G
	Friday, August 5, 1994 was a gorgeous day in Boston, and I
was in a remarkably good mood that afternoon.  And why not?  I had
just come off an immensely weird vacation with my friends, the Bogard
brothers and Joe Higashi - maybe someday I'll tell you about it, but
right now I don't think you'd believe me if I told you what we did.
Either way, I'd recovered from that and my confidence was high, I felt
great.  My reputation was getting around.  I had money in my pocket,
no pressing obligations, a cool car, a good dog and a lot of friends.
What more can a man ask for?
	Zoner and I were in town for a music festival I'd heard was
going on at, of all places, the Park Plaza Hotel.  Actually, I heard
about it two years ago, but we were too lazy or too busy to go either
time.  This year we'd finally decided that, darn it, it was time we
checked it out.
	I left the big ballroom on the second floor -- or was it the
third?  The way the floors are laid out around the Park Plaza's lobby
is bizarre -- and headed downstairs to the lobby's ground level,
having just come out of a jazz workshop which made me wish for the
umpteenth time that I had stayed with my trombone studies after high
school.  Mr. Tenor Brass, that was me in high school.  Euphonium in
concert band, trombone in jazz band.  Silly bias, that whole lack of
euphonia in jazz bands... but I digress.
	I checked my watch.  Zoner would be coming out of the
afternoon's alternative rock program soon, unless it had run long or
he was dawdling for some reason, and my stomach was informing me that
it was about time I got something to eat.  He wasn't out yet,
apparently, so I plopped down in one of the couches in the lobby, put
my feet up on the coffee table, pulled my current book out of the
inside pocket of my jacket, and settled in to read.
	I had just gotten to the part where Hiro tries out the
Lavatory Grande Royale when Zoner showed up -- and not, I noticed,
alone.  He had a girl with him, probably about my age, about my
height, and much better-looking.
	"Hey," said Zoner, kicking at one of my feet as if I had
failed to notice him.  "Food?"
	"I could eat," I replied, marking my place and putting the
book away before getting to my feet.  "Are you going to introduce me,
or should I just lurk in the background doing my Peter Lorre
impression?"
	"That might be worth seeing," said Zoner, "but I'll introduce
you anyway.  This is Meg Bennett.  Meg, this is my roommate, Ben
Hutchins.  Call him Gryphon, everyone does."
	"Does anybody you know have a real grown-up name?" asked Meg
good-humoredly.  Then she turned to me and said hi.  She didn't offer
to shake hands, which worked out pretty well, since it's a social
ritual that's always kind of grated on me.  I didn't think it was a
deliberate snub, anyway; she seemed far too cheery for that.  She was
slender, dressed in faded jeans and a kind of baggy shirt which women
probably have some kind of fancy name for, and the heels on her cowboy
boots brought her the last inch or so to my own height.  The only
jewelry she wore was a largish signet ring on her right hand, but from
where I was standing I couldn't see the design on it.  She had blonde
hair in the kind of punkish shag haircut you tend to like a lot if
you're a guy who hit adolescence in the mid-eighties, like, say, Zoner
and me.  She had friendly blue eyes and a way of grinning that
wrinkled the middle of her nose.  She wasn't the kind of woman who
would make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window, but she was
very cute.
	I didn't scope.
	Well, not much, anyway.  She didn't seem to take offense.
	Out we went into the street, getting the awkward preliminaries
out of the way.  Apparently, she and Zoner had -just met-, as they
were leaving the downstairs dining room after the alternative rock
program.  She was a senior at the Berklee College of Music, so it
wasn't much of a surprise that our conversation as we walked down
Arlington was centered around our respective musical tastes.
	Zoner hadn't said so, but it appeared Meg was having dinner
with us.  Either that, or she had decided to follow Zoner home.  I
didn't think he would have a problem with that, but at this early
stage I kind of doubted it was the case.  But hey, did I mind?  She
seemed like a nice kid, sunny but not vapid, and she had good taste in
music, though she'd come late to some of it.
	We were cutting through an alley to make better time to the T,
and Zoner and Meg were exhibiting parallel amazement that I didn't own
a single Van Halen album and had somehow managed to avoid being into
them at any point in my life, despite being a fan of guitar rock, when
I spotted the two guys in trench coats walking down the alley toward
us.  Something about them didn't register right -- the lightfooted way
they walked, perhaps, or the fact that their coats just weren't
hanging right.  I slowed, putting a hand on Zoner's arm, and he in
turn gestured to Meg at his own right.  The guys in trench coats kept
coming.
	Presently they stopped as well, staring us down from thirty
feet or so down the alley.  Two guys with olive skin and slick black
hair, one of them with a little Clark Gable mustache, the other with a
tidily trimmed goatee; other than that they could have been identical.
They threw away their trench coats with mirror-image flourishes and
drew long, thin swords from their belts, one left-handed and one
right, moving their sword tips in little circles as they put their off
hands on their hips, assuming a bullfighter stance that went well with
their insanely tight and ornate purple outfits and silly buckled
shoes.
	I slapped my forehead.
	"What's going on?" asked Meg, her tone carrying curiosity, but
no fear.
	"Spanish ninjas," I muttered.  "I -hate- Spanish ninjas."
	"You know why we are here, Gryphon," the right-handed one
said, pronouncing it "greefon".  He talked way too much like Ren Hoek
for me even to try and take him seriously.
	"You like your orthodontist?" I replied wryly.  Trust Antonio
de la Vega's Spanish ninja to ruin an otherwise lovely afternoon.
	"Relax, you guys," said Meg, shoving Zoner back a step and
stepping in front of me.  "I'll handle these clowns."
	I glanced at Zoner, registering with amusement his look of
startlement at having been cursorily shoved aside by a slender girl no
less than a foot shorter than he, and he shrugged.
	We thought we were surprised -then-?
	Hah!
	Meg raised her left hand in the air; there was a flicker of
light around her wrist, and I noticed an elaborate bracer-type thing
that I could have sworn wasn't there a second ago.
	"BIONICS - ON!" she shouted, slamming the large ring she wore
on her right hand into a socket on the thing on her left wrist.  At
that, her whole body started glowing with a funky blue-green radiance
not unlike my own Ler manipulation effect; her clothes vanished and
her skin became transparent, revealing gleaming chrome bones and
armored musculature that was obviously synthetic.  Momentarily, the
glow faded, and there she was again -- same girl as before, dressed in
an orange and blue jumpsuit, with that weird computer thing on her arm
and small metal box-type things on her shoulders.
	I glanced at Zoner, unable to keep the astonishment off my
face.
	He reached out, tapped his fingertips against the box on her
right shoulder and said, "Dibs."  Caught up in her face-off with the
two Spanish ninja, who were easily as startled as Zoner and I, she
didn't even notice.
	"Damn!" I said reflexively.
	The two Spaniards overcame their consternation and began
advancing at a half-run; Meg seemed about to go meet them when Zoner
stepped in front of her, his right hand sweeping his Glock from under
his left arm as his left racked a round into the chamber in the same
motion.  I think he only carries it in Condition Three so he can feel
stylish when he does that move.  He's certainly practiced it enough.
I've spent many a happy afternoon in the blue recliner in our living
room watching him toss the gun onto the sofa practicing that draw.
	"WAIT FOR IT -- !" Zoner bellowed at the two ninja, leveling
the pistol at them.  They halted and glared at us, confused.  "Give
the man a second, he'll be right with you.  Something -weird- just
happened, maybe you missed it."
	"But those guys -- " Meg began.
	"Relax, it's OK," said Zoner.  He held his left hand cocked
back over his shoulder, fingers half-curled; I hung my jacket on it
and ran through a brief centering maneuver, regaining the composure
that Meg's bizarre transformation had rattled out of me.
	Zoner began to back up, shepherding Meg along with him; they
passed behind me, Zoner's .45 still trained on the two ninja.  She
protested again, but Zoner said cheerfully, "It's no problem, he can
handle them.  You ready?" he asked me.
	"S.I.G.," I replied.
	"Right.  DIRECTOR -- CUT!"  He put the Glock away and stepped
back out of my peripheral vision as I began moving toward the two
ninja.
	They kept staring at me, uncomprehending, as I strolled right
up to them.
	"That means we can start now," I informed them, and knocked
the left-handed one's front teeth in with a flare hook.

		     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
			       presents
 
	      A Third Universe from the Right Production
				 of a
		    Straight On Till Morning Film

		   STREET FIGHTER: WARRIOR'S LEGACY

		       BATTLE 03: RAPPROCHEMENT

			 Benjamin D. Hutchins
			       MegaZone

		  Fight choreographer for Mr. Hoshi:
			   Kris Overstreet

	  with the gracious assistance of The Usual Suspects

	       (c) 1997 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


	The one Spaniard I had hit was still on the ground, and showed
no signs of an imminent return to consciousness.  The other one,
however, was holding my attention fairly well on his own; he was fast,
and I had to concentrate to keep from getting skewered by that silly
sword of his.  Not too long ago, I stepped right into the arc of one
of those and took it away from its owner, but I was pretty drunk at
the time.  Sober, I wasn't sure if I could do it.  I ducked to one
side and weaved back as the swordsman lunged at me, once, twice,
again, gathering my concentration and pushing the energy into my left
forearm.  From the elbow down, that arm began to glow with a soft blue
radiance, and in another second or so, Senor Ninja was going to ride
the lightning.
	That's when he feinted left and then slashed at me.  The
reaction patterns of the Icon of Stone took over from my conscious
aversion to sharp metal objects, and again I stepped inside its arc,
driving my upraised left forearm against the flat of the blade to push
it out of position.  The theory here was that, having accomplished
that, I'd hold the blade away with my left and punch the guy with my
right, but that turned out not to be necessary.
	The moment my arm, which was still flared, touched the blade,
there was a sharp SNAP, and my arm and hand tingled just as if I had
thrown the Psycho Lightning I'd been preparing.  The ninja stood bolt
upright, surprise in his eyes melting to incomprehension and then
flickering out entirely as he slumped over backward.  Little jolts of
blue energy kept playing over his sword and his right arm for a couple
of seconds as I looked down at him.
	Hmm.  It never did -that- before.  People have compared my
flare effect to an electric shock, which was what led me to develop
the Psycho Lightning's look, but metal never conducted it before.
Apparently while I had been working to make it look and act more like
electricity, I had been doing better than I thought!  This bore
further investigation, but right now I was thirsty and wanted to get
out of here before Sancho and Pancho woke up.
	When I turned around, I saw that Zoner and Meg were long gone;
my jacket was hanging from a fire escape.  I can't say that came as a
great surprise.  Reclaiming my jacket, I dropped one of my calling
cards (the one with just the recursive G arrow) on one of the ninja
(does it matter which?) and continued on my way to the T, mopping at
my forehead with the tail of my outer shirt.  I wondered if the fact
that it took two Spanish ninja and a sunny August afternoon to make me
break a sweat would go to my head.

