"Yeah, this thing looks pretty nasty," Gryphon agreed, looking
at the plans for the D.D. airborne battlemover.  "I especially like
the part about taking over from its pilot and then blowing up if the
pilot gets killed.  Depending on the sensitivity of the instruments
used to monitor the pilot, a pilot who was knocked out temporarily, or
injured, could find herself riding a self-aware bomb without even
wanting it."  He patted the mess of circuitry, wiring, and metal
sitting next to him on the workbench.  "All in all, it looks like the
perfect target to test this little demon on."
	"What is it?" asked Priss.
	"An electromagnetic pulse cannon," Gryphon replied.  "It
produces a powerful, focused electromagnetic pulse that scrambles
electronics and crashes computers.  If I were to zap one of you with
it while you were wearing your hardsuit, you'd suffer a complete
systems shutdown for a minute or so, until the computer could reboot.
At the higher power settings it can even interfere with the electrical
impulses in the human brain, causing a momentary stun effect and a
bitch of a headache.  I'm going to mount it in the shoulder rams--been
just itching for something to do with that extra space."
	"Interesting toy--but you think you can use it against D.D.?"
	"Sure.  It's electromechanical, isn't it?  And something that
big and sophisticated has to be just crawling with computers.  Sure,
if I can get close enough to it to shoot it, I can put it down for
probably five minutes--long enough to rescue the pilot and blow the
thing to bits before it can set off the nuke."
	"Assuming we'd want to rescue the pilot."
	"You'd be surprised."

			  Eyrie Productions
			 in association with
		   Up Too Late Productions, DisInc.
			       presents
				   
			A Discordia Production
			  Of A WaveDrag Film
				   
			   Hopelessly Lost:
			     Midnight Sun
	      (It's not Undocumented Features, really.)
				   
	  Benjamin D. Hutchins                      MegaZone
	 Copyright (c) 1993 Benjamin D. Hutchins and MegaZone

	This was, Gryphon remarked to himself, going singularly badly.
Not only was he in completely the wrong position, the diagnostics for
his armor weren't feeding him the information he wanted it to.  They
kept telling him the EMP cannon wasn't online, when he could tell just
by running a manual check that it was.  But if the diagnostics didn't
think the cannon was online, the computer might refuse to tie it
across to the fire-control systems, which could mean a .75-second
delay in firing as he switched to manual.  An eternity in which any
number of things could happen.  The new software he had written to
translate the signals which used to feed his Tactical Helmet Virtual
Reality and the old cybernetic response net command set into a
complete set of jack I/O impulses just weren't working right.  He'd
have to rewrite the whole operating system when this was over, with a
proper set of jack drivers.  He should have had Zoner check the code
in the first place.  Pride could be a dangerous thing, and he had
wanted to do it all on his own.  But he had to admit that cybernetic
interface was Zoner's field of expertise.
	Meanwhile, as he wrestled with his recalcitrant operating
system, the D.D.'s J-1 battle computer was going berserk, laying waste
to all before it.  It snagged Linna by the monostreamers and gave her
a bone-rattling thump against the canyon wall; Gryphon winced just
hearing it, and made a mental note to talk to Sylia about modifying
the things so that they retracted.  She sat up within a couple of
seconds, though, so he didn't have to worry over-much.  He worried
instead about Sylia, as she tried to run it through with her bayonet,
it picked her up.  Growling in frustration, he closed off the entire
OS sector, putting the suit on negative feedback body motion sensing
override mode, and started running.  He couldn't use the flight
systems without computer assistance, but at least he could move.
	Before he, Linna, or Nene could reach the D.D., though,
something had blown off its right arm at the elbow.  It turned to
look, along with everyone else, to see Priss in her motoslave at the
top of the canyon, autocannon smoking.  Gryphon groaned in
anticipation of what was to happen next, and started hacking through
the OS again as he ran.
	"Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit," he chanted, feet
pounding the earth as he steamed toward the battlemover.  The systems
just were not cooperating.  New software was refusing to work with
old; wait states conflicted; bits piled up at the bus stop and didn't
make it to the office on time.  Meanwhile, Priss launched herself into
the air, apparently determined to take the D.D. down from above.
	It calmly hosed her down with artillery.  There was a pretty
explosion that brought Gryphon up short and turned his face to the
sky.  "Priss!" cried everyone.
	Her hardsuit appeared out of the fireball, right arm raised.
Two things happened at almost the same time.
	1) Screaming "SYLVIE!" at the top of her lungs, Priss fired
her center railgun.
	2) Gryphon's armor OS decided it wanted to cooperate.

SE  Iron Man Model XI

DIAGNOSTIC MODE
HAZARD WARNING: 0.5-Megaton Explosive Device ACTIVE
47 Seconds to Detonation
EVADE
ALL SYSTEMS 100% OPERATIONAL

	Gryphon fired his jets as the battle computer in his armor
came online and started calculating trajectories.  It was already
bringing his left arm forward as he hurtled into the air between Priss
and the D.D., reaching forward as though he was trying to catch a life
preserver thrown to him.  In nanoseconds, the battle computer had
analyzed the entire situation and fed it to Gryphon, who somehow dealt
with all the data, and his left gauntlet closed even as the verniers
were spinning him around to face the D.D. and the EMP housings on his
shoulder rams were opening up.
	There was a sharp click inside the suit as the left gauntlet
closed.  An eight-inch railgun spike was clamped firmly in it.  The
targeting system bracketed the D.D. as the latter prepared to fire a
full weapon spread again.

SE  Iron Man Model XI

COMBAT MODE
HAZARD WARNING: 0.5-Megaton Explosive Device ACTIVE
40 Seconds to Detonation
EVADE
EMP CANNON LOCKED ON TARGET DESIGNATE: D.D.
FIRE - FIRE - FIRE

	ZATCH!  The cannon went off with a loud crackling noise, a
deep hum that raised the hackles of everyone who heard it, and a
visible emission that looked like heat rising from a car's hood on a
hot day.  The effect was visible as well; the D.D. lurched, lightning
crackling over its surface, and then collapsed to its back, inert.
	"Got it!" Iron Man cried, housings swinging shut as he dropped
to the ground and came up again at a full run, climbing up the fallen
battlemover and hauling the cockpit open still further.  Sylvie was
unconscious, the electromagnetic emissions having scrambled the
electrical impulses of her brain rather fiercely.  A cursory sensor
sweep assured him she was still alive, and would return to normal
function fairly soon.  He disregarded that for the moment, then, and,
ripping off an access panel, found the J-1.  A jackplug and cable
extended from the left wrist of his powersuit, and he plugged in as a
small one-hand keyboard unfolded from the right forearm guard and a
section of his vision divided itself off and became a display screen.
	Finding the link to the 33/S was simple; severing it even more
so.  The J-1 was a hell of a battle computer, but it had practically
no security.  Why bother?  It could only be contacted by the person in
the cockpit anyway, right?  Shutting down the self-destruct was also
easy; as soon as he had the time he would surgically remove and then
dispose of the monstrosity anyway.  He stowed the keyboard, jacked his
armor out of the J-1 and manually shut all the switches off so that
the battlemover would not be rebooting, then set about getting Sylvie
out of the cybercuffs that secured her into the machine.
	Pulling her free, Gryphon climbed down with the limp replicant
in his arms.  His sensors relayed her pulse rate, a bit slow, but
strong, and regular, and provided him with other pertinent information
like core temperature, respiration rate, and cell decay rate.  She was
in good condition, and people in good shape have slower heart rates
anyway--and he really didn't know all that much about sexaroid
metabolism.  She was stable--the bike suit she was wearing had sealed
itself over the wound in her side and stopped it from bleeding.  Priss
ditched her helmet in the process of running over to them; just as she
arrived, Gryphon put Sylvie down and looked up.
	"She's going to be all right," he told her, softly.  He opened
a comm channel.  "Mackie, get the truck over here.  I need to get
Sylvie back to the lab, stat."  He looked back up to Priss and
explained, "She's lost a lot of blood.  She's stable right now, so we
can move her, but I don't want to waste any time at all."  It was
about then that he noticed the computer disk jammed into the top of
Sylvie's bike suit; curious, he removed it and slotted it into the
drive in his right forearm guard, tabbing a few keys on the keyboard
as it unfolded.
	"Wow," he said as the data started streaming across his
vision.  "This is impressive stuff.  Data on stabilizing and repairing
Type 33/S and 33/S-A Buma.  Very useful.  Shit, with this, I can make
her completely autonomous--provided I can get around the trauma."
	"I'm coming with you," Priss said.  Gryphon nodded and,
cradling Sylvie in his arms, started walking quickly toward the truck.
There would be a lot of cops around very soon, and Gryphon really
didn't want to have to deal with their questions with a trauma patient
on his hands.  They climbed up into the back of the truck, the rest of
the Knight Sabers split by their own avenues, and Zoner roared off on
his Garland.  Then, lowering Urban Camouflage #22 (Trauma Team),
Mackie made for HQ as fast as possible.
	The next four hours found Gryphon in the infirmary, wielding
various surgical instruments as whoever was nearest kept the sweat on
his forehead from dripping off his nose and into his work.  It was
fascinating work, part microsurgery, part microtronics, and he found
himself very much wishing to meet the man who had designed these
microsystems.  Zoner lent a helping hand when he could, and advised on
the cybernetic aspects when the popped up.  But this was Ben's area of
expertise.
	Every system of the human body was faithfully reproduced in
biomechanical miniature, right down to the lymphatic system.  The
bioelectronic wetware was of marvelous quality, if a little old by
electromechanical standards.  Once he was finished with the
patch-and-fix job, he would set about adjusting the systems so that
the unit would become self-maintaining, extending its--her--life
expectancy by about a century.  And Tyrell had said there was no way
of extending a replicant's lifespan.  Phaugh.
	Later on, after getting some rest, he planned on hacking apart
the OS for the Mark IV and finding out just what the hell was going on
there, and then he had to patch up and "make professional" the
meatball job he had done installing the EMP cannon, and finalize the
Model XII design in the computer banks...there were the railguns to
install in the Camaro...so much to do, so little time.  Well, playing
with his toys could wait until later; first he had to figure out how
to use all the information that was on that disk and, finally, give
Sylvie her freedom.
	Sylvie had come to just before they arrived at the infirmary,
and before allowing herself to be sedated, she insisted that Gryphon
use the information on the disk to help her companion, Anri, as well.
Promising that he would, Gryphon had sent Priss to get Anri after
finishing the surgery, and now, half an hour or so later, Sylvie was
sitting up in her autodoc bed behind him, as he sat at the console to
Davros and tried to make sense of it all.
	"Why don't you just jack in?" she asked after a few long
minutes of listening to his fingers clatter over the keyboard.
"You've got the plugs."
	"I can't," Gryphon replied.  "Going persona in a cyberlink
makes me sicker than a dog.  Besides, I'm faster this way than most
jackheads are their way."
	"You're what they call a gweep?"
	"You've heard of us?"
	"Rumors travel," Sylvie replied.  "I never thought you were
real."
	"Well, we are.  There're only a couple of hundred of us in the
world, but those of us who are, we're real enough.  Funny you would
say that, though.  I thought the same thing about vampires."  He
grinned.  "Well, when I finish with the contents of this disk, there
should be no more vampires.  I wonder what the hell's keeping Priss?"
	The door to his lab banged open about then, and Priss came in
at a run.  "She's gone!"
	"What do you mean, gone?"
	"I mean, she's not there, and the place is trashed."
	Gryphon slammed a fist down on the arm of his chair.  "Dammit!
News travels too damned fast in this town, you know that?"
	"What do you mean?"
	"It's obvious, isn't it?  Someone's already heard about the
dustup in the canyons and the D.D. going automatic, and probably
assumed the worst.  The city's still here, so logically, whoever it is
assumed Sylvie was dead, and moved in to collect Anri before anyone
else could.  Dammit!  This is not a Good Thing."
	"We have to find her--" Sylvie began, attempting to get up.
	"You have to heal," Gryphon replied, turning his chair to face
her.  "If you get up, you might make it halfway to the door, maybe
less, before you passed out, and then I'd have to go and do about half
of that damned microsurgery all over again, and I'm tired enough that
I might do something really ridiculous, like accidentally bypassing
your ovaries.  Didn't know you had ovaries, did you?  Well, you do,
although I'm damned if I know how the bastards work.  Now lie down
before you open yourself up right there!"
	Reluctantly, she obeyed.
	"Thank you.  Now, I've got to get this data figured out, and
then I have to rest, and you have to rest, and tomorrow, if you're
strong enough, I'm going to open you back up and straighten things out
so that you won't have to go around doing the nosferatu routine
anymore, okay?  Then you can heal up from that, and by Thursday, we
can be out hunting for Anri.  In the meantime, I think the rest of the
Knight Sabers might do a little digging of their own, hm?"
	"I'll see what I can do," Priss promised.  "Listen to him,
Sylvie.  He's rough sometimes, but he knows what he's talking about,
most of the time."
	"Wonderfully inspirational, Priss.  Thank you."  Gryphon
turned back to the UNIXPC.
	"Well, look, you know what I meant, right?"
	"Yes...yes, I do.  Don't worry, Gryphon, I'll stay put."
	"Thank you," said Gryphon.  "Come on, Davros, crunch the damn
numbers.  Crack this thing.  Show me the way to freedom."

	"Dammit, I can't see what I'm doing.  Suction."
	"This is really gross, Gryphon," replied Zoner.
	"No, Vaughn's Gross.  This is just kind of icky.  Fascinating,
though.  You'd never know most of this stuff was synthetic."
	"You know, we haven't run into a Vaughn yet."
	"That's probably because he's in Worcester, doofus."
	"Oh yeah.  Maybe we should go visit."
	"Go ahead.  I'm staying away from Worcester."
	"Why?  Oh, yeah.  Bancroft Tower.  Guess Vaughn's just gonna
have to find us."
	"Guess so.  Sponge.  Yuck.  Geez, I hate this stuff.  Why
couldn't the designer have cushioned the vitals with fluid, like the
real thing, instead of this foam stuff?  It's like working through
bubble-pack.  Hmm...maybe I should fix that sometime."
	"Makes you want to pop all the bubbles."
	"Yuck.  Don't talk about it.  This is a person I'm working on
here, not a Speak-'n-Spell.  One of my favorite people, as a matter of
fact.  And as there are so few people in the world I tolerate, let
alone like, I'd appreciate it if this one didn't die."
	"Which explains why you risked taking a railgun spike through
your hand for her."
	"My armor would've deflected it if I hadn't caught it."
	"You hope."

	At the briefing the next day, Gryphon started off with, "What
happened to the D.D.?"
	"The Army has it," Sylia replied.  "They want to run some
tests on it before they return it to Genaros."
	"They're sending it back?!  Shit!  I told you we shouldn't've
left it.  We have to stop it."
	"Stop it?  Why?"
	"Because!  If they send the fucker back up to the station,
then Kinkaid will go right on ahead with his original plan and send
the damn thing to the Chinese!  Besides, I want it."
	"Ah, the truth comes out.  You want a new toy."
	"Partly, yes.  That's not the big reason, though.  I want it
back so that we can keep that kind of firepower out of the hands of
the Chinese--and put it in our own.  You have to admit, the J-1 is a
hell of a battle computer, even if its safety parameters were
programmed by an idiot."
	"True."
	"Nene and I think we've figured out a way to modify the J-1 so
that it works with the operator, instead of over him.  All I have to
do is get inside the D.D. and get the software we've written into the
J-1, and it should get a whole lot more user-friendly."
	"And how do you plan to get into it?  The Army isn't known for
lax security measures, especially on a project of this importance."
	"That's where an old toy and another of my new toys comes in.
Look, all I need is your go-ahead, Nene to run cover on the 'Net for
me, and Mackie to drive the bus, or in this case, the AV.  I'll take
care of everything from there."
	"What do you plan to do, storm the installation?  Your armor
is tough, yes, but I don't think it's that tough."
	"No, I don't plan on `storming' anything, I'm gonna do this
real quiet-like.  Master Caine taught me how to be sneaky.  All I have
to do is apply a little bit of high tech to that principle.  Where are
they keeping it?"
	"The proving grounds north of Kyoto--but I won't give you the
green light until you tell me exactly what you have planned."
	"All right, then; if I might have the floor, I'll show you."
Sylia relinquished the head of the table, and, nodding his thanks,
Gryphon took control of the briefing facilities.  Within a few
seconds, he had pulled a schematic up on the main screen of a suit of
armor.  It looked like his usual suit, at first glance, but closer
examination revealed it to be smaller, sleeker, and much less heavily
armed.  Also, the unibeam was a yellow, oval-shaped device with a
black bat symbol in it, the helmet had two pointed "ears" jutting up
and the entire lower face, from nose to lower jaw, was open and
exposed, and it was equipped with a long, flowing cape or cloak of
some sort.  The lettering across the top of the diagram read "Batman
Low Observable Personal Combat Armor Model VII Mark II--General
Arrangement--Drawing 1 of 2,125."  He hit a few more keys and made the
diagram a UVGA representation.  Unlike his grey and silver main armor,
this suit, in addition to being more streamlined, was mostly grey,
with the gauntlets, boots, mask, trunks, and cloak in midnight blue.
A yellow equipment belt encircled the waist.
	"This is the centerpiece of the whole operation.  It should be
coming out of the nanotank in an hour or so--just in time for the
operation this evening.  Obviously, I don't want to pull an op like
this during the day.  This is technically the Model Seven Iron Man
armor, with a few cosmetic modifications to fit the Batman motif--the
Stealth model.  The cape generates an internodal force field set which
renders it invisible to most sensors; the `ears' on the helmet are the
only part of the armor which protrudes from the field.  They're the
sensors and comm antennae.  They're made of low-ob materials--barely
visible.  They vanish in background clutter."
	"Very nice," Sylia observed.  "What's the tradeoff?"
	"The tradeoff, to put it simply, is that this armor is wimpy.
Its skin thickness averages only four millimeters, the palm repulsors
are 25mm medium-power models, the unibeam is very low-powered, and it
lacks the capacity for pulse bolts and EMP attack altogether.  A
microfusion generator would make entirely too much infrared and
magnetic anomaly noise, so it runs entirely on lithium/obscurium flat
batteries, which makes it dependent on outside power sources.  It's
got the standard high-density solar collectors, of course, but those
aren't much good at night.  It can run at full power for around six
hours before power becomes a problem, and recharge from almost bloody
anything, though, so I don't see much of a problem.
	"Its force fields aren't as strong as the standard model's,
mostly because of the power dedicated to the stealth fields, and that
decreases both its damage resistance and its physical power.  This
model is hardly stronger than a standard hardsuit.  Probably couldn't
arm-wrestle a 55-series Buma successfully.  However, the idea is that
it won't have to, because it won't be noticed.  Also, it doesn't have
boot jets--they eat way too much power and make too much noise.  It
only has a miniature thruster array for amplified leaping and
fall-breaking.  To compensate for the lack of flight systems, though,
it has a complete complement of climbing gear, and the cape doubles as
a mag-rigid hang glider."
	"So your plan is to sneak into the proving grounds with this
armor, using the AV-4 as a base of operations, have Nene cover you
from the 'Net, get into the D.D., reprogram the J-1 and then blast
your way out."
	"Hopefully I won't have to blast my way out.  The D.D. is,
after all, an airborne battlemover.  I should be able to just
reprogram the battle computer and then fly away into the night.  With
any luck, they won't even know there's someone inside it when it
leaves, and according to the specs we have on it, it's a lot faster
than anything the Army can get there in time to try and stop it."
	"All right; it's a risky plan, but I think it's workable, and
it would gain us a very powerful tool.  I'll let you do it, on one
condition."
	"What's that?"
	"The rest of us will come along and stay in the AV.  If the op
goes sour and you need support, we'll be able to deploy and back you
up.  Zoner, you can cover the highway nearby.  Take the truck and load
up your car and Gryphon's; as a contingency plan, the rest of us can
keep the Army busy while you get the D.D. into the truck, hide it, and
scatter from the area in separate vehicles."
	"Why not take someone with us who can drive the truck out as
well?" Zoner inquired.  "Sylvie's recovered, she could do it."
	"Do you think we can trust her?"
	"Yeah, I think so.  She owes Gryphon her life, and she's a
friend to the rest of us...I'm sure she wouldn't turn on us."
	Sylia considered.  "All right then.  Take Sylvie with you.  If
we have to use the contingency plan, she can bring the truck back
while you and Gryphon play decoys with your cars.  Our primary
objective, though, is to get the D.D. to the AV-4."
	"I'll leave my regular armor on the AV," Gryphon added.  "If
it goes bad and we have to go head-to-head with the Air Force, I want
to have firepower on my side."
	"Hopefully, it won't, but okay, you do that.  We'll meet here
at eleven-thirty tonight.  That way we can be in position by
midnight."
	The meeting broke up; Gryphon shut down the presentation board
and snickered to himself about how he had, once again, completely
derailed the original purpose of the briefing.  Looks like Asano-san
is just going to have to wait for those rocket parts.  I have to have
my toys, after all.  He smiled and picked up his duffel bag, slinging
it over his shoulder and heading for the door, whistling to himself.
Time to go down to the nanotank and see how his baby was coming.
	Zoner got up and pulled on his jacket; as he did so, he felt a
hand on his shoulder.  Turning, he saw Sylvie.
	"Thank you," she said.
	"What for?" Zoner asked, adjusting his cap and turning for the
door.
	"For speaking up for me," Sylvie replied.
	"It wasn't anything," Zoner said.  "I just told her what I
think."
	"Well, either way, thank you.  It's not often someone trusts a
33/S."
	"Hey, you've gotta start somewhere."  He gave her a paternal
kiss on the forehead and continued on his way.

