I have a message from another time...

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                               presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                   - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD No. 3 -

                     Third Movement: Valiant Rose

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins
                         with Kris Overstreet

                (c) 2002 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


        High above the parched floor of Muroc Dry Lake in the high
desert of California, the Boeing B-29 growled along at cruising speed,
its four massive props chewing the cold, dry air.  Up in the glazed
nose, a slightly built figure in drab Army-green pants and a well-worn
brown leather bomber jacket crouched behind the throttles, one hand on
the shoulder of the man in the right-hand seat, looking out at the
thin desert clouds.
        That man finished going over a checklist on a clipboard, stuck
it in a pocket next to his seat, and then turned to the figure in the
bomber jacket and grinned.
        "Ready?" asked Corwin Ravenhair.
        Kozue Kaoru nodded firmly.  "You bet!" she replied.

        As she climbed down from the little elevator platform into the
small orange craft nestled into the belly of the big silver bomber,
Kozue wondered why Corwin thought it was important that she visit this
spot in history.  She'd heard from Utena about the simulation the two
of them had run at the beginning of -her- space training, the year
before, and Kozue thought she understood the message in reliving one
of Corwin's father's people's first fumbling efforts to reach the
stars... but this wasn't a spacecraft she was climbing into.
        Hell, it wasn't even a particularly sophisticated aircraft.
It didn't have a canopy - just a side door, not even attached to the
ship, which Corwin was now lowering into position on a couple of
chains.  Kozue reached for the latching handle to lock it into place
as it was snugged up into the doorway to her right, then smiled.
Might as well do it right, she thought, and wedged the end of the
short length of wooden rod she'd found on the seat into the handle,
using the wood as a lever to ram the locking mechanism home.
        Just as she'd been taught in the pre-simulation training, she
strapped herself in, connected the wire from her leather flying helmet
to the craft's communications system, flipped her goggles into position, 
hooked up her oxygen mask and adjusted it over her nose and mouth, then 
settled back and waited, alone with the drone of the mothership's props.
        "Ready?" said Corwin's voice in her headset.
        "Whenever you are," Kozue replied.
        "OK.  Prepare for drop in ten... nine... eight... seven...
six... five... four... three... two... one... drop!"
        There was a CLUNK from above, a slight jolt, and then a
peculiar, weightless sensation.  Sunlight flooded the little cabin as
the tiny orange bullet dropped from under the B-29's shadow into the
open air of the high desert.  The bomber's drone vanished, leaving
Kozue riding along in a whispery silence.  There was almost no
sensation of movement at all, except for the odd feeling of the silver
bomber getting smaller and pulling ahead as her little craft glided
behind.
        "You're away," came Corwin's voice; then, in a tone so
familiar she could see the grin on his face, he added, "Go to work!"
        Kozue let go of the control yoke with her right hand and
reached to the instrument panel.  It was such a primitive setup
compared to what she was used to, the ultramodern control station of
the International Police Starship Valiant.  It had no multifunction
displays, no programmable controls, no electronics worthy of the
name.  The controls, yoke and pedals, weren't that different from
those of the Valiant, but what few status displays there were took the
form of simple analog gauges, each indicating a single thing: fuel
pressure, altitude, airspeed.  There weren't even any throttles, just
a row of four toggle switches.
        It was to these switches Kozue reached; after a moment's
pause, she put the fingertips of her right hand under them, firmed up
her grip on the yoke with her left hand, and pushed them all
simultaneously up.
        WHAM!  The seatback came up to belt her in the back, almost
taking the breath out of her, and the stillness of the cabin was torn
away by the screeching roar of a four-chamber rocket motor.  The B-29
vanished behind her as she pulled gently back on the yoke and sent the
X-1 climbing toward the California sky.
        The date was October 14, 1947, and Kozue Kaoru was on her way
to Mach 1.

        Falling away from the backslapping, the cheers, and the hot
desert sun, Kozue came back to herself in an armchair in the quarters
of the Valiant's chief engineer.  That very engineer, Corwin
Ravenhair, was on the edge of his bunk, peeling simsense electrodes
from his forehead; Captain Utena Tenjou, who had flown left seat in
the B-29, was doing the same at the cabin's small desk, where sat the
interface deck that had just switched off at the end of its program.
        "... Wow," said Kozue, shaking her head slightly to clear out
the little bit of transition fog that clouded it.
        "How was it?" asked Corwin with a slight twinkle in his eye.
        "Unbelievable," Kozue replied.  "But," she added with a faint
air of contrition, "I'm not sure I really understand what the point
was.  I mean, I get the historical significance to your dad's people,
right, and I understand how primitive the technology was... but I'm
not sure what I was supposed to learn."  She smiled and added with a
sparkle of her own, "It sure was fun, though."
        Utena laughed and got up from the desk, coiling up the leads
to her electrode set.  "That was pretty much the point," she said.
"You have a different approach to things than I did, so Corwin thought
we should do something different to start you off than he did for me,
and I figured, well, why not?"
        "In your case it wasn't a lesson so much as a test," Corwin
added.  He got up from his bunk, wound up his own leads and put them
on the desk next to the deck.  "The X-1 wasn't a forgiving airplane,
especially at the transonic threshold.  I wanted to see how well you'd
handle it."
        "And?" asked Kozue, arching an eyebrow.  "Did I pass?"
        "You didn't auger it in," said Utena with a grin.
        Corwin nodded.  "Listen, don't let this go to your head, all
right, but you know how you keep saying that Miki's the prodigy in
your family?  I think maybe you just hadn't found the vector for your
own genius yet."
        Kozue blinked, surprised and pleased, a faint blush making
its way across the bridge of her nose.  "Oh, c'mon.  You're just
saying that."
        But the young god shook his head firmly.  "Did Zed Cochrane
show you the helm logs from our little chase with the Amar?"
        "Sure.  He even gave me a copy," said Kozue, "burned onto one
of those little keychain isorods like Utena has."
        Corwin smiled.  "That figures.  You know why he did that?"
        "He said I could get free drinks with it," Kozue replied,
grinning, "but I'm not sure what he meant."
        "It's proof that you did what you did - that warp-speed manual
spiral.  You know how many helmsmen can do stuff like that?  Counting
you, four, and two of them are dead.  Nobody's ever done it anywhere
near that fast, either.  The previous record for a warp-speed manual
tactical maneuver was Warp Factor 11.92."  Corwin pointed a finger in
an almost accusatory, vaguely intimidating manner at her chest and
continued, his face completely serious, "You are a genuine prodigy."
        Kozue gave him a skeptical look.  "C'mon.  What're you
buttering me up for?  I already told you once, you just have to ask."
        That had its desired effect, turning Corwin's face a very
entertaining shade of red and making him sputter.  Utena looked from
one to the other, her expression one of bafflement, for a moment, then
burst out laughing.
        "OK," she said, spreading her hands, once she'd gotten herself
back under control.  She stretched her back, hands behind head, elbows
high, and added, "That was more information than -I- needed.  I think
I'll just go back to the bridge and see what Klaang's up to."
        "It's not - I wa - she - look'a the BONES!" said Corwin,
making a slashing gesture with one hand in mock frustration.  He
pushed a hand through his jagged black thatch of hair, shook a finger
at his pupil in admonishment, and said, "You're incorrigible."
        Kozue grinned.  "I hope so," she told him, and sauntered out
of his quarters with a slight, affected swagger in her step.  Corwin
chuckled, squared away the deck, and then left as well, heading back
to his office overlooking the engine room.

        The Valiant's summer tour was, after the slight initial hitch
caused by the attack of the rogue Klingon cruiser Amar, getting off
to a good smooth start.  One unexpected benefit of the clash with the
Klingons was the extra publicity the incident's press coverage had
given the tour.  The Art of Noise were finding their shows sold out
even in odd places like Kane's World, where they were virtual unknowns
despite the fact that their drummer, R. Dorothy Wayneright, was a
native of sorts, built and raised in New Gotham City.
        Dorothy was slightly dubious about returning to New Gotham,
but the show must go on, so she swallowed her reservations and went.
It turned out to be a terrific show, played to a great crowd at a
downtown basement nightclub called, in self-conscious reference to New
Gotham's most enduring urban legend, the Bat Cave.  Ship and band both
received warm welcomes (and more press) at each stop on the tour.
Everything was going very well - so well it was starting to make some
of the ship's company a bit nervous.
        Not the captain, though; buoyed by her crew's success in their
first engagement, she looked forward to a safe and productive journey,
commanding her ship with a smooth imperturbability that gave the rest
of the crew and passengers a boost to their own confidence.
Everything, it seemed, was running according to plan.

                   INTERNATIONAL POLICE SPACE FORCE
                        INTERNAL COMMUNICATION

FROM: CPT Utena Tenjou IPSFR cmdg.
      IPS Valiant NX-06041

TO: FCPT Benjamin D. Hutchins IPSF cmdg.
    IPS Challenger NX-04462

DATE: Wednesday, June 28, 2406

SUBJECT: Status update

Dear Dad - 

As usual (knock on wood), everything's going great.  The only
complaints this week are from Zed Cochrane and his team - they've got
nothing to do.  The ship isn't obliging them by breaking down the way
new ships are supposed to.  Cochrane says he blames Corwin, but Corwin
swears he hasn't cheated and done anything a normal human engineer
wouldn't do.

Corwin's birthday party went off just as planned - Kozue had managed
to convince him that we'd all just completely forgotten about his
birthday until after their stellar cartography session.  It was a
blast, you should've been there - after the party we spent the
afternoon playing boarding drills with ten-man teams, each side with a
telepath coordinator.  We had to make a house rule that Amanda and
Rina couldn't be on Devlin's team, though, because the three of them
working together didn't need the other seven and it was just a
complete slaughter.  It's a little creepy sometimes, the way those
three interact (especially since, with Devlin still in school and
Amanda stationed at B6, they don't get to spend all that much time
together), but they seem really happy.

Next stop, Jyurai, where the Rune Knights, Nall, the Utonium sisters
and Achika will catch a transport back to New Avalon and we'll leave
Devlin back at the Psi Academy.  Making this leg of the trip with the
Lorica has been interesting - we've run a couple of cloaked-ship games
and come out more or less even.  Those Romulans Amanda has working for
her are -good-, but their helmsman just about worships Kozue after
hearing about the trick she pulled on the Klingons during our scrap
with the Amar, so it all evens out. :)

Her training's going well - she has to work at the bookish parts, like
the navigation and procedural things, but the actual flying is just
unconscious, and she's coming along really well at crisis management.
Corwin figures she'll be ready to stand the exam right around the
second or third week in August, maybe while we're doing our four-day
mini-tour of Bodacious Vee.

Like the song says, that's all I can think of but I'm sure there's
something else.  Oh well - if I think of it I'll file an amendment.
Love from the whole gang, and Kate says to remind you that she's
expecting you to show up for the Tomodachi show next Tuesday.

Oh, check that - Klaang says he's sorry but he doesn't love you, only
harbors a deep and profound respect for you.

Zed Cochrane, on the other hand, says his love for you goes without
saying, which, to be honest, is exactly the way I'd rather he left
it.  Anyway, take it easy.  I'm closing this file before anybody else
does anything weird.

 - UT

END OF TRANSMISSION

        The recipient of this message, better known to friends and
enemies as Gryphon, chuckled and dropped the report into the
appropriate folder, then sat back, put his feet up on his desk, and
scanned his surroundings for signs of any more creeping work.  He
didn't see any, but just to be certain he thumbed the intercom panel
in the corner of the desk.
        "Ruri?"
        "Yes."
        "Have I got any more work to do?"
        "Not right now."
        "Oh.  None at all?"
        "No."
        "Wow.  Well, OK, then.  I guess I'll be playing 'JC Denton
Illuminates the Romulan Empire' again if anybody needs me."
        Just before he switched the intercom off, Gryphon was
forestalled by Ruri's voice saying, "Sir... "
        The IPO chief blinked.  Ruri almost never called him 'sir'.
"Yes?" he said.
        "Since you have a moment, there's something I'd like to talk
to you about."
        "Uh... sure.  C'mon in."
        The channel clicked shut.  Gryphon sat up, putting his feet
back on the floor, and looked mildly puzzled and mildly concerned as
the door to his office from the bridge opened and his diminuitive
yeoman entered.  Instead of looking bored, as Ruri Hoshino normally
did, she looked slightly troubled about something.
        "What's on your mind?" asked Gryphon as the door swished shut
behind her.
        Rather than replying directly, Ruri stood looking at him for a
moment, then said softly, "I've been with you for a long time now,
haven't I?"
        Gryphon nodded.  "Fifteen years.  Ever since I first started
putting together the IPO."
        "Have I ever given you any reason to be dissatisfied with my
performance?"
        "No, not at all," said Gryphon, surprised.  "You've been
indispensible.  I couldn't have made the Organization work without
you."  He looked worried.  "Did I give you that impression?  I'm sorry
if I did - I've tried to - "
        Ruri shook her head.  "No.  I was just making sure... "  She
paused, seeming for once to be at a loss for words rather than just
lacking interest in saying anything, then took a breath and said,
"Captain Tachibana has offered me the helmsman's job on Steamrunner."
        "Oh," said Gryphon.  "What'd you tell her?"
        "I haven't told her anything yet, except that I wanted to
speak to you about it first."
        "Oh.  Well, is it something you're interested in doing?"
        "Yes," Ruri replied, "it is... but... there's my work here to
consider.  If you don't want me to go, then I'll stay here."
        Gryphon thought about that for a moment, then said, "If you
want to take Maria's offer, then I think you should.  Fifteen years is
a long time to do the same job, and if you think you're ready to move
on, then I won't stop you - on one condition," he added, raising a
finger.
        "What's that?" asked Ruri, raising an eyebrow slightly.
        "Before you go," said Gryphon with a grin, "you have to find
someone who can replace you.  I can't get anything done around here
without -someone- to think for me."
        "Actually," said Ruri, "I've got someone in mind already.
She's green - just out of the Academy - but I think I can train her."
The little Lensman's mouth quirked into a very slight, sardonic smile
as she added, "She's certainly a hard enough worker... "
        Gryphon nodded.  "As you see fit - you've always had a free
hand, that's certainly not going to stop now."  He smiled.  "And I
think Maria's made a good choice."
        A trace of color came into Ruri's cheeks; she glanced at the
floor.  "Thank you, sir," she said.  "I'll... I'll just go and get
started on the paperwork for my replacement, then."
        Gryphon nodded again, briskly this time, and said, "Carry on.
Oh - and while you're at it, draw yourself up a promotion to lieutenant
commander for my signature."  He winked.  "Can't have a junior officer
at the helm of one of our new ships, can we?"
        "I don't see why not," replied Ruri mock-grumpily as she
left.  "Valiant's helmsman is a -civilian-... "
        Gryphon watched the door shut behind her, shook his head with
a fond chuckle, and keyed on his dataterm again.  It'd be weird not
having her around after all this time... 

