(NOTE: These credits should be scrolled through slowly while Journey's 
"Be Good To Yourself" is played very loud in the background.  --G.)

		      Eyrie Productions, Uninc.
		    and British-AnimeTech, Limited
			       present
		  A Benjamin D. Hutchins Production
			   A MegaZone Film
		  Executive Producer: Rob Mandeville
				   
			      CROSSROADS
		  Undocumented Features Volume Four
				   
			       THE CAST
		       (In order of appearance)

Gryphon..........................................Benjamin D. Hutchins
Punk No. 1.....................................................Johnny
Punk No. 2......................................................Tommy
Kei.....................................................Kei J. Morgan
Yuri.....................................................Yuri Daniels
Zoner..........................Brian ("That's not my name!") Bikowicz
Meph................................................................?
ReRob (Penna)..........................................Rob Mandeville
Deedlit (Istara)............................Deedlit Satori Mandeville
Kevin (Tanderah)..........................................Kevin Tefft
Cheryl.Z (Fachan).....................................Cheryl Zukowsky
Largo..GENOM Corporation Type 481-A-S Hyper-Buma J-2073-D-2670-S-1871
Eve Tokimatsuri..............................Enhanced Video Emulation
Vision........Virtual Interface System with Integrated Organizational 
              Networking
Wolfgang....................Baron Lord Wolfgang Amadeus Fahrvergnugen
Sparks...............................................TCH2 Karen Davis
Cmdr. Saavik...................................................Saavik
Max.................................................Maximilian Hunter
Vanessa.................................................Vanessa Leeds
Buma No. 1.....................GENOM Corporation Type 60-A Buma F-242
Not Gryphon.............GENOM Corporation Type 33/S Replicant GRP-HN1
Jamie....................................................Jaime Finney
Asrial..................Her Imperial Majesty Asrial, Queen of Salusia
Hagbard................................................Hagbard Celine
George....................................................George Dorn
Chief O'Brien.....................................CPO Melissa O'Brien
Dr. Selar.......................................................Selar
Reality...............................................Vaughn C. Gross
Zoner2.........................Brian ("That's not my name!") Bikowicz
Gryphon2.........................................Benjamin D. Hutchins
ReRob2.................................................Rob Mandeville
Vaughn................................................Vaughn C. Gross
Sherlock Holmes...........................................Edison Bell
q...........................................................John Todd
Q......................................................John De Lancie
Iczer-1................................GENOM Corporation I.C.Z.E.R.-1
Deunan...................................................Deunan Knute
Briareos.......................................Briareos Hecatonchires
Haywire..................................................Mark Luchini
Perry.................................................Perry Aldzinjal
Gordo..............................................G'rdna' Ripperfang
Tricia............................................Patricia M. Currier
Pilot Officer McMurphy...................................Sal McMurphy
Pilot Officer Coltrane...................................Jon Coltrane
Kwei-Chang Caine........GENOM Corporation Type Bu-55c Buma 1138-04462
Decker-2..................GENOM Corporation Type 33/S Replicant DKR-2
P2B(fnord)H-272......GENOM Corporation Type 60-B Buma P2B(fnord)H-272
Iczer-2................................GENOM Corporation I.C.Z.E.R.-2

The original text of this document was written in the Software
Publishing Company's Professional Write Plus under Microsoft Windows
3.1, on an IMH Associates Colossus 25 macrotower computer.  Original
draft outputs came from a Hewlett Packard DeskJet PLUS printer.  This
document was constructed at Eyrie Productions, Uninc., in its Morgan
401, 14 Dover St. #2B, and 105 Morgan Lane offices, from April 1992 to
February 1993.  The authors wish to thank all their friends who
contributed to the editing, proofreading, error-checking and general
kibbitzing of this work, as well as those who helped them out through
the difficult times that seem to have made some of you think they had
split up.  Thanks also to all the performers who have inspired and
aided the authors with their work and their lives, especially Def
Leppard, for showing us that even the best have to fight their way
through adversity.  Thanks as well to all those people whose creations
we have used in this story.  The odds that we'll meet many of you are
slim, but we thank you from the bottom of our hearts anyway.  They
include, but are not limited to: Haruka Takachiho, Katsuhiro Otomo,
Kenichi Sonoda, Masamune Shirow, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Joseph H.
Martin, Jr., Ben Dunn, Robert Anton Wilson, Robert Shea, and Gene
Roddenberry.

And finally, special thanks to all of you, for your patience and
dedication to the characters we so love.  This one's for you, and, of
course, for Kei and Yuri.

