I have a message from another time...

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                               presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                      - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD -

                     Sixth Movement: Hunted Rose

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins
                           Kris Overstreet
                          with Janice Barlow

                (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


                         SUNDAY, MAY 1, 2405
                   WORCESTER PREPARATORY INSTITUTE
                   WORCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS, EARTH

        Utena Tenjou beamed into the Wedge at noonish, still feeling
fresh-scrubbed after the quick sonic shower she'd taken aboard the
One-Hit Wonder.  She waved gaily to the startled inhabitants of the
common area, two freshmen trying to study for their Introductory
Physics final, and trotted off toward the Morgan Hall stairs.  Real
time-savers, those transporters; without having to land and drive her
back to school from the local spaceport, Corwin would make it home in
time for dinner.
        She let herself into Morgan 412 and was almost ready to burst
out with a cheery "good morning!" for her roommate when she realized
Kaitlyn was still asleep - and, moreover, that she was not alone.
        Despite the many incredible things she'd seen in her life,
Utena would never have believed it if anyone had ever told her that
she would someday see Juri Arisugawa sleeping in a chair.  The sight
was so unexpected that Utena had to pause in removing her jacket and
just walk slowly around the uglier of the room's two armchairs, taking
it in.  Yep, that was Juri all right, arms folded, head sunk upon
them.  She was, Utena reflected, going to have a wicked crick in her
neck when she woke up.
        Curious.  Odder still, Juri was still wearing her Ohtori
Academy Student Council dress uniform, which she'd worn to the
previous night's Spring Formal.  Apparently, she hadn't made it home
last night, despite the fact that "home" was across the hall - Morgan
413.  Utena turned and looked at the upper of the two bunk beds.
Kaitlyn was, as usual, more or less hidden in her bedclothes, but one
outflung arm revealed that she was wearing her usual tiger-striped
pajamas.  Closer examination of the visible quarter or so of the
girl's face revealed that she was looking a bit tear-streaked.
        Utena now felt distinctly uneasy in addition to surprised and
puzzled.  As she went to her wardrobe to hang up her jacket, she
wondered how long it would be before the suspense would be broken.
        As it happened, it wasn't long at all; at the sound of the
wardrobe's door opening, Juri stirred, then looked up and saw her
standing there, jacket in hand, ready to put it on a hanger.
        "Good morning," said Utena quietly.
        "Good morning, Tenjou," Juri replied, disgustingly
self-possessed for somebody who just woke up in a chair.
        Utena looked around with affected furtiveness and asked,
"Listen... is there something going on I should make myself scarce
for?"
        Juri's mouth quirked in a small smile.  "Utena Tenjou,
offering to butt out of something?" she inquired.
        Utena felt her cheeks heat up a little.  "Yeah, well," she
said, feeling a bit awkward.  "It's not every day I come home to find
you crashed in my armchair.  And Kate looks like she's been crying.
Naturally I'm concerned."
        Juri nodded.  "You've a right to be," she allowed.  "I was
just making a little joke."
        "Juri Arisugawa, making a joke?" Utena said, mimicking the
redhead's inflection.  To her surprise, Juri smiled again, a little
broader this time.
        "I suppose," said the redhead dryly, "I earned that."
Becoming more serious, she added, "Kaitlyn and I had an... interesting
encounter on the way home from Coffee Kingdom last night."
        "Oh, so that's where you disappeared to," said Utena.
        "Mm.  We had... things to discuss.  But that's not really at
issue."
        Nodding to indicate she was still listening, Utena went back
to hanging up her jacket.  It was new, a gift from Kate's father, and
she wanted to make sure it didn't get wrinkled, as she thought it was
quite sharp-looking - part of a dress uniform for the International
Police Organization's Space Force, a new galactic defense corps the
elder Hutchins was in the process of putting together.  The uniform
was his answer to her complaint that, on the eve of the Formal, she
had nothing to wear.
        "We were coming across the parking lot," said Juri, "when we
happened upon Elizabeth Broadbank."
        "Mm-hmm," said Utena.  "And what was old Liza up to in the
parking lot?" she asked, her tone creeping toward snide.
        "It appeared," Juri replied levelly, "that she was about to be
raped by her date."
        Utena fumbled with the hanger and dropped her jacket into a
heap on the wardrobe floor.  Appalled, she whirled to face Juri, her
face pale.
        "Oh my God," she whispered.  "Kate - "
        "Let's go across the hall," said Juri, "and talk there, so we
don't disturb her."
        Utena agreed, and once they were across the hall, Juri sat
down in her desk chair while Utena perched on the edge of the
redhead's bed to listen to her.
        "Kaitlyn... I've never seen her that way before," Juri said,
and she sounded actually -shaken-, if she only showed it faintly.
"She separated them.  Violently.  She drew her sword and put it to the
young man's throat, and told him to get out of her sight - which he
did, as if the hounds of Hell were snapping at his heels," Juri added.
        "I suppose Liza was her usual gracious self."
        "Liza," said Juri flatly, "was drunk, and utterly ungrateful,
but Kate... Kate was too angry to notice.  As I said, I've never seen
her that way before.  All the way back here... the -rage- on her
face... I never would have thought her capable of it."
        "You didn't see her take down Saionji when he first got here,"
said Utena.  "And he was only trying to kill me."  She looked down at
the ugly brown carpet.  "... My God.  Poor Kate... "  She glanced up
at Juri.  "Did she tell you anything?"
        "We talked through the night.  I understand I'm only one of
three, aside from her immediate family, who know what happened to her."
        Utena nodded.  "If you count Zoner and Marty Rose as immediate
family, which in that group... "
        "Exactly," said Juri.  "At any rate, I... "  Juri looked
awkward, another rarity in Utena's experience.  "I did what I could.
I'm... not very good at comforting people... but eventually she got to
sleep, sometime around dawn."  She shook her head and sighed tiredly.
"Not a good omen... "
        "I'll say... "  Utena looked lost in thought for a moment,
then seemed to come back to the conversation from a new angle, looking
surprised.  "Since when did you believe in omens?"
        "I don't," Juri replied.  "It's only a figure of speech."
        Utena gave the redhead a curious look.  "Juri... is there
something I ought to know?"
        "I'm... not sure," said Juri thoughtfully.  Now she looked
-nervous-, as if she were determined to show -all- the moods Utena
thought rarest for her, as she went on, "I think... Kaitlyn and I...
we may have the beginnings of a... relationship."
        Utena looked across the room at her old schoolmate, a very
peculiar look on her face.  It was the look Utena Tenjou's face took
on when she was trying very hard not to laugh.  Laughing out loud
would be bad; Juri wouldn't take it in the spirit it was intended.
For someone who projected such an air of cool unflappability, the
redhead was really very easy to offend.  It wasn't easy to hold it
back.  The look of immense gravity on Juri's face as she spoke, as if
she thought -she- might be giving offense, was just too funny, all
things considered.
        After a few tense seconds, the spasm passed and Utena felt
safe in relaxing her face and letting it smile, at least.
        "Juri, that's great," she said.  "I hope it works out."
        Juri gave her a small, relieved smile.  "I was a bit worried,"
she admitted, "that you might object."
        Utena cocked an eyebrow.  "Object?  Me?  No way!  I think it's
terrific.  If you've actually got to where you think you can move
on... and, well, Kate deserves to have something go right... "  She
shrugged.  "I just think it's... great."  She shrugged, feeling a
little foolish.  "Just... be careful, is all I ask."
        A number of responses came to Juri's mind, but most of them
ran afoul of her truce with Azalynn in one way or another, so she
simply smiled.  Despite everything, as Kaitlyn's roommate and best
friend, Utena's opinion -was- important to Juri in this matter.
        Juri might have been about to comment further, but the rattle
of a key in the lock on the door forestalled her.
        R. Dorothy Wayneright, Juri's roommate, entered, closed the
door behind her, then noticed that Juri had company.
        "Oh," she said.  "Good morning, Utena."
        Utena raised an eyebrow.  "Just getting home, Dorothy?"
        Dorothy nodded and went to her wardrobe.  She was still
wearing the scarlet and black dress she'd worn to the Spring Formal
the night before; it was a bit wrinkled, but didn't look as if it had
been slept in.  You don't suppose - no, that's ridiculous, thought
Utena.  She probably just didn't sleep.  It's not like she needs to.
        "Have I missed anything?" Dorothy asked nonchalantly as she
got her bathrobe and some weekend clothes from her wardrobe and
drawers.
        Juri suppressed a laugh; Utena didn't bother, which drew a
mildly quizzical look from the robot girl.  Utena waved it off, and
Dorothy, shrugging slightly, went off to shower.  Utena had been
surprised to learn that she did that daily; it had seemed to her that,
only having to worry about environmental dirt, Dorothy could get away
with putting it off, but she never did.  She was down in the showers
every morning, just like everybody else.
        With the most urgent part of their conversation finished,
Utena went back to her room to finish changing out of her IPO Space
Force uniform while Juri got her -own- morning shower underway.  Then,
more comfortable in Martian Army-surplus red battle-dress trousers and
an Art of Noise t-shirt, she slouched in her ugly armchair and played
a three-way game of toss with the two little robots who shared Morgan
412 with her and Kaitlyn.  She knew she should have been studying -
finals started tomorrow - but somehow, after last night, she just
couldn't get into an academic groove just yet.  Maybe after lunch.
She wondered if Kate would wake up before Utena got hungry enough to
eat without her.
        That question was answered a few moments later, when Kate
turned over, sat up, and yawned, stretching and thumping her upraised
left fist gently against the ceiling.
        "Morning," said Utena.
        "M-m-morning," Kate replied, blinking her slightly unfocused
brown eyes down at her roommate.  "Wh-when'd you g-g-get in?"
        "Ten, fifteen minutes ago," Utena replied.  "Listen... Juri
was here," she said, her tone serious.  "She told me about what you
guys ran into last night.  Are you OK?"
        Kate considered the question as she climbed down from her top
bunk, found her glasses, and then started rummaging through her
drawers for fresh underwear and clothes for the day.  Once she had
them in hand, she turned to face her roommate, and, to Utena's
surprise, she was smiling.
        "I'm w-way better'n OK," Kate replied.
        Utena blinked.  "Well... that's good," she said.  "Not what I
was expecting, but good... "
        Kate grinned.  "It's am-mazing w-what a little s-sleep will
d-do for your p-perspective," she replied, and went off to shower.

        Wakaba Shinohara had grown accustomed to sleeping on the
floor.  Her body no longer complained about the rather unyielding
nature of that surface when she woke up in the morning; the only times
she ever felt any discomfort now were when the quilt she put
underneath her got bunched during the night and part of her, usually
an elbow, had wound up rubbing against the rather harsh institutional
carpet for most of the night.
        As such, she felt distinctly out of place waking up in a bed.
Disoriented, she disentangled herself from the covers, sat up, and
looked around.
        This was Institute Hall room 301, all right, be it ever so
cramped and industrial.  She just generally didn't see it from this
angle.
        "Saionji?" she inquired.
        "Rrm?"  A somewhat indistinct figure arose from a heap of
quilt on the floor at the foot of the bed and regarded her somewhat
owlishly.
        "What am I doing in your bed?" asked Wakaba calmly.
        "Until a moment ago," Kyouichi Saionji replied dryly,
"sleeping."
        Wakaba gazed levelly at him for a moment, closed her eyes,
counted to wa'maH, and tried again.
        "-Why- am I in your bed?"
        "Because you were so tired after the Formal," Saionji replied,
"I didn't have the heart to make you sleep on the floor."
        Wakaba thought that over, then shrugged acquiescently and put
her fingertips thoughtfully to her forehead.  "Man... I only remember
getting as far as the steps downstairs."
        Saionji nodded.  "That's where you fell asleep."
        "And you," said Wakaba with a wry smile, "carried me upstairs
and put me to bed."
        "My penance for not convincing you to leave when you started
yawning," he replied, returning the smile.
        Wakaba chuckled, yawned a waking yawn rather than a fading
one, and then regarded him - shirtless, tousled, with part of a quilt
over his head like a monk's hood - for a few moments with a
considering look.
        "Just how long," she inquired, "are you going to go on being a
gentleman?"
        Saionji blinked as if surprised by the question.  "The rest of
my life, I hope," he replied.
        "Oh.  How boring," said Wakaba.  "I guess I'll have to look
elsewhere, then."
        Saionji looked quizzical.
        "Oh, come -on-, Saionji," said Wakaba irritably.  "You're not
going to make me -throw- myself at you -again-, are you?"
        The green-haired Duelist shrugged off the quilt, raked his
hands back through his hair, and then gave her a serious look.  "I'm
not sure what you're getting at," he told her.
        Wakaba sighed.  "All right, we'll do it the hard way, then,"
she said.  "Look, we've both changed a lot in the last few months, you
and I.  You're not out of your mind any more, and I'm not the naive
little Pollyanna I used to be, which might be the only favor Akio
Ohtori ever did anybody," she added wryly.  "You held back from taking
advantage of me before, when I was young and stupid, and I appreciate
that more than I can say, but... "  She grinned.  "Now that I -know-
better than to go out with guys like you, I'd like to go out with you."
        Saionji regarded her with an interested, thoughtful expression
for a few moments.  If he'd had a beard, he'd have stroked it
contemplatively.
        At length he said, deadpan, "You're -that- desperate to get
off the floor?"
        Wakaba's jaw dropped; she stared at him in horrified
astonishment that had just begun to turn to anger when she noticed the
twinkle in his violet eyes.
        She couldn't help it.  She threw back her head and laughed.
        A moment later, there was a knock at the door, and the muffled
voice of Institute 3rd's Resident Advisor said plaintively, "C'mon,
Shinohara!  I can't cover for you if you let the whole -block- know
you're here."
        "Sorry," said Wakaba, covering her guilty little grin with her
fingertips.

