From Philip Yff Newsgroups: rec.arts.anime.misc,rec.arts.anime,alt.fan.bgcrisis Subject: [BGC][Fanfic] Out of Balance--Chapter 1 Date: Sun Nov 30 18:22:37 EET 1997 Organization: Original Zippo News Service [http://www.zippo.com] Out of Balance--Chapter 1 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story There's no one I'd rather have by my side in a tough fight than Priss. When I'm not fighting, though, it would be wiser for me to stay as far from her as I possibly could. The sad truth is you can't spend much time with Priss before she picks a fight with someone. But, Priss is my friend. I enjoy her company. I can't just turn my back on her and, besides, she needs me. I just stay on my toes so I'll be ready for the inevitable scuffle. Lately, life had been good. We'd defeated Largo. A relaxed Sylia had just returned from Europe with Mackie. Maybe things had been too quiet. "Linna," Priss had said, "Let's go to Kamakura today." "Kamakura? Why" "Why? Why do you always have to ask why? Kamakura's a fine resort city." "I always ask why, Priss, because there's always something you don't tell me." I said pointedly. "I'm doing my next gig in Kamakura." "And?" "And I need to take some things over to the nightclub and thought you might like to come along." "And I've got a new car that would be just perfect for the job." "How nice of you to offer. Thanks, you're a good friend, Linna." "Well, you have to buy lunch," I said, cursing myself for once again allowing Priss to so easily bully me. Surprisingly, Priss agreed to foot the bill for lunch without argument. I should have smelled a rat." I loved my new car. It was the latest model Genom Stingray. I had known Sylia and especially Mackie would get a kick out of my choice of model. I'd thought the name was just coincidence, but Sylia told me her Dad had designed the AI for the prototype. When he died before it went into production, the program development team pushed to have the car named after him. I was surprised, but Sylia said Genom was not always as heartless as we made it out to be. Priss just snorted in derision. Anyway, it didn't take much to persuade me to show off my new car. Kamakura was a lot nicer than MegaTokyo, and Priss was paying for lunch. I revved the engine. I could see Priss was impressed, but her comment was, "Why did you have to buy a Genom?" "I didn't buy a Genom, I bought a Stingray. Besides, Genom lowered the prices on their consumer lines after that rapid succession of PR disasters. They needed to build public confidence back up." "You've got enough money. You didn't have to go consort with the enemy." "What do you mean, I've got the money? I got taken to the cleaners when the bottom fell out of the stock market. And I don't consort with the enemy. All I did was buy a car." "You don't know what it's like to live hand to mouth. So what if the stock market crashed. You still made enough of a killing to make the down payment on your new aerobics club. And you didn't just buy a car. You bought a Genom." I decided to change the subject before Priss got completely out of hand. "I haven't heard any of your new songs." Priss didn't answer right away. "I've only written a couple." "We've really been busy, haven't we?" "It's not that. I just haven't had the energy." "You? No energy? No way!" "I need to be angry to write. Anger makes me strong. I fuels my passion. It brings my songs to life." "Yeah right, Priss! Everybody says how quiet and restrained you've become. Just last week, you went an entire day without getting into a major altercation." I expected Priss to violently object to my sarcasm, but she just sat there. A solitary tear slowly rolled down her cheek. "Not angry, Linna--just sad and helpless." Priss's response was sobering. She still had not gotten over Sylvie's death. I had tried to tell her Sylvie had been a boomer. Sylvie had killed--often and brutally. Sylvie had deserved to die, and Priss who loathed all boomers should have welcomed the opportunity to eradicate the abomination who had pretended to be human. But even I, who had not been close to Sylvie, felt regret when Priss fired the shots that ended Sylvie's life. I often envy Priss's strong convictions and passionate intensity. Priss says I am shallow and unfeeling. Maybe I am. But there are advantages. I sleep easy at night. There are no ghosts that haunt my dreams. Traffic was light and we arrived sooner than I had expected. "Hey Priss, this is a real high class joint. How'd somebody like you manage to land a gig here?" "What do you mean--somebody like me? I've got talent!" "I'm sorry. I was just kidding. You have got talent, and I am your biggest fan. Have I ever missed one of your performances?" "Vision called in a favor," Priss said softly. "Thank you." Priss got out of the car and quickly began unloading the things she had brought. She wasn't supposed to have known about Vision. And how did she figure out I was the one who asked Vision to help? I found out why Priss had agreed so readily to spring for lunch. As soon as we walked in the door, a suave gentleman approached and introduced himself as Matsumoto, the manager. He ushered us to a table and said he'd have Priss's stuff put in her dressing room. He summoned a waiter and told him to take our order for a complimentary lunch--anything we wanted. Priss, in typical fashion, ordered a plain, rare steak--which wasn't even on the menu--and a beer. Sylia would have been proud of me. I took advantage of the master sushi chef and the sake was without peer. Priss laughed. "I swear, Linna..." Nonchalantly, I took a sip of the warm sake and said, "What is it?" "You know what it is. You're blushing like a schoolgirl. If horse manure cost 10,000 yen a gram, you'd be stuffing your face with it." "How rude! I'm just showing my appreciation. You're the one who's being unrefined--demanding what amounts to a raw slab of meat. You might as well have ordered a synthetic hamburger." "Well, I hope the club has a good turn-out tonight, so your appreciation of their cuisine does not set them back too much." I was embarrassed, but I wasn't going to let Priss intrude on the enjoyment of the meal. I admit I'd gotten a little carried away--I'm a sucker for free food--and it was delicious. At the end of our repast, I made a point of thanking the sushi chef profusely. He was a dignified middle-aged gentleman who bowed and modestly downplayed his talent. Meanwhile, Priss was making a fool out of both of us. When I got back, she was telling the manager she would play an extra set to make up for my overindulgence in food and drink. Matsumoto-san, naturally, was taken aback by Priss's lack of couth. Smoothly, he said no remuneration was necessary. "It's a pleasure to demonstrate what slight culinary skill we might have to such beautiful and refined ladies." I knew he was talking about me. All Priss had done was wash down a piece of cow with some beer. I nudged Priss in the back. She glared at me, and I'm sure just to annoy me said, "Well, I owe you one Ojisan. If you need a favor just ask." I cringed at Priss's lack of decorum, but the manager took his newly acquired avuncular status in stride. "Well, I have a fourteen year old daughter, Haruko, who loves your compositions. An autograph would not be too much to ask for?" "Really! How does she know about me. I only play in clubs and don't have a CD out yet." I poked Priss. Apparently, she couldn't tell the manager was just allowing her to save face. Matsumoto-san probably didn't even have a daughter or, if he did, she was probably married with kids of her own." "I let her play the demo," Matsumoto-san replied. "She says you're a lot better than the idol singers with the big contracts." He sure knew how to get on Priss's good side. "Bring your daughter in tonight. She can watch backstage and I'll introduce her to the band. And, of course, she'll get her autograph." Out of Balance--Chapter 2 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story When we got outside, I stared in horror at my car. Two bikers were sitting on the hood and one on the roof. They were wearing leather jackets with heavy metal studs. I just knew they were scratching the paint. Half a dozen of their friends were standing around. Judging from their expensive machines, these weren't hoodlums, but upper class youths who got their kicks by being in a motorcycle gang. After all, this was a real high class neighborhood. Priss looked at me and then charged into the middle of the group. "Get off the car," she snarled. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed two handfuls of hair and hauled off one of the two goons sitting on the hood. I had long suspected Priss's brain had absolutely no connection with her mouth or any part of her body. What did she expect those jerks to do? Calmly allow themselves to be abused by Priss and then thank her for the badly needed lesson in manners. The goon on the roof leaped to his feet. I cringed at the thought of what his boots were doing to the finish. The recalcitrant whom Priss was enthusiastically helping off the hood started yelling like the spoiled brat he was. His buddy tried to pull him away from Priss who maintained her vice-like grip on his hair. This made him yell even more loudly. Priss was immediately surrounded. She was more than a match for any three of them, but all nine were too much to handle. "Oh hell," I thought. "I'd better do something." I really had hoped to take it easy after that fine lunch. I slowly walked over to one of the bikes. Standing next to it, I pressed the ignition and revved the engine as loudly as I could. Sure enough, that got their attention. I killed the engine so I wouldn't have to shout. "Stop it!" I commanded calmly but firmly. "Let her go!" As I had suspected, these goons were as dumb as Priss. They forgot about her and, without any coordinated effort, rushed over to deal with me. I nimbly hopped onto the seat of the bike and kicked the first goon to reach me in the throat. The force of the blow predictably knocked the bike off the kickstand. It fell obstructing my next would-be assailant. Meanwhile, I had used the dynamics of my kick to jump sideways into the path of the third glutton for punishment. In his clumsiness, somehow his groin collided with my knee. His companion extricated himself from the toppled motorcycle and looked over at his two friends uncertainly. I wondered if he saw the same subtle irony in their predicament that I did. One was clutching his neck, the other his crotch, but both were wheezing in exactly the same manner. He should have been forewarned by the plight of the not so dynamic duo but testosterone triumphed over common sense. He swung at me wildly. I stepped forward purposefully, my precise interior counter attack deflected his blow and slammed the heel of my hand upward against the bottom of his nose. The beauty of my control brought tears to my eyes. I had taken him out of commission without breaking his nose. There were tears in his eyes, too, but he was too preoccupied with his discomfort to appreciate my martial arts form. What I had used is normally taught as a killing technique. Maybe I'm just a wimp, but these high speed death blows just don't appeal to me. Death is so final. I've had to learn them in order to earn my martial arts ranking. Yet, I've always taken a perverse pleasure in deriving a non-lethal alternative to each deadly technique. This stupid jerk was yelling profanities at me. He obviously did not appreciate my generosity. The reason he was still in the land of the living was the precision I had used. The move was designed to kill by driving cartridge into the opponents brain. Yet, I hadn't even broken his nose. Young men always seem incapable of expressing an appropriate degree of gratitude. I felt he owed me, so I didn't hesitate to knock him around a little bit more. With a sweeping kick, I knocked the sniveling goon's legs out from under him and shoved his falling torso into the path of another overeager challenger. The new arrival crashed to the ground. Unfortunately, he started to scramble to his feet as I was stepping over him. My instep and the side of his head tried to occupy the same space. He didn't try to get up again and the expression on his face looked blissfully peaceful. I hoped he had not seen up my skirt. I was trying to be ladylike. The last thing I wanted was for a bunch of hormonally overactive males to start gossiping about the color of my panties. The thought of it irritated me. I grabbed a greasy ponytail and yanked down, twisting my torso to put the full weight of my body behind the pull. At the same time, I brought my knee up sharply against the side of his rapidly descending head. Two unsportsmanlike jerks tried to sandwich me between them. I stepped aside so I could deal with them one at a time. I seized the one on my left by his collar bone and pushed hard with my thumb against a pressure point. His knees turned to jelly and I had to struggle to hold him up. This was important. I sensed one of the group had hung back and was aiming a pistol in my direction. Before I had to use my human shield, Priss disarmed the pistol wielder and knocked him out with the butt of the weapon he had just been forced to relinquish. Like I said, there is no one I'd rather have by my side in a fight than Priss. Of course, most of the fights I find myself in, like this one, are ones my hotheaded friend starts. I could now safely discard my human shield. I let go and let him crumble to the ground. I smiled sweetly at the one remaining ‘threat'. He looked in the direction of the motorcycles, figured out to get to them he would have to get by me, turned around, and ran off. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times. I responded with a courteous wave. I was pleased my hair and clothes were still neat and I had not worked up a sweat. I walked over to my car, trying not to look to see if there were any scratches on the hood and roof. "We did it," she said with forced bravado. "We make a good team." "We sure do," I responded sarcastically, pulling a mirror out of my purse and handing it to Priss. "Next time, hit the bad guys with your fists and not your face." "There were nine of them," Priss said somewhat defensively. "So? You didn't have to fight all nine at once." I started the car, swerved to avoid a comatose goon, and headed home. "As a matter of fact, you didn't have to fight any of them." "They were damaging your car!" "They did more damage to your face. A girl has to get her priorities straight." "What they did was wrong!" "You need to get laid more often." "What!?" "You've got way too much nervous energy. Most women find ways to relieve it other than to pick fights with big gangs of bullies. Let Leon take you out. He's been after you for a couple of years." Priss, who was too stupid to grab hold of the best thing that had come her way and which was hers for the taking, naturally had nothing to say. I was still irritated at her because of this latest blowup, so I thought I'd twist the knife a little. "Leon's got a car. He could have driven you here today. And don't say he was working. You know he'd drop everything in an instant the minute you were to give him a call." "Maybe I wanted to go with you." "I'll always be your friend. I've stuck with you this long for reasons beyond my comprehension. I'm always going to be there when you need me. But you need a boyfriend now. When you trashed up your place, you should have given Leon a call. ‘Hello, Leon, can I sleep over at your place.' ‘Sure, Priss. I thought you'd never ask. I'll chill a bottle of champagne.' ‘No, you idiot! It's not that way. I'm sleeping on the couch. My trailer's being repaired.' ‘You think I didn't know that? I read the police reports. I also got a dozen phone calls from my buddies informing me the girl of my dreams had been charged with disturbing the peace again. Come on over. I'll even sleep outside if it'll make you happy. Anything to be near you!' "That's enough, Linna," Priss said tightly. I knew I had gone a little too far. "Thank you for protecting my car," I said to make peace. "It's my baby. Maybe Dr. Raven can take care of the scratches. But you worry me, Priss. One of these days, you're going to get yourself killed. And for heaven's sake, next time don't jump in the middle of a bunch of bad guys. Make them come to you and pick them off one by one." Before Priss could respond, the video monitor blinked on and Sylia's face appeared. "Linna, is Priss with you? I need both of you over at the lingerie shop. Nene's already on her way." Out of Balance--Chapter 3 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story When we got to the Silky Doll, Nene gawked at the bruises on Priss's face. "I heard about the ruckus at your trailer," she said, "but I had no idea you'd been injured, Priss." "This happened only an hour ago," I interjected smugly. "What happened?" "Priss didn't like people sitting on my car, so she asked them to use her as a punching bag." "Where were you?" "Great!" Priss exclaimed. "Okay! I got beat up and Linna got me out of a jam." "Way to go Linna!" Priss was always giving Nene a hard time about not being tough enough, so Nene was always pleased to learn of chinks in Priss's