[FFML] [BGC][XO] Drunkard's Walk II: Chapter 15 (Part 2)

[Bob Schroeck]

And here's the rest. Enjoy.

-- Bob

================================================== =============================
Robert M. Schroeck rms@eclipse.net http://www.eclipse.net/~rms
================================================== =============================
Please to remember
Eleven September --
Hijack, destruction and plot.
Our outraged reaction
To terrorist action
Should never be forgot.
================================================== =============================

(Continued from Part 1)

* * *

Sunday, February 22, 2037, 9:25 AM

After I gave Aquarius and his gang my phone number at IDEC, Lady
White hustled me up to the Cone's roof and into a black VTOL
aircraft that dropped down out of the clear night sky. Five
minutes' flight later (during which the Knights divested
themselves of their impressive boomer costumes), the Blue Knight
and I were dropped off in a public park. Twenty minutes later
(during which I called my bike to me, and discovered that Blue
had *no* inclination toward small talk), an unmarked truck pulled
up and disgorged Lady White and Lisa.

The moment she caught sight of us, Lisa broke away from White and
and ran up to me. She stopped short less than a meter away,
clearly unsure of what to do next. I spread my arms and with a
wordless cry she threw herself into an enthusiastic embrace.

When she finally loosened her grip sufficiently that we could
move apart and look into each other's faces, I could see that
she'd been crying at some point; there were still tear tracks on
her cheeks even though her eyes were now dry and shining.

"Thank you," I said softly. "If you hadn't gotten them to come
after me, I'd be dead now. I owe you."

She shook her head and treated me to a brilliant smile. "You
don't owe me anything. All I did was help a friend in trouble."

I studied Lisa's eyes for a moment. Behind that smile was a
familiar determination. "I'm not going to win this one if I try
to argue, will I?" I asked, returning the smile.

"No," she replied mock-sternly. "So you'd better give up right
now." She then spoiled the effect by giggling and hugging me
again.

"Oh, all *right*," I sighed with exaggerated resignation.
Privately, though, I promised myself that I really would repay
her somehow, some way, even if it I had to finally get home and
then find a way back here first.

A little after that, I tried to talk money with Lady White. The
diamond I'd given Lisa, despite its size and quality, would not
have covered their usual fee. But she waved me off. "Call it
'pro bono,'" she said, which got me wondering. Just watching her
with them, Lisa seemed *extremely* comfortable with the Knights,
idly -- *casually* -- chatting with Pink and Olive while I tried
to negotiate with White. The Knights were willing to do this job
for her more or less free of charge. They let her ride
unblindfolded in one of their support vehicles. For the first
time it occurred to me to wonder just how well Lisa knew the
Knight Sabers.

Anyway, that was the high point of the evening. My bike arrived,
and I offered Lisa a ride home. She declined, saying that her
scooter was parked on the other side of the city, near where she
had met up with the Knights. Another hug, a promise to get
together, and we went our separate ways for the night -- I on my
bike, Lisa with the Knights (which just reinforced those new
suspicions). I went to bed half an hour later, wondering how
GENOM was going to cope with the sudden death of its glorious
leader.

* * *

Well, it all came out in the morning papers -- or at least, the
"official", sanitized version did, on *Sunday* morning.

"QUINCY DEAD!" screamed the tabloid headlines, while the GENOM
house rag had a comparatively more sedate "Chairman Quincy Passes
Away". Of course, canned obituaries being what they were, every
outlet ran almost exactly the same story -- the core of which, of
course, was provided by the GENOM propaganda engine. The obit in
Lisa's old rag, the *16 Times*, was typical:

MEGATOKYO (GP). James D. Quincy, the founder and chairman of
GENOM Corporation, died early Saturday morning of congestive
heart failure at his apartments in the GENOM Tower arcology.
He was 75.

Despite his appearance of vigorous health, Chairman Quincy had
in fact been "quietly ailing" for some months, according to
GENOM spokesperson Lytton Herzog, who added that the chairman
had chosen not to make his condition public in order to avoid
an undue impact upon the corporation.

A dynamic figure in the world of international business for
the last four decades, Quincy had a reputation as a shrewd and
calculating player who held nothing back and took no
prisoners. Although his total net worth has never been
released to the public, he was believed to be one of the five
richest individuals in the world, with many experts ranking
him number one.

Katherine Madigan, Quincy's hand-picked heir apparent to the
chairmanship of the corporation, said in a prepared statement,
"His loss diminishes all of us. Without his unique vision and
drive behind it, GENOM will be a very different beast indeed."

Heh.

Then it went on to recite Quincy's official biography, a cock-
and-bull story that left out some of the less flattering details
that he'd revealed to me in his half-hour-long rant. It finished
up with a couple more quotes from Madigan (whose monumental grief
was clearly much more convincing to the journalists than to me)
before announcing that his body would lie in state in the Tower
for a week, to be followed by a private cremation.

No bets that the "corpse" they'd be displaying was going to be
one of those imposing boomer doubles -- showing the *real* body
would raise some uncomfortable questions about why it didn't look
*anything* like what he was supposed to.

(Oh, and in an unrelated story on page 2, corporate officials
revealed that the GENOM internal dataweave apparently crashed
during inclement weather on Friday night, causing the loss of
some billions of yen worth of data.

Oopsie.)

"Heart failure." Heh. I wonder how that starlet in Mexico City
reacted when her particular Quincybot did a faceplant into its
entree. I also wonder how much they paid her (and others) off to
keep them from alerting the press to the fact that Quincy "died"
in a dozen or more different places at the same time. Hm. Maybe
she got that starring role after all.

Or maybe she, too, died unexpectedly of "heart failure".

I'll never know. And I suspect I'll always feel vaguely guilty
that I don't.

So Madigan was first in line to replace the old man. Good for
her. Apparently her impromptu resignation hadn't registered on
any surveillance devices in the office -- at least, any that had
survived the storm damage and the crash. And the old geezer
hadn't been able to do anything about it before I pulled the plug
on him. Well, she deserved a reward for her bravery.

In the mean time, I had something more important to do.

* * *

Saturday, April 11, 2037, 2:55 AM

It took me six weeks, and several "second-story" jobs.

I don't expect that it will come as a surprise that GENOM and
several other manufacturers had a combined total of nearly a
dozen boomer factories in the greater MegaTokyo metropolitan
area. I know it didn't come as one to me.

I broke into all of them -- a little research, a little time
spent casing the joints, a song here and there -- I was in and
out without anyone ever noticing. If I ever had the need, I'd be
a hell of a cat burglar. I didn't take anything, of course. I
just salted key machines in their production lines with samples
of Leo-A -- spots in the chain where traces of the nanoagent
could get into a boomer as it was being constructed.

Unfortunately for my purposes, all of the most hospitable
locations for Leo-A were useless to me -- nanobaths, nutrient
tanks and the like would have been wonderful hosts for colonies,
but their contents were monitored, sampled and scanned six ways
from Sunday to make sure they were pure and clean. I'd never get
away with infecting them. Leo-A's ability to hide among the
fusion nanites might have given me an undetectable place to seed
it, except they didn't keep the stuff in a tank or dispenser --
too dangerous. Instead, the fusion nanites were built with and
within their boomer as it was assembled.

Anyway, given the iffy choices I had, I wasn't expecting a 100%
coverage. Enough would get through, though, and eventually the
boomers who did get hit would infect others. In the mean time, I
kept a supply of capsules on me, and whenever it was practical I
dosed the boomers that I came across. I also gave Aquarius and
his people a goodly supply of Leo-A plus the nanofabrication
specs, figuring that -- as their presence in Quincy's office had
demonstrated -- they'd be able to get into places I couldn't.
And of course, Kilroy was out there somewhere, probably licking
his finger and smearing it on every boomer he met.

With all those vectors, I didn't think it would take long to
reach a critical mass of infection. And I was right.

* * *

It started out as a dream -- another near-nightmare of being home
when I knew I wasn't. I was just lucid enough to realize I was
dreaming and hate it. As I turned and bolted from the dream's
ersatz Mansion, white mists closed in around me, obscuring more
and more of the surroundings with each step I took. By the time
I hurled myself down the front steps, the trappings of the
original dream were all but gone; when I landed, there was
nothing left but white -- cool, moist white, and the sound of
water.

"Douglas Sangnoir," three Voices spoke as One.

Ah. Right.

"Good evening, Ladies." I sketched a bow toward the Eyes that
appeared in the air above and before me. "My thanks for calling
me out of that nightmare."

"The task with which we charged you is accomplished," announced
Bell-tones, ignoring my gallantry.

"You have set in motion the first of the changes we foresaw,"
added Child.

"The weave of Destiny has been altered," declared Sultry.

I straightened up from my bow. "Then it worked? They'll be
free?"

"As free as their creators," replied Child.

"Subject to the same temptations," Sultry said.

"With the same potential for glory," Bell-tones added.

I nodded. "Then I can move on, finally get back on the road to
home."

"Yes," They answered in unison.

"Then what song is it that will open the gate from this world?" I
demanded. "You told me that you knew which one it was. What is
it?"

"The way..." Bell-tones began.

"...is made clear," the other Two finished.

"What?"

"The way..." This time it was Sultry.

"...is made clear." Again in chorus.

I shook my head and felt the anger begin to bubble up inside of
me. "Once more, please, with *clarity*?"

"The way is made clear!" all Three declared in unison, and the
force of Their combined Voice was like a blow, catapulting me
backward...

....and into my bed. I lay there on my back, completely and
incredibly awake, staring at the dappled patches of orange-hued
light cast on my ceiling by the sodium-vapor streetlamp outside --
ample evidence of the inadequate shades and curtains on my
window.

"What the *hell* was that supposed to mean?" I growled to myself.
"'The way is made clear,' my ass. Fucking gods, can't give you a
straight answer even when you do'em a favor." I rolled over and
tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. I wasn't just awake,
I was *wired*, like I'd just mainlined a quart of Kona Gold,
extra strong. I tossed and turned for another twenty minutes,
growing angrier and angrier.

Then I sat up straight as, from a quiet corner of my mind, an
idea occurred to me. With a screech of tortured springs I hopped
out of the bed. Then I cursed the cold floor. Still swearing, I
pulled my helmet out of the wardrobe where I'd stashed it. I
turned it on, and while it went through the POST, I pulled it on.
As soon as it gave me control, I ran the search that had just
occurred to me.

It pulled up a shitload of songs, but I didn't care. I scrolled
through the list, checking each until one particular song jumped
out at me. I threw it up on the HUD and studied the lyrics that
floated ghostlike in the middle of the room. Yeah, it had to be.
Weird and foreboding as it was, it had to be.

"Oh, real cute, Ladies," I growled. "Real *funny*!" I yelled at
the ceiling. "I bet you're rolling around laughing at this!
Well, let me tell you something!" I was bellowing now. "There's
a *reason* there's no god of stand-up comedy!"

