up and split in two to latch against his chest as the skid plate
on the belly became chest and body armor. What Leon had taken for
chain guards became "outriggers" of a sort against the upper legs as
the boots elongated slightly, and the engine, tank and seat folded up
into a compact bundle on the rider's back, wheels locking up--he could
see now that they must be shaft driven--on either side behind his
head. The armored warrior grounded about ten feet from the Buma and
raised his hands, elbows tucked tight against his hips. The Buma took
a step back and uncovered its heat-ray.
The guy in what had been a motorcycle let off four more small
missiles, one from each of the two tubes on each forearm. They
spiraled the fifteen feet and slammed into the Buma, and the mechanoid
monster was lost in the flare of white light as the plasma warheads
went off. When the glare faded, the Buma, its entire torso gutted and
melted and its head blown completely away, toppled to its back,
twitched, and then lay still.
Arm tubes smoking, the armored rider turned and regarded
Leon's car. The ADPoliceman got out of it and, sidearm ready,
approached him. As he got closer, he noticed that it wasn't
completely unpainted. On the sides of the helmet spar and the front
fairing, painted in small, distinct black letters, were the words:

K N I G H T S A B E R S

"Knight Sabers?" Leon asked, holding his weapon to the side
but ready. He was pretty sure the biker guy was on his side, but...
"Oh, it's you, `Iron Man'."
"You're quick," the battlearmor replied in a familiar
modulated voice. "I can see why you made Inspector so quickly." He
knelt on the ground, then, and the part of his armor that had been the
bike fell away, reforming into a motorcycle under him and lifting him
up. He put one foot on the ground as it came fully upright and sat on
it like any biker at a stop sign, ready to ride away.
"Funny guy," Leon said. "What happened to your hardsuit?"
"Nothing," Gryphon replied. "This is an emergency backup
system, in case anything does happen to it." Gryphon decided not to
correct Leon; it would take him at least ten minutes to explain the
difference between his armor and a hardsuit, and it was a technicality
that only mattered to techies like him anyway.
"Emergency backup? When it's converted, that thing is easily
the equivalent of one of our Armored Troopers."
"Exactly the benchmark I was shooting for. Thanks. As you
can see by my sadly undecorated state," he went on, waving a hand at
his unpaintedness, "I'm in the testing phase. This was the first
field test of this equipment, and I'm quite prepared to call it
successful."
"Testing phase? You built this yourself?"
"Every part, machined by hand," the biker replied with
electronically modulated pride. "Beautiful work, if I do say so
myself."
"I'd say," Leon agreed, holstering his sidearm. He
appreciated good machinery, and what the hell, the guy had taken out
the Buma. That was what the Knight Sabers did. Besides, his bike was
fast and his armor was strong, and Leon had no illusions about being
able to stop him without going back to his car and getting the missile
launcher. His gut told him the silver biker was on his side, and that
was good enough. Still, he could hear approaching sirens; the
oncoming ADPolice ESWAT team probably wouldn't feel the same way.
The silver cyclist had apparently had the same idea; he
started the engine and raised a hand in salute. "See you around,
Inspector McNichol," he said. He twisted his throttle, pulled a
wheelie, and rode away into the night, leaving Leon with a dead Buma
and some explaining to do.

Some blocks away, a low-slung red street machine swung out of
a side street and pulled abreast of the silver motorcycle, its rider a
woman in red leathers and with long brown hair in a ponytail out of
her helmet. She opened up the visor of her helmet at the next red
light and called across, "How'd it go?"
Gryphon shoved back his facebowl and replied, "Decent. She's
faster than I expected, and handles even better than my estimates. If
I do say so myself, and I'd better 'cos no one else will, I've really
outdone myself this time." He grinned widely and went on, "We'll talk
back at the shop. Ok?"
"Ok," Priss replied. Gryphon gave her a thumbs-up, which she
returned, and roared off with her close behind.

