mfrose@umcc.umcc.umich.edu (Martin Rose)

                    Smalltime Writers, International
                           in association with
                      Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                                presents

                         H A M M E R   T I M E :

                               Tales of a
                              F U T U R E
                           I M P E R F e C T


                           JUSTICE AND MERCY


                       by Martin "PCHammer" Rose
                       and Ben "Gryphon" Hutchins


   The doorknob turned, unbidden, and the door swung open.
   Kei whirled, almost with a start, holding little Kaitlyn close to herself
with one arm and trying to assume a defensive stance with what remained.
True, she may live in one of the cleanest, friendliest, _nicest_ cities in
the Federation, and she may even have what would likely qualify as
superheroes for neighbors, but she didn't live four centuries by being
careless.  (Being careless nearly cut that number quite short, on several
occasions.)  She had no intention of letting anything more happen to her
child; what she'd had to go through before even being born was quite enough.
   Before Kei could even complete her present train of thought, which
consisted of threat estimation and optimal modes of attack, she was already
relaxing and calming herself.  The head of bright red hair peeking through
the partially-opened doorway was most assuredly no threat.
   Eiko smiled a little sheepishly, realizing that the fierce gleam that
flashed for a moment in Kei's eyes was due to her neglecting to knock or
ring the doorbell.  The Hutchins and the Roses had established a rather fast
friendship, with Kei and Eiko having become surprisingly close after the
former finally moved into the house.  It didn't seem so much like two
families across the street from each other as one rather oversized one.
   "Hi," Kei smiled, speaking with a hushed voice.
   "Sorry," Eiko replied in the same breathy tone.  "Just came over to say
hi.  Little too used to just walking in, I guess."
   Kei shrugged carefully.  "It's okay.  Nearly being killed when you're
about to give birth tends to put you on edge."  She began walking toward an
inward-leading hallway as Eiko slipped through the door and pulled it shut
behind herself.  "Come on, I was just about to put her down."
   Eiko followed with a grin.  "Just don't use any overly harsh words or
I'll have to get rough."
   They entered the darkened baby room with careful footsteps, which all
fell silently into the carpet.  Even in the unlit gloom, Eiko's eyes could
easily detect the room's purpose; the teddy-bear-patterned wallpaper was a
dead giveaway, to say nothing of the crib against the left wall.  The two
women proceeded to the crib, a rather pleasant infant cage of wood, steel
and silk, and Kei set her delicate armload into it.  Eiko took one of the
small blankets in her hands and pulled it up over Kaitlyn's tiny form, and,
with stealth even greater than that they practiced on the way in, they left
the child to her slumber.
   "She's beautiful, Kei," Eiko commented once they were back in the living
room.
   Kei beamed.  "Thanks.  I must admit we were worried for a while that
there would be some kind of repercussions from the attack, with the
NeuroKill and all, but she's been just fine."  Kei began to move past Eiko,
toward the kitchen.  "D'you want anything?  I'm not sure we have anything
ready, but--"
   "No, no, I'm fine," Eiko blurted rapidly.  "I don't want to be a burden
-- Mitra knows you've done plenty already.  You just sit yourself down and
let someone else wait on you for a change."  She emphasized this by guiding
Kei toward the sofa, her hands on the taller woman's arms.
   Kei's initial reaction was to try to resist, but against strength like
Eiko's that was a losing proposition at best.  "Oh, all right," she groaned
mockingly, lowering herself to the seat.  "But I'm afraid I don't really
need anything at the moment, either."  Eiko sat beside her as she pulled her
bare feet up underneath her, curling up into a ball of warmth.  "Goddess, it
feels so good to be able to do that again."
   Eiko's smile softened.  "This must be incredible for you."
   "Mm.  An incredible pain," Kei grumbled.  "You're lucky that you get to
see her when she's in her quiet moods -- when she gets into one of her fits
she can be a little hellion, and her sleep cycle's nowhere _near_ normal
yet."  She chuckled slightly.  "But why am I lecturing you on this?  You've
already been here."
   Eiko's smile turned wistful.  "Well, yes and no ... Noriko never had the
short sleep-cycle of an infant when her mind was in that state.  Her
physiology was still adult -- we had the questionable good fortune of
keeping her baby attention span occupied while she stayed awake for adult
lengths of time.  And besides," Eiko added with a tone of voice which could
only convey a marginal level of humor, "I've never been through the
barefoot-and-pregnant phase."  She raised a leg to emphasize her point, as
if to point out the shoe covering the end of it.
   "Lucky you," Kei replied dryly.  "Spending nine months carrying a hungry,
weakening weight around in your gut isn't all it's cracked up to be.  At
least my Detian body'll get itself back into shape a little more quickly
than most."  She stuck out her tongue.  "My dietary habits may never
recover, though.  I cringe at the thought of the things I ate near the end,
there..."
   Her voice trailed off as she realized that Eiko didn't seem to be
laughing at her jokes.  Instead, she seemed to be staring at her knees.
   "What's wrong, Eiko?"  Kei spoke with almost uncharacteristic concern.
   "Huh?"  Eiko's sapphire-blue eyes blinked with surprise as she became
aware that she was being spoken to.  "Oh, I'm sorry, no, I'm fine, I'm..."
Her gaze fell back to its former place.  "...just fine."
   "Right."  Kei scooted herself a little closer on the sofa, putting a hand
on the other's shoulder.  "You're not very convincing," she added softly.
   Eiko looked up into her brown eyes, hesitant to speak, and timid when the
words finally came.  "I don't want to bother you ... you should be so happy,
now..."
   "I don't believe this," Kei whispered.  Then, louder, she asked, "All
this time ... you've been _jealous_?"
   Eiko winced at the J-word.  She nodded dumbly to Kei.
   Kei shook her head, chuckling softly.  "For Eris's sake."  She moved
closer still, bringing her whole arm around behind Eiko.  "It's not worth
losing SAN over, Eiko.  You and Marty are like few other couples I've ever
known ... hell, sometimes _I_ envy _you_.  At least your husband doesn't
have a starship to command, a shipyard to run, thousands of people hanging
on his decisions..."  She shook the other woman lightly.  "When the time's
right ... it'll happen."
   Eiko seemed to be refusing to be consoled.  "He can be gone for a week or
two at a time, sometimes, when he's on a heavy case..."
   "That's because he believes in what he's doing, Eiko.  Just as he
believes in _you_.  He doesn't think any less of you just because you
haven't ballooned out at the belly for'im."  Her face brightened with a grin
that would definitely be classified as feces-devouring.  "Tell you what --
when he comes home today, I want you to tackle'im, drag'im to the bedroom,
rip off whatever he may be wearing and boink'im until you think your legs'll
fall off.  If Noriko asks what you're doing, you just tell her this was Aunt
Kei's idea to get her a little sister.  Hell, I may do that to Ben when he
gets home, just for fun.  Got it?"
   Finally, Eiko started to crack a smile.  The absurdity of Kei's
suggestion snuck up on her, like a ninja who tickles his victims in the
dark.  The smile became a grin, with a faint chuckle underneath.  The
chuckle built, increasing in intensity until Eiko was all but doubling over
with laughter.
   Then, slowly, subtly, the laughter turned to something similar, but very,
very different.
   Aw, hell, Kei thought to herself as she saw tears gathering at the
corners of Eiko's eyes.  Guess trying to make light of it isn't going to
work.  She put her arms around Eiko and held the smaller woman as she broke
down.  Eiko's body spasmed as she sobbed, and she worked to keep her voice
down, so as not to disturb Kaitlyn.
   "It's all right," Kei whispered.  "It's okay.  Let it go ... it's okay."
   "it's not FAIR, dammit," Eiko's voice croaked and squealed.  "'s'just not
FAIR!!"
   "Life isn't fair."
   "how the FUCK would YOU know??  you weren't even pithing TRYING t'have a
baby!!"  Eiko's sob escaped as a yelp.  "c-couldn't ev'n wait 'til you were
MARRIED!!"
   Kei's eyes widened at the venom unexpectedly levelled at her, but she
couldn't bring herself to reply in kind, particularly not in Eiko's state.
Besides, it wasn't as if what Eiko'd said was false.  Detian biocontrol was
sufficiently thorough as to allow her to prevent herself from becoming
pregnant if she so desired, but on that first night when she and Ben were
finally reunited, she hadn't even considered exercising the option -- it
hadn't even occurred to her.  A fortunate accident, literally.
   "d-damn it all," Eiko bit out, raising her head to look Kei directly in
her startled brown eyes, "what k-kind of WIFE am I if I can't even BRING HIM
A CHILD?!?"
   Kei's brows knit.  "Eiko ... come on, you can't have all your self-worth
hinged on whether or not you can produce a baby!"  She glared at her.
"What, do you think that makes you any less a mother?  Any less a woman?"
   Eiko watched her dumbly.
   "Any less loved?" Kei added with quiet emphasis.
   Eiko released a sigh, leaning on her again.  "'m'sorry," she muttered.
"It's just -- it just pisses me off, dammit."
   "Don't worry about it.  You're entitled to a few weaknesses -- it's part
of your contract with life."  She considered something.  "Have you ever
thought about checking with Life Sciences?  I'm sure they could work
something out, if this means that much to you."
   Eiko's face twisted into a faint, rueful smile.  "Mm-hm ... not the first
time that's been suggested.  Gryphon offered to take me down there himself,
a year after we'd moved here."
   "So why'd you turn it down?"
   Eiko shook her head, actually releasing an insincere chuckle.  "Because
I'm too damn rock-headed to ask for help.  I ... I want this to be _mine_,
Kei.  Mine and his.  Not some test-tube jockeys playing guessing games with
our chromosome patterns."  She chuckled again.  "Color me selfish."
   "We're out of that shade of crayon," Kei smiled.  Turning serious again,
she continued, "At least, they could try to see what's gumming up the works
inside you, if you're sure you're the problem..."
   "I think I'd be able to tell if it was him."  Eiko's face brightened a
bit.  "But in the meantime ... I'm not about to give up."
   Kei grinned back at her and patted her cheek.  "There ya go.  C'mon ...
Kait'll be busy for a little while.  Let's go over to your place, and I'll
watch you rearrange your furniture."