Benjamin D. Hutchins
105 Morgan Lane
Millinocket, ME  04462
(207)723-6650

MegaZone
18 Hampden St. #3
Worcester, MA  01609
(508)831-7437

Rob Mandeville
Student Box #2906
100 Institute Road
Worcester, MA  01609
(508)791-5408

-------------------------------------------------------------------ONE

"The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one
person."
				-- Vii Putnam

		     20 JUNE 2388 VESPER, MUSASHI

	The airspace over the planet Musashi was not terribly busy;
there was nothing anybody wanted there, except for the various nasty
chemicals that were mined from its wastelands. It had once been a nice
planet, but a war and a hundred years of apathy had just about seen to
that.
	Today, however, the planet was to see a visitor.  With a blaze
of light, a small spacecraft emerged from superluminal drive some ten
AUs from the planet, coasting into the system at .7 C.  It was
constructed in the shape of an aerodyne, perhaps a fightercraft of
centuries past; on its back were huge, powerful thrusters which now
belched blue fire.  At its controls was a man wearing a suit of CVR-3
armor, bearing ship insignia not seen for over a century.  The
spacecraft itself bore odd symbols; a century-outdated WWWA logo on
one tailfin, for example, an almost-forgotten Wedge Defense Force
symbol under its cockpit canopy, the legend VVF-261-1, and the same
ship signs.
	It was, in fact, a VF-1FS Hyper Valkyrie.  The pilot of the
craft established contact with planetside authorities and made
planetfall with no difficulty.  After a bit of time clearing customs
and seeing to the maintenance and servicing of his vehicle, he
departed the spaceport at which he had arrived.
	The visitor was short, heavy-set, and as he left the spaceport
was dressed in baggy black fatigues, a well-worn grey Safematic cap,
and a thin black leather tie.  The only things remotely fancy about
his attire were his shoes, black and white British Knights, and his
brown leather trench coat, which a military historian would have
recognized as the standard officer's issue of the old Wedge Defense
Force, with the Wedge Defense Force, Eight-Ball Squadron, and WWWA
patches and the airbrushed painting of a pretty silver-haired woman on
the back.  The only adornments he wore were a wristwatch and a small,
triangular purple earring in his left earlobe.  Fingerless black
leather gloves covered his hands.  The grips of a pair of Japanese
swords protruded above his right shoulder.
	He knew where he was; he was in the city of Vesper, on the
planet Musashi, coreward of Terra in the United Federation of Planets.
A free city-state on the face of a planet state; almost unheard of in
Federation-level politics and government.  An oddity on an odd planet.
Musashi was mostly uninhabitable--reterraforming after the civil war
had ceased, the budget gone, after only eight percent of the surface
was changed.  Vesper was one of the planet's two cities; the other,
Zepan, laid claim to that eight percent, as well as all the rest of
Musashi's soil except what was under Vesper's dome.  That was just
fine with the Vesperites, as most of that soil was carcinogenic ash.
	It always rained in Vesper, thanks to the ancient and
obsolescent climate control dome over the city; condensation formed on
it from the heavy industry and thick population present there, then
fell back to the streets, washing them with caustic chemicals and the
occasional bit of water.  The stranger knew that; that was why his
clothing was coated with chem-repellent polymers.  It didn't feel any
different, but it shed water and the like better than a heavy wax job
on hand-rubbed lacquer.
	He knew where he was; he'd been here before.  He turned left
out of the alley, moving quickly and deliberately toward the personal
transportation dealership at the end of the street.  It was always
dark in Vesper as well as rainy; the dome had long ago darkened
permanently, a sad side effect of the beating of the merciless sun
upon the city.  The old plastics in the dome decayed slightly, the
polarization slipped, and poonk! no more light.  It was gradual; at
first the dome always rendered the intolerable and dangerous radiation
a pleasant, sunny day.  Then the polarization began to slip and the
sky dimmed; eventually it was pitch black. Without the sunlight,
artificial heating was brought in; that, the population explosion, and
the lack of sunlight and heat caused the water index to topple,
causing the perpetual rain.
	On an alley wall was a poster for a gig coming up.  The band
was Basic Nastiness.  The concert was called, strangely enough,
"Roadtrip to Jersey (Don't Nobody Tell Tim)".  The stranger recognized
the sign, and might have even chuckled at a different place and time.
But not here, not now.
	A pair of punks took this lapse in the stranger's stride for
their own advantage, and stepped out of the alley in front of him.
They wore rags and the mark of serious substance abuse; their skin was
pale, blotchy, and discolored from near-constant exposure to the toxic
rain.  Both wore sunglasses.
	"Nice jacket, man, " one of them said.  The stranger noted the
slightly unbalanced cant to his bearing, marked him as desperate, and
continued on, not saying a word.
	The punks fell into step beside him.  "Don't you think that's
a nice jacket, Tommy?" the punk said.
	"Yeah," Tommy agreed.  "Yeah, Johnny, that's a nice jacket."
	"A real nice jacket.  I think that jacket could keep me dry
for a long time, don't you think so, Tommy?"
	"Yeah.  Yeah, Johnny, I think so.  Can I have his hat?"
	"Yeah, sure, Tommy, you can have his hat.  C'mon, pop, give
'em up."
	The stranger didn't even look at him; he just kept walking.