"Yep," Gryphon said, rubbing the side of the tank with a rag,
"a marvel of modern engineering. You've got to try it sometime,
Priss...responsive, quick...mm! It's the best bike I've ever
ridden...and I've ridden a few."
"You're so modest," Priss replied with a smile, patting his
shoulder.
"About which, my experience, or my engineering triumphs?"
"Both."
"Well, I'm pleasantly surprised, is all. I expected it to be
sweet, but this...well, I've never had a bike that handled this well
before, or accelerated this fast. It's really great, so why not be
honest about it? And as far as my experience goes, well...if you've
done it...flaunt it." He smiled--actually, it was more of a comically
exaggerated leer--and twitched his eyebrows above half-lidded eyes. A
good-natured thump in the shoulder was his reward.
"Go on," Priss said, walking over to the bench and picking up
a spanner. "Your first bike was a '75 Honda."
"CB550," Gryphon agreed, reminiscing. "I loved that bike. It
wasn't very powerful, or very fast, but it handled nice, especially
once I got the new tires on it. I bought a silk aviator's scarf just
so I could feel like a fighter pilot when I rode it. Took my test
with that scarf on...summer of '93. Ahh...those were the days." He
leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed above his head, and
sighed. "You can't go home again."
"No," Priss agreed, "but you can make new ones." She put the
spanner down on the bench. "Do you feel at home here?"
"Here? In MegaTokyo?" He considered. "Yeah, I guess
so...most of the time. Sometimes when I'm out in the city alone, I
still feel like a stranger in a strange land, but most of the time,
when I'm among friends...yeah. That's what home has always been to
me, really. Not so much a place, as a gathering of friends."
"Mm." Priss was silent for a moment, reflecting. "There was
a time when I didn't have any friends."
"I'd hate that," Gryphon said. "When I was little, I didn't
have any friends, except books. I made my first real friend when I
was a freshman in high school. By the end of that year I had three.
A couple of years later I made a couple more. Then I went to
Worcester, and there they were all around me. My own kind. Kinsmen,
gweeps and Wedge Rats all. My definitions of home and family changed
that year, much to my parents' dismay."
"`Home' became wherever you and your friends happened to be,
and `family' became your friends?"
"Yeah." He chuckled. "I call Zoner `brother' sometimes, but
we're not really related, at least as far as either of us knows.
Although, hey, you know, we just could be. It would be weird enough.
But either way, we're so similar that we couldn't be anything else."
"What about me?"
"What about you? Well...you're you. There's no one in the
world like you. If there's one ability of mine that I find to be a
curse most of the time, it's my perception. I think I'm one of the
only people in the world who can read MegaZone, and likewise, I'm one
of the only people in the world who can read you."
"You can read me?" Interest--and a spark of worry--showed in
her eyes, cybernetic though they were. Gryphon marveled at their
sophistication, not for the first time. The eyes were the windows to
the soul, it has been said, and Priss's eyes fulfilled that capacity
better than she suspected, despite the fact that "BAUSCH & LOMB" was
printed in tiny letters on their blood-red irises.
"Yes. It isn't easy, but it's possible. I find you let down
a lot of your guard when you're around me." At this comment she
stiffened perceptibly, but relaxed moments later; it was true. "You
show a side of yourself to me that I don't think you show to other
people often, and you probably didn't realize until I told you that
you did."
She accepted the analysis without comment, then asked, "What
do I say?"
"Your strength, and toughness, and all that...they aren't just
an act. They're real, not a veneer. You're made of steel. But they
are a defense mechanism. There's so much pain in you, so close to the
surface. So bravely hidden...but so obvious to someone like me." He
sighed, grabbing his face in his hand and shaking his head, eyes
squeezed shut. "Shit, I have to be careful. So careful..."
"Careful?" She took a couple of steps toward him. "Careful
of what?"
"Well, you see, it's like this. I'm not the most emotionally
stable person in the world. You don't see that now, because I'm
happy, and in a position of control in my life, but I'm actually
pretty fucked up. That's where at least half of my good nature comes
from. Noticed how easily frustrated I am? How I avoid situations
like...well, like this? Being one-on-one with someone, anyone? It's
because of my nature.
"It's my nature to love. The tiniest provocation--or
sometimes none at all--and my emotions start playing the Masochism
Tango in my head. I've done it six or seven times that I can count,
and I'm only twenty. It happens in friendships. It happens in casual
acquaintanceships. Once it happened in no relationship at all--a
picture on a television screen and the most beautiful voice I had ever
heard set it off. So when I meet someone I genuinely like, I go on
guard, knowing how rapidly that kind of thing can get out of hand with
me. As time goes on, and the bonds become stronger, it gets harder to
control, and eventually I start to feel comfortable, and then I drop
my barriers completely.
"That's about the time it usually goes straight to hell in a
handbasket, and I usually don't even salvage a friendship out of the
mess. I did once--I was lucky--but aside from that one case, every
time the smoke clears, whoever it was is very uncomfortable around me,
and I take off. When I came here, I was stupid enough to think it
would be different." He opened the lab door and went through into the
corridor, then down to the garage where his car waited. Priss
followed.
"Wait a minute," she called after him. "What are you saying?"
He opened up the driver's door and got in, waving at the
passenger seat. She came around and got in, leaving the door open.
Gryphon started fooling around with the onboard computer for a
distraction.
"Isn't it obvious?" he replied, slotting a 2" disk and keying
the download process into action. "My thoughts are dominated, every
waking moment, by a single train of thoughts, a single set of images.
I can think, yes, I can function, but everything is referenced back to
the same person. Everything I see is connected in some way,
everything I experience tied somehow to a reminder of, the same
person. I fixate, and stay fixated for probably a month or so of the
most agonizing experience...it's unpleasant, but there's always the
hope...and then I come down, usually without managing to keep the
whole thing quiet, and blam. Everything goes to hell." He stabbed a
couple of keys almost accusingly. "I had so hoped that, after all my
training, I could be over this stupidity...I had so hoped that, if
nothing else, Cheryl had taught me not to be such a damned fool." He
removed the disk from the dash computer and pocketed it, then started
punching keys almost savagely.
Priss sat back in the seat as a tear rolled down Gryphon's
cheek, not knowing what to make of this situation. She didn't have
his problem; if anything, she had the opposite problem. She found it
very difficult to love, or even, really, to trust. She hardly ever
revealed her feelings to herself, let alone other people. Yet here
was Gryphon, obviously suffering, and he was a friend. She had few
friends, and, however secretly, treasured those she had, and she felt
she ought to help him...but showing sympathy was not in her nature.
She fought a quiet battle with herself for a moment, and then made a
decision.
She reached out, took him by the near shoulder, and turned him
to face her. "Are you talking about me?" she asked quietly, in a tone
so unlike her that Gryphon appeared momentarily surprised. "Is that
what you're trying to say?"
He smiled sadly. "No, fortunately. I felt the warning signs
of that kind of thing when I first met you, but I kept it together,
which surprised me. I do love you--curse that word, it has so many
meanings--but so far, I haven't gotten all messed up in you. Give me
until Christmas and ask again...if I run away, you'll know what the
answer was. By then, my current situation should have blown up in my
face." He chuckled. "It would be another textbook case of Gryphon's
emotions running wild, though. Gods know I've fallen for women much
like you, in the past, tough, independent, but somehow...I don't know,
almost vulnerable, although the mere mention of the word makes you
bristle. But no, not this time."
"Oh." She took her hand off his shoulder and looked down,
embarrassed somehow. She had been pretty certain her guess was right,
and, surprisingly, the thought hadn't annoyed her, as it usually did
when she found out that someone was attracted to her. She felt kind
of silly to have come out with the theory now that it wasn't
right--but then, it had been a good guess, and based on past
experiences. Both had originally been all right with what had
happened at the Storm Warnings party, but things change...
"Don't worry about it," Gryphon went on. "It was a hell of a
good guess, and like I said, give me six months or so and it might
turn out to be right. You are the type of woman I usually get into
this kind of mess because of." He grinned wryly. "It's a little
disturbing that the kind of woman I'm usually attracted to is so much
like Zoner."
That took her aback for a second. Did he just compare her to
Zoner? They were totally unlike! Not even remotely similar, at all!
She tried to be indignant about it, but failed.
"No," Gryphon said sadly, "this time, I've gotten further out
of my league than ever before." He pressed his lips together in a
thin, bitter line. "If experience is the best teacher, then why the
hell can't I ever learn anything?"
"Look," Priss said, recovering from her embarrassment, "you
need to talk to someone about this, or you'll explode. I'm going to
tell you something I've never told anyone, not since my parents died.
Look at me." She turned his face by hand, in case he should prove
reluctant, and met his gaze with her own. "You are part of my family.
Yeah, sure, I'm tough and strong and all that other shit, but fuck all
that right now. Like you said once, it's after one in the morning,
there's no caffeine left to power the illusions. You're in a lot of
pain here, and I can't let that go on." She took a breath, let it
out, and then continued, "You're right, the word has too damned many
meanings. Figure it out, damn it, I love you."
Gryphon blinked.
"It's true. You and your wacko friend--" she smiled a bit at
the memory-- "popped into my life one night, endangered it, saved it,
and changed it, all in the space of a few hours. Before I met you
guys, I had four friends. It went up to six that night, although I
didn't realize it for a few weeks. You figure out for yourself how
significant the numbers there are. We've ridden together, hit the
range together, jammed, fought shoulder to shoulder for our
lives--hell, Gryphon, we've done the most intimate thing two people
can do together! Now start this car, and drive back to your
apartment, and if we have to talk all night, you are going to feel
better in the morning. Do you understand me?"
Gryphon blinked again. Then, silently, he strapped in,
started the car, and keyed the garage door. Before long, they had
reached his apartment, a cluttered studio on the top floor of an
office building. Gryphon dumped his field jacket on the Japanese
office chair by the police box, kicked off his Chucks, and collapsed
on the couch. Priss ditched her boots and hung onto the jacket,
wadding it up and leaning an elbow on it as she sat down on the floor
next to the end of the sofa.
"All right," she said, "talk."
"What do you mean," Gryphon replied, "talk?"
"Start at the beginning. This story's been trying to get out
of you since it started. Now's your chance to tell it."
"The beginning? That was a long time ago. Middle school.
1986. I was thirteen."
"Yeah?"
"There was a girl in some of my classes. It was stupid. I
was thirteen."
"Uh huh. Go on..."
"I actually ended up making friends with her in high
school...we sat together in biology sophomore year and traded music
tips. Our tastes were pretty close."
"This girl didn't have a name?"
"Not important."
"Everything's important."
"Are you sure you aren't Austrian?"
"My mother was Irish. I ended up with her looks, and her
attitude, and Dad's religion. I'll tell you my life story later.
Promise. Now go on. Forget about her name if you don't want to tell
me--she's sixty-some now anyway."
The thought hadn't occurred to Gryphon, and he was mildly
unsettled by it for a second. Then he gathered his wits and
continued. "Her name was--is--Lori. Next...oh Gods. The next one
was even stupider. It was actually two. There were a couple of
sisters, my junior year, and I think I alternated between them on
about a daily basis. I was...sixteen, then. It was just as stupid.
No...it was more stupid. By then I should've known better. That one,
like the one before it, I managed to keep fairly quiet."
"Uh huh. Keep going..."
"Ok...senior year next...well, there was the class president,
and her best friend whose lead trombone I played second to in stage
band...that was a lot like the year before, except we were actually
friends, and had been for quite some time...I thought I kept it under
my hat pretty well, but a year or so later I told one of them, and she
laughed and said they'd always known, but they didn't want to let me
know they knew, 'cos it would've made me feel horrible...she was
right, it would've. Turns out she kind of liked me too...one of those
things that make you go `huh?'..."
"Mm hmm..."
"Oh, Gods. Then I got to college and really lost it.
Suddenly I had a zillion friends, most of them gweeps at first, and
then, around October, I started getting in with the fringe elements,
Zoner among them. One of the gweeps had caught my eye, when I first
rejoined GweepCo, but she was involved with someone, so I chalked up
to bad timing and went on. Little did I realize, then, what would end
up happening there.
"Anyway...then there was Tricia." He smiled. "Tricia is the
one I got lucky with. She was in my calculus class, and kind of took
me under her wing as I struggled with failing. Then she got involved
with the Wedge Rat crowd, and the people who lived at E7, where Zoner
lived. She started going out with his roommate Mark, who was a friend
of mine too. We hung around a lot, and at first everything was cool."
"And then it stopped being so cool?"
"Ding. That was the worst thing I had endured up to that
point. Around then, two people close to me and mine killed
themselves, and Zoner looked to be real close to following them. I
was failing everything I tried and losing my direction in life in a
big way. My head was coming apart, and in the middle of this, I
started to realize that It Was Happening Again." He sighed. "So I
ditched for a while, hanging around in my room, avoiding E7 and Tricia
and Mark, because they were friends of mine, and I wanted them to be
happy. I didn't want to get them down being depressed about it. They
figured something was up and invaded my room one night, and we all
talked until dawn...and that whole thing got worked out."
"No kidding."
"No kidding. All was cool, after that. Oh, sure, it hurt for
a while, but there was no guilt, for once, and that terrible feeling
of lugging around the secret was gone. They weren't uncomfortable
around me, and showed a little respect for the walking wounded.
"And then..." He sighed again, a much deeper sigh this time.
"Then there was Cheryl."
"I get the feeling Cheryl was different than the others."
"Yeah. Different is the word. And better. And a million
times worse. See, she liked me, too. We started hanging around
together in mid-March, and by the end of April we were pretty close.
Then I went away."
"Went away?"
"I left WPI on the last day of April. I was as close to
insane as I think I had ever gotten--maybe I actually had cracked by
then. Anyway, we said our good-byes, and kept in touch. I called her
every Saturday night, and racked up an impressive phone bill that my
father spat blood about for months, and we wrote a lot. Then I got
dimensionally displaced for the first time, in early August. That
kind of re-arranged my viewpoint on a number of things, but that
Saturday, out of reflex, I called her, and found out that whoever I
had been in that dimension before I came along, I had been in the same
situation."
"Weird."
"No shit. So I called home, to see if I was expected back in
Maine on Monday to work, and the response was, hell no, you're in
school, what the hell's wrong with you? It was so bizarre. Suddenly
I was back in Worcester. I had a place to live and I was back in
school...life was starting to look pretty neat, even if Zoner was
pissing and moaning about not having died a heroic death to save all
creation." This drew a small grin from both of them; they had both
heard him do it from time to time, in his darker moods.
"Whoever I had been, I had managed to hang on for the summer
session, but the general feeling I got from all my friends who were
natives of the dimension was that it wasn't expected to make any
difference. That pissed me off enough that I passed the things I was
in over the summer and got my ass off academic probation. Then
regular classes started, first of September, and she came back to
Worcester. Turned out I lived in the opposite end of the same
apartment as her. That seemed to make her uncomfortable. I asked
what the matter was, but I always got some kind of excuse. Turned out
it was because I was supposed to have been gone for good there, too.
So there I was, feeling like I was back home, and she was acting like
she didn't want me to be there. Eventually she just said look, I'm
not real comfortable right now, I don't want to get involved with
anyone. It's nothing personal, right? So I said yeah, suit yourself,
and it pissed me off, but nothing I could do, right? So I cried some,
and that was that."
"Except it wasn't."
"Except it wasn't," he confirmed. "See, there was this guy
named Eric."
"I hate it when that shit happens," Priss said, suddenly
bitter. "You know they didn't deliberately lie to you, but that
doesn't make you feel any less betrayed, does it?"
"No," Gryphon replied, "it sure doesn't. And people started
to get down on me about letting the hurt show--I was getting them
down, they said, they couldn't enjoy being together completely if I
was around, feeling hurt and making them guilty, so why didn't I just
stop being a baby?" He ground his left fist into his right hand.
"Gods, that pissed me off. I've never been so mad as I was the first
time Julia said that to me. I think if ReRob hadn't been there to
stop me, I'd've killed her. Julia was the one who set Cheryl up with
Eric in the first place. She knew about me and the way I felt--she
just didn't give a shit. Real restorative for one's faith in
humanity."
"So you were pretty ripped up about that."
"Yeah. Shit, I still am, to an extent. It was my first
pseudo-real relationship, and it fucked me up when it just arbitrarily
went to hell. So I got cold for a while, and I was still pretty
trashed from it when Edison showed up and whisked me off to do med
school, and then my residency, and then train with Master Caine
for...Christ, I dunno how long that all took, I think Edison kind of
`encapsulated' the time in my head. I figure I was gone from
Worcester for maybe an hour, and my Worcester time is the one my
memory runs along the line of...I don't know how to explain it,
really. Anyway, I was still pretty messed when I came here, which is
probably why nothing happened to me for the first few months. But
lately...it's been happening again. I can tell. I can feel it.
There's nothing I can do to stop it...so it looks like I'm on a
collision course to messing up yet another friendship."
"Hmm..." Priss seemed lost in thought for a moment. "All
this comes down to the big question, you know. You can't avoid it
forever."
"Big question?"
"Yeah. You're gonna have to tell me who it is this time,
sooner or later."
"Aww. You don't want to keep guessing?"
"I don't think that would take real long, but I'd rather you
just said it. I think it'd make you feel better anyway."
Gryphon went into the kitchen and got himself a Pepsi, dumping
it over ice in his big glass mug, and retrieved a Guinness and the
appropriate glass for Priss on his way back. He didn't drink alcohol,
himself, but he kept the Guinness around for those of his friends who
did, beer being mostly harmless to the upholstery and all. (He
couldn't think of anyone but Joe who could possibly puke after a beer,
and Joe was several time zones away.) Then, sprawling on the couch
again, he put a hand over his eyes and rubbed his forehead for a few
minutes.
He took a deep drink of the soda and set the mug down on the
hardwood floor with a click, then said, "Linna."
Priss finished taking a pull of the beer and replied, "Yeah, I
thought so."
"Did you."
"Next logical choice, after me."
"Do tell, O modest one."
"Well, look at it logically. Nene's a gweep. You've gotten
ripped by a gweep once before, so you'll naturally be a bit gun-shy
about that, although to be honest with you, I've watched the two of
you work together on something a few times, and I think maybe there's
something there that could work, given half a chance. But anyway.
Sylia is, well, Sylia. We know her, and she's nice enough, but she's
not demonstrative. I think I've seen her smile maybe four times in
all the time I've known her. Don't get me wrong, she's a good friend,
she'll go to the wall for any of us, but she's cold. You're not the
type to get worked up over ice--although I notice Zoner is." Gryphon
smiled at that; he, too, had noticed the increasing yen his colleague
seemed to have for the good Dr. Stingray. "I don't know of any other
women you know around here, so that would leave Linna--and you have
been pretty nervous around her lately." She sat back against the
couch and looked up at him. "She is cute, isn't she?"
"What would you know about that?"
"Hey, I'm straight, but not blind." She drank some more. "I
mean, you know what a good-looking guy looks like, right?"
"I guess."
"All right. Now we know what's going on. The question is,
what are you going to do about it?"
"What do you mean, what am I going to do about it?" Gryphon
asked. "I think that's pretty obvious, if you look at my past
pattern. I'm going to suffer for a while, and eventually I'm going to
screw up, and the whole thing's gonna blow up in my face. If I'm
lucky, I'll jump dimensions again. If not I'll move to Taiwan or
something."
"You could try asking her out, you know."
"That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard."
"What's so stupid about it? People go out all the time."
"I don't. I don't know the first thing about it. Besides,
look at me."
Taking his advice, she got up, took a few steps back, and did
just that, nodding occasionally.
"Ok, put in a little effort, and I don't see a problem," she
said in a minute or so.
"What?"
"Well, look at it this way. You're already friends. It's not
as if you have to make a first impression. Ok, so. Here's my plan.
You get a good night's--er, day's--sleep, get a shower, all that kind
of stuff. Then we'll do something nice with your hair, trim the beard
a little, and find some clean clothes in this disaster zone. Tomorrow
afternoon we're having trials. Practice, physicals, the whole
schmear. Afterward, you move."
"That's ridiculous!"
"What's so ridiculous about it? I think you've got a shot.
She's not seeing anyone right now, and she told me a while back she
was starting to get a little lonely...she's gotten sick of the singles
scene, though--too many disappointments--so she's been reluctant to go
out and get looking." She smiled and then, leaning a little closer,
said confidentially, "She likes you."
"You're kidding."
"Of course not. Would I kid about that at a time like this?
She thinks you're cool, if a little nuts, but you're always so wrapped
up in your work she's never gotten around to approaching you."
Gryphon sat in silence and digested this for a while, then
took a swig of his Pepsi and said, "Nah...couldn't be. I should be so
lucky."
"People like you, Gryphon," said Priss. "Just accept it."
He laughed, then stood up and looked serious. "Did you mean
what you said earlier?"
"About what? Oh. Duh. Yeah. Yeah, I did. I do love you,
in my own warped way. But if you tell anyone I ever said it, I'll
deny it, and then kill you," she warned with a grin.
He grinned back. "Right. You know something?"
"What?"
He took a couple of steps and hugged her, even going so far as
to kiss her gently. "I love you too...and you can quote me on that if
you want to." He stepped back, then ran a hand over his hair, a
nervous gesture which cropped up frequently at times like this. "You
really think I've got a shot?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, if you say so..."