   This was a time of relative quiet, in the wake of the renewed stillness
at the Cardassian frontier, and Admiral Hutchins, possessed of the need to
Do Something, was skulking around the shipyards, supervising the repairs to
the WDF vessels still damaged after the Second Battle of Zeta Cygni, the
Fifteenth Kilrathi War, and the Cardassian Offensive.  Today he was
wandering aimlessly around Sector B, Shipyard Central, where the battlestars
were being repaired, and PCHammer was with him, in the midst of a week-long
"forced vacation" from his positions at Criminal Investigations and Flying
Yak.  (He'd say he hated it, just to keep up appearances.)
   They entered Bay Seventeen-Alpha, where the battlestar Centauri was being
repaired following her extensive damage in the Second Battle; Gryphon was
saluted by the occasional uninformed Caprican technician, but did not return
the salutes.  Martin just shrugged when they looked quizzically at him, as
if expecting an explanation.
   Gryphon paused at one point on the catwalk ringing the vessel, leaning on
the rail and surveying the gaping rent in her hull just forward of the
engineering area.  Caprican and UP technicians swarmed here and there,
working on the internal systemry; nearby, a tritanium hull patch hung on
gravlev units, waiting to be fitted into position once the internals were
repaired.
   From inside the hole, a voice rang out; pretty and female, but definitely
irate, ranting about incompetence and improper placement of a plasma
conduit-tap.  A much deeper, equally irate male voice contended that the
conduit was not poorly placed, and, furthermore, that the female speaker was
an unreasonable Mondan bitch.
   Gryphon's eyebrows rose, and he ducked into the covered walkway that
actually entered the side of the vessel, following the sound of the arguing
voices -- not a diffucult task, really.  Martin snickered and followed,
recognizing the female voice rather easily.
   Gryphon came around the corner into Main Engineering, and spotted the
male part of the argument first:  a Caprican Colonial Engineer, holding a
rank equivalent to a UPNS Master Technician.  Old, grizzled and red-faced,
he held a number-six hydrospanner in an almost threatening position and was
shouting with all his might to be heard -- and failing.  As Gryphon cleared
the primary fusion plant, he spotted the other side of the argument, and
came to a halt so abruptly that, had they been made of a material which was
prone to doing such things, the soles of his Doc Martens would have left
black streaks on the steel decking.
   The other, and apparently winning, side of the argument was a human
woman, taller than himself and slender, with dark skin, short black hair,
and luminous (at the moment with ire) eyes.  She was gesturing with one
greasy, fine-boned hand at the plasma conduit, and holding a diagnostic
sensor unit in the other.  Her white UPNS coverall was rumpled and dirty --
she had apparently been here for quite a while -- and there was a streak of
grease running across one high-boned cheek.  The epaulets on her jumpsuit
identified her as a WDF Navy officer, holding the rank of Commander -- a
rank two grades below, on an absolute scale, Colonial Master Technician.
   Gryphon's technical side looked over the conduit.  The woman was right --
the conduit was poorly placed.  Any power spike at all in the primary EPS
would cause a flashover from the tap to the nearby, also poorly shielded,
internal comm line, blowing out the entire vessel's intercom system.  The
tap was supposed to be at least three meters AWAY from the intercom line...
   He stood back, arms folded, and watched the argument for a moment before
leaning to Martin and whispering, "Stop the press!  Who is _that_?"
   Hammer fought down the urge to reply, "That's Vicki Vale," in a gravelly
voice, and replied, "That, sir, is engineering talent with an Attitude."
   "She's marvelous," Gryphon observed, his eyes glued to the argument.  "I
must have her, Martin."
   Hammer cocked an eyebrow, a gesture Gryphon noted in his peripheral
vision.  Turning with irritation, he roared quietly, "For my TEAM,
smartass!"  Hammer rocked back on his heels and looked angelically at the
ceiling.
   "Do you know who she is?" Gryphon asked, his gaze returning to the
now-becoming-very-spirited conflict.
   "Indeed I do," Hammer replied.  "She was the chief engineer of Righteous
Indignation, under both Noriko's and my command ... Commander Nadia Davion."
   "Chief engineer of a WDF starship, and now she's playing second fiddle on
a battlestar refit to that Caprican schmo?  I don't think so.  You know I
need a field superintendent for my shipyard time, and a new chief engineer
for Concordia when I'm in the field ... and I think she's perfect for both
jobs.  I want her on my team."  He cocked his head in Martin's direction.
"Think she'd go for it?"
   The taller gent considered for a moment.  "Naah.  No way she'd want any
opportunity to serve under the Chief Engineer of the Yards, nope nope, never
in a million years.  She'd definitely prefer to stay right here with that
codger bucking for my old nickname."
   "Thank you for your incisive commentary, Martin."
   "All part of the service, sir," replied Hammer in a perfect
slightly-sardonic-subordinate voice.
   "I would hate to interrupt her tirade, especially when she's winning so
handily ... could you do me a favor?"
   "Name it."
   "When the Caprican sacks her -- which shouldn't take too long -- convey
my order to fix that conduit per her specifications, and then ask her if she
would mind popping by my office at her nearest convenience.  Meantime, I've
got a lot of formwork, and I promised Vision I'd help with it at least..."

   Now in his office, Gryphon worked on some of the interminable formwork
that was his bane on his desktop workstation, with Vision in a corner window
of his display, as usual.  He was still in his yardside uniform, which was a
bit rumpled, since he'd been working now, in the office and around the
yards, for 12 hours or so.
   His office was rather large and dominated by the desk, which had three
comfy chairs in a so-called "conversational grouping" in front of it for
visitors.  In addition to the paper scattered around -- he still liked
working with hardcopy -- it was and cluttered with lots of neat decorations
on the shelves and bookcases, including:

 - Models of all the ship classes he had designed and seen put to space;
 - A model of the old SDF-17, with all relevant decals;
 - Lots of Transformer figures (most of them, personal acquaintances);
 - A metallic human skull, polished and mounted on a mahogany board; and
 - Several pizza boxes and discarded Chinese-food white boxes.  (Okay,
   they're not really decorations, but they're part of the landscape.)