	Priss wandered around the base, running through the plan in
her head.  It seemed sound, but she wished that she could have a more
active role.  She hated being the backup.  She was so absorbed in her
thoughts that she nearly ran into Sylvie, who was wandering the other
way in a similar state.
	"Oh!  I'm sorry...." they stereo'd.
	"Oops, you first..." they continued, before breaking up
laughing.  Sylvie gestured for Priss to go on.
	"Thank you.  You look worried, want to talk about it?"
	Sylvie nodded.  "Yes, I guess I'm just nervous.  Want to go to
the lounge?"
	"Sure," they began strolling leisurely along, "Don't worry
about tonight, I'm sure you'll do fine."
	"I don't know, I just...  I mean...  How can you all trust me
so much?"
	"What do you mean?  Why wouldn't we?"
	"Well, I'm a Buma, you know that...  You fight Buma, I thought
you hated them all."
	Priss was quiet for a short while, trying to order her
thoughts.  She didn't speak again until they reached the lounge.
"Well, I hate, or at least hated, GENOM.  And most of the evil GENOM
does is done with Buma.  So I hated the Buma, I thought they were all
stupid machines or monsters."
	Sylvie chewed on her lower lip and dropped her gaze to the
ground.
	"But then I met those two nut cases and they had different
attitudes.  They valued all kinds of life, including synthetics.  And
they had more tolerance for cyberware.  It started me to thinking.
And then I met you."
	"Me?"
	"Yes...  I mean... Well, I like you a lot.  When I first met
you I couldn't believe how sub-zero you were.  And the entire team
liked you, I actually felt a kinship with you.  I didn't know why
then, but I suppose it was because you were another pained soul.  It
isn't easy for me to make friends, I just generally don't trust
people.  But with you it was different.  I don't know how much of it
was you natural friendliness as a sexaroid, but whatever it was, I
liked it."
	Priss noticed Sylvie seemed to be bordering on tears.
	"I'm sorry, I didn't mean too..."
	"No, it's alright.  I guess I'm still sensitive about being
'built' by GENOM.  I feel like a 'real' person, but I know that as far
as most of society is concerned I'm about as human as a toaster.  And
now all of you are acting like I'm just part of the team.  It's hard
to reconcile."
	"Don't you see?  You are part of the team.  It wasn't easy for
me either.  When I found out you were a Buma I was torn.  The old hate
was still there, but so was the love I felt for you.  I did a lot of
riding to clear my head."
	"And what did you decide?"  Sylvie asked, worriedly.
	Priss gently placed her hand on Sylvie's shoulder.  "What do
you think I decided?  You're human as far as I'm concerned.  More
human than a lot of the creeps walking the streets.  And if anyone
says otherwise, they'll have to answer to me."
	A faint smile played across Sylvie's lips.  "Thank you."
	"No need to thank me, it's the way I feel.  And so does the
rest of the team, we're all behind you.  And we all want to find Anri.
We know what it is like to lose someone close.  We'll find her, and if
anything's happened to her, whoever did it is going to pay.  Dearly."
	Sylvie smiled and gave Priss's hand a gentle squeeze.  "Thank
you.  It really means a lot to me."
	"Now about tonight..."
	"Yes...  I guess I'm nervous, you're all depending on me.
I've never had so much trust placed in me, I'm not sure how to handle
it.  What if something goes wrong?"
	"Don't worry about it.  Just do your best, that's all any of
us can ask for.  That's all we ask of each other.  We're all in this
together, you be there for us and we'll be there for you.  We trust
you because of who you are, not what you can do."
	"But I almost killed you."
	"You know that wasn't your fault.  You couldn't stop the
battlemover, it wasn't your fault...  I..." Priss faltered for a
moment, "I almost killed you."
	"It's ok, I understand.  If the bomb had gone off, thousands,
maybe millions, would have died.  My life isn't worth that."
	"Your life is priceless...  It's just...  How to say this...
Sometimes we have to make sacrifices.  We're all prepared to die in
our line of work..." Priss paused for a moment, a tear rolling down
her cheek, "Or even kill those we love."
	They sat in silence for some long moments.  Priss finally
spoke again.
	"About what you said earlier, about not being real, I
understand that too."
	"Hmm?"
	"You know about where Ben and Zoner came from, right?"
	"Well...  basically, but it seems sort of hard to believe."
	"It's true, I met them the night they arrived here.  And some
of the things that've happened since then support their story.  You
never met Edison did you?"
	"I don't think so."
	"Well, he's a friend of theirs from out of town... way out of
town.  He blows in from time to time.  He claims to be an
interdimensional traveller, he's the one who gave Gryph the basic tech
for the Iron Man suits.  And the cyberware Zoner has is nothing like
the basic tech.  His eyes are still mostly real, and they beat mine
for performance.  It was strange at first, but we all believe them
now."
	"But that would mean you, all of us, are just..." Sylvie
trailed off, wide-eyed.
	"Fictional.  At least to them.  Actually, it's more complex
than that.  I'm not really much for philosophy, but Zoner and Sylia
have explained it to the rest of us a few times.  Their theory is that
there are an infinite number of planes of reality, and each has an
infinite universe.  Therefore, any idea that anyone, anywhere might
have is actually real somewhere in the multiverse.  And every decision
we've ever made has gone in every possible direction."
	"Wow...  that's a bit much.  I mean, everything is real?
Everything has happened?  I don't think I could deal with that."
	"Whatever you do, don't think about it too hard.  Zoner and
Sylia have given themselves migraines mulling it over.  Ben says he
prefers to ignore it if at all possible.  Somewhere the Nazis won
World War Two, the bomb was never dropped on Japan, it was dropped in
Vietnam, the great quake never happened..." Priss's voice dropped in
volume, "Somewhere the Knight Sabers were never formed, somewhere
GENOM has already won, and somewhere, I did kill you."  The tears were
coming freely now.  "But as I said," Priss forced a smile, "try not to
think about it.  So we are as real as they are."
	Sylvie pulled Priss into a gentle hug.  "But it still must
have been a shock when they told you.  You do know how I feel.  You
really are a good friend.  You really care."
	"Well, you tell anyone else and I'll have to kill you for
real."  The both laughed at that, the former tension relaxing rapidly.
	"Ok, it'll be our secret."
	"Now, let's go get that battlemover so we can get you and Anri
back together."
	Sylvie's countenance became determined.  "Right."

			     MEANWHILE...

	The lab door hissed open just as Gryphon was emerging from the
fitting room.  The Stealth armor was on the worktable in the middle of
the room, disassembled and ready; he picked up the trunks and turned
to see Nene coming into the lab.
	"Oi," he said, and pulled on the trunks, then fitted the
backpiece and closed the chestplate, smiling as the field generators
came on and locked the trunks to the upper part automatically.
"What's on your mind?"
	"Just wanted to come by before the operation and get a few
things straight.  How am I supposed to keep track of you if you're
invisible?"
	"I'll turn off the Stealth field after I get into the
compound.  It's pretty much useless in personnel installations anyway;
I have a much better chance of being detected visually, or by IR
sensors or motion detectors, and I don't have defenses against those
as good as radar.  Besides, I need the power.  With the field off,
you'll be able to pick up my transponder on the usual shielded
frequency, and it'll be a straight-ahead run from there."  He buckled
the yellow utility belt at his waist.
	"No communications until you drop the field?"
	"Nope.  Don't want to take the chance.  Once we lose
line-of-sight we'd have to go to broadcast, and I don't want to risk
signal detection."
	"We'll have voice link after you shut it down, though, right?"
	"Uh huh.  Once I'm out of the air, the scrambled signal will
be pretty much lost in the ground noise, as far as listeners go.  Up
in the air, though, it'd stick out like a sore thumb."  Gryphon put on
the boots, and the leggings extended automatically, locking up
perfectly.  He did the same with the gloves, then seated the plugs in
his wrist sockets and picked up the helmet.  "You seem unusually
concerned with the way this operation turns out."
	"Well, you're going onto an Army base in an under-armed and
underpowered suit.  I'm just a little worried, that's all."
	"I appreciate it, really, but I'll be fine.  I was Batman for
a year in Worcester, and it's kinda like riding a bike, you don't
forget.  I'm invisible.  I own the night.  `I am the wind.'"  He
grinned and raised the helmet.
	"Just a second, before you put it on," Nene said, stepping a
little closer.
	"Hm?" Gryphon replied, lowering the helmet and looking at her
with some confusion.  She made no reply, save to remove her glasses
and kiss him quickly.
	"Good luck," she said, and left the lab.
	"Oh, boy," Gryphon said, seating his helmet and powering the
suit up.

	From the air, the Army proving grounds near Kyoto were rather
pretty, thought Mackie as he guided the AV-4 near the edge of said
grounds' protected airspace.  He keyed the AV's comm system.  "All set
back there?"
	Gryphon finished settling himself into the launch cradle and
replied, "I'm set."
	Sylia, Priss, and Linna locked down their helmets and took up
their standby positions near their motoslaves.  "Ready."
	Nene, way out in back, brought her terminal online and
reported, "Online."
	"We're nearing the target area," Mackie announced.  "Estimate
one minute to drop window."
	"Mackie," Sylia interjected, "check in with Roadmaster."
	"Right.  Hardshell to Roadmaster, Hardshell to Roadmaster,
come in.  We're less than one minute from drop window.  What is your
status?"
	"Hardshell, this is Roadmaster," Zoner's voice came back.
"We're in position and ready."
	"Good.  Stand by.  Hardshell out.  Sis, did you hear?"
	"Yes.  Good work.  Get ready to drop, Gryphon."
	Gryphon lowered the transparent windshield over his exposed
face, keyed the voice modulator, and said, "Ready."
	"Good luck.  Mackie: drop!"
	The hatch on the bottom of the AV blew open and a shadow
dropped out, merging with the night.  Inside the Stealth helmet,
Gryphon watched with glee as the avionics came online, artificial
horizon bobbing a bit as it contended with having come on in mid-drop.

Eyrie Technologies  Batman [LowOb] Model V][

STEALTH MODE
Cloaking field 100%

	He fell at full speed for a couple of seconds, then activated
the cape glider.  Magribs extended and rigidified perfectly,
stretching the cloak out into a set of aerodynamic bat-wings and
locking them to his extended arms for control surfaces, bunching a bit
at the end in for the tail surfaces and connecting with his boots for
rudder control.  Gryphon leveled out, turned for the proving grounds,
and hoped this marvelous stealth machine actually did what it was
supposed to do.  As he approached the perimeter fence, he scanned.
Lots of infrared beams, motion detectors and the like ringed the
facility--on the ground.  Security inside the compound itself was
minimal; apparently the extremely high-voltage fence and all the
sensors dedicated to detecting anyone advancing on it were considered
enough.  Maybe, maybe not; Batman flew right over the fence, landing
with a short, quiet squirt from his cool-jets and letting his cape go
slack.  He lurked in the shadows near the fence while he attempted to
figure out where the D.D. was.
	Not a tough project; the hangar near the compound's corner was
the only building big enough to house the thing, and a thermographic
scan revealed four guards and a large, anthropomorphic, cold metallic
mass whose general outline Gryphon recognized.  Either they've got a
dead Type 12 Buma under guard, he thought, or that's my new toy right
there.  He made one last sweep for guards, then made for the hangar
and shut down his cloaking field, stowing the face shield.
	"Black Magic to Hardshell, come in," he whispered.  "Can you
hear me, Hardshell?"
	"This is Hardshell," Mackie's voice replied.  "Sidehacker has
your transponder on screen.  Switching you over."
	"Black Magic, this is Sidehacker.  That hangar's got some
serious security on the door.  I'm working on the electronic locks
from this end--see what you can do about the physical ones."
	"Right."  Gryphon assessed the back door to the hangar.  It
was a large, heavy metal door, with at least seven large locks that he
could see.  Four were electronic, one of them already open.  The
others looked tough, but not impossible.
	If I had my regular suit, I could knock that door down as
easily as pushing a paper clip across a table, he mused, but with this
thing...on the other hand, if I had my regular suit, I'd be fighting
my way through half of the Army back there at the fence now.  Hmm...
He stepped closer to the door, watchful for IR detectors and the like,
and assessed one of the big mechanical locks.  Heavy-duty alloy; maybe
designed not so much to keep people out as to keep the D.D. in.  He
took the microtorch from his belt and chanced a quick zap, then took
the lock in his hand and twisted.
	Without making too much noise, it came off.  Thermoscan showed
one of the four guards inside the building pacing restlessly
afterward, though.  He probably didn't know what he had heard, but he
was tense now.  Damn.  Two more of the electronic locks opened.
Gryphon sighted on the bolt of the second mechanical lock and tried a
lower-power, more sustained burn with the microtorch; it burned
through in a matter of twenty sweating, eternal seconds, and
apparently alerted no one.  The third was a repeat of the second, and
by then, the fourth electronic lock had opened.
	"Thanks for the assist, Sidehacker," Gryphon muttered, and
pushed the door carefully open.  Thermoscan could tell him where the
four troops were, but not which way they were facing.
	Luck was with him; none of them was facing the door.  He
slipped in, closed it silently behind him, and, noting the coloration
of the building's well-lit interior, kept to the shadows.  He took up
a position behind a crate and tried to figure out how he was going to
accomplish this.  The D.D. was in the middle of the room, in default
mode, locked down and tagged.  Its damaged parts had been repaired.
He wondered if it had been completely rearmed as well.  Two of the
guards were standing right in front of it, and the other two were
flanking the large main door to the hangar.  He took a batarang from
his belt, extended it, and formulated a quick battle plan over the
next couple of seconds; the Stealth armor had no battle computer as
such.
	Then he rapidly programmed the batarang and stepped out from
behind the crate.  One of the guards noticed the movement and turned
to face him.
	He threw the batarang; it flew out with a quiet howl of its
small ion thrusters and whacked the first guard in the head, laying
him flat on the floor.  The other three whirled, one of them reaching
for the alarm, so Batman hit them with the strobe while the batarang
corrected course.  The bat-symbol unibeam was fairly low-power, but
one doesn't need much power to generate a disorienting strobe pattern
(not unlike the one used by most police cars these days); the three
soldiers staggered back, and the batarang laid them out one at a time,
then returned to his hand.  He paused for a moment after stunning the
last one and waited, all passive sensors peeled for any signs of
alarm.  There were none; apparently the building's reinforced
structure blocked the sound of shouting soldiers.
	So much the better then; he opened the mechanical locks on the
main door and ensured that Nene was working on its electronic
security, then quickly removed the tags from the D.D., opened it up,
and climbed aboard.  It quickly powered up in standard piloted mode,
and as he sealed the cockpit, Batman popped the minidisk out of the
armored compartment in his left forearm and slotted it into the J-1's
primary program drive.  Perhaps twenty seconds of hacking later,
Nene's new Inter-C algorithm was in place and running.  Batman
uncovered the linkup ports on his limbs and collar-piece and,
muttering "I hope this works", tabbed the key that switched the D.D.
into full 33/S interlink mode.
	The result was immediate and dramatic.  The machine gained
perhaps three feet in height as its legs and arms extended to full
length; the cybercuffs reached out and clacked into place around
Batman's lower legs, forearms, and neck.  His THVR sizzled and
dissolved into the image of the hangar itself as he saw through the
D.D.'s eyes, and the cyberjack impulses from his armor were overridden
by a complete set of neuromimetic signals from the J-1.  He was fully
linked; Nene's Inter-C creation was translating the cybersignals from
the J-1 into a set of conventional jackpulses beautifully, and
returning to the J-1 the biorhythmic impulse that fooled it into
believing it was linked with a 33/S.
	"Black Magic to Hardshell.  We are `go'.  Prepare for
retrieval operation."
	"Hardshell reads.  We'll be ready."
	"Oh, and Sidehacker?  Your hack works perfectly.  Thanks a
million."
	Gryphon took a step forward; the feedback system worked
perfectly.  The D.D. had been translated from a conventional
battlemover to the biggest, most elaborate suit of Iron Man armor ever
made.  He laughed, then shoved the doors open.
	Alarms howled all over the complex.  Gryphon had been
expecting that; he threw the battlemover into flight mode and launched
himself upward.  On-duty MP's in K-12 Armored Trooper suits pursued
him, but they were nowhere near as fast in a straight climb, and very
soon, he had outdistanced their service ceiling entirely.  Not a shot
was fired.
	"Magic, this is Hardshell--we've got a problem."
	"Say again?"
	"We're being tailed by a Kyoto PD chopper.  Looks like word on
your exit didn't take long to travel--they were probably expecting an
attempt.  We'll have to abort Plan A and go with Plan B.  Copy, Black
Magic?"
	"Roger, Hardshell, Plan B.  Roadmaster, this is Black Magic,
do you copy?"
	"Copy, Magic.  We heard.  No cops in the area--we'll be
waiting."

	The D.D. touched down underneath Highway Ramp 44; the truck,
this time wearing the markings of the Roadway Delivery Service
Company, was waiting.  Zoner had already unloaded both of the cars,
which sat next to the truck, waiting.  Within a few moments, Gryphon
had returned the D.D. to default mode, locked it down in the cargo bay
of the truck, and disembarked.
	"Yo," Gryphon said.  "Man, what a rush that thing is.  Did
they track me?"
	"Don't think so," MegaZone replied.  "Your stealth fields were
working perfectly as far as we were concerned--you vanished as soon as
you cleared the compound.  We didn't know you were coming until we
heard you."
	"Good," said Gryphon.
	"Did you know the D.D.'s forcefield generators could be set to
generate the stealth field when you planned this?"
	"No," Gryphon replied.  "It only occurred to me as I was
ditching the K-12s that I could probably link up my Stealth computer
to the J-1 and hack the field characteristics across, and lo and
behold, it worked.  Quick and dirty fix, really; with the fields set
for stealth I had no protection at all except the armor plating
itself, and that thing has so many other active systems it shows up
like a beacon on any other sensors.  Luckily, the local police don't
have portable MAD sensors, and with all those Army suits in the air,
IR wasn't reliable.  Looks like we pulled it off, buddy."
	"Nice work.  Y'know, I'd kind of missed your old Batman
routine."
	"Yeah, I could get used to it myself.  Maybe we ought to go
roof-crawling some night."
	"Maybe, maybe.  But I'm still not gonna wear that Robin
costume," Zoner chuckled.
	"You're no fun.  See you guys back at the lab, ay?"  Batman
got into his car and started it up.
	"See you there," Zoner replied, getting into his Daytona.
Sylvie waved and pulled away with the truck as Zoner performed an
illegal U-turn to head back the other way on the highway.
	Batman flipped open a special panel on the Camaro's dash, one
which he had not used since coming to MegaTokyo, and punched in a
four-digit code.  The Interceptor's armor turned jet black.  Blacked
shields slid down over the headlight slots.  The light bar came out of
the roof.  Ground effects slid into Pursuit Mode positions.  Gryphon
started the baying siren, backed around in a cloud of smoke, and
roared away.