The next day, Gryphon stood in the lab, watching through the
window as Linna confronted the holosimulator. Glancing down at the
panel, he noted its difficulty level: eight, out of a possible ten.
No one else in the room had managed to beat it on level eight yet.
His own personal best was six. As he watched, Linna backed up two
steps as it advanced, dodged seven or eight tentacles, parried three
more, and then launched herself in a complex flying kick that wound up
scoring a "defeat" on the scorecomp.
He blinked. There was a hand on his shoulder, suddenly.
Glancing to the side, he saw it was Priss.
"Feeling intimidated?" she whispered, leaning close.
Gryphon could manage only an ironic chuckle in reply.
"Don't be."
At that, he could only repeat the chuckle.
"She's human, same as you. Just a little faster."
"A lot faster."
"Whatever. Just don't let it bother you. C'mon, you're
Shaolin, you can do anything, remember?"
"Right." Don't let it bother me, she says. Hah. "`I am
Caine. Come to Chinatown. I will help you.'" He chuckled as he
remembered his inscrutable, yet so simple, master.
"That's the spirit," said Priss, slapping his shoulder. Then
she walked to the curl bar for the upper-body-strength test.
A second or so later, as he watched Linna go for Round 2
against the simulator, he felt another hand on his shoulder.
Glancing, he saw Nene looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
"Mind telling me just what's going on?" she whispered
conspiratorially.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You and Priss left together last night," Nene said with that
tone of voice that only someone who has done some detective work and
is immensely pleased with herself can generate. "Her bike was still
here this morning. Did you two spend the night together? Hmm?"
"For pity's sake, Nene. Not only is that question irrelevant,
it's none of your business."
"You did, didn't you!"
"Shh! No, we did not." Technically, he was lying. He had
gone over and sprawled on his bed after the main topic of their
conversation was finished; she had sat down on the edge, and they had
talked about other things long into the night, until eventually, she
tipped over and fell asleep, at which point Gryphon, suddenly without
a conversation partner to keep him from dozing off, had fallen asleep
as well. They had had several good laughs about it that morning, but
were agreed that the situation was just generally all wrong for Dire
Straits.
Still, he knew what Nene meant, so he wasn't really lying; he
was answering her question.
"Oh, go on," Nene went on, prodding him. "You were just
talking about something pretty personal, I could tell."
"So are we. Does that mean we're heading off for the
occasional late-night rendezvous, and if so, why haven't I been
informed until now? I hate it when I miss important events of my own
personal life, after all. Have I been missing a whole affair?" It
amused Gryphon almost to no end that he was denying something he had
actually done...
"Oh, you're impossible. You'll tell me, sooner or later.
Just wait." Nodding in assurance, she went away. Gryphon sighed.
Just then Zoner entered the room and sidled up behind him.
"What were you doing last night?" he asked.
"Get fucked, Zoner," Gryphon snapped. Zoner blinked.
"Gryphon, you're next," Sylia declared as Linna beat the
simulator again. "You're at level seven today."
"Joy," replied Gryphon in a tone that conveyed anything but.
"I've never cleared seven."
"Call it a personal goal then," Sylia replied. "You've been
practicing, haven't you?"
"Of course," Gryphon replied. "It's just that I haven't had a
lot of time, working on the weapons upgrades for you and all."
"Touche, Gryphon. Just do your best." Sylia joined Zoner at
the console.
"Go get 'em, Gryph," Linna said, slapping his hand as they
passed each other at the door, like two basketball players passing
each other during a player swap. The door clanged shut and Gryphon
was alone in the chamber where lurked his personal demon: the
holographic aggressor.
Gryphon's dislike of the holo-aggressor was a simple one. His
form was a tactile one, relying a great deal on things like the sounds
made by the enemy, the traces of wind made by the enemy's movements,
even the smell of the enemy--all things the hologram lacked. Without
that, and without any form of feedback at all from his attacks,
Gryphon constantly felt like he was shadow-boxing. He enjoyed
shadow-boxing, but not when things were coming at his head.
"You will have four attack opportunities during this run,"
Sylia's voice advised him over the speakers. "Don't waste them."
Gryphon nodded and assumed the ready stance Master Caine had
taught him. The years--they must have been years, he was certain of
it--he had spent learning the ways of the Shaolin from Kwei-Chang
Caine had been almost a whirlwind, a blur, and at both ends, there had
been Edison, smiling. Gryphon didn't know how long he had been with
Caine--the man never seemed to age, and Edison had played tricks with
time on his mind, but he estimated that it must have been at least a
decade. And yet he didn't feel ten years older since that first
encounter with Edison; just two or three, the time he had spent in
Worcester and MegaTokyo. He remembered every minute he had spent with
Caine, every day and night, and yet if he tried to concentrate on the
whole span of them instead of any particular memory, the whole package
slipped out of his mental fingers, like the contents of an hour in a
busy workday. He wondered, sometimes, about Edison's role in all
this.
Not now, though. Now, he had work to do. "Ready?" He
nodded. "Go!"
The holo-aggressor materialized, and he concentrated on
defeating it. All other thoughts vanished from his mind.

"That's a victory," Sylia announced as the holo-aggressor
dissolved around his knifed hand. "An excellent performance,
Gryphon."
Gryphon turned and bowed to the window, a smile on his face,
before walking to the door and exiting.
"Reflex speed, 7.74," Sylia proclaimed as he emerged. "You've
improved."
"I try to get more fiber these days."
"7.74?" inquired Zoner. "Not bad, nature boy, not bad."
"Bite me, wirehead, I'm a nutritious part of this complete
breakfast," Gryphon replied, rubbing his hair vigorously with a towel.
His brow creased as he regarded the sweaty mess, some of which was
actually long enough for him to look at. "Hmm...Things We Never
Thought About In The Middle Of The Night, No. 146," he mused.
"Hm?"
"Oh, nothing. What's next?"
"Upper body strength. Grab the bar, plug in, and let's see
what you can do."