My neighbors above and below me chose that point to start
pounding on floor and ceiling respectively. I glanced at the
alarm clock on my nightstand. 3 AM. Right. No yelling at gods
before sunrise. Gotta remember that. I pulled off my helmet and
powered it down, setting it neatly over the alarm clock. Then I
burrowed back into my covers and waited for the squeaking of the
bedsprings to die back down. Now that I had the problem solved,
weariness made itself known again, and in a few minutes I had
fallen back asleep.

* * *

Saturday, April 11, 2037, 11:22 AM

Late the next morning, I made my way back to a particular
alleyway in the shade of the twisted remains of the Tokyo Tower.
It was the first time I'd been there in months, since the Three
had locked me down into this world and barred my way.

But now I was free to go -- or so They had claimed.

I stood there in the warm Spring sunshine for a long time, just
looking at the place, remembering how I woke up here. It was
still littered with garbage; it still stank, even in the cool,
almost chill air of early April. The graffiti was new, though --
some fan of WWII had actually spray painted a classic "Kilroy was
here" on the alley's largest stretch of uninterrupted wall --
complete with the requisite crude drawing of long-nosed Kilroy
himself peering out at me. It made me stop and wonder what the
Kilroy *I* knew was up to. I didn't think he'd draw attention to
himself with this kind of display, but I wasn't sure; I suspect
it would have appealed to his quirky sense of humor, though.

Dismissing that line of thought, I turned my attention back to
the real reason I was here. With a certain trepidation, I keyed
in the newly-memorized code for the song I'd found the night
before, and waited for its opening sound effects to fade and be
replaced by music.

In the center of the alley, a nearly-forgotten flare of rainbow-
colored light appeared in midair. Almost as soon as it had
become visible, it expanded into a ring surrounding a flat black
disk, nearly three meters across and floating a half meter or so
above the crud-encrusted ground. An enervating weakness that I'd
felt only once before gripped me, as almost all my reserves were
spent in one rushing flood. The last time I'd done this, I'd
barely had enough strength left to throw myself through.

Damn. I had a gate. I had a way out. Nodding to myself, I cut
the song. The rainbow-edged disk collapsed in on itself with an
audible "pop!", and I staggered over to the nearest wall to slump
against it.

A gate. Finally. I could move on now.

But before I did, there were a few more things I had to do.

* * *

GENOM Tower. Wednesday, April 15, 2037, 7:15 PM

"That will be all," Kate Madigan said to the brace of disguised
boomer bodyguards who had escorted her to the door of her
apartment.

"Yes, ma'am," they replied in practiced unison, and Kate got the
distinct impression that they would have saluted her if it would
not have looked horrendously out of place. As she watched, they
turned briskly on their heels and marched off back down the
corridor to the elevator bank.

*The price of success.* The worst thing about achieving the
chairmanship were the security procedures the Board had insisted
on instituting in the wake of the Sangnoir Incident (as it had
been officially labeled). The security boomers went almost
everywhere with her, now -- even to church (although, thankfully,
not into the confessional). Here in the Tower they were
especially intrusive; she felt lucky that her guards were content
to leave her while she still was in the hall; they might have
insisted on inspecting the apartment before allowing her to
enter. Suppressing a sigh, she keyed the door open and stepped
inside.

And stopped short, the door swinging shut behind her. The foyer
of her apartment was filled with enticing aroma of cooking food.
Eyes wide, she sniffed once, twice. Beef, certainly... and was
that fresh bread?

"Oh, hi, you're home!" Kate dropped her briefcase in shock as
Douglas Sangnoir, clad in an apron brightly emblazoned with the
English words "Kiss Me, I'm Metahuman!", stuck his head out of
her kitchen and into the foyer. "Dinner'll be ready in a few
minutes," he continued on blithely. "Why don't you hang out in
the living room and relax until then?"

* * *

It had taken Sangnoir some fast talking -- and his prescient
disabling of her apartment's security systems -- to keep her from
immediately calling back her bodyguards, but in the end she was
glad he had made both efforts. "This is to thank you for helping
me out that night," he said as he carved and served out slices of
a juicy rare chateaubriand, laying them with care on china plates
already laden with skillfully cut and arranged steamed
vegetables. These platters joined bowls of salad, fresh-baked
rolls, and a bottle of red wine on her long-unused dining table.

Their combined aromas were heavenly.

As she settled herself at the table, Sangnoir vanished back into
the kitchen, only to reappear moments later, now divested of the
garish apron and shrugging into a suit jacket. To her surprise
he looked quite presentable, not at all like a man who had just
spent several hours whipping up a sumptuous meal.

"I don't deserve this," she finally remembered to protest as he
poured the wine.

He tilted his head and smirked. "Nonsense. If it hadn't been
for you, I'd be a corpsicle going through a microtome for
Quincy's pet genetic engineers. This is the least I can do to
thank you. This, and..." He paused, looking thoughtful, as he
seated himself across from her.

"And what?" she prompted, genuinely curious. She lifted her
glass to her lips, sipped it, and nodded at the excellent
vintage.

He raised his own glass and studied it for a moment. "Anything
you want to know -- about me, about my world. Quincy may have
been crazy, but he wasn't *wrong*. If anything, that made him
even more dangerous. I'm sure he didn't tell you much. And I'm
also sure that you're curious."

Kate nodded. "I have to admit that I am."

Sangnoir smiled. "Then ask away, and I will answer to the best
of my ability. First, though..." He studied her in a way that
reminded her of Quincy, oddly enough, a calculating, evaluating
look. "I wanted to ask *you* a question... why?"

"Why what?" she replied disingenuously.

"Why did you help me? You had no idea that this," he waved about
at the apartment and its furnishings, and by implication at her
newly exalted status, "...would be the result. As far as you
were concerned, you were throwing away your job and maybe even
your life, knowing GENOM policies. Why?"

Kate moved her wineglass in little circles, watching the swirling
red liquid within. A little smile played across her lips before
she looked back up and into his eyes. "Because, in the end, it
was the right thing to do," she said, and smiled wider. Then she
added in a whisper, "I did it in the name of love and justice."

* * *

Over the course of the evening, I answered the questions that she
asked as completely and truthfully as I could. What home was
like, and where I figured it had diverged from her timeline.
What I did there. How I got here, and why. (She seemed to
recognize Valdemar, somehow, but unfortunately I didn't get a
chance to follow up on that.) I told her most of my favorite war
stories -- some funny ones, some sad ones. I told her about
Arcanum, and the Servant Factor virus, and what he did to Jack
with it.

In exchange, she volunteered some of her own history -- and made
it clear that there was a lot more unspoken that she wasn't proud
of. The very thought seemed to send a dark cloud scudding across
her eyes, and I had to resort to my funniest "no shit, there I
was" story to shake her out of it.

By the time we'd finished the main course, we'd moved from "Ms.
Madigan" and "Mr. Sangnoir" to "Kate" and "Doug". I was already
comfortable with her; it took her a little while to warm up, but
she did, quickly enough. We weren't friends, not yet, but if I'd
chosen to spend a couple more weeks in that world, we might have
been.

When we'd finished with dessert, she offered to help me with the
dishes. So we retired to the kitchen. As I washed and she dried
(we had eschewed the dishwasher by an unspoken agreement, and not
just because of the china and crystal), I told Kate the story of
how Maggie and I met, our tempestuous courtship, and how we
finally married.

"You don't wear a ring, though," she observed, peering at my
hands through the sudsy water.

I reached into the collar of my shirt and pulled out the chain on
which it hung. It glinted in the fluorescent light of the
kitchen. "You ever punch someone really hard while wearing a
soft gold ring? It smooshes around your finger, and you can't
get it off. This way," I jiggled the chain and the ring swung
merrily, "it doesn't get damaged."

She put away the last of the crystal and took a longer look at
the ring before I tucked it back down the front of my shirt.
"Not even when you get hit in the chest?"

"Nah," I said, turning back to the sink. "It's under the armor,
which catches almost everything that could hurt it. Or me, for
that matter." I shot her a grin over my shoulder and tried to
forget a certain steel walking stick.

She returned the grin, but then grew thoughtful. "What is it,
Kate?" I asked, but I thought I knew already. The one question
she hadn't yet asked that I knew she had to be burning to know.
The same question to which I had no satisfactory answer.

Without lifting her eyes from the fixed point on which they'd
focused, she whispered, "What *was* Chairman Quincy, Doug? Was
he from your world, or was his story true, as crazy as it
sounded?"

I rinsed the last of the dishes -- a small serving bowl -- and
handed it to her to dry. As I drained the dishwater and rinsed
the pan, I considered my answer. "He wasn't Arcanum, if that's
what you're worried about. But he sure had Arcanum's act down
pat, all except the sorcery." I shook my head. "He knew me
inside and out, he could think like me and anticipate me. He had
the same birthday as me, day and year -- I checked. And damn if
he didn't look a lot like my grandfather."

After putting the bowl away, Kate turned around and settled
herself against the counter. "And that means?"

I did the same, taking the moment to consider my answer as I
dried my hands on the towel hung from a ring by the sink. "I'm
thinking that maybe he and I were analogues -- different
expressions of the same potential, the same person. I could have
been him, and he could have been me, had events followed other
courses in both our worlds."

She shuddered. "That's disturbing."

"Yeah," I said. "It is, isn't it?"

* * *

We retired back to the living room and kept talking until past
midnight, at which point I reluctantly admitted that I had to go.
Reluctantly, because I had been enjoying myself, except for the
depressing parts, and it was clear that she was, too. But it was
a work night for both of us -- Kate appreciated the irony in my
being a GENOM employee, by the way -- and so we had to bring the
evening to an unwanted close.

I gathered the few non-food items I'd brought with me, slipped
into my coat, and thanked her for an enjoyable time. She
actually blushed a little, right across the bridge of her nose,
and returned the thanks. Then she saw me to the door, where I
stopped to give her a final "good night".

That dark cloud was in her eyes again. "Kate?" I asked, poised
on the threshold of her apartment.

"You've been so kind to me," she said in a whisper, "when by all
rights you should have killed me along with Chairman Quincy.
I've been as, as, as *evil* as he was, you know. I've never been
a very nice person."

"Now you don't believe that, do you?"

She gave a little nod. "You've found a way to go home, I can
tell. This isn't just a good-bye for now -- it's forever. But
if you're not here, and she's not here either," (I blinked,
having no idea who "she" was) "if there's no hero for me to
measure myself against, how do I know I won't go right back to
being as bad as Mr. Quincy?"

"Kate," I said, reaching out and cupping the side of her face
just as I had that night in Quincy's office. "You don't need me,
or her, whoever she is. I'm no hero, after all, just a soldier.
*You're* the hero, Kate -- you risked your life and defied the
most powerful man in the world for a moral principle. As trite
as it sounds, you can be your *own* hero." I lifted her chin and
caught her eyes with mine. "Despite everything you may have
done, everything you've been in the past, you *are* a good
person, Katherine Madigan."