	"I said, `give 'em up'!" the punk hollered.
	The stranger ignored him in much the same way that a helpless
victim does not.  [Apologies to Douglas Adams.]
	The punk pulled a large knife from one of his boots. "One last
warning," he cautioned.
	The stranger didn't look at him.  Instead, he took his
black-gloved left hand out of his pocket, snapped out his left arm
faster than Johnny's eye could follow, grabbed the knife hand in his
own, and applied his open right palm to Johnny's chest.  Johnny
slammed back against the building, but managed to keep a grip on his
knife.  He held that same knife out, brandishing it, shouting in a
high-pitched voice, "Don't make me cut you, man!"
	The stranger smiled.  Johnny lunged.  The stranger ducked
aside, his left hand plunging into his coat; there was a flash of
metal.  Johnny was slammed back against the wall by the stranger's
left fist; his knife clattered to the sidewalk.  The stranger pulled
his tanto smoothly out of Johnny's sternum and, wiping it, calmly put
it away.  Tommy ran away, in front of a car, and was hit quite hard as
his partner sagged limply to the ground.
	"It's a coat, not a jacket, you cretin," the stranger told
Johnny's corpse, and kept walking unconcernedly as he replaced the
sword.  After all, the pedestrian getting hit had nothing to do with
him, did it?
	Two blocks down, the stranger noticed a dataterm bearing the
legend VESPER TODAY (some enterprising youth with a laser etcher had
added "Tomorrow the Galaxy" underneath).  He smiled, a small, private
smile, and paused, feeding it a credit chit and tapping in a code.  He
waited; it was an old dataterm model, and slow.  Presently, it spat
several small, waxy pieces of fiberplast into a small receptacle; he
picked them up, put them into his pocket, retrieved his credit chit
and continued on his way.
	When he arrived at the transdealer, a salesman immediately
started showing him the latest in electric scoots, minicars, etc.  The
stranger wanted none of that.  In a quiet but firm voice he indicated
the ExoSalusia Industries J-9300-T Tornado gravbike standing in the
special section. The salesman expounded for nearly ten minutes on the
difficulty of obtaining the proper paperwork for the ownership and use
of such a vehicle--which the stranger promptly produced, along with a
registered credit chit locked in for precisely the correct amount of
money.
	"Wait," said the salesman as the stranger threw a leg over the
gravbike and inserted his newly-purchased key.  "You need a helmet."
	The stranger took off his hat and folded it over onto the
brim, forming a small wad of fabric which he slipped into the map
pocket of his jacket.
	"How silly of me," he said calmly.  He proceeded to buy the
toughest available one, with the optional armor plating, comm gear,
and HUD.
	That taken care of, he engaged the anti-rain field and waited
for the salesman to get the door open, then kicked in the maneuvering
thrusters and made his way onto the street. 	The salesman stood in
wonderment, and then went to the desk and announced his retirement.
He had just sold a 2-millon-credit ExoSal gravbike that was on order,
then cancelled, and a half year old; it was expected that the overhead
of that one vehicle would drive them out of business.
	And then, like some sort of guardian angel, a man named
Benjamin D. Hutchins had come and bought it.
	Hutchins melded with the flow of traffic easily, rather more
easily than normal considering how many people got the hell out of the
way when they saw someone riding an ExoSal J-9300-T.  He made his way
through traffic as though he knew the city well, which, of course, he
did; traffic thinned out considerably as he neared the exolock.
	Here his tough leather coat, gloves, helmet and fatigue pants
would come in handy; the outside world from Vesper was a sun-baked
desert.  Riding a gravbike would involve a great deal of dust and
heat; fortunately, his clothing was also modified for automatic
climate control.  Hutchins slammed the gravbike's main thrusters
online as he entered the exitube; the fusion plant responded with a
snarl of pure power, and the thruster throats belched blue radiance in
a trail two feet long.  His helmet automatically compensated to keep
him from being blinded by the raw, unfiltered sunlight that blasted
across him as he exited the black dome over Vesper.  Of course, the
tunnel leading out was gradated to make the transition less noticeable
and more bearable, but at the speed he had the Tornado going at, it
was like a high-speed film dissolve.  Within moments he was howling
across the desert of Musashi.
	Within an hour, his target was in sight; a smallish starship,
like a great, graceful, but brawny-looking starfighter with wide wings
and big drive thrusters.  Its wings were turned up for landing
position, the ramp was up, and the cockpit lights were out.  The
vessel was called Lovely Angel, and was thermocoated in a brilliant
scarlet.  It was a vessel he was quite familiar with.
	It had automatic defenses; or, the crew, for all he knew,
might be home and on alert.  So much the better. Snapping off the
foreign-matter shield to free up more power for the thrusters, he
raised the fine control to full and dropped the autobalance to almost
completely off.  At this setting he was controlling the bike fully on
his own, flying it by the seat of his pants as it were.
	As he had hoped, various weapon turrets on the Lovely Angel
swung to face him as he approached.  Warnings rang in his headset, but
he didn't know if they were from live individuals or recordings.
After the final warning, the laser turrets opened up.