"I think there's a problem with our plan, Priss old pal,"
Gryphon observed as he shrugged into his checkered flannel shirt and
buttoned it up.
"What?"
"I'm bloody exhausted." He started to lace up his left The
Pump. "I don't think I could go out tonight if I tried."
"I--yawn--know what you mean, but you're just gonna have to
bite the bullet and do it," Priss replied, pulling on one of her
boots. "You sure you don't have any reserves of energy packed away
anywhere?"
"Unless you count the caffeine in the Pepsi I'm about to buy,
no."
"Well, you'll have to tough it out the hard way then. You
don't want to let your window slip by, after all."
"Window?"
"Yeah. Nene told me she was sick and tired of waiting for the
girl to get off her butt and get out, so tomorrow night she's going to
set Linna up with some guy she knows from work."
"A cop?"
"Kind of. He works in the computer division." Priss tapped
the base of her skull meaningfully with a fingertip. Gryphon's face
went slightly pale.
"A jackhead?" he hissed in an outraged whisper.
"Yep, and what's worse, he's part of their new Internet Crimes
Investigation Division."
Gryphon flushed red. "An iceman! This is outrageous! What
can Nene be thinking?!"
"Desperation, I'd say."
"Nene's a gweep, for pity's sake. For a gweep to try to set
one of her friends up with some jackheaded iceman--it's perverse!
Worse than that, it's heretical!" His jaw set with determination as
he picked up his coat and hauled it on. "This isn't a personal matter
anymore. It's a jihad!" He took a step toward the garage.
"Gryphon, don't do anything dumb," Priss cautioned, grabbing
her own jacket and following.
Gryphon laughed. "I'm not, I'm kidding. Kind of. It is
sick, though. Nene is capable of being more twisted than any of us
can even imagine." They left the locker room for the garage; Linna
was heading for her car.
"It's now or never, sport," Priss muttered into his ear.
"Right. This is a matter of pride, now...I have to do it, not
just for me, but for gweeps everywhere." Gryphon squared his
shoulders and walked toward her; behind him, Priss rolled her eyes and
twirled a fingertip next to her temple.
About then, Nene emerged from the locker room to see Gryphon
heading for Linna's car. "What's he--" she began, but Priss grabbed
her in a headlock and put a hand over her mouth before she could go
on. Mackie, in the corner, stopped working on the motoslave and
looked up.
Reaching conversation range right around the time Linna was
getting into her car, Gryphon said, "Hey, Linna? Could I, ah, talk to
you for a second?"
"Sure," she replied, rolling down the window and closing the
door. "What's up?"
"Well--" Come on, come on...you're Shaolin, you can do
anything, remember? "--I was wondering if you'd like to go out
someplace tonight."
Linna's face brightened. Gryphon's heart twitched; that smile
could light up a stadium, he thought to himself.
"I'd love to," Linna replied. It stopped twitching and
leaped, heading for Kyoto without him. "Where?"
"Er--" It then occurred to Gryphon that he had no idea. He
had carefully considered every aspect of asking Linna out--except what
to do if she actually accepted. Thus, he had no plan at all about
what to do now. His brain had approximately 0.052 seconds to think of
something decent, and for once, it performed under pressure.
"--well, I'm pretty hungry...how about we go for food, for
starters? Say, Ping's?"
"Sure!" Linna replied brightly. "Just let me go home and get
cleaned up, ok? You can pick me up in about...oh...half an hour.
Would that be ok?"
"Ok," Gryphon replied. Ok?! It's fucking wonderful! Way to
go, Gryphon! "See you then!"
"See you!" said Linna, and drove away. Gryphon waited until
she was out of sight, then turned around and punched at the air.
Mackie grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. He ran over to Priss, who
stood by his car.
"He shoots," Priss declared, releasing Nene, "he scores!"
They shared a high five. "And I won't even say I told you so."
"What's the occasion?" Zoner asked as he emerged from the
locker room, having just caught the high five.
"Gryphon here just got himself a date."
"Gryphon? A date? Impossible! Nature boy hasn't had a date
since 1992."
"Zoner, I'd kick you, but you'd beat me up, and I'm too tired
to defend myself...and then I just wouldn't be presentable."
"Oh, it's not fair," Nene protested. "What am I going to tell
Lars, now?"
Gryphon, MegaZone, Priss, Mackie, and even Sylia, who had just
come out of the locker room herself, fixed Nene with a quizzical look
and said in unison, "Lars?"
Gryphon grinned and got a Pepsi from the machine in the corner
of the garage. "I guess Lars is just going to have to crawl around
the 'net until he finds someone else," he said, draining the can in
one pull, flattening it, and throwing it into the recycling bin. "I'm
ashamed of you, Nene, trying to set your own friend up with an iceman.
And a wirehead to boot! You should be ashamed."
"Desperate times," Nene replied defensively, "call for
desperate measures."
"That they do," Gryphon agreed, opening up his car door.
"Merry Christmas! Thank you, Jesus!" he cried in his
Robin-Williams-As-Jerry-Falwell Voice. "See you guys tomorrow.
Please, oh please, let the Buma be quiet tonight." He slammed his
door, started up the engine, and roared away into the night.
"Well, it's all very fine for him," Nene said petulantly, "but
how am I going to explain this to Lars?"
"Why don't you go out with him?" Zoner suggested.
"Eew!" Nene replied, making a face. "You heard Gryphon--he's
a jackhead NetCop. Ick ick ick!" She practically shuddered with
revulsion.
"And you were trying to set him up with Linna," Priss
observed. "What a pal."
"Well, that's different!" Nene protested. "Linna doesn't care
about that kind of thing! Besides, I figured she'd dump him in a week
or two anyway."
"Well, that's not a very nice thing to say," observed Mackie.
"I only hope this goes well for Gryphon," remarked Zoner.
"That's all he needs is to get burned again."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Priss replied, causing Zoner to look
at her curiously. "Anyway, I'd better get over there and help him
out--he can't be trusted to pick out his own clothes for an occasion
like this."

Zoner turned to Sylia, "About time they got around to it."
"Yes... I've wondered when something like this would happen."
"Care for an espresso?"
"Yes, thank you."
Zoner led her back to his office. When it came to caffeine he
was a gourmet. He set the machine to work and dug up a couple of good
sized mugs, none of those tiny little cups.
"This is good stuff, I got it from Seattle. My old roommate
introduced me to it."
"From Worcester?"
"Yes, we had an apartment of caffeine addicts. Mountain Dew
bottles everywhere. Two liters of course. We liked big doses."
"Do you still miss Worcester?"
"Yeah... I guess I do. I mean, it's like... sigh... I wasn't
me before I got to Worcester. I used to be someone else. Someone I
guess I didn't like much. I learned how to be myself in Worcester. I
found people who liked me for who I was, people I could be comfortable
with. For the first time in my life I really felt good about what I
was doing, I felt like I belonged. Of course I also turned out to be
one morose and cynical sonofabitch, I always seemed to notice the pain
in the world around me. I paid a lot of attention to humanity, but at
the same time I started a love affair with technology. I always liked
it, machines didn't fuck you over like people tend to, but WPI was
where I first found the nets. I dove in head first and absorbed what
I could, made most of my friends that way." The espresso machine
beeped, and Zoner began filling the mugs. "Sorry, I'm rambling again.
I probably told you all of that before." He handed Sylia her mug.
"So what have you been up to of late?"
"Not too much, Ben and I have been working on some hardsuit
improvements. I keep busy with business and research. I guess I
don't really do much else."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"I guess so."
"What do you think of me?'
"What?!"
"Really... I mean I guess most people find me pretty distant,
I've been called intimidating by some. I have a lot of trouble
trusting people and I act standoffish because of it. Now that I have
the amount of metal that I do, I think some people feel uncomfortable
around me. I've noticed Priss is a bit skittish, she hides it well,
but I still noticed. I've been watching you too, and I just want to
know how you feel. I guess I care what you think."
"Well... I like you. I mean, you're really a nice guy, once
you look past the physical size. I could never find you intimidating
now, unless you were very angry I suppose. You really care about
people, and, despite all of your combat gear and ability, you're one
of the most peaceable people I've met. I'd never expect someone as
big as you are to be so gentle and delicate. You're good to your
friends, although maybe a bit over protective, and you'll do anything
you can to help them. Now, what about me?"
Zoner thought for a minute, sipping his espresso, then began
thoughtfully. "Let's see... You seem distant, some would say cold,
but that is because you have such a commitment to vengeance and you
feel responsible for everyone involved. You feel comfortable with who
you are, but sometimes you're a little self conscious about your drive
and goals. You already feel a little on the outside and it is one
more difference to add to the list. You carry a great deal of hate
which drives your vengeance, and that is what keeps you going. You're
attractive and friendly, but your drive tends to keep people distant,
so you've grown used to being alone. The type of person I could
really like."
That last comment caught her off guard. "Um... I'm not sure
what to say."
"No problem, I tend to be blunt when someone asks me a
question like that. But it's the truth, and I guess I feel a type of
solidarity with you. We do have a bit in common."
"A bit... So, where does this leave us?"
"Sitting in my office sipping espresso. What the future holds
we can only wait and see."
"I'm not sure if I could... well..."
"I understand, let's just say 'friends' for now and leave our
options open."
"Ok."
"Another cup?"
"Yes," Sylia smiled, "Yes, I'd like that."

When Priss arrived at Ben's apartment, the shower was running;
she hung around the studio, straightening up this or that and
marveling at the fact that there wasn't much to straighten up, while
waiting. The place was inordinately clean. You could actually see
the floor in several spots. It was a miracle.
"What do you think?" Gryphon asked as he emerged. Priss
blinked with surprise; maybe he could be trusted to pick out his own
clothes from time to time. He had on a set of black army pants, a
white dress shirt, a thin black tie and black suitcoat, and was in the
process of closing the black semi-dress sneakers he reserved for
special occasions.
"Sharp," Priss said, giving him a thumbs up.
"You weren't expecting this, were you?" Gryphon asked with a
grin. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail; what wasn't long enough
for the elastic to grab had been slicked back with gel. He had on his
"dressy" watch, the Swiss Army watch with the red stripe. "You
thought I'd have to be helped with something as simple as my
wardrobe."
"I'll admit to having my doubts."
"Oh ye of little faith. Look at this." He tossed his
battered duffel bag on the bed, zipped it open, and started
transferring armor components out of it and into one of those technoid
aluminum briefcases. "I'm even using a slick new armor tote for the
occasion. How's that grab you?"
"I'm absolutely speechless. It looks like you even polished
your armor."
"Better believe it. I'm not counting on tonight being quiet,
if for no other reason than I'd really like it to be. Things have a
way of going contrary to my wishes on purpose, I think." He closed
the case, pulled on his trench coat, and put on his black fedora, then
picked up the case. "How do I look?"
"Go get 'em, killer."