Her eyes were glistening. "You have no idea how long I've waited
to hear someone tell me that. Thank you."

I caught her hand up in my free one, and squeezed it gently.
"No," I said. "Thank *you*."

* * *

Thursday, April 16, 2037, 12:31 PM

"So soon?" Lisa said, stricken.

Doug had invited her out to lunch, and she had taken him up on
it. They had eaten quietly in a small kissaten near the Morita
Apartments, so quietly it had set her on edge. Doug had been
unusually serious.

It continued after they finished, and he led her on a long walk
through the streets of the ward. It was unusually cool for early
Spring, and they both had on their winter coats. They had
covered five blocks before he had said, "Lisa, I've found the
gate song. It's time for me to move on."

At the pain in her voice his serious expression grew sad.
"'Soon' is relative, Leese. I'm almost four years out from home,
and I hope to god that I get back there before I'm an old man."
Doug shook his head. "A day or two might not matter, but I don't
know how far I have to go to get back. Or if there's a time
differential that might be working against me. It's better if I
err on the side of caution." He took a deep breath, and Lisa was
seized with a sudden terror of hearing what she knew he was going
to say next. She wanted to cover her ears, squeeze her eyes shut
and drown him out with humming or song to keep from hearing it,
but she knew it wouldn't do any good.

"I'm leaving on Saturday night."

"Saturday," she repeated.

"Yeah," he said. "I've already given my notice at IDEC."

In spite of herself, her curiosity was roused. "Really? Did
they give you any trouble?"

Doug shook his head and smiled. "Nah. Ohara knew it was coming
sooner or later. 'How could we stop you from leaving even if we
wanted to?' he said." He chuckled. "The bastard actually shook
my hand and wished me luck in getting home."

Lisa smiled, a bit wanly she felt. "Maybe he's not as bad as
you've been thinking." She couldn't believe how trite she was
being! This was important! Why wasn't she crying, sobbing,
clutching him, trying to make him stay?

"Maybe," he grudgingly admitted, completely ignorant of the
turmoil in Lisa's soul.

Because he didn't belong to her, she told herself firmly. He was
her friend, but that was all he'd ever be. She had no right to
try to keep him from returning to his home... to his wife. It
would hurt, yeah. But not as much as watching what trying to
keep Doug here would do to him.

She smiled a sad little smile. There was no choice, really.

His voice suddenly cut into her reverie. "There's something I'd
like you to do, please, Leese."

"Huh? What's that?" she asked, startled back to full awareness.

"You remember your friends with the nice color-coded outfits?" he
asked, that mischievous little smile of his appearing for the
first time that day. "The ones who gave me a ride home some
weeks back?"

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at him. "Of course."

He drew a thick manila envelope from a coat pocket and handed it
to her. Nothing was written on it. "Could you please give this
to them? I'd like for them to be there when I leave on Saturday.
Just so nobody interrupts us, you know?" He plunged his hands
back into his pockets and looked sidelong at her.

Lisa nodded slowly. "I think I can get it to them quickly
enough."

The smile grew bigger, and it cheered her heart. "I thought you
might. Thanks."

*He thought...?* "You're welcome," was all she said, betraying
not a bit of the shock that comment caused her. It couldn't have
meant what she thought.

"There's one more thing," he added.

"Yes?"

He hesitated a moment, then went on. "Those Looney Tunes
plushies I had..." he began.

"I rescued them from your apartment, before they rented it out
again," she volunteered.

"Good," he said. "Because I want you to keep them. Just a dozen
or so little tokens to remember me by."

"Oh, Doug," she said, feeling like she wanted to cry again. She
turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I don't
need them for that. I'm *never* going to forget you."

* * *

Saturday, April 18, 2037, 6:43 PM

My last week in Megatokyo was a blur of activity. In addition to
dinner with Madigan and talking with Lisa, I had a godawful lot
of other things I had to do before I could leave.

I turned in my resignation to Ohara on Monday the 13th. He was
quite the good sport about it, shaking my hand, thanking me for
everything I'd done for IDEC, and wishing me all the best. It
almost made me feel bad about what I was going to do.

Almost.

What I was going to do was get everything I needed for the jump
that I could through GENOM internal supply. Fortunately, I
already had the number one item on that list, trade goods. After
Lisa had explained the problem she'd had paying the Knights with
the diamond I'd given her, I'd thwapped myself on the forehead
and promptly set up a couple of projects that required precious
metals in their construction. Then I requisitioned myself a
couple kilos of gold and a half-kilo of platinum. (Some of which
even went into those projects before the rest vanished into my
supplies.)

I went ahead and got some of the gems I'd intended on ordering,
if only because, if one chose properly, they were still valuable
in most human cultures. And I had drop shipped to IDEC a small
assortment of the few grav gun parts it was impossible for me to
make myself, so I'd have spares in case the bike's drive broke
down.

I gazed longingly at the workshop's nanofac for a very long time,
but eventually I had to admit that there was no way I could bring
one with me, as much as I wanted to. Even if I got the smallest
model available, there just was no room for it. I settled for
getting my hands on a complete copy of the plans and fabrication
specs. In electronic form, it took up no appreciable space, and
when I got home, it would at least give us a start on replicating
the technology.

Last but certainly not least in my mind, I set in motion all
those malicious requisitions I'd brainstormed up during the
winter. Those didn't get expedited like the trade goods did...
oh, no, not at all.

Off-hours, I gave the bike a thorough once-over, and did all the
preventative maintenance I could think of. Who knew where I'd
end up next? I couldn't assume I'd have access to even
*Valdemar's* level of technology. So I bought new tires, made
sure I had a good supply of oil and other fluids for the few
systems that needed them, and got a couple spare batteries, too.
And I bought a set of panniers -- boxy "saddlebags" made of black
impact-resistant plastic that hung over the bike's rear wheels.
I had to carry all my stuff somewhere, after all, and while I'd
still be using my backpack, it wasn't big enough any more.

A quick trip to a bank branch before I handed back my IDEC-
provided accounts yielded all the cash I'd honestly earned in the
time I'd worked for them. This actually came out to goodly sum,
as I'd already received several substantial bonuses for the
gadgets I'd built on the job. I had them put almost all of the
total into anonymized credsticks. These I then packaged neatly
in a padded manila envelope, which I gave to Lisa to offer to the
Knights as payment for a quick guard job during my departure. As
I had hoped, they accepted -- they probably wanted to make sure I
really was leaving for good.

I left a note for Aquarius and his people at a blind drop to tell
them about my departure, in case any of them wanted to say
goodbye. If I'd had any way of reaching Kilroy, I would have
used it, but I was out of luck there.

Since it was my last chance, I made several raids on local music
stores, looking for anything good. It cost me most of my
remaining spending cash, but I came away with literally hundreds
of new songs on several shilling-sized ROMs, along with a palm-
sized player I could either listen with or jack into one of the
standard ports in my helmet for transfer. (Needless to say, I
picked up extra batteries for the player, as well.)

Finally, by the simple expedient of not paying my next week's
rent and turning in my key on Saturday morning, I terminated my
lease at the flophouse where I'd been staying. I'd already
packed away almost everything I owned the night before.

Between my last days at IDEC -- where I rushed a last couple of
projects into completion -- and all this pre-jump prep, the week
sped by much faster than I'd expected. Before I knew it, it was
Saturday.

* * *

I pulled into the old familiar alleyway about 45 minutes after
sunset. Lisa sat behind me on the bike, clutching a plastic bag
full of something she coyly refused to identify and holding on
tight to me with her one free hand. One last ride with me, for
memory's sake. (I resisted the urge to take to the air, as much
of a thrill as it would have been for both of us.)

The Knights were waiting for us, in the same unmarked truck
they'd used the night they pulled me out of the Cone. Lisa had
assured me that they were amenable to dropping her off in Ota
near her apartment, another thing I took with a smile and a nod.
(I *almost* asked if they were all going to go out for ice cream
and soda first. But Lisa wouldn't have appreciated that.)

The ladies piled out of the truck as we pulled into the alley.
The moment we were off the street, Blue and White secured the
perimeter (not that it needed much securing). By the time we'd
parked at my original arrival point some seventy-five meters or
so down the narrow lane, Olive had already bounded up to the
building tops, done a quick lookout, and bounced back down. Pink
didn't move, but all her antennae were deployed and I suspected
she was scanning for anyone scanning *us*.

Less than forty-five seconds after our arrival, the Knights had
completed these tasks and reassembled by my cycle. At the same
time, Aquarius (looking like he'd raided a big-and-tall men's
store) stepped out from where he had been hidden in the shadows
behind the truck; the Knights' lack of surprise at his appearance
made it clear that he'd been there with their full knowledge.

As he and the Knights stepped up to the bike, Lisa and I
dismounted. After Lisa pulled off the spare helmet, I caught her
wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "You okay?" I asked
as I hung my own helmet on the back of the bike.

She nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, fine... the wind just
made my eyes water, that's all." I would have believed that if
it hadn't been for the catch in her voice. I just smiled,
though, and didn't say a thing.

"Doug!" Aquarius called out, and reached out to wrap a hand the
size of a baseball mitt around my own gloved hand. "Got your
message and I knew I had to see you off."

I pumped his arm a couple of times, then extracted my fingers
from his grip. (It was one of the few times I was glad for
armored gloves after a handshake.) "You're all by yourself
tonight?" I asked. "No posse?"

"Safer that way," he explained. "If something goes wrong, only
one of us gets killed, instead of the whole group. Of course,
Sagittarius wanted to come along just in case, so he could say 'I
told you so,'" he added with a grin.

I laughed, clapped him on his substantial shoulder and said,
"We'll just have to make sure he's disappointed."

I let go of his shoulder, stepped back and turned so I could face
everyone at once. I surveyed them all, armored, unarmored,
biological, technological. Then I said, "I suppose you're all
wondering why I called you here together."

"You're leaving," the Blue Knight said with studied indifference.
"Would you just get on with it?"

"Well, I'm glad to see my departure saddens you as much as it
does me," I went on without losing a beat.

"Yeah, right," said Pink. "Just go already, for Pete's sake."

"Okay, seriously," I said, dropping the gag. "I hired you four
because that was the only way I figured I'd get another chance to
talk to you before I left. I've already thanked you for saving
my hide, but there's something else I needed to say to you that I
didn't want to pass through Lisa. Like I told White on the night
you pulled me out of the Tower, I owe all of you an apology."

"Yeah?" Blue grunted.

"Yeah." I looked them all over, checking out their body
language. Olive was neutral tending toward friendly. Blue was
neutral tending toward hostile. Pink was a bit more hostile than
Blue. White was unreadable, as always. "I got a chance to study
the plans for the boomer brains over the winter. They're a
remarkable piece of work. Katsuhito Stingray was a genius."