   The back wall of his office was a quartzitium window, banked as most
shipyard windows were, which looked out over a bay where, at the moment, the
Lovely Angel lay moored.  The right wall was a bookshelf, adorned partially
with the items mentioned above and partially with actual books; the left
wall was dominated by a painting, depicting the Wayward Son and her
Executioner locked in their mutual death above Canopus ]I[, known better as
Musashi.  Gryphon had painted it himself, from descriptions the Wedge
survivors gave him.
   His concentration was broken by the faint gleep of the doorchime, and he
looked up from his desk.  "Enter freely and of your own will, and leave some
of the happiness you bring," he called overdramatically.
   The door slid open, smartly and professionally, revealing exactly who he
was expecting to find.  She had changed to a standard uniform, the white
uniform tunic denoting her current UPNS/Experimental Fleet status.
Gryphon's own tunic was red, indicating his superceding allegiance to his
Strategic Fleet.
   Gryphon smiled.  "Come in, Commander."
   Nadia stepped into the office, allowing the door to slide shut behind
her.  She stopped after two paces.
   "Admiral," she replied with a nod.  "Commander Nadia Davion, reporting as
requested, sir."  Her arm snapped up in a smart salute, another sign to Ben
that she'd been with the Capricans too long.
   He returned the salute, out of courtesy.  "Please, sit down," he said,
indicating one of the comfy chairs facing his desk.  "Jelly baby?" he added,
his hand signifying a Mason jar on the desk itself.
   "Thank you," she smiled, accepting a morsel from the jar and seating
herself, straightening out her jacket.
   Gryphon smiled again. "I know you're a busy woman, Commander Davion, so
I'll get right to the point.  You have talent and drive, and I believe that
those qualities are entirely wasted in your current assignment.  I saw you
arguing with that Caprican engineer earlier today."  He waited for her
reaction to that revelation, and was not disappointed by the look of faint
embarrassment on her face; he wondered how he'd react if someone had pulled
him off the street and complimented his bickering skill.
   "And if I may be so bold as to say so," he continued, leaning back in his
chair, "it was exquisite.  The fool was completely in the wrong.  What I
want to know, though, is this:  had you been in the wrong, could you have
accepted that, with enough proof?  Can you admit it when you're wrong?
Stubborn devotion to a wrong idea is no good to anyone."  (He smiled
slightly before she spoke, remembering Saavik's response to that question so
long ago, in deadly seriousness: "I do not know, sir.  I am never wrong.")
   Nadia nodded sternly to him.  "The reality of being in the wrong is
something I have faced before, sir.  When I am mistaken, I will admit it."
Her face turned a sly smile, however, as she added, "Remember, though, that
it _is_ part of my job to minimize the number of times that is so."
   "Excellent.  I have reviewed your service record in great detail,
Commander.  It is, in a word, superb.  Service records don't tell me
anything about the person, though, and that is what I want to know.  I need
to know who this person called Nadia Davion is.  For example, I need to know
if you've a sense of humor -- something I consider vitally important."  With
that, he spieled the entire Rocket Attack USA monologue, and waited.
   She sat in silence for a while.  Gryphon had no idea what to make of the
look on her face.  Thoughtful?  Bemused?  Dumbfounded?  He wondered, for a
moment, if his initial hopes were in error, and then she drew a breath and
replied in a truly bad Lloyd Bridges impression:
   "By this time, my lungs were aching for air."
   He fell forward in his chair, striking his head firmly on the desk and
laughing too hard to care.  "Splendid!" he replied when he could speak
again.  (It somehow seemed more appropriate than "MARRY ME!", which was his
first reaction.)  "Now then..."  He punched a few keys on his terminal.
"Tell me about your birthworld." This interview was taking this odd,
randomly jumping course for a reason, besides Gryphon's own disorganized
brain; he wanted to test her ability to respond to rapidly and capriciously
changing demands.
   Besides, he wanted to know about her birthworld.
   Nadia's face flashed a brief look of surprise.  It had been many, many
years since she'd been given cause to think of the place she'd once called
home; so long since she'd left it, on what amounted to a combination of a
whim and an accident.  She put her hand to her chin, and her eyes reflected
a deep, sincere thought.  Ben found the overall effect on her completely
mesmerizing.
   The words came slowly, at first, as she began to speak.  (Gryphon hung on
every last one of them.)  He could see she selected every word with care,
working half methodically, half passionately to paint an image of the place
she'd been mostly raised.  Soon, the slow trickle of word-pictures became a
rushing torrent, a vocal tapestry of the world called Mond and the time
she'd spent there.  It was a beautiful place, with forests so vast they
rivaled those of Earth itself.  Thunderstorms wracked almost every night in
the region Nadia had called home, and the days were clear and bright.  It
sounded like the kind of place he could spend a very long time.
   She continued in that fashion for some time -- perhaps a half-hour --
before slowing her brushstrokes, bringing the whole work to a close with a
wistful sigh as her signature in the corner.
   Gryphon sat in utter silence for long seconds, his mind half racing and
half mired in reflection, not looking so much at her as through her.  He was
distracted only by Vision, who spoke through his cybernetic link to his
workstation so Nadia wouldn't hear her:
   [Chief, I don't like this.]
   [What's wrong with it?] he asked.
   [I know what you're feeling,] Vision replied, [and it scares me.  I think
you're falling for her, Chief, and that would be BAD.]
   [Oh, Vision, Vision,] he chided her.  [You do worry so over me.  Did I
not fall for you?  And she who came before you?  Priss, Deunan, how many
others?  What if I do fall for Nadia?  I won't love you, or Kei, or anyone
else any less for it.  You know me ... better than I myself, come to that.]
   [I ... I suppose.  I just didn't know if you knew what you were doing ...
and I thought I'd warn you.  This is liable to be ... different.]
   [I never know what I'm doing, but it hasn't stopped me yet -- and
everyone's different,] Gryphon said with a mental smile.  [But thank you for
your concern.]
   Upward of forty seconds of silence had passed now, and Gryphon was still
gazing contemplatively at Nadia.  Taking a deep breath, she brought herself
out of her state of retrospection, once again focusing her attention on the
present.  She lifted her head from her hand, pulled herself upright, and met
the Admiral's eyes directly, ready for whatever he might say next.
   Which was absolutely nothing.  Instead, he sat, his chin on his hand on
his elbow on his desk, unaware that there was a real world which was waiting
for his response.
   Nadia allowed herself a hint of a smile after another minute of dead
silence.  She'd had to put up with things like this from others in the past,
with Martin high on that list, though he'd typically lose himself staring at
Noriko.  (Buchanan was like that, as well, but the look in his eyes was far
less ... virtuous.)  She turned over a small myriad of possibilities in her
mind, dismissing several immediately as completely inappropriate, physically
unpleasant, and suicidal in nature.
   She became aware of a slight bulge in her uniform jacket.  Her hand went
slowly into it, immediately locating the source.  Her slight smile turned
into a grin.  Yes, this would do nicely.
   She pulled at the object, careful not to make any sudden movements ...
the Prey must not be disturbed.  As it was released from its undersized
prison, she could feel her weapon expanding, filling itself out, restoring
itself to its proper form.
   Then, with a snap of her wrist and a mental note to thank Danilia, she
hurled the Nerf brick directly at the still-comatose Gryphon, striking him
directly on the bridge of his nose.
   The impact made him blink and start slightly, as it was so close to his
eyes.  He shook himself like a man crawling out from under a snowdrift.
"I'm sorry," he restarted, "I seem to have gotten lost in your narrative.
Or perhaps your eyes.  No matter either way; both are exquisite.  What was I
going to ask next, hmmm..."
   [You were going to ask about her husband,] Vision said pointedly inside
his skull.
   [Such venom, my lovely,] Gryphon replied.  [Do trust me.  You act as
though you think I'm about to ask her to leave the man and run away with me
to France.]  That elicited a laugh from his CI, even now.
   Outwardly, he smiled.  "Your service record lists you as married to
Commander Hanson Davion.  Can you tell me a bit about him?"
   Nadia let her grin relax to the smile she normally wore when thinking of
Hanson.  Though Gryphon could tell she was being thoughtful again, she