Dinner went exceptionally well. Normally, under circumstances
like this, Gryphon experienced a number of uncomfortable symptoms: for
example, his neck and shoulder muscles would lock up almost to the
point of spasm, and he would generally develop a thundering stress
headache, which, combined with the discomfort of his neck and
shoulders being so stiff, would make him somewhat irritable, erasing
what remained of his sense of humor that his nervousness and tension
hadn't already freed him of. He generally wound up coming off as
either a jerk or an idiot, or both.
Tonight, none of those symptoms were present. He felt relaxed
with Linna, perhaps even confident. At dinner, he abandoned
self-consciousness utterly, a technique he had attempted before with
various levels of success. Most often, if he attempted to erase his
tension by abandoning all self-consciousness, he ended up accidentally
removing all his self-control as well, becoming nothing but a sense of
humor, which changed his impression from that of a stuck-up jerk to
that of a complete buffoon.
Tonight, he walked the wire perfectly. One could perhaps call
him a clown, but, as Jesse Szymczyk once said, a clown is someone who
makes other people laugh and feel good. He was having a marvelous
time, and, unless she was devoting a particularly high amount of
energy to a pointless act, so was Linna. After dinner they went to a
small club near Sylia's building (coffeehouse, really), a charming
little place called "Random's" where Gryphon often went, because they
had live music and good hot drinks. That particular Saturday the
musicians were friends of his, regulars of the place just as he was, a
small blues band whose drummer was the place's owner himself, a
sandy-haired young man named, improbably enough, Random Corey.
They sat at a small corner table for a while; Gryphon had tea
(Earl Grey. Hot.), and Linna had the house cappuccino, a drink
Gryphon had always regarded as evil, but a possibly expedient rocket
fuel. After Random and his band performed a set, Gryphon got up and
went over to them, borrowed the guitarist's axe (is it permissible to
refer to an acoustic guitar as an axe?), and started playing. The
guitarist went and took a break, but the rest of the band decided to
stay, and Gryphon sat down on a stool and performed some blues tunes,
from old classic tunes with no documented origins to Clapton to B.B.
King and so on (including a rather morose song about suicide that
Linna found herself liking in spite of herself). After an hour or so,
he left the stage to friendly applause from the people in the club,
most of whom knew him.
"I didn't know you could play guitar," Linna said as they left
the club.
"Oh yeah," Gryphon replied, opening her door and like that,
then going round and getting into the car himself. "Back when I was
studying with Caine, we used to go down to a little club like
Random's, just on the outside of Chinatown, and play on Thursdays to
raise money for the orphanage in Chinatown. I'd play this old
acoustic guitar I had, and Master Caine would play his flute, and his
son Peter, who was a local cop, would play drums. We had a hell of a
time. I haven't had a guitar of my own since I left Worcester...I
play a couple times a month back there, to keep myself in practice.
Maybe I should pick one up sometime."
"Somehow I can just picture you, wandering around the world
with a guitar case in your hand, like some kind of minstrel."
Gryphon laughed. "I knew a guy like that back in Worcester.
Jim Tyrrell was his name. Scary-looking guy when you first met
him--black hair in a Mohawk, several days of beard, black leather
jacket and mosh boots. Then you really looked at him and realized he
wasn't all that scary. He wasn't a big guy, average height and kind
of skinny, but the thing about him you really noticed were his eyes.
He had these gentle blue eyes, and if you made eye contact with him,
you knew he wasn't scary. He blew into the Wedge one day with a
guitar, sat down and gave us a show, and stuck around. He'd been
everywhere, it seemed, but I guess when he got to Worcester he found
his home, at least for a while. Got a job and hung around, played his
guitar in the Wedge and joined WPI's theater groups. God, he was a
great guy. I miss him a lot."
"You really miss Worcester, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do, sometimes. That's one of the reasons I go to
Random's...it's one of those kinds of places where anything might
happen. Some Saturday night Jim Tyrrell's gonna walk in there, and
I'm gonna be there when he does."
"After seeing the place, I think I could actually believe
that."
"By the way, where are we going?"
Before Linna could reply, the pager light on the dash started
blinking and beeping insistently. Gryphon swallowed some profanity or
another and punched the system online; Sylia's face appeared on the
monitor screen.
"What?" Gryphon snapped.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," Sylia replied apologetically, "but
we need you."
"What's the problem and why can't it wait until next week
sometime?"
"I really am sorry. Meet us on the waterfront, near Pier 73.
We'll have Linna's gear ready when you arrive. It's urgent, so please
make all haste." The screen blipped off.
"Well, that's just great."
"Solves our problem, though, doesn't it?" Linna asked with a
grin.
Gryphon couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I guess it does at
that. Hang on." He reached up and tagged a couple of switches; the
light bar popped out of the roof , the siren started its eerie wail,
and Gryphon hit the gas.
He navigated through traffic expertly and got them to the pier
in record time, skidding to a halt next to the truck and shutting down
while piling out. As Linna climbed into the back of the truck to suit
up, he opened up the armor case on the roof of the car while stripping
off his clothes and throwing them in the back seat through the open
window. Within thirty seconds he was in his armor and powered up.
"What's the situation, O most lovely-yet-mysterious-and-
unreachable employer-type?" he asked, climbing aboard the truck. "Or,
if you prefer: `what the hell's so bloody important?!'"
"We're getting ready to enter a GENOM research facility where
they've been working on a new type of combat Buma," Sylia replied,
looking up from a planning table. "Indications are they've already
got it operational, so we're going to need all the firepower we can
get."
"Why, pray tell, did you decide to storm this place tonight?"
"It wasn't my idea," Sylia replied. "Fargo called me less
than half an hour ago to inform me that they're cleaning the place out
in the morning, so I decided we had no choice but to go in tonight.
By tomorrow they'll be gone."
MegaZone sauntered over, running diagnostics on his LightSaber
armor.
"So why are we attacking it at all, if they're leaving
tomorrow?"
"USSD wants the Black Box that controls the orbital defense
satellites back," Sylia replied, "and they're paying us $20 million US
to get it. In addition, this development is illegal," Sylia
continued. "If we can break the place up and leave some of the
evidence intact, ADPolice will finally have a case against GENOM, and
Fargo informed me that none other than Brian J. Mason is there
tonight, supervising the final stages. If we can get him..."
"I see. In other words, it's Sylia Stingray's personal
crusade."
"Your sarcasm is noted. Gryphon, I am truly sorry for
interrupting your evening, but I need you and Linna for this
operation. It's important. Not only to me and USSD. If we can
expose this operation and shut it down, we'll cripple GENOM's combat
Buma development into the next fiscal year!"
"Right, right. Well, I'm here now, so there's no sense in
arguing, right? Hit me with the battle plan," he said as he opened
the heavy weapons locker and pulled out his minigun mount.

"I think it's in this direction," Nene reported. "There's too
much electromagnetic interference in here for me to say for sure, but
this is the most likely direction."
"Gryphon?"
"Yeah, she's right--this place is a sensor's nightmare. I
can't get anything useful out of my sensors at all, and I'm in full
detection mode. Nene's sensors are a dozen times more sensitive and
accurate than mine anyway. I should work on that...put it on my `to
do' list, right after `stop global warming'."
"Gryphon..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sheesh." His collision alarm howled;
Gryphon threw the armor into combat mode as he ducked, shoving Nene
aside in the process. His would-be assailant landed where he had just
been, and another near Nene's old position; a third was engaging
Sylia. Over his comm system he could hear the others encountering
resistance as well; then he turned his attention to his attacker.
It was a woman, or at least looked like one, dressed in a
garment similar to a hardsuit undersuit. Full sensor scans showed
that it was anything but a normal woman; some kind of Buma, then.
Gryphon locked her into his targeting system and engaged the minigun,
which obediently swung up, locked, and opened fire.
The slugs plowed into the Buma's flesh, but did little more
than superficial damage, even when combined with the gauntlet
chainguns. Then Iron Man's attacker closed the distance between them
with a leap and plowed a fist into his gut.
"Oof!" Gryphon observed, tumbling backward. He rolled back to
his feet and backed off, standing the guns down, as they did little
more than make small bloody holes in his adversary. Very realistic
bloody holes; apparently this was a combat-replicant model. Wow.
Just how illegal were those these days? She advanced as he backed
away, occasionally making some attack or another which he either
dodged or parried. Her attacks got faster and more complicated, until
finally she got through his guard with a spinning kick upside his
helmeted head, which almost took him off his feet from sheer force and
left his skull ringing. She pressed her attacks, hitting him twice
more in the gut and giving him a palm strike to the chest that knocked
him back against the wall.
He responded by using the wall as a springboard for his own
leaping kick, which caught her under her jaw and knocked her a good
dozen feet away. He decided to try something else and, as she
recovered and charged him, fired the unibeam at full power. The blast
vaporized her extended lower left arm and went on to melt a
decent-size hole in the wall beyond; undaunted, she launched another
kick at his head.
Iron Man sidestepped and ducked, letting her make a sizable
dent in the metal wall, and threw his right elbow into first her ribs
(or at least, where they belonged) and then the side of her jaw. She
stumbled away; he turned to face her and then let her have it with his
repulsors. The result could be described as some form of modern
abstraction art--perhaps akin to the things that young Japanese
gentleman does with large pieces of canvas, buckets of paint, and a
jet engine.
"Yuck," remarked Iron Man before turning to see how his
comrades were doing.
"All clear," Sylia reported. "Nene, get me a fix on--"
"Uh, I don't think that's going to be necessary," Zoner
interrupted her, pointing. "Here it comes."
From the back of the building came a huge red apparition. It
looked like a standard Type 55c Buma, but larger, and slightly more
articulated, and of course red. Iron Man didn't like the looks of it,
and his battle computer liked it even less, tagging it as a Class VII
Threat.
It opened the discussion by snarling and launching itself
forward on flight jets, ignoring Priss's railguns and bashing Nene
right out of its way.
"Hey!" Iron Man shouted, outraged. "Nobody steps on a gweep
in my town! Waste 'im!" He launched himself up into the
superstructure until he was on even elevation with it, then unleashed
his pulse bolts at it. The plasma pulses slammed against its chest,
almost halting its forward motion; it replied by blasting Iron Man
with its mouth particle beam, knocking him against the far wall.
Zoner kept the Buma occupied with slashing attacks from his
pulse lasers. "I knew I should have worn the fraggin' backpack!"
"Nene! Gryphon! Are you all right?" Sylia called.
"I'm fine," Nene replied, getting slowly up. "Ow ow ow..."
"Gryphon?"
"Yeah...ouch...just a second. Armor's rebooting." Iron Man
pried himself out of the wall in time to see Linna go up and over the
thing, whacking it right in the head with her impact blaster, to no
discernible effect. Sylia tried much the same thing, jumping onto its
shoulders and firing her palmgun with the muzzle right against the
thing's head, but managed only to break some of the armor before being
grabbed and thrown clear.
"I've got an idea," Iron Man announced, fine-adjusting his
targeting system on the red Buma's head and setting his repulsors to
145% emergency power. "Stand clear!" He raised his hands, palms
open, and fired.
Zap! The twin bolts of energy converged perfectly on the
damaged part of the Buma's head, which promptly vanished in a blast of
smoke and fire. The ground started shaking; Iron Man's sensors
informed him with some alarm of the extreme level of ionization in the
air.
"Sis!" Mackie's voice cried over the comm. "The orbital
defense satellites--they're synchronized--"
"That's impossible!" Sylia replied as Zoner rapidly manhandled
her out of the target area.
BOOM. The air turned white for an instant as half of the
building just disappeared, leaving a smoking crater. The red Buma,
headless, staggered forward, blind but still functional, its crushing
fingers seeking a target, any target.
"Linna!" Priss shouted. "Hit it again!"
"Right!" Linna replied, diving forward and plunging her impact
blaster into the damaged area of its chest armor. The resulting
explosion blew most of the plate off in the upper chest area; Linna
tumbled artfully clear as Priss put three railgun spikes into the
wound and MegaZone cut its innards free with his blades. The red Buma
staggered, faltered, and then exploded very prettily.
"I think we should definitely get out of here now," Iron Man
observed as the ionization level started increasing again. They
cleared the building just before the second shot the dying Buma had
called down hit, destroying the entire complex.
"Well," Gryphon observed, packing his helmet back into the
case as they watched the building burn, "bang goes the Black Box, ay?"
"Bang goes $20 million," Nene said wistfully.
"Who cares about that?" Linna replied, stretching and yawning.
"God, I'm exhausted. Sylia, can we go now?"
"Hmm?" Sylia replied, looking away from the fire. "Oh, yes.
Certainly. I'm sorry about this."
"Sure, no sweat," Gryphon said, buttoning his shirt. "See you
at the lab tomorrow--got a couple of things I want to work on."
"Right. Goodnight, Gryphon, Linna."
"Night all." Gryphon climbed into his car and belted in; to
something of his surprise, Linna got into the other side. "I thought
you said you were exhausted?"
"I am," Linna replied, "but I'm also wired. I couldn't sleep
now if my life depended on it. Want to head back to your place for
some hot chocolate or something?"
"Sure," said Gryphon, tagging the autocruise button. "Home,
Blandwell."
"`Blandwell'?"
"It's a long story."
"Well, we've got all night..."
"Well, in that case... Well, first of all, Sam Waterson sends
the spy guy in the Piper Cub over to Russia, to the restaurant with
the bad service..."