				  MZ
	"Will he be all right?" Meg asked, concerned.  She was cute
when she was concerned.  OK, well, cuter.  She deactivated her bionics
as we walked and returned to her street clothes.
	"He'll be fine.  Two ninjas are nothing for Gryphon.  He's a
street fighter, you see.  I guess I should fill you in -- you want the
long version up front or would you rather have the Cliff Notes now and
I can fill in the blanks later?"  I was hoping she'd choose Cliff
Notes; I couldn't wait to hear -her- story.
	"Well...  I...  Cliff Notes."  Bingo.
	"OK.  Gryphon is a street fighter working his way up the ranks
of the World Circuit Martial Arts Tournament Authority so that he may
eventually bring down Shadolu, the Southeast-Asian organized crime
syndicate.  M. Bison, head of the whole shebang, uses his style and
has tried to kill his master a few times.  Those ninjas work for one
of the higher-ups in Shadolu and..."
	"Wait.  Ninjas?  I thought ninjas wore black pajamas and
carried little short swords -- you know, like the guy in 'Shinobi'."
	"Well, yes.  But these were Spanish ninjas."
	"I... umm... see."  I could tell by the look in her eyes that
she was actually rather confused.  It made her look even cuter.
Technically, I don't know how that is possible, but there it was.
	"Don't worry, it will all become less clear as we go on.  Now
then, enough about him, let's talk about me."  I said with a jaunty
grin and an 80's tone.  I could tell she related.
	"You're a street fighter too?"
	"Hell no, they'd beat the living daylights out of me.  I'm no
pushover but I'm not in that class - I haven't had the training or the
experience for it.  No, I'm simply a master pilot, crack shot, and
agent provocateur.  I work for the NSA, sometimes the CIA, but I
prefer working on Her Majesty's Secret Service.  You could call me a
freelance spy."
	Meg eyed me in disbelief.
	"I'm quite serious."  How would she react?
	"Hmm, sounds interesting."
	"I guess that's one way to look at it."
	Ah, she laughed.  It was a good sign.  No screaming.  No
fleeing.  No backing up several feet and looking around for a cop.
And laughter.  Cute laughter.  The kind of laughter that reaches
around and does a little dance up your spine.  I shivered.  I wanted a
bottle of that laugh, a big bottle, with lots of ice.  And a chaser.
And a lemon twist - no, make it a lime.  With one of those little
twisty straws.  And a paper umbrella.  I was going off on a tangent.
It's possible I was out of control.
	"Is that really what you do?" she asked, having regained
control of her lungs.
	"Honestly yes.  That is really what I do.  I was being a bit
absurd, and I don't think I've actually started any wars - well,
except...  Never mind.  Yes, I'm really a spy.  I do freelance work
mostly.  I fly things where they need to be flown.  I don't ask too
many questions and I charge outrageous rates.  Deniability has a
price.  Trailing Edge Air Lines, when it absolutely, positively has to
get there - wherever 'there' is.  No job is too big, no -fee- is too
big.  And yes, sometimes I've had to kill people, but you never really
enjoy that.  It is part of the job, a part I'd rather forget."  OK,
so, there were a few people who I would gleefully kill again, and a
few people who weren't dead yet that I'd cheerfully make that way,
given the opportunity.  But there was no sense in scaring her off with
my dark, anti-heroic moral ambiguity so soon.  "I hang out with
Gryphon because I enjoy the travel, I enjoy watching the fights, and
he needs someone to watch his back..."
	"And?"
	"And...  He's a damn good friend and I'd hate myself if
anything every happened to him.  Shadolu doesn't go easy on those who
oppose them.  OK, OK, so I'm one of those sensitive new age guys.  A
crunchy shell with a soft, chewy center."  I need new metaphors.
	"That's OK.  I sort of like guys like that.  My dad is a lot
like that, in an old kind of way."
	"Speaking of which...  Do you parents know you go around
transforming into a super-hero?  Or is this a whoops-I've-blown-my-
secret-identity moment?  Let me guess, you needed a little extra money
for college and you answered an ad in the paper.  Next thing you knew
you were all metallic."  She looked momentarily taken aback, then she
broke.
	"Nah.  Turns out my dad was an agent for the Office of
Scientific Intelligence.  He was a cyborg superspy too.  We never knew
about it.  All we knew was that he was an astronaut and he had to
travel a lot."
	Something tickled at the back of my mind that felt like the
beginning of recognition, but I put it aside; I had other things I
needed to know.  "So how did you end up like this?  It certainly isn't
genetic."
	"Well, we're all adopted anyway.  But no, it isn't.  We were
on vacation when Dad was attacked.  We all got caught in the attack.
He was fine, being bionic and all, but the rest of us went into a
coma.  The only way to save us was to bionicize all of us.  That's how
I became Rock-1."
	Wham.  It all came flooding back.  In one dizzying blipvert
moment I remembered the news reports, the massive fights, the Trapper
Keeper I used to have -- the Bionic Six!  The really cute one.  How do
*you* spell awkward?  I had a poster of her on my bedroom wall back in
New York.  In fact, it's probably still there.  No, I do *not* plan on
telling her that.  Not now, anyway.
	"I remember you!"  Not smooth.  "I mean, I remember seeing
you, the whole family, on the news.  You used to fight that Shadolu
mad scientist...  Doctor whatshisname?  Scallop?  Scallion?
Scaramouche?  Oh what was it?"  She barely contained her giggles.
Cute giggles.
	"Scarab."  We had arrived at the station.  We descended into
the dark underbelly of the city.
	"Right!  Dr. Scarab.  What ever happened to him?  I haven't
seen you guys in years."
	Ow.  Looked like I hit some kind of nerve.  Her face closed up
like a bagel shop on Yom Kippur.
	"He's dead," she said at length.  "He tried some kind of
ultimate superweapon of doom a few years back and it backfired.  Last
we saw of him and his goons they were sucked into a singularity."  She
didn't look too happy about it, considering it was the end of her
family's nastiest arch-foe she was discussing.
	"What's wrong?  You seem depressed about it."  The train
arrived.  We boarded.  It pulled out.
	"That was the beginning of the end.  With Scarab gone we were
sent on fewer and fewer missions.  The government started to claim
they didn't have work for us.  Dr. Sharp was moved to some old Army
lab with barely enough funding to keep the power on.  Dr. Wells
decided to retire.  It really just sucked."  Typical.  The government
used them until they were no longer useful and tossed them away like a
used bandage.  I need new similes too.
	"Then the shit hit the fan," she continued.  "Oscar was
transferred out of OSI.  They replaced him with some tightassed Air
Force officer.  He proceeded to 'restructure' the OSI, pushed Steve
and Jamie into retirement, slashed the budget.  Overnight the Bionic
Six were extraneous.  Goodbye.  Don't call us, we won't call you."
	"You were downsized!"  People turned to look at us; that came
out a bit louder that I intended.  Hey, it isn't every day you find
out even super-heroes are subject to Dilbertization.  "Man, that
really sucks.  So, what happened to you all?"
	"Mom and Dad retired.  They have enough saved up to live off
of.  Mom does some work for Woods Hole from time to time, and Dad has
a couple of cookbooks out; he's thinking about maybe doing one of
those afternoon cooking shows on the Discovery Channel.  J.D. went off
to find himself in the Valley of Shadows, or something like that.  I
guess he got tired of racking up degrees.  Eric is playing Double-A,
trying to attract a scout's attention.  Bunji has a budding film
career in Hong Kong.  And me...  Well, I'm hoping to build some kind
of band I guess.  I don't know really.  I'm sort of on autopilot.  One
day you're fighting to save the world, the next day you're unemployed
with an uncertain future."  She looked like she was fighting the urge
to cry.  At that moment I wanted to tear a bloody path through the
administration that did this to her.
	Which is how I knew I had fallen for her.  I don't kill for
just anyone - and hey, you didn't see that look in her eyes.  At the
moment I had more immediate concerns.  What the hell, I thought; I put
my arm around her and hugged her tight.  I think this is sort of
disturbing, but: I wasn't sure what to expect.  I think somewhere in
the back of my mind I was expecting cold steel, and you know, I don't
think I would have minded it all that much.  But she was warm and
soft, and she yielded readily.
	She reminded me a great deal of myself: a strong exterior to
face a cold, violent world.  And inside, the pain hides, only to come
out late at night to remind you of the things you thought, and hoped,
you had long forgotten.  The kind of nights that made you want to go
out and scream at the dark skies, but you didn't, because you knew it
wouldn't help.  The nights when the memories drove you out into the
relentless rain, trying to wash away the blood and the scars.
	We sat, quietly embracing, until we arrived at Park Street.
We resumed our positions on the Red Line train, sitting in silence all
the way to Alewife.  We would have sat there longer, but that was the
end of the line.
	"C'mon, we'd better go."  The train had long since emptied.
Boarding passengers were looking at us oddly.
	"Yeah..."  Her eyes were tinged with red.  I had the feeling
mine were too.  They were stinging like they were.
	We strolled up to the parking garage, my arm across he
shoulders, her arm around my waist.  We reached my Suburban it what
seemed like far too short a time, still without a word spoken.  It was
an amazingly comfortable silence.  I unlocked her door and as she
slipped past me I stopped her on an impulse, gathered her into my
arms, leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.  We
parted slightly, our eyes locked.  She tipped her head up and stood on
her toes, her lips brushing mine lightly.
	"Thank you," she whispered.  We parted and she climbed into the
passenger seat, pulling the door closed.
	Have you ever had one of those moments of perfect clarity?
One of those zen Hathcock moments when the bullets all slow down, and
you can see the target frozen in your sights, and you know you have
him?  If you haven't, you just can't know what it is like.  Right then,
at that moment, I knew I had found the woman who would be the love of
my life.  I know it sounds sentimental, maybe a bit of a retcon, but I
swear it is true.  I had known her for all of half an hour and I would
kill for her.  Die for her.  Do anything, say anything, endure
anything, to see her smile.
	I shook myself free of the reverie and walked around to take
my place behind the wheel.  In unison we shared a sly smile.
	"Do you think Ben is OK?"
	I glanced at my watch. 	"Oh yeah, he's done by now.  He should
be on his way back here."

				  G
	So there I was, chillin' on the T.  I bought a Coke out of the
machine at Park Street, on my way from the Green Line to the Red
Line, then lucked out and got one of the nice new silver Red Line
trains which don't make a lot of noise and rattle out your teeth.  I
found a corner seat, kicked back and started reading again.
	There were two ways I could interpret Zoner's abrupt
departure.  I could take the viewpoint that he had ditched me in a
moment of crisis to make time with the cute girl he'd picked up at the
music festival, and be mad at him.  Or I could take the viewpoint that
he had the utmost confidence in my abilities to handle the two Spanish
ninja and had felt he could best demonstrate that confidence by not
hovering over me constantly checking if I needed help.
	I chose the second option, not because I necessarily thought
it was true, but because it would save me a lot of hassle later on.
	And, restored to my good humor, I plowed through another
chapter before arriving at Alewife.

	Yup, there they were, in the Suburban.  I noted with mild
irritation that Meg had bagged my customary shotgun seat, put it down
and climbed in back.  Now was not the time for pointless bickering;
now was the time for action!
	"I hunger," I declared.  "Joyce Chen's."
	"I've just been filling her in," said Zoner helpfully.
	"Of course you have."
	"You up for Chinese?" Zoner asked Meg.
	"Yeah, sure.  Whatever you guys want, I'm easy to please."
Zoner put on that sly little grin that infuriates me so.  I declined
to comment; it was too early.  Not for the first time, I thanked the
cosmic planners that human beings aren't, as a general rule, able to
hear each other's thoughts.
	"Right then, Joyce Chen's ahoy," Zoner said as he started the
Suburban.  I've always figured they called them that because they're
roughly the size of a New England suburb.  At least Zoner hadn't
decided on the Hummer -- he wasn't quite that Combat Carl.  Not that a
blacked out Suburban is exactly subtle.  To date I've resisted the
urge to install little American flags on the front fenders or paint
"DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY  OFFICIAL USE ONLY" on the tailgate.
	The drive was unbearably long, at -least- 3 minutes, since
Joyce Chen's is directly across the street from the station.  We
disembarked and made our way inside.

	We went through the usual routine: "How many?"  "Three"
"Smoking or non?"  "Non"  "Right this way please."  I'd never make a
good host, I'd be way too tempted to ask patrons what their quest was,
or their favorite color, or something.
	Most people don't think about it, but most of the time the
life of a street fighter, or a sometime spy, is actually pretty damn
dull.  Zoner, since he graduated college earlier that year, still
hadn't established just what it was he'd be doing.  He didn't really
need to work, money wasn't an issue, but, as enticing as it sounds,
just sitting around doing nothing all day gets very maddening, very
quickly.  I supposed he'd actually start flying regular cargo missions
more often or something, maybe start giving instruction.
	I don't really need to worry about money either, making my
living as I do in a rather prosaic manner: I bet on my fights.  I
don't want to seem immodest, but when you win as consistently as I
tend to (sixty-seven wins, two losses), that makes for a pretty
substantial income.  Occasionally governments even pay me for my part
in our operations.  I'm still not sure how I really feel about that,
not having set out to be in the black operations field.  Then again, I
don't know what I'd be doing if not that.  It certainly fills the
time, and there have been times when, if I hadn't been present,
Zoner's career would have come to an abrupt and painful end.
	Anyway, over the three years of my 'professional' career I've
built up a pretty sizeable nest egg, which is sitting happily in a
bank earning enough interest for me to live comfortably on.  I spend
most of my time training or gallivanting about with Zoner for the sake
of the experience.  Besides, good friends stick together.  If he got
himself offed who would fly me to my fights?  Egad, I'd have to fly
commercial.  I hate flying commercial.  Wedging a size 48 butt into a
size 42 seat isn't much fun.
	"So, how'd the fight go?" Zoner inquired by way of an opening
line.
	"Oh, the usual.  That first guy I hit as you left never got
up.  Their quantity is going up but quality is going down.  Henry Ford
would never have built good ninja... you can't just crank them out.
But then, when has Spain ever mass-produced anything decent?  What did
you two get up to?"
	"Oh nothing much.  Meg was just telling me her story really.
Let me fill you in..."