	"There we are," Gryphon announced, placing the small yellow
drum on the worktable carefully.  "One half-megaton microfusion bomb."
The D.D. lay facedown in the middle of the workroom, being much too
large to place on the table; its back armor was leaning against the
far wall and internal systems were strewn all over the room.
	"God, Gryphon, I'm glad you don't do surgery the same way you
do tech work," Sylvie observed, indicating the mess.
	"Nothing but the best, for my prettier customers.  This ugly
beast, on the other hand, doesn't get the royal treatment."  Gryphon
grinned and slapped the D.D.'s armored flank.  "While I've got it
open, I think I'll explore the actuator system a little.  Then, it's
back to work on my new Iron Man armor."
	"New Iron Man armor?" Zoner said with surprise.  "You're
retiring the War Machine?"
	"Not really; just building a new one."
	"Why?"
	"I've got some ideas for system improvements--the Model Eleven
just isn't capable of taking full advantage of a cyberlink, no matter
how I modify it and mess with the software.  In order to get the most
out of these plugs I paid such a dear price for, I'll have to build a
whole new suit, and well, what the hell, while I'm at it I might as
well change the look around a little.  Like a car manufacturer.  Care
to take a look at this year's model?"
	"Sure, what the hell, why not?"
	"Great."  Gryphon went to the CAD terminal and typed for a
while; the holotank in the corner of the lab powered on and rezzed up
a life-size, 3D representation of a suit of Iron Man armor.  It didn't
look all that much different than the old suit, really.  Only two or
three major design changes were in evidence.  For one, this suit
wasn't matte gray and silver like the War Machine.  It was a gleaming
red and gold knight, with recessed gold stripes on the forearm units
and upper boots.  The boots were larger and looked more stable, with
much bigger footprints.  Still, with the change in color scheme and
the slight face redesign (the War Machine's glowering frown line was
replaced by a simple slot), this suit didn't look nearly as mean as
its predecessor, and Zoner said so.
	"Good," was Gryphon's response.  "I don't like frightening the
civilians I'm trying to help.  I think it's time for Iron Man to be
the Golden Avenger, like he should be.  Besides, I've got Batman if I
want to freak people.  Anyway, this suit's capabilities will speak for
themselves.  I don't need it to look mean; it just is."
	"What happened to the modular weapons?"
	"They're not in this picture because it's a general
arrangement.  I've come up with a couple of new weapons which will
have different external designs.  For the shoulder mounts, I mean.
I've got a heavy particle gun and a plasma cannon, and I'm working on
a clip-fed micro-photon torpedo launcher, but I haven't had much joy
on that yet.  Of course the minigun and the missile box are still
around, but I doubt if I'll be using the minigun much.  The only
really useful feature of the minigun is the Goalie, but the software
for that will still be resident; if I mount the gun, I'll have it.
Basically, I have more modular gear for this suit so that I can tailor
its situation response parameters better."
	"You're losing a lot of anti-personnel capabilities."
	"When was the last time I had to mow down a horde of humans?
The 2mm rounds only make Buma mad."
	"True...but I can't help but feel bad about any firepower
drop, ya'know?"
	"Don't worry about it," replied Gryphon.  "The firepower curve
for this suit is better than the last one's.  The redesigned pulse
bolts, for example, are 150% more powerful than the last ones, and
they have better range, too.  The suit itself is stronger, too; the
new field dynamics I'm fooling around with should almost double my
lifting and hitting power--I figure at least an 80% gain at standard
power."
	"Christ!  That makes your press rating--"
	"Around ninety tonnes, yeah.  And a commensurate increase in
protective armor strength.  Impressive, no?"
	"Yeah, I'd say so.  I'm gonna have to go back to my own
drawing board now.  Can't let you stay ahead of me on the technology
curve, after all.  I could go to field actuation on the LightSaber,
for the joints at least."
	"I figured you'd say that.  The big gain here, though, is in
reaction speed.  This new suit should be completely compatible to
direct cyberlinkage, just like the Stealth suit.  Unlike the War
Machine, the cyberlink routines are written right into the flex-metal,
not hacked into the OS later on.  Combined with the improved battle
computer I designed after studying the J-1, I should have action,
reaction, and battle plan times right about even with a fully-linked
D.D.  And we all remember how fast that is, eh?"
	"Yeah, vaguely," Linna replied, rubbing her neck.
	"You really enjoy doing this, don't you, Gryphon?" Sylia
inquired.
	"You know what it's like, Doc...you make a new toy and you
want the world to know about it!"  Gryphon threw his hands in the air
and laughed.  "You remember what it's like, remember when you made
that evil new actuator system that made the hardsuits as strong as me?
You couldn't wait to get it built so you could come down here and
publicly embarrass me by almost ripping my arm off arm-wrestling.
Damn straight, I enjoy this.  Almost as much as field testing.  What
can I say?  I'm a showoff when it comes to my toys.  I think it comes
from never having the Death Star playset when I was a kid."
	"Such a deprived childhood," Sylia deadpanned.
	"It's a pretty picture," Priss interrupted, "but when do we
see the suit?"
	"Aha!  A skeptic.  One in every crowd.  Tomorrow afternoon,
m'lovely, it comes out of the tank.  In the meantime, me and the War
Machine are going to hit the streets one last time--I'm gonna see what
I can dig up on Anri."  He picked up the grey and silver duffel bag
that contained his main armor, slung it over his shoulder, and headed
for the garage.

	"Query: what are we seeking?" Centurion inquired on the HUD as
they pulled out into the streets of MegaTokyo.
	"Anything unusual that might lead us to Anri," Gryphon
replied.  "I fed you the sensor parameters on the Type 33/S and
33/S-A, right?"
	"Affirmative," the dashboard computer replied.  "I will
maintain scans for them."
	"You do that.  Meanwhile, I have a suspicion...we'll be
cruising the waterfront and maybe take a spin up the GENOM Tower, just
for the hell of it.  Nice view up there."

	"Find anything?" asked Zoner as Gryphon came out of the garage
area.
	"No," Gryphon replied.  "Not a damn thing.  Have you been
waiting for me the whole time?"
	"No... I went down and watched the nanotank work on your new
armor for a while, then I took my Daytona and did a little looking of
my own.  No luck, though.  This city's too big for us to search by
ourselves."
	"Tell me about it.  I've got a couple of theories as to where
she might be, but so far, nothing has panned out.  Soon as it gets
dark I'll suit up and go out for some patrol."
	"I don't think that'd be such a good idea.  Have you seen the
latest news?"
	"No, I've been busy...why?"
	"Check it out."  Zoner guided Gryphon into the wardroom and
turned on the TV; CNN had some rather choice things to say about the
Knight Sabers, who had apparently been on a murderous rampage through
the city's commercial districts lately.
	"What the hell is this shit?" Gryphon demanded.  "Where did
they get this footage?  That...that's not them, is it?"
	"'Course not.  Would Priss actually shoot some generic guard
in the head like that?  She doesn't even have that kind of weapon in
that arm.  And look at me--they've got the head antenna array all
wrong.  Whoever they are, they're decent fakes, but not good enough to
fool the real thing.  I've seen this film before today, hang
on--there!  There you are."
	"What the hell?  What is that thing on my--his--right
shoulder?  It's not the missile box, it's--holy shit!  That's some
kind of particle beam weapon!"
	"Yeah, and watch how he tears this door down.  That's not your
style at all--you'd've knocked it down with your repulsors, right?"
	"Right, or burned a hole in it with the unibeam if I was
feeling particularly pissy.  And look how hard he's working to push it
open.  War Machine could knock that door over with one hand."  He sat
back.  "Huh.  Someone's trying to ruin our rep--and doing a pretty
good job, too.  Have the others seen this?"
	"I don't know.  Sylia has; the rest went home just after you
left.  Nene and Linna had to go to work, and Priss had rehearsal.  She
took Sylvie with her."
	"Great.  If I go flying around out there tonight, ADPolice
will probably shoot at me before asking questions, and I sure as hell
don't want to shoot at them.  Unless..."
	"Don't even think about taking your Batman armor out there.
If you run into anything, you'll be up shit creek!"
	"This is the kind of thing I built it for!" Gryphon replied.
"For God's sake, Zoner, don't be such a wimp.  Grab some firepower and
cover me in the Daytona.  I'll suit up, put the car back in Batmobile
mode and drive around; if I see something that needs closer
inspection, the friendly skies are a T-top away.  It'll be like old
times.  C'mon, you don't want this to become an unauthorized solo
operation, do you?"
	"Gryphon, you're gonna get us both killed," Zoner grumbled, as
he left to get his gear.

	"Well, that was one of the most pointless evenings I've ever
spent," Gryphon observed, stripping off his gloves and working on the
chestplate latches.
	"Well hey, look at it this way.  We stopped fourteen muggings,
six rapes, twenty-seven robberies in progress, and what looked like at
least four murders."
	"True, yeah.  You know, this armor really is wimpy.  Getting
shot hurts in this suit."
	"Sucks to be you.  Hey, tomorrow night when you get your new
armor working...that's really gonna mess up the imposters, huh?"
	"What, you mean just because one of them'll be out of date?
Yeah, I suppose."
	"I'm looking forward to messing them up in a more personal
manner, myself..."

	Zoner piloted the Daytona through the business district,
keeping an eye on the scanners' readouts.  The chance of finding Anri
this way was about the same as being struck by lightning while riding
the subway, but he felt the need to actually do something.  However
useless that might be.  He couldn't sleep knowing she was still out
there somewhere, held against her will.  He hated what it was doing to
Sylvie.
	He had spent several hours watching the monitors tell him the
same thing, Anri wasn't here.  He was clinging to blind hope, and he
knew it, but hope was all he had.  He hated feeling helpless, he
didn't even know Anri, but it was important to Sylvie, and therefore
important to him.  In all he was well and truly frustrated and it was
beginning to turn into anger.  Before he started beating on the
dashboard he decided to pull over and walk it off.
	It quickly became evident that there were no natural areas
nearby, and the little sky that was visible between the corporate
towers was hazy with pollution.  Humanity's destructive tendencies out
in force and royally fucking up the planet.  All of this only served
to provide a new sense of frustration and anger.
	Which is why he didn't think twice before leaping into the
fray when an assassin Buma attacked an executive as he left work for
the day.  It seemed like a good way to vent at the time.

	The Buma burst out of its skin in a gross, but effective,
manner and leapt on the hapless exec as he descended the stairs to the
street.  Before the Buma had reached its target Zoner was charging it
with all of his chipped, wired, and boosted speed, stripping off his
jacket to; 1. allow him freer movement, and 2. save the jacket from
possible harm.
	The Buma hurled the exec back into the ferrocrete facade of
the tower, and was about to bond the exec's head to the wall though
impact welding, when Zoner tackled him from behind.
	"Why don't you try that on someone with some metal?"
	The Buma spun around to assess the new threat, temporarily
ignoring the exec.  Zoner used the Buma's momentum to hurl it into the
street, following close behind, extending his spurs to strike.  The
exec just slid down the wall leaving a bloody trail.  If Zoner had had
the time he would have marveled at the speed with which those not
involved vacated the area.  As it was he was preoccupied with a large,
angry biomechanical death machine.
	Zoner's spurs gashed the Buma's side, spilling orange nutrient
fluid on the asphalt.  The Buma howled it's rage and slammed Zoner to
the ground with a vicious backhand.  Zoner felt a few bones shift
position, but the weave held.  The Buma dove at his supine form,
obviously not to help him up.  Zoner caught him with his legs and
helped him continue into the pavement a few feet away.
	Each charged the other, meeting halfway in a clash of metal,
Zoner's spurs against the Buma's armored skin.  More orange fluid
spilled to the ground, quickly joined by red as the Buma fingers
pierced Zoner's skin weave and ripped a wound in his abdomen.  Nanites
streamed to the area to seal it before too much blood was lost.  Zoner
rang the Buma's bells with an uppercut, only to have his lights dimmed
with a blow to his temples.
	This threat apparently neutralized the Buma flew back to the
unconscious exec and began a rather messy vivisection.  Zoner lifted
his head from the pavement just in time to see the Buma remove the
exec's head and part of the upper spinal column.  The sense of failure
did nothing to improve his mood.
	"Motherfuckeeeerrrrr!!!!"  Zoner howled as he sprinted the
distance to the Buma.  Which was probably not the most intelligent
thing to do, as the Buma turned and let go a beam from its particle
cannon.  The beam caught Zoner low on the right side, searing away a
chunk of flesh.  If it wasn't for the pain editor and
adrenalin/endorphin boosters Zoner would probably have collapsed on
the spot.  As it was he continued to charge, trauma warnings flashed
on the edge of his vision as he aggravated his wounds.
	He met the Buma on the leap, driving his spurs through its
throat.  Zoner could feel the bones in his arm shear, despite the
weave, as the Buma pulled the blades free.  Orange nutrient and red
blood mixed on the ground, forming swirling patterns.  The fact the he
noticed it was a bad sign for Zoner--he was starting to burn out.  He
felt the Buma's hand grab his ribs, apparently about to remove them.
Calling up the last of his strength he grabbed the Buma's head and
twisted, ignoring the bones which were now protruding from his arm.
As he felt his ribs start to give the Buma's head torn free with a
shriek of metal and its body went limp.
	Zoner stood in the middle of a pool of gore, real and
artificial, and surveyed the carnage.  He took a quick inventory of
his wounds, checking his internals.  About every idiot light that he
had was blinking on the edges of his vision.  All in all, he wasn't
doing very well.
	"This is going to be expensive," he moaned, just before
collapsing.

	Gryphon watched the monitor anxiously as he waited for his new
armor to come from final coating.  On screen, the Knight Sabers were
mixing it up with their Super Buma counterparts, most of whom had
revealed their true nature and looked nothing like Knight Sabers now.
He noted with interest the fact that the one which looked like the War
Machine hadn't changed form, and wondered why not.  He tapped
impatiently on the corner of the worktable.
	"Come on, come on..." he muttered to the unseen equipment.
"They're getting hammered out there."  There was a beep and the Final
Assembly Compartment opened up, revealing the gleaming new armor,
still steaming.  Gryphon went to it, stripping off his street clothes
as he went, and suited up as standard procedure went.  Locking down
the helmet, he waited for it to power up, and, exactly one second
later, it did, and he could feel the rightness of the direct
cyberlinkage much better this time.
	He walked to the modular weapons locker and selected the
appropriate weapons for this mission.  On his left forearm, he
attached the lightsaber; the right arm accepted the double chainguns
and their encircling bracelet of ammo.  His back mounts accepted two
brand new weapons, so new he hadn't needed to recoat them from War
Machine grey to Golden Avenger scarlet.  On the left was the angular,
boxy shape of the HellStar-1 Particle Projection Cannon; on the right
was his newest projectile weapon design, the Tesla-IV Kinetic Energy
Railgun.  Basically, it was a beefed-up version of Priss's main guns;
he was thinking of mounting one to her hardsuit later on, if the
design proved successful.  He ran the modular diagnostics check as he
headed for the door.

SE  Iron Man Mod IX Mk II

DIAGNOSTIC MODE
All Modular Weapons Secured
All Targeting Links Secured
All Power Couplings Secured
ALL SYSTEMS 100% OPERATIONAL

	"Okay," he said with a grin under his helmet.  "Time to make
the donuts."
	He exited his lab, turned left, and entered the service shaft
next to the Knightwing's exit tube, slamming his propulsion systems
online.  The Model IX was almost 50% faster than the War Machine, due
in part to the larger, more efficient design of the boot turbines.
Also, the flight systems were safer; where the War Machine had had
only two turbines per boot due to space constraints, the Model IX had
seven, for a total of fourteen, only four of which (evenly
distributed) were needed to maintain cruising speed.  Redundancy
increased the safety curve, and the bigger footprint of the Model IX's
boots (which Zoner had at first criticized as silly-looking, but the
style had grown on all of them) made for greater stability on the
ground.
	He exulted in the speed rush, as he always did, as the
turbines heaved him out of the tube like a Viper launching from the
Battlestar Galactica, past the glittering rows of fluorescent tubes
and out into the clear dark night.  His navigational computer
immediately fixed the location of the battle and homed him on it; he
opened up the flight systems to full power.
	"Let's see what this thing can do," he muttered to himself as
he passed Mach 1, sending a shockwave across the city below him.
Thinking open a comm channel, he announced, "Iron Man to Saber One.  I
am operational and en route, repeat, I am operational and en route."
	"It's about time!" Sylia replied with uncharacteristic
emotion.  "I hope you're prepared for this--these things are tougher
than anything we've ever fought."
	"Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?"  He was going four
and a quarter times the speed of sound now, and the rooftop battle was
becoming more and more clearly visible as he streaked, a crimson and
gold blur, toward it.  The battle computer obligingly sectioned part
of his vision for a constant-aspect closeup and highlighted the Buma
which still looked like the War Machine.  Reducing speed and putting
the suit in Full Assault Mode, he locked on and triggered the railgun.
	POW!  Iron Man rocked slightly in the air as the gun blasted a
200x2mm tungsten-iron spike out of its barrel, a counterweight
slamming backward at the same time to compensate for the Newtonian
reaction.  The spike was going a good fifteen times the speed of sound
when it ripped into its target's upper arm; Gryphon noticed with some
trepidation that the imposter's substance was sturdy enough to stop
the spike before it had passed all the way through, even though the
impact was more than sufficient to knock it almost all the way off the
roof.  As it fought to stay upright, he noticed with some satisfaction
another bad point of its camouflage: its creators, unable to duplicate
his boot jets, had fitted the imposter with well-concealed back
thrusters.
	Gryphon chucked the railgun into rapid-fire mode and fired
five more times, missing twice and pegging the three hits in a neat
spread across the "War Machine"'s chest.  It turned to look at him and
fired its own shoulder-mounted weapon, the one he had identified
earlier as some kind of particle gun, just as he plowed fists-first
into it.  He felt the impact wrench at his back even as the shock of
hitting the Buma rocketed up his arms and into his shoulder rams, and
then they were falling over the edge of the building and his armor was
giving him a number of alarming messages.