armor. Sylia handed Priss a couple of ice packs. Sylia, unlike me, did not exactly disapprove of Priss's antics. The fire raging in Priss's heart was her strength as well as her weakness. Besides, Sylia liked Priss. Although she would never admit it, now that Mackie was growing up, Sylia needed to find another adolescent to mother or be a big sister to. I'm the one who's super reliable, but it's obvious to me Sylia cares more for Priss and Nene. That's okay. I'm used to be taken for granted. Sylia walked over and poured herself a cup of coffee. Oh, oh. That was part of her ritual whenever she wanted to inform us of some new development. Before she could start, Nene who was looking at the screen of a small digital transmitter squealed. "Guess what! Some boomers in Kamakura attacked a group of nineteen and twenty year old young men. They said four big, ugly boomers appeared out of nowhere and beat them up for no reason. They said they couldn't describe the boomers except they were the ugliest things they had ever seen, especially the behemoth that had inflicted most of their injuries. They said, though, the boomers were wild and clumsy and that they virtually incapacitated them and forced them to flee." "Step into the training room, Miss AD Police, and I'll show you just what I did and you can judge for yourself how wild and clumsy I was." "I didn't mean to imply you were wild and clumsy," Nene said innocently, moving close to Sylia. "Just big and ugly," Priss said. "Don't be in any hurry to leave, Nene. I'll help Linna teach you some self defense techniques in case you run into some of these big, ugly, wild, and clumsy boomers." "Boomers aren't the only mechas you have to worry about," Sylia said provocatively. "What do you mean?" Nene inquired quickly, anxious to change the subject. "Genom has been seriously weakened. There are at least three major corporations that might seek to capitalize on this weakness." "Genom, weak? I wish!" Priss retorted. "I didn't say weak. I said weaker. Corporations are predators. They hunt down and devour weaker entities. Genom is a lucrative prize, but the window of opportunity to go after it is very small. Genom will not present easy pickings. The risks are huge, but the rewards are phenomenal. "How do you know all this?" I asked. "You remember telling me about the car you bought?" "My car?" "Yes. I told you it had been named after my father. When you told me about it, I was curious. You bought it far too cheaply. I had Nene dig up some data. What we found out was that Genom was liquidating its inventory of consumer goods to underwrite its future strategic initiatives. In six months, Genom will have recovered and once again be virtually invulnerable." "One of the things I did," Nene said proudly, "was to do a comparative analysis of electronic traffic between government agencies and Genom. A few months ago, the amount of data transfer indicated there was an unethically strong connection between Genom and government. That has now changed. Genom's government supporters have curtailed much of their interaction with the corporate giant. They're trying to distance themselves from what they now view as a powder keg. To compensate for the weakening governmental links, Genom has been scrambling to diversify its interests and establish connections with other companies. Meanwhile, government officials are biding their time waiting to see who will win the upcoming corporate battles." "I'm impressed," I said and I was. Nene was a flake but her grasp of space age information technology was second to none. "So you found out the names of the companies trying to make an end run against Genom by analyzing the data?" "Absolutely. And our prospective client has substantiated my conclusions." "Our client? Sylia?..." I said reproachfully. "Yes, a request for our services has been tendered..." "You'd never guess who has asked us for help," Nene interjected. "Quincy!" That woke Priss up. "Quincy!" she yelled. "No way!" "If Genom falls, the city and the entire country will be thrust into chaos. We have to maintain a sense of equilibrium," Sylia said calmly. "Hey, Priss," I said. "What's the big deal? This is our chance to infiltrate Genom and destroy it from within." "We're not infiltrating Genom," Sylia said. "If we accept this assignment, we'll act in a responsible manner in accordance with out charter. We'll protect the fragile peace that exists today and prevent it from being destroyed by greedy predators who act with complete disregard for the consequences." Priss was sputtering incoherently, so I put her thoughts into words. "Sylia, you've grown soft. What are you thinking of? Have you forgotten you formed the Knight Sabers to fight Genom?" "I established the Knight Sabers to protect MegaTokyo and Japan. I wanted its citizens to live a better life. At times, we came in conflict with Genom. Today, the well-being of MegaTokyo depends on maintaining balance. If Genom disintegrates, there will be an implosion to fill the vacuum and the entire city, country, and world would be at risk. The key word is ‘balance.'" "You need to try on the new suits," Mackie said, fortuitously changing the course of the conversation. "The weapon systems are somewhat improved. However, the main advantage is that by incorporating more light-weight alloys, I was able to squeeze seven minutes of flight time for Sylia's and Linna's suits and three minutes each for Nene's and Priss's. This should go a long way to eliminating one of our primary vulnerabilities--aerial combat. I immediately jumped up. The last thing I wanted was a war between Sylia and Priss. "Let's go," I said grabbing Mackie by the arm. "Besides, I was curious to see how the new suits tested out. Sylia who obviously had not wanted Nene to let the cat out of the bag without proper preamble was right on our heels. Priss desperately wanted to continue the argument but she had lost her audience. She said something unladylike loudly enough for us all to hear and reluctantly brought up the rear. Mackie had not wasted the time he'd spent studying in Europe. The suit I put on did not look radically different from my old one except for being somewhat more streamlined. However, it felt completely different. It was superbly engineered. It had exceptional ‘balance' if I could use Sylia's favorite word in a different context. When I moved, I couldn't even tell I was wearing a suit of mechanized armor. I did a back flip and landed in a low split. "Showoff!" Nene said, reminding me I had a score to settle with her. Imagine implying I was wild and clumsy not to mention big and ugly. I couldn't let our relationship get out of balance. I thought if Nene considered me a showoff, I'd put on a real show. "Mackie," I said, putting my arm around his shoulder's for Nene's benefit, "Activate that VR combat program you installed--set it to max." I knew Mackie would not comply with my request to set the virtual reality simulator to its maximum setting. But at least I would be on record for asking. I stepped into the chamber. The lights dimmed. A dark green glow illuminated the interior to better contrast the virtuoids. Mackie had said although the virtuoids were electronic and could not physically affect me, the background program was interfaced with the battle suit's central processing unit or CPU and would interpret simulated hits as actual blows. At some point, I wanted to test this aspect of the simulation by deliberately absorbing a hit. However, today, I just wanted to remind those who took me for granted of my credentials. Five boomers appeared. They were still dormant. I could tell that from the digital time keeper which had not yet begun counting off the milliseconds. The boomers' propulsion jets flared a deep red, and they lifted off. The quality of visual resolution was astounding. They actually appeared to be flesh, blood, metal, and twenty-first century armored plastics. When the light emitting diodes on the time keeper changed from red to amber, I sprang into action. I'd already mentally plotted my weapon systems to their targets. A casual, feminine toss of my head sent the two mono-molecular filaments to their targets. Each one, with unerring accuracy, decapitated a boomer. The thirty millimeter cannon in the heel of the left hand of the battle suit took out a third. A flick of my wrist sent an explosive laser shuriken to disable a fourth. And, just because I'm the showoff Nene accused me of being, I used my mechanized suit's enhanced speed and strength to leap up, hook my right leg around the fifth boomer's neck, and physically break vital connections to disable