	    <<< Journey: Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) >>>

	A deadly pattern of fire streaked from the various turrets,
turning the entire portside fire arc of Lovely Angel into a killzone.
Hutchins rode his J-9300 through the inferno of blazing neon blue
death with the practiced ease of a professional and the raw,
to-the-edge skill of a man who is desperately enjoying what he's
doing.  Lovely Angel opened up with her short-range missile launchers;
Hutchins weaved, ducked, and dodged madly, even evading the
heat-seeking missiles that homed on his thruster exhaust.
	He was doing almost 370 kph when he suddenly slammed the
braking thruster full-on; by now he was inside the starship's arcs of
fire.  He came to a thundering stop next to the main engine reactor,
then slapped his palm against the hull as if he were laying an
anti-matter limpet mine.  Then he gunned the fusion plant and threw
the thrusters back into full power, streaking away from Lovely Angel
and evading with all his radar-aided might.
	Again the airspace became a deathzone; this time much further
from the ship, since the systems were now quite aware of his presence
and the time for range warnings was long past.  The pattern of laser
fire and missile salvos led Hutchins to believe that someone he was
quite familiar with was running the guns manually anyway.
	A heat-seeking SRM slammed into the sand less than four feet
from the gravbike; the pulse created by its electroplast warhead
disrupted the gravfield for a split-second.  Many a novice and even
experienced gravbiker has died due to such disruptions, augered in
400-plus-kph bikes with a sudden lack of gravitic suspension.  The
grav on one side drops, the bike rolls, and you're a smear on the
ground.
	Hutchins leaned hard the other way, finding the center and
shifting it under the right side's still-operative gravfield; moments
later the left side came back online, the generators recalibrated by
the autocomp.  He reached into his jacket and hit the button that
would've detonated the mine.
	The fire from Lovely Angel ceased.
	Had the mine really been there, the explosion resulting from
his releasing the magbottle around the anti-matter slug that made up
its core would've blown the entire engine compartment off of Lovely
Angel.  The explosion resulting from that would've vaporized the rest
of the ship and turned the surrounding fifty to a hundred meters
radius into fused glass.
	Hutchins slung the bike to a stop, half-facing the starship,
stopped, put down a leg, and tabbed the comm unit in his helmet.
	"Bang, Kei," he said quietly.  "You're dead."
	"Hutchins, you jerk," a female voice replied, "get your ass in
here!  What in hell are you doing on this dustball anyway?"
	He grinned and drove the bike back to the Lovely Angel.

-------------------------------------------------------------------TWO

	"Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and the diversity
and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us nearer
together."
			--Frankenstein

	Benjamin D. Hutchins wasn't the sort of man Kei usually went
for; too short, too heavyset, and altogether too quiet. Kei was a loud
person, and she liked loud people.  Short, silent Hutchins seemed
appropriate for Yuri, perhaps, but no; as Hutchins once said, "There
are things known and there are things unknown, and somewhere in the
middle are me and Kei."
	Kei put it more succinctly with: "Guess I'm funny that way."
	But that was a long time ago.
	Not that it mattered; they were still the same relative ages.
Such were the benefits of the Omega-2 retrovirus. Damned expensive, in
ways beyond monetary--but handy.
	Hutchins parked his Tornado at the bottom of the ramp and
walked to the top; it was at that point that he stopped and came
rigidly to attention.
	From somewhere else in the ship came his hosts, the crew of
Lovely Angel; the WWWA esper team known far and wide as the Dirty
Pair.
	Ben gave the standard Wedge Defense Force salute and said
stiffly, "Permission to come aboard, ma'am?"
	"I wouldn't touch that line..." Yuri muttered.
	"Shut up, Yuri," Kei growled, elbowing her partner sharply in
the ribs.  "Granted," she replied.
	"It's good to see you again," said Hutchins, relaxing from his
military pose.  There was a hint of pain in his eyes and his voice,
and something else as well...
	"And you," Yuri replied.
	"It's been far too long," Kei added.  She too seemed haunted
by something.
	"Has it?  I lose track."  They started walking back, toward
the wardroom.  "You know, I could've thoroughly hosed you guys.
What's the matter, Kei?  Your aim really sucked."
	"You always did know how to compliment a girl."

	"What're you doing here?" Ben asked after they had settled
into the wardroom.  "I don't see any mass death, destruction, and
chaos around..."
	"We don't do that anymore," Yuri said quietly.  "Our last
fourteen missions have come off without a single hitch. We've almost
lost that horrid nickname."
	"No kidding?  People have stopped calling you the Lovely
Angels?"  He got a wardroom-sofa pillow in the face for that one.
	Just then, a huge mound of redblack fur sloped into the room,
fixed Hutchins with a mournful expression, and uttered a low meow.
	"Mughi!  Hey, chummer, what's happening?  Haven't seen you in
a while," Hutchins called, reaching out to scratch the huge, catlike
animal behind an ear.
	"He's missed you," Kei said.
	"He's not the only one," Yuri muttered.
	"Oh, shut up, Yuri!"  Kei turned to Ben.  "Are you planning on
staying?"
	"I don't really know at this point...right now, I could do
with a shower and some food, in that order."
	"You know where the shower is; welcome to it."