        The morning - well, early afternoon, really - after the
resoundingly successful New Japan show (performed before the Art's
biggest crowd ever, 10,000 people packed into the Romanova Memorial
Amphitheatre on the campus of the Stingray Institute), Imra Ardeen
entered the Valiant's lunchroom to find Wakaba Shinohara sitting with
her feet up on one of the tables, munching on nachos and reading a
brightly colored magazine.  She looked up as the blonde telepath
entered, grinned, and put her feet and the front legs of her chair
back on the floor.
        "Morning, Imra," she said.  "Just getting up?"
        Imra nodded with a sheepish grin.  "I -did- get to bed at
3:30," she replied.
        "Quite a party after the show, huh?  Saionji dragged his butt
to bed around the same time.  He said I'd missed a good time, but I
was so tired from all that sparring, I just wanted to sleep.  I don't
know where Kaitlyn gets her energy."
        Imra got herself a drink and a zap-pack from the automat - the
captain might be willing to cook the ship's company's meals, but only
at regular times, and the AEGIS op had missed lunch - then sat down
opposite Wakaba to eat it.
        "It certainly was a good time," she replied, "and as for
Kate's energy, I'm sure I don't know," she added with a smile.  "I
could speculate, but... "  She looked curiously at the magazine Wakaba
had put down next to her tray.  "What are you reading?"
        "Comic book," Wakaba replied, holding the magazine up and
turning it so Imra could see the cover.  It was one of the products of
the Bacon Comics Group, part of BaconMedia, the multimedia corporation
run by longtime Wedge Defense Force morale officer and present Babylon
Station commander Derek Bacon.  The flag proudly declared it to be
issue 298 of "TOP THRILLS COMICS featuring THE SCARLET SENTINEL and
ARSENAL".
        The illustration below featured a rather stocky man in a
double-breasted red cavalry jacket with a stylized metallic 's' logo
on the flap, black pants, a red-lined black cloak, and a black domino
mask.  On his left hand, what appeared to be a ring was emitting a
beam of red energy which was forming a plasma-shield-like barrier in
front of him, deflecting a disruptor beam being directed at him by an
angry-looking Cardassian soldier.  An explosion graphic in the corner
informed the reader that this issue was part four of "The Cardassian
Caper!"
        "The... Scarlet Sentinel," said Imra, who had never had much
time in her busy, academically meteoric life for comics.
        "Yeah," said Wakaba, nodding.  "And Arsenal.  She's really
cool, but she's not in this one - she got captured by the Cardies last
issue and this one's all the Sentinel trying to find her.  I think
they're building up to something really big for issue 300 in a couple
of months.  Derek better not kill her off - if he does, I'm going to
get Utena to drop me off at B6 so I can personally kick his butt.  I
don't think he will, though.  I think maybe he's building up to having
SS finally admit he's interested in her as more than just a sidekick,"
she added with a sly wag of her eyebrows.  "After all, she's all grown
up now... "
        "Captain Bacon writes this book himself?"
        "Yup.  It's the only BC title he still writes personally.
That's why it's so good," said Wakaba, perusing the last few pages of
the comic again.  "Well, that and because the art's awesome.  Moyer's
a -god-."
        Imra took another look at the cover.  "The Scarlet Sentinel
looks... familiar," she said.
        "He should," Wakaba replied with a grin.  "He's the Chief."
        Imra blinked, looked more closely, then laughed.  "Well, I'll
be - he -is- the Chief!  What in... "
        Wakaba's grin widened a little.  "The way Derek tells it, a
long time ago - back during the days of the original WDF - someone
asked Gryphon what he'd like to be if he wasn't a Wedge Defender, and
he told them he wanted to be a superhero.  Derek was just starting his
media company back then, and he ran with it.  This is the new version,
started up after Gryphon was cleared and Derek relaunched BaconMedia.
The original ones are almost impossible to find - a lot of people
destroyed them after Sonset, and the rest are being hoarded by
collectors."
        "I didn't know you were interested in comic books," said Imra.
        "Hey, I had to have -something- to do that first term I was in
Midgard.  Sitting around Saionji's room all day just didn't do it for
me.  I don't know how he kept from going crazy when he was staying in
-my- room with nothing to do all day."  She paused, eyes widening, put
a fingertip to her lips, then said, "Oh wait... he didn't.  Never
mind!"
        The two girls giggled for a moment over Wakaba's joke; then
Imra thumbed through the comic and asked, "How many of these do you
have?"
        "Of Top Thrills?  Individual issues back to 251 and the trade
paperbacks all the way to the beginning.  It's my favorite book.  Why,
you want to borrow them?"
        "I think I might," said Imra, nodding, "if you don't mind."
        "Not at all," said Wakaba, grinning.  "Always happy to spread
the Scarlet Word.  'I challenge all things dark and fell, I'm Evil's
bane and Crime's death-knell.  I fight for Truth and Right as well: I
am the Scarlet Sentinel!'"  She giggled.  "Hey, if you like them,
write Derek a letter.  Maybe he'll make you a character too.  You
could be Cissie's new rival.  'Make Way for Saturn Girl!'"
        Imra rolled her eyes.  "Don't be a weirdo, Wakaba."

        Early July found the Valiant beginning her great sweep through
the Rigel sector, hitting various and sundry of the old United
Galactica's core systems on their way to the new seat of galactic
power, the Centauri sector and Earth.  In the early afternoon of the
month's first Wednesday, while the ship orbited New Caledonia, Janice
Barlow put her head into the chief engineer's office to notify him of
a minor glitch in the target projection system of the ship's
semi-holographic shooting range.
        Corwin was sitting at his desk with one foot against the edge
of the desktop, a large sketch pad propped up on his knee.  He had a
black Sharpie marker in his left hand and a look of deep concentration
on his face.  On the desk in front of him, a glowing green gemstone
about the size of a hockey puck hovered above a repulsor pad, humming
with a quiet, musical tone and giving everything in the small,
cluttered office a faint emerald tint.
        "Working on something?" asked Janice.
        Corwin blinked, look up, and smiled, faintly distractedly.
"Oh, hi, Janice.  C'mon in.  I'm just fooling around with a possible
use for this stuff," he said, aiming a thumb at the green gem.
        "Pretty," she said, crossing the threshold.  "What is it?"
        "It's called gaolith," Corwin replied.  "It's a mystic
gemstone, occurs naturally in a place called Cephiro.  I was fooling
around with this piece - " (here Corwin flicked a finger against the
gem, making it spin in the levi-field and hum at a different, higher
pitch) " - when I realized that I'd seen the energy it emits before."
        Janice sat down on the corner of his desk.  "Oh yeah?  Where?"
        "Your weapon, among other places."
        "I thought the color looked familiar," said the redheaded
security officer, nodding.  "It's producing Photon rays?"
        "Mm.  'Course, you Ragolians are the only ones that call it
that," he added, grinning.  "Everywhere else in the galaxy, it goes by
a different name."
        "Getter rays," said Janice, nodding.  "I know.  I dunno why
the early colonists called it 'Photon'.  Ever since then their
descendents have been wishing they hadn't, but what can you do."  She
came into the office and looked a little more closely at the gem.  "So
this thing naturally produces Getter rays?"
        "Mm-hmm, and lots of them.  The bigger the crystal, the bigger
the output.  I'm still trying to figure the scale - it's not linear -
but there's a definite relationship."
        "Hmm."  Janice tapped her chin thoughtfully.  "I'm not a
Photon scientist, mind you, I just use the stuff, but one of the
things you learn early on Ragol is that there's an upper limit to
Photon tech's usefulness.  Make a Photon cell much bigger than the
ones that power our heavy hand weapons, or a Photon collector much
bigger than one that can charge those cells, and you're buying a heap
of trouble.  The first generation of colonists, when they discovered
how rich Ragol's magnetisphere is in Photon rays, built a collector
big enough to power the capital city and more besides.  They thought
they'd found an unlimited supply of free energy."
        Corwin nodded.  "And instead they blew a crater the size of
Avalon County in the northern hemisphere and mutated all the
indigenous lifeforms into vicious monsters.  I read about that last
night while I was researching Getter technology.  Anyway," he added,
pinging the gaolith crystal again, "if my calculations are right,
G-stone doesn't have that limitation.  It's stable however big the
generator crystal is, as long as you make sure you get one without
critical flaws.  Powering a city with it isn't really practical, I
don't think, but you could run a good-sized battle mecha with it."
        Janice leaned over and looked at the sketches he'd drawn on
the notepad.  "'Getter Robo', huh?"
        "Just a concept that came to me in the shower this morning,"
said Corwin offhandedly.  He capped the marker and tossed it and the
pad on his desk.  "It's totally impractical, though.  Probably never
get built.  Still, the power calculations are interesting, and I'll
probably be able to turn it to some more practical purpose in the long
run.  Anyway, did you need something?"
        "Oh, I just wanted to let you know that one of the projector
heads in the target range is a little glitchy.  Probably just needs a
new red element."
        "Oh.  OK, I'll check it out."  Corwin got up, took the G-stone
out of the levi-field, and pocketed it.
        "Awright.  Take it easy," said Janice, and she moved off down
the corridor with her faithful Mag floating along behind.
        Corwin got halfway to the target range before being
intercepted by Wakaba Shinohara, who wanted to know if he felt like
heading dirtside with a group of the others for some sightseeing.  He
said sure, if they could wait until he'd dealt with the holoemitter,
and with that minor job taken care of, they headed down.  Not for the
first time, he thanked his father and the others who had developed the
Defiant class for blessing him with such a well-behaved charge.

                        FRIDAY, JULY 21, 2406
                   CENTAURI SECTOR, EARTH ALLIANCE
                     UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS

        Anthy Tenjou pushed her chair back from her desk, rubbed her
eyes, and forced herself to admit that she was becoming a little bit
worried.
        Her studies for the placement test she would have to take at
summer's end - the all-important test which determined whether she
would place into the Class of 2407 at the Deedlit Satori Mandeville
Memorial Institute or, failing that, disrupt the lives of her husband
and many of their friends - were going slowly and arduously but, on
the whole, well.  She had no cause for dissatisfaction.
        Oh, the work was hard, no doubt about that.  She had never had
any cause to take her education seriously in her previous life, and so
was starting basically from nothing and attempting to qualify for the
senior class at one of the galaxy's best secondary schools, not a
trivial task by any stretch of the imagination.
        She had a lot of friends to help her if she needed it, though,
and with the expert tutelage of Miki Kaoru and the loving support of
the rest of the Institute Duelists and their closest friends, Anthy
was confident that she could pass and all would be well...
        ... but nevertheless, she was becoming a little bit worried.
For it seemed that every time she sat down to do some serious
studying, which was almost every day and usually more than once per
day, she developed a headache.  Early on they'd been mild, more
annoying than anything else, but lately they'd been growing worse, and
now the pain behind her eyes was downright fierce.  Anthy was
accustomed to discomfort, having endured much more than her fair share
of it in her life, but there were limits - not to how much she could
stand, but to how long she would endure before wondering if there
might be something seriously wrong.
        At first she'd attributed them to stress.  It was a lot of
information for her brain to absorb, after all, and hers was a brain
unaccustomed to absorbing much of anything, thanks to the sort of life
she had been leading up until this spring.  As the summer went on,
though, she grew less and less convinced of that theory's rightness.
They seemed too consistent for that, and though challenging, the
studying wasn't necessarily stressful.  If not that, though - what?
        Sighing, she got up, absently picking up the book she was
reading and putting a finger in it to save her place.  She left the
captain's cabin and went up the main corridor, around the bridge and
to the stateroom of Kaitlyn Hutchins.  It was evening cycle on the
Valiant, nominal offtime for most of the crew, but with their entry
into the Earth Alliance, Corwin Ravenhair was staying below to keep an
eye on his engines and Utena was still on the bridge, making certain
their IPO entry clearances and orbit arrangements for Earth were taken
care of double-sure.
        The door slid open when Anthy pressed the call button - Kate
had it set to open in lieu of chiming.  Kate was sitting on her bunk
with her black Stratocaster guitar slung on, noodling about with a bit
of a Bo Diddley beat; she looked up, mildly surprised that her visitor
was Anthy and not, as she had guessed, Juri.
        "E-evening, Anthy," she said; then she took the guitar off,
put it down on her bunk, and cocked her head thoughtfully.  "Y-you
d-don't look so g-good."
        Anthy smiled wanly.  "Does it show that much?  I have a
headache," she said.  "Quite a bad one tonight."
        Kate frowned sympathetically, got up, and headed for the door
to her cabin's small bathroom.  "D-do you w-want something f-for it?
I've g-got T-Tylenol, I think... "
        "That would be nice," said Anthy, nodding.  "I think we've run
out... but mainly I came to get away from studying for a while."
        Kate leaned back out of the bathroom, gestured to the book
Anthy was holding, and said with a smile, "That m-might've worked
b-b-better if you hadn't b-brought it w-with you."
        Anthy looked at the book, only now realizing she was holding
it, and tsk'd at herself.  "It might, mightn't it," she agreed.  She
went to Kate's desk, found a sheet of scrap paper, marked her place
and put the book aside.
        Kate came out of her bathroom again, two red and white
capsules in hand, and fetched her guest a bottle of water from the
little refrigerator built into the corner of the room.  "Th-there you
go," she said, handing the objects over.  "I kn-know a f-f-few
acup-practic tech-ch-techniques, too, if you w-w-want.  P-part of my
K-Katsujinkenr-r-ryuu t-training."
        "Well... if you don't mind," Anthy agreed.  She swallowed the
Tylenol with a gulp of water and added, "I don't want to interrupt
whatever you were doing."
        "I was j-just f-f-fooling around with an old G-George
Thorog-good song," Kate replied with a dismissive gesture.  "B-but old
Three-k-k-Chord G-G-George isn't exactly ch-challenging to c-cover."
Kate ushered Anthy to a sitting position at the end of the bunk,
climbed up into seiza behind her, cracked her knuckles, and set to
work.  "We'll j-j-just th-throw in a little of this w-while we
w-w-wait for the T-Tylenol to k-k-kick in," she said.
        "Mmm," replied Anthy, closing her eyes.  "That's marvelous.
Thank you.  I feel better already."
        "Any id-d-dea what b-rought it on?" Kate wondered as she
worked, her fingers plying Anthy's temples as the balls of her thumbs
pressed against the back of the darker girl's head.
        "No, not really," Anthy replied.  "They seem to come on
whenever I'm studying... and they've been getting worse as the
summer's gone on.  I haven't wanted to worry Utena, but... I'm
starting to get a little worried myself."
        "M-maybe you should see D-Doctor Phlox," Kate suggested.
        "Well... I've thought about it... but as I said, I don't want
to worry Utena, and... well, she's the captain.  Surely if I went to
Phlox he'd have to report it to her."
        "Hmmmm," said Kate thoughtfully.  "W-when you're s-s-studying... "
        Kaitlyn went on working until Anthy had nearly fallen asleep,
then asked, "How's th-that?"
        "Wonderful," Anthy replied.  "It's completely gone.  Thank
you."
        "I d-don't know how much c-c-credit I can c-claim," Kate
replied with a smile, "b-but you're w-welcome."
        Anthy regarded her history book, sitting on Kate's desk, and
sighed.  "I suppose I should get back to work."
        "You c-can s-s-stay here if you l-like," Kate offered.
"Juri's p-playing chess w-w-with Imra ton-night."
        Anthy arched an eyebrow.  "Chess with a telepath?"
        "She s-swears she d-d-doesn't ch-cheat," Kate said.  "Anyway,
J-Juri sees it as a ch-challenge."
        Anthy chuckled.  "She would," she observed.  "All right... 
thank you.  I -was- getting a bit lonely just reading by myself."
        "No p-problem," said Kate.  She moved her guitar out of the
way, sat back against her pillows, and propped her musical notebook on
her knees, but she didn't start writing in it right away; instead she
watched quietly as Anthy sat at the desk, opened her history text and
went back to reading.  She had a good view of the darker girl's
profile from that vantage point, and what she saw confirmed her
suspicions.
        "Mm-hmm," she said.
        "Pardon?" said Anthy, looking up.
        Kate got up from her bed, crossed to the desk, and said, "I
thought your d-description sounded f-f-f-familiar."  Then she removed
her large round spectacles and said, "T-try these."
        Anthy looked at her, puzzled.  "I never needed my glasses,"
she said.  "They were just - "
        Kate nodded.  "I kn-know, but t-t-try them anyway.  H-humor
me."
        Looking dubious, Anthy took the glasses and regarded them for
a moment.  Then she shrugged inwardly - what the hell, it wasn't as
though -Kaitlyn- were attempting to symbolically declare some sort of
dominance over her - put them on, and went back to reading.
        She was immediately struck by how much clearer the type was.
She'd never really noticed it before, but now, if she pulled the
lenses down her nose a bit and looked over them at the page,
everything was all... fuzzy.  She had to squint a little to read the
text, causing that familiar thread of pain to whisper into existence
across her forehead, the faint beginnings of that tension behind her
eyes.  But push them up again, look through them - gone.  All of it
gone, and the page... well, it still wasn't quite perfect, but it was
certainly much more readable.
        She took the glasses off again and regarded their owner with
astonishment.
        "Kaitlyn," she said, "are you trying to tell me... "
        Kate nodded, unable to quite keep a smile off her face.
        A sort of horrified amusement creeping onto her face and
mixing with the astonishment, Anthy went on with a slight tremor in
her voice, "... that I actually -need-... "
        Kate nodded again, a faint quiver beginning in her shoulders.
        "... GLASSES?!" concluded Anthy, and with the last syllable
she exploded into laughter, taking Kaitlyn right along with her.
        The two girls laughed until they wept, shattered by the cosmic
irony of it all.  When they'd recovered and dried their eyes, Kate
said with a wry grin,
        "M-maybe it's t-time to see D-Doctor Phlox after all?"

        Utena Tenjou, Captain, IPO Space Force Reserve, sat in her
center seat on the bridge of the Valiant and looked over the checklist
one more time.  Everything seemed to be in order.  It had seemed to be
in order three hours ago when she'd started checking it all for the
third time, and it was in order now.  She was almost convinced by now
that it wouldn't somehow drift out of order while she wasn't looking
if she went to bed.
        At the science station, where he'd remained despite lacking
much to do out of sheer solidarity with his commander, Sub-Commander
Klaang tai-Kalaan smiled slightly to himself.  The vestai-Tenjou had
good reason to be nervous about tomorrow's destination; after all,
when she'd last left the planet Earth, it had been with a goodly part
of the Earth Alliance's law enforcement community on her tail, and
there was no doubt that the people she'd crossed to earn that farewell
remembered her.
        Still, she was an International Police officer and a starship
commander, and for all its snap and bluster back in the late spring of
2405, the Earth Alliance was a signatory to the International Police
Accord.  That meant they were obligated by international law to extend
visiting IPO personnel every courtesy, and that meant that if Utena
wanted to park her ship in Earth orbit and put down part of her crew
for shore leave, then that was precisely what Earth would let her do.
        In fact, there seemed to be no hard feelings; the Earthdome
representatives with whom the Valiant's crew had worked to make all
the arrangements for their brief visit to Toronto had been quite
pleasant about the whole thing.  That made Utena a little nervous too,
which Klaang noted as another indication that the vestai-Tenjou was a
warrior wise beyond her years.  She wasn't taking anything for granted
going in there, even though the stop -was- the one she was looking
forward to most on all the tour.
        "If the one may make a suggestion, joH'wI'," rumbled Klaang
quietly.
        Utena blinked, looked up from her workpad display, and said,
"Yes, Klaang?"
        "We will reach the Solar system at roughly noon New Avalon
time," the Klingon scientist pointed out.  "That is nearly twelve
hours from now.  There is plenty of time for you to get a good night's
sleep -and- re-check everything one more time after breakfast."
        Utena grinned, then yawned and stretched one hand above her
head until the knot between her shoulder blades popped most
satisfactorily.
        "So go the hell to bed, is what you're saying, basically," she
said.
        Klaang nodded equably.  "In essence, yes," he replied.
        "Good idea."  She turned to her lefthand command panel and
pressed a control on it, declaring, "Valiant command systems on
night-shift automatic."  Then she rose, stretched again, and headed
for the portside corridor door before pausing and asking, "Are you
staying here?"
        "For a while yet," Klaang replied.  "Good night, Captain."
        "Night, Klaang."
        Smiling at the idea of being mothered by a three-hundred-fifty- 
pound Klingon master-at-arms, Utena turned left out of the bridge and
walked the four steps to the door of the captain's cabin, the most
convenient to the bridge on the entire ship.  The room was empty,
which wasn't all that odd - hers was a close-knit crew, and people
visited each other's quarters all the time.  She could have tabbed the
intercom panel and done a transponder search - everybody on board wore
a little tag built into their ship's insignia pin that told the
computer where aboard the ship they were - but instead she decided to
try guessing where Anthy was.
        Her first guess, the lunchroom, was wrong - there she found
only Juri Arisugawa and Imra Ardeen, engrossed in a game of chess, and
Sergei the tiger asleep at Juri's feet.  Utena, who wasn't very good
at chess, couldn't tell from looking at the board who was winning, and
neither player seemed inclined to notice her presence, so she went
back out again without bothering them and tried her second guess.
        The door to Kaitlyn's stateroom opened at once, revealing
mostly darkness.  Kate could just be seen, curled up asleep in her
bed; the only light came from the little desk lamp, which fell on
Anthy's history book.
        Hearing the door hiss open, Anthy turned.  The desk lamp's
light glittered on...
        ... the lenses of her glasses.  Not her old, big, clunky,
aviator-framed glasses from days gone by - these were slim oblongs
with silver rims, much more modern and sleek.  They fitted her face a
great deal better, altering her appearance much less.  In fact, rather
than detracting from her looks the way the old ones had, these
actually accented the lines of her face a little - but still...
        Utena stopped in the doorway and blinked.
        "Er," she said softly.
        Anthy gave her a puzzled look.  "What?"
        A number of explanations passed through Utena's mind; since
she was tired, most of them were at least slightly alarming and all of
them were wrong.
        "What happened?" Utena whispered intently, trying not to wake
Kate.
        Anthy looked more puzzled still.  "What?" she repeated; then it
dawned on her what was happening and she laughed lightly, reaching up
and removing her glasses.  "Would you believe I'm farsighted?" she
asked softly.
        Utena blinked again, then snickered, putting her hand across
her mouth.  Anthy put her spectacles back on, got up, closed her book,
turned off the desk lamp, and went out into the hall, gently herding
Utena out before her; before the door closed behind her, she reached
back inside and switched it back to chime-for-entry mode.
        Utena was still giggling when they reached the captain's
cabin.  When the door closed behind them, she burst out laughing, then
said, "You're -joking-!"
        Anthy shook her head, smiling wryly.  "I'm afraid not," she
said.  "Kaitlyn realized it was the reason I've been having headaches
while studying."
        "You have?  You didn't mention - "
        "I know, I didn't want to bother you.  I didn't think they
were anything significant - and I was right.  It was just that... 
well, after all that, I -do- need glasses after all."
        "So you had Doctor Phlox make you a set?"
        Anthy nodded.  "He said there are other treatments available,
but I really only need them for reading.  Kaitlyn's prescription and
mine are almost the same."
        "But Kate wears her glasses all the time."
        "It's easier than putting them on and taking them off all the
time.  And it's a bit of an affectation," said Anthy.  "Before long
she probably won't need them at all.  Her father doesn't; his are
blank, like my old ones were.  He only wears them because he doesn't
think he looks right without them."
        "Really?  I never knew that," said Utena, impressed.  "Where
do you learn these things?"
        "It's amazing what comes up in conversation while you're
waiting for glasses to be made," Anthy replied calmly.  "You must be
tired," she went on, veering away from the subject.  "How many times
did you re-check our documents?"
        "Three," Utena replied.  She went into the bathroom, brushed
her teeth, and changed for bed; then Anthy took her turn, and as they
put out the lights and got into the captain's double-wide bunk
together, Utena observed wryly,
        "I had -just- gotten used to you -without- your glasses... "
        "Perhaps I'll only wear them for reading," Anthy replied.
        "They do look a lot better than your old ones, though," Utena
went on thoughtfully.
        "Well," said Anthy without audible irony, "when you decide
on a preference, please let me know."
        "Oh, quiet, you."
        "As you wish, Lady Utena."
        "... I can't win this one, can I?"
        "No."
        A soft chuckle.  "I didn't think so.  Good night, love.  I'm
glad you're not having headaches any more."
        "As am I, believe me.  Good night... "

        The concert at Sneaky Dee's was like a homecoming.  The Art of
Noise had only played there twice before, but they had been big,
powerful, defining shows that helped to shape the band into what they
now were, even though two of their current lineup hadn't been part of
the group the last time they'd come.  It was also a reunion, because
almost everyone turned up for it, friends they hadn't seen in over a
year, in some cases longer.
        Joe Graf and his band, the Crush of Love, were all present.
Though the older, more established group, they'd insisted on being the
opening act; after all, as Joe pointed out, the Crush had never gone
on a galactic tour.  Amanda Dessler, Crown Princess of the Gamilon
Empire and former Art of Noise rhythm guitarist, her bodyguard Rina
Dragonaar, and her fiance, former Art drummer Devlin Carter, all
appeared, making their second rendezvous with the Valiant Tour that
summer.  And of course Dimitrios Arbuthnot ran the place, so he was
there behind the bar, just where he belonged.  Even Roy Chernow, the
Maple Leafs fan who had taken it upon himself to explain the game of
ice hockey to Utena and Saionji one spring day in 2405, turned up,
much to their surprise and pleasure.
        Kozue Kaoru and Mia Ausa were off to one side of the bar
during the first break, leaning against one of the tall tables meant
for standing patrons and chatting with Imra Ardeen about how well the
show was going and what a great room the band had to work tonight,
when a tallish man with long blue hair in a ponytail and a Network 23
shirt made his way through the crowd to their table.
        "Dad!" said Mia, delightedly embracing her father.  "Are you
here covering the show?"
        "Nah," replied John Trussell offhandedly.  "No camera, see?"
he added, holding up his empty hands.  "I took the day off.  Just came
over to see the show - and you, of course."
        "Well, I'm glad you did," said Mia, smiling.  Then, looking at
Kozue and Imra, she said, "I don't think you've met, have you?  This
is my father, John Trussell.  Dad, this is Kozue Kaoru, Miki's sister,
and Imra Ardeen, our AEGIS agent."
        Imra smiled - as if anyone had to tell her who John Trussell
was! - and offered a gloved hand.  This wasn't something she'd have
been inclined to do two months ago, but life as a member of the
Valiant's crew, with her crewmates' tendency to accept her as a
telepath the same offhanded way they accepted that, say, their
captain happened to have pink hair, had softened her reserve.  Only
after offering the hand did she realize that the reporter might not be
too keen on shaking hands with a P12-rated AEGIS operative.
        Truss didn't bat an eye, though, and his smile was warm as he
shook her hand and said he was glad to meet her.
        "Hold on a minute," said a voice from the crowd behind Truss,
and then a redheaded young woman in jeans and a red t-shirt elbowed
her way through.  She looked Kozue up and down and said, "-You're-
Kozue Kaoru?"
        Kozue blinked.  "Yeah, that's right.  And you are?"
        "Oh, Jung, you're here too?" said Mia.
        "'Course I am," replied the redhead.  "You don't think I'd let
your father fly -himself- from B6 to Earth, do you?  He might get lost
and end up in the Romulan Neutral Zone or something."
        "Thanks for the vote of confidence," said Truss dryly.  "This
is Jung Freud, my pilot."
        "Uh... huh," said Kozue skeptically.
        "Yeah, I get that a lot," replied Jung unconcernedly.  "Are
you the same Kozue Kaoru who's helmsman on the Valiant?"
        "Most of the time."
        Jung grinned.  "Then I want to buy you a drink.  What're you
having?"
        "Zed told you this would happen," said Mia with a smile.
        "Uh, just water," Kozue replied.  "Got to stay ready in case
anything goes down, you know."
        "Bah," said Jung as the two of them made their way toward the
bar.  "I always find that things go smoother with a little
lubrication.  Anyway, nothing's going to happen.  Trust me, I work for
a news agency, and this planet's deader than my Great-Aunt Harriet
tonight.  Why do you think they let Bluehair take the day off?"