wasn't quite so deeply into it this time -- this was, obviously, one of her
most favored subjects.  She proceeded to begin another picture with her
words, but rather than a landscape, a portrait began to form in the air; an
image of a gentle, blue-haired fellow who had little or no fashion sense to
speak of.
   As she spoke, Ben tore his attention away from her eyes and took in the
rest of her, noting the neatness with which her uniform was arranged on her
lean body, the clean precision of her haircut, and other such details.  As
he did so, a couple points of interest made his mental eyebrows rise; he
patiently waited for her to complete her thought before asking the question
that had occurred to him as he'd surveyed her.
   Soon enough, a soft chuckle marked the conclusion of her description, and
she returned to his eyes with a bright smile, which he returned directly,
looking back at her and being careful not to get lost in those remarkable
eyes, and being especially careful not to wonder why they were such an
alluring shade of violet.
   "Why are you wearing a phaser collimator crystal around your neck?" he
queried.
   Nadia looked down to her chest with a bit of surprise.  "Phaser...  oh,
you mean Blue Water."  She took the small, gleaming blue gem into her hand,
considering it carefully.  Gryphon nearly made a startled noise when it
glowed faintly at her touch.  "This ... is a family heirloom.  It's been
handed down in my family for nearly a hundred generations; it's supposedly a
sign of royalty."
   His eyebrows rose.  A hundred generations?
   "I'm not so sure about that, myself," she continued.  "At this point, I
suppose it's just a reminder of home."  She carefully returned the jewel to
its place; its glow subsided.
   Gryphon looked rather impressed.  "Hm.  It looks exactly like a
Number-114 phaser collimator crystal, from the AX-94 modules used in the new
Olympus-class dreadnaught."  He shrugged.  "But be that as it may."
   [Vision,] he added, [mental note.  Check that out.  Mondan pre-antiquity
civilization, capable of working a stone like that?]
   [Got it,] Vision replied.  [Curiosity getting the better of you?]
   [You could say that.]  "Which brings me to my last question, and then
I'll tell you the purpose behind this little meeting.  And that last
question is..."
   He leaned forward and locked eyes with her again, and said,
"Preconceptions and those damnable near-legends aside, what do you think of
me?"
   Nadia paused briefly, without so much as blinking away from his gaze.
Then, leaning forward and poking a finger at his nose, she replied with a
smile, "I think I could get to like you."  She looked around the office.
"So long as I don't have to establish any sort of working relationship with
the pizza boxes."
   Ben growled and snapped his teeth playfully at the offending finger.
"Grr," he grr'ed with a smile.  "I get too entangled in my work to care
about that ... I'd forget to eat if Vision didn't remind me."
   Nadia lowered an eyebrow at him.  "'Vision'?"
   "My CI, assistant, and helper-to-get-through-work-sane.  I know these
forms would drive me completely 'round the twist without her help.  And this
brings me to why I've called you here."
   He leaned back.  "Commander Davion, as Chief Engineer of the Yards, I
have far too many responsibilities.  ReRob, as Master of the Yards, handles
some of those for me, mostly in the areas of materials acquisition and
prototype testing -- as you know, he's the commander in chief of the
Experimental Fleet.
   "I don't get the chance to go out into the field and supervise the actual
work of making and remaking a starship nearly as much as I'd like, and it
worries me.  For every top-flight engineer or tech we have here at UPNS, we
have at least one clown like that Caprican ... it's a law of physics, I
think.  What I need is a good right arm, someone who can go out into the
field and supervise the field construction/reconstruction work, and at the
same time assist me in a design and implementation category.  Basically, I
need an engineering assistant -- Vision is my _administrative_ assistant,
but a CI isn't much use in the field, or the lab."  His eyes turned toward
the corner window of his display, where Vision was pouting at him.  "Sorry,
love, but it's true."  He returned his attention to Commander Davion.
   "In addition, when I rotate into the operational field, take the center
seat of Concordia back and head for the stars -- which will probably be in
ten to twenty years, but still -- Concordia will need a chief engineer, now
that Henry Lang has retired to head up Refit Command.  I want you for both
of those jobs, and I'm prepared to give you an immediate grade increase to
Captain, O-5, and process the orders of transfer right this very instant.
Of course, you don't have to accept now ... or, indeed, accept at all ...
but I would be very pleased if you did."
   Having said his piece, he leaned back and steepled his hands, hoping the
answer he got would be "yes".
   Nadia blinked.  For the first time since witnessing the "rebirth" of her
former commanding officer, she was utterly flabbergasted.  Captain?  Captain
Nadia Davion?  Engineering assistant to an engineering legend?  Thoughts of
what she could accomplish in such a position -- a whopping great lot -- were
momentarily interrupted by a small voice asking what Hanson would think of
the news.
   It was immediately shouted down by a chorus of "He'd be overjoyed, DUH!"
   The small voice returned, battered but insistant, pointing out the minor
detail of going off aboard Concordia.  Would he be left behind?
   This time, the rebuttal was calm and rational -- she would have ten or
twenty years to iron that little detail out.  If nothing else, the Admiral
was definitely easy to reason with ... and, if that failed, she knew he'd
probably cave in if she batted her eyes at him, if his earlier fit of blank
staring was any indication.  His appreciation of her appearance was not
something she found offensive -- she'd always thought that kind of reaction
was stupid.  If he found her attractive, so much the better.  It would
enhance their rapport, in all likelihood; after all, the power of his "true
love" for Morgan was a thing of demi-legend.
   Gryphon noted the look of faint worry on her face, wondered what it could
be, and mentally kicked himself for overlooking such an obvious detail.  "I
see your worry," he blurted suddenly.  "I'm sorry I didn't mention it
before.  I know full well the rigors of separating a family with duty
assignments, and the WDF has always tried to avoid that as much as possible.
When the time comes, I've a spot for your husband on Concordia's exophysics
staff, if he accepts it -- I've checked his background as well."
   [Nice save,] Vision commented.
   With that, Nadia watched her little voice of doubt go flying through the
uprights, punted into next Tuesday by what had to be the correct answer.
   "In that case, Admiral ... you've got yourself an assistant."  Her smile
beamed as she extended a hand toward him.
   Gryphon took her hand and shook it, impressed by the firmness of the grip
-- well, she's a field engineer, it stands to reason, said his rational side
-- and somewhat surprised by the smoothness and softness of her skin --
she's a field engineer, how does she keep them like this? asked his rational
side.  Then he opened the top drawer of his desk and handed her her new
captain's bar.
   "Report to my ready room on Level 6 at 0900 tomorrow; if you have any
problems at any time, feel free to contact me at home."  He smiled.
"Welcome to the team, Captain ... I think we're going to create great things
together, you and I."
   Nadia nodded.  "It'll be my pleasure, Admiral."
   Ben grinned.  "I guess we're finished ... you can stick around if you
like, but it'll be pretty boring watching me work.  And please, call me
Gryphon.  I do hope you do get to like me; friends make much better
co-workers than subordinates."
   She grinned right back.  "It shouldn't be too hard, sir.  But the pizza
boxes are still your problem."
   "I suppose," he sighed, surveying the mess around him, "just for you,
I'll clean the place up ... in a little while."
   With a slight tilt of her head that said "yeah, right" to him, Nadia
turned and strode happily toward the door.  In doing so, she missed seeing
him reach under his desk with an evil smile.
   "Oh, Nadia -- one last thing."
   Her hand stopped as it was about to touch the door-open switch, and she
whirled on her heel, still smiling.  "Yes?"
   Gryphon extracted from under the desk a Model XX-945-Zeta-Zeta
Multi-Barrel Belt-Fed Rotary Nerf Ultrablaster.  Centuries of dealing with
Hammer and Danilia had taught him a lesson or two.  "I always pay my debts.
Sometimes, I overpay them, just to be sure.  And don't call me 'sir'."
   He depressed the trigger and chased Nadia out the door with a brief
hailstorm of 300 Npm (Nerfballs-per-minute).
   Putting down the weapon, he sighed.  "One more thing to clean up."  Then,
grinning anew, he punched the stereo next to his desk on, and, pumping a
fist at his side, exclaimed, "Yarrrrrr!"