        That afternoon was as idyllic as any Sunday afternoon on the
eve of final exams can be.  Despite the hustle and bustle of the last
few weeks, the Duelists and their friends actually felt -prepared- for
this round of exams (which, according to Devlin Carter, was a sure
sign that at least one of them was going to fail miserably).  Despite
his doomsaying, they were all relaxed, all confident, all at their
ease.  They spent the afternoon and evening scattered in little
pockets here and there, talking, getting in some last-minute studying,
and enjoying the last minutes they would probably have for the next
week that weren't taken up with examinations, preparations for
examinations, and all too little sleep.
        At 8 o'clock that evening, Kate was fooling around with a bit
of matrix encoding, testing her memory of a few concepts for the
morning's computing dynamics final, while Juri sat in one of the
armchairs and re-read a chapter in her Galactic History text and
Dorothy tinkered with a little melody on Kate's piano.  Part of Kate's
attention was subdivided away from her project, listening to Dorothy
play, and after a few minutes, it occupied more and more of her
consciousness until the project was squeezed out and she turned.
        "D-Dorothy?" she said.
        "Mm?" said Dorothy, pausing and half-turning to face her.
        "Th-there's something d-different about your p-playing
t-tonight," Kate mused.  "It's... f-freer, maybe.  Not as... "  She
paused, searching for a word that wasn't as potentially insulting as
the first one that had come to mind, when Dorothy smiled slightly and
supplied that word anyway:
        "Mechanical?"
        "W-well... "  Kate shrugged a rather Gallic shrug, which
brought a quirky smile to the corner of Juri's mouth, though the
redhead pretended not to be paying attention.
        Dorothy's smile broadened a little.  "I don't mind," she said.
"I know my playing has always been overly regimented.  I suspect it's
because I was -programmed- to play, rather than -taught-.  But I've
been working to overcome that handicap and play more... humanly.  Your
comment indicates I may be succeeding.  Thank you."
        "Y-you're w-w-welcome," Kate replied.  "A-anything in
p-part-ticular you c-credit with your suc-c-cess?"
        Dorothy was about to answer when, with a knock, Miki Kaoru let
himself in through the not-quite-closed door.  He smiled to see
everyone.  Then, to Kaitlyn's nearly infinite surprise, he approached
the piano bench and, a bit hesitantly, as though he weren't quite
convinced he ought to, he leaned down and gave Dorothy Wayneright a
quick but by no means perfunctory kiss.
        When it was finished, he went rather red and smiled
sheepishly.  Dorothy merely turned to Kaitlyn and gave her a
conspiratorial little grin.
        "You were asking me a question?" she said placidly.
        "W-withd-drawn," said Kate, still amazed.  Juri, looking over
the top of her book, arched an eyebrow (reminding Kate of Professor
Stuvek, the Institute's now-absent Vulcan teacher) and said nothing,
though the impressed look she gave Miki made him redden still further.
        Dorothy's smile remained unchanged as she turned back to the
piano and returned to work on her sonata.  Miki sat down next to her,
quietly consulting at various points.  Kaitlyn, who still looked
slightly shell-shocked, shook her head as if she'd just been shown
definite proof that the world was flat and went back to her
programming experiment.
        A few minutes later, Amanda Dessler stopped in.  "The Earthman
is a consummate weakling," she announced grumpily.  "He's gone to bed
already."
        "W-well," said Kate mildly, "it -is- F-Finals Eve."
        "Barely," Amanda said, plunking down in the other armchair.
"Not even twenty-thirty hours and he's in his rack.  Alone.  'Never
before the big game, eh, what?'" she added in an eerie impression of
Devlin's Lord Peter Wimsey accent.  "Whatever -that- is supposed to
mean... "  The Gamilon propped her elbow on one arm of the chair and
braced her chin in her hand, looking disgruntled.
        From behind the white sheet curtain separating Utena's bottom
bunk from the rest of the room came the sudden sounds of photon
torpedo fire, a tearing crash, howling alarms and the cries of several
very agitated-sounding individuals.
        "Tenjou, what in the -world- are you watching in there?" asked
Amanda.
        Utena lifted the sheet, looked out with a grin, and said,
"'may'Duj bortaS'."
        Amanda stood up.  "'Battlecruiser Vengeance'?!" she blurted.
"Where did you get that?"
        Utena grinned.  "One of Captain Gryphon's officers is related
to Professor Kraalgh," she said.  "When I visited his ship yesterday,
he was really impressed to hear that I beat Kraalgh in a Rose Duel.
He gave me their house's baldric and a datacrystal full of 'bortaS'."
        "How much?"
        "All of it," said Utena smugly.
        "-All-?  Even the movies?"
        "And the Animated Series," Utena replied.
        Amanda raised her one remaining eyebrow, then composed herself
and bowed respectfully.
        "I salute you," she said.  "Your good fortune is supreme."
Then she smiled and said, "Shove over.  Which episode is this?"
        "It's the one where these weird aliens steal Science Officer
SpoQ's primary brain," Utena replied, making room.
        "And Doctor ma'Qoy has to operate him by remote control?  I
-love- that episode!"
        Amanda's abandonment of the armchair for half of Utena's bed,
the better to watch the old Klingon TV show on the holoproj field at
the foot of the bunk, was fortunate; it freed the chair for Wakaba
Shinohara, who arrived a few moments later.
        "Hey all," she said cheerily, then plunked herself down.
"Everybody ready for finals tomorrow?"
        "You're a fine one to talk about that," said Juri, but her
tone held no heat, only dry amusement.  "You don't have to take them."
        "No, but I will anyway," Wakaba said.  "That way I'll know
what it's like when I have to take them for real next year."
        "Admirable sentiment," said Juri.
        "I try," Wakaba replied.  "Is Utena here?"
        "W-watching TV," said Kate, angling a thumb at the
sheet-shrouded lower bunk.  Wakaba raised herself from the chair, went
to the side of the bed, crouched down, and raised the sheet.
        "Oh, hi, Amanda," she said, unflapped.  "Wouldn't it be more
comfortable to set that thing up on the windowsill?" she asked them
both collectively.
        "I was watching it by myself," said Utena.  "Didn't want to
bother the others.  What's up?"
        "Oh, well... I just wanted to warn you ahead of time, so you
don't freak out or anything - Saionji and I are sort of actually
-dating- this time."
        Utena blinked.  "... OK," she said.  "That's cool.  Long as he
stays sane, anyway."
        "I'll try not to derange him too badly," Wakaba replied with a
grin.  "Anyway, I just thought you ought to know.  Y'know, so if you
see us necking or something, you don't think he's attacking me and cut
his head off."
        "I'll, uh, try to keep that in mind," said Utena wryly.
        "I suppose congratulations are in order," said Juri.
        "Thanks," said Wakaba, beaming.
        "My," Dorothy observed.  "There's a lot of this going around
today."
        "Huh?" said Wakaba.  She tired of her catcher's crouch and sat
down on the floor next to the bed, turning to face the piano bench.
"What do you mean?"
        "Yours is the third new relationship I've heard of, arising in
the aftermath of the Formal," Dorothy replied.  Then she gave Miki a
curious look and added, "If what you and I have can be considered
one... "
        Miki looked a little bashful as he replied, "I, uh, think it
can, yes."
        Wakaba gave them an astonished look.  "No WAY!" she blurted.
"Um, not that there's anything -wrong- with that, you understand," she
added, holding up a conciliatory hand.  "It's just - I never would
have thought... "
        Kate caught Juri's eye and gave her a questioning look; Juri
smiled, nodding slightly, and said, "It appears it's a good day for
ex-Student Councillors all around."
        Wakaba gave her a puzzled look, then glanced from her to Kate
and back again, and grinned.  "Well, I'll be damned," she said.
        "Hold it," said Utena, leaning across Amanda (who was taking
the whole thing in with a look of silent bemusement).  "Did I hear
that right?  Did Dorothy just say she and Miki are - "
        "Yup," said Wakaba.
        "What a day," Utena said with a sigh.  "I'm happy for
everybody.  What a -world-," she said, and returned to her place.
        "Tell me about it.  Say, what does Azalynn think of this new
development, Miki?"
        "I haven't had an opportunity to discuss it with her," he
replied primly, "but I suspect she'll be quite pleased."
        Wakaba turned to his companion.  "How'd you do it, Dorothy?"
        Dorothy looked taken aback; for a moment, she thought the
auburn-haired Duelist was asking for a technical description of the
previous evening's activities themselves, which, though interesting
and possibly instructional, wasn't really the sort of thing one
discussed in a group setting.  Then she realized what Wakaba really
meant and replied with an enigmatic smile,
        "I asked."
        "That's it?  You -asked-?"
        "That's it.  I asked."
        Wakaba shook her head.  "You just asked and he... heh!  You
really -are- Kozue's twin brother!"
        Juri blinked, then raised her emerald eyes to Wakaba's and
said with very firmly reined amusement, "That was extremely cold,
Shinohara."
        "Sorry," she said, to that and Miki's look of faint offense.
"Really, I liked Kozue.  We were on our version of the Council
together.  She was my vice-president.  She's a lot better nowadays."
Wakaba chuckled.  "Actually, she's even a little -uptight- now.  I
asked her about it once, and she told me, 'There's nobody more
obnoxious about smoking than somebody who quit,' which I guess was
supposed to be a metaphor.  Back in the Bad Old Days, though... "  She
shrugged, shaking her head again in wonder.  "Man.  what a -world-.
Saionji's -nice-, Juri's -happy- and Miki's -easy-!  What the hell is
going ON around here?"
        Miki reddened again.  "I hardly think - " he began, but Wakaba
forestalled him with a raised palm.
        "I'm kidding," she assured him.  "Poor Kozue... she's not
going to know -what- to make of you when she sees you again."  She
sprawled back on the floor, grinning up at the ceiling, and said,
"Well, good luck to all of us."
        "Am-men," said Kate.
        "Anybody know what they're doing for the summer yet?"
        "I haven't thought past surviving finals," said Utena.
        "Nor I," Amanda concurred.
        "I've scheduled my Turing Board examination for the first
weekend in June," said Dorothy.  "I hope you all will be able to
attend, or submit testimonials on my behalf if you can't arrange
passage to Turing III."
        "Really, that's great, Dorothy!" said Utena.  "When did you
finally decide to file?"
        "This morning," said Dorothy with a smiling sidelong glance at
Miki.
        "I'm sure C-Corwin can g-get anyb-body who's n-needed to
T-Turing, if we can all f-free up the t-time," said Kate.
        "I'll be there," said Utena.
        "I would not miss it," Amanda declared.
        "Nor I," said Juri with a smile.
        "I'll certainly go," said Miki.
        "Your testimony ought to be interesting," said Wakaba with a
wicked grin.  Miki, to her pleased surprise, didn't get further
embarrassed; he just raised an eyebrow at her and grinned back.  She
decided she was very much enjoying this new dimension of her old
schoolmate, who, though nice and of course very cute, had always
struck her as a tremendous stiff back in the old days.
        "We'll all g-go," said Kaitlyn.  "All w-we have to d-do," she
added with a wry grin, "is surv-v-vive Finals... "

        Janice Barlow, as the resident advisor of Morgan 4, had been
personally assigned her responsibilities by Claudia Montaigne herself,
in a brief meeting at the beginning of the year.  She'd been told that
her appointment reflected her sterling qualities as a campus citizen -
her willingness to go out of her way to help a fellow student, her
diligence in her studies, whatever.  Her ability to wake up in a good
mood before ten AM, however, had not been mentioned, and for good
reason - it simply didn't exist.
        Thus, when the sounds of repulsorlift engines outside reached
her ears at precisely eight-thirty, she was Not Pleased.  "Oh, what
the hell," she growled, rolling out of bed in a heap of covers and
managing an undignified crawl to the window.  She pushed the blanket
out of her face long enough to look down... and sighed deeply at the
sight of uniformed Psi Corps personnel spilling out of the blocky
shape of a Federation-style shuttlecraft, which was parked across the
access road that led from Institute Road behind Morgan Hall to the
ring road around the Quad.  They were sealing off the campus, and that
meant, though Janice's room was on the wrong side of the building to
see it, they were probably all over the Quad, too.
        "I assume this means exams are cancelled," she mumbled,
sleepily extricating herself from the rest of the sheets and grabbing
the nearest available clothing.  Shrugging into a well-worn dark gray
shirt and black fatigue pants, she ran a brush through her hair and
gathered it back into an auburn ponytail.  "Guess I'd better try to
get over to Miss Montaigne's office... Mitra, where the heck have you
gotten to?  C'mon, you."
        Muffled sounds of struggle emerged from the heap of blankets
on the floor.  Janice sighed and carefully pulled them aside to expose
the source of the noise.  A small creature that looked rather like a
chitinous football with a photoreceptor and a small antigrav unit flew
out of the chaos and took up a station behind her right shoulder.
        Janice chuckled and gave the creature a gentle rap on the
chitin.  "You KNOW you're not a dog, right?  Then why do you insist on
trying to cuddle up at night?  It only gets you tangled in the
sheets," she chided gently.
        Janice gave herself one last once-over in the mirror and
shoved her feet in her Ragolian colonist's standard-issue boots.
Before she could grab her keys and ID and head out, though, her
desktop terminal beeped-- not its usual plaintive *blat*, but a
somewhat more urgent chirp.  She turned to it with a frown.
        "I'm kind of busy right now, you know," she told it
matter-of-factly, smacking a few keys and bringing up the screen.
        She wasn't terribly surprised to find an email from Durandal,
the somewhat erratic campus AI - although this time, at least, the
message was clearly legible:

Return-Path: <durandal@durandal.wpi.k12>
Date: Mon 2, May 2405 08:31:48 -0500 (ET)
X-Sender: durandal@localhost.localdomain
To: "Janice Barlow" <jbarlow@wpi.k12>
Subject: action

DURANDAL_1707

*** INCOMING MESSAGE FROM DURANDAL***

Your schedule for the week has been cleared.  Apparently, there's
something about the presence of armed troops on campus that makes
people.... unwilling to make plans involving the furtherance of higher
education.  Imagine that.

I trust that you will find some method of bringing yourself, your
armament, and your disregard for the toy soldiers outside to Fuller
Labs within the next half-hour.