Sylia and Zoner checked the hardsuits back into their storage
lockers. Zoner was concerned over the new wiring traces he had
installed during recent upgrades. Sure, they tested out fine, but
there was no test like battle. He caught her glancing at him a few
times, mostly because he was glancing back. Well, what was he afraid
of anyway?
Just before they finished he broke the silence, "Would you
like another espresso?"
Sylia smiled openly, "Yes, I'd like that."

They finished their tasks and retired to Zoner's office, where
he fired up the espresso machine. Sylia settled onto his couch, while
Zoner slowly paced about. Both nervously skirted around any serious
topics, and eye contact was right out. The espresso seemed to take
forever. He couldn't avoid looking at her to hand her the mug. Oops!
Eye contact. Damn!
"Uh, here you go. So, um, how've you been doing?" Oh yeah,
real smooth, dummy.
"Well, I've been well." Loosen up.
"Good, hate to think anything was amiss." Amiss?! What?
"Thanks for your concern." I sound like a form letter.
"Well... Oh hell... Sylia, I'm no good at this. I can't do
small talk, look at me."
Sylia laughed. "Ok, I'm not much good at it myself. I think
what you're trying to say is that you like me as more than a friend."
"Well, yeah, I wouldn't be quite as direct, but yes. I guess
watching Linna and Ben has gotten me thinking. We've been working
together for some time now, and I've developed more than just a
professional respect. I just like being with you for any reason. To
the point that I go out of my way to find excuses to work with you."
"I've noticed. I know how good you are with the tech, you
don't need me for all the things I've helped with. But to be honest,
I really don't mind." She gave him a sidelong glance.
"Well, hmm, what now. I don't seem to have planned that far
into the future, I ran out of ideas about a minute ago." Zoner
finally stopped walking and settled onto the couch next to Sylia.
"I'm not sure, I... I don't really have much experience... I
mean... What I'm trying to say is..."
"I understand. You've devoted your life to your fight and you
never made time for yourself. You never found someone who understood
you, because they would have to understand the fight too. You've
never had a relationship, have you?"
Sylia seemed a little embarrassed, and slightly upset, "No,
never."
"Hey, don't be upset," he turned her face to his with a slight
touch on her cheek, "I won't tell anyone if you won't." Her
expression lightened a bit. "And it doesn't change the way I feel."
"I'm not sure how I feel, it's... different. I've always been
so focused. I guess I seemed cold."
"Only to those who don't know you. In your own way you've
shown how much you care. The Sabers are like a family to you. I know
how much you care, remember, I know a lot about you."
"Yes, I know. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. I
mean, to you I'm just some character..."
"Shhh... No, please don't say that. It there is one thing my
experiences have shown me is that everyone is real. Somewhere out
there is an entire universe that I helped to create. Sometimes I feel
responsible for everything they went through. Being a god isn't an
easy job. I still worry about them, about 'me' and 'my' life there.
But I can't dwell on it, I just can't. And I can't dwell on the life
I left behind to save that universe. What do my friends and family
think? Are they still wasting their time looking for me? Have they
gone on? I will never know." Zoner brushed the tears away from his
eyes.
Sylia hugged him tight, surprising herself with the
instinctive action. But she didn't let go. Zoner returned the hug
and continued, "I can't think about it for too long, or all of the
'what ifs' overwhelm me. It was worse when I first got here, that's
why I hid in the office. My life now is here, this is my home. The
Knight Sabers are my family too now, your fight is my fight. And
believe me, you are very real to me. And believe me also when I tell
you that I think I'm falling in love with you."
They loosened the hug enough to look each other in the eye.
Sylia spoke first, "I'm not sure what to say. I didn't realize how
hard it could be for you. It was always just an interesting
theoretical discussion for me. I just didn't realize..."
Zoner laid a finger upon her lips to silence her. "You
couldn't - can't - know what is like, and I don't expect you to. I
just wanted you to know that I'm serious and that this isn't just a
fling for me. I'm very serious. I'm in love with you."
Sylia leaned in closer. "I'm not sure, but I think I love you
too."
They closed the distance and kissed, gently but passionately.

12 MARCH 2033

Gryphon sat in his room behind the lab, tapping away at a
file; Zoner knocked at the doorframe, then entered the room.
"C'mon in," Gryphon said absently. "Just a second." He
clicked an icon and fed the document he was working on to the printer.
"What's that?"
"Hmm? Oh, college essay."
"Going back to school?"
"Yeah, I'm thinking of picking up my doctorate in
cybernetics."
"Doesn't that mean--"
"Double EE/ME, yeah. With a minor in history."
"Ouch. Pretty major course load, dude. Giving me some
competition. You're the one who couldn't handle CS--you sure you're
up for that kind of thing?"
"Did I, or did I not, finish med school in a little under four
months?"
"Yeah, well, I guess you did." Zoner sat down on Gryphon's
bed. "I get the feeling Edison had something to do with that."
"Yeah, I get the feeling." His residency had been the same as
his time with Caine; Edison was at both ends with a big grin on his
face, and in between was a blob of time that defied his attempts to
measure it with his memory, but which yielded up a parade of
perfectly-recalled individual moments, if he took the time. Gryphon
took the printout, folded it, stuffed it into an envelope, and sealed
it. "I'll just mail this on the way downtown."
"Downtown?"
"Yeah, I told Nene I'd pick her up after work. Her scooter
died."
"Oh. Where's that to, anyway?"
"The Bavarian Institute of Technology," Gryphon replied as he
began putting various documents into his briefcase.
"In Munich?"
"The same."
"That's a long ways away."
"I'm aware of that."
"You're really serious, aren't you? Leaving MegaTokyo--that's
a pretty big step."
"Yeah, well...it's only for a few months. You guys can
survive without me." He laughed. "'Sides, I'm looking forward to
seeing the Mackinator again--he's the one who got me interested. Says
they have a hell of a biocyb program."
"What about Linna?"
Gryphon froze for a second, then slammed his briefcase a
trifle harder than one would normally close the hood of one's Buick.
Zoner jumped, startled at the violence of the movement.
"What about her?" Gryphon asked in a quiet voice.
"What's the problem?"
"Problem? No problem. None at all. If you'll excuse me, I
have an appointment downtown." He picked up the briefcase and his
notebook computer, turned, and exited the room, leaving Zoner
wondering what the hell he had said. He shrugged and left in search
of Sylia.

He found her running fusion plant simulations on the DEC
Epsilon. She was deep in thought was she watched the scrolling data,
so he thought it best to wait. Besides, he was interested in the
results too. He wasn't sure how long he watched the simulation, but
he was absorbed enough to not notice Sylia noticing him.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" she asked.
"Huh? Oh... Oh yeah, it is. I see you've made some
modifications to the standard toroid. Cut the hot spots down...
12.4% power increase too. Good design work. How stable is the new
field?"
"That's what I'm working on. I need to be sure it is safe to
build and field test a prototype. There are a few fluctuations I'm
worried about."
"Hmm... Yes..." Zoner slowly stroked his beard as he mulled
it over. He suddenly started entering data into the simulation.
"Yes. What if you modify the tertiary coil to provide a perpendicular
dampening field. You'll still get an axial containment from the
primary and suitable wave guide from the secondary. Granted you'll
only have a 9.3% power increase, at least by these figures, but it
will give you a... lessee... 213% increase in the safety margin.
Small price to pay, eh?"
"Yes... Yes,. I think it would work. I was concentrating on
the interior flux dynamics. Thanks."
"It's what I'm here for. Besides, I wanted to get you free so
we could talk."
"What about?"
"Well, let's go to my office. We can have some privacy
there."
"Ok. Must be important."
"Vaguely, yes."