	"They were downsized.  I see."
	"Yeah, it really sucks," Meg chimed in.
	"Your tax dollars at work.  You seem to be dealing with it OK,
though."  Zoner gave me one of those looks that said I didn't have the
whole story, but that he couldn't talk at the moment.  (Yes, all that
can be conveyed in a look if you know the person well enough.  When
you go through combat with someone you can get to know them rather
well.)  I wonder how much of that look came from information he really
had, and how much of it came from his usual determination that
-everything- had to have a darker subtext somewhere in it.
	"I've had some time to deal with it, but I'm still kind of
numb.  There are days that I expect to get called into the SPL.  Or
I'm watching the news and I feel like I should be there helping out.
You spend a major part of your life fighting the good fight and then
they tell you to quit cold turkey.  Hell, I'm not even supposed to
appear in public as Rock-1.  Some bogus security restriction or
something.  For that matter I shouldn't be telling either of you all
of this.  I have no idea why I'm doing it."  
	Zoner got that amused look of his.  "Don't worry about it,
happens all the time.  People meet me, give me their life story, and
then look confused because all they meant to do was say 'hi, nice day
isn't it?'  Besides, you couldn't pick a better pair to tell.  We keep
our secrets, and I just might be able to help you out."
	Uh-oh.  Zoner was having an Idea with a capital 'I' and that's
what "I have a problem" starts with.
	"What do you mean?"
	"Well, so the OSI is basically history.  Poof, gone.  But!
There are plenty of other agencies out there with black budgets.
After all, they have to pay people like me.  I'm sure I can help find
you a position with one of them.  If you're interested, of course."
	I knew what Zoner was interested in.  I shouldn't say that --
to be fair, he can be a fairly altruistic person -- but you didn't
have to be Sherlock Holmes to tell he had an interest in her.  Then
again, she didn't seem to mind, and I couldn't particularly fault him
for it.
	He looked at me as if he expected me to join in, so I did.
"Sure, let's see.  There's NSA, CIA, MI-5, MI-6, IMF, FBI, ATF,
Mossad, SAS, SBS, Secret Service, GSG9, Spectrum, Interpol, UNIT,
UNCLE, CONTROL, DEA, NASA, NACA... " I was starting to build up steam.
"...TVA, WPA, SSA, FCC, FAA, NTSB, ICC, MBTA, BART, PBS, CBS, AFL-CIO,
AT&T, ITT, MCI, IBM... "  I seemed out of control by this time, but I
knew what I was doing.  "...NBC, ABC, OSS, MTV, VH-1, A&E, TLC, KFC,
KLF, NFL, NBA, MLB, NHL, NHRA, CART, NASCAR, W3O, OSF, FSF, SCO, Ext2,
HPFS, CCITT, ITU-T, IETF, BGP(4)... "  Now I was just being silly.
"...RIPv2, OSPF, ISIS, VLSM, BRI, PRI, SPID, TEI, B8ZS, AMI, TCP, UDP,
ICMP, SPX, NCSA, RADIUS, TACACS, ACP... "  Zoner was gasping for air
and waving for me to stop.  Meg looked both amused and confused.
"...EIEIO."
	That was all it took; Zoner nearly fell out of his chair.  Meg
mildly injured herself snarfing green tea.  That was not my intention.
I felt bad.
	"Are you OK?" I asked.
	"Yeah." *cough* "I'm fine.  Boy, that really clears your head.
I don't recommend it though."
	We both paused to observe Zoner gasping like a fish.  (Odd
expression, that, because when you come down to it a fish gasping
isn't really like a person gasping at all...)  I was just biding my
time.  He regained most of his composure and sipped some water to calm
things.  I struck.  
	"Booger."
	Zoner's cheeks immediately puffed as he fought to restrain the
water now trapped by the air that wanted to escape.  He looked
remarkably helpless.  What was going through his mind?  Do I spew
water all over the table in front of this remarkably cute woman I've
only know for an hour?  Is it any cooler to choke to death on water?
How long can I hold my breath anyway?  By this time his lungs were
aching for air and he had to do something.  I'm sure it didn't help to
have Meg and I watching him like hawks on nitrous.
	In the end he managed to force the water down the right pipe
and dragged in the overdue breath.  I think my ears popped from the
pressure drop.  It was priceless.  Ah, what are friends for?
	"That was really cruel, Gryph," he croaked.
	"I know."
	"I hate you."
	"I'm aware of that."
	Meg was trying to hide her giggles behind her hand.  It was
working about as well as you'd expect.
	"But," I reminded him, "it's worth it; by making you look like
a fool I've achieved temporary pack dominance."
	Meg's giggles became slightly more pronounced.  "You guys are
great."
	"We try," we stereoed.
	"I was serious, you know."  Trust Zoner to snap the
conversation back to an old track.  Sometimes he answers questions you
asked him hours ago and thought he ignored or didn't hear.
	"I don't know," said Meg, ambivalent.
	"Well, think about it."
                                "(Think about it.)"
	"Think about it," Zoner finished.  "I'm serious, I'd like to
help out if I can.  From what you've told me it seems like everyone
else is dealing because they have things to occupy them.  Maybe you
were just cut out for the heroine's part."  Zoner ignored my rolling
eyes.  He can really be corny sometimes.  I busied myself with the
placemat.  That was unsatisfactory.  I hate those placemats, they
remind me that I was born in the year of the Ox, an animal
uncomfortably close to being a bison.  That doesn't sit well with me.
Maybe I'm paranoid.  Still, it beat listening to Child of the Corn
over there.
	"Thanks.  That's very nice."
	"Think nothing of it, m'lady."
	That was too much.  You haven't seen cheese until you've seen
Zoner's moves.  It's like watching "Shaft's Big Score!" back to back
with "Master Ninja."  It hurts.  Deep down inside, it hurts.  I had to
so something fast, or I'd lose my humanity.
	"Sooo..."  I clapped my hands together.  "What d'you guys
want?"
	"Hmm?  Oh, -food-.  Right."  Zoner had obviously first thought
of something else, but I wasn't touching that.
	"I don't know, what do you guys recommend?"
	I pitched my voice down into the Barry White range.  "Meat."
	"Gryph is a real carnivore.  Personally I have no idea, I've
only been here a couple of times before."
	"Well," I said, drawing on my equally limited experience with
this particular restaurant, "the noodle buffet is a way to get lots of
food for cheap.  The chicken fingers rock.  And the orange beef is
good.  Other than that, you're on your own."
	So we studied the menus for a while and did that classic
"group of people go out for Chinese and try to decide on dishes they
all like so they can share" debate.  (This is especially entertaining
when the debate involves one or more especially weak-willed persons.
Not a problem this particular evening.)  But within five minutes we
had settled on an order.  I filled Meg in on my story while we waited
for the food.  I figured I knew Zoner's, Zoner knew mine, Zoner knew
Meg's, I knew Meg's, Meg knew Zoner's, so, for symmetry's sake, I
should complete the loop.  Besides, I'm not much of a man of mystery,
though I kept back a few of the more private bits.  Later, perhaps, if
and when I knew her better.

				  MZ
	I didn't pay much attention as Ben related his tale.  I knew
it all by now anyway, and he was leaving out a lot of the good bits.
My mind was drifting on the topic of finding funds for Meg.  I know
what you're thinking: "Oh, slick.  Win her heart with money."  You
should be ashamed.  The money had nothing to do with it.  I just hate
seeing cool people get a raw deal, and if I can rectify that in some
way, good.  And while I felt like a nervous schoolboy hoping the
object of his crush would give him the time of day, I wouldn't want
anyone to like me because of what I did for them.  If Meg was going to
like me I wanted it to be because of me.  Yeah, I tend to get myself
into weird mental Mobius loops a lot.
	But while the personal matter was out of my control, the
professional was not.  Meg would have to decide on her own if that was
what she wanted.  I would never pressure anyone into a decision like
that; it isn't fair.  But if that is what she wanted, then I would do
what I could to get it for her.  And I was fairly confident that I
could do it.
	She seemed to be doing what I had done.  Going to school for
music seems like a natural course for her, after all, but I could tell
her heart wasn't really into it.  I did the same thing.  I loved
aircraft, I loved to fly, and I had an aptitude for engineering; so it
seemed natural to major in Aerospace Engineering.  Except I found it
bored me to tears.  The hard part was realizing that in the first
place.  I thought it was me, that I just wasn't cut out for college.
Once I wised up to the root of the problem and changed majors, I had a
much better time and actually enjoyed what I was doing.  Sure, so I
ended up with a double major in Technical Writing and History.  It
isn't all that unusual for people to have careers in areas completely
unrelated to their degrees.  Besides, the History degree comes in
handy at times on our trips.
	So I never got that aerospace degree.  But I still loved
aircraft.  Aircraft?  Something in the back of my mind was awakening.
Wait, didn't the Bionic Six have a plane?  What was it?  I remember
looking at it almost as much as (ok, more than, I'm a geek) Rock-1.  I
had a big poster of it, an "artist's interpretation", big white and
red B-1-like plane chasing an F-4, and while I was mentally picturing
that poster something in my mind went
	click.
	"Sky Dancer!"
	Having been interrupted by a seemingly unrelated exclamation,
Ben looked understandably puzzled.  Meg was momentarily startled, but
recovered quickly.
	"What about it?"
	"Whatever happened to it?"
	"Beats me.  Last I saw of it the government was taking it
away.  They pretty much cleaned out the SPL when they let us all go.
They loaded Sky Dancer up with the Mule and the rest of our gear and
flew it out.  I haven't seen it since then.  Why?"  We had left Ben
far behind; he had no clue what we were talking about.  But he seemed
comfortable, knowing he'd be sucked into it in the end - whatever it
was.
	"Well, it seems a shame to let such a fine aircraft go to
waste.  Maybe we could find it.  And if we find it we may find the
rest of your gear."

				  G
	Zoner had that gleam in his eyes that meant I was going to get
sucked into this mess whether or not I wanted to.  He had a mission,
and by God nothing was going to stand in his way.  When he got his
teeth around the bit there was no stopping him.  Besides, I didn't
have anything on the agenda for the excruciatingly near future.
	Meg looked uncertain -- understandable, really.  Zoner's plans
always sound like harebrained schemes, mainly because they're
harebrained schemes.  We almost always manage to pull it together,
though.
	Just about then the food arrived, effectively ending that
branch of conversation.  I could tell Zoner was still thinking about
it, though; he always gets a bit distant when he's running a major
background job.
	Instead of duplicating his effort, I mulled over what she had
told me.  Something about it was nagging at me, something had popped
up a red flag in my memory, but I hadn't been able to pin down what it
was.  I ran through the story again in my head, and then lit on what
had rung the mental bell.
	"Hey, Meg... did you say you had a brother named Bunji?"
	She blinked at me, then said, "Yeah.  Like I said, he's in
Hong Kong."
	"Is that short for 'Bunjiro'?"
	"Yeah, it is, why?"
	"Well, can you beat that?  I know him.  Well, I've -met- him,
I know him to say 'hi' to."
	"Really?  How'd you meet him?"
	"Last time I hit a tournament in Hong Kong he was there," I
replied.  "Not fighting, just watching.  He hangs out with Fei Long,
the kung fu champ."  The last time I was in Hong Kong I fought Fei
Long, and beat him narrowly, with about as much luck as skill; neither
of us were World Warriors at the time, but he had trained even harder
after that defeat and had reached the bracket six months before me.
	Zoner blinked.  "Oh yeah!  The guy who worked Fei Long's
corner -was- named Bunjiro, wasn't he?  I forgot all about it."
	Meg nodded.  "Fei Long is helping Bunji get his movie career
off the ground.  He was a big action star before he started street
fighting.  I guess you could say he's Bunji's mentor."
	"Small world, isn't it?"