	After three months of hard starfaring to get here in the first
place and then a long, hard ride across the desert, the shower was the
most marvelous thing in the universe.  Ben was almost starting to feel
human again, although, by sheer point of fact, he wasn't; too much
metal, retroviral gene modification, and biometabolic augmentation in
him for that any more.  It didn't bother him; cyberpsychosis was not
something he was especially concerned with being a victim of. Hot
water raced across his skin as he worked at scrubbing out the last of
the Musashi dust.  He leaned back against the wall and let it hit him
full in the face, marveling at the way a simple thing like a shower
could make him happy.  He wasn't a hard man to please, really; he
liked simple things.  Simple food, simple showers...simple
relationships...
	He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut, spraying
water from his long hair across the cubicle.  That was a long time
ago, he said to himself, we're not gonna get into that again.
	The shower door opened.  He whirled, his wired reflexes
kicking to full levels, dropping to a combative semi-crouch, all by
reflex.
	With a smile, Kei stepped into the shower.  "Little jumpy,
aren't you?"
	"Kei--I--what are you doing here?"
	"Showering, you?"
	"Wh--"
	"I wanted to talk to you, privately; I figured this would be
just about the best place to do that."
	"Talk to me about what?"
	"You...me...us..."
	"Kei--"
	"Don't interrupt me.  I know what happened back then hurt you
a lot.  It hurt me too.  I still have scars from it, and I'm sure you
do too."  Kei paused for a moment, reflecting on their past.  "But
what we had was special... damn it, I don't want to just let it die!"
	"Kei...we haven't seen each other for a hundred years, except
to shoot at each other.  It's been dead.  For a century, dead."
 	"No.  It's been hibernating.  Waiting for the right moment."
She smiled.  "I kinda think that moment's here."
	"What do--"
	"If you didn't want this to happen, why did you come here in
the first place?"
	"I..."  He had no response for that one.
	"Well?"
	"I guess I did, subconsciously...I'm just...I dunno, afraid.
Afraid it might happen again, afraid it might be worse.  Damn it, Kei,
I loved you, and part of me still does. What you did to me almost
killed me, in more ways than one. I almost killed myself over it, but
I was stronger than that, even then."
	"I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't want to hurt you...I
thought you were the one responsible for it.  It wasn't until just a
couple of years ago that I knew you hadn't done anything.  Two years
I've had trouble sleeping at night because I've known we split for no
good reason."  She looked on the verge of tears.  "Two years of agony
knowing I hated you when I should've loved you all the more."
	"Look, try to understand my position here...I've been waiting
for you to come to a decision ever since you said you needed time.
But now...now that the time is here I'm scared of what might happen."
	"Whatever happens...just let it."

	An hour later, Ben was sitting on the corner of the bed in his
old cabin and Kei was crying on his shoulder.  Years of aggression and
bottled-up guilt, amplified by the odd depression one feels at certain
times in one's life, were rushing out of her, and the shoulder of
Ben's blue bathrobe was soaking through.  His arms were around her,
and he was stroking her back in a comforting manner.
	"You don't need to feel this way," Ben told her softly. "I
told you, I forgave you.  I always told you that, even when you were
trying to kill me."
	"And I don't understand why you should," Kei replied, her
voice muffled.  "I hated you, I wanted you dead...and you infuriated
me all the more by never hating me back."
	"I had some good friends," Ben said with a small grin.
"Listen," he went on, "I don't think dwelling on the past is a good
idea.  We've come full circle in this; I think we should just start
all over again.  Clean slate.  No strings. What do you say?"
	"Okay," Kei replied.  "Hi.  My name's Kei--"
	"That isn't quite what I meant," Gryphon said with a smile.
They drew one another into a tighter embrace.

		      <<<Pearl Jam: Even Flow>>>

	In the fore end of the ship, fiddling around with something or
other on the Angel's shipboard computer, Yuri heard an electronic lock
go PING! as it was engaged.  She smiled, and so did Mughi.

-----------------------------------------------------------------THREE

	"Shared joy is increased; shared pain is lessened."
				--Anonymous

	On a small planet several thousand light years from anywhere,
a man made a decision.  The communication had reached him a couple of
days before, and he had been soul-searching ever since.  Now was the
time, he decided; damn it, if he could go off and bravely face his
fears, admit his mistakes, and so on, then so could he.  Besides, he
couldn't let that bastard think he was better.  He got up from the
table, folded down the computer thereinstalled, and headed toward the
back of his house, pulling on the gloves of his flightsuit.
	He opened the door to the garage with a keypad and stepped
out, putting on his helmet.  Now was the time.  He kept repeating that
phrase in his head.  Now is the time, now is the time.  No turning
back.  No regrets.  He opened the door to his starcraft and settled
into the pilot's seat. Tapping control codes with practiced ease, he
rediscovered long-dormant routines still came easily and keyed the
door open.
	The strange starship rose on a cushion of air and blasted out,
reaching escape velocity posthaste and streaking into deep space.  It
appeared to have a pair of superluminal warp nacelles built into a
small living cabin, much like the executive transports the megacorps
used.  However, the nose section strongly resembled an old Terran
surface vehicle. The entire craft was a resplendent fire-red and
weapons ports could barely be seen.  On its side, in fading black
letters, could be seen the words:

	   WARPZONE W.D.F. WAYWARD SON COMMAND WWWA-101162

	The man laid in the coordinates for Musashi and kicked in the
superluminal drive.  Four days later he emerged from hyperspace near
Musashi.  He, like Ben, came in the most exciting way possible,
needing the adrenaline rush to stiffen his resolve and make it ever
harder for him to back down.  He established a geosynchronous orbit
and contacted the planetary officials for permission to land.  With
said permission, the starship did something most unusual.  The nose
section extended down and forward from the superluminal drive section
on twin arms.  A blue glow flared around the aft section of the nose,
and it streaked away from its moorings toward the atmosphere.
	It looked for all the world like an ancient Terran Dodge
Daytona.

		      <<< Riggs: Radar Rider >>>

	The man grounded the Daytona outside the Vesper dome and raced
out across the sand at its maximum speed.
	Lovely Angel's sensors picked up the incoming vehicle four
miles out and immediately tossed a picture of it onto a viewscreen.
Kei, Yuri, Mughi, and Ben were crammed into the cockpit watching, and
as the image of a fire-red Dodge Daytona streaking across the Musashi
ash filled the main screen, Ben leaped in the air and let out a
triumphant whoop. He felt better than he had in nearly a century--he
and the woman he loved were together again, and here came one of his
best friends out of hiding--life was sweet, life was goddamn sweet.
	Yuri felt as Kei had four days previously, as she contemplated
talking with Ben about what had transpired--full of annoyingly
fluttery insects who refused to keep still. Unlike Kei, she didn't
slam down over that feeling a lid of bravado and coat the whole thing
with a thick layer of tough; part of Ben and Kei's relationship was
melting through layers like that.  Yuri had no intentions of shooting
at this new arrival.
	(Although it bears pointing out that Kei had no intentions of
hitting Ben.)
	The Daytona landing craft thus roared unchallenged up to the
ramp of the larger starship and ground to a halt inches from one of
the landing gear.  The door opened and its pilot, resplendent in a
tasteful, if antiquarian, WDF Wayward Son flightsuit sporting
captain's bars, stepped out.  He pulled off his helmet and shook his
head; it had been a long flight. He then pulled off his gloves, threw
them into the helmet, and dropped both in the seat before closing the
door and marching up the ramp, his Nikes looking oddly out of place.
	He too gave a perfect WDF salute and inquired after permission
to board, which was promptly granted.  Then, with no preamble, no
small talk, and no awkwardness at all, MegaZone gathered up Yuri in
his arms (which was simple enough, as he topped her height by a foot,
probably doubled her weight, and was met with no resistance) and
carried her into the ship.
	Kei and Ben shared a small smile between them, and Kei reached
over to squeeze his hand; everything was all right again.  Or at
least, as all right as it could ever be.

------------------------------------------------------------------FOUR

	"Time and Life/Life and Time/Someday I'll get what's
mine/Through the persistence of Time"
				-- Anthrax

	"Penna, twenty minutes."
	"Cool.  Got a minute?"
	"Sure.  What?"
	"Could you buff me?"
	"Sure.  But you explain it to Tanderah."
	"No prob.  I can handle Pretty Boy, even while I'm being
buffed." As if to prove his point, Penna touched his right shoulder,
which fell off.  He caught the now-inert slab of metal and tossed it
to Meph, who grabbed a big can of Brasso and started away.  Penna used
his remaining hand to stripe some red on his cheek, ran the Fender
Bender Bass/Rhythm through a tune cycle, put on his "Spud Wrench"
T-shirt, grab his arm back from Meph, and hit backstage.

	Tuning up (manually) was Istara, a pair of cat-like ears
poking out of her ballcap.  Tanderah was there, with no need to tune
up his electronic 'boards.  Fachan, all five foot of her, had no
instruments backstage.  Mt. Percussion, which dwarfed her just for
effect, was already set up on the Dry Park soundstage.
	"All set?" asked Istara.
	"Let's do it."
	And, just to piss the management off, the four hit the stage
ten minutes early.
	As if that was going to be any help.  They were going to start
the show one hundred years, to the second, of the fall of the Wayward
Son.  The band, Basic Nastiness, had considered calling it the
"Wayward Son Century Benefit Concert", but that was too normal.  To
fit with the source of the band's name, they decided to name the gig
"Roadtrip to Jersey (Don't Nobody Tell Tim)".  Which, of course,
pissed off the crowd, since nobody had any clue what the hell it
meant.  That was okay.  Anyone who really mattered tonight knew.  And
were probably laughing their asses off.
	A few people saw the band take the stage, though the lights
were off.