Yours in disdain for authority,
Durandal

        Janice looked at the screen and sighed.  "Pushy bastard, isn't
he," she commented, possibly to Mitra, possibly to the air.
        She took another look out the window, using her cybereye to
enhance the view.  The Psi Cops down there, setting up their
barricade, appeared to be a mixture of normal personnel, which were
frightening enough even if you weren't psionic yourself, and
black-armored Enforcers, the iron fist of the Corps.  She snapped the
eye back to normal magnification - handy thing to have, but she could
have done without the accident involved in getting it - and went to
the closet.  A moment's concerted tugging and pulling hauled down a
battered gray case that was thumbprint-locked and impressively labeled
with a spray-painted stencil outline:

                      PROPERTY OF HUNTER'S GUILD
                           COLONY OF RAGOL
                           LIC. NO.  32343

        She pressed her thumb to each of the three latches in turn and
punched a quick code into a small keypad under the case's massive
handle; the locks sprang open with a brief hiss of releasing pressure.
She hadn't had to open this case, aside from her quarterly check on
its integrity, since she'd left her homeworld.  By contrast, the small
gun safe that held the pistol she used in WPI tactical-pistol matches
was protected by -one- fingerprint lock and no keypad.  The Colony of
Ragol took its weapons, and their security, very seriously... and for
good reason.
        The original colonists of Ragol, expatriate Corellians to a
man, had learned one lesson during the settlement.  The native animals
were unusually rambunctious.  This wouldn't have been a problem,
really, except that this rowdy disposition was backed by immense size,
unusual cunning, and prodigious natural weaponry.  Faced with this
opposition from nature, the new Ragolians had responded in the
time-honored tradition of their mother world: they'd gotten to work
building bigger and better tools, both social and mechanical, to
handle the problem.  Within three years of initial landfall, the
colonists had pulled together both a flourishing munitions industry,
spearheaded by Ragol Arms, and an officially-sanctioned Hunter's Guild
to handle the wildlife problem and take on other missions as needed.
        Janice had inherited this particular gun, a Ragol Arms
Varista, from her father, who had been one of the first proponents of
the need for effective, organized action to establish a solid footing
against the native flora and fauna.  The Varista was a chunky pistol,
with a large barrel surmounted by a peculiar cylindrical chamber.  The
chamber was located behind a laser sight of unusual proportions; it
looked like, given the chance, the sight could be just as mean as the
actual weapon.  The rest of the gun followed a smaller, sleeker
version of the blocky barrel styling.  She checked the empty chamber
carefully: the contacts were clean.  She laid it aside carefully and
moved on to the armor.
        Ragolians were practical people by nature.  Mecha just weren't
feasible in the high mountains, deep caves, and dense forests of their
new world.  They'd chosen to focus their engineering skills on powered
armor, exoskeletons that were both powerful and portable.  The
refinement of that esthetic had produced the frame-- a series of
simple body armors that bore some resemblance to the CVR-5 armor of
the Wedge Defense Force. Frames tended to be a bit bulkier, but
afforded considerable protection against claws, teeth, and some forms
of blaster fire.
        Janice's particular frame was no different; it was a complex
affair in her favored black and gray, bearing the understated green
emblem of the settlement she'd lived in back home.  She slapped the
panels into place and secured everything, then picked up the small
shield projector in the bottom of the empty case and secured it in a
small slot on her left wrist.
        Last of all, she picked up the Varista and slapped open a
turnout panel on the leg of her frame with her free hand.  The small
compartment thus revealed held an assortment of power packs.  She
loaded one into the gun with practiced ease; it clicked home and
emitted a brief sputter of light before settling into a steady
blue-green glow.  Janice holstered the gun at her hip in one
movement.
        "Gotta love Photon technology," she mumbled.  "Time to keep
that appointment."
        And to think, she remarked to herself as she trotted down the
hall to the back stairs out of Morgan Hall, I wanted to leave this
stuff at home when I came to Earth.

        Utena Tenjou wondered idly what was going on.  There was a
weird tension in the air on campus this morning; she could feel it,
and she could tell from the look on Kaitlyn's face that her roommate
felt it too.  All four of them in the little group that left the Wedge
at a quarter to nine, bound for Olin Hall and the first of the term's
final exams, felt it.  Devlin Carter was uncharacteristically quiet,
looking thoughtfully around, and Amanda Dessler's nerves seemed on
edge as well.  She kept fidgeting with the grip of her gladius-like
Gamilon dress sword, her good eye darting around as if she expected
something to happen.
        Halfway across the Quad, something did.  Four people, three
men and a woman, dressed in trim black uniforms with gleaming gold
badges came marching across from Harrington Auditorium, their gait
purposeful, all intent on the four students.  Utena's funny feeling
escalated to a full-on alert.  What in the world were -four- Psi Cops
doing on campus?
         "Devlin Edison Carter," the man in the lead said in an
imperious voice as the four Psi Cops came within hailing range.  "You
are under arrest."
        "-What-?!" said Utena, causing the lead Psi Cop to turn his
disinterested brown eyes to her.
        "This is none of your concern, Miss Tenjou.  Continue on to
your examination.  All of you."
        Devlin took a half-step back, every muscle in his body tense.
        "Don't be stupid, blip," said the female Psi Cop.  "You're
caught.  It's all over."
        Kaitlyn and Utena glanced at each other in shock.  Devlin?
-Devlin Carter-, a rogue telepath?
        Kate's eyes held a question.  Utena's eyes held the answer.
Neither of them had to speak.
        Devlin backed up another step, but the four black-clad
officers moved in, surrounding him, apparently ignoring his
companions.  One of the men, a short, dark-haired, rather stocky
fellow, took Devlin by the arm.
        "Take your hand off him," Amanda snarled.  The Psi Cop turned
to her.
        "Stay out of this," he said snidely.  "We told you it's none
of your concern."
        "Devlin is our friend," said Utena obstinately.  "That makes
it our concern."
        "Well, Miss Tenjou," said the woman Cop coolly, "your friend
is a dangerous criminal, and this is a lawful arrest under the
Psionics Regulation and Protection Act.  If you continue interfering,
you will be subject to arrest as well."  She looked Utena up and down
once, smiled superciliously, and added, "The penalties for aiding and
abetting a fugitive from the Psi Corps are quite severe."
        "You don't scare me," Utena replied flatly.  "You and your Psi
Act.  Show me your evidence."
        "You couldn't comprehend our evidence," sneered the
dark-haired one.
        "And we are hardly required to justify ourselves to children,"
the woman put in, still with that same cool, superior tone.  "Back
off, little girl, before you get in too deep."
        Utena stared hard at the Psi Cop for a few seconds; then her
shoulders slumped and she half-turned away.  Amanda's face went blank
with shock, then darkened in disgust.  Devlin sagged a little bit, his
face stricken.
        Only Kaitlyn understood.
        The female Cop dismissed her defeated adversary from her
thoughts and turned to deal with the arrest.
        Even a telepath can be caught unawares if she's making a
-point- of not paying attention.  Utena's elbow rammed into the back
of the Psi Cop's skull with an extremely satisfying sound, and the
black-clad woman pitched to the grass of the Quad without so much as a
whimper.
        "RUN!" the pink-haired Duelist bellowed at Devlin, even as
Kaitlyn swept in to protect her roommate's flank.  The Duelist
leader's still-sheathed zatoichi hissed around in a great arc,
knocking free the startled shorter Cop's grip on Devlin's arm.
        "What the HELL!  Control, this is the Arrest Team, we have a
Code Two emergency in - "
        Amanda knocked him down, seized Devlin's arm, and dragged him
into a run across the Quad.  They vanished into the alley between the
Alumni Gym and Harrington Auditorium.
        What ensued on the Quad would subsequently be taught in Psi
Corps Enforcement Division training courses as an example of the
dangers of underestimating one's opposition.  The sudden, totally
unexpected, violent resistance from Carter's two friends took the
arrest team so completely by surprise that they were unable to marshal
their telepathic powers for attack, and one of the truisms of TP
combat is that it's very difficult to concentrate on an attack if your
opponent keeps hitting you.  It took the arrival of an Enforcer squad
with stun-set phasers to subdue the two Duelist officers.
        Psi Cop Carmela Sunderland wiped a trickle of blood from the
corner of her mouth, felt gingerly at the lump on the back of her
head, and restrained herself from aiming a kick at the pink-haired
Duelist's ribs now that the girl was helpless on the ground.  She was,
after all, a professional.
        "Take them to the temporary holding area," she ordered the
Enforcers.
        "I wonder why they didn't use those swords on us?" wondered
Jerome Rabin, the short, stocky one, nursing the arm Kate had nearly
broken.
        "Who knows?" replied Sunderland.  "Probably afraid of the
consequences.  Not that they're going to have much fun as it is," she
added darkly.  "Come on, let's find that blip.  He can't get too far;
the campus is sealed off."

        Devlin and Amanda had just reached that conclusion, having
nearly run into the arms of a second Enforcer squad setting up a
roadblock on West Street at the opposite end of campus.  Now they
crouched with their backs to the rear wall of Olin Hall, sheltered by
the small grove of trees that grew back there and the fence of the
Higgins House gardens.
        "I always knew - this day - would come," panted Devlin.  He
reached into his pocket and drew out the compact PPG he'd used to
defend Amanda's life during their recent, eventful trip to Gamilon.
        "What are you planning to do with that?" Amanda inquired.  "It
won't even scratch an Enforcer's armor."
        "I didn't buy it to use on the Corps," Devlin replied.
        Amanda gave him an odd look - which melted into horror as she
realized what he meant.
        "Well," he said with a weak grin, "at the time I didn't have
you to live for, what?"
        "Earthman... how badly do you want to get out of this?" asked
Amanda seriously.
        "About as badly as you can imagine," Devlin replied.  "If they
take me, my life is over.  Oh, I'll go on breathing, but I'll never
see this place, or my family, or any of you, ever again.  'The Corps
is Mother, the Corps is Father.'  It'll be for my own good, of
course," he added, disdain twisting his features.
        Amanda drew her k'tayyl blade and examined its iridescent
blade thoughtfully.
        "I may be able to give you a way out," she said, "but it will
hurt, and it may be... complicated... to reverse later."
        "Not as complicated as being taken by the Corps, I'd wager.
Do it.  Whatever it is, just -do- it."
        The sounds of searching officers were drawing closer.  They'd
be found very soon.  Amanda's good eye searched Devlin's face; aside
from that, she was as motionless as a statue.
        "-Please-!" Devlin whispered.
        Slowly, Amanda nodded.
        Then, in one lightning-fast movement, she slashed his face,
laying open his left cheek from just under his eye to the corner of
his jaw.  He reeled back in shock as the pain bloomed scarlet,
dropping his PPG and clapping his hand to his wounded face.  At that
precise moment, a pair of Enforcers rounded Olin Hall and shouted for
them to stop.
        "I am a Princess of the Gamilon Empire," Amanda informed them
imperiously, "and this man is my battle prize."
        "Yeah," replied one of the Enforcers with a sneer, "and I'm
Madame Curie," and his phaser screamed them both down.
        As her k'tayyl fell with a thud to the grassy ground and she
fell after it, Amanda had only time to think, I'm sorry, my love... I
tried.

        Up in Morgan 412, Tiny Robo put down his gin rummy hand and
stood up, his permanently-scowling face gazing off into some unknown
distance, as if he were listening to a silent call.  Opposite him on
the top of Kaitlyn's bookshelf, Lesser Mazinger laid down his cards as
well and got to his feet, closely attending his slightly larger
counterpart's behavior.

        Miki Kaoru was halfway to Institute Road when the shout of his
Galaxy housemate Mia Ausa pulled him to a stop.  Mia, who didn't have
a final today, was standing in the doorway in her Minbari sleeping
robe, her long black hair disarrayed, waving what looked like a
printout.  Miki paused, turned around, and trotted back.
        "What is it?" he asked, confused and a little concerned by
Mia's apparent sense of urgency.
        "Look at this," said Mia breathlessly, and she pressed the
printout into Miki's hand.

Return-Path: <durandal@durandal.wpi.k12>
Date: Mon, 2 May 2405 09:11:29 -0500 (ET)
X-Sender: durandal@localhost.localdomain
To: "Institute Duelists' Society" <duelists@wpi.k12>
Cc: moose@wpi.k12,gkron@wpi.k12,hmckenzie@wpi.k12
Subject: heads up

DURANDAL_1707

*** INCOMING MESSAGE FROM DURANDAL***

You should probably know that your president and vice-president have
been arrested by the Psi Corps for interfering in the arrest of a
rogue telepath - one Devlin Carter of your acquaintance.  Princess
Dessler has also been arrested; I can only assume the officers
involved don't know who she is, or more to the point who her father
is.  They're now placing the entire campus under a security lockdown
and communications blackout.  This is standard operating procedure for
a blip apprehension that turns into a fight, to prevent any other
blips who may be in the area from escaping.

I recommend you regroup someplace off campus (may I humbly suggest
Galaxy House?), then get as far away as possible while there are still
gaps in the Corps security net.  They're already bringing your
non-Duelist friends to interrogate them about your activities.  The
rest of you probably aren't blips, but you are on the Earthgov watch
list as possible subversives and saboteurs, and under the
circumstances, the Enforcers won't need much of an excuse to round you
all up and make you disappear.

I'll do what I can for your friends, but I have my -own- escape to
consider, so don't expect miracles.

Sic semper tyrannis,
Durandal

        Miki stared at the printout, then looked up and met Mia's
troubled eyes.
        "Well, -shit-," he said with feeling.