SE  Iron Man Mod IX Mk II

COMBAT MODE			TAS 775 MPH
WARNING! Kinetic Energy Railgun DESTROYED
WARNING! Uncontrolled Freefall

	"Fucker wrecked my railgun!" he snarled, kicking his imposter
in the face and firing his boot jets to halt his fall.  The "War
Machine" stopped its own fall and flew back up to try and catch him,
but it couldn't beat him to the roof, and when it cleared the
roof-line he was waiting with his own particle cannon online.
	The noise the railgun had made when it fired was simple: the
sharp snap of multiple sonic booms, underlaid with a mechanical clang
and the almost imperceptible sound of capacitors firing.  The PPC was
an entirely different matter, combining a much louder capacitor
discharge with the crash and sizzle of lightning, the thump of
superheated, ionized air, and, as an aural afterimage, the whine of
heavy capacitors recharging.  It was visually spectacular as well,
spitting a bolt of white-edged azure energy, an enormous welding arc
laced with negatrons, bright enough to blind anyone looking at it
unshielded and turn the rooftop momentarily into daylight.
	The Buma Iron Man imposter twisted as its right arm was blown
off at the shoulder, then continued its charge as Gryphon retargeted
and, bringing his fists up, added the pulse bolts' machine-gun zap to
the noise and glare, punching a hole right through its midsection.
Then it was on him, ramming its remaining fist into his faceplate as
it bore him down with its charge.  Iron Man let it plow him over, then
flipped it onto its back and laid his own punch across its jaw,
denting the head casing and wrenching the neck assembly out of true.
It kicked him off and got to its feet, looking comically woebegone
with its arm missing, head askew, and a big hole through its gut.
That particle cannon still looked operative, though.
	It was, and it fired as Iron Man was still getting to his
feet.  The blast took him high in the chest, on the right side, and
blew him off his feet again.  He rolled twice and fetched up against
the coaming at the rooftop's edge, face-down and still.  The Buma
stalked over and rolled him over to check his damage.
	There was none.  Iron Man leaped to his feet, his right hand
closing over the Buma's face, with a quiet declaration: "Boo."  Then
he hit it hard in the chest, not relinquishing his grip on its face,
and tore off its head.
	It stumbled back, then set its feet and powered up whatever
weapon took the place of Iron Man's unibeam.  Iron Man wasn't waiting
to see what it was, or if the thing could still see him without its
head; he put the PPC in autofire mode and hosed it down good.  When he
was done, his power grudges were low and regenerating slowly, but
there was nothing left of the false War Machine but a pair of feet.
	Turning, he saw that the others were still not faring terribly
well.  He jettisoned the magclamp that had held the railgun to his
back, and it clattered to the rooftop, a still-functional magmount and
pintle that held a twisted mass of wrecked metal.  It had been
destroyed, but it had worked very well, well enough that he would have
no problem at all with the idea of building another one.
	Noting his low-powered state, he sized up the battle with the
aid of his battle computer, wondering a) who was badly damaged enough
to really need help and b) which of the enemies was the worst off at
the moment.  He noticed without surprise that there was an ADPolice
K-12 in the melee, which didn't surprise him at all.  Must be Leon
trying to get killed again, he said to himself as he took to the air
again, leapfrogging the combat so that he could get in on the other
side, where Leon and Linna were double-teaming one of the Super Buma.
	"ADPolice, Saber Three, this is Iron Man," he announced,
grounding behind them.  "Stand clear and watch the fireworks."
	"Is that the real McCoy?" Leon's voice came back to him as the
K-12 lumbered out of his path of fire.
	"Just watch me work," he replied, and opened up with his pulse
bolts on the monster.  They had a singularly unimpressive effect,
which irritated Gryphon to no end as he jumped back before it could
tag him with its beam weapon.  Leon was gone, off, apparently, to
another trouble spot now that backup of a sort had arrived.  Iron Man
shook his head and called up a power grid diagnostic.  His reserves
were building back up, but he decided had been a wee bit too
extravagant dispatching his ersatz doppelganger.  He wouldn't be at
100% combat efficiency for another six minutes--an eternity in combat
terms.
	"Shit.  Awright, so I was prematurely arrogant..."  The battle
computer kept him off the thing's line of fire as he tried to think of
an alternative plan.  Obviously, at 66% power, a frontal attack was
out.  The other Knight Sabers were exhausted, physically and
electrically, and even at 100% he was not sanguine about his chances
against all of them.  Perhaps a nice retreat would--
	His safety computer alerted him with some alarm that his heels
had just extended over the edge of the building's roof.  While he had
been thinking the Super Buma had backed them all right to the edge.
	"Ladies," he declared, "I have a secret battle plan which I
would like to share with you right now..."
	"Let's hear it," Sylia replied.
	"Let's get the hell out of here."  He stepped backward off the
roof and disappeared, appearing again in a second as he streaked out
over the city to land on a rooftop some blocks away.
	"Good plan," Nene agreed, and did the same, followed by Linna.
	Iron Man grounded on the roof of a considerably shorter
building several blocks away; Linna and Nene dropped easily to either
side of him.  He looked up and wondered why the hell Sylia had
lingered; her armored form, facing the street, flew clear of the
rooftop in an arc, not straight off the side as he had gone, and he
could see the glow of her thrusters.
	Then fire blossomed from the armored figure and it began to
tumble; the sensor suite autozoomed to show him Sylia's hardsuit,
falling out of control, the jetpack a mass of flames and smoke.
Direct hit.
	"Shit!" he shouted, and threw himself into the air, pushing as
hard as he could.  Internal alarms howled as he screamed upward, fire
fountaining underneath him as he overrode the safety interlocks and
pushed his boot jets to their absolute mechanical limits.  The battle
computer calculated a maximum safety intercept course with a good
landing zone, anticipating partial or total flight system failure,
while he worked on extending the anti-acceleration field to cancel the
deleterious effect his impact and the sudden directional change would
have on the inhabitant of the hardsuit he was trying to catch.
	The armor began to vibrate violently as he passed operating
maximum speed.  The howl of his tortured jets and the glow of his
fireflower contrails could be heard and seen across the city.  Sylia's
falling hardsuit grew and grew.  Then, with a shuddering jolt, he felt
something burst in his left boot, followed quickly by his right and
then another in the left.  #s 1, 4, and 12 turbines had exploded.  He
felt no damage to his legs and feet inside the boots; the directed
fault systems had apparently worked as designed, directing the force
of the explosions through the blow-out panels in the boot armor.
	Nene drew in her breath sharply as she saw, through her
augmented scope, the explosions bloom out of the outboard side of his
left boot, then his right, and then at the back of the left again.
The blown-out points streamed flames behind him, adding to the
firefountain of his exhaust, and the scream of his jets took on a
discordant note.  As he pressed on there were two more explosions in
his right boot and one in the left; his speed had started dropping off
by the time he actually intercepted Sylia.
	They collided with a ringing crash and a shower of sparks,
Iron Man's arms reflexively closing round the hardsuited figure as
their paths crossed.  The flight systems powered back automatically,
pressing only hard enough in their weakened state to clear the city
and make it to the designated safedown point in Tokyo Bay.  They
approached the docks; Gryphon pushed the remaining jets into
quarter-rolling him, releasing Sylia when they passed into her safe
landing tolerance.  He turned the quarter into a half-roll, trying to
hit the water with his armor's most heavily padded and shielded area,
the reinforced part across the collarbones and upper back.  He came a
bit short and slammed into the water on his right shoulder, splashing
down into the bay with a towering plume of steam and disappearing.
	The other Knight Sabers arrived at the docks to find Sylia,
her helmet open, examining the water near where he had gone in.  Her
jetpack was wrecked and the armor of her hardsuit was cracked around
the midsection where Iron Man had caught her, but thanks to his
tinkering with the inertial dampening field, she was unharmed.
	"Nene, scan for him," she ordered tersely as Nene arrived.
Stepping to the waterside, she extended her sensor arrays and began
searching.
	She needn't have; near the expanding ripples of his entrance,
the water began to bubble and steam, and then, like some kind of
technological Phoenix, Iron Man rose from the water and landed with a
considerable lack of grace on the dock.  He tore off his helmet and
dropped it to the planks, then stood there gasping for breath and
shaking his head.  His boots were total losses, tangled wrecks of
burned red metal.
	"Ouch," Gryphon observed.  He picked up his helmet and put it
back where it belonged, consulted his diagnostic systems, and repeated
that observation.
	"Bad?" Linna inquired.
	"Two turbines functioning in the left boot, three in the
right, and one of those would probably blow if I ran it at more than
15%.  Enough to get airborne, maybe, if I wasn't carrying pocket
change, and who knows what kind of shape those last four are in,
mechanically.  Tolerances are probably shot all to hell."
	The Knightwing arrived and, as they boarded, Gryphon continued
his assessment of his armor's condition in silence, then observed, "I
can probably salvage the damaged--"
	"Gryphon, that was stupid!" Sylia interrupted him.
	Iron Man removed his helmet again and, a look of surprise on
his face, blinked.  "Exqueeze me?"
	"You could've been killed!" Sylia continued.  "What were you
thinking about?"
	"Um, hold the phone, here, boss," Gryphon said.  "Did I or did
I not just prevent you from becoming a rather messy new pothole in
downtown MegaTokyo?"
	"You could've gotten killed pushing your armor like that,"
said Sylia.  "Then we'd both be dead and this city would have lost two
of its protectors.  Don't you ever do anything that rash again!"
	"Hey," Gryphon replied.  "D'you think I'd want to go on with
my life knowing that you'd still be alive if I hadn't been so selfish?
D'you honestly expect me to stand there and watch someone die while
it's in my power to save them?  Besides, if it makes you feel any
better, I did it out of reflex.  I didn't stand there debating the
pros and cons of trying to save you; I just did it.  You might at
least thank me for saving your life.  Besides, Zoner would have killed
me if I let you die.  Or at least he would have been depressed and
pissy, and I didn't want to have to deal with that.  And aside from
that, there is a shortage of perfect--oh, skip it.  Speaking of Zoner,
anyone know where our erstwhile partner is?"
	Everyone shook their heads no.
	Sylia sighed.  "All right, all right.  I'm sorry I went off
like that.  Thank you.  But what the hell are we going to do now?
I've checked the manufacturing computer; our new hardsuits are ready.
But you're in no shape to go on fighting, and we have to stop those
things--"
	"I'm afraid it's a little worse than that, sis," Mackie's
voice announced.  "I just ran an equipment check.  Priss's hardsuit
and motoslave are missing from the equipment bay."
	"Great," Linna observed.  "Just great.  Now she's gone off on
another of her solo tears, and we're tired, and Iron Man's a mess, and
those things are still running loose."
	"It's not all that bad," Gryphon said.  "My armor's in
perfectly fine condition except for the boots, and I made up extra
boots and gauntlets, since they're the extremities and the most
complicated parts.  If Mackie can get me back to my lab I can replace
these boots and be back at 100% in about twelve seconds."
	"Let's do it," Sylia agreed.  "The new hardsuits are back at
headquarters anyway.  Nene, start a trace on those things, and see if
you can locate Priss, although she's probably shut off her
transponder.  I want to know exactly where we're going when we've
finished making repairs."
	"Right."

	Minutes later, in his lab, Gryphon couldn't shake the feeling
of impending doom as he replaced his boots with the other new pair in
the spares cabinet.  As he had a second, he clicked on the CAD/M
terminal and sent an order for the nanotank to start work on another
set--he always like to have a set of spares around.  When he had the
time he'd take the wrecked set down and reclaim the materials, but not
now.  Now he had bear to load for.  On top of it all Zoner was still
missing.  It wasn't like him to miss a good fight, and no one could
raise him on the comm nets.  Life was just ducky.
	He opened up the mods cabinet again and drew out the missile
box, its eight tubes empty.  The first thing he did was to confirm
that the compressed-gas cold launch system was fully charged; it was.
Then he slotted the box into the loader and, running his fingers over
the controls, carefully selected his weapons load.  The loader
obediently slotted the proper missiles in the proper sequence, then
applied the frangible weather seals to the tube ends; when the light
was green he drew the box out and magclamped it to his back.  One of
the tubes' payload had raised an eyebrow when he had punched its
selection into the loader--it was the only missile type for which the
loader was required to demand confirmation.  Gryphon had selected it
because he had the sneaking suspicion he knew where all this was
heading.
	He patched across to Nene's computer as he headed for his exit
shaft again; what he saw confirmed his suspicions.  He made for the
GENOM Tower as fast as he could, leaving the Knightwing in the dust.
Priss hadn't bothered to turn off her transponder, but they'd lost it
almost a minute ago.  Anything could happen in a minute.  Anything.

	Luckily for Priss, Largo had spent that minute boasting about
how she was going to die like a dog.  She was in as much pain--no,
more pain than she had ever been in before, between the extensive
battering, the knife wound, and what felt like at least four broken
ribs.  All she had left was the rage, and that was dimming rapidly,
replaced with a deep feeling of hopelessness.
	Is this all there is? she asked herself, weakly, as Largo and
his minions closed in.  Am I so pathetic that this grinning
motherfucker's going to get away with everything?  The thought made
the rage surge within her again, but without any energy or power to
back it up, it only added to the despair.  I want power.  Enough power
to lay this bastard low.
	The nearest Super Buma, the blue and green one that had been
masquerading as Sylia, loomed closest, reaching out its clawed hand to
crush what remained of the life from her.  Priss forced herself not to
close her eyes.  She would meet her doom with some measure of pride.
	"To coin a phrase--" a familiar, electronically modulated and
amplified, voice announced to her left...
	With a sound like a cannon going off next to her ear combined
with the sizzle of a downed power line, a blinding bolt of blue energy
streaked out of nowhere and took the Super Buma's hand clean off--at
the elbow.  It turned to look, and a crimson and gold blur
body-checked it across the gallery, shouting semi-musically, "Heeere I
come to save the daaaaay!"
	At almost the same instant, the wall exploded inward and a
metallic apparition stalked through--one of Gryphon and Zoner's
experimental new motoslaves, the ones based on the D.D. battlemover
(they called them DX-1 Battleslaves).  It was blue and red and it had
a metal locker strapped to its arm that looked, to Priss's current
frame of mind, like a coffin.
	"Priss!" the battleslave shouted, and its voice was her own.
The coffin opened up and inside it was a hardsuit, one of Sylia and
Gryphon's new composite designs with the hard armor and the joint
articulations protected with flexmetal.  Blue with red go-faster
stripes.  Hers.  Relief and adrenaline surged through her, and,
injuries forgotten, she bolted to her feet and ran for it, the
emergency systems jettisoning what remained of her old hardsuit in
less than a second.
	The THVR inside her new helmet snapped on in an instant as the
suit closed comfortingly around her.  The medipack sensed her
condition and hit her with four different drugs (a heavy painkiller,
an anti-addictive, an alertness supplement, and a regenerative
inducer) and a large dose of nanosurgeons - so Zoner had a point
there.  She felt power surge through her augmented limbs as the suit's
unique combination of flat motors, myomers, and force field actuation
meshed and the fusion microcell came to full power.
	Ask, she thought with a wry grin, and ye shall receive.  She
sought out Largo in the chaos that was the gallery now.  The Buma that
had almost killed her was locked in hand-to-hand combat with what had
to be the all-new Iron Man suit; she had never seen more than the
hologram of it, and it hadn't been bristling with modular weapons
then, but it had to be.  Another Battleslave, unmistakable in its
green and red, was trading fire with another of the Super Buma (Linna
vs. the one which had impersonated her, something which amused Priss
momentarily).  Sylia and Nene were ganged up on the third Super, and
Nene actually seemed to be contributing to the combat.  The EMP
generators in her new hardsuit couldn't shut down the Buma, but it
could do a hell of a job on their combat efficiency as long as she
kept it on them.
	Priss spotted Largo then, scrambling up the stairs to the
roof.  She slammed her flight systems on line and followed him,
screaming something that was half curse and half challenge.  He turned
as she gained the roof behind him and lashed out with a punch so
powerful its shockwave flattened the stair-house.  Priss rolled to the
roof's edge, battered by the wave.
	My God, she thought to herself.  If he had actually
connected...
	"It doesn't matter, you know," Largo told her.  "You're a mess
inside that new suit of yours.  Get all the power you like--I'll still
crush you like the worm you are!"  He drew back his arm for another
attack.
	No, you bastard, not this time.  No more running.  Priss
steeled herself to meet his attack, drawing her own arm back to
counter it and concentrating on the rage she felt.  Anri...give me
strength!
	The cybernetic control system of her hardsuit couldn't
understand her plea, of course, but it did understand the battle
computer's imperative request for significantly more energy allocation
to deal with the incoming attack.  Power was diverted from all over
the suit and concentrated in the myomers, motors, and field generators
of her right arm as she drove her fist forward.
	The noise it made when her fist hit Largo's was like a
thunderclap, rolling out over the city, and the shockwave that ran up
her arm and blasted out two of the inertial dampeners in the right
shoulder's impact absorption cluster almost dislocated the flesh joint
underneath and made her gasp with a new spike of pain.  The hardsuit
gathered its reserves, and then the reserves from those reserves, and
threw them against Largo's arm as they stood there, locked in a
contest of will and strength which only one could win.
	It could have taken a hundredth of a second or five years;
Priss would never be certain which.  An eternity, the blink of an eye,
spent striving against that immovable force that pushed back at her
while her shoulder screamed in pain despite the drugs and her
hardsuit, alarmed, flashed warnings in front of her uncomprehending
eyes.  Then there was another sound like a thunderclap, and she was
flying backward, and so was Largo.  It took her a good three seconds
to register that the arm which was missing was missing from Largo, not
her.
	Then she was standing, with the others at her back, and Largo
was twenty feet away and seething with outrage and anger as he
regarded the splintered stump of his left arm, missing from just above
the elbow.
	"I'm getting that black-box frequency again, kids," Iron Man
said testily over the closed comm channel.  "Time to cut laughing boy
off."
	"I'm on it," Nene replied.  Her sensor antennae unfurled to
full power as Linna's Battleslave anchored itself to the rooftop.
Nene extended her right arm; a small magnetic-tipped lead shot out and
tacked itself to the Battleslave's leg.  Electronic security codes and
counter-codes were exchanged, and then the DX-1's battle computer was
slaved to Nene's sensor array.  Largo was ranting about what was going
to happen to them for the crime of injuring a god, which was no doubt
his way of announcing what they already knew--he was calling down the
wrath of Zeus upon their heads.
	Nene worked feverishly, tracking Largo's black-box signal and
locating the defense satellite in LEO.  Locating it was one thing;
targeting the DX-1 on it was quite another.  And then there was the
main gun.  Gryphon, Sylia and Zoner had been quite adamant that it
would work as designed, but they had said that before.  She could only
hope they were right this time as she manipulated the targeting block
around the satellite's image and locked it down.  It surged with
subspace distortion--she was too late, it was firing--
	"Linna, now!  FIRE!"
	Linna didn't waste any time.  She sent the firing command to
the weapon Gryphon had euphemistically nicknamed the HellFire Fusion
Cannon as fast as it could possibly be sent.
	There was a moment of awful silence as the weapon built up its
tremendous plasma and particle charge and the clouds above the GENOM
Tower parted; then the HellFire spat its bolt into the heavens, and
for one brief instant it looked as if the Battleslave was at the
receiving end of Largo's own bolt.  The two bolts of energy passed
within yards of each other, somewhere between the building's roof and
LEO.  As one struck home, so did the other.  The defense satellite
died a brief flaring death, becoming many hundred more pieces of
random orbital junk in a second and a half.
	What happened on the ground was rather more dramatic.  Knocked
out of alignment by the magnetic interference of the HellFire's beam,
Largo's weapon shifted its aimpoint ever so slightly.  The beam did
not strike steadily, coming down upon the Knight Sabers and
eradicating them.  It instead blasted into the roof just short of
them, between Largo and the Sabers, and then, with swift, horrific
precision, it began to track.  Toward Largo.
	The Hyper Buma howled in anguish and inarticulate hate as his
own bolt of deadly power engulfed him.  Roof material flew up and fire
boiled atop the GENOM Tower for a brief instant, and then all that was
left was a smoking crater.
	The Knight Sabers let out a collective sigh of relief.  Nene
unhooked the magline and reeled it in as her sensor array folded
itself back into portability.  Linna's Battleslave unlatched itself
from the concrete.
	Like some kind of obscene Phoenix, Largo rose out of the ashes
of his destruction, his skin bubbled and charred, one eye missing, and
laughing.
	"You don't understand," he announced.  "I was a fool to think
you would, even though we are so much alike, you and I.  We could have
ruled together...but now I must be content to rule alone.  I am sorry
you never saw it my way...Sylia Stingray."  Sylia seemed momentarily
stunned, as if Largo new her deepest secret, and then she was seething
with a new rage.  If Largo new, he also knew of her father's work.
That meant...
	"Everyone make sure your flight systems are working," Iron Man
muttered over the secure channel.  Silently, everyone did so, then
signaled they were ready as quietly as they could.
	"When I say `go', I want all of you over the side as fast as
you can, and take Anri with you."
	"What are you going to do?" Linna hissed.
	"Don't worry about me!  Just go!  Are you ready?"  The Knight
Sabers signaled they were; Linna had gone below to retrieve Anri and
was just in the process of knocking Largo's office window out.
Gryphon locked his targeting system on Largo three times, just to be
certain.  He didn't want to miss.  No, that just would not do.  He
sent a mental command.  The missile box whirred up from its standby
position on his back to lock into position over his right shoulder.
He verified his lock on target one last time, specifically from Tube
Eight.  He had only one missile left, and that was where it lived.
Everything was green.
	"GO!" he shouted suddenly.  The Knight Sabers scattered,
diving or jetting over the side, Linna's DX-1 rocketed out of the
window below, and for one eternal instant it was just Iron Man and
Largo, face to face.
	"Push the button, Frank."
	Then Iron Man fired his missile and hit his jets as hard as he
could.
	The missile wobbled a tiny bit as its fins deployed, a
half-second after clearing the launch tube.  The sustainer kicked in,
its tongue of orange flame shooting back to lick at Iron Man's right
toe as he streaked into the sky at maximum thrust.  Unconcerned, the
missile continued on its course, not bothering to Robotech, simply
rocketing forward.  It had just enough time to reach its maximum speed
of Mach 2 before its proximity sensor noted Largo's forehead 5mm away
and detonated the warhead.
	A 1.8-kiloton forced-charge subnuclear device is not a large
bomb by atomic standards.  The particular design used in Iron Man's
micromissile is particularly innocuous from an atomic weapon
standpoint, yielding as it does practically no radioactive fallout,
and all of that guaranteed to land within ten meters of ground zero no
matter what the wind conditions.  Even if there had been a gale
blowing at the top of the GENOM Tower, MegaTokyo itself was in
absolutely no danger, except for the glass which would be broken
within a five mile radius by the shockwave.