	Our meal over, we hit the awkward stage of the day: going our
separate ways.  Evening was hinting at the possibility that it might
be considering the ramifications of starting to gather in the eastern
sky, and Zoner and I were heading back to Worcester.  Zoner gave Meg
one of his cards; she took another from him, scribbled her number on
the back of it and returned it, then waved off his offer of a lift
back into town.
	"Driving in Boston with this landmass?  I don't think so.
We're right next to the station, I'll just take the T."
	"Well... if you're sure."
	"Relax, I ride the T all the time.  I know a thing or two
about self-defense," she said with a grin.
	Zoner chuckled.  "OK," he said, "but be careful."
	"I will."  She stepped up to Zoner and did her best to kiss
his cheek.  "Call me."
	"Count on it.  And think about my offer," he added.
	"I will, seriously.  Nice meeting you, too, Gryphon."
	"It was lovely meeting you, too, and I'm glad you're feeling
much better," I said.  "You're still very pale, though.  You need more
sun."
	"You're silly," she said.  "I don't even play the cello.
Bye!"
	It took me a moment to realize that she had not only parsed my
reference but come around the back side of it, and by then, she was
across the street and heading into the big gray bulk of the station,
past the big silver disc with the 'T' knocked out of it they have
standing out by the bus stops.
	"You know," I declared as I watched the glass doors close
behind her, "I believe I like that girl."
	"Yeah," murmured Zoner absently.

	We drove home in relative silence; Zoner was still mulling
over his offer to Meg, and for that matter, so was I.  It had been a
remarkably weird day, but, oddly enough, not our weirdest.  When we
got home, I took Fury for a romp in the park as a reward for staying
home all day.  Fascist hotel administrators, not allowing pets.  Maybe
I should feign blindness.  With a bloodhound?  Probably wouldn't
work... them hotel administrators is smart.
	When we returned, panting and damp, an hour later, he was in
the same position on the couch.  It had gotten fully dark, but he had
been too busy thinking to turn on any lights, so I did it before
heading to the master bathroom for a shower.  When I came back from
that, wearing old sweats and scrubbing at my hair with a towel, he was
still there, staring into space.  Fury was sitting next to the couch,
regarding him as one might regard a particularly intriguing piece of
statuary, but he lost interest when I entered the room, deciding to
curl up instead next to my armchair.
	I had been thinking about the same things as Zoner, so I
figured it was time to offer my input.
	"Before you plan the sneak, we should figure out how we're
going to cover our collective ass."
	He jumped.  Apparently he hadn't realized I was sitting there.
"Huh?" he said, his train of thought derailed.
	"I said," I repeated, "'Before you plan the sneak, we should
figure out how we're going to cover our collective ass.'"
	He smiled.  "You're in, then?"
	"If we do it right," I replied, leaning back and dropping a
hand to scratch at Fury's ears.  "I'm not interested in boosting
expensive experimental stuff from the government and getting plastered
all over the wanted lists, but if we can figure out a way to do it at
least semi-official-like, I have no objection to rounding up some
equipment and the like."
	"Yeah, that's the angle I've been trying to figure," Zoner
admitted.  "OSI is history and I don't think we can get them
reinstated; espionage and enforcement have been completely taken out
of DoD's hands.  There are possibilities in the CIA, or maybe the NSA
or the IMF, although deniabilty is real low when you've got a motif as
distinctive as the Bionic Six, and now more than ever deniability is
the name of the game."
	"MI-5 is too traditional and MI-6 is having budget problems as
it is," I observed.  "Maybe what we need to do is start a new agency.
Independent contractors have been used for that kind of work before.
I'm not talking about freelance operatives like us, who get hired from
job to job like temp secretaries, I'm talking about whole third-party
agencies who the Powers that Be work with 'cause they get the job
done.  The espionage equivalent of the difference between a lone
bounty hunter and a well-organized merc army."
	"Isn't Spectrum like that?"
	"More or less.  Right now Spectrum Intel - the Rainbow Group -
is part of the UN Intel Taskforce under Lethbridge-Stuart, along with
Cammy's group from MI-6 and some special operatives from Interpol.
The big anti-Shadolu task force.  SHIELD is still independent, though.
So is International Rescue, come to think of it."
	"Should you even know about that UNIT thing?"
	"Don't see why not - I'm a reserve officer in Spectrum, lest
you forget; I haven't been activated, but the last time I checked I
still had Rainbow-level clearance.  But before you ask, no, Cammy
didn't tell me.  The Brigadier did, oddly enough.  He's probably going
to push Spectrum to activate me so he can draft me one of these days,
since I work along those same lines anyway in my spare time."
	"Nice work if you can get it."  Zoner considered.  "If we did
that, we'd have to get recognition from a couple of the big national
agencies before anyone would take our new group seriously."
	"Yeah," I agreed.  "I can talk to Admiral Messervey, Colonel
White and Nick Fury, but you'll have to deal with NSA and IMF.  It's
certainly feasible -- look at International Rescue.  They go so far as
to keep their identities secret, but they do good work, so nobody
hassles them."  I paused for a moment as a thought hit me.  "Still, we
have to keep in mind - we're never going to get anywhere without the
cooperation of the CIA.  You don't do anything in Western intel
without at least the CIA's tacit approval."
	"Hmm... "  Zoner sat back on the couch and lost himself in
thought as we both pondered the big question: who did we know in the
CIA who would go for something this wild, and be senior enough to make
his support meaningful?
	Click.
	I looked up and saw Zoner looking up at me.
	"Jim Greer," we said together.
	"*3," I said as Zoner grabbed the phone and started searching
the end table for the Filofax.
	"Thanks," said Zoner, punching the speed-dial code.
	"It's 9:30 on a Saturday night," I pointed out.  "He's
probably not going to be in."
	"You never know," said Zoner.  "Hi, yes.  My name is Martin
Zorn, I'd like to speak to Admiral Greer if he's available.  Yes, I'll
hold."  There was a somewhat lengthy pause.  "Jim?  Marty Zorn.  Is this
line secure?  Got a few minutes?"

				  MZ
	"Yes, it's secure.  Do you have any idea what time it is?" Jim
Greer growled at me as I switched him to the speaker phone.
	"9:30," I replied.  "What's that got to do with anything?  The
Eyes of Democracy never close in sleep."
	"True," Greer admitted gruffly, then relented.  "All right, go
ahead.  I was just going over some old files and materials reqs
anyway.  What's on your mind?"
	"Can you pull your file on the Office of Scientific
Intelligence, used to be part of DoD?  They got shut down by the Bush
administration in '91."
	"OSI?  What do you want to know about them?" demanded
Greer, a suspicious note creeping into his voice.
	"Not much, just the disposition of some of their personnel and
equipment."
	"Damn it, Zoner, this isn't my lunch order you're asking for,
you know."
	"I'm well aware of that, Admiral.  That's why I called you."
	"You're up to something, aren't you."  It wasn't a question.
	"You know us, Jim," Ben interjected.  "Always thinking of ways
to help our fellow human beings.  Listen, when Bush shut down OSI a
bunch of good people got screwed.  We're working on an angle to help
them out, make it up to them a little, and we thought maybe you could
give us a hand."
	There was a pause.
	"This is the United States Government you're talking about,"
said Greer at length.  "We don't -do- that sort of thing."
	"Oh, come on, Jim," I said.  "You remember what you told me
and Ryan back during that mess with the IRA?  Sometimes you've got to
forget about the procedures and do the Right Thing.  Look, just pull
the files and read 'em, and you'll see what I mean.  Read the files
and then decide, OK?"
	"OK," Greer agreed.  "But no promises!"
	"Got a pen?"
	"I'm sitting at my desk, pen in hand, just waiting for you to
call and give me more work to do."
	"Eternal vigilance," said Gryph, "is the price of liberty."
	"Give me the names," said Greer.
	"OK.  Goldman, Oscar.  G-O-L-D-M-A-N, just like it sounds.
Used to be the Director of OSI."
	"Mm hmm."
	"Wells, Dr. Rudy, probably short for Rudolph."
	"Rudy Wells the cyberneticist?"
	"The same.  I take it you've heard of him."
	"He did some prosthetics work for the Air Force back in the
seventies.  Nothing ever came of it, as I recall."
	I shot Ben a bemused glance.  "Sharp, Dr. Amadeus, that's
A-M-A-D-E-U-S."
	"Him I've never heard of.  Anyone else?"
	"Yes.  Six more, all with the same last name, Bennett.
B-E-N-N-E-T-T.  Jack, probably a nickname for John; Helen; Eric; J.D.,
I don't know what it stands for; Bunjiro; and... "  It occurred to me
that I didn't know if 'Meg' was short for something else.  Probably.
"... and Meg, probably short for Margaret or Megan or some such."
	There was a long pause and the sound of a pen scratching on
paper.
	"OK," said Greer.  "I'll pull the files, I'll look them over,
and then if I'm interested I'll call you and we'll talk about your
plans.  Fair enough?"
	"More than fair," I replied.  "Talk to you soon."
	When I hung up, I noticed Gryph was looking thoughtful again;
presently, he said, "You know, we should probably consider the
possibility that we're not going to be able to recruit the rest of
them.  From what Meg was telling us, it sounds to me like her brothers
have their own lives, and it wouldn't surprise me if her parents were
enjoying their retirement."
	I shrugged.  The thought had occurred to me, but what could I
do about it either way?  Not much.
	Wait.
	Jack Bennett.
	My brain did another of those tickle things.  I knew that
name.  Where did I know that name from?  Argh!  I'm terrible with
names.
	The next two hours crawled past.  I refrained from biting my
nails, and watched some show about war on the Discovery Channel ("All
Hitler, all the time").  Gryph, the picture of unconcern, sprawled on
the other couch reading his book.  In his head he was probably
composing his pitch to Colonel White.
	The phone rang.  I think I may have picked it up before the
bell actually started ringing.
	"Jim Greer," said that unmistakable voice.  "Where did you get
this list of people?  Those last six are especially interesting, in a
you-shouldn't-know-about-them sort of way."
	"Oh, come on, Jim, you're not going to start splitting
clearances -now-, are you?"
	Greer made an irritated rumbling noise, then relented.  "All
right, I'm assuming you know that the Bennett family used to be
special operatives."
	"Yes, I know about the Bionic Six."
	"OK, then.  Are you going to tell me what you're up to?"
	"I know Meg, aka Rock-1, and she isn't dealing with the whole
'back to a normal life' thing very well.  She didn't have anything to
fall back on; I'm worried about her."
	"And?"
	"Well, I want to help her out."
	"And?"
	"OK, I was thinking of setting up a front agency for her to
work for, get some of their gear back, find out what the good doctors
are up to, etc., etc."
	Greer sighed.  "You can't leave well enough alone, can you."
	"Not when good people get screwed.  I'd rather do this without
having to watch my back the whole time, but either way...  So, can you
help?"
	He took on a cautious tone.  "What do you need from me?"
	"First, I need you to stay out of it.  I don't want the CIA to
shut this operation down.  The way I look at it, it isn't a threat and
it may turn into a valuable resource."
	"OK."
	"Second, I'll need to know the locations of the good doctors
Wells and Sharp, and any remaining equipment."
	"Your secured fax still the same?"
	"Yes, and the scrambler code is up to date as of last
Thursday."
	"All right, you'll have that data shortly.  And you didn't get
it from me, you hear?  When you're done with it, burn it."
	"Loud and clear, roger wilco.  One more thing."
	"Naturally.  What would it be?"  He had that 'uh-oh' tone in
his voice.
	"If you get other agencies poking around about this, can you
deflect them for us?"
	"Ohh, no," said Greer in his 'now that's going too far' tone.
"The Company is not going to get burned on this one.  I'll do what I
can, but if they catch on, you're on your own.  Understand?"
	"Completely."
	"Mr. Hutchins?"
	"Yeah?" Ben replied.
	"Do -you- understand?"
	"I just go where Zoner tells me to and hit the people that
have to be hit, Jim.  Hired muscle with no opinions."
	"Try to be serious, if only for a moment, will you?" came
Greer's voice, weary-sounding.
	"If you insist.  Yes, I understand.  Skirting the corners of
national security is always a chancy business.  If we screw up, you'll
throw us to the wolves.  All right?"
	"Good enough.  Gentlemen?"
	"Yes?" we chimed.
	"Good luck."
	"Thanks."  And with that the connection dropped.  The fax
beeped almost immediately.
	"Well, I guess we should start making some calls."
	"Why don't we wait until morning," said Ben.  "I hardly think
anyone will be very favorable at, close to midnight on a Saturday.
Let alone the Brits - it's what, 5 AM there?  I can never remember if
they do daylight savings time.  At any rate, M. might be up, but I
doubt he wants to talk shop that early in the morning."
	"Yeah, you're right.  (They do.)  Ah, it'll give us more time
to go over this data anyway.  Here, this is the stuff on the
scientists...  why don't you talk to them tomorrow.  I'll see what I
can do about the equipment.  And, of course, we'll have to talk to a
few agencies.  I'll see what I can do on their systems.  If we're
lucky we'll have all of them thinking the others are behind it."
	"Yeah, and if we're not they'll all be looking at us."
	"Ah, you have to have the right attitude."
	Ben just glared at me.
	"I'm about to violate the National Security Act and who knows
what other important laws so you can impress some chick you met at a
music festival, and you're talking about 'the right attitude'."
	I shrugged.
	"Well, fine," he said, getting up.  "I'm going to bed.
There's no sense violating Federal law without sufficient rest."