        Gonzalo Salvador y Bautisto Krupp, also known as Carlos II,
Emperor of Argentina, Protector of Uruguay and Lord of the Patagonias,
watched the little viewscreen on his desk and fretted.  Here in his
little office - not the huge, imposing one built for state affairs and
public speeches - he had run the military state that his uncle,
Emperor Carlos I, had founded in the aftermath of World War IV a
century and a half ago.  The nation had been his for nearly a century,
and the youthful vigor he'd retained when crowned had faded into what
was politely called 'distinguished' old age.  He would turn one
hundred fifty-six in October; he could hear the Reaper's tread behind
him, time slowly catching up with him.
        And he hadn't conquered the world yet.
        He didn't particularly -want- the entire world; just all of
South America and maybe a bit of the Central American isthmus as well,
and maybe the Caribbean Islands as loose change.  Unfortunately, in
order to get those he'd have to go over Earthdome's collective dead
body, and if you're going to have to take the entire planet anyway,
why not keep it?
        He'd thought he'd had a chance, back in 2388, when the War of
Corporate Occupation came to Earth and the GENOM forces occupied the
planet.  Argentina had been able to secure its own borders and
airspace and, had the war gone on another month, it would have been
able to add Paraguay, Bolivia and maybe the rump of Chile to its
territory.  Unfortunately, GENOM had thrown in the towel, the
Federation had sent in peacekeepers, and the Argentine Empire ended up
with nothing.
        So he'd built, and he'd trained, and he'd planned, waiting for
the time when the small, elite Argentine armed forces could overwhelm
the various Earth government forces in one swift, stunning campaign.
Through the 2390s it had seemed to be working.  Then, little by
little, the interplanetary Earth Alliance had matched and then
outstripped his own military buildup.  It had built a starfleet
substantial enough to make the Empire's secret space navy trivial.  It
had forced him to look for even more deadly technology to offset the
now-insuperable gulf between Earthforce and the Imperial Army.
        And that had brought in the weapons inspectors.  Carlos and
his ministers had led the Federation inspectors a merry dance,
insuring they saw only what Carlos wanted seen... and then the IPO
agents had joined the teams, and the dance became even more difficult.
The last steps were playing out on his viewscreen now, as one
particularly annoying IPO agent was demanding entrance to the base
where the Empire had stored its greatest, most potent - and most
illegal - military equipment.  For the moment, the agent was stalled
by red tape... but the delays could only work for so long.
        What was worse, the agent already knew what was in the base's
armories.  Why else would one of the IPO's precious few warships come
to Earth?  Oh, the pretty fairy-story of a rock band on galactic tour
didn't fool Carlos for one moment; once the agent had proof, the IPO's
troopers would come in and take Carlos off to face trial for
violations of the Babel weapons accords.
        Carlos' choices were coming down to three, and only three.  He
could let the IPO agent in and try to fight conviction in the
Federation courts.  (Ha.)  He could destroy the offending weapons and
give up any hope of conquering the Earth, or even South America, while
he lived.  (Ha, ha.)  The only other option was to strike - attempt to
take out Earthdome with a surprise blow, as per the many war plans he
and his generals had crafted.
        They were not ready.  The Imperial Space Navy was hidden at a
base on the asteroid Chiron: an antiquated force of rebuilt pirate
ships and obsolete war-surplus starships.  Only one of the Empire's
ten divisions was armored with the power suits which the plans relied
on for victory; the others were either in off-the-shelf armor or had
no armor at all.  The twelve squadrons of aerospace fighters the
Empire had were, put kindly, substandard; aging Rapiers, early-model
Dragonflies surpassed by their current kin, and a single squadron of
outdated Valkyries, scavenged at excessive cost from various places.
        Nor could they count on allies.  Carlos had some offworld
support, but they refused to do anything that would reveal their
existence or identity.  Those few Federation members with diplomatic
ties to Argentina - such as the Freespacers, who kept an ambassador in
Buenos Aires to thumb their nose at Earthdome - would never support an
agressive war.  As for the other two nations on Earth not part of the
Alliance, Texas was too isolationist to want to take up arms against
Earthdome, and Zanzibar had no military to speak of - just a single
customs cutter in orbit and a small guard for the Prince and his
family.
        In short, if Argentina attacked it would be alone and at a
serious disadvantage... but if it didn't, Carlos' dreams of ruling
Earth would be forever thwarted.  Put in that light, the decision
wasn't hard to make.
        Carlos switched his desk comm from the security-camera view of
the weapons inspectors to the desk of his senior general.  "Quevada,"
he said quietly, "I want Case Zulu underway within the hour.  Our
strike forces must hit Geneva at dawn."
        General Quevada looked faintly puzzled, but agreeable to the
idea.  "And the IPO agent?"
        "Kill him."
        Quevada, having gained his position by loyalty more than
through any other qualification, made no protest at this sudden
decision.  "As my Emperor commands," he said, and cut the channel.
        Carlos II, Emperor of Argentina, watched the murder of the
International Police man on his viewscreen, then leaned back in his
worn, comfortable chair and sighed, feeling every day of his many
years.  All I wanted, he thought, was beachfront property in Acapulco.
Was that so much to ask?

        A telephone rang, shrilly, insistently.  It sliced through the
fabric of its owner's dreams, rending them and casting them aside.  A
few seconds before she would have been given the Carter Award for
Outstanding Investigative Journalism, Nanami Jinnai awoke - very, very
grudgingly.
        For a few seconds, she didn't know where she was; her tiny
apartment in the Montparnasse district of Paris was still unfamiliar
to her.  She'd only been working out of ISN's headquarters bureau for
a little less than a month.  Instinctively, she reached for the phone
where it had been in her place in Kobe, but of course it wasn't there;
the Paris apartment wasn't modern enough to have a bed with a builtin
comm panel.  Groaning, she squinted at the readout of her bedside
clock and saw that it was - Christ! - four-thirty in the morning.
        Now awake enough to exercise simple motor skills, Nanami
finished rolling over, reached past the clock, and picked up the
phone.  "Nani?" she asked it peevishly, then remembered again that she
wasn't in Japan any more and changed it to, "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
        "Ten rings, Jinnai, where the hell've you been?" came the
gravelly response.
        "I was asleep, Meredith, what the hell?" Nanami replied.  "I
was out until 3:45 covering that comparative religion conference.  Did
you know the Kampiizi only perform their most important ceremonies
after midnight?  Neither did I."
        Producer Meredith Wayne was unsympathetic, as always.  "Yeah,
well, life's tough at the bottom," she said sardonically.  "Get out of
the sack and go down to Federation Plaza.  Something big going down.
Marcelin will meet you at the Metro and brief you on the way."
        Nanami blinked, all thought of protesting this shabby
treatment from the assignment desk erased by the name of the place to
which she was being sent.  Federation Plaza!  If something was going
on at Federation Plaza at 6 AM... that had the smell of a real story,
none of this cat-up-a-tree foolishness they'd had her on since she
came to town.  Could Meredith Wayne finally be prepared to treat the
ex-weathergirl from Japan like the real reporter she dreamed of being?
        "I'm on it," Nanami said, hoping Wayne would notice how brisk
and professional she sounded, and hung up.  She scrambled out of bed,
ran into the bathroom to throw water on her face, then dressed almost
at a run and dashed out into the pinkish light of dawn.
        Federation Plaza was a ten-minute Metro ride from
Montparnasse, but as the train was approaching, the PA system
apologetically informed all passengers that the Plaza station was
closed and the train would be going on to La Motte-Picquet.  It wasn't
until she had backtracked most of the extra distance on foot that
Nanami saw why.
        A cordon of gravity tanks and armored personnel carriers had
completely surrounded Federation Plaza, the gaps between them filled
in with the black-and-grey figures of Earthforce Security Division
troopers.  Outside that cordon was another cordon, this one composed
of uniformed officers of the Paris Police Metropolitaine.  In a few
places, the cops could be seen arguing with the soldiers, the troopers
standing stolidly, blaster rifles cradled, while the policemen
gesticulated in the Gallic style.
        Nanami unconsciously ran a hand through her short, thick,
honey-blonde hair, readjusted the springy band that kept it out of her
eyes, straightened the press badge fixed to the front of her ISN
windbreaker, and ran toward the cordon, looking for someone who might
be in some sort of charge.  A policeman met her partway and tried to
stop her.
        >No, miss, you must go back, I am sorry,< he told her in
slightly breathless French.  >It is not safe to approach the Plaza
just now.<
        >I'm a reporter,< she told him, thumbing her press badge.
>What's going on?  Why all the hardware?<
        >I do not know exactly.  Information is sketchy.  It seems
terrorists have attacked Earthdome in Geneva,< the policeman replied.
>The Earthforce troops say they are here to guarantee the safety of
the Federation delegates.<
        >Is that so?< Nanami replied skeptically.  Gesturing past the
policeman's shoulder with one hand, she added, >Then why are their
guns facing -into- the Plaza?<
        The cop looked nervously around and said urgently, >You should
not be here.  Go now, or I won't be able to guarantee -your- safety.<
        Nanami set her jaw defiantly.  >Oh!  So you acknowledge that
there's something funny going on here,< she said.
        >I did not say that!< snapped the cop angrily.  Turning her
roughly around by the shoulders, he propelled her a few paces down the
sidewalk with a vigorous shove.  >Go now!<
        >Whatever happened to freedom of the press?< she demanded.
        >Suspended,< the cop replied grimly.  >Haven't you heard?
We're under martial law!<

        At Sneaky Dee's, audience and performers alike were entirely,
blissfully unaware of these developments.  The show carried on,
finished up, went on for three encores.  Afterward the band, tired but
exhilarated, cleaned up backstage while the club cleared out.  By then
it was just past midnight.  Some of the Valiant's company who had come
down to see the show returned, while the band and a few others
remained for a little after-hours loitering at the club.  After all,
their clearance to orbit didn't expire until noon, and who knew when
they would see Dimitrios and the rest of the gang again?
        "... c-can't b-b-believe you c-c-came all the w-way from
F-F-France j-just to see m-m-me and my b-b-b-band," said Kate to
Inspector Francoise La Fontaine.
        "It was Lucas's idea," said La Fontaine in lightly accented
Standard, smiling indulgently at the slightly chubby sergeant.  "He
saw the article in the New Avalon paper about your run-in with the
Klingons and thought it would be a terrible shame to miss it."
        "And it would've been!" Lucas insisted with a shy, embarrassed
grin.
        "I can't argue that," La Fontaine agreed.
        "How about getting something to eat?" asked Joe Graf.
        "I'll second that," agreed Utena.  "Mass exodus to Happy
Seven?"
        "No need for that!" said a voice from the stairs leading up to
the second-floor club.  Everone turned, startled, to see a tall, lanky
figure with long straw-blond hair topping the staircase, two large
bags of takeout food in his hands.  "Takeout from Happy Seven -
Delivered on the Wings of Angels!" declared Zach Stephens cheerily.
        "Zach!" cried Utena, jumping to her feet.  The chief
deliveryman of Celestial Pizza of Port Jeradar grinned, deposited his
burden on the bar, and then traded a high-five that turned into a
handshake with the Valiant's captain.  "How the hell'd you get here?"
she asked him.
        "I have my little ways," replied Zach with a faux-enigmatic
grin.  "Toldja I'd take a day off if Kate played a special show."
        "You've been here the whole time?" asked Miki.
        "Yeah, in the back.  Didn't wanna make a big deal out of it,"
replied Zach.  "Dig in, it's still hot!  Happy Seven might not
deliver, but I always do."
        They distributed the food - by some peculiar miracle, everyone
got exactly what he or she would have ordered had they reached that
stage of the food-gathering process - and set to eating it, a
convivial group of twenty-seven - the band, the two former bandmembers
and Rina, the French cops, the Crush of Love, Truss and Jung, Mia and
Kozue and Imra, Zach, Utena and Wakaba, Janice Barlow and Neal
Krummell, Dimitrios and Roy Chernow.  Discussions meandered here and
there, blending into one another.  Political troubles were the last
thing on anyone's mind.
        Until Truss, blinking, trailed suddenly off in what he'd been
saying to his daughter, looking into some unknown distance.  Mia
looked at him in puzzlement - it almost looked as if someone else had
come up and joined the conversation, and her father was paying careful
attention to what the newcomer was telling him, except that there was
no one there.  Mia glanced at Jung, to see that she was also paying
close attention to Truss - but the look on the redhead's face seemed
to indicate that she knew what he was doing.
        Then his face darkened and he said to that same no one,
"Damn.  OK, stand by."  He turned to Dimitrios, his voice cutting
rudely across the conversations by the bar in a way that was most
unlike the John Trussell most of the young people there knew.  "Turn
on the television.  Any channel.  Now."
        Dimitrios blinked at the reporter, but he'd been around too
long and seen too much to quibble with a tone of voice like that; he
went to the television at the corner of the bar and switched it on.
        " - statement issued by Earth Alliance President William
M. Clark in response to the Argentine attack on Geneva," a neatly
suited talking head was saying in front of a large, garish graphic
reading EARTHDOME IN CRISIS!  "Here it is again for those of you who
are just tuning in.  This statement was transmitted only moments ago
from President Clark's office at Earthdome."
        The image switched to the face of President Clark with the
familiar backdrop of his office behind him - and through the windows
in the background could be seen the burning wreck of a Warhammer-class
Destroid and a scene of wild chaos, with blasterfire still flashing in
the greyish post-dawn light of Geneva's early morning in the plaza.
The current time (05:51 GMT) was shown in the upper right; at the
bottom of the screen was a banner reading:

 PREVIOUSLY RECORDED - STATEMENT ISSUED 0545 GREENWICH MERIDIAN TIME

        Clark looked steadily at the camera for a moment, as if not
certain he was on, then glanced down, looked back up and began to
speak.
        "At 5:17 AM Geneva time, commandoes from the Empire of
Argentina assaulted the Earthdome complex in an attempt to seize or
destroy the government of the Earth Alliance.  These troops were
equipped with the most advanced powered armor and armed with phasers,
disruptors, and certain chemical and biological tactical weapons named
in the Babel Accords as weaponry outlawed within the Federation.
        "These commandoes were stopped at great cost by the
Presidential Guard of Earthforce, who are currently fighting off
followup waves from the Empire of Argentina.  Earthforce troops have
secured Earthdome, the Federation Assembly in Paris, and Starfleet
Headquarters in San Francisco.  The governments of the Federation and
of the Earth Alliance are in no danger.
        "I am hereby declaring a state of martial law throughout the
Solar system, except for the independent state of Mars, until the
Empire of Argentina has been subdued and the system secured.  All
citizens are instructed to return to their homes and remain there
until curfew is lifted by their Earthforce regional commander.
        "The events of this morning have demonstrated beyond question
the folly of permitting multiple sovereignties to exist upon a single
planet.  In the cause of peace we must unite this system under a
single authority, so that internecine attacks of this sort can never
happen again.  In order to prevent future attacks upon the sole
legitimate government of Earth and its colonies, I am declaring the
full annexation of all formerly extraterritorial human nations within
the Solar system, including the Argentine Empire, the Republic of
Texas, the Principality of Zanzibar, and the colony of Titan."
        Imra Ardeen gasped, her fingertips inadvertently rising to
touch one of her Saturn earrings.
        Looking somber, Clark went gravely on, "I have one final
announcement to make, one which saddens me above all others.  The
disappearance of an officer of the International Police Organization
in Argentine territory has led some within this government to accuse
the IPO of instigating this unprovoked attack against the Earth
Alliance.
        "I personally do not believe this to be true, but as President
of the Earth Alliance I must act to uncover the full truth behind this
attack.  For this purpose I am declaring Earth's acknowledgement of the
International Police Accord in abeyance pending a full investigation,
and ordering the protective detention of all IPO officers and
installations in Earth Alliance space.  I request the IPO to cooperate
fully with this investigation, so that harmony and good will may be
restored between the IPO and the Earth Alliance government.
        "In closing, I wish the good citizens of the Earth Alliance to
know that this government is in no danger, and that we shall not
permit any petty dictator from a renegade state to usurp the freedom
and security of our citizens.  We shall not rest, and shall not cease,
until all threats to our republic have been nullified.  With your
cooperation with Earthforce and Psi Corps officials, we shall bring
this unpleasant incident to a swift and lasting conclusion, insuring
the peace and prosperity of the Earth Alliance for millennia to come."
        The recorded scene disappeared, replaced once more by the
anchorman in the suit.  "Once again, you have just seen a statement
issued by President Clark just minutes ago in response to the
Argentine attack on Earthdome.  Police in all of the Alliance's former
member states are coordinating with Earthforce liaison officers to
institute martial law throughout the Alliance.  All off-duty police
officers must consider themselves recalled to duty and should report
to the nearest Earthforce Security Division office for new duty
assignments.  Civilians should - "
        Dimitrios switched the television off with a very colorful
Greek exclamation.  For a moment, there was silence; then everyone
turned to look at Utena.
        "Well, crap," she said, and pulled out her communicator.
"Tenjou to Valiant."
        Ear-curling static poured out of the device's speaker grille.
Wincing, she adjusted a few controls, tuned it down to a dull roar,
and tried again.  Nothing happened.
        "J-jamming," said Kaitlyn, rising as well.
        "They know we're here," Dorothy Wayneright observed calmly.
"An Earthforce Security team is probably on its way here right now to
arrest us."
        "As police officers," observed Superintendent Marquette
calmly, "I believe that is technically -our- duty now."  Everyone
turned to look warily at him, but the Frenchman only smiled sadly and
went on, "But I think not.  I cannot speak for my colleagues of
course, but I am an officer of the French Criminal Police Service.
The President, he says there is no more France?  Then me, I say I am
out of a job."
        "Want to join the IPO?" asked Utena with a wan grin.  "I think
we'll be hiring after this hits the fan.  C'mon, you guys - let's get
out of - "
        The door downstairs opened with a crash, and heavy boots on
the stairs heralded the arrival of Dorothy's predicted Earthforce
arrest team, ten armored officers with blaster rifles led by a man
with black shoulder panels and a flechette gun.
        "You're all under arrest for martial law curfew violations,"
declared the squadleader.  "We can sort out who gets more charges once
we've got you all down to the station.  Come along quietly or things
will get very messy."
        "Hey, hold it!" came another voice, still on the stairs.  The
Earthforce Security troopers moved aside, looking slightly confused,
to make way for a Psi Corps Enforcement squad led by a grey-haired,
wiry female Psi Cop.  She approached the Earthforce squadleader
irately.
        "The IPO AEGIS ops are -ours-," she snapped.
        "You can have them once we've processed everyone downtown,"
replied the squadleader contemptuously.  "Earthforce has priority in
martial law situations."
        "Bullshit!" snarled the Psi Cop.  "You know goddamn well the
Corps has jurisdiction in all matters concerning rogue telepaths."
        "Jurisdiction this," replied the Earthforce squadleader,
making an obscene gesture.  "Get 'em outta here, boys."
        "Harrison!" the Psi Cop barked.
        "Ma'am!" said the burly leader of the Enforcer group.
        "Any of these leatherneck mundanes puts a hand on Ardeen or
Carter, blast him."
        "Uh... ma'am?"
        "Stinking mindtapper!" roared the squadleader.  He rounded on
the Psi Cop, raised his fletcher, and was dropped to his knees by a
pre-emptive telepathic attack.
        With a howl of outrage, one of the other Earthforcers blasted
the Psi Cop point-blank, dropping her.
        Things got very, very hectic after that.  By the time the dust
settled, four Enforcers and five Earthforce Security officers were
dead or incapacitated and the rest were standing in the empty wreckage
of Sneaky Dee's, just piecing together how they'd all been had.
        "God DAMN it!" snarled the ranking survivor from the
Earthforce team.  "Call for backup and get AFTER them!"

        Nanami Jinnai escaped an unfortunate fate by fifteen seconds
that morning.  That was how long before Earthforce arrived that she
gave up trying to get into the ISN broadcast headquarters on the
Champs-Elysees, turned around, and started heading for the telephone
booth across the street.  She had just reached and entered the booth
when the first armored personnel carriers surrounded the building and
the first troops knocked down the doors and swarmed inside.
        With an inarticulate exclamation of surprise, she dropped a
token into the phone and called her boss.
        "Nanami!" hissed Meredith Wayne.  As suddenly as her image had
appeared, it vanished, replaced by the words "VIDEO MODE DISENGAGED"
on the pay phone's little semiholo display.  "Get out of Paris if you
can," said Meredith.  "Don't come to ISN - I've revoked your access
card.  The troopers won't find you on the employment records because
you're fired."
        "WHAT?!" Nanami blurted.  "Meredith, what the hell's - "
        "No time!  They're coming in now.  God knows who you'll see
when you turn on ISN tomorrow.  Get out if you can.  Find some way to
tell people what's happened - "
        The sound of a door crashing open cut off the producer's
voice; there was the sound of a short scuffle, and then a gruff voice
said, "This is Sergeant Tennyson, Earthforce Security.  To whom am I
speaking?"
        Nanami hung up, pushed the booth open, and looked around the
ISN front plaza.  A few troops loitered here and there, but none of
them seemed to notice her.  Carefully, slowly, she backed away, into
the bushes ringing the decorative stone plaza - 
        - and bumped into somebody.  Suppressing a scream, she whirled, 
expecting to see another trooper, perhaps slightly surprised, ready to
take her into custody.
        Instead she saw one of the icons of her industry.
        "M-M-Mr. Carter!" she gasped.  "What are you doing here?"
        "Missing my flight," replied Edison Carter, Director of News
Services for Network 23, wryly.  Time had worn his famous face
somewhat, adding more lines and greying his hair, but he was still
instantly recognizable.  He was -the- face of television news for
Nanami's parents' generation, the definitive newsman.  His integrity,
bravery and tenacity combined with Ben Cheviot's business genius and
rigorous personal standards had made Network 23 one of the most
powerful in the industry, the giant against which ISN employees liked
to imagine that they constantly struggled.
        "And you, Miss Nanami Jinnai," Carter went on in his equally
unmistakable, slightly reedy but firm voice.  "Why aren't you inside
getting arrested with the rest of your co-workers?"
        "I just got fired," said Nanami, touching her press card
self-consciously.  "I guess that means I should take this off," she
added, removing the card and pocketing it sadly.
        "I'd lose that windbreaker too if I were you," Carter pointed
out.
        Nanami glanced down at herself, realized that her windbreaker
had the logo of her former employers emblazoned on it both front and
back, and whipped it hastily off.  It was chilly in the dawn of Paris,
though, so she reversed it and put it back on.  The blue satin wasn't
as comfortable against her bare arms as the fuzzy white liner, but she
might not get instantly arrested this way.
        "What are you going to do?" she asked Carter, trying not to
let the awe she felt at standing this near to him creep into her
voice.
        He nodded toward the ISN building.  "News happening," he
said.  "Nobody else around - guess I'm covering it."
        Words came out of Nanami's mouth before she consciously
thought of saying them:
        "I don't suppose you could use an assistant?"
        Carter grinned at her again, then gestured to the big, clunky
Network 23 sub-ether camera-transmitter he carried.  "You know how to
use one of these?"
        "That antique?" Nanami replied with a slightly wicked grin of
her own.  "They taught us how to run those things in third grade."
        "Watch your mouth," replied Edison, but he was still smiling.
He handed her the camera and said, "You're now my department's newest
intern."
        "Intern?!" Nanami protested as she hefted the ethercam and
trained it on Edison Carter's famous face.  "I'll have you know I was
a full field correspondent with ISN."
        "Yeah, well, we'll talk about that if we ever get back to the
office," Carter replied wryly, moving so that the bushes still mostly
shielded him but the ISN building could be seen behind him.  "Patch me
in."
        Nanami switched on the camera, saw the red "L&D" light appear
in her viewfinder, and gave him a thumbs-up to supplement the red
light she knew he could see atop the camera.  He nodded slightly,
composed himself, and then sent a thrill running up Nanami's spine as
he spoke the famous words that had, when she was a small child, swayed
her from the path of blind capitalism and toward the nobler calling of
the news:
        "This is Edison Carter, coming to you live and direct on
Network 23... "

        Imra Ardeen and Wakaba Shinohara ran down an alley in downtown
Toronto as fast as they could go; Imra didn't think they were being
followed, but better safe than sorry.
        "Do you think everyone got out?" Wakaba asked as they ran.
        "I think so," Imra replied.  "I didn't sense anyone being
captured, but then I wasn't focusing too carefully.  I was too busy
keeping that Psi Cop from noticing what Carter was up to."
        "That was pretty slick," Wakaba remarked.  "For a minute I
didn't know -what- the hell was going on."
        "There's a lot of latent animosity between the Corps and just
about every other organization out there," Imra said, nodding.
"Exaggerating those feelings to the point where violence breaks out is
often not that difficult.  It's a standard evasion technique, though
in the simulations they didn't usually end up -shooting- each other."
        "OK, hold up a minute," said Wakaba.  They slowed down, then
stopped, panting slightly.  "Anyone around?"
        Imra closed her eyes, concentrating.  "Lot of background
noise," she murmured.  "The city's very agitated tonight... "
        "Martial law will do that to a city," Wakaba remarked wryly.
        Imra nodded.  "I'm not picking up anything threatening nearby,
though," she said.  "I think we're clear for the moment.  The question
is," she added, leaning back against the wall of the nearest building
with a sigh, "now what?"
        "Now," Wakaba replied, "we get a little creative."  She raised
her arm, pushed back her sleeve, and looked into the shifting green
light of her Lens.  "Never really had to use this thing before," she
mused.  "Let's see if it works."
        Closing her own eyes in a similar look of concentration to the
one her telepath companion had just had, Wakaba focused her thoughts
on the gem and directed them outward in a general call for help:
        <Any Lensman in North America, this is Wakaba Shinohara, Grey
Lensman, IPS Valiant.  Is anyone receiving?>
        It took her a moment to sort through the jumble of signals
that came back - there were apparently half a dozen Lensmen in North
America at the moment, and all of them were reporting approximately
the same situation.
        <... IPO Regional HQ, Maine, under attack... >
        <... Earthforce troops surrounding Area 51... >
        <... made it to the Zeta Cygni consulate in DC, but they might
not respect... >
        <... signaled Babylon 6, but I don't know if they'll be able
to send help... >
        One came through more strongly than the others, and Wakaba
tried to get a firmer lock on it at the cost of releasing the others:
        <Regional HQ, can you hear me?>
        <I hear you, Lensman Shinohara,> came the reply - a deep,
confident 'voice', only a little rattled.  <Blue Lensman Colin
Eadwards here, chief of security for Regional HQ Bangor.  Earthforce
has the place surrounded and they want in, but we're holding them off
for now.  I'm afraid we can't really come get you, but if you can get
to us somehow, we can offer you a route offplanet.  You have our GTG
address?>
        <Sure, but I dunno what good it'll do me.  A group of us who
were on the surface when all hell broke loose are scattered around
Toronto now, cut off from Valiant.  I've got an AEGIS with me, and the
Earthforce types and the Psi Cops are inclined to fight over her.
We'll see if we can... uh... borrow a transporter and make it to you.>
        <OK.  I think we can hold them here for maybe another six
hours before we have to blow the Gate, and that's your exit route.>
The fleeting impression of a wry smile.  <So I don't mean to rush you,
but hurry up.>
        <Thanks.  We'll see what we can do.  Shinohara out.>
        When she came back from her Lens trance, she noticed Imra
looking curiously at her and shrugged.  "Looks like it works," she
said.  "We have six hours to get to Maine, which means that unless you
can fly and carry me with you, we're going to have to crash a
transporter station."
        "I doubt the EA Transit Authority will be inclined to let us
use one," replied Imra with a sardonic grin.
        "Then we'll ask nicely," said Wakaba in reply as she put a
hand on the grip of her sword.