        Harcourt M. "Mac" McKenzie walked steadily into what had,
hours before, been the office of the Dean of Sciences.  The new
occupants had quite thoughtfully laid blackout across the windows and
cleared away all the Dean's personal effects to prevent distraction.
The new spotlights glaring onto the chair in front of the desk were,
to Mac's ironic thought, a very nice touch of quality workmanship.
        "We like to think so," a voice from the back of the office
chuckled, and Mac frowned.  Already the interrogation had begun, it
seemed.  "But do not be concerned.  As opportune as your presence is,
we do not have time for the proverbial 'third degree' today.  This
will be only a level one probe.  Today."
        The stop before the last word said volumes about how the man
stepping to the desk would -like- to conduct the proceedings, most
likely by disassembling Mac's mind just for the enjoyment of taking it
apart.
        His escort closed the door behind Mac, shutting off all
sources of light except the spotlights and a small desk lamp in the
corner of the room.   Mac's escort seated himself there, activated the
portable terminal present, and waited as the man in shadow seated
himself in the Dean's chair.
        "Let us begin," the latter said quietly.  "Name."
        "McKenzie," Mac replied.  "Harcourt.  Middle initial M."
        As the soft plinking of fingertips on touchpads echoed from
the corner, the Psi Corps man continued, "Date of birth?"
        "December 29, 2388, Galactic Standard Calendar," Mac said. 
        "Planet or nation of origin?"
        "Confederate Freespacer Alliance."
        "Mark that as a 'no allegiance claimed,' Smythe," the Psi Cop
said.
        "The Confederate Freespacer Alliance was first recognized as a
sovereign and independent nation-state in 2002 by the Empire of
Salusia," Mac said in a level, almost monotone voice.  "It was
admitted to the United Galactica in 2003, and was a founding member of
the United Federation of Planets in 2338.  As of the Federation 2400
Census it held a population of three million, one hundred seventy-four
thousand citizens, making it larger than three other worlds with
Federation Council seats and of greater population than seven hundred
ninety-two planets and habitats claimed by the Federation."
        The silence drew the darkness closer, giving it a density,
even a life of its own.  When the Psi Corps man spoke, his voice did
not remove the shadows' weight: "I said mark that as 'no allegiance
claimed,' Smythe."
        Fingertips danced across the terminal again. 
        "To continue," the Psi Corps man said with a wry turn to his
voice, "what is your psi rating?"
        "Unknown."  Mac had no intention of lying or even misleading a
telepath, and for all its craftsmanship the red-card in his wallet was
a forgery.
        The Psi Corps man paused a moment before saying, "Mark that as
'unregistered null,' Smythe.  Why are you not registered?"
        "Two reasons," said Mac.  "First, my government does not
recognize the Psi Corps as having authority over Freespacer citizens;
for that matter, it does not recognize the Psi Act as constitutional
under Federation law.  Second, I quite frankly disliked the idea of
allowing a telepath with a cop mentality to traipse through my brain
doing who-knows-what."
        "Smythe, leave out the first part," the Psi Corps man said.
        "Might I ask," Mac inquired, unable to restrain a smirk, "what
point there is to this interrogation if you record only those answers
that suit your needs?"
        The Psi Corps man leaned over the desk slightly, his face
coming into the reflected light from the spots, and smiled a very
humorless smile.  He was a rather unremarkable-looking man, really,
with short, slightly graying blond hair and not much of a chin; but he
had lifeless eyes, a shark's eyes, and they matched his dry, colorless
voice perfectly.
         "Your so-called government does not recognize our authority.
It should be only fair, to your liberal concept of the term, that we
reciprocate an identical level of... respect... for their authority.
        "Every single human in this school, students, faculty,
employees, is going to be interviewed and scanned, Mr. McKenzie," the
Psi Cop continued.  "You were chosen as our first interviewee for two
reasons; one, you cohabit a dormitory with several known accomplices
of the reported blip; and two, you are the first Freespacer pirate we
have managed to lay hands on within our jurisdiction.
        "And now we have you, and now we have the authority to
actually do something -meaningful- with you if we desire.  If you had
so much as twitched your nose a few minutes ago, when I scanned you
for your deepest secret, you would never see the light of day again - 
at least, not as Harcourt Mudd McKenzie."  Mac ridigly restrained
himself from wincing at his hated middle name, but the Cop caught his
reaction anyway and smiled coldly.
        "As it is," he went on with a soft, petulant sigh, "I will
probably have to let you go, in the end.  Your only value to me is
information, and there are dozens of students on this campus better
acquainted with Devlin Carter than... "  The Psi Cop trailed off as he
sensed Mac's confusion, and a moment later, shock.  "Well," the Psi
Cop said at last, "that's one bit of information.  Nobody told you he
was a telepath, did they?"
        "I don't get out of my room much, except for classes and
cooking," Mac said quietly.
        "Well," the Psi Cop smiled, "when this interview is over, you
can tell those friends of yours who probably do know not to bother
trying to keep any secrets... and tell your friends in the Freespacer
pirate fleet that the questioning you recieved here was only a
warning.  Any Freespacers we run across in the future will be quite
thoroughly... debriefed."
        Mac tried to settle the cold knot in his stomach again, tried
to focus past his emotional upheavals like he had before, but the gaze
of those two cold eyes, glinting from the shadows with his reflection,
held his attention and shattered his self-control.  "Now, Mr. McKenzie, 
you will tell me when and how you first met Devlin Carter.  Be sure to
leave nothing out... and -do- try to keep a strong visualization in
your mind.  It makes the scan less... stressful... for both of us."
        Mac paused for a moment, gathering himself, sternly
instructing himself not to babble, not to prevaricate, to stick
straight to the unadulterated truth.
        Stick to the absolute truth.
        And, he carefully did -not- think, to only the truths -asked-
for.
        With that kept out of his mind (which he focused in perversity
on images of a pink bandersnatch), Mac began to talk.

        "Chang, this is Saunders, check in."
        The lean Asian man in the gray Psi Corps utility uniform - not
a Psi Cop, but a lower-grade telepath assigned to the Enforcement
Division - tabbed the golden-psi commbadge on his uniform and replied,
"Chang here."
        "What's going on over there?"
        "Nothing," Chang replied.
        He was in one of the faculty offices on the second floor of
Alden Memorial, which had been commandeered as a detention area.  The
rear half of the office, usually inhabited by Professor Curran of the
Music Department, had been subdivided with a portable forcefield
generator into a detention cell.  Outside that field, Branford Chang
sat in Professor Curran's chair with his back to the door.
        "Nothing?" replied Saunders's voice from his commbadge.  "As
in the prisoner's quiet?"
        "I've never seen anything like it," Chang replied.  "She's
just... -sitting- there."
        And indeed, ever since Kaitlyn Hutchins had been relieved of
her personal effects and sealed behind the detention field, she had
been doing exactly that.  Normally, prisoners either tried to make
deals, begged for their freedom, railed ineffectual threats, or at
least paced and glared.  Prisoner #4, the one Saunders was guarding in
the office across the hall, was definitely one of the pace-and-glare
variety, and if looks could kill, the pink-haired girl's gaze would
have cut Jerry Saunders in half.
        Prisoner #3, on the other hand, had gathered her dignity after
being shoved into the makeshift cell, turned to face the field and her
captor, and then, very calmly and deliberately, sank into seiza in the
exact center of the cell.  She'd placed her hands on her knees, closed
her eyes... and there she remained, three hours later, in precisely
the same position.
        Chang was familiar with the posture; he had some martial arts
training himself, as part of his Enforcement Division combat training.
Still, the perfect, utter calm of this prisoner, especially for her
age, was just plain unnerving.  Chang was a grown man with training in
mental discipline, and he could only sit that way for an hour or so
before he had to get up and stretch or do -something-.
        Even more unnerving, though, was what was going on in Prisoner
#3's mind.  Your normal prisoner daydreamed of escape, or of what he'd
like to do to the guard, or tried desperately to think of ways out.
According to Saunders, Prisoner #4's thoughts centered primarily
around doing painful-looking things to Carmela Sunderland, a sentiment
behind which both Saunders and Chang could get.  This prisoner's
thoughts, on the other hand...
        ... well... she didn't -have- any.  Her mind was a cool and
silent place, as still and placid as her body.  Nothing moved except
the quiet murmur of the unconscious, too deep for Chang's P5 talent
to probe without physical contact and considerable effort.  Even
Director Tremayne, who'd stopped in briefly and scanned her, had come
away with nothing.  A deep scan hadn't even made her twitch or
whimper.
        Roger had been impressed, and had said so in a conversational
sort of tone before promising to come back later and give the prisoner
the attention such a worthy opponent deserved.  Chang, for his part,
was a little bit scared.  He'd never seen such mental discipline in a
normal.  It was rare even among teeps, and in a teenage girl it was
downright creepy.  If Director Tremayne did come back to give her a
real working-over, she wouldn't last, but still... 
        Chang decided he'd be just as glad to get relieved of this
duty -before- the Director came back.  He had to admit it, he admired
the prisoner's composure.  He'd rather not have to stick around and
see it shattered by a Psi Cop's full strength.

        "Welcome back to consciousness, Mr. Carter," said a cold voice
softly.  "Oh, it's no use pretending you're still asleep.  I knew it
the moment you surfaced.  I trust your face isn't paining you too
badly."
        Devlin's eyes opened slowly, and he took stock of his
situation.  He was in a chair in what looked like one of the Alden
Memorial offices, behind a temporary detention field.  On the other
side of the field stood a man in a Psi Cop's uniform, with another
seated at the professor's desk taking notes on a datapad.
        "Ah," said the standing Cop with a slight smile.  "You
recognize me."
        "Roger Tremayne," said Devlin, his voice calm.  "Director of
Enforcement Operations, Sector Three."
        "Of course," said Roger.  "You would know my name, wouldn't
you?  After all, you were brazenly operating right here in my own
region, not as a transient but as a resident student.  Of course you
would make it your business to learn the name of the man whose
authority you were flouting.  It makes it all more satisfying to know
whom you're beating on a personal level, doesn't it?"
        Devlin looked back at him and said nothing.
        "According to the tests we made when you were unconscious,
your P-rating is 12," said Roger conversationally.  "The same as mine,
although I have a great deal more experience in its use.  Still,
that's quite remarkable.  You may be the highest-rated original blip
in history."
        Devlin understood his meaning without having to ask for
clarification.  An original blip was an unregistered telepath, one who
had eluded the Corps' screenings in the first place - as opposed to a
renegade blip, who had joined the Corps but at some point thrown off
its indoctrination, slipped its bonds, and vanished into the
underground.
        "P12," Roger mused thoughtfully.  "That's much too high for
you to have learned to function in society all on your own.  No.  You
must have been trained, and trained by an expert."
        Roger deactivated the detention field, pulled a chair into the
makeshift cell with him, and sat down right in front of Devlin, boring
into him with those cold gray eyes.
        "At your level, an expert means one of us.  A Psi Cop, gone
bad, turned against the Corps that gave him shelter and protection."
        Devlin narrowed his eyes.  "Spare me the public relations
bumf," he said; then he looked thoughtful, as if something had just
occurred to him.
        Roger smiled.  "Yes," he said.  "You're wondering why you're
not on sleepers.  Well.  If you were, if we'd drowned your talent in
drugs... that would make my job considerably harder.
        "My job, you see, is to find out who trained you."
        "Good luck," Devlin replied.  "I don't remember."
        "Well, then," said Roger pleasantly, "let's see if I can
remember for you."
        Then all trace of humor vanished from his face, and Devlin
Carter screamed.

        Galaxy House's inhabitants and the rest of the Duelists sat
crowded into the living room, the silence of the tomb weighing upon
them.  The afternoon sun failed to illuminate the grey, dour interior
which, only days before, had been a bright and cheerful home even in
the worst rains, snowstorms, and gloomy Worcester mists.  Nobody
wanted to speak; there really wasn't much that could be said.
        The click of the front door latch snapped the silence and
jolted the assembled students out of their reverie.  Through the door
staggered Mac, wrung out and trembling, stumbling and swaying his way
over to a couch.
        Moose and G'Kron caught an arm each as Mac tripped over his
own feet, and they gently lowered him into an empty armchair.  Miki
stepped into the kitchen momentarily, offered Mac a glass of water,
and was waved away weakly.
        "Behind my bed, in the cabinet," Mac whispered, "and bring all
the glasses."
        Miki blinked, walked into 22S/2, and returned about a minute
later carefully toting an unopened bottle of 2393 Jim Beam bourbon and
half a dozen shot glasses.  "I'm pretty sure we're all underage," he
mused.
        "Allergic, myself," Sky said with a t'skrangish shrug.
        "I'd have to put away most of that myself to even move a
blood-alcohol meter," Moose noted.  "Either way I think I'll pass for
the moment."
        When nobody offered to join Mac, he held up two fingers.
Miki, making a rough guess at what was meant, filled one shot glass
about half full.
        "No," Mac grumbled, "two shots.  Full."  Miki blinked, then
did as instructed.  He pulled out his stopwatch and started it as Mac
downed the first jigger at once.  At first, the Freespacer took a deep
breath, apparently unaffected; then, his eyes bulged open, his second
breath ended in a single weak cough, and for several seconds he looked
unable to take a third breath.  As soon as he managed that, however,
he gestured for the second shot and, with similar results, downed that
too.
        Miki stopped the watch and made notes as Mac recovered from
the second shot; gradually, the muscle twitches and shaking subsided,
the sweats faded, and Mac said in a clearer voice, "Dad gave that to
me for medicinal purposes, he said.  If that's the medicine, God save
me from the disease."
        "If it's so awful," asked Moose, "why'd you drink it?"
        Mac took several seconds to compose his thoughts - a difficult
task with two shots of aged bourbon whiskey percolating through one's
bloodstream.  "... I told no lies," he said at last.  "I did not
attempt to hide anything.  I did not use clever technical wording to
hide the truth."  He looked longingly at the bottle again for a
moment, then added, "But I did not tell them -everything-, because
they did not know what questions to ask yet.
        "They know that I know something more, but they haven't had
time to get to the general human population of the school, much less
the aliens.  They did say in my hearing that they plan to impound
Dorothy as soon as the legal boys nullify her Turing application.
They already have her in for questioning, same as me."
        If Mac noticed Miki Kaoru's fist tightening around his
stopwatch at that, he didn't make note of it as he continued, "G'Kron,
Sky, you two may not even be questioned."  He shuddered, gripped the
chair a bit, and added, "I'll have that water now, please, Miki."
        A glass of water later, he continued, "They only put me
through a first-level probe.  Pro forma; they wanted me because I'm
the first Freespacer they've been able to cast their net over.  I can
expect a more serious probe in the next two to three days, and so can
Moose and Miki; you're already on their lists as associates of the
'fugitive blip', and Miki's a Duelist, so they want him anyway."
        Mac pushed himself slowly to his feet, his stance now steady,
his motions fluid as he said, "I don't know about you, but I intend to
get out of here."  With that he stepped into his bedroom, and when he
failed to come back out again, the others began to talk.
        "How dare they abuse my roommate like that," G'Kron muttered,
his heart not quite up to his usual bluster.
        Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan sat off to the side, arms folded, eyes
shuttered, silent.  Miki glanced at her, concerned - she was normally
so upbeat that it was shocking to see her usually indomitable spirit
so subdued.  She caught his glance and met his eyes briefly, then went
back to what she was doing, which looked a good bit like brooding.
        Sky's tailtip stood still against the back of the couch as he
said, "Well, friends, I do not have the faith even good Harcourt has
in the benevolent negligence of our captors.  At the very least, the
Duelists will never be let free again."  Nodding to G'Kron, he added,
"And even I have heard rumors of certain uncouth experiments
supposedly conducted upon orphaned Narn children by the Psi Corps.  I
do not know their truth, and I would as soon not have the opportunity
of learning it firsthand."
        "We could get out of the campus and into town through the
steam tunnels," Moose muttered.  "They'll miss us fairly soon,
though.  No hope whatsoever of running very far."
        "We can't leave without making sure the others are safe,"
T'skaia insisted.
        "Especially Devlin," Moose pointed out, and the group nodded
agreement on this.
        The door to 22S/2 opened again, and Mac stepped out.  He had
changed his clothes, exchanging his WPI uniform for a uniform with
some vague resemblance to the one Utena usually wore when her WPI one
wasn't required.  Instead of being short, trim and flattering, however,
it was broad and long, the double-breasted wraparound tunic extending
to the knees, below which matching grey slacks ran in perfect press
down to brilliantly shined black brogans.  The cuffs were trimmed with
a broad band of dark blue, nearly the width of Mac's hands.  Mac was
struggling with the belt, which had a short cutlass scabbarded on his
left side and a large BlasTech modified blaster holstered on the
right.
        "What in the names of all the Great Houses is that?" Sky
gasped, looking Mac's new clothing over.  "This is a fine time to
decide you wish to be a Duelist."
        "That's a Confederate Freespacer dress uniform," said Mia
quietly.
        Mac reached to the lapel stretching across his collarbone,
straightened the X-shaped Corellian anchor which marked his
officer-trainee status, and nodded.  "Durandal, bless his knotted
cybernet, is currently routing a low-priority email to my parents with
a special code.  In about an hour or so, I expect that email to bounce
from my parents to Home Fleet Command, then to SupFleet Chief of
Intelligence, and possibly as high as Fleet Admiral Curtiss herself."
That tidbit gave him a slight smirk as he went on, "At which time my
reserve commission as a shipowner's son will be activated, orders will
be cut, and transportation provided.
        "All that remains to be decide is where the rendezvous will
be," Mac said with a weak grin, "and how we get there."
        "And how we're going to get the others the hell out of there,"
said Wakaba Shinohara, her arms folded.  "I'm not leaving without
Utena."
        "Going back into that gauntlet is -crazy-," said Moose.
"They'd bag you for sure."
        "Maybe, maybe not.  I know a few tricks."  Briskly, she
surveyed the group, then said, "Mac, contact your people and find out
when and where they can pick up the bulk of the group.  I'm going to
think about the rescue."
        A number of blinks and incredulous looks met Wakaba's sudden,
decisive statement.  She looked back at them, one by one, and said,
"What?"
        "Taking charge, Shinohara?" asked Juri Arisugawa with a
bemused little smile.
        "Somebody has to," Wakaba replied; then she smiled, making a
joke out of it, and added, "Anyway, I -am- the President of the Ohtori
Academy Student Council in Exile.  Somebody want to get me some tea?"
        Juri shook her head with that same Vulcan smile, then went
into the kitchen to make her president some tea.