Zoner latched the office door and joined Sylia on the couch.
She seemed concerned, almost nervous. He tried to put her at ease.
"It isn't anything bad really. I just wanted to talk to you
about a few personal things."
"Ok... what is it?"
"Well, you know about where I'm from, and what I know... I'd
like to talk a little about that. Actually about you."
"Me?"
"Yes. You know about my cyberware and how that works right."
"Yes, we've rather thoroughly covered the topic."
"Yeah, well, you know it isn't all that different from
high-level Buma technology. The main tech difference is interfacing
the electromechanics with the meat. Since I've been here I've
'upgraded' some of my ware with Buma technology. Have to keep on the
edge. But what I'm getting at... well... Your father..."
"What about my father?" Sylia was now very interested.
"Not everything he did was turned over to GENOM. He did some
fantastic pioneering work. Some of it was radical enough that the few
techs who did see it didn't think it would work. So it wasn't
pursued. But it did work, it does work."
Sylia was looking very uneasy. "What are you getting at?"
"Sylia, please believe me, before he died your father
installed the technology in you."
Sylia gasped and recoiled a bit.
"Please, don't be shocked. Think about the signs. Remember
the tape you received after his death, how it triggered such an
information flow? The tape was encoded with compressed data. The
ware your father developed is almost organic, a lot like the systems
in a 33/S series. You would never notice it. He linked it to your
senses. Notice a natural aptitude for math and science, the ease that
you took to high-tech fields. This is your father's legacy."
"No.. no, it's not... he never... I never... I'm human!"
Zoner quickly gathered her into a warm embrace. "Shh.... You
are human, same as I. You just have some enhancements. You accept me
for who I am, right?" He was worried that the new knowledge could
trigger mental shock. A fugue state would not be a good thing.
She nodded weakly.
"Now you need to accept who you are. You are still the same
person you have always been. I know it is a big discovery. But I
want to help you. I love you, and I will do everything I can to help.
I've been agonizing about telling you since I first realized I was
falling for you. I decided to wait until you had developed a trust in
me. I didn't want you to face this alone. And I'm not going to let
you do that now."
Sylia hugged him tighter. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I know this is hard to deal with. Even
I had problems when I got my first pieces of ware, and I thought I was
fully prepared ahead of time. I want you to think about something
ok?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Consider letting Ben and I install interface plugs like ours.
If you had them you could fully utilize your abilities, and it would
let me help you directly. Will you think it over?"
"Ok... I guess it..."
Zoner gently cut her off, "No, not now. I want you to wait a
while, and be sure about it."
Her reply was a silent nod.
"Good. How about I just hold you for a while?"
Another nod. He could feel her tears soaking his shirt, and
hoped that he had done the right thing.

That night, Zoner was wandering around MegaTokyo, bored.
Nothing was happening. It was singularly dull. He happened to be
driving past a bar called "Bruno's" when he noticed a gleaming, lumpy,
sleek blue-green car parked in front of it. Skidding his Garland to a
halt, he looked it over. Yeah, it was a Camaro, all right. The
question was whether or not it was the Camaro he thought it was. Come
on, he thought, how many of them can there be in town? He turned
around and drove back past it, looking at the license plate. Yep.
2065 D. It was Gryphon's. What was it doing in front of a bar?
Zoner parked and entered.
He found his friend in a corner booth, hunched over a large
mug full of an unidentified beer, looking worn and wearing
mirrorshades. Noting Zoner's approach, Gryphon looked up.
"Oi," Gryphon called, and looked in his general direction.
God, he's wasted, Zoner thought to himself, sliding into the
other side of the booth. "Gryphon, what the hell are you doing?"
"Drinking," Gryphon replied, and slugged back some of the
beer. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" Zoner noticed the
bandage on his right wrist, wondered briefly if Gryphon had tried to
cut his wrist or some such, decided against it; not only was attempted
suicide unlike him (but then, so was drinking), but he was smart
enough that the bandage would have run along his arm, not across it.
So what the hell was it for?
"That's not what I meant," Zoner replied. "Why are you
drinking? You never drink, not even on holidays! Not even wine with
dinner! And here you are in some sleazy bar getting pissed!"
Gryphon fixed Zoner with a wobbling scornful glare. "Are you
gonna preach t'me against the evils of recreational chemistry, Captain
Trips?"
"No," Zoner replied, "but it's just so unlike you."
"Maybe you just never knew me then," Gryphon replied, and
drained the mug. "Maybe this is just the next in a series of falls
off the wagon."
"I don't buy that. This is probably the first time you've
ever been drunk, isn't it?"
"No," Gryphon replied. "The first time was at a wedding
reception when I was seven. They had lemon champagne, and I thought
it was just soda, so I kept cruising around snagging more of it. I
got totally blasted and projectile puked in the church garden. Lucky
I'm not a religious type." The Buma waiter brought another beer;
Gryphon thanked it and took a drink.
"But why?"
"I have my reasons." He set the mug down, and Zoner noticed
another set of bandages, covering most of his left forearm, all the
way to the bottom knuckles on his left hand. What the fuck? "You
wouldn't understand."
"Try me. Dammit, Gryphon, talk to me! I can't help you if
you don't talk to me."
Gryphon fixed Zoner with another glare, this one level, sharp,
and deadly. "Did it ever occur to you," he asked acidly, "that I
might not want your help?" He took another drink. "Get lost."
"Gryphon--"
Gryphon came to his feet and slammed his right hand down on
the table; his left was rising, a clenched fist. There was a metallic
scraping sound, and three long, wicked blades ripped through the
bandages on the back of his left hand to extend right out of the hand.
MegaZone's eyes widened. Cyberspurs!
"Gryphon, no! What the hell were you thinking? Were you
drunk then too?"
"No," Gryphon replied with a small, tight, humorless smile.
"I was perfectly sober then. Now get out of here, or I'll show you
how fast my new reflex boost is."
"Christ! A reflex booster too?"
"Yeah. And two sets of interface plugs, a cybermodem link, a
vehicle link, a smartgun link, a nanotech muscle and bone lace and a
skin armor weave. Not to mention the subdermal cellular antenna and
the cellular cybermodem that's sitting under my collarbone, the
circulatory microfilters--which are right this very moment, thanks to
you, wasting all that good beer so I can be sober if I have to take
you down--and a set of Kiroshi 2XL's with scopes and flare
compensators. Is that good enough, or you wanna see the warranty
invoice?"
"Fuck!" Zoner said. That was a sizable chunk of cyberware.
Yeah, he was MegaZone, not a man opposed to cybernetic
enhancement--bullshit, a Chrome Foundation poster child--but Gryphon
had always been so dead-set against modifying himself. For him to
have done it now...
"Why?"
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Gryphon growled. His right
hand reached up and pulled the mirrorshades off. Underneath, his new
eyes, fiendishly complex devices made of crystal, with glittering
devil-blue irises imprinted tinily with the katakana for the Kiroshi
Optical Division, narrowed angrily. "I don't want to tell you. Now
piss off, so maybe I can salvage something of what I've already
drunk."
They stood like that, tense, staring at each other, for a
moment, and then Zoner backed off. If Gryphon wanted to be like that,
fine. Zoner sure as hell wasn't going to take him down here in the
bar. He'd watch, and later on, when Gryphon tried to go home, he'd be
waiting.
"Fine, then," he said, backing away. "Guess I'll catch you
later."
"Maybe," Gryphon replied. "Maybe not." He sat down and
knocked back most of the beer that waited on the table, retracting his
spurs. Zoner turned around and left the bar, then took the Garland
about a block down the street and dug in for a long stakeout. The
place closed at 2, and assuming he didn't tear the place apart in
protest, that was when Gryphon would be leaving. Five hours wasn't
that long to wait. He hoped it didn't start raining.