   Nadia slowed to a walk, then stopped entirely, catching her breath in the
corridor.  She went over the entire episode in her mind ... it all seemed so
unreal.  She almost wanted to think it was a dream, until she noticed that
she was still holding a Captain's bar in her hand.
   Behind her, she heard the organ intro to "Walk of Life" filtering out of
Gryphon's office, which meant it was on Ridiculously Loud.  With the music
and the memory fresh in her mind, she could only think of one way to express
herself:  she leaped as high into the air as she could, arms raised in
victory, and shouted at the top of her lungs, "YYYYYYYYESSSSSSS!!!"
   Wait until Hanson heard about _this_.

   Martin strolled casually through a quiet area of New Avalon.  It was a
magnificent, sparkling day, with Zeta Cygni moving slowly toward
mid-afternoon.  He smiled at no object in particular, only paying cursory
attention to his stride to keep himself from tripping or plowing into some
hapless bywalker.  He hadn't checked back with either Ben or Nadia after
directing her to his office yesterday, and wondered what had become of their
first meeting.  (It was, indeed, their first.  The number of times the two
had missed seeing each other for the six years before then could have been
the source of endless sitcom material.)
   The smile was for more than just that, though; you see, Noriko was
finally out of home schooling and entering classes with children of her
aptitude level.  They'd home-schooled her for the first several years of her
new life, to avoid the almost-certain humiliation of having a young woman
with a child's mind in a classroom full of toddlers.  Now, though, she
almost physically fit in with the age group, thanks to her early biocontrol
retraining, and she was making new friends.  Yet another sign that his
Little Angel was growing up.
   Watching her mature, if not physically grow, had been one of the most
rewarding experiences of his life.  Oh, there were always times when he
wished for his dearest friend to return to him.  He missed Noriko, and
grieved her loss as if she had died, for that is, for all intents and
purposes, what had happened.  The fact that she was always nearby made it
all but impossible to truly release her memory, and he still found himself
visiting the headstone they'd put up in the WDF cemetary as a lasting
reminder.  (Sometimes with Eiko, or maybe Ben or Kei, but never with Noriko
-- that, he was sure, was something he just couldn't take.)  But for all its
troubles and torment, especially in this case, parenting was a singularly
rewarding experience.
   He wondered when he'd get another chance.  Just to make sure this one
wasn't a fluke, you understand.
   Abruptly, his feet halted beneath him.
   Regaining his balance, he slowly turned his head toward the street-side
of the sidewalk, and, more specifically, to the tiny form sitting on the
curb.
   What he found was a very small girl.  Standing, she would be little more
than two feet tall, and she was very small-boned and slender; she couldn't
have weighed more than thirty pounds at the very most.  She was covered in
short black fur, wearing a rather battered grey jacket under which he could
easily see a threadbare white sweater, and a cute pink skirt.  She was
barefoot, and her feet were actually white, three-toed paws.  She had a
longish, catlike tail that flicked listlessly at one of her feet as she sat.
   She was also crying.  Actually, she was trying her hardest not to cry,
from the sounds she was making.  He found himself taking immediate pity on
her.
   Almost as a footnote, he glanced behind himself to see if he could
determine where she was from.  The question summarily answered itself, as he
readily discovered the New Avalon Displaced Children's Shelter.  (Newspeak
for "orphanage".)
   He lowered himself to his knees, sitting next to her.  He saw her notice
him, but she declined to react.
   "Hi," he opened gently.
   She sniffled and answered, "Kh'thak."
   Martin was rather doubly surprised at the response -- firstly, it really
wasn't the type of word he'd expected to hear from someone so small, as it
was an expletive equivalent to "go fuck yourself sideways", and secondly,
it was spoken in perfect Kilrathi.
   "Well, you didn't get _that_ word from the Beginning Kilrathi course."
   She wiped at her eyes.  "Didn't get it from teachers.  Got it from
Dad..."
   Now, he was _really_ surprised.  She didn't look at all Kilrathi.  At
least, not any Kilrathi he'd ever seen, heard of, or read about.
   "So, where's your Dad, now that he's taught you such an interesting part
of his language?"
   "Donno."  She wiped her eyes again.  "He left, and Mom too, like they
always did before ... but they didn't come home.  People came, and said
they weren't coming back.  They brought us here.  Actually, they took us
_there_."  She jerked a thumb, indicating the Shelter.
   "Us?"
   "Me and my brothers.  No one likes us.  They call us names all the time,
and gang up on us..."
   As if to prove her case, the sounds of no minor scuffle came from around
a corner, in the Shelter's general direction.
   She whirled, and he got his first good look at her face.  It followed the
standard humanoid-mammal layout, with two eyes, a nose and a mouth in
approximately the right spots, but he could see a Kilrathi influence in the
short muzzle that ended in a small, round, bright red nose.  Her face was
white, with the fur on the rest of her head as coal-black as the rest of
her.  Her eyes, set rather close together and forward, were completely
black; Martin could detect no whites, irises, or pupils, just deep,
intelligent blackness.  Two longish ears, not particularly rabbit-like, nor
catlike, but more akin to of those of a dog, stood erect at either side of
the top of her skull, and she had gathered them together with a little
device that resembled a daisy.
   The overall effect was one of enigmatic, anthropomorphic cuteness, even
though she looked a bit too upset, frightened, and distressed to really be
cute at the moment.
   "No!  YACH'O!  WACH'O!"  She hopped to her feet and ran toward the
noise, a cacophony of young, shouting, angry voices.
   Martin followed, not too far behind.  He turned the corner, only a
moment after she did, and discovered a rather unpleasant sight.
   The brawl -- there had obviously been one -- had chosen that moment to
quiet itself, if only for a few seconds.  What he now saw was a ring of
jeering children of various ages, from 7 to 14, if he were guessing in
human ages.  Of course, those guesses were most likely completely off,
since many, if not most, of the children were Salusian.  They posed,
shouted, cursed and spat at two youngsters at the center of their little
gathering.
   These two looked like a possible alternate punch-line to "What's Black
and White and Red All Over".  Martin instantly saw the resemblance to the
girl he'd just met.  They were both older -- the three were likely born at
two-year intervals, or somewhere around that sort of time-frame, again, if
he were guessing human ages.  The brothers snarled at their adversaries,
clenching fists, baring teeth and blinking away tears.
   The shorter of the two was wearing a red baseball-style cap, completely
cockeyed (probably as a fashion statement) and slightly torn (probably
not).  The taller one had a pair of loose, light brown trousers with a wide
belt around the waist.
   The girl, for her part, was yelling and pushing her way through the
crowd.  Her journey ended with an unkind shove, which landed her face in
the dirt right at her brothers' feet.
   One of the Salusian children threw a can and shouted, "Why don't y'go
back where you came from, half-breeds?  We don't want you here!"  He
received an instant hail of positive feedback from his comrades.
   Martin clenched a tight, quaking fist.  These are just kids, he told
himself.  They're just kids.  They're just kids.
   "Go back t'your litter-box, kitty!" jeered a second.
   "Yeah!" another, old enough to understand the meaning of being an
orphan, added.  "My dad died fighting your lousy kind!"  He threw something
rather bigger, a largish rock, and caught the little girl in the head as
she tried to get to her feet, knocking her back down with a small, sharp
cry.
   Bloody hell.
   No one in the group seemed to notice the quiet sound of Cybertronian
transformational harmonics behind them.
   "Miz Williams says they aren't really half-Salusian -- they're just
mutie cats!"  And so, a chant began.  The Salusian children danced around,
chanting "Mutie cats!  Mutie cats!" as the two brothers hovered on the line
between rage and despair.
   The circle broke only momentarily as a new player entered the arena.
This was an enormous brute of a child, whose status as a minor should have
probably been submitted for review.  His feathery complexion, and the fact
that he had a stubby beak where his nose and mouth would have been were he
fully sapienoid, identified his avian descent.  As the circle reformed
itself around him, he cracked his knuckles loudly.  The two brothers moved
defensively around the crumpled, sobbing form of their sister.
   The chanting went on, shrill and loud and maddening, its pace increasing
as the Salusian children moved in.  The brutish one spoke in a slightly
nasal, brash voice.  "Guess I hafta show youse what we does ta freaks 'round
here."
   "OR MAYBE NOT," said the Voice of Death behind him.
   The dancing and chanting stopped so quickly, it almost seemed like a
paused video replay.
   The avian looked surprised.  "What?  Whatwhat?  Who said dat?"
   Every eye in the crowd turned to the new voice's source, and saw, for
the first time in person, a living legend.
   A dark, fearsome, _angry_ living legend.
   The more intelligent and well-learned of the mob began backing away in
terrified awe; those with common sense shrank back under the stranger's
imposing shadow; the craven ran as fast as their legs would take them.  The
circle had broken, and its components scattered for fear of their very
lives.
   Hammer knew he was hardly being fair to the little shits, but also knew
how much he wanted to personally maul the lot of them, so their actions
turned out for the best, all things considered.
   In the end, only four of the children remained -- the former targets of
the taunting circle, and the mammoth Firekkan child, who must have traded
his sum intellect for extra body mass.
   "Well, what do you know," the being of shadow said, inadvertantly
chilling the blood of the wrong kids.  "They _do_ still make 'em that
dumb."
   The bully turned to face his new adversary, puffing himself up in an
attempt to make a good first impression.  "You sayin' I'm dumb?  You sayin'
I'm some kind'a mute?  Izzat what yer sayin'?  You sayin' I'm some kind'a
deaf-mute circus clown, here to AMUSE you?"
   Hammer stepped forward.  If he were in a better mood, he would have
enjoyed toying with the brute's tiny mind, but bullies were one of his Hot
Buttons, and the scene he'd just witnessed had rubbed him rather thoroughly
the wrong way.
   In short, he was Pissed and Not To Be Taunted.
   "Leave now, stupid," he said frankly, "while you still can."
   "You gonna MAKE me?  Hah?  You gonna MAKE me?"
   Hammer groaned internally, forcing several dozen childish retorts aside.
Instead, he reached forward, pulled the kid's face up to his own, and
growled through the scarf that hid his mouth from view, "YES."
   The grunt looked displeased.  Pushing himself out of Hammer's grasp, he
took a half-step backward, shouted "*DAT'S* IT!", and threw himself into an
attacking mode.
   The altercation that followed wasn't much of one, really, since the
ex-bully immediately found himself setting the new Utopia Planitia speed and
distance records for unpowered manned flight.
   Martin watched his retreating form fly off into the distance.  He
wondered, for a moment, whether he'd gone overboard.  (He already knew he
had.  There was no way the boy, if that term applied, would survive the
landing unless he expended his entire life's quota of Good Fortune in a
fraction of a second.  He may have been feathered, but he certainly didn't
look fit to fly.)
   "Oh, smooth," he groaned to himself.  "Beating up on kids, now.  _Real_
smooth."
   Then, the sound of a quiet grunt -- someone trying to stand while badly
injured -- reminded him just why he'd flung a hapless imbecile into the
wild blue yonder.  He turned around, and was greeted by a trio of startled