        A relatively short distance away, galactically speaking, the
Chief of the International Police was in his office aboard the IPSF
flagship Challenger, which held station just off International Police
Station Babylon 6 in orbit over Bajor.  He was fiddling around with
personnel allocations for the next Defiant-class Next Generation
Destroyer, IPS Adamant, which was scheduled to be ready for trials by
mid-August, when the chime of his office door twittered.
        "Come in!" he called, pushing his chair back a little and
leaning back.  The door opened and Ruri entered.  Behind her was
another, taller girl, slim and attractive with short brown hair.  She
still wore the uniform of an IPO Tactical Division field officer, blue
coveralls, shirt, and cap, and Gryphon thought she looked a little
nervous.
        "Here's my replacement," said Ruri without preamble.  She
might have gone on to do an introduction or she might not; Gryphon
couldn't predict in advance and would never know, since the other girl
pre-empted her anyway by snapping to attention, saluting, and saying,
        "Tactical Officer Luornu Durgo, Lensman, reporting for duty,
Fleet Captain!"
        Gryphon got up from his chair and extended a hand with what he
hoped was a friendly, welcoming kind of smile.  "Welcome aboard,
Lensman Durgo.  We're not so formal here in the Space Force.  You can
call me Captain, or Chief, or Boss, or Oyabun, or even Gryphon -
whatever strikes your fancy.  I take it Ruri's filled you in on what
the job is?"
        Luornu nodded as she took his offered hand.  She had a good
handshake, not as timid as her overall demeanor, and as they made eye
contact over it, he noticed that she had interesting eyes - one of
them was amber, the other violet.  She didn't look away, either, so
maybe her timidity was just an artifact of being in the August
Presence of the Chief for the first time.
        Well, he remarked wryly to himself as he released her hand,
she'll get over that fast enough if she takes the job.
        Then, as she lowered her hand, he noticed her Lens.  It had
the same peculiar coloration as her eyes, half amber, half violet, the
two colors shifting alongside each other in a vaguely yin-yang-like
configuration.  Most intriguing.
        She took his attention away from it by dropping her hand to
her side, nodding, and replying, "Yes, sir.  She's been showing me
the substance of it for the past few weeks, but she wanted to hold off
on the introduction until she was satisfied that I could do the job."
        "She's a very hard worker," said Ruri, nodding, "and competent
in all the particulars.  It will take her a little while to get up to
speed, of course, but I think she'll be... adequate," she added with a
tiny, tiny smile.
        Luornu was apparently accustomed to Ruri's understated way of
talking, because she didn't take the somewhat minimal praise as an
insult, though it wasn't one, the way most people would have.  She
only said,
        "I'll do the best I can, sir.  You may have to bear with me a
little in the early days, though, if you decide to accept me for the
position.  After all, I can only be in three places at once."
        Gryphon cocked an eyebrow at her, then smiled.  "You're more
confident than you look, aren't you, Lensman?"
        "Sometimes," replied Luornu with a little smile.
        Gryphon laughed and slapped his desk.  "I like you," he
declared.  "The job's yours if you want it."
        "I wouldn't be here if I didn't, sir."
        "All righty, then.  Ruri, looks like your last job for me will
be to transfer Lensman Durgo into the Space Force at the rank of...
oh, let's say Senior Lieutenant... and list her as your replacement."
        Ruri nodded, then acknowledged the instructions with a phrase
she almost never used: "Aye aye, sir."
        "Lieutenant Durgo," Gryphon went on, "your -first- job for me
will be to finalize Ruri's promotion.  Then arrange transport for her
to Ishiyama so she can join Steamrunner for her trials - after you and
Jantzen arrange her going-away party, of course."
        Luornu opened her mouth to respond, but at just that moment,
the trim stripe running shoulder-high along the office walls began
flashing yellow, an alarm hooted throughout the ship, and executive
officer Lore Soong's voice announced,
        "Yellow alert.  Captain to the bridge."
        Gryphon looked from Ruri to Luornu, then shrugged.  "Looks
like you're -both- my yeoman for the moment.  Let's go see what's
going on."

        At Toronto's Pearson International Spaceport, no officially
recognized lifeforms inhabited the bright blue Cygnus Spaceworks
executive shuttle parked in Bay 11-C.  By the legal standards of the
Earth Alliance, there was no one aboard to look out onto the
ferrocrete hardstand to take note of the number of Earthforce troopers
surrounding the blue Lambda.  With both of the shuttle's registered
human crew in the city, there was nobody left on the Morning Sun but
three droids and a computer.
        The computer, which for reasons unknown even to his programmer
liked to call himself "Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci", stood in the
control cabin looking out at the troopers surrounding the Morning Sun
and scowling.  Of course, he wasn't really standing there; he was a
holographic projection, and he wasn't looking across the hardstand
with his eyes but rather with the shuttle's passive visual sensors.
The effect was the same, though.  He took a puff of his illusory
cigar, clamped it back in his illusory teeth, and scowled some more.
        "OK, Rusty," he finally said.  "Fire up the Beagle Boys."
        The purple and grey R5 unit standing next to him blurbled
agreeably, whirled on his casters, and rolled aft, plugging into a
console on the main corridor bulkhead amidships.  A moment later,
doors on either side of the corridor hissed open, revealing a pair of
Neimoidian battle droids, one beige, one grey.
        "OK, boys," said Al, striding through Rusty and into the gap
between the two battle droids with his hands folded behind his back
and his face businesslike as though he really were an admiral.  "Rise
and shine, the boss needs your help.  Load up program modules A-23 and
C-17 and hop to it.  I'll give you the details when you're loaded."
        "A-23," replied the two droids in their similar but slightly
differentiated monotone voices.  "C-17.  Roger.  Roger."
        There came a series of clicks and whirs as the configuration
systems built into the two droids' storage bays automatically selected
the enhanced programming modules requested and slotted them into the
expansion slots on the robots' backs.  They stiffened slightly as new
information and abilities became available to their limited positronic
matrices.  The grey one wobbled a little on his feet, then announced,
        "... I know kung fu."
        "Yeah, yeah, congratulations," Al replied.  "Now get back to
the ramp and wait for instructions."
        "Roger.  Roger."

        Janice Barlow was feeling a bit grumpy.  And who could blame
her, really?  She'd been having a great night, complete with surprise
visit from her sort-of-boyfriend, IPO officer Neal Krummell, who'd
gated over from Titan for the show and was planning on taking the long
way back to his posting with Valiant.  And then all -this- had
happened, and now she and Neal, along with Superintendent Marquette of
the Paris police, the Crush of Love, and the pizza guy from DSM, were
running down an alley in the general direction of the University of
Toronto.
        She was just about to put her discontent into words when Neal
did it for her: "This -sucks-."
        "No kidding," she replied.  "How the hell are we going to get
out of this?"
        "If I could get to Regional HQ in Maine, they're probably
using the stargate to evac everybody to Titan," said Neal.  "Which is
probably an unholy mess itself, right now.  Annexed, my furry white
butt!  Dammit, I have to get back there."
        Zach Stephens, in the lead, took a sharp right down another
alley and led them out onto the sidewalk along Spadina Avenue.
        "No problem," he said.  "I know a shortcut."  He stuck the
tips of his little fingers into the corners of his mouth and emitted a
piercing whistle.
        Janice gave him a weird look, but before she could say
anything, the roar of an approaching engine caught her attention.  A
moment later, an antique Cadillac hearse, black with a flame job and
the words "HOT PIZZA" painted backward on the leading edge of the
hood, skidded around the corner from Bathurst and screeched to a halt
in front of them.
        "Good boy," said Zach, absently patting the hood.  "All
aboard!" he called, opening the passenger's door and sliding across
the front seat into the vacant driver's position.
        Neal and Janice, puzzled but game, piled in, as did
Superintendent Marquette.  The old car was so huge that the four of
them fit without much discomfort, despite Krummell's sturdy build and
the Superintendent's broad shoulders.  Zach leaned across them and
gestured with a thumb to the back.
        "You guys don't mind the accommodations, there's plenty of
room," he said to Joe Graf and his band.
        Joe shrugged.  "What the hell, we're practically home," he
said.  "Figure we'll just see if we can slip through the patrols and
get back to our apartments.  Good luck, you guys," he added to Neal
and Janice.  "If you see Kate, tell her I'm damn sorry this had to
happen in my town... "
        "Will do," said Janice, nodding.  "Good luck, Joe.  Maybe
we'll see you around sometime."
        "I hope so," Joe replied.  He patted the passenger doorframe
atop the open window, looking sad; then he and the other members of
the Crush turned and slipped back into the alley they'd come from.
        "OK," said Zach, pulling the Caddy's gearshift lever down into
"Drive".  "So, Bangor, then.  Cool.  I can do that."  He pressed the
accelerator, and the Caddy snarled and pulled off down the empty
street.  "Super, you want me to drop you in Paris on the way?"
        Marquette blinked.  "Er... no, thank you," he replied,
thinking to himself that this young man's sense of humor could stand
to be in better taste.
        But Zach only shrugged and replied, "Suit yourself," in his
easygoing way.  He was the picture of relaxation at the wheel despite
the fact that all North America's cities were bound to be swarming
with nervous cops with shoot-on-sight orders for curfew violators; one
arm out the window, right hand lazily gripping the top of the wheel, a
man in his element and in tune with his surroundings.
        "You guys like music?" he asked offhandedly.  "Stupid
question, right?" he replied to himself with a sheepish grin.  "Duh,
where were you just?"  Then he reached to the radio and flicked it on
before slinging the big Caddy around a sharp left and down a narrow
street.
        "The highway's the other way," Neal protested over the throb
of an Alpha Collider techno-trance number.
        "Maybe yours is, man," Zach replied cheerily, "but you're not
drivin'."