Gryphon felt another presence at the table and looked up,
preparing to drive Zoner off again, but the person sitting down
opposite him wasn't MegaZone. In fact, it took him a couple of
minutes to recognize the man's appearance. He had sandy brown hair
and a hawk nose, and wore round spectacles; he was dressed mostly in
black gabardine. Gryphon knew him. His name was Edison Bell.
"What the hell do you want, Bell?" he growled.
"I understand you're having a bad time of it," Bell replied.
"I thought I might come by and offer you my assistance."
"Like I told Zoner, I don't want help."
"I don't care if you want it or not," Edison replied, "you
need it."
"Fuck off."
"Can't do that."
"What're you, my guardian angel?"
"Something like that. I feel responsible--it's my fault
you're in this situation in the first place. The least I can do is
try to make it better for you. Now tell me. Why are you in this hole
in the wall bar getting stinking drunk, and why did you all of a
sudden go and get several hundred thousand yen worth of cyberware?"
"'Cause I'm a complete fuckhead," Gryphon replied, and drank
some more beer.
"Care to elaborate on that?"
"I made all these plans," Gryphon said, "about what I was
going to do with myself. Applied to graduate school at the Bavarian
Institute of Technology, right? I was gonna go off for a few months
and pick up a biocyb doctorate, hang out with Mackie, buy some
chocolate, pop over to Geneva and have a few watches, right? I had
all'a this planned out, right, and it was all set up and it was all
gonna work out. 'Cept I forgot one very important thing."
"Which was?"
"I forgot to ask Linna. Forgot completely about her. I mean,
she was right there, right, and I saw her every day, just about, and I
didn't even think to ask her if it was ok, if she wanted to go with
me, if she wanted me to stay here, nothing. What kind of idiot'm I
anyways?" He sucked down the rest of the beer and banged the mug
down. The Buma, whose nametag read "Bruno", brought him another.
"Thanks, Bruno," Gryphon said. "You're a real pal."
"No, sir," the Buma replied. "I'm an artificial pal."
"That's what I like in a Buma, a sense of humor."
"It's taken me six years to get it," Bruno replied. "I'm damn
well gonna enjoy it." He moved away.
"That," Gryphon said, pointing at the Buma bartender's
retreating back, "is a damn fine individual. And you know, I have
friends who would just as soon blow him away as talk to him."
"Prejudice is a sad thing," Edison agreed. "My people went
through the same thing when Ralken invented the positronic brain.
Listen, what's so bad about what you did? So you screwed up. It's
not too late to ask her now--"
"That's not the fuckin' point," Gryphon replied angrily. "The
point is, I forgot when I should have remembered. What kind of person
does that make me? Christ. Some two-way relationship. Don't bother
to mention little things like oh, by the way, I'm moving out of town
for six months or so, is that ok? What communication! I suck." He
took another drink.
"I think you're making too much of a small mistake," Edison
said. "Look, you're human, you fucked up. It's no big deal."
"I shouldn't've fucked up, though!" Gryphon replied. "It was
an important thing, and it was so simple I missed it! Yo, Bruno! Do
me a favor, willya, and get this guy a beer? I'm buying."
"Gryphon, you're blowing this all out of perspective."
"Who asked you?"
"You did, at least indirectly. It's obvious you want someone
to help you here."
"I'm sitting in a little bar in the corner of no-place getting
knee-walking drunk, and you think it's some kind of cry for help?"
"That, and implanting half of an '84 Oldsmobile under your
skin."
"This from a guy who rewrote his own DNA because he didn't
like his nose."
"I missed my old one!" Edison protested defensively. Bruno
brought him a beer. "Thanks. Listen, that's not the point. The
point is--"
"The point is, I didn't even think of Linna, only myself! And
I prided myself on paying so much attention to the relationship. I
totally screwed up, and now I'm making myself pay for it."
"By screwing up even more."
"I don't remember asking for your opinion. In fact, I
distinctly remember telling you to keep it to yourself a number of
times."
"Look," Edison said, trying a new tack, "why don't you go
home, get some sleep, sober up, and I'll come by tomorrow and pry all
that chrome out of you? I'm a surgeon, a good one. I've got
microhealers that can have you out on the Street in two hours, not a
mark on you."
"What am I supposed to do, regrow my goddamn eyes?"
Edison took a jar out of his coat and set it on the table. In
it, floating in a clear solution of biopreservative and
nanomaintenance machines, were his old eyes.
Gryphon shook his head in amazement. "You could pull an MX
missile out of your ass if you needed to, couldn't you?"
"Possibly," Edison replied. "Probably my sleeve, though.
You're just not made for cyberware, Gryphon. It'll eat at you until
you go right off the brink. MegaZone, shit, I hate to say this, but
MegaZone can handle it, probably because he's such an asshole anyway.
You're not like that."
"He's not that bad," Gryphon defended, knocking back more
beer. "He was right about Guinness, that's for sure."
"That's immaterial, dammit," Edison replied. "Look, go home.
Get dried out. Tomorrow, I'll come by and scrape your humanity back
out of your head, and give you back your money. All right?"
"It doesn't change a damn thing," Gryphon replied. "I still
suck."
"We'll work on that too. Ok?" He held out his hand. "Come
on. Deal?"
Gryphon glared at him for a few seconds, then clasped his
hand. "All right, dammit, deal. Now will you leave me alone?"
"No," Edison replied. "Not until you go home and go to sleep.
That was part of the deal."
"I don't want to," Gryphon replied. "The sooner I do that,
the sooner I get to suffer."
"Take this," said Edison, and pressed a white capsule into his
hand, "and go home. I'll be there in the morning and we can get
started. You'll be back to normal by suppertime, and while you
recover, we can deal with your other little problem, ok?"
Gryphon blinked at the capsule in his hand, then swallowed it.
He got up, went to the bar, and handed Bruno his credstick. His head
was already clearing. Bruno informed him that Edison had already
covered the bar tab; Gryphon turned to thank him, but he was already
gone.
By the time he got outside into the cool night air, Gryphon
was completely sober, which was why he noticed Zoner coming out of the
shadows at him. He whirled--the world was suddenly moving way too
fast, and he helped himself to some pavement.
"Fuck it," he observed, getting back to his feet. "Edison was
right. I can't chip this shit. It's like trying to do the fucking
Twenty Minute Workout on fast-forward."
Zoner seemed surprised, and stopped advancing. "Edison? You
saw him?" He noticed something else. "Hey, you're sober."
"You noticed," Gryphon said, opening the door to his car.
"Shit on a stick. How the fuck did I ever make it here? I can't
drive like this!" He sat down and turned on the Camaro, listening to
the turbine throb, and decided that he didn't want to jack in. "Gah."
"What did Edison say?"
"Well, we had a few beers, next thing you know, there we are
in Czechoslovakia..."
"Ok, fine. You probably don't even really remember. You want
to talk to me now?" Zoner inquired, leaning on the open door.
"I'd love to, but I promised Edison I'd go straight home and
get some sleep."
"Listen, are you feeling all right?"
"Not really." Gryphon looked up at Zoner's face, touched by
the genuine concern he saw there. "Come by my house around noon
tomorrow, ok, and we'll talk then. Edison should be through taking me
apart and gluing me back together by then. All right?"
"All right," Zoner consented. "Take it easy, man. I'll see
you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Gryphon replied. He shut the door and sat back,
flipping the nav computer on. "Take me home," he ordered it, and the
computer complied, determining the car's position from the orbital
navsat network, figuring the most direct course to his home from
there, calling up the library of traffic laws for the region
(including individual streets), determined the hazard rating, and
approved the course. The blue-green Camaro pulled out, the bright red
scanner light Gryphon had installed in the nose sweeping back and
forth as the computer assessed the road conditions and the like, and
watched out for hazards and traffic lights. Zoner thought the light
was the silliest thing Gryphon had ever done, but hey, it was his car.
For now, he stood in the parking lot of Bruno's, confused.
Then he shrugged and went home. If that was the way Gryphon wanted to
play it, fine. The reappearance of Edison all of a sudden disturbed
him somewhat; he had a suspicion that it wasn't just a chance social
call, and he didn't like the implications. Under no circumstances did
he want to leave MegaTokyo. Not now. He had far too much time,
effort, shit, maybe even humanity invested now to just up and leave.

THE NEXT DAY

Zoner pulled up in front of the office building Gryphon's
apartment was on the top floor of and checked his watch. It was five
minutes to noon. He disembarked from the Garland and made for the
building's front door, but pulled up short when he saw the car that
was parked right in front of the building.
It was red and grey, a sleek American sports car which vaguely
resembled the blue pursuit cars the ADPolice used. It had black pin
stripes and a small bulge on the hood which said "TURBO" in small
letters on either side, and the letters "ES" were printed on the
rocker panels. He knew it like most people knew their children.
Stepping around to the back, he took a look and found exactly what he
expected to find: a customized MegaTokyo license plate that said
"MEGAZONE". Curious, he went into the building and climbed the stairs
up to Gryphon's apartment.
The door was open, so he knocked and then let himself in.
Gryphon was on his bed, the covers pulled up to his neck, and had a
wet cloth over his eyes. Edison was lounging in the brown leather
chair, which he had dragged over near the bed, toying idly with a
couple of objects which Zoner momentarily identified as cybereyes.
"Hey, don't throw those out," he advised. "He might need them
sometime."
"Oh, hey, Zoner," Gryphon said. "Have a seat. I should be
getting the ability to see back any time now."
"I noticed my car out front," Zoner said, pulling
Frankenstein's Desk Chair, Mark II, over to the other side of the bed.
"Thanks, Edison."
"I thought you might be missing it by now. Sorry I didn't get
to you sooner," replied Edison, tossing the keys over the bed.
"All right, Edison, spill it. What's the bad news?"
"Bad news?"
"Your showing up here is making me very nervous," Zoner
explained. "Like maybe it's the lead-in to another move. I don't
want to leave MegaTokyo, Edison. Not now, hell, maybe not ever!"
"Don't sweat it," Edison replied. "I'm not here for anything
of the sort. I just wanted to bring back your car, and a friend of
mine told me Gryphon here was in need of my assistance."
"A friend of yours?"
"I know people all over the multiverse," said Edison with a
grin. "Most of them don't know what I really am, but that's okay.
So, no, you're not going anywhere, that I know of. I'm still working
on explaining the phenomenon that brought you here in the first place,
but without much success. If you want a piece of free advice, though,
if you ever go to the Worcester part of the East Coast Sprawl, stay
well away from Bancroft Tower. It's involved somehow, I just haven't
figured out the particulars yet. The place is smoking, it's so hot
with dimensional activity. Some kind of a gateway, like Stonehenge.
Oh yeah, that's another place to avoid, while you're at it. And the
St. Louis Arch, and the Great Pyramids, too."
"Thanks for the tip," Gryphon said. "I'll keep it in mind
when I plan my world tour."
"How much of the chrome did you pry out?" Zoner asked,
curious. "All of it?"
"Almost," Edison replied. "I pulled the really hard-hitting
stuff out--the reflex booster, the wolvers, the antenna net and the
cybermodem, and the eyes, of course. The nanotech stuff is hard to
undo, and besides, it's easy to deal with. Shit, it's not even
artificial, really."
"What about the neuroprocessor and the plugs?"
"No, I decided to leave those," Gryphon said. "In my
experimenting last night, I discovered a couple of things. One is
that trying to run the 'Net by jacking in makes me extremely sick and
doesn't accomplish a damn thing. There's a DataTerm somewhere on the
East Side that's extremely unpleasant to use right about now. I
should've expected as much; I'm a gweep, not a netrunner. Another is
that I don't like jackdriving my car--it's too damn much like walking.
I want to try rigging my armor, though. With the plugs, the old
rigtrodes lagtime should be gone, and I think it'll work a hell of a
lot better."
"So you haven't gone off the Edge, but you have decided to
join the twenty-first century." Zoner grinned. "Welcome to the big
wide world, nature boy."
"Bite me," Gryphon replied with a grin. He reached up with
his right arm--Zoner noted the set of plugs that glittered there--and
took off the compress; the red surgery lines around his eyes had
almost disappeared, and his old blue eyes were back where they
belonged. He blinked a couple of times, then grimaced, putting his
arm over them. "Yow! It's way too loud in here--hey, you fixed my
vision! Thanks!" He frowned. "I look ridiculous without my glasses
though...guess I'll have to wear my shades more often."
"Can I ask you a personal question, Edison?" Zoner broke in.
"Sure, go ahead."
"Did we," he gestured to Ben and himself, "create you?"
"I thought I'd made that clear. No, not really. Just the
universe."
"Ah... yeah, that sure answered my question. I'll learn not
to ask such things."
"You'll get used to it," Edison said. "Well, gentlemen, I
guess I'll be going. I want to get right back to work on the reason
you got blipped here in the first place. Don't worry--if you stay
away from the nexus points, I think you should be pretty stable right
here, and if you do get displaced again, I'll put it right. Worry
not--I know how much you guys have invested in this place by now." He
stood up. "Oi, Gryphon, try and keep it together, eh?"
"No problem, Edison," Gryphon replied. "Thanks again."
"Later, Edison," Zoner added. "Thanks again for bringing my
car back."
"It's not good to separate a man from his children for long,"
replied Edison with a grin. "Later, guys." He departed.
"So," Zoner said, leaning back in the chair, "would you mind
telling me what that was all about, now?"
Gryphon did.
"I agree with Edison. You overreacted in a big way."
"Yeah, well...there's probably some deep, Freudian reason for
it, but fuck him. He was a sicko anyway. Wanted to sleep with his
mother. Yugh." Gryphon feigned the willies. "Anyway, I have to get
back to the lab. There's software to be written!"
"What about your...problem?"
"No problem. We're doing the Ping's thing tonight...I'll ask
her about it then, and if there's some problem, I'll transfer my
application to UTokyo. Their biocyb project isn't bad either.
Personally, now that I've talked with Edison about it, I don't think
there's going to be a problem." He got up, put on some jeans, an
Appleseed T-shirt, and a rumpled, rather tatty ex-dress shirt, and
hopped over to the police box struggling with one of his red Chucks.
"Coming?"
"Yeah, sure. What're you doing, anyway?"
"I'm gonna see if I can save myself some effort and write an
interpreter for my armor's THVR, see if I can't combine the THVR
output and the rigtrode input into a set of jack impulses both ways
rather than write a whole set of jack drivers from scratch. Ought to
be interesting. I should probably do it in Inter-C...wonder if Nene's
off work?" They headed for the door; just before it closed, Gryphon
went on, "Y'know, Zoner, I think Linna's going to like Munich..."
"Overconfident," replied Zoner.