        R. Dorothy Wayneright gazed with robotic incomprehension at
the man behind Miss LeClercq's old desk.
        "I do not understand," she said.
        The gray-clad Psi Corps enforcement officer sighed.  "It's
very simple," he said.  "I want you to tell me everything you know
about your master's peer group.  Any special abilities any of them
might have.  Under the Second Law, you have to answer my questions."
        "I am sorry, Officer Trumbull," said Dorothy, "but my first
responsibility is to my master Kaitlyn.  She has instructed me not to
discuss such matters."
        Trumbull, who was a bit too portly, jowly, and bald to cut an
impressive figure in his gray Enforcement Division uniform, tried to
smile and only managed to look gassy.  "R. Dorothy," he said, laying
conscious emphasis on the 'R', "suppose your silence endangered me and
my men here?  Why, then, under the First Law you would be bound to
tell me what I want to know."
        "I see no danger," Dorothy replied.
        Trumbull sighed again and wondered how such a dog of a
positronic brain ever found its way into such an exquisitely
constructed shell.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a
humanoid robot as realistic as this one, and yet it walked and talked
like a freshly wiped Cybot Galactica C-series.  Tragic waste of an
engineering marvel.
        "It's not the kind of danger that's visible," he said
patiently.  These things could always be cracked, it was just a matter
of how you went about it.
        On her side of the table, behind the glassy stare of her dark
eyes, R. Dorothy Wayneright's mind raced.  She could feel the danger
closing in around her.  This man was wasting her time, preventing her
from exercising her right to contact Corwin.  That had to mean Kaitlyn
was already in custody.  She calculated a 98.8% probability that a Psi
Corps legal team was in the process of illegitimately nullifying her
Turing application, after which, if she remained uncooperative, they
could simply dismantle her.  Sticking to the 'dumb droid' routine was
the only way she could see to buy time and still conceal her true
capabilities against later need.
        Just as she thought that, the door behind her opened.  She
didn't look; an unsophisticated robot wouldn't be curious.  Besides,
she knew exactly who it was.  It was the tall black one, Bougiere, who
Trumbull had sent to "look into R. Dorothy's legal status."
        "It's taken care of," said Bougiere darkly.  Dorothy's ears
picked up the faint high harmonic of a positron scrambler; Bougiere
must have one, energized, in his hand.  She pulled an image of him
from earlier in her interrogation, when he'd been taking notes, from
her memory archive.  He was right-handed.  His footsteps approached.
She calculated his rate of approach as Trumbull grimaced and thought
he was smiling again, leaning forward.
        "Now, R. Dorothy," he said.  "I want you to consider this very
carefully.  There are dangerous forces at work here, forces which
could hurt or even kill my people if my people aren't aware of them
ahead of time and prepared to deal with them.  Now, surely you will
agree that, since you possess the power to forewarn them, you can't
allow them to go into danger through your continued inaction?"
        Dorothy regarded him, unmoving, for 2.249 further seconds, at
which point Bougiere and his immobilizing weapon were 3.8 +/- .07 feet
southwest of her position.
        "You're right," she replied, and Trumbull looked faintly
surprised and delighted.
        "The time for inaction," Dorothy continued, "is past."
        She shunted power to the linear motors that drove her limbs
and shot from her seat faster than any human could have moved, much
faster than her clunky, ponderous movements upon responding to their
summons had made the Corps officers think she could move.  She heard
Bougiere's radius and ulna splinter as she brought her elbow down
cleanly and precisely in the center of his forearm.  The positron
scrambler thumped to the floor.  She shifted her stance slightly and
applied her full weight to the device for two seconds, crushing it
into inoperability.  Then, as Trumbull scrambled to his feet behind
Miss LeClercq's desk and drew his PPG, she turned to face him.
        "No!" Trumbull squeaked, his face gray.  He raised the weapon;
Dorothy heard it charge in fine detail, knew exactly how much power
was massing behind the emitter to be flung at her with the next twitch
of the officer's thick forefinger.
        Paying it no mind, she jumped; the blast passed underneath
her, and then she was landing on the counselor's desk.  It crumpled
beneath her weight, but she was already airborne again, arcing
gracefully over Trumbull's bald head before crashing through the
window and plunging 20 feet to the pavement below.
        By the time Trumbull got turned around to look out the window,
there was nothing out there but a small crater in the asphalt.

        Janice Barlow wasn't sure what she'd expected her errand for
Durandal would entail, but crawling through a steam tunnel with a
redheaded gargoyle and a bionic corgi hadn't been it.
        She couldn't remember where she'd seen the term "gargoyle"
applied to somebody who walked around with a wearable computer
interfaced to the 'Net all the time, but it had never struck her as
appropriate until she'd met Ed Tivrusky.  Maybe it was the way the
girl kept crouching on the corners of things, like a freakish
sculpture overlooking the parapet of a building.  Not that there were
any corners to crouch on here, but in the Wedge it was a fairly common
thing.
        "What the hell are we doing down here?" she wondered.
        "Best way into Fuller Labs," said Edward.  "Edward and Ein can
dismantle Durandal and rescue his core elements there.  But first
we'll need Janice to shut down the security grid."  Edward pointed at
the hatch above them.  "Up there, turn left, big red switch.  Flip
flip and move on to the power substation."
        Janice looked up at the hatch, sighed, drew her Varista, and
got busy.  This was definitely -not- how she thought she'd be spending
Finals Week.
        On the other hand, she mused as she levered herself up out of
the floor of the Fuller Labs subbasement, it might just beat that
Galactic Civic Administration final.

        The plan was set, and the scale of it took Wakaba Shinohara
briefly aback.  The Freespacers, it seemed, were pulling out of the
area en masse; they had three freighters inbound, and within the hour
they would be waiting at the old, mainly disused County Airport, a
mile or so from campus.  There they would wait to pull the Duelists
and their friends off the planet.  All Mac had to do was get them
there.
        "OK," said Wakaba after hearing him outline the evacuation
plan.  "Good enough.  We're going to have to travel light, people, so
only bring what you absolutely can't live without."
        Saionji smiled faintly at the sight of her taking charge.  It
was quite a change, as dramatic as the one coming to this world had
wrought in himself, but as with his own case, he thought he liked it.
        "Saionji, you're with me," said Wakaba briskly.  "We're going
to sneak into Riley Hall, cut across to Alden through the basement,
spring the others, and then use the steam tunnels to get off-campus.
We'll meet up with you guys at County Airport and we'll all get out
together."
        "I want to go," said Miki.
        "No way," Wakaba replied, shaking her head.  "I know you want
to help, but Juri would kill me if you got hurt on my raid," she said,
giving the redhead a grin.  "Anyway, the group's already as big as I
think it can be and still have a chance at success.  Once we find the
others' gear, they can help us fight our way out themselves.  You go
with the escape group.  Besides," she grinned, "there need to be a few
people in that group who can defend themselves."
        "Well, now," Moose said in a dangerous tone of voice, smiling
as he said it.
        "What am I, cheesy spoo?" Mac added.  Sighing, he looked
around.  "Anybody else good at fighting?"
        Moose cracked his knuckles meaningfully.  Azalynn said
nothing, but her narrowed eyes glittered unpleasantly.  G'Kron, not
wishing to be left out, held up... a baseball bat.
        Mac shook his head, counted to ten silently, and said,
"G'Kron, -please-... "
        "I can't help it if I was raised by a family of pacifists!"
        "I kind of doubt your .412 batting average will impress any
Earthforce troops," Mac sighed.  "I guess it's better than nothing,
though."
        "Which reminds me."  Wakaba turned to Juri and took a small
silver duffel bag from her.  Miki recognized it as the one Utena had
brought back from her visit to Kate's father's starship on Saturday
afternoon; it bore the logo, name and registry number of the
International Police Organization starship Challenger on its side.
        Wakaba rummaged in the bag, took out two small black items,
and then handed the bag back to Juri.  "The communicator's no good for
long-range - the Corps have this whole area jammed - or I'd have
called Kate's dad and seen what -he- thought of this whole mess.
Still, we can use it for local comm; the Experts frequencies are
scrambled and I doubt the Corps can break the encryption."
        "Do we have another of their units?" Miki wondered.
        Wakaba touched the red-star badge she'd pinned to her uniform
jacket.  "This was on her dress uniform.  It's a smaller version of
the same thing.  I figure she won't mind if I borrow it."
        Miki nodded, took the hand communicator and its companion item
from her, and then studied the other item with a raised eyebrow.
        "They gave her a phaser?" he remarked, surprised.
        "You know how to use it?  There's an instruction book in the
bag if you need it."
        Miki examined the controls, then switched them online, set the
phaser to stun, reactivated the controls' safety lock, and tucked the
weapon into his pocket.  "I can handle it," he said.
        "Good.  I'll be counting on you, Juri, Sky and Mia to keep
this bunch safe - for the honor of the Duelists' Society," she added
with a grin.  "OK, kids, move out.  I'll see you all at County Airport
in an hour.  Let's go, Saionji."

        Elizabeth Broadbank cursed the Psi Corps.  What a mess they
were making of things!  Exams postponed, the campus in an uproar... if
she had known they'd be so... so -indiscreet- about everything, she
would never have shared her information with them.  And now they were
summoning her to Alden, the site of her most humiliating defeat.  What
the hell did they want now?  She'd already told them everything, and
it seemed they'd capitalized on it quite well.
        All this she told Roger Tremayne in no uncertain terms when he
came to greet her in the entrance hall, but he merely smiled his cold
smile.
        "And we appreciate all you've done for us, Miss Broadbank," he
said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squiring her into the great
hall.  "It shows a level of civic-mindedness not usually found in the
young today.  Especially when one considers that you're not even an
Earth Alliance citizen."
        "I like to do my part," said Liza stiffly.
        "I know you do.  I know you do," said Roger, his cold, smooth
voice giving her a chill like a marble floor on a winter day.  "And
with that in mind, I wonder if you might consider joining our team on
a more... permanent basis."
        Liza moved out from under his arm and stared at him as if he
were crazy.
        "What are you, stupid?" she asked.  "I'm not a telepath."
        "No," said Roger, "that's true."
        "Then I don't see that we have anything to discuss," she said,
and turned - 
        - right into the electric-blue snap of a stunrod.
        "You're something much more valuable," Roger told her
insensate form; then he turned his slate eyes to the man who had
stunned her and told him, "Take her someplace out of the way and
persuade her.  It only needs to be credible to her family; odds are
they'll be pleased to be rid of her."
        "Right away, Director," replied the other Psi Cop.  He
retracted and pocketed his stunrod, picked up the unconscious blonde,
and carried her off toward the basement stairs.