gasps.
   The smaller male -- the one with the cap -- braced himself and said to
his brother, "Take Dh'ot and run, Yach'o.  I'll try an' 'old 'im off long
enough for you to get away."
   (Whoops,) Martin realized.  (I keep forgetting how frightening I can
look.)  He quickly transformed, then transformed again.  He was now wearing
exactly what he'd been wearing before, when he'd discovered the girl.
   As he looked back toward them, Dh'ot's eyes widened with twofold
recognition.  "No..." she protested weakly as Yach'o tried to carry her
away.  "Don't ... he's okay..."  Her warning was already a little behind
the times, though, as Yach'o and Wach'o also realized who they'd stumbled
across.
   Yach'o found his tongue first.  "Saaaaay ... you're that Autobot guy!
One of the original Wedge Rats!"
   Martin chuckled.  He never really considered himself a member of that
particularly elite group; more as a Marty-come-lately.  After all, in their
second test of courage, he was just a spectator.  But he nodded, for
Yach'o's benefit.  "The same."
   "Faboo!" Wach'o breathed quietly.
   Martin stepped forward and dropped to his knees as the three siblings
gathered themselves in front of him.  "So ... you know who I am.  Now who
are you?"
   "We're the W'harnyr brothers!" the two males chimed in immediate unison.
   "And the W'harnyr sister," added the girl, somewhat weakly.
   Martin chuckled again.  Somehow, he chided himself, you should have
_known_ this would happen, sooner or later.  "Cute.  How long have you
three been here?"
   "About six months," the elder brother replied.
   "But it feels like f'rever," his brother added.  For some reason, he
alone had a vocal accent, which made him sound like a very young Ringo
Starr.
   "I suppose it's been like this the whole time."
   "Oh, no," said the younger brother.  "Sometimes i's worse."
   "Usually they stay away from Dh'ot," Yach'o elaborated.  "They know what
Wach'o's like when someone hurts her ... but this time there were just so
many..."  He shrugged.  "Good thing you showed up."
   "Yeah," Martin replied ruefully.  "Good thing."
   He looked at them.  He knew he couldn't possibly watch over them all the
time, and the looks he saw in their entirely-black eyes told him they knew
that, too.  They needed a protector.  But while they were here, he couldn't
really help them.
   Wach'o summed it up rather succinctly when he stuck his hands in his
pockets and observed, "They're really gonna get us for this one."
   That was all Martin needed to hear.  He got to his feet and opened his
mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, he was cut off by the
horrified crowing of a woman bustling out of the Shelter behind him.
   "YACH'O W'HARNYR!" the heavy-bodied, middle-aged woman shrieked.  "You
get yourself and your siblings INSIDE the building, RIGHT THIS INSTANT!
You know, I have just about had enough of you and your troublemaking, young
man."  As she spoke, she advanced, seeming not to even notice Martin.
"Always picking fights, pushing the other children around -- and where's
Pestoe?  The others said he was still out here.  Frightened half out of
their WITS.  I've a good mind to send you to another sector, where you
can't cause as much trouble, and give your siblings a chance to grow up
in--"
   She didn't get any further; Martin cut her off, both verbally and
physically, at that point.
   "EX-cuse me, ma'am -- may I call you ma'am? -- but I think a couple of
your details on the situation are off just a scoche."
   The woman drew herself up to her full height, which was entirely
unimpressive.  "And WHO," she said in a voice that had undoubtedly cowed
hundreds of children, "might YOU be, sir?  And what possible business is
this of yours?"
   Martin, being neither a child nor particularly short, was unruffled.
   "I am the terror that flaps in the night," he replied in his typical,
rumbling fashion.  "I am the misfiring stapler that ruins an otherwise
nice day at the office."
   The woman looked quite impressed, and took a complete step backward.
Martin lived for these moments, and was always saddened when they were
over.
   Producing an ID, he completed, in a more normal voice, "Detective
Superintendent PCHammer, Wedge Defense Force Criminal Investigations,
Covert Operative.  Technically, I'm out of my jurisdiction ... but the
Truth is always worth defending, and seems somewhat lacking in your
accusations."
   The woman regained her composure.  "Well, the Truth, as you so
melodramatically put it, is that these three children -- especially the 
oldest, he's the ringleader -- are right holy terrors who have just about
torn this Shelter apart in the six months Standard they've been here.  The
middle one put one of my orderlies in the med center for two weeks!"
   "'E 'it Dh'ot!" Wach'o protested.
   "Well, I'm sure she did something to deserve it," the woman snapped at
him over Martin's shoulder.  "Don't you be fooled, Mr. ... Hammer, was it?
They look cute, but they're demons."
   Yach'o snorted derisively.  "Sure, she did something to deserve it all
right.  She was crying, and Ralph didn't like it.  That rates as a
punishable offense, wouldn't you say?"
   The word 'incredulous' wouldn't have even begun to describe the look on
Martin's face.  The picture he was getting of how this Shelter was operated
was quickly developing into something he definitely didn't like.  "'Torn
this Shelter apart'?  I suppose that's supposed to justify the Junior Lynch
Mob I had to _personally_ break up out here.  Oh, that's right ... you
thought all those little monsters were running from these three."  Martin
broke a slight smile.  "Sorry ... it was me.  Apparently, some of _them_
were diligent history students."
   "I don't think I like your tone, Mr. Hammer.  And I'm _certainly_ not
going to discuss this out in the street!  If you wish to speak to me
concerning the operation of my shelter, my office hours are posted in the
lobby.  Come _along_, children."
   The W'harnyrs didn't pass Martin; instead, they clustered together.
   "We're not going back in there," Yach'o said firmly.
   "Besides, Dh'ot needs a doctor," Wach'o added.
   The woman shook her head.  "Ridiculous.  You three will try _anything_
-- they've attempted to run away at LEAST twenty times," she said,
parenthetically, to Hammer.
   "Given the tender loving care they were receiving from their Salusian
comrades," Martin stated with a tone of overt sarcasm, "I could hardly
blame them.  But, if having someone keep an eye on them is all you're
worried about, I can help with that, too.  Pardon me a moment."
   Martin pulled out a small device, flipped it open, and punched a few
buttons.  He put one of the hinged sides to his ear, with the other close
to his mouth.
   "Hon?" he said into it after a moment's pause.  The woman started
toward the W'harnyrs, but Martin stopped her with his free hand.
   "Yeah, it's me.  Listen, I'm down at the New Avalon Displaced
Children's Shelter, over on West Cross, and I need a hand here.  S'pose you
could jog over? ... Uh-huh ... well, she won't be home for at least an hour.
She'll be okay.  You know how responsible she is. ... Thanks, Hon. ... I
love you, too.  And I'm timing you.  Bye-bye."  He snapped the device shut.
   "Now see here," the woman dictated, now that she had his undivided
attention.  "You have no jurisdiction here.  This is MY shelter, and these
children are MY charges.  If you think you can just waltz in off the street
and change the way I do things here--"
   Her tirade was cut short by a growing sound of something screaming
through the air at high speed.  Martin smiled and everyone else gaped as a
blurred, quick-moving form resolved into a young woman, not quite five-and-
a-half feet tall, with longish red hair.
   She stopped herself by grabbing Martin, whirling the both of them quite
rapidly.  "Hiya, Diggy!"
   "Hi, Little One."  They kissed.  "You're getting slow."
   She dropped from him, waving a hand.  "The cross-town traffic is
murder."
   "Thanks for coming.  Look, it seems..."  Martin paused, then turned.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I haven't determined your name yet."
   "Flamiel.  Personnel Director Candace Flamiel.  And if you think you
can just--"
   "Thank you, Director," he said curtly, returning his attention to the
young woman.  "It seems Director Flamiel is concerned that these three
kids will try to make a break for it if she turns her back on them.  I
just got done watching a gang of adorable little angels from this very
Shelter try to kill them only a minute ago, so I would understand
completely if they did -- but I'd rather they didn't.  They'll just get
in deeper."
   "You want me to keep an eye on 'em?"  Eiko glanced at the bruised,
bloodied trio, and her heart went out to them.  She understood, in the
most intimate way, what it was like to be a picked-on child.
   "Truth to tell, Little One, I'd like to take them to a hospital.  The
girl, Dh'ot, has a nasty head--"
   "You'll do _no such thing_," Ms. Flamiel huffed in outrage.  "Now
listen here!  I've had just about all I can take from you.  I don't care
if you're Special Agent PCHammer, Asrial of Salusia, Admiral MegaZone or
Batman!  You can't just walk in on a situation you know nothing of, draw
conclusions, and then walk away with three of MY children!"
   "We're not YOUR children!" Yach'o cried.  "We don't belong to anybody.
We're not furniture."
   "That'll be about enough out of YOU," she replied archly, raising her
hand meaningfully.
   Martin glared at Director Flamiel.  She didn't even realize that she'd
begun shrinking away from him.  "And THAT, in turn," he replied, "will be
quite enough out of YOU."
   "Dh'ot _does_ need a doctor," Wach'o said, in a quieter voice, as
though he could care less about the greater trial that was going on around
him.
   Martin looked back at Eiko, and she recognized the gleam in his eye.  She
sighed before he could say a word.
   "You're right," she told him.  "We can't just stand by and watch this."
She pulled herself up and kissed him again.  "You're so impuslive."
   He nodded, beaming a smile.  "I'm so transparent, you mean."
   Eiko dropped to the ground, starting toward the W'harnyrs, as Martin
returned his attention to the Director.  "Well, Ms. Flamiel, there appears
to be only one way to alleviate your concerns in this matter.  As of now,
I'm taking these children off your hands."
   She gaped and sputtered.  "You-- the NERVE!  There are PROCEDURES,
CHANNELS to be followed!  You'll have to follow the usual protocols
through the front office -- now get out of my way and let me reclaim my
charges, or I'll have no choice but to call security and have you removed!"
   "I have been following procedures and channels all my four hundred years
of life, Director, and I've been through this process before.  There is no
way I, in good conscience, can allow these kids to return to that building
without _proper_ supervision."  He broke a confident smile as he added,
"And security can bloody well TRY."
   He turned toward the Wh'arnyrs, then snapped his fingers and returned
his attention to Flamiel.  "And, one last thing ... consider this
establishment officially Under Review, Director."
   Director Flamiel paled slightly, then stood solidly and said, "You
don't scare me, Mr. Hammer.  You haven't the power, and even if you did,
nothing could come of it.  I'm sorry, but if you MUST insist upon
threatening me, I will have to call security."
   All but ignoring her, Martin transformed to his Rotofoil mode.  Eiko
guided the children into him, with Dh'ot cradled in her arms.  The front
end slid shut, and the vehicle turned toward the Director.
   "I never threaten, Director," it said in the voice she had come to
know and loathe.  "I _promise_."
   A loud TCHAP was accompanied by a mild shockwave as it leaped skyward.
At the apex of its leap, it grew rotors and a tail, and hovered overhead.
   "I shall return shortly to give you your precious paperwork," it
announced, "provided the hospital doesn't take too much time.  And don't be
surprised if Gryphon calls, asking for me.  Just tell him ... I'll be back."
The last three words were spoken with a poor imitation-Austrian accent.
   The 'foil-copter turned toward the nearest hospital and flew away,
leaving Director Flamiel to fume to herself.
   "Gryphon, eh?  We'll just SEE about that," she muttered, returning to the
relative safety of the Shelter.  Pestoe had been all but forgotten.