it. I looked unobtrusively at the timer. It had stopped at 0.872 seconds. Nobody said anything. Everyone just stared at me in shock. I could tell even Sylia was impressed. Her upraised visor revealed wide open unblinking eyes. My lowered, darkened visor hid my smirk. I couldn't remember the last time I had dented Sylia's aristocratic composure. Taking off my helmet, I walked over to Mackie at the controls. "I think I've almost got the hang of this new suit," I said. "It's a pretty easy transition from the old one. Give me a couple more work-outs and I'll have it down pat." "Brilliantly executed," Sylia said. "I do trust, though, you'll avoid unnecessary physical contact except in controlled training situations. Don't take unnecessary risks in real life. I must admit, you seem to get better all the time. It's almost as if you've been practicing on your own." "I roam the streets at night hunting down stray boomers," I joked facetiously. I had been practicing with my old martial arts instructor, but I couldn't tell that to Sylia. She would think it a breach of security. Then, because I couldn't resist, I turned to Mackie and asked innocently, "Was I able to finish in under five seconds?" Nene threw her helmet at me which I caught deftly. "Careful Nene! Don't lose your head. People might mistake you for Priss." Priss didn't say anything. My demonstration of skill had caught her off guard. She prided herself on her toughness. I conceded she was easily ten times as tough as I was. Priss, though, was into raw power. She couldn't quite accept the fact that skilled precision was often more effective than brute force. I hadn't wanted to erode her confidence, but I was still upset at her for her most recent near-suicidal shenanigans. I started to take off my suit. Since I was still the center of attention, I said, "The manager of the Imperial Club in Kamakura is setting aside a table for us tonight. We should all go and watch Priss perform." I turned to Nene. "I'd better go to the gym. I'm carrying about half a centimeter of fat on the bottom part of my buttocks. I guess I'm getting out of shape. I'd better do something about it before people start calling me big and ugly." I regretted the implied snipe as soon as I'd said it, but Nene had asked for it. I was in my leotard now and Nene looked at me wistfully. I kept my body rock hard--something Nene could never do--her affinity for sweets was as strong as her aversion to heavy exercise. I grabbed Priss and bullied her into joining me for a workout. She wanted to go home, rest, and nurse her battered body, but I convinced her if she did that, she would just stiffen up. She knew I was right and grudgingly gave in. Afterwards, we soaked in the whirlpool. "Damn, Linna! You're so good now you could take out a couple of boomers without a suit." Priss did not praise lightly, so I gave her a serious response. "I'm a technician. I try hard to refine my abilities. You fight from your heart. I fight with my mind. I was trying to impress you today, but the truth is I envy your passion." Priss laughed. A trace of bitterness crept into her voice. "There's nothing to envy. I've got a big mouth." Out of Balance--Chapter 4 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story Priss didn't stick around the apartment when we got back. She said she'd promised the band members she'd practice with them before she went on. She said everything she needed was already at the club and hopped on her motorcycle. I'd offered to drive, saying she'd arrive more relaxed if she rode a car. She smiled. Her eyes took on a faraway look. She said the wind in her face would relax her. Since I didn't have to drive Priss, I called Mackie and told him to pick me up in the step van. Surprisingly, Sylia decided to ride with us rather than take her car. Nene rode up in front with Mackie while Sylia and I sat across from each other at the table in the back. As usual, I didn't have anything to say to Sylia, so I mumbled a few things about how well the new suits performed. What else could I talk about? I was wearing my best dress, and Sylia made me look tawdry. She was rich and getting richer. I'd tried to make a killing on the stock market with some inside information and was lucky to escape with a few yen to the better which I'd since spent on my car and on the down payment for the aerobics club. As a result, I was in hock up to my eyeballs for the balance on the club. Sylia was a brilliant scientist. I didn't even know if I could get into college if I'd wanted to. Sylia's life was perfect and she devoted her time to making other people's lives better. I didn't have a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I'd follow Sylia anywhere. I often thought I was like a little sailboat bobbing up and down on the water, blown here and there by the wind. Sylia was my anchor. She kept me from being blown out to see where I'd be hopelessly lost. If I ever got to the point where I could make it on my own, I would tell Sylia what she means to me. But now was not the time. I couldn't understand why Sylia treated me like an equal. She was someone who could pick up the phone and talk to the Prime Minister. Yet, she called me friend. When we got to the night club, Sylia offered to pay for the table, but Matsumoto-san refused. He insisted he always set a table aside for the performer's party and proceeded to escort us to one of the best locations--a front table just to the left of center stage. He told us he'd taken the liberty of ordering our food and drink. I was mortified. I thought the manager was afraid I'd make a pig of myself as I had at lunch and was making sure the club would not be too much out of pocket. When the food arrived, it was a meal fit for royalty. There was a different wine for every course. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had not gotten on the manager's bad side and, even more importantly, I wasn't going to embarrass Sylia. We ate slowly, savoring each morsel. We were just finishing up desert when the curtain rose and Priss and the Replicants did what they do best. Priss, as usual, was good. The songs, though, were all ones I'd heard before. She finished the set to a thunderous applause and walked off the stage, throwing her microphone to someone in the audience. The lights dimmed but the roar of her fans continued. Then it happened. It was so dark no one had seen Priss come back on the stage until she started singing softly. At first, she sang without any musical accompaniment. A solitary, meandering spotlight searched for where the song was coming from and fixed on her. She was off to the side closest to where we sat but her back was to the crowd. She had thrown away her radio microphone so she was using one on a stand. Although the melody was gentle, I could tell the fire was back. This was the old Priss, but it was a new Priss, too. She sang of a special love between tow people. Their love protected them from the ravages of a bleak world. They gave each other support and were able to weather the hardships the current world forced them to endure. But the young girl became a woman. She could no longer ignore the harsh conditions and watch others suffer while her love for her companion insulated her from their pain. Priss hit a few compelling notes on her guitar and turned around to face the audience. The Replicants, her band, had never left the stage. They had been hidden in the dark and now became visible as a faint, blue light illuminated them. The band picked up on Priss's guitar notes and gradually incorporated the musical accompaniment into the song. The pace picked up. The drummer started a throbbing, syncopated beat that underscored the thematic conflicts in the song. The words of the song remained poignant but the beat had become the pulsating, hard rock Priss was famous for. And her charismatic voice shredded the collective psyche of her enraptured audience. She started the final verse: The world's out of balance, falling fast... Our hearts are intertwined but I must go Pursue my private dreams. Let not the past Predict our future. Even though we grow Apart, we look ahead to better days. Reality's intruded on our dreams! It's forcing us to go our separate ways And follow different destinies. It seems The quiet recluse we had built to hide From all the stresses of our outside lives Is shattered now. Although my soul has died, I won't give up. Set free, my soul revives. The world's out of balance, falling fast... My love for you's still strong, but will it last? Priss moved right up to the microphone and shouted rather than sang, "Out of balance!" one last time. She