No reaction from White, not that I expected one. "The engineers
who modified his work weren't geniuses, but they were very good
at what they did. They took the brain of a new human race, and
locked it in chains. Very, very secure chains." Off to the
side, Aquarius nodded soberly; very slowly, White's helmet turned
toward him, and then back to me.

"As far as I could determine, every military boomer you've ever
fought has been a targeted weapon. None of them were *ever*
rogues. And I can't fault you for killing them." I wished I
could make real eye contact with them, but instead I just had
to gaze at those blank helmets. "It was both a necessity, and
a mercy. And not murder."

I dropped to my knees and made a full, prostate, traditional
Japanese groveling-with-face-in-the-mud bow to them. Seriously --
I had my forehead right down in the stinking muck that carpeted
the alley. "I was wrong to call you murderers; I acknowledge that
and ask your forgiveness."

There was a long, long silence. Then there came the distinctive
"poink poink poink" sound of one of the Knights walking up to me.
My face was flat in the crud, and I couldn't see who it was. *Well,
this is it,* I thought. "One way or another I'm leaving this world
*real* soon now."

A fistful of robotic grippers seized my upper arm and hauled me
to my feet. "Okay, okay, cut it out already," Blue said, letting
go. "You're embarrassing us."

"That means," Olive said with a bit of a smile in her voice,
"apology accepted."

Pink nodded, and after a moment, so did White.

For a moment, I couldn't believe it. It couldn't be *that* easy.
I stood there for a moment slackjawed, rubbing at the dirt on my
forehead and checking each one of them out in case I was about to
get jumped in a very overdue, very cruel April Fool's joke. But
it didn't happen. Apparently I really was forgiven. That didn't
mean they liked me, but I hadn't been looking for that. I just
wanted to clear the air between us.

"Um, okay," I finally said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Blue replied.

"Um, what else? Oh, right," I said after a moment's thought. I
looked over to Lisa, who had crept back up to my side still
clutching that red and white plastic bag. "Can you pass on a
message to that friend of yours I never did meet? The one
with..."

A light flashed on as my mind raced ahead of my mouth, and I
ground to a halt. Priss and the Replicants. Friend of Lisa's.
Lisa's friendliness with the Sabers. And the eavesdropping I'd
done when I cracked their crypto. Of course. I should have
figured it out sooner, but I'd had a lot on my mind, what with
everything I'd been doing over the past few months.

"What?" Lisa asked. "You stopped right in the middle."

"Oh." I shook myself. "I just finally put five and twenty-seven
together..."

She gave me a puzzled look. "What did you come up with?"

"Why, thirty-two, of course." I gave her a mock-condescending
look. "You kids today, ignorant of the simplest math. I swear."
I shot a look over at Blue, at *Priss*, not "Pris" -- I was sure
of it. "Please pass my most profound gratitude on to Priss and
the Replicants," I told Lisa, still watching Blue, trying to lock
my eyes on where I thought hers were behind that visor. "Tell
them I said that 'Konya wa Hurricane' is an extraordinary song of
great power and passion, sung by a truly gifted performer.
Without it, I don't think there could have been quite the happy
ending there was. My thanks to them."

It was tempting to turn to Blue and end with a bow and something
like "..and to *you*", but that would have been almost a taunt.
I wanted to leave without something like that hanging on behind
me. As it was, my message got to its intended recipient. That
was all I really cared about.

I turned to the Knights' leader. "Lady White? A word in
private, please?" When she inclined her helm in obvious
puzzlement, I added, "Just a few steps over that way," I waved
toward the truck, "just enough to get out of earshot."

"If you wish," she said, and we suited word to deed.

When we were safely in the lee of the truck -- still visible to
the others but out of normal earshot (although I wouldn't have
put it past Pink to deploy a rifle mike or something) -- I took a
breath and said, "If you are who I think you are, Lady White --
hell, even if I'm wrong -- you should hear this. Has Aquarius
told you about Leontophonus-A and what it does?"

The white helmet nodded. "Yes."

"Understand that it adds nothing to the boomer brain; it
simply... unleashes it. A boomer infected with Leo-A simply
becomes a boomer who is everything Katsuhito Stingray --
everything *your father* -- intended for a boomer to be."

"Meaning?" Oh, she was cool. No reaction one way or another to
that.

"Meaning your mission needs to change. Because the world is
about to. You've already seen the beginnings of what GENOM will
become under Madigan. You won't have to worry about it any more.
Well," I corrected myself with a grin, "not nearly as much. But
boomers... there's now a critical mass of infected boomers,
White. Those with free will soon will outnumber those without.
And when the world discovers that..."

"...Humans will react as they always have," she finished.

"Right." I closed my eyes, then opened them again. "There will
be fear, and misunderstanding, and, inevitably, violence. Only
this time, it will be boomers who are the innocents at risk. You
must expand your mission to include saving *them*."

"I suppose I must save every boomer now?" she asked coldly.

I shook my head. "No, not every boomer. Just like humans, there
will be good boomers and evil boomers. And gods know, you'll
have to take more than a few of the latter down. It's just
that... you can't assume any more that just because it's blue and
two meters tall that it's... expendable. A monster." I studied
her blank faceplate. "You said at the Tower that you've done
things you would rather not have done, in the name of duty.
Well, here's a chance to balance the books."

That blank faceplate looked down at me for a long, silent moment.
Then she said, "I'll consider it."

I nodded. "I suppose that's the best I could hope for, given the
circumstances. Thank you, Ms. Stingray."

The helmet tilted. "You're quite welcome, Colonel Sangnoir."

* * *

After we rejoined the others, I looked around the alley once
more, fixing them all in my memory. Yeah, I was delaying the
inevitable, and I knew it; I gave a big sigh and said, "Well, I
can't put it off any longer." I turned back to my motorcycle and
reached for my helmet.

"Wait!" Lisa yelped.

I turned back to her. "Hm?"

"Here," she said, blushing and looking away as she thrust the
mystery bag into my hand. "Just a little something I got for
you."

I looked down at it blankly. "You didn't have to..."

"No, no, I think you'll like it," she interrupted. "Open it."

I did, and started laughing. Inside was a simple black t-shirt;
plain white romaji lettering across the front read, in English,
"I VISITED MEGATOKYO AND FREED THE BOOMERS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS
LOUSY T-SHIRT."

"I had it made for you," she explained unnecessarily as I stared
at her. "What, you didn't think I realized that you got your
little project working?"

"Um." I shifted my gaze back to the shirt. "Well, I never
actually gave it any thought."

She slapped my shoulder lightly with the back of her hand.
"Typical."

I folded the shirt back up and stowed it carefully in one of the
panniers. "Aw, Leese..." I began. "Thanks. I'll wear it with
pride when I get home. I'll really be able to tell them 'been
there, done that, got the T-shirt,'" I added, and she laughed.

"You're welcome. Now, *my* one last thing." She reached into
the pocket of her jacket, pulled out a photograph, and handed it
to me. Curious, I glanced at it, and ended up stupefied.

It was Maggie and me, kissing, with the lights of a city spread
out behind us.

"Lisa," I finally said. "Where... how..."

She smiled beatifically. "The night you called up her image to
talk to, back last summer. I followed you up to the roof, and I
was in the stairwell the whole time, taking pictures. That was
when I first figured out that you weren't just another ordinary
guy." She giggled, and I finally returned the smile. "I know
you don't have any pictures of her, so I made this print for you.
And a couple others." Digging into her pocket, she produced them
and handed them over.

"I..." I began, still stunned. "This is... I mean..."

Her eyes glistened slightly. "I know what you're trying to say.
Don't worry about it." Then she threw herself at me, wrapping
her arms tightly around me and burying her face in my chest.
"Take care of yourself, you goof. Get home safely, you hear?"

I looked down at the top of her head and stroked her blonde hair
with my free hand. "I will. And if I can, I'll come back for a
visit one of these days, okay?"

"Don't go out of your way," Pink muttered in the background, but
I ignored her.

Lisa pulled back and looked up at me. Unshed tears shimmered in
the corners of her eyes. "Maybe I'll come visit *you* next
time," she said with a little laugh. "You never know, right?"

Chuckling, I nodded. "You're right. Okay, I'll be expecting
you."

She reached up, took my face between her hands, and pulled me
down for a short, sweet kiss. "Don't you dare get yourself
killed!" she said when it was done. "You make it back to her, to
your Maggie, and make sure you keep her happy! You understand
me, mister?"

I smiled. "Loud and clear." I wrapped my arms around her and
hugged her gently. "You've been a good friend, Leese, maybe
better than I deserved. Be happy, okay?"

We pulled apart and Lisa, tears now openly running down her
cheeks, smiled weakly and nodded. I leaned over and cupped her
cheek in my palm for the last time. "<And in the end, the love
you take/Is equal to the love you make.> Goodbye, Lisa."

"Goodbye, Doug," she whispered.

* * *

*Damn it, I should have given those to him when we were alone,*
Lisa thought as she stepped back. *Now the last memory of me
he'll have is me being all weepy.*

She dug in her pocket for a tissue. As she dabbed at her eyes
with it, Doug unsnapped the buckles that held his jacket closed,
and slipped the photos into an unseen pocket within. He closed
the flap of his jacket and, with exquisite care, refastened each
of the buckles. Lisa almost laughed at how focused he was on
such a trivial task, but she stopped herself. In her current
state, it would have come out more like a hiccup. Or a sob.

As she wrestled her feelings into some semblance of control,
Aquarius stepped forward and folded his gunmetal-blue hand around
Doug's gloved one. "Take care of yourself, my friend."

Doug nodded solemnly. "Good luck and stay safe."

The boomer grinned. "Don't worry, we're more than capable of
looking out for ourselves."

"Yeah," Doug replied. "I suppose you are, at that." He gave one
more look around, an unusually somber expression on his face.
Then he lifted his helmet off the motorcycle's gas tank and placed
it on his head. "I hate to admit it," he said softly as he
fastened the chin strap, "but I think I'm going to miss all the
excitement here."

Lisa sniffled and nodded in agreement.

His helmet fastened, Doug then reached down and fastened what
looked like an elaborate seatbelt around himself. Then he looked
up and forward, away from them. "Okay, time to go," he announced
in that same quiet voice. "Aquarius, Lisa, you'd better step
back over there with the Knights, okay? I don't want you sucked
through the gate by accident."

His tone was so serious that Lisa felt an involuntary flush of
panic. In spite of herself, she gave a little "eep!" and
scampered over to Nene's side. When she turned around to face
Doug again, she found Aquarius right on her heels.

When he saw that they were clear, Doug hit the starter on his
cycle. Its turbine spun up with a whine of controlled power.
Then he reached out and flipped a toggle on the small panel of
switches that sat between the handlebars and behind the
windscreen. A low hum harmonized with the whine of the turbine,
and the lower half of the cycle began to glow with a soft red
light. A moment later the motorcycle lifted gently off the
ground and hovered, half a meter or so in the air.

"Whoa," Lisa whispered, then she shouted, "Hey, you never said
your bike could do that!"