	The mushroom cloud that rose from the top of the GENOM Tower
was a very pretty thing, thought MegaZone as he watched from an alley
some miles away.  He braced himself for the coming shockwave.
Technically, he had found the twin mammoth particle beams to be more
rewarding, but aesthetically, nothing beat a good old-fashioned
nuclear explosion.  He judged that it had blown off at least the top
six floors of the building, probably closer to sixteen; it would take
GENOM at least two months to completely repair all that damage.  He
had no illusions that they would take proper pain to clear away the
radioactive debris, what little of it there would be.
	Zoner made a mental note to give Gryphon a hard time for not
waiting until he could have had a proper vantage point before setting
one of those things off.  This was a nice study, but he was missing
all the fine details that made a good big explosion really satisfying.
He consoled himself by thinking well, maybe one of them got it on film
from a lesser distance.
	After the shockwave passed he resumed his painful struggle
back to the base.  He should have made for his car, but he wasn't
thinking very clearly.  The only thought that filled his mind was the
desire to make it home, and home at the moment was the Saber's base.
He was in shock, part of his mind recognized the signs, but he wasn't
really sure what that meant.  The nanosurgeons were working hard to
seal his wounds, but he kept reopening them by moving.  His pain
editor was working overtime and his adrenal/endorphin booster was
almost burned out.  On top of that his biological systems were
stressed to the limit.
	And he had never felt better.
	He knew that was a bad sign.

	He was incredibly thirsty.  He needed to make it back to E7...
no... Not E7.  Where was he going?  Home... home... What a good
feeling.  If only the ringing in his head would stop.  He knew there
was some way to make it stop.  Part of his mind started working on the
problem..  Voices in his head?  Great he was going mad...
	"Zoner, Zoner, are you there?" a pleasant feminine voice was
asking.
	"Leave me alone," he mumbled.
	"Zoner, is that you?"
	"Get out of my head!" he yelled.  He continued to stagger his
way down the alley.
	Nene looked up from the comm center, a worried expression on
her face.  "Sylia, I think I've gotten through to Zoner.  But he
doesn't sound too good."
	"Let me talk to him."  Sylia took Nene's place at the console.
	"Zoner?  This is Sylia."
	Zoner spun around, scanning the alley.  He put his back to the
wall and fumbled with his Colt M2000.  "Where are you?  C'mon out," he
slurred.
	"Zoner, what's wrong?" Sylia muted the mic, "Nene, see if you
can triangulate the signal."
	"Right, already on it," she replied.
	Meanwhile, Zoner was slowly sliding down the wall, clutching
his head and whimpering. "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-
pleaseplease."
	Sylia softly tried to console him, "Zoner, you're hurt bad.
Stay where you are, we're coming to get you."
	"Sssstay aw-away!" he cried weakly, emptying five rounds into
the alley at random.  That used the last of his reserves.  He slipped
into unconsciousness and the connection closed.
	"Nene?!"
	"Ok, got it!"  The screen in front of Sylia changed to display
Zoner's location.
	"Alright, Ben, you come with me.  Let's go collect him."
	"Be the first on your block to collect all five -- don't hurt
me!" he finished as the rest of the team all gave him evil looks.
"Ok, let's go.  People, people...don't worry.  Yeesh."
	He quickly gathered some gear and left with Sylia.

	As the Camaro shrieked through the streets in Pursuit Mode,
siren screaming, Sylia said coldly, "That comment was uncalled for,
Gryphon.  Uncalled for and insensitive."
	"Look, I'm sorry.  It's just that I've seen this before.  Many
times.  He's tougher than an old pair of work boots.  He'll be fine.
He'll be up and around well before I want him to, annoying me and
reopening his stitches a hundred times before he finally heals.  We've
done this dance so many times you don't even want to know.  I know
Zoner's innards almost as well as I know his face.  He's going to be
okay."  He took his eyes off the crowded street for a moment to glance
sidelong at her and say, as seriously as he possibly could, "Trust me.
I won't let him die."
	Her hard expression softened a trifle.  "I..."
	"It's all right.  I think I have an idea what he means to you.
I'd have to be bloody blind not to.  We've been working together for a
long time, Zoner and I.  Don't you think it's just possible he might
mean a little something to me too?  Joking about it is just my way of
transferring my worry."  He smiled.  "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone
I caught you caring."
	She glared at him, but it didn't appear that her heart was in
it.  Perhaps MegaZone's latest project was actually having some
effect.
	Gryphon slewed the Camaro around the last corner into the
dirty, trash-filled alley and jumped out before it had even stopped,
shouting to Sylia, "Put the passenger seat down flat and spread the
plastic on it!"  Then he snagged his black bag out of the back seat
and ran to Zoner's crumpled form.
	"Oh, geez," he observed, lacing his fingers into the already
tattered material of Zoner's shirt and unceremoniously ripping it
away.  He probed the hideous wound in a cursory manner with a finger,
examined the blood, then started applying cleaning spray from his
medpack to get a better look at the damage.  Fortunately, the wound
was mostly cauterized, or he would have bled to death long ago.
Unfortunately, he had insisted on moving around and opening things up.
There didn't seem to be any major organs completely missing, but some
of them were looking a little rough...the intestines, for example,
euch...
	His peripheral vision caught a flash of movement.  "Stay
away," he ordered tersely, not looking.  "Trust me on this one.  You
don't want to see this.  Once you've seen what someone looks like on
the inside, you can never look at them the same again..."
	"Your attempt at humor is noted."
	Gryphon shook his head.  "I really don't think you want to see
this.  Just my $0.02."  He reached unflinchingly and took Zoner's left
arm in his hands, rotated it, and then gave it a good hard yank to set
the bones back where they belonged.  This maneuver elicited a
sickening series of snaps, crunches, and skwutches.  Some blood
spattered Gryphon's face.  Zoner groaned slightly in his sleep.
Gryphon moved Zoner's elbow a couple of times, then strapped it and
put the arm down, concentrating on the major wound again.
	There wasn't much he could do with it here.  This damage was
going to require a long, long time in the operating room, which was
made doubly annoying by the fact that Zoner was his usual surgical
assistant.  He wondered where he could find someone willing and
qualified on this much short notice, then tossed the thought into the
back of his mind and started applying spray-on skin sealer.  Wouldn't
do to have some artery come busting loose on the drive home.  That
could, among other things, seriously hamper visibility.
	"All right," Gryphon said after a few minutes.  "I think we
can move him now.  Get his feet, and be careful, he's heavier than he
looks.  The idea is to get him into the passenger seat without
jostling him around too much."
	"I'm aware of the needs of trauma victims, Gryphon."
	"Look, this is my field, all right?  Just listen to what I say
and do it without expositing.  Or would you rather we take chances
with his life?"  She had no reply to that.  "All right.  Easy now.
Lift..."

	"I'm almost ready to close up here...got that last tissue
patch for me?"  Gryphon's surgical cap was soaked with sweat; it had
been a long five hours.  Patch patch patch...
	"Right here," Sylvie replied, putting a gleaming pink skin
culture patch into his hand and a dermal sealer alongside it.  She had
picked up the ramifications of being a surgical assistant, what in the
old days was called a "scrub nurse", almost instantly.  Gryphon was
pleased beyond his expectations.
	He took the patch, put it in place and sealed it down.
Zoner's left side looked like a patchwork quilt, but everything was
back where it belonged and connected to whatever it usually should be
connected to.  In a month or so, it would even be vaguely strong
again.  Two months, and there might even be minimal scarring.
Assuming he didn't open it up again very often.  So, Gryphon was
expecting moderate to heavy scarring in the area.
	"Okay.  Seal this stuff down for me...I'm gonna go and get
some caffeine in me."
	"No problem."  Sylvie took the sealer from him and set to work
tacking extra sealant into all the seam lines.  "Should I dress this
once I'm done?"
	"Sure.  I don't think it's all that necessary, until he wakes
up and we need something to keep him from bleeding when he opens it,
but better safe than sorry."
	"You seem confident he'll open it back up."
	"I know my partner.  He's a worse patient than you are."

	Some time later, after Gryphon had a chance to sleep, Zoner
had some company in sick bay...
	"Sheeze, what a mess," Gryphon commented.  "Multiple system
crashes, main circ pump destroyed, secondary systems inoperative.
Lucky for her she had battery backup."
	"What're you saying?" Zoner asked, getting up and wobbling
over.
	"Go lie down, you idiot!  You want me to--oh, skip it."
	"Isn't Anri dead?"
	"Shows what you know, bright boy.  She's only mostly dead.
Now if she were all dead, there would be only one thing to do--go
through her clothes and look for loose change.  But she's only mostly
dead.  Dormant.  33/S or not, she's still a Buma, and it's terribly
hard to actually kill a Buma.  In this case, there's enough main and
secondary system damage so she should be quite dead, and clinically,
she is, but a positronic brain isn't like an organic one.  Once I
repair all this damage, which is going to take quite some time, I
stand a good...oh...80% chance or so of successfully restarting the
biosystems, in which case, voila, one return from the mostly dead.
If not, I'll have to get sneaky--the data that made up the person
called Anri is still intact, it's just a matter of setting up a proper
I/O system for it--which is all the body really is.
	"Quantum soul-dynamics in the case of a 33/S are a thorny
problem...no one can doubt that they're alive--hell, they're even
capable of reproduction, although I'm damned if I know how that works
yet--but they don't seem to have souls, or if they do, their bodies
are a lot better at hanging onto them than ours are.  That's a complex
theophilosophical arena I'd just as soon not step into, if you don't
mind."
	"Yeah, well...I thought you were an atheist."
	"No, I'm Discordian, goober, you know that.  But still, just
because I don't believe in the standard conception of an Almighty
doesn't mean I can't believe in vital energies.  I have scientific
evidence of vital energies.  If I applied Spengler's Equations through
common hyperphysics I could even make an ectocontainment vessel.
`Vital energies' is a term that borders, to me, on the politically
correct--and so I generally call them `souls'.  It's simpler."
	"You realize you've just outlined a basic belief of mine that
you've refuted for years."
	"That was just because I felt uncomfortable sharing your
beliefs."
	"Oh.  And now you don't?"
	"No."

	Gryphon worked hard through the night to restore Anri's
systems.  He grudgingly allowed Zoner to assist, he was the cybernetic
expert, even if he should have been healing.  He had to get the major
systems online just so he could find all the faults in the subsystems.
Zoner scavenged some of the spareware he had lying around his office
to replace the systems that were beyond repair.  Gryphon eventually
had to tell Zoner to drop the Steve Austin jokes or suffer unnameable
torture.
	It wasn't an easy job, Zoner had to take over a few times to
get the systems calibrated properly.  He had to inject stim drugs a
few times to stay on his feet, his body was still pissed about all of
the damage he caused it.  But he had all the time in the world to
heal, and Anri needed help now.  He and Ben were doing this for her
sake.
	And for Sylvie.
	They both knew what it meant to be separated from those they
loved.  If it was at all possible they were going to see Anri and
Sylvie reunited.
	The city was coming to life for another business day as the
duo finished their work.  There were still a few subsystems to adjust,
but that was delicate work that was best saved for when they were
better rested.  As Anri began to come around Ben turned to Zoner,
"Would you like to find Sylvie, or shall I?"
	"I think you had better, I'm not in the best of shape to run
about."
	"Ok, you watch our patient."

	Anri fully awakened just before Ben returned with Sylvie.  She
was momentarily startled and disoriented.  "Where am I?!"  She tried
to raise herself from the table.
	"Whoa!"  Zoner gently pressured her back onto the table.
"It's ok, we're friends of Sylvie's.  You're pretty badly hurt, we
just finished fixing you up.  But you really shouldn't move too much."
	Anri's eyes lit up a bit, "Sylvie?  She's ok?"
	"Oh, yeah... In fact she..."  Zoner didn't get a chance to
finish.  Just then Ben and Sylvie entered the room.
	"Anri!  You're ok!" Sylvie ran toward the bed, tears of joy
filling her eyes.
	"Gently!" Gryphon called after her.
	"Sylvie..." Anri sighed, relieved, her eyes misting over.
	Sylvie gently gathered her into her arms and kissed her
softly, but passionately.  Zoner nudged Ben toward the door.  "Don't
keep her up too long, she needs her rest."
	"Thank you!  Thank you both...  I can't..."
	Ben executed a deep and courtly bow and Zoner held up his hand
to ward off any further thanks.
	"No thanks required, seeing the looks on your faces is more
than enough," Zoner replied.
	The pair left the room.  In the hall Ben turned to Zoner and
sighed, "Ah, is it not wonderful, Hastings-- the young love?"
	"Get some sleep, Ben."

			   A FEW DAYS LATER

	"Gryphon?" Zoner asked from the doorway to his colleague's
lab.  "You in here?"  He stepped into the room, careful not to step on
any of the printouts strewn round the floor.  The lab was in its usual
state of stainless-steel disorder: tools scattered on every surface, a
pair of Iron Man gauntlets and the minigun half-disassembled on the
big workbench that looked for all the world like an operating table
(it was), Gryphon's Macross mug perched atop his cyberCAD computer,
the modular weapons cabinet standing open.  On the small steel table
next to the terminal, the only oasis of order in the entire room stood
in mute testimony to its owner's addiction.  A single-burner electric
hot plate with a copper kettle on it sat there.  Arranged around it
was a small green teapot, two other mugs (one Dirty Pair and one
nondescript, but pretty, cobalt-glazed one of which Gryphon was
particularly fond), a blue mug with a corporate logo full of sugar
with a spoon sticking out of it, and several neatly arranged boxes of
various teas, including a minty one Zoner was rather partial to and
Gryphon's personal favorite, Earl Grey.
	The proprietor was nowhere in sight, and the fourth mug, a
white one marked with the logo of the company which owned his old
hometown in Maine, was missing.  Touching the side of the kettle,
Zoner confirmed that he had made tea not long ago.  Find the missing
mug, and he was pretty sure he'd find Gryphon.  He walked through the
lab to the door at the back which led to Gryphon's private garage
work-space; it was an inch or so ajar, and Zoner could hear the sounds
of ongoing work behind it.  He opened it and stepped through into the
garage.
	The missing mug was sitting on the workbench, steam still
rising from it, but Zoner didn't care about that.  His attention had
been seized by the vehicle in the middle of the bay.  It wasn't
Gryphon's car, the '89 Camaro Z/28 Interceptor that he took such pride
in--in fact, Zoner had never seen it before.  At least, he didn't
think he'd seen it before.  It was really kind of hard to tell--he'd
certainly seen its like before, but not in several years.  They didn't
make them like that anymore, and by 2034, they were pretty much
extinct.  Zoner doubted whether the vehicle before him was even legal
in MegaTokyo.
	To begin with, it wasn't a car.  It was a truck.  A bloody
huge truck.  Gryphon's garage space was enormous, since he had
designed it and supervised its construction himself, and this thing,
at least lengthwise, filled most of it.  Sure, there were semi trucks
in 2034, but compared to the kind he had been used to as a kid, they
were small things.  What was considered an enormous truck by 2034
standards was a tiny thing to Zoner, a four-wheeled cab towing a
smallish trailer.  Mass shipping was done by AVs or enormous corporate
helicopters these days.  Also, trucks, cars, virtually any automobile
in 2034, was not made of metal.  Everything was plastic, composite,
light and not particularly tough.
	The truck before him now was made of steel.  Just by looking
at it Zoner could tell.  It had that kind of stance to it.  It was a
mighty titan of a truck, an old forward-nose design, all black with a
grille made of chrome bars that looked sturdy enough to be used as
prison windows.  The great chrome bumper was subtly angled so that
Zoner's practiced eye detected its secondary purpose in about a second
and a half--ramming.  The front window was in the old style, two flat
expanses of black glass with a central metal post, angled slightly
like the bumper and grille to give the whole thing a rakish,
forward-sweeping look.  Chrome mirrors angled outward on chrome pylons
and a baker's dozen of chrome horns in varying sizes adorned the roof.
Twin chrome stacks reared above the angled aerodynamic roof-line.  The
big canister that seemed to be on all semis (Zoner wasn't sure what it
was) was also chrome.  Behind it was a box trailer which appeared
capable of hauling Norway, also black with chrome accents.  All the
wheels were chromed and sported enormous rivet-like lug nuts.
	Zoner walked to the front of it and looked more closely at its
looming frontal section.  Across the chrome lip at the top of the
grille were two words, embossed and blackened:

			E Y R I E  M O T O R S

	Underneath that, in much smaller letters, Zoner could make out
the words "MOBILE ARMORED COMMAND KIOSK".  A slightly awkward acronym,
Zoner supposed, but what the hell, it was worth it.  Besides, there
were worse.  "Iczer", for one.  The doors were blank, which
disappointed MegaZone slightly.  He had supposed that Gryphon would
have come up with something clever to put there.  Perhaps he hadn't
gotten around to it yet.  The sides of the trailer were blank as well.
The hood was up and Gryphon was gone from the waist up inside it.
	"What the hell is this for?" Zoner inquired.
	Gryphon stood up.  "Oh, hey, Zoner.  Like it?  This is my cut
of the last job we did."
	"The Omni Corporation thing?"
	"Yeah."
	"What's it for?  We have a truck already."
	Gryphon snorted derisively.  "You call that a truck?  That's a
kid's bathtub toy.  This is a truck.  Besides, it's not for the Knight
Sabers specifically, although it does have emergency provisions for
them.  This is my new Mobile Command Center.  There's a bay in the
trailer for the Camaro, a complete Iron Man field support shop, a
full-blown computer core, a head with shower, a kitchenette, and five
bunks, as well as enough storage space for four hardsuits and a week's
worth of provisions for six people.  My bunk is in the cab.  Did you
know I was making a second Iron Man suit?"  Zoner shook his head.
"I'm storing it in the truck as an emergency backup, as well as my
Stealth suit and the old War Machine.  If I need to, I can convert the
Camaro bay into a deployment unit for the D.D., complete with a launch
catapult--the roof section retracts--and there's enough room after
that for the Garland and four hardsuit catapults."
	"How long did this take you?"
	"Well, I've been out of communication for a month now, right?"
	"You did all this in a month?"
	"I had the truck built for me," Gryphon admitted.  "The frame
and generalized systems anyway.  All the coachwork, wiring,
electronics, drivetrain, etc., etc. I did myself."
	"Damn!"
	"I lose track of time when I'm having this much fun.  This
thing has as many tricks and toys as I could think of.  The computer
core's going to have an AI as soon as I get around to conning me into
writing me one...who should I have it be?"
	"Dunno."
	"Well, I can figure it out later...here, check it out.  You're
just in time--I just finished making the last adjustments."  He
slammed the hood down and opened up the driver's door to the cab.  It
made a hiss as the atmospheric system was compromised, the same as in
his Camaro.  Zoner took this gesture as an invitation to get in on the
other side, and did so.  The door was so heavy that servos helped him
open it.  Inside, the cockpit of the truck--for that was the only word
for it--was a peculiar blend of well-fitted options and slightly
hacked modifications.  The enormous steering wheel was unchanged, and
the three large levers on the floor were in the right places, even if
the knobs at the tops had been replaced by multi-switched T-handles.
A bank of toggle switches was placed in front of the shifter cluster
for easy fingertip reach.  Controls and displays of all sorts were
banked around the driver's position, curving into the central console
both at dash level and above the windows.  Zoner recognized the stereo
system right off as he climbed into his seat and shut the door.
	The seat, he noticed, was a comfortable zero/zero ejection
seat, lifted without modification from an AV-9 combat aerodyne.  Zoner
didn't for a moment wonder where Gryphon had come across two of those.
In front of him was a smallish control center, consisting of a couple
of screens, some buttons, and what appeared to be a pair of F/X
Interceptor video game joysticks, one of which had a DA-74 Virtual
Combat Helmet slung over it by the chin strap.  Out the windshield,
the view was commanding, looking out over the tractor's long, pointed
nose and down at the road below.
	"Nice," was Zoner's only comment.  He hadn't known Gryphon to
show any interest in semi trucks before this, and it came as something
of a surprise that he had spent a month of his time and his cut of the
Omni payoff--which was at least 4,000,000 Yen--building this mutant
example of the type.  From the cockpit, it felt like a cross between a
Mack Freightmaster and one of the heavier fighters from Wing
Commander.
	"Don't belt in yet," Gryphon said as Zoner started arranging
the six-point harness.  "I want you to see the outside tricks first.
Climb out and watch."  Zoner obeyed, knowing how Gryphon loved to
extol the virtues of his latest toy.  He walked a bit away from the
truck and turned to watch.
	"First thing," Gryphon's voice crackled through a hidden
loudspeaker, "is the adaptive coloration.  The laminate has an
aligned-crystalline substratum whose reflectivity is programmable
through specialized photonic stimulation."
	"In other words," Zoner said, wondering if Gryphon could hear
him, "it changes colors."
	"Right."  The truck turned grey.  "Like so.  I have a few
specialized schemes painted in--all black is the default."  The truck
turned orange, a beautiful, deep, rich glossy orange so complete that
Zoner could swear he smelled the fruit in the air for a moment.  Then
he laughed, for down the side of the trailer and on the door was
emblazoned one single word, in large capital letters.  