hurled her guitar into the audience, just as earlier she had thrown out her microphone. Abruptly, she walked off stage. Utter silence! Everyone was in shock. The experience had been so emotionally draining no one had the will to respond. Only when the band stood up did someone start to clap--I think it was Nene. Soon, the applause was deafening as it had been before, but there was a different quality to it. Previously, the listeners had expressed their appreciation. Now, they were admitting they had been humbled by a glimpse of raw talent the likes of which they had never seen before. I, who readily admit my incapacity for deep thought, felt a curtain rise within me. For a while, I felt I had a poet's soul. I will always be grateful to Priss for this moment. I realized that even I had taken myself for granted and that deep within me there was a profound spirituality I had not been aware of. I knew at that time that my condition was temporary and soon I would revert to my everyday mundane self. But, for a while, I looked directly into my ki, my spirit. I had avoided looking at Nene, Mackie, and Sylia. I needed privacy until I could assimilate my new, strange thoughts. When at last I looked up, I saw Nene was just as mesmerized as I had been. Sylia, on the other hand, looked ten years older, and tears uncharacteristically ran down her cheeks. How stupid of me! My new insight was not as profound as I had thought it to be. Priss had said she was most creative when she was angry. And she was enraged! Her anger was targeted directly at Sylia. Quincy as a client was the ultimate betrayal. Worse, we had not allowed the compulsively outspoken Priss an opportunity to express her outrage among us. She would not be denied her day in court. She had set the stage perfectly. She had put on the performance of her life. She had broken Sylia's heart! Sylia excused herself. She looked so vulnerable as she made her way through the cheering fans. They had been elevated to incredible heights by the passionate intensity of Priss's performance. In contrast, Sylia was deflated, and her listless gait reflected the desolation she was experiencing. When Sylia returned, she was her usual self. She was calm and collected. It was not unusual for her not to share the unbridled enthusiasm of those around her. One did not expect a display of strong feeling from her. When Nene urged us all to backstage to see Priss, Sylia did not object. I looked into Sylia's eyes to try to figure out what she was thinking. Her gaze was intelligent, alert, aloof, and expressionless as it was virtually every day of her life. I would have comforted her, but she gave no indication she was in need of comfort. She looked back at me, and I looked away. I was still in awe of her. There was no confrontation between Priss and Sylia. Although I was relieved, in a way it was bad. Sylia was as resolute as Priss was stubborn. The longer the issues dividing them remained unresolved, the more violent the inevitable clash would be. Out of Balance--Chapter 5 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story The scene in Priss's dressing room was one I had lived through countless times before. Nene, who had never been intimidated by Priss's toughness, hugged her and started squealing about how great she had been. I followed with less hysterical but no less genuine adulation. Mackie hung back, trying to look cool. He grinned and gave a thumbs up sign. Sylia brought up the rear with praise that sounded sincere in spite of an academic tone. Tonight, I had just two words for Priss, "Okaeri nasai!" or welcome back. Priss said nothing, but I could tell she understood what I meant. In the corner, there was a young, teenage girl who was looking a little overwhelmed. It took me a little while to figure out she must be Matsumoto's daughter. I was going to say something, but Nene beat me to the punch. "And who might you be, young lady," she asked. "I'm Azusa," was the timid reply. "Azusa-san is my boss," Priss exclaimed. "Her father, the manager, is a very busy man and he can't supervise all the details. So, Azusa-san is making sure the musical entertainment goes according to plan." Azusa looked as if she didn't know whether she should become more bashful at being thrust into the limelight or relish in the sudden rise to fame. Priss had always been good with children. Her generosity and deference to Azusa was not out of character. However, the cynic in me couldn't help observing that Priss was allergic to authority figures and her elevation of Azusa's status resulted in a subtle corresponding diminishing of the manager's stature. Nene reached into her purse and pulled out one of her infamous, miniaturized, all-purpose computers. "I suppose you'd like a picture," she said. "Hey Priss, I need you and Azusa-chan to give me a good pose." Priss got down on one knee next to Azusa. She held her guitar by its neck in her right hand and put her left arm around Azusa's shoulders. Nene pressed a button. She then pulled the image up on the small screen and ran it through an enhancement routine. She gave the image more of a three dimensional look and glamorized the appearance of the subjects. Then she printed it on a wallet-sized plastic wafer. Nene handed the picture to Priss along with a special pen. "You have to use this instrument to sign it. Nothing else will blemish it short of a laser beam." Priss wrote, "To Azusa-sama, the best boss I've ever had," and handed the signed picture to a very grateful teenager. I looked at Sylia wondering if she would take this as yet another affront. But Sylia did not look disturbed. If anything, and it may have been my imagination, there seemed to be a softness in her eyes as she looked fondly at the girl who was receiving such special treatment. Azusa's father came to pick up his daughter. Priss would not let him, though. She said that she, her band, and Azusa were going to eat hamburgers and fries in the kitchen with the club staff. In spite of the lateness of the hour, one look at his daughter's face convinced him it would be cruel to pull her away from her new friends. Matsumoto said he would come back later. On his way out, he stopped to have a word with me. "Your friend is not only the best singer who's ever performed here, but she's also the easiest to get along with. I'm used to the artists being big snobs." I managed to keep a straight face when he naively accused Priss of being easy to get along with and said truthfully, "Priss is certainly no snob and she is a great singer. By the way, thank you very much for the table. I never expected you'd give us the best seats in the house." "Oh, that was nothing--just normal hospitality. It certainly cannot compare to the attention Asagiri-san is paying to Azusa. Her mother died in the Kanto earthquake when she was just a baby. I just don't know how to raise a teenage girl." "From what I see, you're doing just fine. You're a good man. You have a good heart. Azusa is very lucky." Azusa was lucky. I had lost both my parents when I was not yet grown. Thankfully, Matsumoto was summoned by an anxious employee. I had long since come to terms with the death of my parents but I had just been subjected to Priss's emotionally exhausting performance and was feeling rather fragile. The reminder of my childhood loss had resurrected long dormant feelings of deep regret. I don't think I had ever felt real grief or anger--I'd been too busy trying to cope with what Priss had called a world out of balance. There was no reason for us to hang around any more. We piled back into the van--well, except for Sylia who is incapable of piling--and headed home. On the way, I went over again and again in my head all the things I was going to say to Priss when she showed back up at the apartment. However, when I got home, I collapsed on my bed without bothering to take off my clothes. I didn't wake up until the mid-morning sun started shining in my face the following day. Priss was already up and I mumbled something incoherent on my way to the shower. The hot water invigorated me and reminded me I had intended to have a heart to heart with Priss. Although I recalled constructing a scathing didactic stream of rhetoric in my mind, somehow the hours of sleep had dulled my fervor. Once I had dressed, I said lamely, "Hey Priss. You know you upset Sylia last night." "Good." I waited expectantly, but Priss had nothing more to say. Neither, apparently, did I. So much for my well-intentioned pretense at being an advisor and mentor. "Are you going with us today," I said changing the subject. "You think I'd trust you to deal with Quincy on your own. You bet I'll be there." "By the way, you were great last night." "Thanks." It seemed neither one of us had the clarity of thought and the way with words we had had the previous night. Why did Priss have to be such a stubborn idiot and why did I come across as a superficial OL. Even the ditzy Nene appeared to have more of a sense of commitment than I had. "Need a ride over to the Silky Doll?" "I'll ride my bike." Well, I still didn't know what I wanted to be if I ever grew up but I knew I wouldn't make a very good shrink. I gave Nene a call. "Need a ride over to Sylia's?" "Cool." I once asked Nene how a computer genius could be so easy to talk to. She said her CPU might be high speed multi-tasking, simultaneous multi-processing, but her user interface was point and click, drag and drop. Thank Heaven for point and click. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to communicate with any of the Knight Sabers. When I arrived at AD Police Headquarters after stopping by the Aerobics club, Nene was waiting outside. Not unexpectedly, Leon was with her--he always seemed to know when something was up. "Hey, Leon!" I yelled. "How nice. Are you going to buy lunch." I hoped to head Leon off at the pass and hit him where it hurt--in the wallet. He looked at me and asked, "Is Priss joining you?" "She's in Kamakura getting ready for her show," I lied. "Why weren't you at her show last night?" "I was going to come. She told me not to. I was torn between my desire to see her and my compulsion to obey her every wish." Leon's sly grin intimated that as usual he was hiding something. "Come now, Leon! You can't be serious. If you complied with her wishes, you would have left her alone a long time ago." "Her mouth says, ‘No, no,' but her heart says, ‘yes, yes.' As big as her mouth is, her heart is even bigger." "You're such a romantic, Leon," Nene teased. "If I am a romantic, how come you turned me down. Especially since Noriko says you still don't have a boyfriend." "I turned you down because you're a jerk who deserves the aggravation of a Priss. And I don't have a boyfriend because men tend to be intimidated by my incredible brain and even more awesome beauty. You, for example, certainly don't deserve someone as good-looking, charming, and smart as I am." "Come on, Nene," I said, "Let's go! I don't think Leon's going to spring for lunch today." "Hey! Why don't you treat me for a change?" "If we did," I retorted, "People might think we actually liked you. You have to understand to us you're just a meal ticket." I pulled away quickly before Leon could respond. I wanted to have the last word. "Leon's quite a guy. I sure wish he treated me with more respect," Nene said despondently. "Those incredible brains of yours are napping if you don't think Leon respects you. He's probably the only one at AD Police who sees through your flaky behavior and beautiful red hair." "Thanks. I suppose that's a complement. I just remembered I'm supposed to be mad at you for what you did yesterday." "Look who's talking! You started it. Good thing we're both too superficial to hold a grudge." "Isn't that the truth." Out of Balance--Chapter 6 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story When we arrived, Sylia and Priss were already in their battle suits. Nene and I hurriedly put ours on. I'd foolishly thought we'd by going directly to the Genom Tower, but Sylia set me straight. I should have realized it would have been too disruptive. Imagine Genom's archenemy, the Knight Sabers, showing up at their Tokyo corporate headquarters. Instead, we went to a rendezvous point where an unmarked, windowless helicopter picked us up. Only Sylia seemed comfortable with the arrangement. Priss was particularly outspoken about being trapped in a strange flying coffin at the mercy of Genom henchmen. Nene went so far as to jack into the chopper's computer system. I could tell by the faint light seeping out from the edges of her darkened face mask that she had acquired visual surveillance. Suddenly, Nene yelled, "Get down!" She raised her arm and fired a sustained burst of thirty millimeter cannon shells straight through the side of the chopper. The holes she made allowed us to see at least three helicopter gunships bearing down on us. I figured there were probably more beyond our line of sight. Priss pushed Nene aside roughly and fired two missiles at the approaching gunships. The missile tore out a large hole in the side of our chopper which was suddenly enlarged when Priss dove through it right on the trail of the missiles she had just fired. Nene yelled unnecessarily, "They're hostile!" I looked at Sylia and she nodded. We pushed through the hole Priss had made. The jets in our suits gave us greater speed and maneuverability than the helicopter gunships. As I'd expected there were far more gunships than had been visible at first. However, I was too busy to count to see just how many there were. Priss was on the windshield of one of the enemy craft. She punched through it, grabbed a jagged piece of transparent plastic, peeled it back, and squeezed through the opening. I didn't see what she did next because I had troubles of my own. One of the gunships tried to mow me down. I did a quick aerial somersault causing my favorite weapon, the two mono-molecular filaments, to whip downward. I cleared the chopper. From my vantage point above it, I saw it careen wildly, its rotors severed by the filaments. Without the torque of the main rotor, the small propeller on the tail spun the helicopter wildly around on its axis. I looked around. Sylia had had time to aim carefully and fired her missiles more effectively than Priss. The two gunships Priss at which Priss had fired were heavily armored and had not sustained critical damage. Sylia had aimed for the air intakes. Although the two choppers Sylia had hit had not been destroyed, they were forced to limp away from the aerial battle. Priss apparently had thrown out the pilot and the copilot, judging from the two parachutes drifting downward. I wondered if Priss knew the pilots had chutes when she threw them out of the helicopter. The chopper Priss was in was careening chaotically across the sky. I tried to get in position to help her, but I couldn't even attract her attention. She seemed to be busy at the instrument panel, but was apparently unable to bring the helicopter under control. I could see her easily through the shattered windshield but couldn't get to her because of the chopper's high speed erratic flight pattern. Suddenly, a large missile shot out. It narrowly missed me. It left behind a white trail as it relentlessly homed in on one of the gunships, obliterating it in a massive explosion. The force of the blast hurled me backwards. My suit protected me, but I was disoriented and it took a while for me to get my bearings. When I'd regained my equilibrium, I discovered the remaining enemy craft had decided Priss with her commandeered gunship was the major threat and were pursuing her. Nevertheless, Priss's unsteady course made it impossible for them to lock her in their sights. Sylia and I hung back. Priss was too close for us to safely use our missiles. Also it appeared our missiles were an order of magnitude less powerful than those of the combatant aircraft whose armor made them virtually impregnable except for precision shots like Sylia had used earlier. For us to use our missile against them, it was kind of like bringing a baseball bat to a gunfight. I was hesitant to fly in close to use my mono-molecular filaments. I was lucky Priss's first missile had missed me. So, I wasn't about to tempt fate twice. When Priss gets fixated on an enemy, Heaven help the innocent bystander who gets in her line of fire. Besides, this was the first time I had used the full-flight capability of the new hardsuits and didn't want to get to fancy. I was sure Sylia had already tested them out extensively. She never gives anything to us without making sure the technology works. Priss was having troubles of her own, but she was reluctant to relinquish the major weapon systems of the commandeered gunship. Eventually, a second missile erupted from her helicopter and decimated another of her opponents. Soon after, a third missile shot out with similar results. The enemy aircraft, by trying to get a bead on Priss, were actually setting themselves up in her sights. They were stable platforms positioned to best obtain an effective shot. But, in so doing, they had lined themselves up in her field of fire, while her aerial antics rendered her too elusive for them. They took two more casualties before they realized they