        Utena heard it first, a slight tapping, rustling noise.  It
seemed to be coming from inside the far wall.  Puzzled, she got as
close to the detention field as she could and looked toward the
noise.  There was nothing special about that wall; it was an interior
wall, directly opposite the exterior wall.  Roused by her activity,
not by the noise, the Psi Corps officer on guard duty sat up and
looked curious.
        The ventilator grille on the wall exploded outward with a
crash, as though somebody inside the duct had just given it a vicious
kick.  There was no way that could be, though; it was only a six-inch
duct, too small for any person to climb through.  The guard made a
startled noise and drew his PPG.
        "Who's there?" he called.
        Two glowing pinpoints of yellow light appeared in the shadowed
mouth of the duct.  A soft sound like a tiny footfall; another; and
then the lean, blue-and-silver-armored form of Lesser Mazinger jumped
down from the duct to take up a combative stance on the floor, perhaps
six feet from the guard.
        "What the hell?" the guard muttered.  Utena blinked in
surprise; the telepath's eyes slid toward her, suspiciously.  "You
know this thing?" he inquired.
        "It's a toy," she replied, too astonished to bother acting
resentful toward him.  "My roommate's."
        The backup guard stepped in from the hallway.  "Hey, Saunders,
what's the prob - WHAT the... ?"
        Lesser Mazinger advanced on Saunders, looking surprisingly
menacing given that he was all of eight inches tall.
        "What the hell is that?" asked the hallway guard.  "Some kind
of sensor drone?"
        "I dunno for sure, Carl.  Prisoner #4 says it's a toy," said
Saunders.  He leveled his PPG, sneering.  "-I- say it's scrap."
        "No!" Utena cried, almost throwing herself against the
detention field before she remembered to stop herself.
        Saunders fired.
        Lesser Mazinger braced himself, forearms crossed in front of
his face, back hunched.  The PPG burst splashed off the curved surface
of a focused-graviton deflector shield, rendering the shield briefly
visible in the glare of runoff energy.
        "What the HELL?!" Saunders repeated.  He thumbed the PPG's
setting higher.
        A lash of yellow energy burst from Lesser Mazinger's glowing
optics with a subdued shriek of phased energy, striking the guard
square in the chest.  Saunders pitched backward, discharge lightning
crackling over his body, and crashed heavily to the floor, about as
conscious as a stone.
        Utena blinked.
        "Jesus Christ!" blurted the hallway guard.  His hand scrambled
for his own PPG; in his astonishment, he forgot to sound the alarm.
Utena's knuckles itched.  The man was two feet away and not paying her
any attention.  If that field wasn't there... 
        Lesser Mazinger wheeled, raised his arm, and his tiny fist
rocketed out like a bullet.  The thruster-driven projectile crossed
the room in an eyeblink, smacking solidly against the field controls.
The detention field sputtered and died.
        Carl felt Utena Tenjou's spurt of glee and started to turn.
Half a second later he felt her fist smash into the side of his face.
Half a second after -that- he felt the carpet under the other side of
his face... and then nothing.
        "ow," Utena muttered, shaking her hand.  Stupid.  Never hit
bone-against-bone.  She massaged her knuckles briefly, decided they
would survive, then set about consolidating her small victory.  When
Carl and Saunders came to, they would find themselves disarmed,
relieved of their communicators, and tied up with their own
bondi-strip prisoner restraints.
        "Nice work," she said to Lesser Mazinger.  "Where's your
partner?"
        Stupid question, of course; Lesser Mazinger couldn't talk.
        Utena thumbed the activator on her watch, now that she'd
reclaimed it from Saunders; it popped open, and the holographic
viewing screen rezzed up - 
        - Just in time to show her an extreme close-up of a very
surprised-looking guard's face, an instant before Tiny Robo (who,
according to the little status readouts in the display field, was
currently flying at an altitude of six feet and an airspeed of
approximately seventy miles per hour) collided with it.  She then
watched from the little robot's point of view as he deactivated the
field holding Kaitlyn.
        "Now we're in business," she said with a grin, and headed for
the door with Lesser Mazinger at her heels.

        "Hey!  What are you doing in here?"
        Janice turned to face the gray-uniformed Psi Corps officer who
had hailed her.  "Oh, hi.  Sorry, weren't you informed?  Maintenance
shutdown of building power today."
        "In the middle of finals?" the officer replied, giving her a
skeptical look.
        "Yeah, like there're finals happening with -you- guys swarming
all over campus," Janice replied sardonically.  "You want to let me
get on with my job?"
        "You look a little young for a maintenance technician."
        "So sue me."
        The man's hand strayed toward his PPG - only to discover that
it wasn't there.
        "What the - ?!"
        "Aww.  Mitra, did you eat the nice man's blaster?  Good Mag."
Janice drew her Varista and pointed it casually at the officer.
"Maybe you could eat his commbadge while you're at it?  Then I'll lock
him in this nice closet here."

        Group 'B' reached the rusty, dilapidated fence surrounding
County Airport without incident.  Beyond it, three large, rather
ratty-looking starfreighters crouched on the cracked old tarmac, tiny
figures moving in and around them.
        Mac reached into the pouch on his uniform belt and unfolded
two pieces of paper.  The first one, the others noticed, was a Class 5
diplomatic weapons waiver on grounds of religion.
        "What religion?" Mia asked.
        "First United Freespacer Church," Mac said quietly.  "We have a
moral aversion to getting killed."
        The second document was a printout grabbed hastily from Galaxy
House in the final mad grab for precious personal effects.  The
Freespacer letterhead managed to look official and important even in
its current half-crumpled state.
        "What this says, in plain Standard," Mac said to the others,
"is that Midshipsman Reserve Harcourt MacKenzie - me - is hereby
ordered to recruit such supernumeraries - that's the rest of you - as
required to assist in the transfer of delicate cargo from Supply Fleet
ship CFA Argosy - " Mac pointed to one of the freighters, then
traversed his finger to the other two.  " - to Supply Fleet ships CFA
Cordwainer's Forge and CFA Morrigan.  We are going to spend an hour or
so toting barges and lifting bales, and when we get the call from
Wakaba, we all pile into the ships, load Kate's team in as swiftly as
possible, and shake the dust of this myopic mother world off our shoes
for the last time."
        "And you get to 'supervise', eh, Mac?" inquired Moose with a
gently saronic grin.
        "I only wish," Mac sighed.  "A midshipsman only has such
authority as his commander delegates.  As such, once we make contact
with the captains of those rescue ships you see yonder, the difference
between my uniformed person and the rest of our heterogeneous group
will become so small as to be undetectable by a quantum microscope."
He sighed and grumbled, "Not only will I have to take an incomplete
for D term, I'll have to buy a new dress uniform when this is over,
too."
        "Why didn't you have a duty uniform, then?" G'Kron asked.
        "I don't -own- one," Mac replied, shrugging.  "I brought this
with me for weddings and funerals.  This is my -good suit.-"

        Freeing Devlin and Amanda was surprisingly easy; the Corps was
between rounds of their interrogation, and so they were only under
guard, not in the company of Psi Cops.  It was the same setup as the
detention Kate and Utena had been in - two adjacent offices, a guard
in each one, and one out in the hall between them.  Not all that
difficult to neutralize, all things considered.
        Devlin Carter looked like three different kinds of hell, but
he was still game; he staggered when released from the chair he'd been
strapped to, but got to his feet under his own power and managed a
grin through the bruises on his face.
        "Knew you'd come up with something," he said, putting a hand
on Amanda's shoulder for a bit of extra stability.  "Knew you'd come
through for old Devlin, even if he -is- a menace to society."
        "Can we discuss this later, Devlin?" Utena inquired tensely as
Kate led the way into the hallway.  Utena was running the layout of
Alden Memorial through her head.  She thought she knew where they
were, but this was a part of the building she didn't often visit.
Kate seemed to know where she was going, but then, between the music
department and the Duelists' Society, the building was practically her
private sanctum.
        There was a security lock on the door to Professor Vick's
office that hadn't been there the day before.  Tiny Robo wrecked it
easily, and inside they discovered their personal effects that had
been confiscated by the Corps.  Utena felt considerably more
comfortable with the Thorn at her side, though it hadn't done her much
good when she was arrested.  As they made their way toward the
basement, she considered their troubling situation.
        They were escapees, fugitives from custody, and they were
aiding in the escape of the blip they'd been arrested for sheltering.
They'd assaulted the guards, some of them with energy weapons.  There
was every likelihood that the Corps would escalate to deadly force
against them now.  Faced with that, could she -use- the blade at her
side?  She hadn't drawn when the Corps had surrounded them on the
Quad; it hadn't even occurred to her, which was a little troubling now
that she thought about it.  Then again, they hadn't been out for blood
then.
        "You're going to have to learn to defend your life,"
Gryphon-sensei had said.  "Instantly, instinctively, and by any means
necessary."
        A guard came around the corner, saw them, recoiled in
surprise.  The half-second she wasted doing that cost her dearly.  As
one of the guard's hands dropped to her holstered PPG and the other
rose to her commbadge, Kaitlyn moved forward like a shadow through
smoke.  With two swift, sharp blows, the Duelist leader broke the
guard's arm and then her jaw.
        Well, thought Utena as the guard collapsed, I guess Kate's
made up -her- mind.
        Then she thought it over for a moment more and decided it
wasn't necessarily so.  Those were painful injuries, but not
permanently crippling - not even particularly lasting with today's
medical technology.  But then, Utena had noticed that about Kate
before, in her duel with Saionji.  She only drew her blade if the
other side had already committed to lethal force.  It was an admirable
sentiment; Utena wondered if it would cost her roommate sooner or
later.
        Under the circumstances, probably sooner if at all.
        "W-what the hell w-w-was that g-guard d-doing here?" wondered
Kate softly.  "Th-there's n-nothing in this s-section but
st-storer-rooms."  Slowly, carefully, she advanced to the next door.
Here in the basement they were all grey metal, industrial.  The
nearest one was ajar.  Kate held up a hand for the rest to hold up,
then glanced at Utena.  Utena got the idea, nodded, and keyed her
watch.
        "Tiny Robo," she whispered.  "Check it out."
        "(grr,)" said the little robot, and he moved forward.  Through
his eyes, Utena could look and listen through the gap in the partly
open door.
        "... away with this," said a blurry voice.  It seemed oddly
familiar, but Utena couldn't place it, not with the slight distortion
that the watch's microspeaker produced.
        Another, deeper voice gave a tinny chuckle.  "Get away with
what, my dear?  You're being very gracious and civic-minded, remaining
in the crisis zone to assist us with the investigation."
        Shapes were difficult to make out in the gloomy basement room,
through the tiny viewscreen.  It took Utena a few moments to figure
out what she was looking at.
        "And," the voice went on, "by the time we're through, you'll
have decided that your future path lies with the Corps, even though
the Act doesn't require Zeta Cygnans to join... yet."
        "I'd never... " said the unsteady-sounding voice again.
        "Your talent is far too valuable for us to let slip away just
because of a petty point of law," the smoother voice replied.  Then,
with a hint of a smile, it repeated, "By the time we're through,
you'll join... of your own - free - will."  Then that thin chuckle
again.
        The image came together as much in Utena's mind as in her
eyes.  She raised those eyes from the screen to Kate.
        "It's Liza.  One person with her.  I think he's a Psi Cop,"
she murmured, the question obvious.
        Kate looked back at her for one long moment, her face
unreadable.
        Then she nodded, turned, and -disappeared-.
        I don't think I'll ever get used to that, thought Utena.
        A moment later, as Tiny Robo faded back out of the way, the
slightly open door flung itself violently open.
        The Psi Cop - a rather squat-built, dour-faced man none of
them remembered seeing before - looked up in startled puzzlement, a
spray hypo in his right hand.
        A moment later, he didn't -have- a right hand.
        When she struck him the second time, Kaitlyn had reversed her
blade.  He crumpled, but he got to keep the top of his head.
        Liza Broadbank blinked as her old nemesis seemed to appear out
of nowhere with fire in her eyes and a bloody sword in her hands.
        "Oh no," she said, her voice thick with fatigue and
discomfort.  "Have you come to put me out of my misery, Kaitlyn?" she
inquired, and Utena, having reached the door, had to give her points
for effort.  She'd really -tried- to have something like her old
mocking tone as she said it.
        Kate didn't reply; she merely used the Psi Cop's belt to set a
tourniquet on the stump of his right arm, then cut Liza's bonds away
and gestured for her to follow.  In the hallway, Liza noticed Amanda
and shrank back, the fear evident on her face; but Amanda ignored her,
acting as though she wasn't even there, and concentrated on helping
Devlin walk.
        In silence, with Liza keeping a fearful distance from Amanda,
they navigated deeper into the basement, into the furnace room - 
        - and Kaitlyn's resheathed blade crossed with another, making
a sharp -click- that nearly startled them all out of their skins.
        Through the X of their crossed swords, Kaitlyn and Wakaba
Shinohara regarded each other with mirror expressions of shocked
recognition.
        "W-what the hell are y-YOU d-doing d-down here?!" Kate
whispered urgently.
        "We -were- coming to rescue you," Wakaba replied in a dry
murmur, "but it looks like you've already done that."
        Kate was about to ask, "We?" when she noticed the other figure
behind Wakaba in the shadowy room.  Wakaba and Saionji, a regular
Duelist task force.
        "Great," said Utena.  "Not that we don't appreciate the
sentiment, guys, but how the hell are -seven- of us going to sneak out
of here?"
        "Well, if we can't sneak, there are at least enough of us to
make a decent effort at -busting- out."  Wakaba looked at her watch,
then made an annoyed sound.  She reached up and tabbed the red-star
badge, elicting a little electric twirble from it.
        "Wakaba to Group B," she said.
        "Go ahead," Miki Kaoru's voice replied.
        "Hey," said Utena, "that's mine."
        Wakaba gave her a not-now-dammit look and said, "Miki, it took
us longer to get inside than I expected.  We won't be able to get back
to you in time."
        "What will you do?" Miki said, a note of alarm in his voice.
        "My ship," said Amanda.  "Regional Spaceport.  Seven of us
will be a bit of a squeeze, but for a short hop, we can manage."
        "That's two miles away," Saionji noted.
        "We'll t-take my c-car," said Kate.
        "Did you get that, Miki?" asked Wakaba.
        "Received and understood.  Do you have Dorothy?"
        "No.  She already got out.  I figured she'd be there with you
by now."
        "We haven't seen her."  A pause.  "I'm going to try and find
her.  The others will raise ship from here - I'll round up Dorothy and
meet you at Amanda's ship."
        "OK, but don't take too long about it."
        "I won't.  Miki out."