				ORANGE

	Just as quickly, it was black again, except that this time the
doors were marked, displaying the truck's affiliation like a badge of
honor:

                                Knight
				  Sabers

	"I don't know if Sylia's going to like that," he remarked.
	"I only plan on showing it when there's absolutely no doubt
who the thing belongs to anyway.  It's the same as painting it on the
motoslaves."
	"Except that this is a little harder to lose in traffic."
	"You'd be surprised.  I'll just get a lead on 'em, turn the
corner, and pop!  Orange.  They'll never figure it out."
	"You're going to get a lead on police pursuit cars with this?"
	"I could ditch an AV-4 with this thing if I had enough open
road.  Besides which, police pursuit cars have the slight handicap of
getting damaged, slowing down, even stopping, when they hit things."
	"A disadvantage which this lacks?"
	"But of course."  The driver's door opened and Gryphon leaned
out, frowning exaggeratedly as he noted the look of skepticism on
Zoner's face.  "Ah, but you're skeptical.  In that case, I guess it's
time to put my turbine where my mouth is.  Climb aboard, and I hope
you didn't have a heavy lunch."
	Zoner got into the truck again, and strapped himself in this
time.  Beside him, Gryphon had just finished situating himself, and
was fitting on his shades, which were wired unobtrusively to the small
jack behind his head.  Gryphon reached down to the dash and turned the
key; there was a brief flash of red from the right lens of his shades,
and then, with a grinding grumble, the truck's powerplant started up.
For a moment, MegaZone was convinced he was actually listening to the
sound of an old Diesel engine.
	Noting his friend's expression, Gryphon said with a grin,
"Doesn't it sound authentic?  I designed the exhaust system to tune
the turbine sound to this.  It even changes right up through the
gears.  That's not a Diesel; it's a fusion turbine."
	"Like the one in your car."
	"Yeah, except about one and a half again the size."  Gryphon
hit a switch on the dashboard, and the garage door opened up,
revealing the tangled back streets of the Canyons.  Zoner couldn't
believe that this enormous truck could maneuver around in those.
	Gryphon snickered like a kid on Christmas, put the thing in
gear, and let out the clutch.  They swept out of the garage with all
the alacrity of the Interceptor, pushing them back into their seats.
Gryphon's snickering matured into full-blown laughter as they ducked
around a tight corner with a quick hand-over-hand paddle of the wheel,
and before very long, Gryphon was aiming the huge machine at an
expressway onramp.
	"Prepare to surge to sublight speed!" Gryphon declared, and
threw the second gearshift down a gear.  The turbine roared; Zoner had
the sudden mental image of the exhaust stacks belching black smoke (no
doubt Gryphon had rigged some system to do that).  The enormous black
lorry surged forward, all right, without even a scream of the tires,
their speed sweeping upward at an incredible pace.  Zoner couldn't be
certain, he hadn't the feel of the machine yet, but he thought it
could probably be keeping pace with his Daytona if they were
drag-racing.  Even, under the right conditions, winning.
	"This is absurd!" he shouted over the turbine's roar, in his
high-pitched I-don't-goddamn-believe-this-shit voice.  "This thing
must weight what, ten, fifteen tons?"
	"Closer to twenty-five," Gryphon replied with a shark grin,
merging smoothly into the center lane.  "We're doing a hundred and
fifty-five, in case you're wondering."
	"My God!  If anything happens we're dead!"
	"Don't be such a whiner," Gryphon replied, checking the
rear-view mirror and the scanner to see if anyone was behind them.  No
one was; at three AM, the highway was empty.  He slammed the clutch
and brake to the floor, causing Zoner to gasp as he was thrown against
his harness.  Zoner expected the truck to fishtail, jackknife, slew
out of control, crash, burn.
	Instead, it very obediently, very quietly came to a stop, in
the middle of the expressway, on a straight line path, in a
ridiculously short distance.  They sat for a moment, quietly idling;
then Gryphon turned to face him.
	"Ye of little faith," he said with a mock-disgusted shake of
the head.  Then his grin returned and he said darkly, "This is a test
of the Emergency Acceleration System.  This is only a test.  If this
were an actual acceleration, you would feel the Hand of God pushing
you back into your seat, and you would be saying a silent prayer to
Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration."  He arranged the gearshifts in the
bottom-most gear and hit it.
	Zoner watched, mesmerized, at the complex interplay between
Gryphon's left foot, the clutch pedal, his right hand, and the three
gearshift levers, sneaking a look at the speedometer and the road
every now and then.  Now, without the handicap of having already been
in motion, he could tell quite certainly that they would be outracing
his car--or Gryphon's, for that matter.  Maybe, just maybe, this thing
really could outrace an AV.
	"Now we'll be doing the maximum speed test; we're coming up on
the North Shore Expressway in about five minutes.  A good long
twenty-five miles with no appreciable curvature; the perfect spot.
Shouldn't take more than five minutes."
	Zoner did some quick mental arithmetic and decided he really
didn't like the sound of that.  "What if something happens?" he asked.
	"See that yellow striped handle by your shoulder?"
	It was what Zoner had expected to hear.
	That is not to assume it was what he wanted to hear.

	It came off wonderfully, even if Zoner did have the feeling he
was riding in the Millennium Falcon the whole time.  When they
returned to the garage, Gryphon, flushed with exhilaration, informed
MegaZone that he had another surprise.
	"When the money first came in, I scoured the junkyards, scrap
heaps, and antique dealers all over the world via the Net, looking for
one specific vehicle.  I found it and rebuilt it in a week--this semi
truck is actually kind of a secondary project.  The first one didn't
take nearly as long or cost nearly as much as I expected."
	"You have another vehicle?" Zoner asked.  "I guess everyone
has to have a hobby."
	Gryphon climbed down from the cockpit of the semi and went to
the corner of the garage, where something covered with a tarp lurked
next to the Camaro.  "I'm not sure if you met before all of this
weirdness entered our lives, Zoner, so I'll just assume you didn't."
He took a corner of the tarp in his hand and yanked it off while
saying, "MegaZone: meet Angus, the wonder truck."
	The vehicle under the tarp was very, very old, a pickup truck,
long, low, and very black.  It had the smooth side panels on the
body--Fleetsides, they were called that long ago--rather than the
stepsides which were more in fashion at the time.  The wheels were
chrome, with those propeller-like three-fingered spinners on the hubs.
Zoner had heard Gryphon talk about this vehicle before, many, many
times, and so he knew that it--or at least the original--had been a
1966 Chevy half-ton.  This appeared to be as well, but with Gryphon's
project, one could never be sure.
	"It can't be the original, can it?"
	"Amazingly enough, yes.  I set out just to find one like the
original Angus, figuring the original must've been crushed or just
rusted to pieces by now, only to find the very same truck sitting in a
barn near my grandparents' old place in northern Maine.  It had been
registered with the United States Salvage Bureau, but they hadn't had
time to pick it up yet, so I got a couple of my New England
connections to do a little bit of an extraction for me."
	"Cool, isn't it nice to have friends in low places?"

			  A FEW HOURS LATER

	Ben finished installing the last of Angus's vital components.
Everything was ok, he just wanted to rebuild everything so that he was
satisfied.  And well, now he was satisfied.  He decided it would be
cool to take a spin with Zoner, for old times sake, and set off in
search of the elusive one.
	He wasn't in the lounge.
	Not in his lab.
	Nope, neither the boardroom or gym.
	Hmm... check the freezer... nope.
	Wait?  Frozen banana guacamole?  Ewww....  Hey!  Someone's
keys...  Better keep those.
	Computer center...  The rest of the offices...  Game room...
Garage... his cars still here.  Ok... oh, his crash room!  Ben took
off at a run.

	He burst through the door, still running, "Hey, Zoner, I
finished.... aaaccckkk!!!"
	Zoner wasn't dressed, nor was he alone, nor was his companion
dressed, nor did they particularly notice his presence.  Probably had
something to do with the interface cables, on top of the other, um,
connections.  How could they do that?  That must be like trying to
walk, chew gum, tie your shoes and tap dance, while whistling the Star
Spangled Banner backwards, and reading Scientific American.
	I'd have no idea where to go with this.  That must take a lot
of practice, Ben thought, What the fuck am I doing?!?!  Fuck me, I'm
tired of my analytical shit.
	Ben was still anchored firmly to the floor about two feet
inside the doorway.  His mind had splintered; part of him was still
trying to comprehend the mechanics of what he was witnessing; part was
running through the principles of jacking straight across, mind to
mind; part was trying to convince the other parts that now was a good
time to be somewhere else, anywhere else, like Alpha Centauri; part
was admiring the fact that his boss was really quite attractive; and
part was berating that part for even noticing.
	While he was still standing there, mouth agape, Zoner noticed
him.  After an initial moment of shock, he gave Ben a questioning
look.  Sylia was still concentrating on... other things... and didn't
notice him.  Probably a lack of experience with this kind of thing.
Doh! Gryphon thought.
	That was enough to shock Ben out of his frozen state, "Not
that important, it can wait.  I'll be going now!  Have a nice day!"
Ben left at approximately Warp 4, slamming the door behind himself.
Zoner chuckled to himself and returned to the task at , um, hand.

	Ben fled to the lounge and immediately began slugging down
coffee at a prodigious rate.  Nene was already there.
	"Uh, Gryph, I thought you didn't like coffee?"
	"Huh, oh, no, I hate it."
	"So why are you drinking it?"
	"Uh...  Just to confirm the fact that I still hate it."
	"You've had about a pot and a half so far."
	"I know, I really hate it a lot."
	Nene looked at him like he was mad.
	"Say, do you have a cigarette?  I really hate those too, I
could use one right now."
	"I don't smoke."
	"Too bad.  I'm trying to clear myself out, I have a bad taste
in my brain."
	Nene decided to change the subject.  "Did you ever find
Zoner?"
	"No!  No, haven't seen him all day.  Sylia neither.  Couldn't
tell you where they are," Ben was shaking rather noticeably, coffee
sloshed over the rim of the cup, "Are you sure you don't have a
cigarette?"
	"Are you sure you're ok?"
	"Me?!  Fine!  Never better!  Well,. look at the time.  I'd
better be going, bye."  Ben fled the room, leaving behind a bewildered
Nene.

	It was a nice night to be alone, Gryphon had decided.  Kind of
foggy and cold, with that wet look of recent rain that city streets
always seem to have on TV.  The clouds and fog hid whatever moon there
might've been--Gryphon liked the moon and kept cursory track of it,
and thought it to be somewhere near one-quarter waning--and the stars,
and seemed to swallow street lights and headlights as well, making for
an impenetrably dark night.  It was a cold, dark and lonely night, and
in all ways it mirrored Gryphon's own feelings.  The night and his
feelings were the reasons he was started cruising around with the
Camaro.
	He drove down the crosstown expressway, his right hand lightly
atop the wheel as his left sat at his side, tapping idly at his knee,
feeling the familiar vibrations of the car underneath him and watching
the equally familiar pulse of the street lights as he passed under
them, the play of the gauges on the dash, and the eq lights as They
Might Be Giants filled the car.  He was cruising at a leisurely
sixty-four miles per hour--he insisted on using the outdated speed
scale, to irritate his MegaTokyo friends, who had all been raised to
believe that the English Standard Engineering system was the work of
Satan, or at least one of his foremost minions (such as Ozzy
Osbourne).  His mind was full of thoughts; he hardly even heard the
music, and his focus on the road was no more than superficial.
Centurion would correct course if he drifted from between the lines,
and alert him to crisis situations; the car was in autocruise mode.
	He was at a turning point in his life.  It was almost the end
of June, and very soon--as in, before Monday--he had to decide whether
or not to go to Munich and attend courses at the Bayerische
Politechnische.  Linna had expressed her unwillingness to go to
Germany with him, a stumbling block he had not anticipated, and that
upset his entire carefully-planned apple cart.  Now he had to pick it
all up again, and the hard part, as always, was deciding which order
to put the apples back in.  It infuriated him that he could plan
something so meticulously and leave out such an obvious detail.  Now
his choices weren't numerous, but that didn't make deciding among them
any less difficult.
	He could go anyway.  He could pretty much predict what would
happen if he did that.  After all, he could hardly demand that Linna
wait for him; that kind of thing went out with the Crusades, and
Gryphon was no Christian.  Besides, even if he were to do something so
anathema to his nature, she would refuse.  So, were he to just go, he
could count on losing her, probably messily, and in the process make
everyone he knew see him as nothing but a selfish bastard.
	Gryphon had been down that road before, and he could remember
it all now, with excruciating detail if he so chose.  Thanks a lot,
Edison.
	He could cancel it all and stay in MegaTokyo.  That had the
advantage, on the surface, of not immediately hurting anyone.  It
would wound him, though, and, much as he tried to contain and hide
that pain (compounding it further), it would leak out and poison the
thoughts of those around him.  Frustrating his ambitions so would make
him bitter and that bitterness would alienate and anger his
friends--all his friends.  So, were he to stay, he could count on
losing her, probably messily, and in the process make everyone he knew
see him as nothing but a self-pitying wretch.
	Gryphon had been down that road before, and he could remember
it all now, with excruciating detail if he so chose.  Thanks a lot,
Edison.
	He hadn't felt this trapped since dropping out of WPI for the
first time and crawling back to Maine to lick his wounds.  It was all
his fault, of course.  If he hadn't been so complacent and stupid, so
certain she would want to go with him wherever he was going, he would
never have gotten his heart so set on going, and if he wasn't such an
emotional idiot, he would never have gotten so worked up about going
in the first place.
	(That wasn't entirely true; he hadn't gone into it on the
assumption that Linna would want to go with him.  He had reached the
state of total dedication to the proposition before even thinking
about what her position on the matter might be.  The memory of his
carelessness was too painful for him, though, so he comforted himself
with the simple fiction that he had been complacent, which was, to
him, not quite so bad as being forgetful.)
	Gryphon turned the stereo up almost reflexively as "Nightgown
of the Sullen Moon" came up, and returned to his ruminations.  They
still ran in circles and gave him no hint at all as to what he should
do.  He could only see two options, no matter how he looked, and
neither of them worked out well at all.  He knew what he had to do, of
course, in the interim.  He always had.  He was only just now
admitting to himself that he had no other option.
	He was reaching for the selector for manual cruise mode when
the traffic warning radar beeped.  Puzzled, he left the car in
autocruise mode and punched up the readout, muttering, "What've we
got, Centurion?"
	A car was approaching from behind, in his lane, very, very
fast. It was currently four miles away, and the battle computer
estimated it would overtake him within two minutes.
	"Shit," Gryphon said offhandedly, activated the rear visual
scanner, and punched up its view; momentarily headlights came into
view.  He switched the screen to auto-fix zoom and the view switched
to show the oncoming vehicle, just filling the screen, the zoom ratio
smoothly changing so that its size relative to the monitor remained
constant.  Gryphon gasped.
	The car gaining on him from behind appeared to be none other
than J.B. Gibson's heavily modified Griffon 200, completely repaired
from the state he had seen it in last, which was that of a slowly
cooling, burned-out wreck in which he had seen the potential, with
several thousand hours of labor, of restoration.  Someone had
apparently had the same idea--either that, or someone with a Griffon
had decided to do the same mod job.  Either way, there it was, big as
life and twice as nasty.
	Centurion slewed the Interceptor over a lane to the
accompanying cry from the collision warning sensor, and the Griffon
blistered past with a high howl that was part turbine and part air
screaming over its knobby coachwork.  Gryphon growled and tabbed the
Interceptor into Manual Pursuit Mode, jacked, and rammed the gearshift
down into third.  There was a deep grumble as the Mark Three fusion
turbine that powered the vehicle switched into High Output Mode, and a
sense of settling as, at once, he fell into a simulated sensory
awareness of the car and the car itself changed slightly, settling
onto its suspension a little lower and gripping the air better as the
ground-effects, air dams, intakes and spoilers shifted, extended,
opened, and lengthened.
	As his car transformed around him, so did Gryphon change his
attitude, shifting his mindset from thinking about his problem to
dealing with a more immediate one.  His eyes narrowed under his
shades.
	Gryphon hated direct-jacking vehicles; it made him sick.  He
still drove the car using manual controls, and he still looked at the
world through his own eyes.  The impulses coming through his interface
plugs were different than that.  They gave him feedback from the car's
sensor suite as well, mostly its own internal diagnostics.  Its
roaring turbine's throb merged with the beating of his heart, and the
wind screaming over its skin was a breeze in his hair.  He knew the
road conditions like a barefoot runner knew the track.  The peculiar
combination of manual driving and cybernetic information was hard to
master, but Gryphon found it infinitely rewarding.
	Now he felt the familiar adrenaline rush as the turbine roared
and the tires bit down, catapulting him forward in an orgy of
acceleration which was the kind of thing speed skiers, bungee jumpers,
and the like were always babbling about.  (Gryphon wouldn't be caught
dead doing anything that stupid.)  His iridium mirrorshades flickered
and then glowed as TGVR images appeared inside them, enhancing and
clarifying the outside world and providing him with a Head-Up Display
of the more pertinent information about the car (speed, heading, and
target analysis, mostly--mechanical status he could interpret from the
cyberlink).  The VR images also deleted the window pillars and
roof-line from his vision, giving him an unadulterated view of the
world around him, a complete 360-degree field of view.
	The Griffon was still doing 120 and pulling away, but at the
rate he was hauling, he'd be up to intercept speed in seconds.  He got
to 140 mph and fifth gear at around the same time, and the distance
readings from the laser rangefinder in the forward sensor suite
started to count down rapidly.  At the speed he was traveling, Gryphon
knew what he sounded like to the outside world: the rumble-wail of his
fusion turbine and the sound of the air shrieking over the surface of
his car created a sound very like the howl of a passing TIE fighter.
He tabbed a couple more switches and the square blue lights unfolded
from the top of the car, changing the timbre of the howl slightly.
Then the siren started, its eerie electronic baying adding to the
overall unearthly noise of the car.
	In response, the Griffon accelerated hard, its speed rocketing
to almost 160 mph.  This was how it had always escaped before, by
being faster than anything that tried to chase it.  Using this tactic
Gibson had outrun the Tokyo Highway Patrol, the Tokyo Advanced Police,
ADPolice helicopters, Priss, and the motoslaves.  The only thing that
had been able to catch him before had been Mackie's Highway Star, the
fastest motorcycle ever built.  In their first encounter, it had been
with this very burst of speed that he had lost Priss.
	Gryphon and his car had been out of town that week.  He had
never had the chance to go up against the car that shared a
permutation of his name, and had often expressed his regrets on that
matter.  Now it seemed that he was getting his chance.
	"I don't think so, pal," he said to his quarry and shifted to
sixth.  If the Interceptor had any problem at all with increasing
speed to 220 mph, it didn't mention it, and the Griffon grew rapidly.
As they drew alongside, Gryphon tried to figure out his next move.
	That wasn't hard; the Griffon made the decision for him by
veering sharply at him, sideswiping him.  No big deal; the Camaro's
armored hide was designed to take a lot worse than that, and so was
the Griffon's.  Nothing gained on either side.  Perhaps the Griffon's
driver had thought his pursuer made of simple sheet steel or
composites, or perhaps he had hoped to make the Interceptor's pilot
lose control at the incredible speeds they were traveling at.  Either
way, it accomplished little, except to make a lot of noise and throw
some sparks.
	Its driver, thought Gryphon.  If there is one.  When the
Griffon had been destroyed the first time, it had been autonomous, its
sophisticated computer taking over and trying to kill its driver, who
had experienced a change of heart his vehicle did not share.  Gryphon
had a sudden mental image of this black car rebuilding itself in some
junkyard, reshaping its twisted wreckage little by little like an
armored Christine.  He had seen damaged Buma repair themselves like
that before--was it so far-fetched that this car, which had slowly
metamorphosed from an ordinary, if exotic, sports car to the
embodiment of its owner's hate, could do the same?
	He was jolted from this line of thinking by another shuddering
impact against the side of the Camaro, this one prolonged.  The
Griffon's intent was clear now; if the Camaro was neither damaged nor
knocked out of control by a single impact, then the Griffon would just
have to shove it all the way across the road and pile it into the
guard rail, and perhaps through the barrier and off the high-decked
expressway to crash and burn on the concrete far below.  Just like
Leon McNichol's pistol grenade had done to it.
	Gryphon was not in the least sanguine about obliging it.
Dying messily, while it would give him a good excuse for dodging the
whole mess, was not an option.  Gryphon had never held with the belief
that death would improve one's life, and that had not changed tonight.
Besides, he wouldn't let himself be beaten on the road--that would
have been a sin.  He rammed the wheel back the other way.
	"Okay," he said to the Griffon, "let's see who's got the more
powerful car."
	The two vehicles crashed together with a grating wrench, and
the Batmobile began forcing the Griffon away.  Powerful as the gas
turbine crammed into the rear of the Griffon might be, it wasn't up to
the task of out-muscling a General Motors Mark Three "Bow-Tie" fusion
turbine.  Gryphon suspected this would've been true even before he had
modified the Bow-Tie himself.  Still, the Griffon was trying hard,
pulling away and hitting him time and again.
	How long this might've gone on no one can be sure, because
Gryphon was forced to veer away and reduce speed to avoid crashing
into a slow-moving compact car that appeared seemingly out of nowhere
in his course.  He ducked around it with inches to spare, the Griffon
sailing unconcernedly on ahead.  As Gryphon downshifted twice and
struggled to regain speed, he saw the Griffon suddenly dive to the
left, through a set of striped barricades and onto one of the
abandoned highways.  Gryphon followed it, slowly but surely closing
the gap again.  This highway was unused and unmaintained, the concrete
pitted and occasionally cratered.  Apparently someone had been engaged
in a running firefight down this highway at one time or another.
	He reached down with his shifter hand and flicked the control
that called up the Interceptor's battle computer for a running
tactical analysis.