        When he had taken the job of chief engineer of the IPO
starship Valiant, Corwin Ravenhair had never particularly expected to
find himself serving as officer of the deck in a crisis situation.
He'd thought that his working hours would be spent in his office aft
of the bridge, overlooking Main Engineering and the intermix chamber,
and his off-duty hours... well, most of them would be spent there too,
fiddling with various ideas and concepts on the heavy-duty computers
there.
        But as luck would have it, here he was, having come up
directly after the show to get an early night before the following
day's short hop and concert on Titan.  As they had a day off after the
Titan show, he'd been planning to hold the post-show gathering at his
castle, and he didn't expect to be getting much sleep, so he was
planning to stock up now.
        And, of course, -this- had happened.
        When he arrived on the bridge, he found Sub-Commander Klaang
scowling at the communications panel and Anthy peering sleepily into
the room from the opposite corridor door.
        "OK," he said, stifling a yawn.  "I've read Clark's
statement.  What do the Orbital Patrol people want us to do about it?"
        "Listen for yourself," grunted Klaang.  He switched the
channel he was listening to from his earbug to the overhead speakers.
        " - leave the system immediately or shut down your engines and
receive boarders.  Respond immediately, Valiant."
        Corwin scowled, his agile mind filling in the gaps in a
moment, stepped to the conn, sat, and punched a key on one of the side
panels.
        "This is Chief Engineer Corwin Ravenhair, currently standing
the watch on IPS Valiant," he said.  "We've still got personnel
planetside.  Thanks to your communications blackout, it's going to
take us a while to find them and - "
        "You have two choices, Valiant," the voice of the Earthforce
comm operator cut him off.  "You can leave them behind or join them in
detention."
        "Even if this wasn't bullshit," Corwin snapped back, "they're
not all IPO personnel.  You did know about the band we're touring?"
        "Oh, yeah, your 'band'.  Not a very convincing cover for an
espionage squad.  Tell your boss better luck next time.  If I don't
see you setting course for outsystem and firing up your FTL of choice
or powering down for boarding within 5 minutes, I start shooting.
Hieronymus out."
        "Fuck," Corwin muttered.  "Klaang, anything?"
        The Klingon frowned ferociously into his sensor scope.  "No,"
he said after a moment.  "They've got our air-to-ground communications
bands blocked solid.  I can't raise anybody down there, or pick up
anyone's transponder signal.  Can you get Shinohara with your Lens?"
        Corwin glanced at the gleaming gem which formed the basis of
his wristwatch.  "I'm not sure," he admitted.  "It's not the same kind
of Lens.  Anyway, I couldn't use it to get a transporter lock on her."
He concentrated anyway, feeling his way through the unfamiliar terrain
of the gem's telepathic capabilities.  The Lens he wore was a
Cephirean mage's Lens, not one of his mother's creations, but he knew
they shared some similar properties, and his mother had successfully
contacted him using her own at one point - but whether that was
actually the Lens's doing or just the resonance of their divine blood,
he wasn't really sure now that he thought about it.
        It seemed to be the former, though, because after a few
moments' fumbling, he heard Wakaba's voice in his head:
        <Yeah, Corwin?>
        <I just got rousted out of bed for this mess.  They want us to
leave in... 4 minutes and 35 seconds, or accept boarders, or they
start shooting.  What's going on down there?>
        <They tried to pick us up at Sneaky Dee's, but things got a
little confused.  We're scattered all over hell now.  Imra's with me,
I dunno where the rest are.  We're trying to get to the downtown
transporter center so we can get to IPO HQ in Maine and use the
stargate.>
        <The TC'll be mobbed with EF security troops,> Corwin
observed.  <It's a high-security government facility.>
        <Yeah, I know, but it's still our best shot.  I'm pretty sure
Truss and Jung are on their way to their ship at YYZ, and I think they
have a few of the others with them but I don't know which ones.>
        <Damn.  Utena?>
        <She could be with them, or on her own - I think I saw her go
out the back with Dorothy.  Can't you reach her?>
        <No, she doesn't have a Lens.  She's the only Rune Knight who
doesn't.>
        <But you and she and Anthy... huh.  I figured you wouldn't
-need- Lenses.  Well, you know Utena.  I'm sure she's all right.
Probably she's had the same idea I had and we'll meet up at the TC.>
        <Where are you gating to?>
        <Titan.  IPO Regional in Bangor is evacuating everybody to
Titan; then they'll blow the gate in Maine and go from Titan to B6 if
they have to pull out of the system entirely.>
        Corwin scanned the tactical plot and decided that made sense.
<OK, yeah.  Looks like Earthforce is still gathering its forces for
a move on Titan, it'll take them a while to get into position to try
and enforce the annexation.  I'll let you go.  Try and keep me posted,
and if you get the chance, see if you can get Dad on your Lens and
tell him what the hell's going on.  I'm going to be a little busy.>
        <Yeah, and I'll be lying on the beach sipping a mai tai,>
Wakaba replied wryly.  <I'll see what I can do.  Good luck, Corwin.>
        <You too, Wakaba.>  Corwin cut the link, sat back, and
sighed.  "Fuck," he repeated softly.
        "What's happened?" Anthy asked.  Corwin started slightly - he
had forgotten she was there, and now felt bad about having sworn twice
in front of her - and then gave her the quick outline.
        "Two minutes," rumbled Klaang from his station, where he was
still hunched over his scope looking for signs of the landing party.
        "Bastards," Corwin snarled, his embarrassment for Anthy's sake
forgotten in the wave of outrage that swept over him.  Damn them, DAMN
them - Utena was still down there, and Kaitlyn, and all the rest.  He
couldn't just loll around up here, and he sure as hell couldn't run
away and leave them behind!
        He got up from the conn and started toward the helm station,
and suddenly Anthy was next to him, her hand on his arm, her soft
green eyes meeting his own - hey, when did she start wearing glasses
again?  Nice ones, though, this time - and stealing the anger from them.
        "What are you going to do?" she asked quietly.
        "What -can- I do?" he replied.  "I can't leave them down
there.  I can't just run away."
        "You can't mean to shoot your way to the surface and back out
again.  That would be suicide, even with this ship."
        Corwin opened his mouth to dispute the point, realized it was
valid, and fell silent, his big hands working helplessly.  Then he
shook his head and said, "All right, then - Klaang, you get the ship
clear.  I'll go down there and - "
        "And what?" Anthy interrupted gently.  "Find everyone somehow
and... what?  Send them to Cephiro?  Bring them through windows one by
one to somewhere else?  There are more than a dozen of them.  Your
strength isn't infinite, especially in Midgard."
        She said all of this very softly, very gently - not to throw
his limitations in his face, but merely to remind him of them, to
prevent him from giving into his rashest instincts and setting himself
on a course to destruction.  He recognized all that in a flash of
intuition that headed off any indignant reaction, and instead of
flaring, he sighed, long and disconsolately.
        Anthy slid her hand down his forearm and took his hand firmly
in hers.  "Utena will find a way back to us," she said, her soft voice
charged with an intensity that shouldn't have surprised him, after all
he'd seen her do, but still somehow did.  "Our duty in the meantime is
to make sure we're somewhere to be found."  She smiled, a little
wryly, and added, "Trust me, Corwin... it's an activity I have -some-
practical experience with."
        Corwin felt himself smile despite the boil of emotions that
still bubbled within him.  He squeezed her hand, let it go, and went
to the helm station anyway - after all, someone had to drive if they
were going to put their tail between their legs and run.
        Klaang rumbled slightly, and Corwin knew the Warrior of
Science didn't like it any more than he did... but as he took his
seat, a plan came to his mind, and the little smile he'd given Anthy
broadened into something more wicked.
        He keyed the helm station's comm functions online and said,
"Valiant to Hieronymus, come in please."
        "This is Captain Edwin Planck speaking.  You've still got 40
seconds," said the voice of the Hieronymus's commanding officer
sarcastically.  "What's it gonna be?  Fight or flight?"
        "Neither," Corwin replied flatly.  "IPS Valiant requests
clearance to break orbit for intrasystem transit.  Destination... "
His wicked little smile twisted a little more as he added, relishing
the single syllable to its utmost, "Mars."
        "... What?!" blurted the Earthforce Orbital Patrol officer.
"You can't do that!" he snapped after recovering his balance.  "You've
been ordered to leave the system - "
        "The sovereign Martian government is signatory to the Pact
Babylonica and the International Police Accords," Corwin informed him
pleasantly.  "Unless President Clark has decided to annex -them-,
too," he added, in a tone of voice that made it plain how likely he
thought that to be.  The telepathic, shape-shifting, tranquility-loving 
Martians scared the hell out of the Psi Corps and Earthforce.
        No, there was no way Earth would risk a second war with Mars;
only the intervention of the Wedge Defense Force had prevented the
first one, back in the twenty-first century, from ending in mass
tragedy on both sides.  The Martians might like things quiet, but if
roused they were implacable enemies, and very, very powerful.
        "You put one maneuvering thruster out of line, Valiant,"
snapped Captain Planck, "and I'll blow you clear to the Kuiper Belt.
Got it?"
        "Aye aye, sir," Corwin replied nastily.  "See you around."
        "Not if I see you first," snarled Planck, and the channel was
cut.  Corwin put the ship in motion, then turned in the helmsman's
seat to address his one-Klingon crew.
        "Klaang, you want to tell the Martians we're coming?  We
should only need to borrow an orbital lane for a couple of hours at
most."  He turned a little more and grinned at Anthy.  "You're right,
you know," he told her.  "If I know Utena, she's halfway to a solution
to this mess by now - head down and fists clenched."
        Anthy laughed.  "I imagine so," she replied.

        As it turned out, Corwin was half right.  Utena didn't have
her head down at that moment, but she did have her fists clenched.    It
wasn't, perhaps, particularly elegant for the Grand Duelist of Cephiro
to just haul off and slug an Earthforce trooper, but it was less messy
and permanent than lopping off his head with the Thorn of the Rose
would have been.
        Locating the Earthforce Emergency Transporter Center in
Toronto had been simple.  Getting to the building hadn't been much of
a challenge either.  Neither had actually getting into the structure
itself.  Unfortunately, the low-security areas, like the lobbies,
briefing rooms and staging areas, weren't of any particular use to
Utena and the group she'd assembled after the scatter from Sneaky
Dee's.  What they were after was one of the actual transporter rooms,
and those would be secured.
        On the face of it, it didn't seem like a very smart plan,
invading a high-security Earthforce installation in the middle of
martial law - but that was the beauty of the plan, as Utena saw it.
Martial law had been declared just over two hours ago now.  For the
first hour, this place was a hive, full of troopers being beamed in
from staging areas around North America and then flooding out into the
streets to break up demonstrations, pack angry citizens off to their
homes or jail, and secure government buildings and public transit
systems.
        But that hour was past, and now the Center itself was quiet,
almost deserted.  Only a skeleton crew of security officers had been
left behind to keep an eye on the place - after all, who was going to
try and break into a transporter center?  With the orbital relay
stations shut down and the station not equipped with out-of-band
beaming capabilities, the transporters there could only take intruders
somewhere else in the hardwired network - which meant beaming straight
into the lap of -another- TC's security force.  So what would be the
use?
        So getting in hadn't been tough, but now the four of them -
Utena, Mia Ausa, and two of the three hapless French cops - faced
their first real challenge: the secured corridor leading from Assembly
Area B to the transporter core.  This was about twenty feet long, and
was secured by blast doors at the far end which were controlled by a
man in an armored booth off the near end.
        "Hmm," mused Utena as she knelt at the corner and peeked
around it at the booth.  "Pretty sturdy-looking.  We're going to have
to get him out of there.  Mia, I don't suppose you have anything that
can take out that door?"
        "Not really," Mia replied.  "Anything I could do that would be
powerful enough to bring the door down would probably destroy the
whole booth."
        "Allow me," said Inspector La Fontaine with a smile.  She got
to her feet, tugging Lucas up with her, and the two of them strode
boldly out into the corridor.  Utena blinked after them, then realized
what La Fontaine must be up to.  Quickly, she moved as well, staying
close to the wall so that the man in the booth wouldn't spot her, Mia
hard on her heels.  The two of them slipped up to the side of the
booth and flanked the door just as the two detectives reached the
window.
        "Halt!" crackled the guard's voice through the intercom
speaker below the window.  "Identify yourselves."
        "But certainly," said La Fontaine, a little breathlessly, as
though she'd just been running.  "I am Inspector Francoise La
Fontaine.  This is Sergeant Martin Lucas.  We are officers of the
Bureau de Police Criminale, Paris.  We were here on vacation.  We must
return to Paris immediately!"
        The guard ceased to look alarmed and settled into a merely
wary demeanor.  "Sorry," he said, though he neither sounded nor looked
it.  "Earthforce only.  You'll have to stay here for the time being.
Go down the street to the local police headquarters.  I'm sure they
can find something you can help with."
        "But no, this is terrible!" cried La Fontaine, wringing her
hands.
        Lucas took his cue beautifully, sliding in front of his
distressed colleague, leaning against the glass, and lowering his
voice confidentally.  "Listen, friend... we're off duty, yes, but
we're not really supposed to be out of town.  You know?  We figured if
there was an emergency, we could just come here and - poof!  Yes?  We
never counted on a -global- emergency.  Help us out, will you?"  He
smiled conspiratorially.  "I can make it worth your while."
        The Earthforce guard gave him a skeptical look.  "Oh yeah?"
        Lucas's smile broadened just a little, sly and a bit oily.  He
reached into his coat, took out his wallet, and cocked it slightly so
that the thick sheaf of cash within was visible edge-on.  "But yes,"
he replied.
        The guard weighed his options for a couple of seconds, then
shrugged.  After all, they -were- cops.  "Wait there," he said, then
keyed the booth door and stepped out into the alcove.
        Something heavy, hard and pointy smashed into the side of his
face.  He never felt himself hit the floor.
        Utena sheathed the Thorn of the Rose, relieved the unconscious
guard of his blaster, then stepped over his body and rounded the
corner to grin at Lucas while Mia slipped into the booth and opened
the blast doors.
        "Slick," said Utena.  Momentarily, Mia rejoined them, and the
four headed into the transporter core.

        Amanda Elektra Dessler swept onto the bridge of her personal
starship, boiling with rage.  She stripped off her traveling coat and
flung it randomly into a far corner; Rina Dragonaar made a mental note
to retrieve it later.
        "This is the second time these people have tried to mistreat
me and my friends," Amanda snarled as she dropped into the thronelike
seat the Lorica's rebuilders had installed for her at the back of the
bridge.  "I exercise forbearance for your sake, Earthman, but by Kru's
bloodstained axe, my patience is not infinite!"
        Devlin Carter cracked a little smile and replied, "I'm quite
aware of that."
        Amanda wheeled in her chair to glare at him, and her anger
melted in the face of his mild, inoffensive smile and the slyness it
nearly concealed in his eyes.  She couldn't help it; she laughed, then
turned back to face the main viewer with a clearer, if still outraged,
mind.
        "Commander Jethan!" she said.
        "Yes, Your Highness," replied the Lorica's Romulan captain,
who still stood next to his command chair where he had risen when she
entered.
        "Status?"
        "We're at Condition Yellow," Jethan reported.  "Weapons
precharged, shield generators on standby, all personnel at battle
stations.  Cloaking device is functioning normally and we do not
appear to have been detected."
        "Excellent.  Report."
        "When the Earth President issued his edict, we were ordered to
leave the system or be fired upon.  We protested for form's sake,
acceded to their claims that you would be treated with the respect
due your station and repatriated immediately, and jumped to hyperspace
with our tails between our legs."  The handsome Romulan smiled thinly
and added with an arched eyebrow, "And then we dropped from hyperspace
thirty light-minutes out, cloaked, turned around, and came back."
        Amanda smiled in return.  "Perfect.  Well done, Commander.
You are still tracking the Valiant?"
        "Of course, Your Highness.  She's making for Mars at half
impulse.  The Earthforce Orbital Patrol are keeping a close eye on
her."
        "Get me a laser link with her," said Amanda.  "I want to talk
to Ravenhair - I imagine he's in command with the others stuck below -
and find out what his plan is.  He would never leave Tenjou behind
without a very good reason."
        Jethan saluted Romulan-style, fist to chest, and turned to
direct his comm officer to obey Amanda's instructions.