				  G
	The next morning, after lingering in bed as long as I could
possibly justify it to myself, I got up, showered, took the dog for a
walk, and then went to deal with the day's arduous job.
	This is the kind of task that no high-school or college-level
English class can really prepare a person for: calling a retired
government scientist up out of the blue, as a total stranger, and
recruiting him for a project that wanders around the jagged edge of
legality.  Fortunately, I didn't have to approach it cold; I may not
have as many connections as Zoner, but I have good ones.
	"Who are you calling first?" Zoner asked as I plonked down on
the couch and picked up the phone.  "Dr. Sharp?"
	"No," I replied.  "Benton Quest."
	Zoner looked perplexed.  "Who?"
	"Benton Quest," I repeated.  "You know.  Founder of the Quest
Foundation.  President of Quest Industries.  Seeker of ancient wisdom.
That Benton Quest."
	"You know Benton Quest?  You never mentioned it before."
	"Yeah, I went to high school with his son."  Gryphon chuckled.
"Not that Jonny showed up for school much.  He was usually busy
scrounging around the world seeking the unknown."
	"You have some pretty out-there connections," Zoner observed.
	"Et tu, Mr. I-Have-Jim-Greer-On-Speed-Dial?" I replied.  "I
hope they're home... they aren't, all that often."
	"What are you calling Benton Quest for?"
	"Shh!  It's ringing."
	Fortunately, they were home; after three rings, there was a
click, and a familiar voice answered,
	"Quest Compound."
	"Hey, Race!" I replied.  "How's business?"
	"Who is this?" Race Bannon's voice replied, sounding puzzled.
	"You don't recognize my voice?" I said, trying to put as much
disappointment in my tone as I could.
	"No," replied Race.  "Should I?"
	"Well, I'll give you a hint," I said.  "I'm the smartass who
gave you the 'World's Greatest Mom' mug for Christmas one year."
	For a moment, I thought he might have forgotten; as the
silence stretched into two moments I began to suspect he remembered,
but no longer found it as amusing as he had then.  Then I realized
he'd muted the phone so I wouldn't be deafened by his guffawing into
the receiver.  He came back on, his voice a little shaky with residual
chuckles, to exchange some pleasantries.
	"Hey, is Dr. Quest handy?" I asked afterward.  "I've got a few
questions for him."
	"Sure, hold on... let me put you on speaker," said Race.
	"Wish I had one of those cool video phones you guys make," I
said.
	"You'd need ISDN," Race replied.
	"Oh, well, hell, forget that," I scoffed.  "By the time NYNEX
gets around to installing it, humanity will have developed long-range
telepathy."
	Race chuckled again, and then the sound became wide,
cavernous, and echoey.
	"Hello?  Hello?  Is this thing on?"
	"Go ahead, Ben," came the voice of Benton Quest.
	"Well, I don't know any slick way of jumping into this, so
I'll just go directly, I guess.  Do you know a couple of scientists,
names of Amadeus Sharp and Rudy Wells?"
	"I've met Dr. Sharp a few times, yes, at conferences," replied
Quest.  "I know him to say hello to.  Dr. Wells I only know by
reputation.  Why?"
	"Well, I've got a proposition for you, and I needed to make
sure you didn't have any sort of weird scientist rivalry with them,
'cause they're involved."
	"I see."  He had that intrigued tone I knew him to get from
time to time.  It was a good sign.
	"Well, it's like this.  Ever heard of the Bionic Six?"

				  MZ
	While Ben was busy calling around, I prowled around online.
Greer's info confirmed what I had suspected.  Most of the Bionic Six's
equipment was stored in Sky Dancer, which in turn was stored at Area
51 in Nevada.  That figured, I expected it, but wasn't exactly pleased
about it.  It was going to take some work getting in and out of there.
	The remainder of the equipment was scattered about.  The OSI
offices and the SPL had been gutted, nothing left there.  Dr. Sharp
had managed to keep most of his critical instruments; I hoped Ben was
able to convince him to sign on.  It looked like most of the major
bionizing equipment was stored at an Army research lab - I'm wasn't
sure I wanted to know what they were doing with it.  Maybe I'll ask
Greer someday, maybe not.  It didn't matter much anyway - I didn't
anticipate needing to bionize anyone else.
	A few other items had gone to various DARPA contractors as
technology demonstrators, but since there was only Meg we didn't need
to equip a team.  With Sky Dancer, the Mule, and a couple of quad
runners all stored together, I figured that's all we would need.
	Of course, we still had to get it.  That was easier said than
done.
	We could try a straight sneak, but the chance of that
succeeding was roughly the same as those of a good Highlander sequel
coming out.  I wasn't ready to die or visit scenic Leavenworth just
yet, so I tossed that idea.  Trying to spoof our way in might work,
but it wasn't really solid.  I wasn't sure just how far we could get
on faked credentials.  What we really needed were credentials that at
least worked as if they were real.  They didn't have to exactly -be-
real.  So that was what I would try for.
	I figured the best thing to do was get a number of agencies
set up so that they were requesting the inventory from each other, a
Gordian knot of red tape.  Hopefully anyone who pokes their nose into
it would tire off following the links, and anyone who didn't would end
up back where they started, and would probably assume they had screwed
up and try again.  And, with any luck, Greer's help would keep them
from finding out the truth.
	If we could just make it out of there with the goods, we
should be safe.  Getting in and out was going to be nervy.  But
doable.
	I had to get started on the paper trail.
	I'm not sure how long I worked at it; when I get into the
groove on a project like that, time ceases to have any meaning.  For
that matter, so do most other things.  All that matters is the endless
duel - computers, their legitimate operators, and me.  Inserting
records into government computers is a lot easier than pulling data
out, though; they don't put as many safeguards on them.  Who would
want to put information -into- a computer they've breached
illegitimately?
	It was just dumb luck that I noticed Ben was wrapping up his
phone conversation; glancing at my watch, I realized it had been
nearly two hours since we both began.
	He hung up the phone and looked up to see me watching.  This
went on for a couple of seconds, until finally I said, "Well?"
	"Well what?"
	"Well aren't you going to call the others?"
	"Nah," Ben replied.  "Dr. Q's going to take care of that for me.
In fact, he's going to take care of almost everything - all we have to
do is get the stuff and take it up to Maine."
	"Maine?  Why Maine?"
	"Because," he said, "the Quest Foundation has agreed to
provide space and funding for the Tactical Applications Center for the
Advanced Cybernetic Sciences."
	"TACACS?!"
	"We could always call it Bureau Eight of Zone Services."
	"No, TACACS will do."
	"What about your end?"
	"It'll take me a few days to call in all the markers I'm going
to have to call, but I've got the basic battle plan laid out."
	"Well, that works out, then.  Dr. Quest will need a few days
to settle everything on his end too - and I have a fight tomorrow,
don't forget."
	"Oh yeah... I -had- forgotten.  Darn... and here I was hoping
to finish all this up this weekend."
	"A good violation of Federal law should never be rushed," said
Gryphon philosophically.  Before I could come up with a good comeback
for that, the doorbell rang.  "I'll get it," Gryph continued, tramping
around the corner by the kitchen to answer it.  I heard the sounds of a
cheerful reception, which meant it probably wasn't a solicitor, and a
moment later, he returned to the living room, laughing, with a friend
of ours.
	At a glance, Ken Masters looks like a surfer dude, except that
he lives in the wrong part of the country; he's around five-ten and
buffed, with long reddish-gold hair and a face that usually had a
rakish grin.  There's only good surfing off the Massachusetts coast
when a stray hurricane whacks into the South Cape (although Ken has
balls enough to go surfing when that happens), but people who call
his good looks Californian are right anyway - he's originally from
someplace in the San Francisco Bay Area, and his parents are
absolutely loaded.  They make me look like a welfare case.
	The fact that Ken is used to having money is obvious by the
way he dresses -- here he was having an informal visit with some pals,
and sporting a $1200 Armani "casual" suit.  Some guys just gotta
flaunt it, I guess.  Armani -is- comfortable stuff, though.  I
wondered if he'd driven over in the Porsche or the Vector.  Now that's
a sweet set of wheels.
	I met Ken through Gryph - he's one of Gryph's oldest friends
from the fight circuit, and eight of Ben's sixty-seven fights on
that circuit were with him, more than with any other fighter Ben's
opposed.  I would probably have known of him anyway, since he's one of
the only fighters in that circuit to do any 'legitimate' fighting,
which has made him more famous than most.  He's even been in a couple
of really bad movies, one of which is called - I kid you not -
"Revenge of the Vengeful Ninja Warrior II: The Vengeance".  (Actually,
Ben's in that one too, for about six seconds; he's the random cop who
takes out two of the evil ninjas with his nightstick and then catches
a shuriken in the forehead.)
	"Hey, Zoner," said Ken, clapping me on the shoulder as he
passed my chair.  "How goes?"
	"Not too bad," I replied.  "You?"
	"Oh, same old," Ken replied, plopping down on the couch.  Fury
looked up from his station next to the sofa, checking out the new
arrival; since it was someone he knew, he didn't get too excited.
(Actually, I've never seen Fury get too excited about anything.)
	"Hey, Fury!" said Ken, scratching the hound's ears.  "How's a
pup?  Huh?"  He looked up at Gryph, who was taking a seat on the
opposite couch, and grinned.  "Katie and John keep pestering me to get
them a dog.  Maybe I should hit Brother Tommy up for a puppy."
	"A bloodhound?  In the heart of downtown Boston?  Probably not
the best of ideas."
	"Well, we're down there on the harbor, and I go for my run
every day.  He'd get enough exercise.  Wouldn't you, boy?"
	"Hey!  Get your own," said Gryph, tossing a paperclip
playfully at Ken.  
	Ken grinned and leaned back.  "Yeah, well... maybe I will.
Hey, you guys eat yet?"
	"Nope," Ben replied.  "I was planning to make pizza later.
Why, has Eliza stopped feeding you?"
	Ken chuckled.  "C'mon, man, have you ever known a time when I
wasn't hungry?  No, Liza and the kids went out to the Cape for the
weekend.  She sends her love, but she said the kids are still too
young to be going to fights with their father."
	"Should've known you didn't just come to see us," I
remarked.
	"Well, you know how it is, guys," said Ken with a smug smile.
"I can't get her to let me out of her sight all that often."
	"Crack that whip," I replied, wiping away the smugness, if
not the smile.
	"Yeah, well, maybe it's what I needed," he said.  "You get to
a point where you've got to have something to come home to, or it just
doesn't seem worth it any more.  At least, I did."
	Coincidentally, I'd been having similar thoughts, and from the
look of his face, Ben had, too.  Curiouser and curiouser.
	The doorbell rang again.
	"It's for you," Gryph and I said in unison.  Ken blinked, then
got up, grumbling good-naturedly as he went to answer the door.  I
heard the sound of the lock being worked, then Ken greeting a familiar
voice.
	"Well, hey, looks who's here!" announced Ken as he returned to
the living room.  "It's a surprise visit from everybody's favorite
jarhead!"
	A beefy arm seized Ken from behind, hauling him down and back,
and the grinning face that appeared over his shoulder said, "You young
layabouts are all the same, making fun of the Corps.  I think a little
military service would have done you a world of good!"
	"I'd throw you over, Charlie, but I imagine it'd piss Zoner
off if you went flying through his picture window," replied Ken from
within the headlock.
	"It would be amusing, seeing as it's bulletproof acrylic.
Take a closer look."  Ken smirked a bit; Charlie just kind of blinked.
	"Might be worth it just for the image," said Gryph with a
grin.  "Now quit manhandling the other guests and sit down.  Boy... at
this rate I'm going to have to go out for more supplies before I
attempt making supper... "
	"I'm in time for chow call?  An unexpected bonus!" said our
newest arrival, Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Nash, USMC.  Gryph and I
hauled his butt out of a Shadolu prison camp in Thailand a couple
years back, and we've been friends ever since.  I don't know how he
gets away with that hairdo in the Corps, but I guess he's got enough
seniority to get away with it, or just enough brownie points banked up
for all the special operations he's been in on.
	"You're looking well, Marine," said Ken as he and Charlie took
seats on opposite couches.
	"Yeah, I feel good, too," replied Charlie.  "In fact, I feel
better than ever.  Guile's been on my ass to train up for the fight
circuit so I can join him.  He's got this grand idea that the two of
us together can do this Lone-Ranger-and-Tonto thing and bring down
Shadolu all by ourselves."  He grinned.  "Personally, I'm hoping it's
just a phase he's going through."  The grin faded as memories
intruded, and he went on more seriously, "I'd feel a lot better
dealing with Shadolu with about a company of my fellow Marines
watching my back.  That leader of theirs is a serious freak job.  I
don't think he's human."
	Ken grinned.  "Hardly the attitude I'd expect from a big,
tough Marine like you."
	"Hey, man, don't get me wrong: I eat nails for breakfast, but
I'm not stupid.  You're going up against a guy who can fly and read
minds, you better bring some seriously heavy weaponry to the table."
	Gryphon nodded, the mention of Bison turning him grave and
contemplative, if only for a moment.  Then he reached to the end table
and grabbed a notebook, clicking a pen into readiness.
	"OK, so, since I have to do a little unexpected shopping, are
there any special topping requests?  Nails for Charlie, any others?"
	Charlie laughed.  "Hold the nails, I'm off duty."
	"No fish," said Ken.  "Other than that, it doesn't really
matter to me."
	"OK, that's one no nails, one no fish... " said Ben,
exaggeratedly jotting on the notebook.
	The doorbell rang.  Gryph looked up, blinking.  "ANOTHER
unexpected visitor?"
	"Busy night," Charlie observed.  "Do your neighbors know you
fight?"
	"Most of the City of Worcester knows he fights," I said with a
grin.  "He's quite the local celebrity."
	"Yeah, me and Jerry Harrison," he replied wryly, naming the
weatherman at Worcester's only TV station, WORC Channel 66.  "Charlie,
it's for you."
	"Sir yes SIR!" Charlie replied, jumping up from the couch and
doing his best Marine Hustle to the foyer.  "Hel-LO!" came his deep
voice after the sound of the door being opened.  "Ben said it was for
me, but I don't think I'm destined to be that lucky today."
	"Well," said Rose airily as she breezed past him into the
living room, "if I ever find myself in the market again, I'll be sure
to keep you in mind."
	"Rose!" chorused Gryphon and Ken, punctuated by a deep "Woof!"
from Fury that may well have meant the same thing in Dog.
	"Boys," Rose replied, taking a seat on the red couch next to
Ben.  "You're having a busy evening," she remarked to him.
	"Yeah, it's a non-stop festival of surprises tonight."  He
held up his notebook.  "What do you want on -your- pizza?"
	"Oh, I'm in time for dinner, how fortunate," said Rose with a
smile that said luck had little to do with it.
	"Well, y'know, now that we've got more than four people, it's
officially a prefight party," he replied.
	The doorbell rang.
	"Egad!" said Gryphon.
	"It's for me," Rose observed, and she went to get the door as
Ken and Charlie launched into a reminiscence of the first time Ken met
Guile (barroom brawl, San Francisco, 1987, if you're curious).  Gryph
and I had heard it before, but we still got quite a laugh out of it.