   Some hours passed.  The three children had been to the hospital,
proclaimed fit for home care (after some treatment on all three,
particularly the girl), and were now patiently awaiting their fate in the
Roses' living room.
   The telephone rang.  Martin was not surprised, and punched it on.
   "Batphone."
   Gryphon's face appeared in the screen.  He looked a little curious and
bewildered, and his face was smeared with grease.  Overall, he appeared
tired and disheveled, but quite pleased with himself.  
   "Marty," he stated, by way of abbreviated greeting.  "What's this about
you kidnapping three kids from the New Avalon Displaced Children's Shelter?"
   Martin's shoulders slumped.  He somehow knew the Director would raise no
small stink over the incident, though he had no idea why she so thoroughly
hated the kids that she'd put them right back where they'd been.  And she'd
gone straight over his head.  Typical.  "You probably wouldn't think it
could happen here, Ben, but I had to rescue three poor kids from a ravenous
pack of Salusians."
   Gryphon looked strangely unsurprised.  "Actually, no.  The W'harnyrs?"
   Martin nodded.  "The same.  I couldn't let'em go back to face their
execution, and the Director wouldn't take the girl's condition seriously."
   Ben sighed.  "I TOLD them it was stupid to put those kids in a mostly
Salusian orphanage, but does anyone in Personnel Services listen to _me_?
Of course not.  'Go play with your ships, Admiral -- we know how to handle
children.'  I had a feeling something bad would happen.  Those poor kids ...
Salusians have been fighting Kilrathi for centuries, did they think all that
enmity would just disappear in one generation?"  He sighed again, and made a
small and vaguely profane noise.
   "How do you know about them, pray tell?"  Martin cocked his head to one
side.  "I'm sure Director Flamiel didn't describe them to you in any
favorable light."
   "Actually, I was part of the 'expedition' that recovered them.  Their
father was a Bastard Son of Kilrah, a rather nice fellow we all called
Stripe -- damn good fighter pilot.  His wife was a Salusian from a fairly
large, well-to-do family, and the couple ended up taking her family name,
since he wanted nothing to do with his."
   Martin blinked forcibly.  "I thought Kilrathi and Salusian DNA were
wildly incompatible."
   "I know.  Life Sciences still claims that's so, but I think we can see
the evidence to the contrary."
   "Doubtless," Martin replied with a brief glance toward the sofa.
   "Anyway, they both lost their lives in the Big One.  When we went to
check on their estate, to see if there was anything for the next-of-kin to
reclaim, we found the three of them, doing rather well for themselves.
Personnel took over from there; I guess the mother's family wants nothing to
do with them."  Ben sighed once more, for good measure.  "How's the girl?"
   "Getting better.  She should be up and about in a couple days.  It was a
pretty big rock."
   "Rock?"
   "Yeah, one of the insufferable little urchins took it upon himself to
bean'er with it."
   Gryphon's face darkened.  "She's expected to recover?"
   "That's what they told me.  She's a little doped up at the moment, but
her brothers are watching her like hawks."
   Now, Ben looked downright livid, though still in control, mostly.  "Damn,
damn, damn, I knew this was gonna be trouble.  Wait until I get a hold of
those idiots.  I'm meeting them at 18-hundred; Director Flamiel is foaming
at the mouth.  To hear her tell it, those three beat up the whole population
of the Shelter, scared the hell out of them, and chased them inside.  One of
them's still missing."  He didn't pause when he noticed Martin's shoulders
sag at that news.  "Then you showed up and said something about taking them
away on my authority.  She's screaming for my blood and your head, Marty."
He grinned.  "I wish I knew when I'd authorized kidnappings."
   "'Kidnapping' is such an ugly word," the other replied with a weak smile.
"I prefer to call it 'protective custody'.  Still..."  He sighed, shaking
his head.  "Remarkable story she's got there.  Pity it's a fabrication, but
everyone needs an excuse, I suppose.  She wasn't even there.  Sorry if I
overstepped my bounds, but..."  He dropped his gaze.  "I'm sorry.  Watching
that mob scene ... I had to do something."
   Gryphon laughed.  "You've got a lost puppy complex, you know that?
Hell, I don't mind ... but what I have to know now is ... well, what do you
plan to DO with these kids I told you you could take out of the Shelter?"
   Martin shrugged, the eternal smirk finally returning to his face.
"Well, they're not such bad kids, once you get to know'em.  Eiko's taken a
liking to'em, they can break Kei with no trouble at all; heck, Riko thinks
they're positively aDOrable..."
   Ben looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Vision'll have the formwork crammed
down their throat by eighteen hundred if you authorize her to forge your
signature..."
   Martin's smirk was replaced by a broad smile.  "Authorized."
   A hand appeared in the corner of the screen and shoved the edge of the
central vid image down; with much simulated effort, Vision pushed herself
a corner window.  Martin began to regret teaching her video tricks.
   "They won't know what hit 'em," she promised.  "You want the whole
schmeer, legal adoptions, name changes, the works?"
   Martin met the lovely CI's gaze thoughtfully for a moment before
replying.  "Everything except the name changes, Vizh.  They know who they
are, and they've fought for it.  They deserve to keep it."  He snapped his
fingers.  "Oh, and while you're at it, put up a little blank space on the
screen for a sec."
   She blinked.  "Sure."  She pushed her window up, and a much smaller her
pulled a blank area underneath, along the bottom of the screen.  "What's
that for?"
   "Trace my finger, Vizh," Martin smiled.  He put a fingertip to the screen
and began scribbling it around the blank area, as Vision traced the
movement, drawing the pattern it made in its wake.  She grinned when she
realized what he was doing -- rather than leaving any doubt to his personal
stake in this, he was giving her his signature to use on the forms.
   He ended it with a flourish, as he always did.  "There.  Let them argue
with _that_."
   Vision winked at him and threw him a thumbs-up.  "Right.  Time to go
mug the Personnel Services mainframe.  Now THAT's comedy."  She ducked
under the main image, reaching up and yanking it fully into the corner to
cover her window as she went, and was gone.
   "Hey -- what's goin' on over there?" Yach'o, sitting on one side of
Dh'ot on the living room couch, asked Wach'o.
   "I dunno," Wach'o replied.  "I think we've jus' been saved..."
   Yach'o looked over at Martin's back, considered, and brightened, his
ears pricking up.  "Works for me."
   Martin gave one last nod to the screen.  "Thanks, Ben.  You're a
lifesaver.  And I _don't_ mean you're donut-shaped and fake-fruity."
   Gryphon gave a 'tsk' and waved a limp-wristed hand at the monitor in
perfect impression of Kevin Tefft.  "Oh, you."
   "Hey!" a familiar voice cried from off-screen on Gryphon's end.  "Are
you gonna yap on the phone all day and let us do all the work?!  Get it
in gear, wide-load!"
   Gryphon cringed as Martin stifled a roaring laugh.  This answered any
questions he'd had about Nadia's interview yesterday.  "Gotta go.  Mommy's
calling.  Have fun, Marty ... I think you're in for quite the adventure."
The screen went blank.
   Martin nodded, turning to look at the smiling faces behind him, though
not all smiling for the same reason (Dh'ot's seemed somewhat vacant).
   Indeed, he said quitely to himself; the grandest adventure of all.