        Nanami Jinnai had never, in all her life, been shot at before,
and she wasn't relishing the experience much.  Not much, she had to
admit as she ducked behind the corner of a building and kept running,
but a little, yes.  It was exhilarating that she had a part in such
important events, that she was here helping to chronicle them for
posterity - but she was a trifle concerned about her -own- posterity.
Or her posterior, for that matter.  Both were liable to get shot to
bits if she and Carter didn't shake the Earthforce patrol that had
finally spotted them covering ISN's closure.
        "I need an exit, Theora!" Edison Carter shouted into his
handlink as he and Nanami pelted down some nameless side street in the
8th arrondissement.  "Theora?  Theora!"  He cursed as nothing came
from his link in response but an ominous silence.
        Nanami was beginning to wish she didn't have to carry this
two-ton antique camera, but she dared not drop it.  It was their only
link to the outside with Edison's communicator offline, and even if it
was only one-way, it was what made their presence here, in this
dangerous mess, -mean- something.  Without it they would just be
another pair of fugitives; with it they were chronicling the end of
democracy on Earth.
        Edison glanced over his shoulder, saw that she was falling
behind, and stopped running, letting her (and the troopers chasing
them) catch up a little.  At her puzzled glance, he relieved her of
the camera, hoisted it to his shoulder, and said, "Go!  Keep going!"
        Now she was in the lead, running for all she was worth,
listening to the pounding of Edison's footsteps and, further back, the
low, thunderous tromping of the Earthforcers' boots.  She - and this
gave her a little thrill even under the circumstances - was what
Network 23's viewers were seeing as they tried to make sense of the
chaos that had erupted in Paris.
        That gave her an obligation, and, being a journalist, Nanami
met that obligation.
        "The sounds you hear behind us," she panted as she ran, "are
made by a squad of Earthforce troopers - a dozen or more, I haven't
had a chance to stop and make an accurate count - as they pursue two
journalists engaged in their lawful business of reporting the news."
        A well-timed plasma pulse ripped overhead just then, blowing a
hole in the fire escape of the building they were running alongside,
and Nanami ducked slightly out of instinct before taking up the thread
of her narrative again: "That was weapons fire, directed at us.  It
seems clear at this point," she added wryly, "that they're not
interested in detaining us for questioning."
        They plunged out of the little street and straight into a
green, grassy park with trees and benches scattered here and there.
Nanami, who was still unfamiliar with Paris, didn't know which of the
city's many parks it was, but Edison knew.
        "This is the Parc Monceau!" he called to Nanami.  "Keep
heading north!  We're almost to the 17th arrondissement.  I know some
people up there who can - "
        He trailed off, because, like Nanami, he had just seen the
second group of soldiers entering the park at the north end, from the
Place de la Republique Dominiciane.  Unless they could cut across the
park, they were boxed, and they knew it.  Nanami skidded to a halt and
turned around to face both Edison and the camera; behind him she could
see their pursuers reaching the end of the little street.
        "It looks like they've got us cornered," she said matter-of-
factly, inwardly surprised that she was so calm about her own
impending death.  "I don't know what their full intentions are, but
they've already seen the camera and it hasn't stopped them from
shooting.  There's not much we can do now but watch and wait - "
        "Get down!" cried Edison.  He swung the camera down from his
shoulder, gripping it by its top handle in one hand, and flung himself
forward, tackling Nanami and bearing her down to the ground on her
back.  She gasped painfully, the wind knocked out of her, and couldn't
ask him what the idea was - but a moment later she found out anyway,
as a big pink shape roared past overhead and disruptorfire slashed at
the ground between the two reporters and the squad that had been
chasing them.  Edison, and the audience, had seen it coming from the
north; Nanami, with her back turned, had not.
        The pink shape, an exaggerated bird form with upraised wings,
an aggressive-looking 'snout' at the front and a glowing bar of an
impulse thruster at the back, banked low over the rooftops of the 8th
arrondissement, then came back for another pass.  The disruptor
cannons on its wingtips scattered Earthforce soldiers everywhere on
both sides of Nanami and Edison's huddled position as the ship
screamed overhead, then pivoted in midair with a howl of repulsors and
dropped to the turf of the park.
        Edison raised himself to hands and knees, freeing Nanami from
the weight of his body; she rolled over, coughing, and got herself
partly upright as well.  Then she gasped again, this time in
astonishment at the sight of their rescuer.
        It was an old Klingon warship, a B'rel-class escort vessel,
better known to most Earthpeople as a Bird of Prey.  Unlike the ones
Nanami had seen in news footage of the Empire, though, this one wasn't
mostly green.  It was dented and rusty, and its spotty thermocoat was
a horrific shade of pink that might once, decades before, have been
red.  What was startling about it, though, was its markings.  It
lacked registration tags or barcodes anywhere Nanami could see.  The
only marks it had were large, garishly hand-sprayed letters on its
wings, which shouted to the world:

                         BIG TIME TELEVISION

        Edison's face lit up with delight and recognition; he raised
himself to his feet and yelled, "REG!"
        As the Klingon's ramp touched earth, there came a crackle and
feedback whine from the ship's PA system, followed by a rough voice
with a thick accent - British, maybe, or colonial - saying,
        "Oi, Edison!  Better git y'self aboard!  Things're liable
t'get a mite hectic round here in a minnit."

        John Trussell crouched at the corner of Revetment 11, trying
to make himself as small as possible, hoping none of the Earthforce
troops standing in a cordon around the entrance to Bay 11-C would look
his way and notice him.  He wasn't looking at them for his own
benefit, really; Al wanted a look at them from a better vantage point
than his own, and Truss's cybernetic interface implant was obliging
him.
        Fortunately, Truss had owned the implant long enough that he
was now used to the fact that no one else could see Al; otherwise, he
would have been quite alarmed by the way the hologram-like image of
his AI barged right out into the middle of the revetment's central
courtyard to assess the strength of the Earthforcers guarding its
northeast corner bay.  As it was, he only cringed a little inside
every time one of the soldiers' visors turned past the spot where Al
was "standing".
        Behind him, he could feel Jung Freud's tension, and fancied
that he'd have been able to feel it even -without- his minor
telepathic gift.  He didn't have to look to know the expression on her
face.  These clowns weren't actually pawing at her ship, but they were
coming awfully close.  Behind -her-, Kozue Kaoru and the Art of Noise
crowded against the concrete retaining wall, waiting for Truss or Jung
to do something.
        Truss backed away from the corner, bumping Jung back behind
him, and turned to face the others.  "OK," he murmured.  "Here's the
plan, such as it is.  Al's going to send out our security droids.
Once they've engaged the Earthforce troops, we're going to have to run
for it."
        "Aside from Truss and me, is anyone armed?" asked Jung.
Kaitlyn nodded.  "With a -real- weapon," Jung told her, with a touch
of the professional's impatience for the well-meaning amateur in her
voice.
        If it was supposed to cow Kate, though, it didn't wash.  The
brown-haired Duelist leader narrowed her eyes slightly and replied in
a cold, quiet voice, "G-get in my w-w-way, and y-you'll s-see how
r-r-real it is."
        Jung read Kate's eyes, realized that she'd misjudged, and
nodded concession of the point.  "Anyone else?"
        Moose MacEchearn folded his massive arms and said nothing,
only smiled a cold sort of smile.  R. Dorothy, too, was silent, but
one corner of her mouth rose, just a little bit.  Liza Shustal, the
band's engineer, reached into the bag in which she carried her circuit
testers, output meters and so on, and pulled out a Cardassian
disruptor, the usefulness of which in setting up a rock band's
performance suite was not immediately apparent.  No one else spoke up,
but nobody shrank back, either.
        "OK," said Jung.  Turning back to Truss, she said, "I think
we'll do all right."
        Truss drew his Bajoran phaser (a gift from a major in the
Bajoran Armed Forces back when he'd been part of the WDF task force
which had driven the Cardassians from that world after the War of
Corporate Occupation) and thumbed its setting high.  The Earthforce
troopers were wearing energy-diffusing armor, and a stun setting would
just annoy them.  He didn't really like the idea of using lethal
force, but he knew that the opposition wouldn't have any objection to
doing so; Al had already told him that Earthforce was -attacking- the
Network 23 headquarters compound in Sydney, and finding it a
considerably harder nut to crack than ISN HQ in Paris had been, if
Edison Carter's report was to be believed.
        "All right," said Truss.  "Go, Al."
        Al nodded and turned to someone on his end of the neuroillusory 
connection.  "OK, you two, get busy."
        A moment later, the Morning Sun's ramp clicked, hissed, and
began to lower.  The Earthforce troops turned in surprise, making
noises of consternation and raising their weapons.
        A moment after -that-, G-3N3 and R-06R charged out, jumping
down before the ramp was fully lowered, and started making a mess.
        "OK, let's GO!" cried Jung, bolting up from concealment.  The
rest of the group followed her and Truss as they darted around the
corner and ran for the ship.  The soldiers, aside from the two who had
already been incapacitated by Gene and Roger, heard them coming and
whirled in astonishment.
        "It's -them-!" cried the one with sergeant's stripes on his
armor pauldrons.  "Grife, I can't believe they were stupid enough to
come here!  TAKE 'EM!"
        Then he raised his sidearm and pegged a blaster shot at
Kaitlyn.  She didn't seem to care; her eyes were narrowed into the
concentrated glare that was familiar to all who had seen her fight.
Her zatoichi whispered from its wooden scabbard and flashed; the bolt
sparked against it and rebounded, blowing off one of the sergeant's
pauldrons and sending him heavily to the ground.
        What followed was extremely violent and chaotic.  The two
battle droids had disembarked empty-handed, proceeding with the
engagement using their close-combat software, but when the
Earthforcers started shooting at the humans they drew their blaster
carbines and brought them into play as well.  The Duelists and
bandmembers scattered to break up their opponents' range of targets,
and then each got involved according to his or her own abilities.
        Truss and Jung worked together with the ease of long practice
getting out of tight spots, working their way with surgical precision
to their ship and leaving a path open behind them.  Miki and Kozue
Kaoru, neither armed, stayed close together and moved from cover to
cover.  Kate worked the Earthforce contingent's right flank, moving
like smoke, now visible and now not, using the soldiers' own firepower
against them.  Liza Shustal, on the other flank with Azalynn dv'Ir
Natashkan by her side, stole occasional moments from her work with
disruptor and Ishkarat saber to admire her ex-rival's clean lines and
flowing grace amid the mayhem.
        Moose MacEchearn had neither of those; he just waded into the
middle of the action and used his mass and power to their natural
advantages.  None of the troopers they were up against had ever -seen-
a Hoffmanite before, let alone fought one, and in these close quarters
it didn't really matter that Moose was unarmed.  The same went for
Dorothy, who had her internal power levels raised to their operative
maximum levels and was moving so quickly and precisely that she
sometimes seemed to disappear.  She didn't need to deflect blasterfire
or overpower men before they could fire at her; she could simply get
out of its way before it reached her.
        At the base of the ramp, Kozue spied the craft in Bay 11-D and
suddenly smiled.  "I'll see you up above," she told Miki; then she
gave him a hasty kiss, released his hand and headed for it.
        "What?" Miki replied, slightly flustered.  "Where are you
going?"
        "To do some good!" Kozue replied, darting past the Morning
Sun's portside landing leg.  One of the troopers, who had been hanging
back off the left side of the battle with his blaster carbine's
shoulder stock extended, looking for shots of opportunity, turned to
see her coming and, with a surprised exclamation, took a shot at her.
It was hurried and poorly aimed, though, and as he was turning, Kozue
dove to the ground anyway; the blast passed well over her and scorched
the Morning Sun's landing gear.
        Kozue hit the tarmac rolling, barking her elbow painfully, but
the dive had its desired effect; as she rolled over the squadleader's
dropped blaster pistol, her hand closed on its grip, and when she came
up she zapped the trooper square in the chestplate, bowling him over
backward with a great clatter of armor on ferrocrete.
        Not bad, she remarked to herself with a little grin as she
hopped over his sprawled form and sprinted for Bay 11-D.  Just like
Tenjou would've done it.
        Well, no, she corrected herself; she'd probably have just run
up and slugged him.  But it's the thought that counts.
        "Your sister's got some nice moves," Azalynn observed as she
reached the ramp and paused next to Miki.
        Once the slightly-elder Kaoru got his heart working again, he
was able to acknowledge that yes, it -had- been a pretty nice move.
        Kozue reached 11-D without further incident.  When they'd
arrived at Revetment 11, there had been two troopers flanking the
entrance to this bay too, but from that approach angle, Kozue couldn't
see what was in it that they were guarding.  As she approached,
though, she saw that she'd been right, and her grin widened.  She
swarmed up to the cockpit, punched in the override code, swung into
the seat, and retracted the boarding ladder.
        "You're lucky I came along," she told the Swordfish II
cheerfully as she fished her keyrod out of her pocket and plugged it
into the security lock.  "Utena would have been really upset if we'd
had to leave you behind."
        Kozue's first small-craft solo flight had been at the controls
of Utena's scarlet fighter, a former asteroid racer and a gift from
its builder, Corwin's father, and Corwin himself on the captain's
previous birthday.  The trainee pilot had standing permission to fly
the Swordfish II whenever conditions permitted - it was why Utena had
given her the spare key - and she took advantage of that permission
any time she could, so by now she knew the preflight like her own
morning routine.  The fighter's fusion turbine was spooling up even as
its wings cranked down and locked into flight position.
        While she waited for the turbine to come up to operating
temperature, Kozue strapped in and pulled on Utena's helmet, which had
been left in the seat.  It was a little too large for her, but she
hadn't brought her own, so it would have to do.  Once she had the boom
mike positioned, she thumbed on the comm system.
        "Swordfish II to Valiant, come in, Valiant.  Swordfish II to
Valiant, come in, Valiant."
        "Valiant here," came the voice of Kyouichi Saionji after a
moment - no video signal came through.  "Your signal is faint, three
by five but readable.  Is that you, Tenjou?"
        "No, it's Kozue," replied Kozue.  "Utena went the other way
from Sneaky Dee's, she's probably downtown somewhere.  Truss and the
band are getting out of here on Truss's shuttle, and I'm going to
cover them.  Where are you?"
        "Heading for Martian orbit," Saionji replied.  "They told us
to leave the system or be boarded, but the Martians are sovereign, and
they've agreed to let us park while we figure out how to get everyone
out."
        The holographic viewing area divided diagonally; in one half
the static that should have been an image of Saionji remained, while
the other contained an image of Truss.
        "Are you OK, Kozue?" he asked.
        "Fine.  You?"
        "A few bruises and minor burns, but we're mostly all right."
        "This unit has lost an arm," protested one of the battle
droids' flat voices.
        "Ah, shaddap, you," the voice of Al replied.  "Rusty, if this
one complains again, convert him into a toaster oven."
        Rusty breedled indignantly.
        "Put a sock in it, you guys!" snapped Jung, who now crowded
into the viewpane with Truss.  "Look, we're raising ship in ten
seconds.  Long range sensors show ground reinforcements coming up from
the south and aero units inbound from the north.  Got a preference?"
        "I'll cover you in the air," Kozue replied.  "I don't have
much in the way of ground-attack weapons."
        Jung nodded.  "I figured.  OK, we'll take our chances with the
groundpounders.  You about ready to take off?"
        Kozue glanced at the engine status readouts and nodded.
"Whenever you are."

        Five Earthforce Security officers slept peacefully in the
corner of Transporter Room Nine, courtesy of a particular favorite
spell of Mia's.  Eight more littered the corridors of the transporter
core block, in various somewhat less comfortable states of
unconsciousness, courtesy of Mia's Minbari fighting staff, the spiked
basket of the Thorn of the Rose, and Sergeant Lucas's fists.  (With
somewhat archaic but well-meaning Gallic gallantry, the sergeant had
insisted that Inspector La Fontaine stay behind him when things got
violent.)
        Now Utena, standing at the transporter's control panel,
scratched at the back of her head and admitted to herself that there
might be a slight flaw in her plan.
        "I don't suppose either of you guys know how to operate one of
these," she said to Lucas and La Fontaine.
        "Er... no," said Lucas.
        "Mia?"
        "I'm afraid not."
        "Hmm."  Utena searched the panel for a communications
interface.  "Maybe I can raise Corwin and get him to talk me through
it... "
        "Hang on a second, don't start pushing buttons at random,"
said a familiar