				  G
	Well, a quiet evening at home had suddenly turned into a
mini-party, but I couldn't say I minded.  I'd been in an
uncharacteristically good mood all weekend to begin with, and it
had been too long since I last saw Ken and -way- too long since I last
saw Charlie.  I took Rose's presence as confirmation that I'd gotten
through to her with our little discussion last month - she certainly
seemed to be back to her old self, and I was realizing even more how
much I'd missed that.
	In fact, as I considered it, I decided there was only one
thing that was needed to make this a perfect evening.
	Suddenly, next to the couch, Fury sat up and cocked his nose
to the air, then let out a single bay, jumped up, and bounded into the
foyer.
	"What's gotten into him?" I wondered.
	"Beats me," Zoner replied.  "Maybe it's - "
	I'd never get to find out his guess, because just then Fury
came gambolling back into the room.
	"Well!" I observed.  "Looks like this -is- going to be a
perfect evening."
	"Is it now," said a familiar voice, and Cammy entered, making
her way across the living room while romping with the dog.  "An' why
would that be, hm?" she asked with an impish grin, before dropping to
one knee to play for a moment with Fury, who was entirely too excited
about her arrival.  I glanced over to the other couch and stifled a
laugh as I saw Ken and Charlie giving me identical "Who is -this-?"
looks.  Zoner looked bemused at their bemusement.
	"Go on, lie down, that's a boy," said Cammy, and, as
commanded, Fury lay down, returning to normal as if a switch had been
flipped.  Rising, Cammy turned, shoved me unceremoniously to the
middle of the couch and plopped down on my left just as Rose,
returning from the kitchen, sat down on my right.
	Well, if this wasn't the life...
	"Didn't know you'd have company," Cammy said.  "Care to
introduce me?"
	"Pleased to meet you, miss," said Ken, leaning forward and
running a hand over his hair.  "I'm - "
	"Married," I interjected, causing Zoner to choke on his soda.
"Sorry," I told him, then turned my attention back to Ken.  "Cammy,
this is Ken Masters.  The guy with the funny hair is Charlie Nash, and
this," I said, indicating the woman to my right, "is Rose, my
Valdritkar - my teacher."
	"Once upon a time," replied Rose airily.  "These days I'm
mostly just moral support.  It's good to finally meet you, though,
after hearing so much second-hand."
	"Likewise," Cammy said.
	"Well," I said, "much as I'd like to sit here and bask in all
this, I think I'd better go take stock of my supply situation, find
out how much stuff I'm going to have to buy.  Anybody's got any
special orders, write 'em down on the yellow pad."
	From the kitchen, as I assembled the materials and figured out
what else I'd need, I could see into the living room and hear the
sounds of conversation, but not make out what they were saying (at
least, not without concentrating on listening).  Presently, there was
a burst of laughter; since I wasn't there, the obvious conclusion was
that somebody was telling an embarrassing story about me.  That was
OK, though; I had more than enough information available to
counterattack anybody who might be in a position to do that.  I smiled
as I worked; it's good to have friends.
	The doorbell went off AGAIN.
	"Cammy, it's for you," Zoner announced.
	"Strange policy," she observed as she walked past on the way
to the foyer.
	"It's traditional," I replied, checking the sink status and
discovering that the apartment was in an uncommon All Dishes Clean
state.  When I looked up from that, Cammy was standing by the bar
counter which divided the kitchen from the entryway with none other
than the man I was to fight the following afternoon, Ryu Hoshi.
	Ryu was a Shotokan Karate fighter, a student of the well-known
Shotokan master Gouken.  He'd learned all of the style's various and
deadly techniques, and had become renowned and feared for his mastery
of the hadoken - the fireball technique.  Those in the know said that
only one man on the circuit was tough enough to take on Ryu, and that
was his old training partner - Ken Masters.
	I was, understandably, hoping to prove those in the know wrong
on that count.
	Still, it'd come as a great surprise to me to open my mail one
day and discover a neatly printed challenge from the World Warrior
division's #1-scoring fighter.  For a high-ranked fighter to challenge
down the scale was rare and often considered somewhat predatory; it
was odd that Ryu, the quintessential wanderer, would deliberately seek
out -anyone-, for that matter.  I mean, sure, we'd fought before, in
the days before either of us reached World Warrior ranking, and we'd
been friends for quite a while, but I hadn't actually seen him in a
couple of years.
	Behind him, I could see Ken jump to his feet - he'd clearly
recognized the back of his old training partner.  I couldn't really
read his expression at that distance, but his body language looked
irked.
	Great, I should have expected this.  I knew what was up here:
three years ago, before I left college and became a serious fighter,
Ken and Ryu had a falling-out over some petty issue.  I forgot the
details almost as soon as I heard them, but what it boiled down to was
that Ryu did something he thought was justified which Ken took as a
screwover, and they hadn't spoken since.
	Well, they were just going to have to put that behind them.  I
wasn't having them ruin my good mood.
	"Hey, Ryu," I said, leaning over the counter and holding out a
hand.  "Good to see you again."
	"And you," he said, taking the hand in an armwrestler's clasp
for a moment.  "It's a longer walk from the airport than I expected,"
he added, "or I would have been here sooner."  He still had a bit of
an accent, though he'd been speaking English for years; as with most
of his skills that didn't pertain directly to fighting, he'd learned
it well enough to be serviceable, then stopped.
	"You got a flight into Worcester Airport?"
	"No," replied Ryu, "Logan."
	"You walked here from Logan?" Cammy asked.  Ryu shrugged.
He'd probably have walked from Japan if that didn't involve drowning.
"You'd have been here -yesterday-," she said.
	"Ryu!" Ken called from the living room.  Ryu blinked as if
trying to place the voice, then turned around.
	Ryu is so serious and dedicated about his martial arts
training that his opponents and occasional fans, those who don't spend
enough time with him to actually see his human side, often fall into
the trap of thinking him emotionless.  That's not really true - he's
really quite a fun-loving guy, although sometimes he tries to deny it
and get into that ascetic martial-arts master mode.  Right now, it was
good to see circumstances get a reaction out of him.
	He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and hopped down the two
steps into the living room, clearly surprised to see Ken.  Ken walked
across the room until he was almost in Ryu's face, and for a moment,
they faced each other silently, Ken glaring, Ryu puzzled.
	"Hey, Ryu," said Ken, his voice cold.  "Double-crossed any of
your friends lately?"
	"You're not going to start -that- again, are you, Ken?" Ryu
replied.  "Even if you weren't overreacting, then and now, that was a
long time ago."
	"Well, that's easy for you to say, Mr. World Circuit Martial
Arts Tournament Grand Champion," Ken snarled.  "Considering you got to
that rank by stabbing me in the back a long time ago!"
	"All right, gentlemen, we're not going to do this," I
announced, stepping between them.  "We're not going to spend the
weekend with this lingering hostility hanging in the air.  You guys
were friends for too damn long for something like this to split you
up, now come on.  Shake hands, let's have some pizza, forget about
it.  It's not about point standings anyway, right?"
	"So Ryu keeps saying," said Ken, "but I don't see him
apologizing."
	"What should I apologize for?" Ryu replied, his own temper
starting to slip.  "I did what I had to do to win the fight!  You
would have done the same if luck had been on your side."
	"Oh yeah?  Well, I'll tell you what, Ryu.  I'll do it right
now!  After your fight tomorrow, I'm gonna take on the winner.  We'll
see how you do against me when it's YOU who hasn't had time to recover
from his last fight!"
	"Hey, I don't want to be a wet blanket here, Ken, but suppose
I win?" I interjected.
	"Sorry, Gryph, but I don't think you will," said Ken.  "You're
good, but Ryu's always got an angle.  Don't you, Ryu?"
	"I do believe you've been insulted, Gryph," said Zoner.
	"You stay out of this!" I told him.  "It's getting complicated
enough as it is.  OK, look.  Will you guys try to at least be civil?
If Ryu wins tomorrow, fine, Ken, he's all yours.  Hopefully you can
settle this stupid little feud and remember you're his best friend.
All right?"
	"Fine," said Ken.
	"Ryu?"
	"Fine with me," said Ryu.
	"Fine!" I announced.  "Now be good!  And write down what you
want on your pizza."
	Doorbell.
	"Christ!" I blurted.  "Ryu, it's for you."
	"What?" Ryu asked, looking at me in confusion.
	"Ah, screw it, I'll get it," I said, and left them to their
fate while I went to the foyer and opened the door.
	I didn't recognize the person on our doorstep this time.  She
was a young Japanese girl, maybe fifteen, sixteen years old, dressed
in a sailor suit, which struck me as delightfully absurd before I
remembered that that's what they wear for school uniforms in Japan.
(I've never understood why, but that's not my department.)  Her brown
hair was a little longer than a proper pageboy cut, and unruly, giving
her that wind-ruffled look, and she had on red Chuck Taylors.  Slung
over her shoulder was a duffel not unlike Ryu's.  She was cute, but I
didn't know her from Adam and it was a little disconcerting to find
her on my doorstep.
	"Uh... can I help you?" I asked.
	She bowed and said, in remarkably Midwestern English without a
trace of Ryu's slightly stilted consonants and exaggerated vowels,
"Hello, I'm Sakura Kasugano.  I'm looking for Ryu Hoshi."
	"Well, by a strange coincidence, he's here," I replied.
"C'mon in.  Was he expecting to meet you here?"
	"Probably not," replied Sakura with an enigmatic smile.  She
stepped around me, following the sounds of conversation, and rounded
the corner into the living room as I followed.
	The presence of a stranger in a sailor suit effectively killed
what conversation there was, and for a long moment, nobody spoke.
	Then, Sakura smiled and said, "I've been looking for you for
quite a while, Ryu."
	Ryu blinked and pointed at his chest.  "For me?  What do you
want with me, little girl?"
	"Is that any way to talk?" she demanded.  "I'm your number one
fan!  Sakura Kasugano.  You haven't forgotten me, I hope.  From Tokyo?
 I was at your fight with Edmond Honda last month.  You told me about
how you have to center your ki to unleash the Glorious Wave-Motion
Fist."
	Recognition sparked in Ryu's eyes.  "Ah!  Right, I remember
you.  Wow - you came all the way here to see me fight again?"
	"No!" Sakura replied.  "I came all the way here to fight you
myself!"
	The only sound in the room the second after was Ken slapping
his forehead.
	Zoner looked at me; all I could do was shrug.
	"You guys sort this out," I said resignedly.  "I'm going to
the store."
	"Hang on," said Cammy, rising from the couch.  "I'll go with."