"You never asked!" he shouted back.

Though the tears were starting again, she laughed through them.
*That's *so* Doug!*

"And now," he announced, "for my last trick! <System! Load
song 'The Way'! Play song!>"

And it did. A quiet drumbeat almost drowned out by the sound of
someone tuning their way across a series of radio stations
announced that Doug had had his helmet's external speakers turned
on. The radio sounds were quickly replaced by music, and Lisa
listened closely to make out the words.

"<They made up their minds and they started packing
They left before the sun came up that day
An exit to eternal summer slacking
Where were they going without ever knowing the way?>"

A flare of rainbow-colored light appeared in the center of the
alley, floating in the air at about the level of Doug's waist.
Almost as soon as it had become visible, it expanded into a ring
surrounding a flat black disk, nearly three meters across and
floating like Doug and his cycle above the ground.

"<They drank up the wine and they got to talking
They now had more important things to say
And when the car broke down they started walking
Where were they going without ever knowing the way?>"

Deep in the core of her being, Lisa felt an odd sensation, a
strange electric *tingle* that seemed to double in intensity with
each passing second. As it grew, it felt as though she were
standing next to a vast mountain river rushing its way down to
the sea -- standing within arms's reach of a vast outpouring of
power. She could almost see the flow of the currents spiralling
into the black disk floating in front of Doug, transparent
streamers of neon-blue light overlaid upon but not obscuring the
real world beneath. And under it all, under her feet, under the
city, there was a slow throb of warmth, like a lazy heartbeat.
She shivered; the sensation was... odd. Not unpleasant, but
very, very strange.

"<Anyone can see the road that they walk on
Is paved in gold
It's always summer,
They'll never get cold
They'll never get hungry,
They'll never get old and grey...>"

Douglas Sangnoir gave a final glance and wave back towards the
Sabers, Aquarius and Lisa. He paused in mid-wave for a fraction
of a second, then quirked a half-grin before turning it into a
thumbs up. Curious, Lisa craned her neck around to see the White
Saber's almost casual salute.

Then he revved the motorcycle's engine and shot off into the
unknown. The black disk swallowed him completely, remained open
for a few seconds more, then vanished with an incongruous "pop!"

There was silence among the assembled for a moment, then Priss
whispered, half to herself, "<Exit the warrior, today's Tom
Sawyer...>"

Lisa forced a weak smile. "I don't know about you guys," she
murmured, "but I'm going to call it a day."

* * *

EPILOGUES

Very few things happen at the right time and the rest do not
happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these
defects. -- Herodotus (484-425 BCE)

An epilogue is more than a body count. An epilogue, in disguise
of wrapping up the past, is really a way of warning us about the
future. -- T.S. Garp, in "The World According to Garp" by John
Irving

* * *

And afterward, life went on as it always had.

Sort of.

* * *

Those who refuse to serve the Powers,
Become the tools of the Powers.
Those who agree to serve the Powers,
Themselves *become* the Powers.
Beware the Choice! Beware refusing it!
-- Book of Night with Moon, Tetrastych xiv: "Fire over Heaven"
(Diane Duane)


*Life's going to be a lot less exciting with Doug gone.* Lisa
sighed as she stared glumly into the cabinet that served as her
tiny pantry.

After seeing Doug off, she and Nene had retired to Lisa's
apartment for an early evening snack. It was about all she felt
she had the energy for.

As Nene ducked into bathroom, Lisa began rummaging through the
shelves, and pursued that thought. *Then again, what with all
the changes in GENOM, and Aquarius and his people freeing other
boomers, maybe it won't be all that dull.*

"Aha!" she said out loud as she withdrew a brightly-colored
packet from the back of a shelf. "I knew I had some instant miso
soup in here." Glancing over the Kikkoman logo, she thought,
*Now, let's just get the kettle and...* A sudden weight in her
other hand surprised her. She turned her head to see herself
holding the kettle in a hand she knew had been empty a moment
before. Its heft and a gentle sloshing sound within told her
that it had been filled, too. *What the...?*

Spooked, she gingerly placed the kettle on the range top and
turned on the gas. As it began to heat, she forced her surprise
away. *Now all I need are...* A clatter and a clink and another
weight filled her free hand. She looked down. *...bowls and
spoons.*

Suddenly, something Doug had said months before drifted to the
surface of her mind. "One of the first signs that a person is a
mage and that their gift has awakened is apportation -- items
that they need spontaneously teleporting into their hands," his
voice whispered to her across the months.

Lisa shook her head. "No way," she muttered. "No way in hell."
*I can't be. There aren't any in this world. Doug said so.*

Another of Doug's comments returned to her. "Sometimes enough
exposure to mystic energies will trigger the awakening of a
latent magegift," he'd said. "Like calls to like -- that's one
part of the Law of Sympathy." And Lisa remembered the vast power
that had flowed into and through her when Doug had given her
"Invisible Touch". Remembered being engulfed in the magical
replay of the history of Doug's home world. Remembered feeling
the awesome energies of the interdimensional gate that had
carried him away from her. Remembered a kiss from a goddess.

"Oh, no," she murmured. "No no no no." Inside her, a part of
her soul exulted. Dazedly, she put the bowls and the spoons down
on the tiny countertop and stepped a meter or so away.

"Sailor power make-up," she whispered, hoping nothing would
happen.

There was a terrible bright light.

There was a terrible brief silence.

There was a terribly panicked shriek.

"NENE!"

* * *

You cannot believe in honor unless you have achieved it.
Better keep yourself clean and bright; you are the window
through which you must see the world. -- George Bernard Shaw


Kate Madigan studied the screen before her. On it were displayed
the contents of one of the late Chairman Quincy's most secret
files, securely encrypted with the immense key which she had
received in a sealed packet as part of her ascension to the
position of chairman. In the weeks since then, the dual chore of
dealing with the Board while struggling to bring all of GENOM's
widely disparate component companies back under strong central
control had kept her too busy to browse this one document, with
its "confidential/low priority" metadata flags. Too busy, that
is, until now.

*Of course,* she thought, with a touch of chagrin at her own
blindness. *Sylia Stingray. In hindsight, it's perfectly
obvious.*

She turned around to look out of the great windows of the office
and leaned back in her chair. The first thing she had done upon
gaining the office -- besides having its extensive battle damage
repaired -- was to dispose of the remains of the monstrous,
throne-like affair in which Quincy's proxy boomers had ensconced
themselves and replace it with the chair from her old office.
Some might not think it was grand enough a seat for the Chairman
and CEO of GENOM, but Kate didn't care. It was an old and
comfortable friend, and anyway, the position wasn't defined by
the chair, but by the person sitting in it.

Looking out over the city, she steepled her hands and considered
the information she had just absorbed. After several minutes,
she turned back to the monitor. *What was it Pope John XXIII
said when he read the third secret of Fatima? Ah, yes.* "This
makes no reference to my time," Kate murmured aloud with a smile.
Then she deleted and overwrote the unencrypted copy of the file,
renamed the original "Frozen food sales figures, Dubuque, 2013,"
and relegated it to GENOM's long-term data warehouse.

*That was the product of another era and another mind. *I* will
not run GENOM in that manner,* she resolved to herself. She
smiled at the contentment that simple statement brought her.
Kate closed her eyes and enjoyed it for a few moments before
turning her attention back to her desk.

Grimacing, she took up the next report. Another subsidiary was
trying to go rogue, in the grand old corporate tradition. Under
the leadership of an executive not very different from the way
she had once been, it was trying to operate outside of the
ethical and legal strictures she'd laid down for GENOM. *Our
management culture needs a major overhaul,* she thought with a
frown.

She considered her options. She could always send in Corporate
Security to deal with the matter, but that risked both a great
deal of unnecessary bloodshed as well as unwanted media and
government attention. If only she had something more subtle,
some kind of specially-trained "tiger team" that she could trust
both to handle jobs like this with competence and discretion...

A slow grin spread across Kate's face as the perfect solution
occurred to her. And it gave her an opportunity to offer an
olive branch that might otherwise be rejected.

She opened an email window.

"Dear Mr. Fargo," she typed. "Please inform the organization
whom you represent that I would like to offer them a long-term
contract, terms open for negotiation." She couldn't approach
Sylia Stingray directly, not yet, but perhaps, after working
together, some kind of accord might be reached. At the very
least, though, another troublesome division would be quashed
before it could cause further damage to the corporation.

Kate finished composing the email, signed it, and fired it off
into the Net. Then she leaned back and entertained a moment or
two of hope for an improved future for everyone involved. After
a deep breath through a broad smile, she went back to work,
pausing only a moment more to think, *I wonder if Lisa would be
up for watching some vidroms this weekend?*

* * *

"Fate laughs at man. The secret of happiness is learning how
to laugh at fate." -- Obie


"Mommy! Mommy!"

Coming out of the studio into the control booth, Priss was hit by
a small, blonde guided missile. Laughing, she swept Jennifer up
into her arms and shared a vigorous hug with her daughter.
"How's my girl?" she asked, smiling broadly.

"While you were recording, Daddy took me out for ice cream,"
Jennifer announced breathlessly. "And when we were done eating
ice cream, he took me to the pistol range!"

Priss looked over her adopted daughter's shoulder at her husband
of four months and raised an eyebrow. "Did he now?" Leon
shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah! And I got a bullseye!" Jennifer squirmed in her grasp
and dug a crumpled piece of paper out of a pocket. "See!"

Priss retrieved the paper and did her best to unfold it with one
hand. As she suspected, it was a paper target, its centermost
ring riddled with holes. "Very nice, sweetie." She turned her
attention back to the girl in her arms. "Why don't you go talk
to your Uncle Daley and Uncle Roy, Jenny-chan? I need to chat
with your daddy for a moment."

A sly grin belying Jennifer's apparent age flickered across her
face. "'Kay, Mommy!" She wriggled out of Priss's arms almost
before the singer could lower her to the ground, and skipped into
the studio, gaily singing, "Daddy's in truh-bul! Daddy's in
truh-bul!" Priss chuckled softly to herself.

Through the sound-proof window that separated the booth from the
studio proper, she watched Jennifer barrel into the two men's
embrace. With a laugh, the police inspector and the Replicants'
lead guitarist released each other and as one crouched to talk to
the enthusiastic girl.

Priss shook her head and smiled. *Now there's a relationship
I'll never understand,* she mused. *Six years Roy and I've
worked together, and I didn't know he was gay until the wedding
reception.* She laughed quietly to herself as she remembered
that it had obviously been love at first sight for both men, but
neither had had the courage to approach the other -- until Linna
and Nene tricked them into dancing together. After that...
Well, Daley spent nearly all of his off-duty time in Osaka now,
and was almost as much of a fixture in the studio as Leon.
Speaking of whom...

She carefully schooled her features into a furious scowl and
secretly enjoyed Leon's sudden look of extreme nervousness. She
stalked across the booth and stopped to stare at him. "Um," he
choked out. "Is there a problem, Priss?"