could not lock their homing missiles onto her but she was having no difficulty acquiring them in her sights. When they finally realized she was picking them off one by one, they turned tail and beat a hasty retreat. An angry Priss shot out the rest of the previously shattered, ragged windshield. She revved up the jets in her suit and exploded through the debris shooting back at the cockpit as she went. The chopper careened to the ground. I opened up a common channel. "Hey, Priss!" I said. "Calm down! They're gone. What do you want to do, shoot everything that moves whether or not it's a bad guy. You're not going to shoot me, too, are you?" "That stupid helicopter wouldn't do what I wanted it to do," Priss fumed. "It must have been your subtle touch on the controls," I quipped. Priss chose not to dignify my feeble attempt at humor with a response. Or, more likely, my sarcasm went over her head. Priss could not conceive that maybe it was not the chopper that was deficient but the operator. Sylia's voice broke in sharply. "Where's Nene?" "I'm trying to land this silly helicopter," Nene complained. We'd forgotten about the chopper we'd come in on. We homed in on Nene's signal and took off after her. As we approached, we saw the helicopter limping along unsteadily. "Nene! Don't try to bring it down," Sylia commanded. "Just get out the side." "I can't," Nene wailed. "The pilot and the copilot are still alive." "Wait for me then!" But it was too late. The unstable helicopter hit the ground and bounced back up erratically. Nene's initial attempts to steady the craft cause it to veer off at an even sharper angle. "Nene! Take it back up!" Sylia commanded urgently but without panic. "I can't!" Nene shrieked. The helicopter hit the ground and skipped a couple of times. The rotors screamed in anguish. The wheel struts collapsed and the bottom of the chopper scraped the ground with a screech of tearing metal. The rotors were still going. I could visualize the impending catastrophe. I tried to yell out to her to kill the engines, but I was too panicky to say anything coherent. Nene revved the engines and at the last possible moment, the helicopter lifted off. It was a miracle. I didn't know how Nene had done it. The rotors were almost perpendicular and had come within a couple of centimeters of colliding with the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was good I'd been too panic stricken to advise Nene. Had I been able to convey my intended instruction to cut the engines, the outcome would have been tragic. She could not possibly have stopped the rotors soon enough and they would have dug into the ground with catastrophic results. Nene's quick thinking and decisive good judgment had bought her a little more time. Sylia reached the helicopter. With skillful maneuvering, she latched onto the jagged edge of the gaping hole in the side. In a calm voice, she reported, "The instrument panel's destroyed. Nene's flying the chopper through the data link. Both pilot and copilot are unconscious. I'm looking up to give her another set of eyes through our video intercomm." Nene managed to right the helicopter. Yet, it seemed to be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire. She was now underneath heavy power cables. "Linna! Priss! Get into position to take out cables and/or towers should it prove necessary," Sylia commanded. I didn't like the looks of this. Damn Nene! She couldn't forget she was an AD Policewoman. She had to put her life at risk to save these two Genom goons who I'm sure would just as easily have carried out orders to kill us as they would to taxi us to Genom Tower. And now Sylia had joined Nene in what Priss had earlier referred to as a flying coffin. Sylia had nerves of steel. I get nervous just riding in a car Nene is driving. Imagine Nene controlling a helicopter indirectly through a datalink, her only view of the surroundings coming from images on the small monitors inside her helmet--horrifying! I guess Nene was brave. She'd have to be to resist bailing out. She was far from calm, however. I had to turn down the volume on my headset, she was wailing so loudly--kind of like a mix between a banshee and a stuck pig. Sylia, in contrast, was ice cold. She anticipated every obstacle well in advance. When the skittish Nene overcompensated in carrying out Sylia's instructions, she still had enough time to correct the wildly veering craft. Had Nene been able to hold the chopper steady, she could easily have navigated it through to an open area. But, being trapped under the power cables, she was so preoccupied with dodging the towers she was unable to plan enough ahead to chart a course to safety even with Sylia's help. Sylia was trying to get Nene to fly perpendicular to the orientation of the power lines. But Nene was so erratic in dodging the towers, all her emphasis was on maintaining her low altitude. On the monitor in my helmet, I could see the same visuals Sylia was patching through to Nene. They made me dizzy. "Take it ten degrees to the right," Sylia directed. Nene banked hard right and screamed. The helicopter soared dangerously close to the power lines. "Ease it down," Sylia said, sounding unconcerned. She sounded like she was telling Nene how to set out lawn chairs. "I'm trying. I'm trying," Nene whimpered miserably, almost driving the nose into the ground. Nene pulled up again and the chopper rose and swung around on its axis. She narrowly missed another tower. The helicopter made another wild swing around its axis. Just when it looked like the situation was hopeless, Nene's famous luck finally came through for her. All the aerial bouncing around had finally cleared the chopper from the cables. Nene almost blew it, but Sylia was not about to miss this fortuitous opportunity. With a tone of voice that was both soft and dominating, Sylia ensnared Nene's will and prevented her from blundering back into the area under the cables. Following Sylia's instructions, Nene took the helicopter well away from the power lines and brought the wheel-less aircraft crashing down on the ground. The helicopter's hull crumbled. Nene killed the engines before it could take off again. Sylia and Nene emerged, each carrying a limp body. "Get back" Sylia shouted as Priss and I moved up to help. "It's going to blow!" No sooner had she said that than the crippled carcass exploded. Nene and Sylia were both caught in the blast and hurled forward. The turbulence subsided, and Sylia and Nene descended. Priss and I rushed up. Sylia was saying something on the external comm channel. Nene was making the pilot and the copilot comfortable. They did not seem to be conscious, but there were signs of life. I went over to her. "Good job, Nene! Are you okay?" Nene turned around. She raised the visor on her helmet and took a deep breath. Her face was chalky white. Tear stains smeared the dust and grime on her cheeks. But she smiled. "I can't wait for my next flight lesson," was her feeble attempt at reassuring humor. "I think I have to work on my parking." Priss yelled something. Nene snapped her visor down, revved her thrusters, and brought her weapons to the ready position. "It's all right," Sylia said emotionlessly. "They're friendly." I'd deactivated my scanners so I hadn't spotted the approaching gunships. Nene descended, but Priss stayed airborne, suspiciously on the alert for signs of trouble. I flew up to where Priss hovered. Well before the gunships reached us, four scantily clad women wearing leotards and jetpacks launched themselves from one of the choppers and headed our way. "Boomers!" Priss spat out contemptuously. "I know what you mean," I shot back. "They have no right to be so good looking. Let's kill them!" There was a bitter edge to my frivolous quip. Irene had been killed by C-Series boomers just like the models now approaching. "We're going to meet our prospective client," Sylia chastised. "Let's be serious." Two of the boomers went to tend to the pilots. "Gently!" Nene snapped, pushing one of the boomers aside and picking up the co-pilot herself. The boomer Nene had pushed made a move to retaliate but desisted at a sharp command from a comrade who appeared to be the leader. Priss, spoiling for a fight, had immediately gone to Nene's side and appeared disappointed when her potential opponent withdrew. After a brief consultation with the boomers, Sylia directed us to enter the lead helicopter. Nene was already inside, having followed the boomer carrying the pilot. "Not me!" Priss exclaimed. "You want to give these goons another shot at us?" "Genom was the target, not us," Priss replied. "We just happened