   "How does this look?"  Eiko draped a drab olive handbag over Selene's
shoulder.
   "How hard will you hit me if I'm honest?"  Martin then ducked as said
handbag swung through the space once occupied by his head.
   It was something most people didn't even know to see as peculiar --
Martin, Eiko and Noriko were taking Selene, formerly known as Iczer-2, out
shopping, yet another of those human foibles that Selene hadn't even known
about until her recent change-of-heart (or acquisition-of-heart, depending
on who you asked, and when).  It had, apparently, come to Dr. Mann's
attention that Selene had only ever been seen wearing one non-combat costume
as she explored New Avalon and its outlying areas.  Not feeling qualified as
a trainer in this field, he'd asked Ben Hutchins for help, who'd turned to
Kei, who'd suggested Eiko.  Noriko was presently off in another part of the
store, while Martin and Eiko tried to help Selene with her wardrobe.
   "I'm still not sure I understand the purpose of this 'fashion'."  Selene
lifted a rather frilly, overcute and not-like-her-at-all blouse from its
place on the rack, hugging it in front of herself and looking into the
mirror.  "What do you think of this item?"
   Martin and Eiko peered at it, then at each other, and then at her.  They
shook their heads in obvious disapproval.
   Selene sighed, placing the blouse back with those like it.  "This concept
is beyond me."
   "Now, now, no fatalism allowed," Eiko chided.  "If I can get Diggy to at
least dress in a way that doesn't cause hearing loss, I'm sure I can get
_you_ fashionable."
   Selene shrugged.  "I've been wearing the same basic thing for some four
centuries now.  I didn't know I was supposed to have different modes of
dress for different moods and occasions."
   "Well, it's not _really_ a necessity," Eiko elaborated, rifling through
another rack of blouses.  "Fashion's a fickle and frivolous thing.  More a
luxury than anything else, I suppose."
   Selene's eyes caught on something dark, and she lifted it from its place.
She held the new item to herself and looked in a mirror, and, to her
amazement, a smile formed on her lips.
   It was another blouse, but this time basically black.  A strip of red
traced a path diagonally down from the right shoulder, halting when it met
another, thicker path of turquoise coming down from the left.  The turquoise
strip continued all the way to the waist, where it curled around the back.
   "This," she said quietly, "I like."
   Eiko clapped as Selene turned to display her new choice.  "Brilliant!
Take it from me, Sel, you were _made_ to wear black."
   Martin regarded her thoughtfully, nodding.  "That works quite well with
your hair, Selene."
   "Thank you," Selene smiled, turning back to face the mirror.  "I suppose
I may have an aptitude for this, after all."
   It took a bit more time to assemble a complete outfit around that one
piece, and several others as well; but it was accomplished, and the foursome
strolled outside to greet the late-afternoon sun.
   They were in an open-air shopping district, with several multi-floor
shops and boutiques built around a brick-patterned walkway as wide as a
two-lane street with sidewalks.  The wind blew lightly, so the faint chill
in the air didn't attack them as strongly as it could have, but the
occasional lumps of snow where the walkway's inlaid heating didn't reach
readily evidenced the wintery season that was upon them.  Dark clouds
gathered off in one direction, but they were part of a storm front that
wasn't going to actually overtake them, like a gloomy stranger standing off
to the side, trying to convince you you shouldn't be having fun.
   "Okay," Eiko mentally checked off, her bright coat crinkling as she moved
her arms while her sigh formed a tiny cloud in front of her, "we have
blouses, slacks, skirts, hats and a few requisite undergarments."
   "Why do I need both slacks and skirts?  Can't I only wear one of the two
at a time?"
   Eiko waved a hand.  "It's a mood thing.  Sometimes you feel like slacks,
sometimes a skirt.  You'll have plenty of chances to try both.  For now, you
need some good footwear to go with the outfits."
   "I see," said Selene, who didn't.
   Noriko giggled.  "Don't worry about it.  Mama's a good teacher."
   Eiko led the small troupe into a five-story brownstone that promised a
shoe store on the main level.  Just as they cleared the doorway, though,
they paused at the sounds of a slight commotion outside.
   Noriko was the first to spy its source.  "Quick, out of the doorway!" she
insisted.
   No sooner had the small group complied than a small cluster of three
familiar faces, furred in black and white with round, red noses, rushed
past.  Eiko, Martin and Noriko waved as they hurried by, and they waved in
return.
   Selene blinked.  "Weren't those--"
   "--our kids, yes," Martin smiled.
   Before Selene could ask just what they were running from, her question
was answered in the form of a similarly-hurrying man.  He was immensely
overweight and homely, with an incurable five-o'-clock shadow and a clean,
bald head.  He was clothed in blue, with a medium-blue shirt trying to tuck
around his belly into darker slacks; a policeman-like cap made a similar
attempt to conceal his head.  Both the cap and the shirt bore the insignia
of WDF Personnel Services, and he wielded what appeared to be a slightly
oversized butterfly net.
   Selene noted the hunter's gleam in his eye and did quick mental
arithmetic.  "Why, that--!"  She took a step forward, gathering a small
sphere of energy into her right hand.
   She was stopped short by Martin's strong grasp on her shoulder.
   "Ah-ah-ah," he ah-ah-ah'ed.
   She blinked at him, incredulous.  "But that man is trying to capture your
children!" she blurted in protest, the energy in her hand dissipating.
   "'Trying' is the operative word," he smiled.
   Selene's attention went to the chase.  The W'harnyrs were running in a
wide circle, with the man fairly close behind, net at the ready.  "You know
him, then?"
   "The man's name is Ralph Giles," Martin stated with no particular
concern.  "He works as a sort of truant officer for the New Avalon Displaced
Children's Shelter.  Back when that was all the home they had, he was
chasing those three all the time.  When Flamiel got the boot six months ago,
he kept his job, but it seems he was never informed of their adoption."
   Selene continued to watch the tableau as it played out.  The W'harnyrs
had bolted into the elevator, which was open and nearby at the time.  It
closed and began ascending before Ralph could hit the call button, and he
watched the floor indicator, waiting for its return.  "So, he shouldn't be
chasing them ... but why don't you stop him?  You're a law officer."
   "Oh, I wanted to.  Restraining order, possible termination from his
position, the whole nine yards.  But the three of them begged me not to."
   Selene whirled to look at him.  "_What?_"
   Martin could only shrug in reply.  "Yach'o said that dodging him was too
much fun to give up just because there was no need for it.  Besides, he's a
friendly chap, almost likeable."
   She peered at him for another moment, then returned her attention to the
chase.  The elevator had peaked at the fourth floor, and was presently
returning to the ground floor.  Ralph tapped his foot impatiently as the
light went to 3, then 2, and finally back to G.
   The door opened, and the W'harnyrs casually strolled out.  Ralph smiled
and tipped his hat to them as they waved cordially, then charged into the
elevator, jabbing the 4 button.  The doors closed.
   Selene was having a hard time believing that had just happened.
   "Likeable, that is," Martin elaborated, "in a dumber-than-dirt sort of
way."
   Yach'o smiled as he led his siblings back to where Martin and Selene were
standing.  Eiko and Noriko were just about falling over each other with
stifled laughter.  "Hiya, Pop," he grinned.
   "What have I told you about taking unfair advantage of the cereberally
challenged?" Martin replied sternly.
   "I know, I know," Yach'o replied, "but Wach'o already ate most of the
props we brought along this morning."
   Wach'o responded by belching loudly.  "Excuse me," he said in his most
cheerful voice.  Martin and Eiko had discovered, early on, that the middle
child seemed capable of eating just about anything, whether it would be
normally classified as food or not.
   "Deee-sgusting!" Dh'ot groaned.
   Martin looked back at the elevator, which was on its way back down.  He
smiled and ruffled the short fur on Yach'o's head.  "Just be home in time
for dinner."
   "Hey, you know us.  You can call us whatever you like--"  The elevator
chimed, the door opened, and Ralph burst out with a growl of displeasure.
"--but you'll never call us late for dinner!"  The three siblings dashed
back outdoors with their plump pursuer close behind.
   Selene blinked after them, shaking her head.  "There is much I may never
truly understand," she said quietly.
   "Well, if you can't make sense of the things around you," Martin began.
   "...try to think of it as entertainment," Eiko and Noriko completed in
unison.
   And they went to get Selene some shoes.

-- 
  The High Diggy-Hoek of Chihuahua-Wala Land  (or Martin Rose, if you must)
--------------------------- mfrose@umcc.umich.edu ---------------------------
Truth is stranger than Fiction ---------------- Stupid is a boundless concept
The Limbaugh Institute for Advanced Conservative Studies:  Ann Arbor Division