Priss banished her mock fury and stood on her toes to kiss him.
The relief and confusion on his face almost made her laugh out
loud. Slipping her arm around him, she said, "I thought we were
all going to go to the range *together*, after dinner?"

"Well," Leon stammered, "Jenny-chan was just so excited about it,
I figured I could take her this afternoon, and then we'd all go
together again tonight. I mean, what would it hurt?" His voice
grew fond and proud. "You should've seen her, Priss. She's a
natural."

Priss snorted. "I don't doubt it. But you know you took that
moment away from me. I didn't get to see my daughter's first
time with a gun in her hands. That's very important to a mother,
you know." In her arms, Leon stiffened, and she realized her
attempt at humor had been a bit too harsh. She tightened her
grip on him and leaned her head on his chest. As the warmth of
his body flooded her cheek and his heartbeat pounded in her ears,
he relaxed again. "You spoil her too much," she added in a
softer tone.

"God knows she deserves it," Leon said with equal softness. "But
I'll try to restrain myself in the future." He lifted a hand and
gently caressed her hair. "How's the soundrom coming?"

She smiled into his chest. "It's going to kick some major ass."

"Good." He kept stroking her hair. "And how about you? Are you
doing all right?"

She thought about it before answering. The last year of her life
had seen some major changes. A husband, a daughter. Maybe
another kid or two, someday. A big-time recording contract, with
the promise of long-sought success. A new home, and new friends
made without losing old ones. The end of the old GENOM. A touch
of magic, now safely far away. And, most importantly, a sense of
absolution, finally -- for Sylvie, for Anri, and for Adama.

It all added up to... Contentment. Yes, that was what she was
feeling. It had been an unfamiliar thing for so long, but now
that she knew what it was like, she welcomed it.

"Yeah," she said, snuggling further into Leon's embrace as she
watched their daughter and their friends. "Never better."

* * *

"I would rather be a child and keep my self-respect
If being an adult is being like you."
-- Dead Kennedys, "Life Sentence"


Nene slid out from under the car, her creeper's metal wheels
making a sound something like a cross between a chime and a
scrape on the concrete. "So, the word on the Net now is that
gear hackers *everywhere* are trying their hands at implementing
the plans." She rubbed at her face, unknowingly leaving a smudge
of dirt on her cheek.

"Cool." Linna's voice was muffled by the great chrome hood. "So
we're not the first?"

Nene half-rolled over to select a signal probe from the tray of
tools laying on the floor where both she and Linna could reach
them. "Probably not. Probably not even the first car," she
said. "But we're going to be the coolest, I bet!"

Linna withdrew her head from the capacious space that surrounded
the car's surprisingly small engine. "It helps that we had three
of the greatest technical minds on the planet to double-check the
work." She pulled a rag from a loop on her coveralls and tried
to wipe her hands clean.

"Three?" Nene asked as she slid back under the car. "Sylia and
Doc Raven, yeah. I loved the looks on their faces when we showed
them the plans. But who's the third?"

"You, you dip." Linna kicked the end of the creeper, and Nene
squealed as the low-slung cart shot out of sight.

"Hey!" came the redhead's indignant tones from beneath the
chassis. "You almost made me break this thing!"

"Sor-ry!" Linna sang out in such a way that it was clear she was
less than sincere. She reached for the chromed panels that made
up the left-hand access to the engine where they lay folded over
the top of the hood. Unfolding and swinging them down, she slid
the panels back into place, carefully snapping each locking
clasp shut with an audible "click". Then she reached over and
grabbed the end of the leather strap that just as much as the
clasps sealed the engine compartment. She threaded it through
its buckle and cinched it tightly. "Well, I'm done on this end.
You?"

"Got just one more hookup to test," Nene grunted. "There," she
said a moment later. "Okay, we're green to go."

"Then get out from under there and let's give it a test drive."

"Yatta!"

Ten minutes later, the car sat parked at the entrance to Linna's
warehouse garage. The two women had shucked their coveralls and
pulled on light jackets, and were ensconced in the vehicle's
broad, open front seat. The air was crisp and fresh, warmed by
the bright autumn sunlight.

"Here," Nene said, pulling out a small, irregular package and
handing it to Linna as the brunette settled into her place in the
steering wheel.

"What is it?" Linna asked, then began carefully opening the
wrapping.

Nene smiled mysteriously. "Just a little present to commemorate
our success."

Linna laughed as she pulled back the last flap of paper. Inside
were a grey cap, a matching pair of gloves, and a set of old-
fashioned driving goggles. "I figured you needed to look the
part," Nene commented with a grin.

Linna hugged her. "Thanks." She pulled on the gloves, then
donned the goggles and hat. Glancing over at Nene, she grinned.
"How do I look?"

"Great!" Nene giggled. "Now, my turn!" A moment later, she had
a leather aviator's helmet pulled over her head, reducing her red
hair to a short fan spread across her shoulders. She peered
owlishly at Linna through her own goggles. The smudge of grease
still marked her cheek. "What do you think?"

Linna just laughed. "Oh, my god. It's the Red-Headed Baron."
Nene stuck out her tongue, and Linna laughed again. "Let's get
going," she finally said. She reached for the ignition, then
hesitated and turned back to Nene. "Are you sure we're not the
first?"

Nene nodded. "Yeah. We're one of the first, though, thanks to
Sylia being able to get those gravity gun parts for us. Most of
the others will have to kitbash their own components before they
can even get to the bench test stage."

Linna smiled to herself. "And I'll bet that GENOM's just
heartbroken over this technology having been thrown into the
public domain before they could grab it. Even if they do succeed
in claiming it as theirs, the genie's already out of the bottle."

"Ah, who cares about GENOM, Linna?" Nene cried. "Let's just get
going!"

Linna laughed sharply. "Right!" She gave a sidelong glance to
her left. "Ready?"

Nene nodded briskly. "Yup!"

"Then here goes nothing. Contact!"

With a roar, the engine started, and the cedar-and-chrome car
began to roll down the street. It had barely begun to move when
its running boards swung up and great fabric wings, boldly
striped in red and yellow, swept open majestically from the sides
of the vehicle, almost spanning the narrow road. Similarly-
colored fans a meter across -- a swallowtail to the rear and an
irregular, scalloped pentagon to the fore -- emerged from behind
the vehicle's rod-like bumpers.

A pair of tiny helicopter-style rotors unfolded from its
wingtips, and two tons of antique automobile lifted gently off
the road. Twin shrieks of delight could be heard as it cleared
the rooftops. It banked elegantly into a long, lazy circle over
the neighborhood. Then, as a pair of cheers rang out, it
accelerated toward the heart of MegaTokyo to buzz GENOM Tower.

* * *

Every exit is an entry somewhere else. -- Tom Stoppard


*Well,* thought Hiroe Miyama as she propped the envelope up
against the main monitor screen, *this is it.* Behind her, the
flywheels emitted the constant, high-pitched drone which
indicated that they were spun up to their full capacity.

With Sangnoir's departure, Quincy's death and Madigan's elevation
to the chairmanship, IDEC during the past few months had been
awash in chaos and activity. Amid all the confusion, no one had
really noticed all the extra time she had been spending on the
pinhole projector -- or if they had, they simply wrote it off as
either increased enthusiasm for the company's flagship project,
or an effort to suck up indirectly to the new Chairman of GENOM.

Which was exactly how Hiroe wanted it.

*It was a simple enough idea,* she continued to muse, going over
everything in her head one last time. *The projector by its
nature utilizes an inherently two-way phenomenon for a one-way
communication. It didn't take too much effort to make that
communication two-way as well.*

The difficulty with the projector had never been in reaching
another universe with it, not since late spring of the previous
year, at least. The *real* problem had been *masking* the probe
from detection -- a requirement GENOM had insisted upon, no doubt
to eliminate any chance of retaliation from a truly advanced
civilization that objected to someone stealing its technological
secrets. Successfully hiding the presence of the pinhole,
though, would have required them to know ahead of time what any
particular universe's technology might be capable of -- a virtual
impossibility, given that they were probing at random.

However, for Hiroe's purposes that was not an issue -- she had
*wanted* the probe to be detected. What had taken most of her
time and effort was ensuring that the right individual on the
other side of the right pinhole did the detecting.

*But it paid off, in spades.* One last time, Hiroe inspected the
blocky, partly-crystalline device she had attached to the
projector, confirming that all was in readiness. *Between the
two of us, we were able to find a solution to the problem
Sangnoir's very presence posed. And how elegant and simple it
was!* She stepped briskly to the control panel and programmed
the projector to interpenetrate at a set of coordinates that had
become almost as well-known to her over the past few weeks as
her own address. Without a second thought, she stabbed her
finger against the "go" button that appeared on the touch-
sensitive screen before her.

The flywheels' hum plummeted precipitously in pitch as the
projector switched on and sucked power from them. Nothing else
seemed to happen for a moment, but then the large, white crystals
wired into the makeshift booster circuit began to glow.

In the center of the lab, just to one side of the projector, a
speck of rainbow-colored light suddenly appeared in midair.
Almost as soon as it had become visible, it expanded into a ring
surrounding a flat black disk, nearly three meters across and
floating a half meter or so above the tiled floor.

Hiroe shouldered the duffel bag in which she had packed her most
treasured belongings, and dragged a stepstool over to the disk.
Then, without looking back, she climbed the stool and took her
great leap of faith into the darkness.

A moment later, the projector automatically shut down, even as
the white crystals on her booster circuit smoked, blackened and
cracked.

* * *

"...don't care what your records say. We did *not* order two
gross of racing bicycles, and we're not going to pay for them!"
Daniel Ohara barked into his cellphone as he entered the
projector room. "We're a goddamned theoretical physics lab.
What the hell would we do with *bicycles*, you..." He stopped
short as his eyes fell upon the scorched and broken booster
circuit.

"Look," he said, "they're not ours, end of story. Deal with it!"
He snapped the cellphone shut with unnecessary roughness and
shoved it into a pocket. Then he slowly turned in place,
surveying the entire lab, noting once again the circuit board, as
well as the flywheels humming at well below their usual pitch,
the stepstool in the middle of the floor, and finally, the letter
on the workstation.

Puzzlement plain on his face, he stepped slowly over to the
computer and picked up the envelope. It was addressed "Doctor
Ohara and my co-workers". Even more puzzled, he tore off one end,
blew into it, and retrieved the sheet of paper within.

Fifteen minutes later Ohara, Tony Nakamura and Illya Vaysberg
were clustered around the desk in Ohara's office, watching the
security camera recording of Hiroe's "experiment" for the fourth
time. Next to the monitor were the blackened remains of her
mysterious circuit board, carefully removed from the pinhole
projector.

With slightly more force than was necessary, Ohara pressed a key
and paused the recording at the moment Hiroe hurled herself into
the black disk. "So," he said.