to be in the wrong place and got caught in the crossfire. Genom has agreed to allow Nene to jack into the helicopter's control systems to give us an additional measure of security." Priss grunted derisively. She shot toward the lead helicopter, forcing the boomer Nene had antagonized to move aside quickly. Apparently, Sylia said something to Priss on a closed channel because Priss responded angrily on the open channel. "It was in the way! I was just following your orders to get in the helicopter. You didn't expect me to go around it did you?" Fortunately, the boomers were more disciplined than Priss and refused to take the bait. In the helicopter, we sat in oppressive silence. We were all aware of Priss's anger bubbling just below the surface, and none of us, including Sylia, wanted to say anything that would set her off. Out of Balance--Chapter 7 MegaTokyo 2035--The Knight Sabers' Story We breathed a collective sigh of relief when we finally disembarked from the gunship after touching down on a Genom Tower helo pad. We were whisked off to the top of the tower where we entered a huge room. My jaw dropped in astonishment. Walking towards us was the man whose picture graced the pages of newspapers several times each week--Quincy. Without preamble, Quincy said, "I've deposited five million yen in your account." "We have not yet accepted the assignment," Sylia said with a tone of formal deference. Like Quincy, though, she also dispensed with the formalities. "You foiled a raid against our headquarters for which we had been unprepared. You were on the scene to do so because you were en route to this meeting which I had requested. The money is yours--you are entitled to it. You saved us at least that much in avoided structural damage. More importantly, our image is intact. We are in your debt." "Image? Shit!" Priss exclaimed. Sylia moved to restrain Priss, but Quincy said, "Let her speak." He turned to Priss. "We have rebuilt this city, this country, this world. We are at the forefront of space exploration. Genom leads the industry in meteor and planet terraforming. The word ‘Genom' is synonymous with human progress." "More like boomer progress!" "Boomers are useful tools, a means to an end--nothing more." "They are a threat to mankind. They are our enemies. You who make them are our enemy." "I have no enemies, only adversaries--people and organizations with competing objectives. We have had differing goals in the past which drove us into conflict. However, we also have had coinciding objectives. I have the video of when you fought Largo on this tower. Impressive. I would rather have you as an ally than as an opponent." "We, too, seek to avoid needless conflict," Sylia interjected. "We talked earlier," Quincy said. "You still seem unconvinced we have areas of mutual interest where we can work together--areas, I might add, where you can profit considerably from our cooperation." "Profit is not our primary motive." "Perhaps, I need to be more blunt," Quincy said. "Genom is vulnerable. Our competitors are moving against us. As you have just seen, the competition is not limited to the market. The attack you just thwarted was intended to be a quick strike raid against this headquarters. Whereas its secondary objective was to inflict financially burdensome damage on us, its primary intent was to demonstrate our weakness. Our competitors are no longer in awe of us. "We were not prepared for such a raid. It would have caught us with our guard down and succeeded in every respect. However, thanks to your fortuitous intervention, it now appears we had anticipated the attack and successfully defended ourselves. "You may not like us, but the alternatives are worse. Would you want to see this country ravaged by the collateral damage resulting from a war between monolithic corporations?" "Could we not better preserve the peace by remaining neutral?" Sylia countered. "As much as you detest working for me, Genom is even more averse to having you work for us. We could hire mercenaries. There are many armies who would work for us in exchange for us supplying them with state of the art weapon systems. However, war is bad for business." "Only when you're caught in the middle," Priss interrupted. "You usually do not hesitate to profit from the misery of others." Quincy pretended not to hear Priss. "Any mercenary force would escalate the conflict. In contrast, an affiliation with our former adversaries, the Knight Sabers, would send a strong signal that things had stabilized. This would discourage hostile moves against us and reduce the potential for violence. The fact that we are prepared to take extreme measures by hiring you demonstrates how much we value peace." "Or how desperate you have become," Sylia interjected. Quincy's voice turned cold. "I have not concealed Genom's weakness. Trust me, though. Genom shall survive and shall retain its ascendancy in the market. The issue before you is this. Do we come out on top the easy way or the hard way? How much blood are you willing to see shed before Genom achieves its inevitable success?" "We accept," Sylia said abruptly. "I expect full access to your databases." "Done!" Quincy said without hesitation. He probably knew Nene could hack into it anyway. "There shall be no Genom press releases concerning our affiliation," Sylia stated emphatically. "If media representatives ask specific questions, Genom will decline comment. The Knight Sabers, as is our policy as a shadow organization, will provide no information to the media or any other organization or individual concerning our arrangements." "Agreed." "We will conduct an immediate threat assessment against Genom and then advise a counter strategy. We will not need the helicopter to take us back," Sylia said to indicate the meeting had concluded. "And the money?" "I leave that to your discretion. If we provide some value, transfer the amount you deem appropriate. There must be some trust, ne?" Back at the Silky Doll, after we'd taken off our hardsuits, Priss unleashed her suppressed anger. "How could you?" she raged. "Quincy was right," Sylia said calmly. "This is the best way to preserve peace and prevent bloodshed of innocent bystanders. Additionally, the information we acquire during our association will be invaluable with respect to future endeavors." "Peace? Who wants peace? I want to see Genom destroyed. You should, too. Genom killed your father!" "This is not about you and me, Priss. This is about MegaTokyo and Japan. It's about humankind. We have duties and responsibilities." "But where are your feelings, Sylia? Where are your feelings? You can't do this. I can't go along with you on this!" "We need you, Priss!" Nene exclaimed. "When you move against Genom, I'll be there!" Priss said and, without saying goodbye, walked out the door. "Sylia, do something!" Nene wailed, and I echoed her sentiment trying unsuccessfully to keep the panic out of my voice. "I have faith in Priss. She'll be there when we need her," Sylia said. "Maybe we should rethink this assignment," I said. "To me, Priss is more important than some job." "You know I can't allow Priss to have de facto veto power," Sylia responded. "But it's not just that. We have an unprecedented opportunity to influence the future of the entire world." I was unconvinced but didn't say anything. Nene couldn't say anything. She was crying openly. Priss would always give Nene a hard time but Priss was also the one who always kept an eye on Nene in combat and kept her out of harms way. Nene's flaky but she's not stupid. She knew Priss who was incapable of expressing affection cared deeply for her and the feeling was mutual. I knew there was no arguing with Sylia. People called Priss stubborn because she was loud and forceful. No one ever called Sylia stubborn because she was always refined and elegant. However, Sylia could be just as intransigent as Priss. The word people usually used to describe Sylia was resolute. But the quality they were describing did not differ very much from Priss's stubbornness. We sat around despondent and unspeaking. Finally, Nene mumbled something to the effect that she wanted the Genom assignment over as fast as possible and that she might as well start her data search. Sylia gave no sign she was relieved but she stood up just a little more quickly than she usually did and preceded Nene into the computer room. Left to my own devices, I figured I'd head home. Nene and Sylia certainly didn't need my help when it came to information technology. ____________________________________________ END OF PART I PART II WILL BE POSTED IN ABOUT A WEEK Mata ato de, Phil Yff