	Here's a quick description of the venue.  Dry Park is the
closest thing to a hang-out there is in Vesper.  Keeping the assorted
shit off of the residents is a pneumatically-supported Servodome.
Lighting simulated sunlight, and there was real green grass there.
And it was damned expensive to get into.  Especially tonight.
	Above the stage, suspended by a sky-hook, was a huge digital
clock.  It counted the hours, minutes, and seconds until the century
of the crash, taken from Touchdown.  It read six seconds.
	Five.
	Four.
	Three.
	...
	...

	Simultaneously, lights hit the stage, and four voices braided
perfectly:

	Carry on my wayward son
	There'll be peace when you are done
	Lay your weary head to rest
	Don't'cha cry no more

	It was not too far a stretch, if any at all, to assume that no
native had heard that song.  It all began to make sense, in a twisted
sort of manner.  And some people, among the mass of mundanes, would
gain some form of clue over the next three hours as to what the
Wayward Son stood for.  The rest would just party on.
	That was okay.  The concert wasn't for those mundanes. Each
band member knew, closely and intimately (depending on one's sense of
the term "intimately", of course), every single person they were
trying to reach.  The fact that these thousands showed up for the gig
really didn't bother them a bit.

------------------------------------------------------------------FIVE

	"But Time is on our side/and Time is the essence"
			-- Def Leppard, "Overture"

	One band, over three hours.  No solos, no long speeches, just
song after song punctuated by pre-recorded sound bites which, though
nobody knew the sources, sounded cool at the time.  Basic Nastiness
knew how to put on a gig.
	The accepted thing to do at this point was to pretend to leave
the stage, then come back to do an encore.  Instead, Penna stepped up
to the front mic.  Unnecessary; he was linked to a headset mic and had
been trading vocal responsibilities with Istara.  But stand-up mics
did have a certain effect.
	"Everybody here have a good time tonight?"  The response was a
roaring crowd, a massive affirmative.
	"Great, then you can go home now.  No no, just kidding.
Seriously, we do have some heavy territory to cover before this
evening's over.  First off, I would like to thank Mr. Fnord, whoever
he may be, for fronting the cost for this entire concert.
	"Second, the box office counted eighty-two thousand, three
hundred and seventy-five tickets sold: this gig went one hundred
percent capacity.  That means we raised about one point six million
Solaris tonight.  And, thanks to Mr. Fnord, that's all free to fund
the Musashi Terraforming project. Remember, you can make a difference.
You already have.  Give yourselves a big hand.
	"But most importantly, this is a time for good-byes, hellos,
and shattered illusions.  First, the goodbye is to all of you,
unfortunately.  Barring the incredibly unforeseen, this is going to be
the last time you ever see Basic Nastiness.  We're going off-world,
and probably won't return in your lifetimes.  It's been a fincredible
decade: I don't even think our forefathers got as much of a reception
as we had.
	"Why we're leaving brings us into the shattered illusions.  Of
course, you know us by our stage names.  But we've been around for a
long time under different names, possibly more famous than our current
ones."  He made a gesture off-stage.
	There was a rumble, deeper and lower than anything Mt.
Percussion could pound out.  Upon a pillar of flame, a craft rose from
a pit behind the stage.  A really ugly ship, uglier than it was even
designed, slowly leapt over the stage backing, and landed straddling
the percussion unit.
	Penna turned back to the mic.  "My friends, I give you the
Rick Allen and her crew.  I would like to introduce you to --" he
gestured to Fachan, Tanderah, Istara, and himself in turn--"Cheryl.Z,
Ktefft, Deedlit, and ReRob."
	The fog lifted from the heads of some of the mundanes. Most,
of course, thought that they had just seen TMOA gimmicks, and blew it
off.  Some, remembering the stories they learned in school, recognized
the names and the stories, and saw how these pretenders could pass for
the four, but the big fact remained--they're dead!  Other than that,
several dozen media personnel were pressing for bandwidth on the
cellulars.
	"Which brings us, at last, to the hellos.  The real reason for
this gig was to attract the attention of a few special people.  We
know that some people survived the Wayward Son.  We're hoping that
some of those survivors are here, in person or by video.  Guys, we've
got a message for you.
	"Largo and GENOM, of course, are still in business.  We can't
let the galaxy go on with this menace still at large. For the past
century, we have, because there was simply nothing we could do about
it.  Now there is.
	"With the assistance of the Government of Vesper, we have
created the warbird Phoenix.  It is fully staffed, and capable of the
job at hand, but we still need you at the senior positions.
	"If you were on the Wayward Son, you can find a way to get
here and you will find a way to reach us.  But, time is short, as
Largo will be informed of this gathering quite soon by his own
intelligence forces."
	ReRob was more correct than he assumed.  Largo's "intelligence
forces" at the moment consisted of a vidscreen cable-linked to Network
23, which was showing this live and direct from the Edison Carter
Show.  This was all Largo needed to see now; he'd acquire the tape
from the net later on.  He decided, instead, to invoke his remote
control unit.  He grabbed Jacq Sandia, the functionary du jour, and
launched him at the screen.  He then made a mental note to himself not
to do that too often, as this represented a waste of good vidscreens.
	ReRob had taken a breath to continue, but he was cut off..
	"Hang on a second," a voice cried from offstage.  ReRob
whirled, his eyes widening.  It couldn't be--
	Gryphon came out from the wings, wearing what the few Card No.
1 fans in the audience recognized as his old stage clothes; black
fatigue pants, bright red Converse All-Stars, a dark flannel shirt, a
grey hat with the logo "INTEL INSIDE" on the front, and a long grey
duster.  His hair was tied back in a long ponytail, and his smile was
just about touching the triangular purple earring he wore in his left
earlobe.
	Behind him came Kei, in a similar shirt and a pair of tattered
jeans; Zoner, in his uniform; and Yuri, in a denim skirt, leather
jacket with about a thousand zippers and the like, and low black
boots.
	"Hold it right there, pal," ReRob said, holding up his metal
hand.  "I've seen this kind of thing before.  If you're really
Gryphon, then where are we going?"
	Gryphon looked puzzled for a second; then his smile widened,
he seized another upright mike, and shouted, "Planet 10!" with a fist
raised defiantly in the air.
	"When will we get there?" ReRob continued, his voice becoming
less skeptical and more excited.
	"Real soon!" Gryphon cried.
	"What is the greatest joy?" ReRob demanded.
	"The joy of duty!" Gryphon bellowed.  "History is made at
night--character is what you are in the dark!"
	"Gryph!" Rob cried.  "Welcome back!"
	Those in the crowd who remembered their great-grandparents'
tales (and old discs) of Card Number One were awestruck; the same for
those who remembered the tales of the Wedge Defense Force.  A great
wave of cheering rose up, marred by the boos and hisses of those whose
ancestors had put a somewhat negative slant on the tale, such as it
was known, of the end of the WDF.
	Rob pulled Gryphon away from the mikes and murmured to him, "I
take it you're--"
	"Cleared, Rob," Gryphon replied, and grabbed a mike.  "Cleared
and judged innocent by Wolfgang Amadeus Fahrvergnugen himself!"  The
crowd roared.  "My friends...for those of you who know of me, who
believe in me and whose parents and grandparents believed in me--I
thank you, and I thank them.
	"Rob--if you don't mind, there's a song I'd like to do.  Could
I trouble you to take your old station behind the 'boards?"
	"Sure, Gryph...sure."  There was a little whispering as
Gryphon described the song to ReRob off-mike, and then Rob took his
place.  Yuri was busy borrowing an acoustic guitar from Deedlit, and
passing an electric to Zoner; meantime, Gryphon and Kei were taking
position in front.  The crowd fell silent.  Yuri on acoustic, Gryphon
and Kei up front, Zoner on an electric (rare indeed), ReRob at the
'boards, and a different drummer; this was a setup some of them
recognized.
	After a hauntingly odd-sounding acoustic intro, Kei, lighted
only from a pin above, began to sing.  The rest of the band was
blacked out.