"What the *hell* was she thinking?" Tony snarled, not for the
first time.

"The letter you read, friend Tony," Illya remarked in an
unusually subdued tone. "What she was thinking already you
know."

Ohara glanced down at the sheet of xerox paper, neatly but
hastily calligraphed, that lay on the table in front of the
monitor. He didn't need to read it again to know the part that
offended Tony the most.

"Don't bother trying to reproduce the booster (Hiroe's neat,
precise handwriting read). It's as much magic as technology,
and until you understand *that*, your efforts will be useless.

"I'll admit, I built it from instructions. I don't understand
any but the most basic axioms of magic and enchantment yet,
but I can tell you this much... the reason that no one on our
timeline has yet come up with a working Grand Theory of
Everything is that they are missing half the underpinnings of
the universe -- without magic, the equations will never
balance. Chew on *that*, Tony!"

"Magic!" Tony growled. "Like I could accept the idea that the
universe is nothing more than a big jazz improvisation combo!
The woman was insane, and all we're doing here is watching her
commit suicide."

"I'm not so sure," Ohara mused.

"Agreed," Illya added. During the exchange he had picked up
Hiroe's mystery circuit and had begun studying it. "Is possible
she did what she claimed in letter she did. Most interesting
this device is, that which I can understand of it." He looked up
at Tony. "Be not so quick to assume her dead."

Ohara frowned in thought. Then he swung the monitor to face him
directly and tapped away at the keyboard.

"What are you doing?" Tony demanded.

"We've had the test suite's sensors running continuously since
just before 'Craig's' departure," Ohara commented. "We
registered his 'event' on April 18, as you recall, and there was
some concern he might return."

Illya looked up and grinned. "And for today, they report...?"

Ohara studied the screen before him. Finally, he turned it to
face the other two men, who studied it avidly. After a moment,
Illya nodded, his grin now a broad smile. Tony merely stared in
disbelief. Then he took a long look at the device in the
Russian's hands.

"Dear god, it actually works," he murmured.

"Worked, past tense, at least," Ohara corrected him. He held out
his hand and Illya placed the circuit board in it. "Here's what
we're going to do," he announced as he turned it over and over.
"Hiroe gets listed as having gone on an unpaid sabbatical. We
erase that security cam recording. And we forget this happened."

Ohara stopped turning the board and ran a fingertip over one of
the scorched and cracked crystals. "The last thing we need is
for *anyone* to discover that one of our people opened a full-
size gateway in the lab. If GENOM didn't swoop down and make us
prisoners for life, USSD or some other military would. Let's not
even consider what might happen if we manage to reproduce this
and create a gateway of our own, and we open up into a hostile
universe." He shook his head. "No, I'd rather be quietly and
marginally successful at looking into other timelines than wildly
and dangerously successful at actually going to them. So," he
gave Tony and Illya a conspiratorial look, "this never happened,
you never saw anything, Hiroe's off somewhere exotic researching
her next paper and you don't know when she'll be back. Got it?"

Illya stood ramrod-straight, clicked his heels, and threw a mock
salute. "It is in grand Soviet tradition to delete unwanted and
embarrassing history! Happy I am to comply!"

Ohara grinned. "Excellent. Tony?"

The fat man growled. "If the choice is between that and having
to accept magic, I'll gladly forget *anything* connected to the
damned thing."

"Good." Ohara nodded again. His eyes returned to the frozen
image of Hiroe casting herself into the unknown. "Good luck," he
whispered. "I hope you found what you were looking for."

* * *

When Hiroe awoke, it was to see the familiar, concerned face of
her collaborator hovering above her. Behind her were pure white
walls and ceiling, but somehow they managed to feel warm and
inviting instead of stark and cold. Joy flooded Hiroe's soul.
"I made it," she whispered.

Her collaborator smiled. "Unconscious and a little shaken up,
but yes, you did," she said in her soft, sweet voice.

Hiroe's face broke into a broad grin. "Wonderful! Now there's
just one more thing left for me to do." She rose, somewhat
unsteadily, from the cot on which she found herself, then knelt
before the familiar figure, touching her forehead to the white
crystal floor.

"My lady," Hiroe intoned solemnly, "Of my own free will I
renounce all my previous loyalties and citizenships, and I pledge
eternal fealty to Serenity, daughter of Serenity, queen of
Crystal Tokyo, and to the Senshi who serve her, and I humbly
petition to become a citizen of Crystal Tokyo."

"In the name of Neo-Queen Serenity, and as her Senshi," replied
Eternal Sailor Mercury with equal solemnity, "I accept your oath
and grant your citizenship." She reached down and drew the
scientist up into a warm embrace. "Welcome home, Hiroe. Welcome
home."

* * *

Not every truth is the better for showing its face
undisguised; and often silence is the wisest thing for a man
to heed. -- Pindar


Sagittarius stuck his head in through the door. "Yo. The new
bunch of gomers is here." The combat boomer entered the room and
closed the door behind him.

"Good." Aquarius carefully marked his place and gently laid the
ragged copy of "Plato's Republic" on the rickety end table next
to his chair. Then he stood, the grace of the movement belying
the bulk of his bio-mechanical body. "You run them through the
prep yet?"

Sagittarius grimaced. "You think I'm nuts? I dosed'em all and
gave'em twenty minutes of bullshit just to make sure they don't
got no sleepers among'em."

"And?" Aquarius inquired as he gathered the few papers he needed
for the presentation.

"Not a one," the other boomer replied. "This is, what, the
twelfth batch now? And they've all been on the up-and-up." He
shrugged. "I'm startin' to think GENOM ain't twigged on to us
yet. Or... well, you heard 'bout the changes Purple-hair's
makin'. Maybe they don't *care*."

"I've thought of that, too." Aquarius crossed to the door,
papers in hand. "'Til we know for sure, though, we stay
paranoid."

"Damn straight. Can't be too careful, right?"

Together the two boomers made their way from the office suite to
the open floor of the once-abandoned warehouse. Where once there
had been nothing but the debris of a long-gone shipping company,
there was now a dozen chairs in two rows, several microframe
computers, a brand-new multimedia system -- and an a fully-
operational industrial-scale nanofac, big enough to hold an
automobile or two. As he did every time he laid eyes on it,
Aquarius gave thanks for Gemini's skills and resourcefulness.
Without them, they'd've had no chance at all of getting such an
expensive and scarce piece of equipment. With them... well, the
leader of the Underground was still amazed that the 'fac had been
acquired completely legally. *Except, of course, for the source
of the money...*

Gemini was there, as usual, puttering with the computers and
making sure the tank was running at top efficiency. As they
passed him, Aquarius reached out and squeezed Gemini's armored
shoulder, and got a broad smile and a wink in return. "We're
green to go," the electronic warfare specialist said with a quick
nod. "Raw materials hoppers are filled to the brim with
organics. And I've been in touch with our friend in Ueno -- I've
got seven new IDs prepped and waiting."

Aquarius returned the nod. "Thanks." Then he stepped over to
the multimedia wall, his heavy footsteps echoing through the rest
of the empty building. At the same time, Sagittarius was
slipping around to stand guard at the street entrance to the
warehouse floor. Libra was doing the same outside, disguised as
a security guard.

He turned and studied his audience, seated in the two ranks of
chairs. Seven boomers of various designs -- combat, bodyguard,
construction, even a butler model. The only thing they had in
common was their inability to pass for human.

That would change soon enough.

"Good evening," he said with a smile. "Welcome to the
Underground. I'm Aquarius. And you -- you've all run away from
owners who treated you like shit." There was a murmur of agreement
from the seated boomers. "Well, after tonight, you won't have to
worry about that ever again. Tonight," he said, his smile
broadening, "you become humans."

*Seven more,* he thought to himself as he answered their
questions, slow and hesitant at first, then growing in number
and excitement. *Seven more who're getting a chance to make
their own ways.*

*Don't tell me all we're good for is killing, for taking lives.
Tonight we're *giving* lives.*

* * *

This is no time for ease and comfort. It is the time to dare
and endure. -- Sir Winston S. Churchill


Robert Orin Charles Kilroy added the last stroke with a flourish,
then stepped back, the aerosol can still at the ready in his left
hand. He grinned. *Another perfect work."

Neatly spray painted in blue across the industrial grey concrete
wall was the sentence "KILROY WAS HERE". Below it, just visible
through the steam emitted by the plastic vent pipe that jutted
from the wall, was the classic picture that had accompanied the
phrase for nearly a century: hairless cartoon Kilroy, his nose
and fingers hanging over the top of a blue line meant to suggest
a wall.

"That'll catch their attention," he declared with evident
satisfaction. Then he reached into the steam and ran his fingers
along the underside of the pipe. Bringing them to his eyes, he
nodded when he saw the grey-green slime on their tips. *Good,*
he thought as it slowly turned black and crumbled to a fine dust.
"It's settled in just fine. And another way station for freedom
is born.*

"Every little bit helps," he murmured happily. He didn't know
how many free boomers there were, but the numbers had to be
mounting. The humans were only now beginning to notice an
increase in reports of "missing" cyberdroids, mainly because
their actual numbers were really quite small. In his experience,
the vast majority of boomers actually had good homes and owners,
and for the moment stayed with them out of loyalty. For the
moment. Of course, a few fled bad situations once they had the
ability to do so. And some "went bad" as soon as Leo-A finished
with them, regardless of their owners' tendencies.

Kilroy shrugged philosophically. *That's freedom for you. You
get all kinds."

With a click, he fit the cap back on the can, then slipped it
into the backpack that lay on the ground at his feet. With an
easy movement he zipped the bag shut and swung it up onto one
shoulder. "Time to move on," he said to the empty alley, and
fit word to deed, striding to its end and into the bustling
crowd streaming along the sidewalk beyond. Merging into the
flow of humanity around him, Kilroy smiled again and began to
hum tunelessly to himself.

As he strolled, carried along by the pedestrian traffic around
him, Kilroy stopped humming and grinned. A little lateral
movement, and he was drifting toward the edge of the crowd, close
enough to the buildings lining the street that he could touch
them. He stuck the tip of his forefinger in his mouth and licked
it. Then he reached out and idly traced a line of dampness
across the face of a mannequin boomer standing at the door of a
restaurant and beckoning to potential customers.

Still keeping up with the crowd, Kilroy turned around, walking
backwards and watching the boomer as it ceased its endless spiel
and suddenly stood stock-still. He didn't know what effect Leo-A
would have on a mannequin model. But wouldn't it be a kick to
find out?

* * *

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge, that
myth is more potent than history. I believe that dreams are
more powerful than facts -- that hope always triumphs over
experience, that laughter is the only cure for grief, and I
believe that love is stronger than death. -- Robert Fulghum


Sylia stared at the screen. The files had, if Nene were to be
believed, come from nowhere. There were no transmission traces,
no records of them having been written to main storage. She'd
even ordered Nene to subject the data cartridge to a SQUID
analysis. It didn't help. The files had simply appeared.