TARGET [GRIFFON 200A]
RECOMMENDATIONS
1. INCREASE SPEED
2. LAUNCH SURFACE TO SURFACE WEAPON

	Typical, thought Gryphon to himself.  Give the battle computer
anything and its recommendation is always "launch surface to [insert]
weapon"...  He followed the first recommendation and increased speed,
however.  He also increased volume and changed musical selections on
the car stereo.  Ahh...Tchaikovsky.
	Suddenly, with a flare of fire from underneath it, the Griffon
leaped into the air.  Simultaneously, the Road Analysis Sensor began
to flash and howl a warning.  It seemed the road abruptly ended 2,000
feet ahead.
	The Canyons, Gryphon said to himself, watching the Griffon as
it flew in a neat parabolic arc to slam down onto the highway on the
other side of the chasm.

TARGET [GRIFFON 200A]
RECOMMENDATIONS
1. LAUNCH SURFACE TO SURFACE
2. STANDBY JUMP THRUSTERS

	Gryphon checked his harness and put his foot down, his right
index fingertip lightly touching the JUMP THRUSTERS key.  His eyes
narrowed under his shades as he watched the computer and the RAS draw
lines around and over the chasm which grew before him.  A bead of
sweat ran down his forehead.
	The HUD signaled him to jump.  He punched the key.
	baWhoosh!!
	The Camaro was hurled into the air as, simply put, ductwork
and vector-thrust nozzles in its armored underbelly sent some of the
raw plasma from the fusion turbine itself out into the atmosphere
under the car--a carefully controlled ejection of power.  The computer
showed Gryphon his flight path from the side as the Interceptor dove
over the chasm and smacked into the road on the other side with only a
ten-microsecond burst from the thrusters to break the fall a little.
The Griffon was two miles away and heading for Chiba as Gryphon
started to gather up his head of steam again.
	At two hundred fifteen miles per hour, Gryphon came up behind
his speeding black quarry four minutes and sixteen seconds later.  He
began trying to formulate a battle plan as the Griffon's taillights
grew in his HUD; then the Griffon saved him the trouble by slewing
toward an offramp, heading right into Chiba's business district.
Gryphon gritted his teeth and moved to follow.
	The Griffon dropped something in the road.  Alarms began
howling in the cockpit of the Camaro.  Gryphon slammed his feet down
on the clutch and brake pedal, his hand dropping to the handbrake
lever in case any special maneuver was required.  He was in the mouth
of the offramp--not a good position--at almost two hundred miles per
hour--not a good speed for the position.  The computer identified the
object in the road just as it identified itself as a mine by exploding
just a couple of feet from the oncoming Gryphon.
	The explosion wasn't much of a problem, in and of itself.  It
didn't have sufficient force or fragmentation to damage the Camaro's
armored hide with its detonation.  Unfortunately, it had a couple of
Happy Option Features that made it meaner than a usual roadmine.  For
one thing, most of its charge was directed downward, making a large
crater in the road surface.  For another, its outer perimeter
consisted of a plastic ring full of a very slick, Teflon-based liquid
lubricant which was flung out in a thin coating on the road surface by
the force of the lateral explosion, creating an instant skid zone much
more effective than a mere oil slick.  And for a third, its shock wave
was powerful enough to alter the car's course like a gale wind.
	ANTI-LOCK BRAKING SYSTEM INEFFECTIVE, warned Gryphon's HUD as
he hit the Teflon, bounced over the crater, and catapulted into the
sluiceway-like offramp.
	"Oh shhhhhhhhiiiiiit," Gryphon commented as the Interceptor
slammed head-on into the nine-foot reinforced ferrocrete with steel
backing plate retaining wall in the side of the offramp at around 175.
Several microseconds before impact, the car's sensor suite and
processing systems arrived at the conclusion that a damaging collision
was inevitable and activated full Damage Minimization Protocols.
	The Active Passenger Restraint systems engaged.  From the
steering column, a metal-fabric bag burst out into Gryphon's face,
inflated by the inert waste gases from a harmless chemical reaction
and augmented by magnatomic field structures very similar to those
that powered his Iron Man armors.  Similar magfields supplemented the
magbag and his six-point harness in holding him back in his seat.
Behind him, his seat back and headrest softened and expanded through
similar mag-action, and rearward magfields came on to prevent whiplash
damage when he was thrown back in the seat after impact.  The turbine
was shut down and emergency cooled, and the waste plasma and steam
this generated was ejected through the forward braking ports to reduce
crash speed as much as possible.  Heavier magfield generators blew out
their tolerances completely as they stiffened the forward body
structure and the engine compartment to prevent the engine from behind
destroyed or pushed back into the passenger compartment.  All this
happened within microseconds of impact.
	It worked, to a degree.  Gryphon lost consciousness for only a
second or two as he hit the magbag; he came to in time to see said bag
retract back into the steering column.  He could hear the tinkling of
small broken parts in the profound silence that always follows a
crash.  Collecting himself, he asked the computer for a full
diagnostic.
	The computer itself was unharmed, as were many onboard
systems.  The forward armor structure was badly damaged, but the car's
frame was unharmed.  The forward suspension, braking systems, and
steering alignment were completely shot, but the wheels were still on
and the steering system still, to a degree, working.  All forward
lights and fascia were total losses.  The engine compartment was
unviolated, and all power-systems were fully functional.  Forward
sensor heads were destroyed entirely, and the braking ducts were
crumpled shut.  The windshield was cracked.  The impact had jarred the
rearward thrusters completely off the beam--they would have to be
realigned manually.  And, as expected, the forward emergency magfield
generators had blown themselves out to preserve the engine
compartment's integrity.  All in all, the computer estimated, thirty
or so hours' worth of repair work.
	Gryphon took stock of himself.  He was rattled from the crash,
but didn't feel like there was anything broken--not even any whiplash.
	It had taken a matter of seconds.  Gryphon looked out the
cracked windshield to watch the glow of the Griffon's taillights until
it disappeared into the dark streets of Chiba.  As he did, the look of
frustration on his face melted gradually away.  He smiled a slow
smile, then restarted the turbine, put the car in gear, and pulled
slowly away, nursing the wrecked front end back to his lab to fix the
damage.  All thoughts of Bavaria and relationship problems vanished
from his mind--there was work to be done.  Gryphon had just been given
what he needed most: a mission.

			 SIXTEEN HOURS LATER

	"Where's Gryphon?" Sylia asked.
	"Dunno," Zoner replied.  "Wasn't my turn to watch him...
*snicker*"
	Sylia looked at Zoner inquisitively, trying to figure out the
joke.  Zoner waved her off with a "you wouldn't get it" gesture.
	"Maybe he's in his lab," Nene suggested.
	"I'll go check," Priss said, getting up from the meeting
table.  "Work out the boring details while I'm gone, willya?"
	She walked down the hallway from the meeting room to his lab,
knocked, then keyed the door open and walked in.  He wasn't there, but
it looked as though he had been recently; the junk was in different
positions than it had the day before when they had left.  The door to
the garage was partly open, so she opened that up and took a look.
	He was in the driver's seat of his car, slumped back and
snoring gently.  A technoscanner had fallen from his out-sprawled left
hand and was blinking glumly for his attention.  The front end of the
car was completely torn apart; crumpled body panels were leaning
against the wall and the floor was strewn with wrecked suspension
parts.
	"Oi!" Priss called, kicking his outstretched left foot with
her boot.  He started violently, almost catching his head on the laser
rangefinder.  "What the fuck happened?"
	"Wha!" he cried, turning his head and focusing his eyes.  "Oh,
hi, Priss.  Did I fall asleep?  What time is it?"
	"Almost eight o'clock."
	"Christ!  In the morning?  What the hell are you doing here
this early?"
	"Eight PM."
	"Oh.  Oh!  Shit."  He shook his head.  "What's the deal?
Meeting?"
	"Yeah.  It is Wednesday, after all."
	"Wednesday."  He sighed.  "Great.  In less than two months
I'll be...sixty.  Shit.  I don't feel like a senior citizen..."
	"Chin up, tiger, you won't be for another five years."  Priss
pulled over an overturned spackle bucket and sat down on it facing
him.  "You look depressed, and I don't think it's about this," she
observed, indicating the damage.
	"That obvious, is it?  Great.  It's starting already.  Pretty
soon I won't have a friend left in the world."
	"Are you still upset about that?  I'm telling you, we're not
going to hate you for being disappointed.  Geez, you're insecure."
	"Et tu, brute?  It's just so depressing.  I really thought
she'd like Germany...BP has a ton of programs.  I thought maybe..."
	"Maybe you could go home again?"  He looked at her, quizzical.
"You've been trying to get back to WPI more or less all your adult
life, my friend, in one way or another.  What with the Bancroft Tower
thing, you're pretty well exiled from Worcester for good, so you're
trying another tack.  There really isn't a gweep culture around
here--just you and Nene, really.  So you want to go home, and
naturally it depresses you that Linna doesn't want to go home with
you."
	"Have you considered making a career out of this?"
	"I haven't found anyone else it works on."
	"Oh.  Pity that.  So I've looked at it and looked at it, and I
just don't see any way I won't lose her..."
	"Hey.  You remember the talk we had, long time ago, before you
even asked her out?  When I told you that you could do anything you
wanted?"
	"Yeah.  Like it was yesterday."
	"Well, you can beat this thing too.  It might not seem like it
now, but you can."
	"Yeah...well...yeah.  Anyway, I've got something a little more
immediate on my mind at the moment."
	"That would be this?" Priss said, indicating all the wrecked
front-end parts.
	"Yeah.  Remember Gibson and his car?"
	"Yeah.  Too well."  Priss rubbed her knee.  It was
psychological, she knew, but to her it had never been quite right.
	"The car's back."
	"What?"
	"I saw it last night on the A-12 highway.  I chased into the
offramp at the downtown Chiba exit--it fed me a roadkiller mine and I
ended up eating the retaining wall for dessert."
	"Are you sure it was the same car?"
	"Pretty sure.  Take a look at the gun-camera footage."  He
punched up a playback of the previous evening's video data storage.
When the great black car surged past, Priss sucked in a quick, hissing
breath.
	"That thing is evil," she said, and she wasn't paying it a
compliment.  "I never thought machines could be evil until I met that
car.  Not even Buma, really.  Not until I met that car."
	"Well, it's back and it's mad.  I wanted to let you know
before I bring it up at the meeting."  Gryphon dumped the video data
to an optic and pocketed it, standing up and stretching.  "Wish I had
time for a shower, but I suppose I'm already late."
	"Did you find--oh, there you are.  Come on, you two--what are
you doing hanging around in here anyway?" Nene asked.
	"I had a couple of things to finish up," Gryphon replied.
"Let's go."

			      THAT NIGHT

	Gryphon was at his favorite corner table at Random's, sipping
Earl Grey, feeling sorry for himself, and trying in vain to think a
way around his problem.  Random's own band was playing tonight;
Gryphon remembered that they had been playing the night he had first
brought Linna here.  The thought depressed him.  He knocked back some
caffeine and tried to think some more.  He loved Random's, that why he
came here, but tonight it just wasn't helping him organize his
thoughts.  He leaned his chair back against the wall and closed his
eyes.  Behind him, the bell on the door jangled.  He ignored it and
listened to the music.
	The song ended and he could hear the band shuffling around;
time for their break.  Normally he'd get up and see about jamming with
Random--the man seemed tireless--for a while, but not tonight.  He
sighed and took another drink of his tea without opening his eyes.  He
heard a soft, almost familiar voice from the band area, and the sound
of a guitar case being put down and opened.  Apparently someone else
was going to jam with Random tonight.
	He heard a familiar intro, and then a voice he knew started to
sing.

Well I woke up this mornin'
Then  I went back to bed
Said I woke up this mornin'
Then I went right on back to bed
Got a funny kind of feelin'
Like I got broken glass in my underwear 
And a herd o' wild pigs is tryin' to chew off my head
You know what I'm sayin'?

	He sat bolt upright, his eyes flying open.  There, sitting on
the stool in the front of the room, in front of Random, was Jim
Tyrrell, Mohawk and all.  He got to his feet and sidled to the front
quietly and unobtrusively, taking his harmonica out of his coat pocket
and jumping onto the stage and into the song when the beat was right
and after Random's nod.  If it surprised Tyrrell at all to have one of
his old friends from WPI suddenly appear on stage with him blowing a
harp, he didn't show it.
	At the end of the song, the Random's crowd applauded, and
Tyrrell turned to face his interloper.
	A wide grin split his thin face as he thrust out an open hand
and said, "Gryphon!"

	"What the hell are you doing in this town, man?" Tyrrell asked
Gryphon.  They were ensconced at Gryphon's corner table; Gryphon was
having a hot cocoa while Jim had the house espresso.
	"I could ask you the same thing," Gryphon replied with a grin.
"This and that."
	"Same here.  Actually, I caught a freighter out of San
Francisco.  Stopped off in Vietnam, Korea, Okinawa, Hiroshima, and now
here.  Just figured it was time to do some wandering, you know?  You
didn't answer my question, though...what're you doing here?"
	"Didn't anyone tell you I was here?  Android knows, bunches of
people know on the 'Net."
	"Nope...guess nobody thought of it.  I haven't been around
Worcester much lately...I caught that ship, hell, three, four months
ago, and spent the year or two before that hanging around the West
Coast...Oregon, Seattle, San Fran and LA...you know, just hangin'
out."
	"I always said if I hung around Random's long enough you'd
walk in the door one night.  Goddamn, I've missed you.  All of you."
	"Oh, yeah, that reminds me.  Here, this is yours."  Jim dug
into one of the pockets of his cracked old leather jacket and came up
with a small plastic card, which he handed to Gryphon.  It was his old
WPI student ID card, from 1991.  Gryphon couldn't help it; he started
laughing, closing his fingers around the cool plastic rectangle,
feeling the frayed, delaminated corners where he had pried the lock to
E7 open with it so many times.
	"So how's life around here?" Jim asked, presently.
	"Not too bad, not too bad...exciting, to say the least."  He
sighed.  "Nah, I can't lie to an old friend.  There is much angst in
the House of Gryphon."
	"Do tell."
	Gryphon told.
	Tyrrell leaned back and put his fingertips together.  "That's
not good."
	"No," Gryphon agreed, "it's not, but what can I do?  I'm
trapped.  No place to go."
	"I think you need to go back to Worcester," Jim observed after
a few seconds.
	"Err...I don't think that would be a real good idea," said
Gryphon, and explained the Bancroft Tower thing.
	"Take the risk," replied Jim.  "You need to go home, my
friend.  You need to see Worcester again.  Walk down Highland Street
at night to get some chips at Stoh.  Sit up till all hours watching TV
with Droid and Derek and Truss."
	"There're a couple of things that bother me about this...I
mean, if there's a complete WPI community here, and they all know
me...well, where the hell is the real me?  The one these guys actually
know?"
	"You're him," Tyrrell replied.  "Dunno how, but hey, ours not
to reason why.  You're Gryphon.  Just accept it."
	Gryphon grinned.  "Thanks, Jim...I think I'll do that.
Y'know...you just gave me an idea.  When Zoner and I were back in
Worcester, running solo, I did a costume routine once...see, we ran up
against this cyberpsycho who thought he was--well, never mind, I'll
just show you.  But first I have to take care of some business."  He
pulled his minicell from his pocket and punched in a number.
	"Stingray," Sylia's voice answered.
	"Sylia?  Gryphon.  Listen, I need a favor."  Gryphon's
self-imposed mission had focused his mind to the point that it
excluded almost all else--including the tendency he would normally
have had to snarf right now and be unable to complete the
conversation.
	"Is this in relation to the damage to your car?"
	"Vaguely."
	"Of course, all the resources of the complex are at your
disposal for the repairs.  I can send Mackie to help you with the work
if you wish."
	"No, no, I can handle all that on my own.  It's not as bad as
it looks, really--but it is going to take me the near side of forever,
which is what I wanted to talk to you about.  I've got an idea in mind
to take the Griffon down--whether it's Gibson's or a copycat."
	"Do tell."  She sounded faintly amused.
	"I'd rather show," Gryphon replied.  "I haven't pulled my cut
from the Fujisaka run yet, and if it's not too much trouble, I'd like
to now.  I could use the funding for my project."
	Sylia's clear laugh came through the earpiece.  "I love your
projects, Gryphon.  They make me feel like I'm living in a 1930's pulp
magazine sometimes."  There was the sound of tapping keys.  "My
business account is open.  Take whatever you need, on one condition."
	"Which is?"
	"I want a part of this operation.  I want to go along."
	"It'll mean wearing a cape," said Gryphon with a quirked grin.
	"Very well."  She laughed again.  "You have marvelous flair,
Gryphon.  I swear, sometimes you make me feel as if my whole crusade
were a fun diversion."
	"It's a fun, diverting crusade," Gryphon replied wryly.  "Oh,
one more thing.  I need security clearance for a friend of mine.  Jim
Tyrrell.  I just ran into him at Random's.  Zoner can vouch for him."
	"Do you have any way of positively identifying him?"
	"He had my WPI student ID from 1991, Sylia," Gryphon replied.
"I think that pretty well covers him from where I'm sitting."
	"So it would seem.  All right.  Zoner and I will meet you at
the lab complex in...ten minutes.  All right?"
	"Okay.  By the way, did I ever tell you what a great employer
you are?  I mean that."
	"You're getting the best treatment you possibly can, Gryphon,"
she said, sounding amused.  "Kissing up can't make your situation any
better."
	"No, but brownie points are always a good thing to bank up.
You never know when I might do something Earth-shatteringly stupid,
and then I'll need all the good will I can get.  See you in ten.
Bye."
	"Goodbye, Gryphon."
	Gryphon folded up the phone and tucked it into his coat as he
and Jim stood up.
	"Friend of yours?" Jim asked as they made their way out of the
coffee shop.
	"Dr. Sylia Stingray.  My boss," Gryphon replied.  "Fellow
researcher into newer and better ways of blowing things up and kicking
people's butts with less risk to ourselves.  Excellent engineer and
roboticist, and a good hand with programming too."
	"Yeah, but is she nice?"
	"The way a teller machine is nice, yeah.  There's a real
person under there someplace, but Zoner's better at finding her than
most."  Now he almost laughed, but not quite.
	"Ah."  Tyrrell needed to make no other response.