        While Miki had his conversation with Wakaba, the rest of the
escape group took a brief rest from moving boxes around.  T'skaia
looked away from the quiet conversation to focus on the trucks moving
along the highway at the far end of the airfield.  Had Dorothy been
with him, she might have seen what he did; the logo of the Psi Corps
Enforcement Division, prominent on the sides of transport after
transport.
        All headed toward the Institute's neighborhood.
        "Rrrrrgh!"  G'Kron stopped his pacing and slapped the hull of
the Cordwainer's Forge in frustration.  "It's been nearly an hour.
What can be keeping them?"
        "I imagine that's what Miki is discussing with them right
now," said Sky, but before he could elaborate, the captain of the
Cordwainer's Forge, a large Tellarite named Lorg, ran down the cargo
gangplank.
        "Grab your gear and get aboard," he huffed, winded from the
short run.  "Earthforce just ordered a no-fly zone over this
continent.  They're waking up the Earth defense grid.  It's time to
-leave-, kids."
        "SIR!"  Mac stepped forward and stood to attention.  "We still
haven't heard from our friends!  We have to wait!"
        "Listen, middie," Lorg grunted, "we -could- just possibly fly
back to that school of yours, load up your friends, and blast our way
out without any serious problems.  But we'd never get beyond
atmosphere.  These ships were built for covert ops, not blockade
running!  Now get your s'tavv hrusshan moving before I put a boot up
it!!"
        "All right, then," Mac sighed.  "Moose, get aboard."
        Moose looked from Lorg to Mac and back again for a few long,
significant seconds, the massive muscles at the corner of his jaw
bunching and unbunching.
        Miki Kaoru, glancing up from his just-completed conversation
with Wakaba, saw the Hoffmanite beginning to take a step toward Mac,
realized what it must be about, and said, "Take it easy, Moose.  I
just talked to Wakaba.  They're finding their own way out - they're
going to use Amanda's ship."
        Moose regarded his roommate.  "You wouldn't kid a guy just to
get him to back down, would you?" he asked quietly.
        Miki tried to look conciliatory and offended at the same time.
        Moose smiled.  "No, of course not," he said to himself,
shaking his head.  He looked at Mac, then said, "Better take a head
count.  MacEchearn, present."
        Then he took a long look at the horizon, turned, and walked
slowly into the ship.
        Mac watched him go, sagged a bit, and said under his breath,
"Fine.  Mia!"
        "Present!"
        "Don't say present, just get in the ship!" Lorg snarled.
        As Mia ran up the gangplank, Mac continued naming names,
nodding as one figure after the other ran up the plank. "G'Kron!
T'Skaia!  Juri!  Miki! - Miki, what are you doing?"
        Miki had opened the IPO communicator again and started
fiddling with the settings.  He glanced up as Mac called his name.
        "Go on without me," he said.  "I'm going after Dorothy.  I'll
get out with the others."
        "Are you sure?" Mac asked him, alarmed.
        Azalynn, who had held herself aloof and silent throughout the
gloomy afternoon, slipped up beside Mac and whispered something to
him.  Mac's eyebrows rose and his cheeks went slightly pink.
        "I can't leave her behind," Miki replied; he hadn't noticed
the byplay, because he was still intent on the communicator.  "Come
on, Dorothy, answer... "
        A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his focus; he
looked up to meet Azalynn's warm gold eyes.
        "Good luck, Miki," she murmured, and kissed him.  "S'thaai
dvhala, makhanai."
        Miki smiled and patted her hand on his shoulder.  "I'll see
you at the rendezvous," he said.  "Now you'd better go."
        "I won't argue with that," Mac cried over the growing whine of
the Forge's engines.  "Good luck, Kaoru!"
        Miki nodded, gave him a thumbs-up, and then ran to get clear
of the pad and the airport.  There was a hole in the dilapidated fence
not far away that would suit his purpose fine; once down in the
drainage ditch alongside the field, he held his ears against the
scream of the Freespacers' liftoff, then returned to his work with
Utena's communicator.

        Dorothy crouched low beside a crumbling brick wall and
assessed her situation.  There was a team of armored, heavily armed
Enforcers below; above, nothing but the upper floors of this abandoned
office building, too dilapidated to support her weight.  She was
perhaps halfway to the old County Airport, but the message she'd
received from Durandal about the Duelists' escape plans had been
specific as to timing.  It was too late to catch that flight option
now... and they had her cornered.
        The only thing to do was to see if she could elude them until
they got far enough into the building to leave her an escape route,
or, failing that, overpower them - which didn't seem likely.  And
where would she go from there?  The logical route was to the Regional
Spaceport, two miles distant at the edge of the city, where Amanda
Dessler kept her scoutship.  Perhaps she could steal a car, or if the
facility proved to be outside the Psi Corps' jamming radius, call
Corwin for assistance.
        A grubby gray cat mewed plaintively at her.
        "I'm sorry," she told it softly.  "I don't have anything for
you to eat.  I'm afraid I've brought you only trouble."
        Suddenly, she heard something - not an audible sound, but a
transmission, coming in on, of all things, an Experts of Justice
distress-hail frequency.  She almost ignored it as noise, until she
realized that it was a pattern she recognized.  Five musical tones.
The first five notes of a very familiar song.
        She opened a channel, encrypted it using the five-note
sequence as the basis for a key, and acknowledged.
        "Dorothy," came the relieved voice of Miki Kaoru.  "Where are
you?"
        She gave him her location and apprised him of her situation,
then advised him to go with the others and get clear.  He thanked her
for the thought and informed her that he'd be there in ten minutes.
        As she closed the channel and listened to the Enforcers sweep
the lower floors, Dorothy wondered if she had ten minutes.

        As she drew the Thorn of the Rose and blocked the swing of a
Psi Corps stun rod with it, Utena Tenjou reflected that she had
definitely had better days.
        On the other hand, a pitched battle with stun-rod-wielding
enforcement officers in the Alden great hall was certainly a fittingly
dramatic thing to be going on in the headquarters of the Duelists'
Society.  If T'skaia were here, he'd probably be inspired to paint the
scene.
        "We c-can handle these g-guys," Kaitlyn observed, and there
was no bravado about it - the statement was an honest assessment of
their chances.  "You g-guys get to the l-loading dock!"
        Amanda nodded, her k'tayyl in one hand, and hustled Devlin and
Liza toward the rear doors while Saionji guarded their back.
        As another gray-clad officer jumped down from the stage to
occupy Saionji's attention, Amanda's was focused almost entirely on
the doors.  Just get outside, and the others could disentangle
themselves and follow.  They could still get out of this.
        The doors opened and Roger Tremayne stepped in.
        "Oh, no," Liza whimpered.
        "Going somewhere, children?" Roger inquired pleasantly.
        "Get out of my way," Amanda snarled, "or I will kill you."
        "I doubt that," Roger replied, and suddenly Amanda's mind was
on fire.  She staggered, eye squeezed shut, and clutched at her head,
falling to her knees.  Amanda Dessler had been tortured by experts -
part of the Imperial Gamilon Navy's training program for withstanding
torture involved quite effective live demonstrations, using such
unpleasant items as Klingon agonizers and Daktari neural whips.  Even
so, this was the most exquisite discomfort she could ever remember
having experienced.  It was like somebody had drilled a hole in her
head and was now injecting antimatter into it.
        How long it went on, she couldn't tell - an hour, maybe, or a
second, or a year - but suddenly it was lessened.  Still agonizing,
but now not anything she couldn't focus past.  She opened her eye,
levered herself up, and saw Devlin staring intently at the Psi Cop,
his shocking blue eyes open wide and quivering.
        "Amateur," said Roger, his voice slightly strained.  "You
can't hold me, boy.  You may be a P12, but your training is spotty and
your experience pitiful.  I'm already sublimating your ego wall.  You
can feel it."
        Devlin said nothing; he only narrowed his eyes, a thin trickle
of blood starting from his nose.
        Amanda knew a chance when she saw one.  She raised herself
from the floor, set herself, and rushed the Psi Cop.

        "What the HELL - "
        "Easy, man, it's just a cat."
        "Jesus.  What the hell are we doing this for?  We should just
burn this goddamn building down."
        "That'd go over well with the local yokels, I'm sure."
        "FUCK the local yokels.  It's not like we want the thing
intact.  The positron matrix would survive a fire that wrecked the
chassis."
        "How do you know a building fire -would- wreck the chassis?
No, Corporal, our orders are clear.  Trash it if we have to, but they
want the head intact."
        R. Dorothy Wayneright listened to the radio chatter of the
Enforcers hunting her through the abandoned office building and felt
outrage growing within her.  Her emotional responses had been getting
stronger and more complex over the last couple of days.  It was too
soon to be certain just how much that had to do with her experiments
with Miki Kaoru, but she thought it likely that there was a
connection.
        She smiled slightly at the thought, then returned her
attention to the matter at hand.  They were getting nearer, but their
pattern was widening as they swept.  She would have to engage one, two
at the most, and her path would be clear to the back stairwell.  Miki
hadn't called again; he probably had his hands free trying to
infiltrate the area.  She wished he hadn't come.  Not that it wasn't
nice that he was willing to come and rescue her, but the odds were
very good that he would get hurt in the process.  He was a human.
Humans were fragile.
        "God DAMN that cat!"
        The sound of a plasma discharge echoed nearby; had Dorothy
been human, she'd have jumped in surprise.
        "Jackson!  Goddammit, stand DOWN!  This building's not exactly
stable.  You go capping off at stray cats and the next thing you know,
you bring the whole place down around us."
        "And you're such a lousy shot you didn't even -hit- it."
        "Fuck you, Templeton."
        "Secure that shit, gentlemen.  Let's just get the job done."
        Dorothy noted the electromagnetic disturbance of one of their
transmitters nearby, just on the other side of the thin partition
wall - the one she would have to get past in order to escape.  She
edged nearer to the doorway, readying herself for action, and then
rounded the corner.
        The Enforcer pulled up short, his eyes behind his visor going
wide with shock.
        "Holy - !" he blurted.
        Dorothy's eyes narrowed as she saw his nametag: JACKSON.
        "YOU'RE the one," she said, "who tried to shoot the CAT."

        Roger saw Amanda coming, and shifted some of his attention
back to her.  The pain sizzled across her synapses, interfering with
her motor functions, making her stumble and nearly fall, and she saw
the look of satisfaction on his somewhat strained face as she did so.
        That was a satisfaction he had not earned.  Telepathic powers
or not, he was nothing but a cheap thug, and no cheap thug was going
to get the better of Amanda Elektra Dessler.
        She gritted her teeth, gathered all her rage, and threw it
against the intruding thrust of his mind.  His eyes flickered with
surprise as she hit him back - normals aren't supposed to be able to
do that - and then she dug into her reserves of strength, raised
herself again, and hurled herself forward.  The blade of her k'tayyl
bit into his shoulder; the pain shrieked into every corner of her
mind.  She shoved the blade deeper, twisting it, tasting his pain
through the attack that linked them and drawing a perverse strength
from it.
        >Die, you monster,< she snarled at him in Gamilon, through
lips bloodied by the bleeding of her nose.
        Roger staggered, her blade catching in the bone of his
shoulder, and Devlin took the opportunity for one final thrust.  The
pain left Amanda's mind entirely as the Psi Cop focused all his
attention on Devlin.
        Amanda let go of her stuck k'tayyl, drew back her fist, and
drove it into Roger's face with all the strength her rage could give
her.
        He blinked at her as if surprised; then he gathered himself as
if to counterattack.  Suddenly, yellow light washed over him, and he
staggered back and finally fell.  Amanda glanced to her side to see
Lesser Mazinger, discharge bleed still crackling from his tiny optics,
and smiled.  Short help, she remarked to herself, was better than no
help at all.
        Saionji finished relieving his opponent of his stun rod,
knocked him senseless, and then hurried to shore up Devlin as the
latter's legs gave out.  Utena, Kaitlyn and Wakaba rallied round as
well.
        "Let's get the hell out of here," said Amanda, pausing only to
put a foot on Roger's chest and yank her honor blade out of his
collarbone.
        No one gave her any argument.  They charged into the side
hallway toward the loading dock, beelined for the panic-barred exit
door with Wakaba in the lead - 
        - and she crashed rather painfully into it, rebounding
unsteadily into Utena's arms.
        "Ow!  Son of a BITCH!" she snarled.  "Locked?!  It's a FIRE
DOOR!"
        "It's not l-l-locked," said Kate, bending to examine the seam
between the double doors.  "It's b-b-been p-plasma w-w-welded."
        "They knew we'd come this way," said Saionji.
        "Well," said Utena, drawing Devlin's PPG from her pocket,
"maybe I can blast it."
        The PPG made a small, smoky hole in the door, but little more.
        "Or not," Utena sighed.
        Tiny Robo, his armor scratched and soot-streaked, stalked out
from behind Kate, his little arms making a "stand back, please"
gesture to the group.  Lesser Mazinger directed traffic as well, doing
his best to herd everybody back from where Robo stood foursquare in
front of the doors, surveying them with fists on armor-kilted hips.
        Utena consulted her watch and raised an eyebrow.
        "Um, you guys," she said, "I'm not sure what Robo's up to, but
according to his status monitor, it involves something called an
'Atomic Buster Cannon'.  I think maybe we should get back."
        They fell back to the far corner, where they could guard the
entrance into this short corridor and still keep an eye on Robo
without being right behind whatever it was he was doing.  Utena
watched in fascination as Lesser Mazinger fell back as well, leaving
Robo to his work.
        Tiny Robo spread his feet and braced himself, facing the door
about six feet back from it.  On his back, the righthand of his two
aqualung-tank-like rocket thrusters shifted, divided in half.  The
upper half extended further upward on a track, then fell forward,
lying over Robo's shoulder.  A little armature extended from his chest
to catch it; he reached up with his right arm to brace it.
        From the front end, formerly the top, of the cylindrical unit,
a telescopic barrel extended forward a few inches with a servo whine
and a positive-sounding click.  Behind him, something that looked like
a rocket's exhaust nozzle at the rear of the newly-reconfigured cannon
hissed and outgassed a tidy ring of white steam.
        For a moment, nothing happened.
        Then - 
        PFWHAM!
        The doors, the frame around them, and about six inches of
Alden Hall's brickwork on all sides of the doorway vanished in a
brilliant scarlet fireball.  The shockwave curled back, ricocheted up
the hall, popped everyone's ears.  Tiny Robo skidded backward six
inches, the treads of his feet leaving trails of sparks and deep
scratches in the concrete floor.
        Then, retracting the cannon back into its original position on
his back, Tiny Robo straightened himself and strode with magnificent,
measured tread through the jagged hole he'd blown in the building's
side, to freedom.
        Utena and Kaitlyn looked at each other, dumbfounded.
        "I'm going to have to have a talk with Corwin when we see him
again," said Utena.

        Miki Kaoru had never seen a grown man's flying limp body knock
down a steel fire door before, but that all changed this afternoon.
He sidestepped and let the unconscious shape of a Corps Enforcer named
Jackson tumble down the stairs past him, then grinned to see Dorothy
appear at the top of the stairs - carrying in her arms, he noticed
with faint surprise, a -cat-.
        She nodded to acknowledge him, but didn't speak - only ran.
Miki stayed put, let her pass him, and then started backing after
her.  An Enforcer appeared at the top of the stairs.  Miki raised
Utena's phaser and let him have it.
        Enforcer armor is designed to disperse phased energy as well
as withstand physical attack, but upon learning that Dorothy's
assailants were Enforcers, Miki had taken that into account.  The
blast he unleashed would have vaporized an unprotected man; this one,
it flung backward several feet in a boneless heap, insensate for
hours.
        On the other hand, a few more blasts like that and the phaser
would be exhausted.  It was only a Type 1B, after all.
        Retreat would be the most expedient thing to do.
        Miki hurried after Dorothy.