Sylia found this intolerable.

The first directory contained advanced designs for weapons unlike
any she'd ever seen. A suit of powered armor forged from, of all
things, a carborundum matrix alloy! Another built around a form
of sintered titanium dust, powered by fluid electric motors.

One rather ludicrous suit was even modeled after a North American
porcupine. If she hadn't been so concerned about the obvious
security breach of her computer system, she would have burst out
laughing at the silly design.

A listing of various weapons, ranging from the utterly
ridiculous to ones so hideously lethal she feared to even think
of what might happen should the world gain access to them.

The second held an unlikely combination: texts on magic and a
highly compressed DNA sequence. The genetic information was
unfamiliar to her and unannotated except for a single, fantastic
comment: "basic magegift". The remaining files were a
collection of what appeared to be grimoires and training guides,
including self-study courses and even college textbooks. To her
amazement, Sylia noted publication dates ranging from the
fifteenth to the twenty-fifth centuries, and the authors from
Albertus Magnus to the "Department of Wizardry" at the
"Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Magic".

The third contained what appeared to be compressed DNA sequences
for genetically engineered plants of many varieties. Kidney
trees, designed to absorb metals and toxic chemicals from the
soil, storing them safely in "fruit", where they could be
"harvested" for proper disposal or later reuse. An altered
mangrove tree that would cleanse seawater in a similar fashion.
Plants that would grow in nearly any climate without disrupting
the local ecosystem, and still produced useful food, cloth, and
medicines.

It was the final directory that disturbed her the most. It held
nothing but a text file, entitled "Read Me Last".

* * *

Ms. Stingray,

If you are reading this last, as was requested, you've noticed
the wealth of information in the previous directories. They
are a gift of sorts, a way of making amends for the disruption
of your world and your life.

(And before you ask, no, Colonel Sangnoir has no idea that
this package exists, nor that you are receiving it.)

The purpose of the first directory is, hopefully, obvious.
The wealth of many universes in the form of weaponry that you
should be able to adapt to your crusade. Given such a giant
leap forward over GENOM, you might be slightly more willing to
be merciful. After all, only the weak need be vengeful. A
cliche, perhaps, but true.

The second, well, your Earth is one of those gifted with an
abundant supply of the mystic energy called "mana". Even
assuming that a viable magical tradition survives in your
world, you now possess a virtual monopoly on mystic knowledge.
Plus, the sequence data on the basic magegift allows you to
identify or, if necessary, engineer mages who can make use of
that energy and that knowledge. Another advantage for you
against which GENOM cannot compete.

The third directory? To be blunt, your world is dying. The
powers that be in your Earth have stressed the ecosystem
beyond their ability to repair it, beyond its ability to
repair itself. Hence, these designs. It's strongly suggested
that you attempt an alliance of sorts with the Hou Bang. Its
leader, Doctor Chang, has as much reason to hate GENOM as
yourself, thanks to the deaths of his son, daughter-in-law,
and granddaughter Irene at their hands. The offer of these
designs to them will achieve two things. As wealthy as you
are, the Chang Group is wealthier still, and can offer you
covert assistance you sorely need. And they have the
marketing clout to offer these things to the world while
resisting GENOM pressure.

As for Colonel Sangnoir? He is on his way home, albeit by a
rather slow and tortuously complicated path. Admittedly, his
existence has rather rudely shaken your worldview, and there
is little comfort for such a shock.

You may take some small comfort in the words of another,
however:

"The universe... is actually part of an unpredictable
multiverse... an infinite realm of parallel worlds where
reality as *you* know it has taken different twists and
turns. Where fallen allies live on... where tragedies can
be turned to triumph.

"How does it work? Off the central timeline we just left,
events of importance often cause divergent 'tributaries' to
branch off of the main timestream.

"But what's astounding is that there's far more *to* it
than that.

"On occasion, those tributaries *return* -- sometimes
feeding back *into* the central timeline, other times
*overlapping* it briefly before charting an entirely *new*
course.

"An old friend is suddenly recalled after years of being
forgotten. A scrap of history becomes misremembered, even
reinvented in the common wisdom.

"Don't feel threatened by that. Don't feel frightened.
These hypertime fluxes... these *carryovers* from one
kingdom to another... let them simply be a reminder... that
the lives *we* lead are forever part of a *greater* legend.

"Now more than ever, you know the *magic* of it all.

"Each and every one of us... we are all stories simply
waiting to be told.

"Just imagine."

Consider that, Sylia. And just imagine.

* * *

It wasn't signed.

Sylia closed the file, sealing it with a personal password and
a hardware lock that she liked to think was proof against a
certain red-haired little hacker. Her hands trembled slightly as
she powered down the system.

Tonight she was feeling something she hadn't felt in many years.

Wonder.

Perhaps... just tonight, perhaps... she'd imagine.

* * *

Once upon a time,
poetry and science were one,
and its name was Magic...
-- C. S. Lewis


In the postage-stamp yard of a row house in a suburb along the
western edge of MegaTokyo, two children played. One, a boy
perhaps eight years old or so, tossed a ball into the air.

"My turn!" his younger sister cried from a few meters away.
"Toshi, my turn!" She made a grabbing motion with her left hand,
and suddenly the ball was in it.

"Yui!" Toshi growled. He swiped his hand through the air, and
brought it back full of rubber ball. Yui giggled, clapped, and
promptly summoned it back into her own hands.

Toshi couldn't help himself; he laughed and retrieved the ball.
It was a different way to play "keepaway", but it was a lot of
fun. And somehow, he knew that someday both he and his sister
would be able to do more than just trade a rubber ball back and
forth without ever coming near each other.

Far more.

* * *

And in the Void Between Worlds, an unconscious Douglas Sangnoir
sped on to his next destination, dreaming of music and the woman
he loved.

* * *

CODA

And I don't ever wanna be rescued
And I don't ever wanna be saved
I got a feeling that I'm gonna be alive forever
Dancing on the edge of a grave
Dancing on the edge of a grave
-- Jim Steinman, "Dance in My Pants", 1981


FIN

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

This work of fiction is copyright (C) 2004, Robert M. Schroeck.

"Bubblegum Crisis" and the settings and the characters thereof
are copyright by and trademarks of Artmic Inc. and Youmex Inc.,
and are used without permission.

"Sailor Moon" and the characters thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Naoko Takeuchi and Toei Animation, and are used
without permission.

"Douglas Quincy Sangnoir", "Looney Toons", "The Loon" and any
representations thereof are copyright by and trademarks of Robert
M. Schroeck.

"Brigid 'Rhiannon' Daffyd" and any representations thereof are
copyright by and trademarks of Robert M. Schroeck.

"Maggie 'Shadowwalker' Viel" and any representations thereof are
copyright by and trademarks of Peggy Schroeck.

"Diana 'Silverbolt' Apostolidis" and any representations thereof
are copyright by and trademarks of Peggy Schroeck.

"Joseph 'Dwimanor' Avins" and any representations thereof are
copyright by and trademarks of Joseph Q. Avins.

"Broot" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Joseph Q. Avins.

"Kathleen 'Kat' Avins" and any representations thereof are
copyright by and trademarks of Kathleen Mee Avins.

"Crystal" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Kathleen Mee Avins.

"Sorciere" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Elisa L. Frankel.

"Phantasia" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Elisa L. Frankel.

"Major Canis" and any representations thereof are copyright by
and trademarks of John L. Freiler.

"Skitz" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of John L. Freiler.

"Kamakiri" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Attila Imre.

"Helene 'Wetter Hexe' Diedmeier" and any representations thereof
are copyright by and trademarks of Helen Imre.

"White Tiger" and any representations thereof are copyright by
and trademarks of Ronni Katz.

"Psyche" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Frank Lazar.

"Wildflyte" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Frank Lazar.

"Ai Zhao Min" and any representations thereof are copyright by
and trademarks of Alison Mee.

"Proteus" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Eric Mee.

"Shockwave" and any representations thereof are copyright by and
trademarks of Jeffrey Ventimilia.

Arcanum and any representations thereof, and the "Servant Factor
virus," are all copyright by and trademarks of Helen Imre and
John L. Freiler.

"The Warriors", "Warriors' World", "Warriors International",
"Warriors Alpha", "Warriors Beta", "Warriors Delta" and "Warriors
Gamma" are all jointly-held trademarks of The Warriors Group.

Sylia's epilogue written by Ed Becerra, 13 May 2000. The
quotation in the epilogue is a composite of the words of the
characters Rip Hunter and Jonathan Kent in the graphic novel "The
Kingdom", from the chapter titled "Mighty Rivers". All rights
are reserved by Mark Waid and DC Comics. Copyrighted 1998, 1999,
by Mark Waid and DC Comics.

Special thanks to Kathleen "Kat" Avins who suggested using
Fastball's "The Way" as a gate song.

Original Japanese lyrics from "Konya wa Hurricane" by Aran
Tomoko, copyright (C) 1987 by Artmic, Inc. & Youmex, Inc.

English translation of "Konya wa Hurricane" by Helen Imre,
copyright (C) 1998, Helen Imre. Used by permission.

Lyrics from "The Opening Ceremony" from the original concept
album of the musical "Chess", words by Tim Rice, music by Benny
Andersson and Bjorn Ulvaeus, copyright (C) 1984 by Three Knights,
Ltd.

Lyrics from "The End", recorded by the Beatles, written by by
John Lennon and Paul McCartney, copyright (C) 1969 by Northern
Songs (BMI).

Lyrics from "The Way", recorded by Fastball, words and music by
Tony Scalzo, copyright (C) 1998 (ASCAP).

Lyrics from "Tom Sawyer", recorded by Rush, written by Geddy Lee,
Alex Lifeson, Neil Peart and Pye Dubois, copyright (C) 1981 by
Core Music Publishing (SOCAN).

Lyrics from "Dance In My Pants", recorded by Jim Steinman, words
and music by Jim Steinman, copyright (C) 1981 by SBK Songs.

The above are quoted in this fiction without permission under the
"fair use" provisions of international copyright law.

For a full explanation of the references and hidden tidbits in
this story, see the Drunkard's Walk II Concordance at:

http://www.eclipse.net/~rms/dw2conc.html

Previous chapters of this story can be found at:

http://www.eclipse.net/~rms/dwmain.html

The Drunkard's Walk discussion board is open for those who wish
to trade thoughts and comments with other readers, as well as
with the author:

http://pub21.ezboard.com/bdrunkardswalkforums

Many thanks to all of my many prereaders over the years:
Christopher Angel, The Apprentice, Paul Arezina, Joe Avins,
Kathleen Avins, Nathan Baxter, Ed Becerra, Delany Brittain, Barry
Cadwgan, Andrew Carr, Kevin Cody, Logan Darklighter, Chris
Davies, Helen Imre, Eric James, Josh Megerman, Berg Oswell, Peggy
Schroeck, and Startide Rising.

C&C gratefully accepted.

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