	They arrived eighteen minutes later at Gryphon's lab.  Zoner
and Sylia were waiting for them, and after introductions, greetings,
and the offering of identification, they got down to business.
	"Okay," Gryphon said, sitting down at his CAD/M terminal.
"Watch carefully."  He keyed open a session and started punching keys,
mousing, and moving things around with the CADstick.  "Vehicle:
something to take the Camaro's place on the highways.  Since fusion
turbines are a bit hard to come by in this area--"
	"Owing largely to the fact that they have yet to be invented,"
Sylia interrupted.
	"--I get that, yeah, and I don't have time to contact Edison
and have him get me another--so I'll be using a more conventional
power source."  A large V-cylindered piston engine appeared on the
screen.
	"Wait a second."  Zoner counted out the cylinders.  "A V-12?"
	"Shh," Gryphon said.  "I'll explain in a minute.  Now, of
course, every car needs a frame."  A frame appeared, strong-looking
but small.  This vehicle was going to be smaller than the Camaro.
"And suspension."  Complex computer-controlled suspension
materialized.  "A power delivery system."  The wheels materialized,
ceramic spin-rotor electric motors like the ones used in the Cyclone
and Akechi Motors Rapier cyberbike, connected by power lines to the
generator turned by the V-12.  "Computers."  A bank of computer core
materials nestled behind the engine, above the transmission.  "Cockpit
avionics."  Blip.  The avionics began to define the shape of the
cockpit, as well as its location, well back toward the rear.  "A
secondary power system for use in emergencies and silent running."
Batteries and a switching system for the wheels.  "No room for a
booster turbine, so I'll have to settle for limited-duration cold-gas
jump jets."  They appeared, tucked just inboard of the wheels.  "Solid
tires, of course."  Tires materialized on the wheels.  "Offense and
defense as per usual."  Frontal weaponry in this small car--space was
becoming cramped--was a simple and reliable system, a pair of Browning
M2 .50-caliber machine-guns.  The M2, a design a century old, was
still the mainstay of the heavy machine-gun set.  The usual smoke and
oil slick generators went under the back, banked in front of what
looked like a stock four-mine Roadkiller minelayer.  "Incidentals."
Body reinforcements, a heavy front ram unit reinforced into the frame,
firewall, additional drivetrain protectors, controls, two zero/zero
seats, crash minimization systems, and so forth.  "Armor, armored
glass, and finally...style."
	With a flourish, he flooded the skin over the vehicle's
skeleton and then colored the whole thing up in UVGA.  The result was
sleek, low and deadly-looking--and very familiar.
	"Gah!" Zoner declared.  "You are sick!"
	"Whyever would you say that?" asked Sylia with a restrained
smile.  Jim stifled a snicker.  The vehicle on the screen had the same
outer bodyshell style as a 1963 Corvette Sting Ray, with its long
hood, small passenger compartment, split rear window decked sharply
down to the small taillights, sharply pointed nose, aggressive stance
and nifty cool-air ramscoops for the rear brakes running down the
doors.  The crossed-flags-and-circle Corvette logo was in its place on
the nose, but the script chromework in front of the doors was too
small to see in this view.  Zoner, of course, recognized it.
	"What do you think?" Gryphon asked, blowing the general
arrangement up and putting it on the big projector screen at the end
of the lab.  StingRay Urban Interdiction Vehicle Mark I--General
Arrangement.
	"I'm flattered," Sylia said with that same small, restrained
smile.
	"Gryphon," Zoner said, "you're sick."
	"No autographs," Gryphon replied.  "Okay.  So I get this car
built, and just patrol the highways until the thing finds me.  Which
it will, I'm fairly certain of that.  And then--"
	"Why the hell don't you just put on your armor and go hunt the
thing down as Iron Man?" Zoner interrupted.
	"That would be cheating," Gryphon replied.  "He's beaten me
behind the wheel of a car, not in Iron Man's armor.  I have to take
him out on the road.  So, anyway, that's my plan...simple and, if I do
say so myself, elegant.  And I get a new toy out of the deal."
	"Not bad," Zoner said.  "I like it.  Even if it is totally
silly."
	"Probably because," Gryphon replied.
	"Probably.  Gonna cost a fuckload and half, though."
	"Fortunately, the payoff from the Fujisaka job will more than
cover it," Sylia assured him.  "I've taken a...personal interest in
this project."
	Zoner looked mildly surprised.  "Really?  You're that
interested in watching Gryphon play with his toys?"
	"This particular toy has my name on it.  How could I not
support the project?"  She smiled.  "Besides, this Griffon thing is an
unfinished piece of business...and I hate loose ends."
	Zoner considered.  "Yeah...I can understand that point of
view."  He turned to Gryphon.  "Just don't wreck it on your first time
out."
	"Have you no faith?" Gryphon replied with a grin.  Then,
sobering, he added, "I want to finish this up before I go, anyway, so
I have no plans regarding winding up in traction..."
	"What?" asked Zoner, surprised.
	"I'm leaving MegaTokyo after this mission...but Iron Man's
staying., because MegaTokyo needs him--the Knight Sabers need him."
	"If you're leaving, how will Iron Man be able to stay?"
	"I'm going to leave the armor here.  Before I leave, I have to
find someone who can take my place in it."
	"Oh, that'll be easy enough," Zoner said sarcastically.  "Just
go out in the street and--"
	"Zoner," Sylia interrupted him quietly.  "Gryphon, why are you
leaving?"
	"I need to," Gryphon replied.  "Running into Jim clinched it
for me.  The past few months have been such a confusing time...Priss
was right, the Munich thing was just a dodge.  I have to go home."
	"Home?" Zoner burst out.  "As in Worcester?  That is not a
good idea.  Remember what Edison said?"
	"I'll take my chances," replied Gryphon.  "It's
just...something I have to do.  We can talk about it later--right now,
there's a lot of work to be done."  He picked up the secure-line phone
and dialed the fourth memory.  "Ever wonder where those superheroes
get their funky vehicles on short notice?" he asked Tyrrell with a
grin.  "You're about to find out."  The other end answered.
"Toshihiro-sama?  Gryphon.  Not bad...listen, I need a vehicle.  Real
rush job.  Yeah, I've got a few sets of hands to help out.  Okay...how
much?  No sweat."  He wedged the phone in his shoulder and tapped out
a few commands.  "CAD/M specs coming your way now on line three.
You've already got the money.  I need it just as soon as I can have
it.  I'll be down in the morning with my extra hands, okay?  Thanks a
lot, Toshi.  Now you can afford that ski condo you've been wanting,
neh?  See you in the morning.  Sayonara."  He hung up and rubbed his
hands together.
	"How much?" Sylia inquired.
	"Some things are better left for the accountants to discover,"
Gryphon replied.  "Not as much as I expected, though...Toshi gave me
his preferred customer discount."

			THE FOLLOWING EVENING

	The door to Gryphon's garage bay behind Raven's shop rolled
noisily up on its chain lift (which was badly in need of lubrication).
Behind it, the low black car lurked, freshly waxed and gleaming black
with glittering scarlet go-faster stripes down its sides and leading
into the twin ramscoops on the hood.  Inside it, Gryphon nestled more
comfortably into the Corinthian-leather seat, adjusted his harness a
bit, and turned the key.
	Under the hood, a high-pitched, hackle-raising whine rose out
of nowhere as the inertial starter wound up; then it began to bog and
grind a bit as the electric clutch kicked in and started actually
turning the heavy engine.  One cylinder caught, then another, then a
third, until the disorganized rattle of firings settled into the
heavy, even throb of a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine.
	Gryphon threw his head back and laughed an evil laugh.  This
car was going to be more fun than he had originally anticipated.  He
keyed his shades on, and the outside rezzed up in UVGA, neon
wireframes adding definition.  Little colored lights flickered on all
over the cockpit.
	He reached down and punched the buttons marked SENS ON and
SCAN.  More colored lights flashed up, the center VDT glowed into life
with a green wireframe representation of what was behind him, and, in
the nose along the front hood-line, the scan light started to sweep.
	With a feral grin, he turned on the headlights, and the
modules swung round, halogens flooding the yard outside the shop.  He
put the machine in gear and let out the clutch smoothly, and the
StingRay roared out into the night.
	"This is Roadmaster," he announced into the closed-band comm
frequency his shades mike led into.  "I'm approaching the vicinity
where I spotted the Griffon last night.  Stand by."
	He cruised the Chiba-Tokyo expressway for a half hour or so
and was just beginning to feel foolish when he saw the lights in his
rearview mirror.  Growl...some cop was pulling him over.  Feeling
really foolish and wondering just what he had done, he pulled over,
shut down, and climbed out.
	The cruiser pulled in behind him, and Gryphon noted with
interest that it was not a Tokyo Highway Patrol car, but rather one of
the AD Police's fast-response units.  He gave it a quizzical look
until it pulled to a complete halt and Leon got out.
	"Good evening, officer," he said pleasantly.  "I'm sorry, was
I driving like a Buma?"
	Leon might have snickered, if he hadn't been wearing his
Shades of Utter Cool +3.  Instead, he looked like any other humorless
policeman as he sauntered over.
	"Nice car," he remarked.  "Makes a hell of a lot of noise,
though.  Somehow, I don't think the suppression system you've got
under there is legal."
	Gryphon put a blank look on his face.  "Suppression system?"
he said in a tone of infinite surprise.  "We're supposed to have those
now?"
	Leon stared evenly at him for a moment, then cracked a smile.
The tension shattered audibly.  "What the hell do you have under that
hood, anyway?"
	"Six gerbils on heavy amphetamines," Gryphon replied.
	"No, I'm serious."
	"I doubt you've ever heard of it--it's just a big, old
engine."
	"What happened to your other car?"
	"It got a little moshed last night.  I had a close encounter
with a ghost."
	"What?"
	"Well, see--"
	He stopped short as his ears and Leon's caught the same sound
at the same time: a faint whistling sound from a long way back on the
highway.  The high-pitched whine of a turbojet.  Gryphon and Leon
turned around to look back along the highway, entranced by the growing
volume of the approaching noise.  Leon pulled his shades down his
nose.
	Then it was there, and, with a Doppler-shifting shriek and a
flying wall of air, it was past them.
	"Holy shit!" Leon cried.  "Was that--?"
	"Yes!" Gryphon shouted. "Get in--you'll never be able to keep
up in your car.  Trust me on this."
	Gryphon was belted in and starting up the engine before Leon
had even gotten his door closed; before the policeman had finished
buckling his harness, Gryphon had rammed the StingRay into gear and
peeled after the Griffon, leaving an enormous cloud of smoke and a
number of heavy black marks on the tarmac in front of the parked
police car.
	"This is some seriously impressive shit," Leon remarked,
taking in the dash.
	"It wasn't cheap, either," Gryphon replied, not looking at
Leon.  The Griffon's taillights were barely visible in the HUD on the
windshield; Gryphon locked the target in and put his foot down, back
against the seat and arms straight.  Leon had no reply as they began
to catch up to the Griffon.  It grew and grew, and Gryphon drew on his
experience with it and the films of its previous appearances he had
watched to estimate when it would perform the sudden surge of
acceleration that it would count on to outdistance him.
	"And....now," he muttered softly.  As if on cue, the Griffon
surged forward, flames spurting from the exhaust ducts arranged low
along its sides.  Gryphon reached down and tagged a large red button
that glowed by itself next to the ignition key: TURBO.
	The StingRay roared, the timbre of its throaty engine sound
deepening as the turbo-supercharger kicked in, increasing the
compression threefold.  Lightning surged briefly around its wheels as
the generator kicked more energy into them than they were prepared to
deal with; then, as they automatically recalibrated, they bit hard
into the pavement, and the gap began closing again.
	"Now he'll start getting a little worried," Gryphon murmured.
Again as if on cue, a small metallic object dropped out from the
bottom of the Griffon--a Roadkiller mine.  Gryphon punched the key
marked JUMP, and the four small compressed-gas cylinders fired the
first of their three charges.  They were not powerful enough to make
the car jump the Canyons, but they sustained it in a brief hop over
the mine, preventing its proximity sensor from going off.
	"Might want to let somebody know that's there so they can take
care of it," Gryphon remarked to Leon as they slammed into the roadway
again.  Then he cut in the machine-guns and opened fire, raking
sparking trails across the back of the Griffon.  They weren't doing
much damage now, but he figured if he kept hitting it and hitting it,
he could eventually do some damage to the rear-mounted powerplant.
Not that this was his primary goal, by any stretch of the imagination.
	The Griffon suddenly darted to the right, into an offramp.
Gryphon recognized this offramp.  He didn't like it.  The dent in the
concrete wall was still there.  He gritted his teeth and slung the
StingRay into it, alert for a repeat of last night's attack.
	It came, just as he thought it would.  The mine glittered as
it struck the pavement, and Gryphon knew he had no chance of jumping
over it with the offramp curving the way it was.  So, hanging grimly
to the steering wheel, he slammed in the antilock brakes and punched
the MINE COUNTER key.
	Immediately, several things happened.  Reinforcing rods locked
the front suspension in place to avoid damage by the mine explosion.
The front ram guard lowered slightly.  Small, very sharp
tungsten-carbide spikes sprang out of the tires to defeat the Teflon.
The Passenger Injury Minimization Systems came to full alert mode.
	BLAM!  The mine exploded, the shockwave buffeting the
StingRay.  The spiked tires slashed through the Teflon, the length of
the spikes preventing the material from coating the tires (it wouldn't
stick to the metal), and then bounced through the crater.  Gryphon
wrestled briefly with the wheel, avoided crashing into the retaining
wall, and then they were clear.
	"No problem," Gryphon said with a smirk.  He put the
transmission one gear down and stood down the spikes and stuff.  Then
he reached down and punched the stereo online, and his well-worn
(figuratively speaking, since opticals don't wear in the conventional
sense) copy of Storm Warnings started blasting.  They shrieked through
the traffic light at the end of the ramp and into the city streets of
Chiba.
	"Where'd it go?" Leon demanded as they cleared the first
corner with no sight of the Griffon.
	"I don't--oh, shit," Gryphon replied.  The Griffon swung out
of a side street behind them, and the hunters had become the hunted.
Gryphon accelerated, ducking around two or three cars and then diving
down a side street.  The Griffon was right behind them, and beyond it,
he could see the flashing red and blue lights of what appeared to be,
speaking technically, several police cars.
	"This isn't good, Gryphon," Leon observed.
	"I'd go along with that," Gryphon replied.  "Maybe we can lose
it in here."  He skidded the car with the handbrake and they shot into
the parking lot of a small shopping mall.
	"Gryyyyphoooonnnn--!" Leon said testily as they slewed around
the corner of a large amount of cars.
	"What's the problem now?" Gryphon inquired.  "Oop--!"  A cop
car swung in front of them.  Gryphon avoided it, but the Griffon
bashed right on through it.  "We'll be okay if we can just get back on
the expressway!"
	"This doesn't look like any expressway to me!"
	"Why do you have to be so negative all the time?  Why can't
you offer some...constructive criticism?"  Behind them, three police
cars and various parked automobiles interacted loudly.
	"You got us into this parking lot, pal--you get us out!"
	"You want out of this parking lot?  Okay!"

	"Will there be anything else?" the pleasant cashier asked her
customer.
	"Yes," he said, indicating the boxed Kei doll he had in his
hand for reference.  "Do you have a Yuri?"
	The cashier didn't have a chance to respond; the StingRay came
careening through the windows behind the checkout area just about
then, followed by the Griffon and a half dozen or so of the braver
cops.  Leon shouted in consternation as stuffed animals and small
plastic mechs scattered across the windshield, Gryphon artfully evaded
pedestrians, and they knocked down an anti-theft turnstile before
bursting out into the mall itself.
	"Gryphon, this is fucking insane!" Leon declared as they
narrowly missed an earring cart (the Griffon did not).
	"Check it out," Gryphon said casually, turning down the music
a little and pointing.  "Tower Records--oooop!"  They skidded on the
slick tile floor and bashed through a music shop.  "Damn!  I hate to
do that to such nice equipment..."
	"Technorave jackets and haircuts?!" Leon observed, surprised.
The absurdity of his situation was starting to short out the part of
his brain that was protesting the damage.
	The Griffon streaked through the music shop, reacquired the
StingRay, and powered out for pursuit again, bashing right through one
of the police cars which had managed to avoid entering the music shop
and sending another skidding into a General Nutrition Center.
	"Cybernetic optical enhancements," Gryphon remarked as they
passed the shop which dealt in them.
	"This place has everything," Leon agreed.
	"yeah--yipe!!" Gryphon cried as the Griffon appeared out of
nowhere, sweeping right for them.  He rammed the gearshift down a gear
and slewed the StingRay sideways, right through the display window of
a GENOM Cybernetics Division retail outlet.
	"Huh," he remarked as he put the car back into first and
pulled out, "the new Buma are in early this year..."
	The main mall entrance was right in front of them.  Gryphon
put the hammer down and leaned back in his seat, trusting in the raw
acceleration of the StingRay to carry them to safety.
	They burst free in a shower of glass, the Griffon a good four
seconds behind them.  The last cop car came through after the Griffon,
lost its tires to the glass, skidded into a parked sports car, flipped
over, and crashed into a lightpole upside down.
	Gryphon threw the StingRay down a side street, through two red
lights (scattering devastation in his wake) and up an onramp for the
expressway back to Tokyo.  As he did so, he dropped a Roadkiller and
watched the Griffon sail right on through the explosion.  Damn!
Mis-timed.
	Gryphon had the StingRay pushing its maximum speed across the
causeway toward MegaTokyo; the Merlin was approaching its redline, but
the finely made engine wasn't complaining.  Gryphon smiled a slow
smile as he looked forward, for up ahead, he saw just the thing he
needed to finish this little ballet up.  The expressway took a sharp
dogleg to the left, cutting out into the bay proper after keeping
close to the shore to avoid the Chiba dockyards.  To miss this corner
would mean running right off the edge and into the bay.  Gryphon
grinned and forced himself to wait, timing his strike.  He glanced to
his right and noted that Leon was looking a little green.
	"Hang on, Leon," Gryphon remarked, and added his final speed
trick to the mix: the small injectors in each cylinder that added a
shot of pure nitromethane racing fuel to the high-grade avgas which
the Merlin burned.  The wheels crackled and the StingRay gave its
final surge of acceleration, approaching 250 mph as it entered the
corner.  Then, as the Griffon entered the critical phase of the
corner, Gryphon hauled on the handbrake and hit three keys
simultaneously.
	Tires howling, the StingRay slewed around the dogleg sidewise,
its front wheels turned as if Gryphon wished to drive right off into
the bay.  Behind it, the remaining three Roadkiller mines splashed
into the thick stream of Teflon the slick-layers were leaving (not
that this could be easily seen through the thick, cool,
sensor-confusing smoke screen).  Letting the brake out, Gryphon
corrected and sent the StingRay down the long straight, glancing in
the rear view mirror.
	There were three explosions, right on top of each other, in
the cloud of smoke, and then, in a beautiful sight Gryphon wished he
could have preserved forever and put on post cards, the Griffon flew
out of it at an altitude of six or so feet, trailing smoke and
wreckage from its mangled front suspension, crashed through the top
lip of the crash wall, and plunged nose-first into the sea.
	Gryphon drove calmly and sedately away, laughing his fool head
off.

			  LATER THAT EVENING

	"...and then I dropped Leon off back at his car," Ben finished
telling his tale to Zoner and Priss.
	"I bet he's going to love filling out all of the paper work,"
Zoner observed.
	"Oh, that's what he's paid to do," Priss added from her place
between the two at the bar.  Bruno brought another round of drinks for
the trio.
	"Oh, c'mon, Leon's a nice guy," Ben chided.
	"Yeah, I guess you're right.  He is kind of cool," Priss
admitted, sipping her beer.
	Zoner and Ben exchanged a glance behind her back, and then
chorused, "So...  When you going to sleep with him?  Run!"
	They bolted in opposite directions as Priss sprayed the bar
mirror with her beer.