	"Crazy night," she remarked as we turned the corner onto
Russell Street and headed toward the Big D supermarket on Park Avenue,
wedged into the triangle where Park and Russell converged and Highland
Street crossed both.
	"Yep," I replied.  "Pretty odd.  Good thing we've got a big
house."
	"Big enough, you think?  That's a lot of people."
	I paused, considering it.  "Well, let me think.  Ryu and
Charlie can sleep anywhere that's flat.  Ken can handle a sofa, but he
may not stay around tonight, considering he's still mad at Ryu... we
have two guest rooms... hmm."  I shrugged.  "I guess I'll have to give
someone my room and sleep on one of the other couches."
	Cammy tch'd and said, "Couldn't make you do that the night
before a match.  I'll take that couch for you... "  Keeping in stride
with me, she looped her arm through mine and leaned her head against
my shoulder.  "... unless you'd rather I was elsewhere."
	"Er," I replied, my brain having seized up and prevented me
from making any more articulate response.
	"Unless, of course," she continued, her tone of voice becoming
less confident, "that's a... problem."
	"Huh, oh, no, um... "  My mind raced as I tried to figure out
just what to say.  I could be reaching entirely the wrong conclusion,
and the last thing I wanted to do was presume she meant more than she
really did.  I considered it for an eternal second, then decided to
take a safely noncommital path.  "Uh, that'd be great."
	And I meant it, too, even if I wasn't sure what "that" was.
	She squeezed my arm, and we continued on toward the store.

				  MZ
	"Oh, I see," said Sakura.  "I didn't know that Ryu was here to
fight anyone.  I thought he was just visiting friends."
	"The fight is the most important thing in my life, at the
moment," said Ryu.  "I'll have time for visiting friends when I'm old
and slow," he added with the hint of a grin, to let us know he wasn't
totally serious about that.  Ken glanced at me, rolling his eyes, and
I returned a look that told him I wasn't getting into this one.
	"And I've already got dibs on the winner," added Ken, "so it
looks like you came all this way for nothing, kid."
	"Not nothing," Sakura replied firmly.  "I'll be able to watch
Ryu in action, anyway.  I never get tired of that."
	Ryu looked puzzled.  "I don't understand you," he said to
her.  "Why would a schoolgirl from Tokyo have such interest in street
fighting, let alone in me, particularly?  It doesn't make sense, it's
not... "  He fumbled for the right word, not knowing quite how to say
what he wanted in English, yet unwilling to switch to Japanese and
lose those in the room who might not speak that language.  "... not
normal," he finally settled on.
	Sakura made her best attempt at sticking her chin out
defiantly and replied, "How do you define 'normal'?"
	Rose smiled and said dryly, "Normal is what everybody else is,
and you are not.  If you don't worry about what is and isn't normal,
you'll have a much happier life.  Ryu, if the girl wants to be a
martial artist, what's wrong with that?  I know you're Japanese, but I
had thought you less of a chauvinist than that."
	Ryu reddened a little.  "It's not that!" he protested.  "I
just don't understand why you would choose to follow me.  I'm no role
model.  I'm not glamorous or flashy or, or, or charismatic."
	"Maybe not," Sakura replied, "but you're the best, and that's
what matters to me."
	Ken tried not to snort and ended up coughing.  Ryu shot him a
dark look from under his bushy eyebrows to let him know he hadn't
gotten away with it clean, then returned to his earlier tack.
	"What we do is dangerous," he said.  "What about your family?
I can't imagine they approve of this... if they did, they'd have sent
you on your way with something to wear besides your school uniform."
	"What has that got to do with anything?" Sakura replied hotly,
her eyes flashing.  "I'm old enough to take care of myself, I don't
need their approval."
	"Mm," Ryu replied.  "And just how old would that be?"
	"Fifteen, in a few days," she said.  "Why?  Think I'm too old
for formal training?  That's why I want to fight you, so I can show
you how much I've learned on my own.  You won't regret having me as
your student, Ryu-sensei, I promise you that."
	"I'm sure you'd make a fine student," Ryu replied patiently.
"It's just that I'm still learning myself.  I don't have any interest
in having -anyone- as my student just now.  Listen, the best thing you
can do for yourself is go home.  There are plenty of teachers in Tokyo
who can train you better than I can, if you're that certain of your
path, and I wish you the best, but -I cannot teach you-."
	She favored him with a look that said she didn't buy it, but
then she surprised us by letting the matter drop for the time being.
"OK," she said, "if that's the way you feel, I can wait.  Someday,
you'll feel differently."
	Ryu didn't look as if he thought that very likely, but he said
nothing.  An awkward silence ensued.
	Eventually, the conversation picked up again, slowly at first,
but by the time Gryph and Cammy got back from the store, everybody was
pretty comfortable.  Sakura sat (well, knelt, you know how the
Japanese do it) on the floor, scratching Fury's ears and talking to
Rose about Ler Drit; Charlie and Ken talked about the changes on the
circuit in the last couple of years, while Ryu and I observed the
scene with various levels of bemusement.
	Nothing rescues an awkward gathering better than good food,
though, and by the time dinner was served, even Ken and Ryu were
talking and joking again.  It was almost as if it was enough that
they'd -planned- their reckoning, they didn't need to wait until
they'd had it to start talking again.  Which was good, I figured,
since I was hoping Ken's intention to fight Ryu would be frustrated.
	Eventually, we all figured out where we were going to crash.
Ken and Rose headed for the Marriott downtown (separate rooms, I think
- he's happily married to a perfectly gorgeous woman, after all),
Charlie crashed out on the sofa, Gryph insisted that Ryu take one
guest room while we both insisted Sakura take the other, and as I
headed for bed, I saw Cammy heading in with Gryph.
	I smiled.  Bundling, how provincial.  After all, I knew he was
too smart to do anything, shall we say, tiring on the eve of a major
fight (and that she was too smart, and cared too much, to be party to
it).  They were really being so cute about the whole thing, in an
old-fashioned two-step sort of way.