        The three freighters chosen to extract Mac and his classmates
from Worcester had not been modified for blockade running;
nonetheless, they could turn an impressive bit of speed, and by the
time the Earth defense grid was authorized for lethal force the ships
had already cleared the satellite perimeter.  The only obstacle
remaining between them and freedom was the local complement of
Earthforce and Starfleet vessels, several of which roared through
orbital space to intercept the freighters.

        Mac stumbled into the Forge's control room - too big to be a
cockpit, too small to be a bridge - as Lorg's copilot muttered,
"Signal away."  Through the transparisteel ports, Mac could see three
Nova-class warships with Earthforce markings cutting across their
flight path from starboard.  Even without a glance at the tactical
display, he could see the interception point about forty thousand
kilometers away.  In just over a minute, the freighters would be under
the guns of two Hyperion-class destroyers, and changing course to keep
them out of reach would allow half a dozen cruisers, and one of
Starfleet's new Galaxy-class battleships, to intercept.
        "So," he sighed, "we didn't get away after all, did we?"
        "Don't be quite so sure of that," Lorg rumbled, his face
twisted into what was almost a human smile.  "Metapoint forming
three-five-seven mark zero-zero-eight."
        As Mac watched, a vortex of energy sprang into existence just
to starboard of their course, widened, and solidified.  A cluster of
ships slid through the metaspace portal, centered on two vessels
outmassing the Earthforce destroyers two to one -each-.  Even at
twenty thousand klicks, Mac could make out the brilliant white hulls
and severe angles of Freespacer-built warships.
        "Never go in without backup," Lorg grunted.  "Now go back and
strap in; things might get a little ugly before we get there."

        The tiny woman sitting in the center seat on CFMF
Charlemagne's flag bridge had many nicknames among different people.
Starfleet Academy used her as the textbook definition of 'loose
cannon.'  Her tour of duty as a rear admiral had earned her the media
nickname of 'the Pirate Killer,' and her earlier exploits as captain
of USS Constellation, CFMF Defiant, and the Charlemagne had earned her
another nickname, "the Klingon Spooker."  The Klingon codename for her
was 'Big Trouble in a Little Package'; the Kilrathi called her 'She
Who Must be Avoided,' and the Romulans referred to her, poetically, as
'Go Around the Other Side of the Nebula.'
        The person who inspired such respect among her peers (the same
kind of respect a ticking bomb gets) scarcely fit the model of
terror.  She still held wild, drunken parties with karaoke and games at
every opportunity.  She followed the idol-singer circuit of her
homeworld Tomodachi with a passion.  She was a personality prone to
violence not out of anger, hatred or insanity, but rather because she
had never learned the importance of moderation in anything.  She took
incredible risks, used excessive force, and gave every last bit of
effort to anything she did.
        And if doing that meant acquiring a bad reputation, then Vice
Admiral Ayami Nakajima, commander 2Div CFMF Tacfleet and the 6th
Carrier Task Force, would just have to put up with it.
        Captain T'Pall's voice echoed over the Charlemagne's intercom,
"Metaspace jump point is closed.  Secure from metaspace.  Task force
defense grid is armed and fully integrated."
        Commander Claire Lemno, Aya's chief of staff, smiled as she
listened to her earbug.  "Admiral, Earthforce Captain John Sheridan,
EAS Agamemnon, demands to know what we're doing here."
        "Let him eat static," Aya giggled.
        "Ooooh, and now Earthforce -General- Carlisle is hailing our
fleet, Admiral," Claire smiled, her cat-eyes twinkling as the
half-Caitian added, "He sounds -really- mad... "
        Aya smirked, brushing back her dark page-cut hair before
saying, "Put him on screen.  Might as well get it over with..."
        The main viewer blinked from the blue and white of Earth to an
angry human face, tiny wisps of white hair clinging to the sides of
his otherwise bald head.  The thick neck bulged with veins as General
Carlisle said, "Freespacer ships, you have entered a temporary no-fly
zone and crossed the courses of several Earth Alliance warships in hot
pursuit of possible smuggling vessels.  You are ordered to disperse
your fleet and allow our ships to pass unimpeded."
        Aya put on her sweetest, most cavity-inducing cute face and
said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, General!  Vice Admiral Aya Nakajima, CFMF 6th
Carrier Task Force.  We're performing trials on our new metaspace
drives, and wouldn't you know it, we had a systems breakdown and had
to drop into normal space right on top of you.  Don't worry, we'll
move on as soon as we finish repairs!"
        "Admiral Nakajima, you will allow our ships to pass through
your formation.  Stand down your weapons immediately."
        Aya put on her sad-sad face and pouted, "Well, gee, I'd like
to do that, General, but our automated systems are stuck in crisis
mode.  Our defense grid is fully active and we can't shut it down.  So
it's really not safe for your ships to get any closer... "
        The general glared through the viewscreen at Aya.  "Is that the
-truth-, Admiral?"
        Aya smiled, and this smile was no put-on.  You just can't fake
that level of hostility.
        "As far as -you- know," she said just a little less sweetly.
"I -strongly- suggest you not test it."
        The general grumbled, noting that the intercept ships had
already slowed down to avoid collision, and with a curse he keyed open
the intercom on his desk.  "Order the intercept ships to stand away
from the Freespacer fleet.  That's an order."  Looking back to the
screen, he said, "My government will file a formal protest of this
interference in Earth affairs, Admiral."
        "File away, General," Aya said, smiling a bit wider.  "We
don't mind protests.  You might -survive- a protest.  Nakajima out."
The viewer returned to its view of the space ahead, centering on the
three Freespacer freighters slowing to rendezvous point with the task
force.  "T'Pall, have the refugees beamed aboard immediately.  I want
to debrief them personally.  And have Shran fake some problems with
the metapoint generator."
        "Admiral," the Vulcan's voice replied, "once we have the
refugees aboard, is our mission not complete?  Our orders specifically
prohibit any possible escalation of hostilities with Earth."
        "I've got a feeling something else is gonna happen, T'Pall,"
Aya smiled.  "I want us to be around when it happens.  If Earthforce
comes calling again, stall 'em!  This task force stays put until I'm
damn good and ready to go!"  With that Aya jumped from her seat and
strode to the turbolift, the doors hissing shut behind her.
        With the intercom still open, T'Pall sighed with
resignation, "Humans are -still- unfathomable."

        Kaitlyn and company, slowed down now by the semiconscious
burdens of Devlin -and- Liza, reached the Wedge from the Daniels Hall
side only to see Miki and Dorothy entering it from the Morgan Hall
side.
        "What are you guys doing here?!" Wakaba blurted.  "You're
supposed to be with the others, offplanet by now!"
        Miki shook his head, struggling for breath.
        "He came back to help me," Dorothy said.  "If you're trying to
reach Amanda's ship, forget it.  The Corps have almost a company of
Enforcers around it.  They're expecting you."
        "Damn!" Wakaba spat; then, blinking, she added in a puzzled
tone, "Where'd you get the cat?"
        "Freeze!" barked a voice from behind them.  They whirled to
see a pair of Enforcers standing in the Daniels Hall corridor behind
them; they must have entered from the Institute Road side.
        Wakaba looked at Utena and Kate.  They turned for battle.
        Behind the two Enforcers, there was a rafter-rattling roar,
and two huge hands clamped one onto each man's head, then slammed them
together with such force that their helmets were crushed.  They
crumpled to the floor.
        Behind them hulked the Institute's specialist in the Klingon
language, and the faculty advisor of the Institute Duelists' Society -
        "Professor Kraalgh!" Utena exclaimed, delighted.
        "Kai the Society," Kraalgh replied amiably.  "You seem to have
made these creatures very unhappy with you."  The Klingon scowled down
at the unconscious Enforcers, then picked up their weapons.  "Blaster
rifles against swords.  They lack even a semblance of honor."  He
slung one of the rifles, then handed the other to Utena, who passed
Devlin's PPG to Saionji to make room in her hands for it.  "At least
now things are slightly more even."
        "Do you know any other way off the planet?" asked Wakaba.
        "None that are readily accessible," Kraalgh replied.  "But
Tenjou here is of my house," he added.  "The Klingon Consulate in
Boston will give us shelter if we can reach it."
        Dorothy cocked her head.  "Concussion mortar," she said, then
cried, "Get down!" and dragged as many as she could reach to the floor
inside one of the Wedge benches.  Kraalgh leaped - with surprising
agility for his bulk - over the top of the nearest booth, and Utena,
Wakaba and Kate dove into it with him.
        With a tremendous crash, something sheared the roof of the
Wedge right off, covering them in dust and rubble.

        Corwin knew he was dreaming, but he also knew that it wasn't
an ordinary dream.  He had these every now and again, strange echoes
of the cosmic symphony that resonated against his mother's blood.
They showed him things, usually snippets of the future, but so lacking
in context and detail that he never understood what they meant until
after whatever they foretold had already come to pass.  He found them
more annoying than useful.
        This one was different.  This one was absolute in clarity,
razor-sharp and photorealistic, as though he were actually standing
there in the Wedge at WPI on Earth.
        Or the ruins of the Wedge, anyway.  The place had no roof, the
wall facing the Quad was mostly gone - what the hell was going on?
There was a group of people huddled in one corner, by one of the Wedge
benches, keeping their heads down.  Across the Quad, men and women in
black armor were grouping up for a charge, heavy weapons in their
hands.
        One of the huddled people in the Wedge stood up, and Corwin's
heart nearly stopped.  It was Utena Tenjou, the Thorn of the Rose in
her hand and a look of mingled apprehension and rage on her face.  As
the black-armored figures began their charge, she lunged forward, over
the shattered threshold of one of the missing doors and down the
stairs, in a countercharge, her hair flying in a pink streamer behind
her as a defiant scream welled up from her throat.  Behind her, the
others - Kaitlyn among them, and Dorothy too - scrambled to their feet
and followed, into the teeth of a charge they had to know they
couldn't stand against.
        Corwin shouted for them to stop, but his voice made no sound,
and then everything around him went white.

        Corwin sat up with a start, then jumped again as the heavy
book slid off his chest and crashed to the floor.  He looked around
the room with wild eyes, breathing hard, as if he'd just sprinted a
hundred yards or more.  His heart pounded.  He raked his hands back
through his hair, feeling the concentration of sweat at his hairline,
and lurched to his feet.
        Nall looked up from his pile of coins and said, "What's the
matter with -you-?"
        Corwin waved a hand for him to be quiet, his other hand still
pressed over his left eye with the fingers splayed through his thick
black hair.  He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating as hard as he
could.  The brand on his forehead flickered, then glowed with a
high-pitched keening noise that raised the little dragon's hackles.

        "Do you love her?" a voice behind him asked.  He whirled in
the featureless white limbo to see a man standing there, a
dark-skinned, silver-haired man who looked little older than Kaitlyn,
dressed in an elaborate white uniform with gold buttons and traces of
blue.  In its styling Corwin recognized hints of the old school
uniforms Utena often wore.  The man himself looked slightly familiar
too, but Corwin could not understand why.
        "Who the hell - ?" Corwin wondered.
        "There's no time, Corwin Ravenhair," the man replied.  "I
asked you a question.  Do you love her?"
        "Who?" Corwin asked.
        "The Knight of the Rose."
        Corwin blinked, was on the verge of repeating his question,
then understood.
        "I - yes!" he blurted.
        "Then go to her, quickly," said the man in white, and he
vanished.

        Corwin wrenched his hand away from his face, rose fully
upright, said, "-Shit!-" and ran from the room.  "Come ON, Nall!" he
yelled behind him as he pelted down the hall to the stairs.
        Nall took a shortcut over the railing and down the stairwell,
landing neatly on Corwin's shoulder just as he got to the bottom of
the stairs, and inquired, "What's going on?"
        Corwin ignored him, calling, "Dad?  Kei?  DAD!"  He ran to the
doorway of the den, stuck his head in, then dashed around through the
kitchen and looked into the conservatory.  Nothing.  Nobody home.
"Shit!" Corwin repeated.  Then he ran back to the living room, grabbed
his jacket, and yanked on his shoes, hardly breaking stride as he did
so.  The front door of 105 Morgan Lane slammed behind him as he jumped
down the stairs and ran to the driveway.
        "Where," Nall inquired with a calm he didn't really feel, "are
we going?"
        But Corwin didn't answer.  Instead he pulled on his leather
jacket, causing Nall to slide down from his shoulder, claws grabbing
at his sweater, then adjust himself so that he was looking out through
the partly-down front zipper.  Then Corwin piled into his antique
Griffon limousine, cranked the turbine over, and slammed the gearshift
into reverse.
        "CORWIN!  Where - are - we - GOING?!"
        "Can't take the Wonder," Corwin muttered to himself, ignoring
Nall still.  He revved the Griffon up, let out the clutch, and slung
the big black car into the street, then rammed it into first gear and
tore off down the hill.  "Too slow.  Never make it in time.  Metaspace
is no good.  Have to do it."
        "Do -what-?" Nall inquired, but Corwin wasn't listening.
Craning his neck, the dragon looked up at his companion's face, saw
the set of his jaw and the glassy concentration in his blue eyes, and
left off interrogations altogether.
        Soon it became obvious where they were headed.  Nall was very
familiar with the route from Morgan Lane to Mathews Memorial
Spaceport.  It impressed Nall slightly that Corwin wasn't pulled over
for speeding, given the fact that he was driving hell-bent for
leather, hitting nearly 150 miles per hour on Highway 29.  Never a cop
around when you needed one.  The Griffon screamed through the tollgate
at the Mathews Memorial exit without slackening pace, setting off
speed alarms at the transponder reader, but Corwin ignored them,
snarling as he was forced to slow for the sweeping lefthand turn into
the spaceport access road.
        Corwin had a code that would open the fence to the flightline,
but he would have had to stop at the gate for that.  Instead he put
the pedal to the floor, and the limousine's armored prow smashed down
the fence as if it were chicken wire.  Nall made a distressed little
noise and hid his head inside Corwi