	Ah, Bancroft Tower on a bright and sunny morning in the
summertime.  The smell of the trees and the new-mown grass... the
looming grey bulk of the monument... the roar of the crowd.
	The crowd?
	Well, maybe not a crowd, really, but a pretty good-sized
gathering, anyway.  The local folks know that Gryphon fights, and a
lot of them are his fans - whenever he fights here at the Tower, the
WPI Science Fiction Society turns out en masse, even though some of
them aren't really into violence, to cheer him on, and a lot of the
local businesses send their support.  After all, a World Warrior-level
street fighter's reputation has a tendency to keep the streets quiet,
and he and I -have- stopped a few local crimes just by happening to be
in various local stores when some unfortunate idiot decided to shake
the place down.
	I was also pleased to see that the WPI Campus Police had sent
a representative, or perhaps she had taken it upon herself to come;
either way, the presence of Sergeant Janet Marshall, in uniform,
promised to keep the crowd under control.  Not that Gryph has a
problem with unruly fans most of the time, but you can never be too
secure.  Janet's a hell of a fighter in her own right.  Once, I saw
her break up a brawl in the Wedge with her bare hands, five big guys
with knives and broken bottles and she didn't get a scratch.
	You might find the presence of local law enforcement, in
uniform but not doing anything, at the site of an illegal street fight
kind of odd, but it's that way in a lot of places.  The cooler cops
know that the real fighters, the ones who register with outfits like
the WCMAT Authority, are trained and for the most part know what
they're doing, and that they accept the risks inherent in the game.
Nobody ever gets hurt in one of Gryphon's matches who isn't willing to
get hurt, and, like I mentioned before, his rep keeps the local crime
rate down.  They know he's a straight arrow, and so they look the
other way, and sometimes, like Janet, they turn up to provide a little
crowd control and give the proceedings an air of legitimacy.
	Besides, I think Janet's kind of sweet on Ben, though she'd
probably hurt me if I mentioned it.  If I were him I don't think
it'd hurt my feelings if she were; Janet's not exactly what I'd call
hard on the eyes.
	Gryphon's "arena" isn't fancy; it's just the square of
more-or-less-flat asphalt in front of Bancroft Tower's walkway, from
the two mini-turrets (and the line of Jersey barricades between them)
to the wall that keeps people from driving off the hill, bordered on
the sides by the turrets themselves.  Gryphon stood by one turret, Ryu
the other; Gryphon was wearing a black-and-white NIN shirt, his old
jeans, his gloves and his Batman cap, while Ryu had his usual white
gi, headband and vambraces.
	Janet separated herself from the spectators, then, and went to
the middle of the ring, and I realized that she was going to ref for
Ben, something she does occasionally for his home fights, though not
always.  Whenever she does, it's an extra incentive for his opponent
to stay in line, not that she had anything to worry about with Ryu.
	I felt a hand on my arm; turning, I was surprised (and
pleased) to see Meg grinning at me.
	"Meg!" I declared.  "How'd you get here?"
	She shrugged.  "Hitched."
	"That's dangerous," I pointed out, trying (and failing) to be
stern.
	She rolled her eyes adorably.  "I think I can take care of
myself.  Anyway, I wanted to see the fight, but I figured you'd be a
little busy to come and pick me up."
	"Well, you're just in time," I said, "I think it's about to
start."
	Just as I said it, Janet cleared her throat and announced the
fight.
	"Ladies and gentlemen!" she declared in the clear, loud voice
they teach at cop school for crowd control.  "May I introduce today's
challenger!  A Shotokan Karate fighter from Tokyo, Japan, with a
hundred and eight wins - ninety-nine by knockout - three losses and
two draws: Ryu Hoshi!"
	As Ryu stepped out to the middle of the ring, on Janet's left,
most of the crowd, knowing Gryphon's fondness for politeness,
applauded.  A couple of high-school kids toward the back booed and
yelled "YOU SUCK!", and I could see Gryphon making a mental note to
speak to them later.  Alone among the spectators, Sakura cheered
wildly.
	"And Bancroft Tower's champion, an Icon of Stone Ler Drit
fighter with sixty-seven wins - fifty-four by knockout - two losses
and no draws: Ben 'Gryphon' Hutchins!"
	Now the crowd cheered as Gryph took his place on Janet's
right, save those two jerks in the back, who still booed, and Sakura,
who was entirely silent.
	"OK, you guys, here are the rules.  No choke holds.  No
intentional dislocations or broken bones.  If the other guy quits, you
stop.  Got it?"
	They nodded.
	"Shake hands," Janet said; Gryphon and Ryu shook, then backed
up a couple of steps and bowed.
	"Ready?" asked Janet.  Gryphon nodded.  She looked to Ryu; he
tightened his headband, then nodded as well.  "Fight!" said Janet, and
she backed up behind the Jersey barricades.
	Ryu didn't waste any time; as soon as Janet was out of the
way, he leaped up and forward as if going for a drop kick, but landed
short, trying for a leg sweep.  He caught Gryph flat-footed (pardon
the expression) with that one, tripping him up; Gryph had been fading
back and preparing a punch counter for the kick, and fell heavily to
his back on the pavement, but almost immediately rolled to his feet
and launched a spinning back fist.  Ryu stepped smoothly into the path
and blocked the fist with his left forearm, launching a jab with his
right; Gryph ducked under it and shot an off-hand ducking fierce into
Ryu's gut.
	He should've flared it, I thought to myself as Ryu was shoved
back a little by the force of the blow.  Then I realized why Gryph
hadn't done just that - he was already channeling his Ler, using it
for the push-off in the second part of his ducking-fierce-to-knee-thrust
combo.  With his Ler pushing him, he exploded up from the crouch, left
knee outstretched, and the knee plowed up under Ryu's chin, knocking
him over backward.  As Gryph landed, feet spread, Ryu got unsteadily
to his feet and wobbled for a moment.
	Capitalizing on his window of opportunity, Gryph swung into
his double high kick; the first blow caught Ryu full in the face, but
seemed to wake him up.  The Shotokan fighter ducked the second kick
and, while Gryph was still winding out of his spin, Ryu cocked his
hands at his side, eyebrows colliding.  I winced, knowing what was
next:
	"HADOKEN!"  The fireball crashed into Gryphon's midsection
from point-blank range, drawing an audible grunt as the air was forced
out of his lungs, and as Gryph stumbled back, Ryu kept his crouch and
wound into a stance I knew, from watching previous fights, meant
trouble.
	"SHORYUKEN!" Ryu cried, launching himself up in one of the
other signature moves of his style.  It was a textbook blow, caught
Gryph right under the chin, picked up him and dumped him on the
ground, and I could have sworn I saw his eyes turn into little X's at
the moment of impact.  Gryphon didn't bounce to his feet with quite
the same speed as he had last time, but get up he did, with that gleam
in his eyes that showed he was really enjoying the fight, and his
hands flared and crackling with energy.
	Again Ryu wasted no time, launching himself into a Hurricane
Kick (with appropriate shout), but this time, Gryph was ready for
him, his flared arms raised and crossed in a block.  Ryu's kick shoved
him back a little, but as Ryu was busy landing, Gryph moved with all
the deceptive speed his opponents rarely give him credit for, darting
his left hand forward, seizing Ryu's head face-on, and, forearm
muscles bulging, lifted him clean off the ground.  Ryu raised his
hands to Gryph's wrist, but he was already completing the throw,
slamming Ryu down on the ground as if he were spiking a football after
a touchdown.
	Ryu rolled a couple of feet away and got back to his feet,
settling into his ready stance, looking battered, but not bowed.  He
nodded, ever so slightly, with respect, and waited for Gryph to make
the next move.
	Gryphon did not disappoint; reflaring his hands, he swept them
forward in a crackling arc and unleashed his Psycho Lightning.
Unfortunately, the sweep gave Ryu enough warning; he jumped over it,
knocking Gryph back with a flying kick and landing in front of him in
good position for another Dragon Punch.
	Gryph grinned, just a little, and his eyes gleamed.
	Then he swung into his most complicated combo, the one I'd
seen him pull off a grand total of three times so far in his career:
a fast and vicious three-puncher, left jab, right cross, left
uppercut, that drove Ryu back enough for Gryph to go into a seamless
double kick.  By the first kick's impact, Ryu was already unconscious;
the second kick juggled him back into a semblance of a standing
position, and then he toppled over backward and sprawled on the
pavement.  There was one move left in the combo, but Gryphon saw there
was no need for it and arrested his motion before he could follow his
falling opponent down on one knee and bounce his head off the asphalt
with another left jab.
	The crowd went nuts as Janet shouted "Champion wins!"

				  G
	Ryu was already sitting up and holding his head by the time
Janet and I reached him; I offered him a hand up, which he accepted,
and as I drew him to his feet, he clapped his other hand to my
shoulder and grinned.
	"You're better than you were last time," he said.
	"I beat you last time, too," I pointed out.
	Ryu shrugged.  "What is it the fans of the local baseball
team say?  There's always next year."
	As Janet got out a penlight and checked both our eyes to make
sure we weren't walking around with any lethal brain hemorrhages
going, we noticed we were no longer alone in the ring; a small figure
in a sailor outfit had broken away from the crowd and was edging
toward us, hesitant, with a mixture of concern and appalled shock on
her face.
	As Ryu turned to face her, Sakura looked up at him and said
incredulously, "You... you -lost-."  She looked somewhere between
astounded and crushed, as if she'd just seen a street gang mug Santa
Claus.
	"It happens," Ryu replied, nodding.  "Not often, but it
happens."
	"But - "
	Ken prevented us from ever finding out exactly what her
protest would have entailed.  He hadn't forgotten his promise to take
on the winner, and now, even if the winner hadn't turned out to be the
one he thought it would be, his fighter's ego wouldn't let him back
down.
	I won't bore you with the details of our fight.  Did I win?
Hah!  The day I can defeat Ryu AND Ken in succession is the day I go
to M. Bison's island fortress and rifle his sock drawer.
	When I came to, I thought that somebody, maybe Janet, maybe
Cammy, was mopping at my face with a wet cloth.  Then, after a few
moments of gathering my brains back together, I realized it was
actually Fury, and, lacking thumbs, he wasn't using a cloth.
	"Eyagh," I remarked, pushing him away and sitting slowly and
carefully up.  Nothing rattled around too badly, so I tried standing.
I must confess I accidentally copped a bit of a feel when Janet rushed
to prop me up with her shoulder, but it wasn't intentional, I wasn't
in a position to enjoy it much, and she didn't seem to notice.
	Focusing my eyes on the quintet before me, I saw that Ryu,
Sakura, Cammy and Zoner looked worried, while Ken looked contrite.
	"Well," I grumbled, testing my arm and leg joints to make sure
everything still bent in the right direction and -only- the right
direction, "I hope you're satisfied, Ken."
	"Woof," said Fury reproachfully.  I scratched his ears.
	Ken hung his head.  "I guess I'm kind of a jerk, huh."
	"I guess," I said as severely as I could, but when he peeked
out at me through his bushy reddish eyebrows, my severity cracked and
I snickered.  "But aren't we all, at times?  Tell you what, I'll
forgive you if you'll forgive Ryu."
	Ken looked dubious for a moment, then smiled and turned to
Ryu.  "OK... put 'er there, pal."
	Ryu smiled and took his old friend's hand.
	"All right.  Now I'm gonna get some Tylenol in this head of
mine, and we're gonna go celebrate.  Who's with me?"

	The staff at Ping's Garden have learned to roll with it when I
turn up on their doorstep with a small horde of hungry people.  And a
horde we were, rampaging and ravenous: me, Ryu, and Ken, showered,
changed and starting to show some bruises; Janet, now off-duty and out
of uniform in t-shirt and jeans; Charlie; Rose; Sakura; Cammy; Zoner,
happy as could be since he'd been smart enough not to bet on my
second fight, or maybe just because Meg Bennett had turned up; and
Meg, sprightly as always.
	Again, I think I'll just leave the details to your
imagination.  We ordered a ton of stuff, passed it around, swapped
entrees, cadged each other's appetizers, and gorged ourselves silly.
We told embarrassing stories about each other, asked personal
questions, renewed old friendships and began a few new ones.  When the
meal was done, Rose had to get back to Maine, Charlie to wherever he'd
come from (he didn't mention it and we didn't ask), Meg to Boston and
Cammy to Scotland; the rest of us, after goodbyes and promises to keep
in touch and a fresh exchange of phone numbers and email addresses,
adjourned to Playoff Entertainment (the infamous "Ten-Minute Walk")
for a raucous evening of video gaming.
	Here, we six, as a group, learned many interesting things
about each other.
	- I would rather play S.T.U.N. Runner than anything else in
the joint.
	- Zoner is a big fan of Hard Drivin'.
	- Janet kicks -ass- at Lethal Enforcers.  (What a surprise,
huh?)
	- Sakura is hell on little red sneakers at air hockey.
	- Ken is not very good at Karate Master.
	- Ryu is the galaxy's most inept driver.
	We had a hell of a good time, though.  Playoff had a new game,
the second in Sega's Virtua Fighter series - a unique series, not only
for its rendered-polygon technology, but also for the fact that the
characters in the game are based on real fighters, some of whom we
knew.  We all had a good laugh at the thought of the real Jacky
Bryant's hair being all polygonal and spikey like that.
	"Huh," said Ken, watching Ryu and Zoner go at it on VF2.
"Y'know, we should get together and with some game company and do
something like this."  He grinned.
	"Oh great," Janet observed.  "Next thing you know every
league's got its own game.  What's that second-string circuit where
they allow body armor and blunt weapons?"
	Sakura snorted.  "The Vipers?  Nobody'd touch a game with
-those- sleazebags in it."
	"I suppose not," Ken said, warming to his idea, "but we've got
charm and class!  Only wouldn't it be cool if, instead of this 3D
polygon stuff, it was a hand-drawn anime-style game, y'know, with 2D
animated sprites, like a modern version of Karate Master?  Yeah,
that'd kick!  I'll have to make some calls."
 	"I'd pay real money to see you get M. Bison to agree to be in
a video game," I remarked.
	"Watch me," Ken said with a smirk.  "He'll do it; it'll feed
his ego."
	"Why hand-drawn?" Janet wondered.
	Ken shrugged.  "Looks cool.  Cooler than polygons, anyway.  If
you get the right artists."
	"If you're going to make it sprite-based," Ryu wondered,
pausing for a moment to take Zoner for a ride on Splash Mountain, "why
not use digitized photos of the fighters?"
	Ken, Sakura, Zoner, Janet and I all winced together and said
in unison, "Eew!"
	"OK, maybe not," Ryu said, shrugging and returning his full
concentration to the game.

			    END BATTLE 03