Baby 
I get so scared inside and I don't really understand 
Is it love that's on my mind or is it fantasy?

Another pin came up across the stage, filtered through a red gel, on
Gryphon:

Heaven 
Is in the palm of my hand and it's waiting here for you 
What am I supposed to do with a childhood tragedy?  
If I close my eyes forever
Will it all remain unchanged?  
If I close my eyes forever 
Will it all remain the same?

Sometimes 
It's hard to hold on 
So hard to hold on to my dreams 
It isn't always what it seems 
When you're face to face with me

You're like a dagger 
You stick me in the heart 
And taste the blood from my blade 
And when we sleep would you shelter me 
In your warm and darkened grave 
If I close my eyes forever 
Will it all remain unchanged?  
If I close my eyes forever 
Will it all remain the same?

Will you ever take me?  
No I just can't take the pain...  
Would you ever trust me?  
No I'll never feel the same...ohh

I know I've been so hard on you 
I know I've told you lies 
If I could have just one more wish 
I'd wipe the cobwebs from my eyes 
And if I close my eyes forever 
Will it all remain unchanged?  
If I close my eyes forever 
Will it all remain the same?

Close your eyes 
Close your eyes 
You gotta close your eyes for me...

	The lights came up, slowly; Gryphon and Kei crossed the stage
until they were standing face to face, looked at each other for a long
moment, and then fell into a warm embrace.  The rest of the band
gathered around.  The crowd went nuts.
	"Ladies and gentlemen," Gryphon announced into the mike next
to his face, "the Wedge Defense Force is back!"

		     <<< The Alarm: Change II >>>

-------------------------------------------------------------------SIX

	"How many?  Smoking or non?"
			--Many a waitress

	In all, there were nine of them: the four from Basic
Nastiness, Meph (BN's majordomo), the Lovely Angels, Gryphon and
MegaZone.  In a gravbike, Daytona, and a rather beat-up VW Microbus
(though VW's were never sold on Musashi), the gang descended on
Denny's.
	Denny's was, believe it or not, cleared out for the event.
When Basic Nastiness puts on a post-gig nosh, they don't kid around.
	They were greeted with menus by a woman in a familiar face and
a waitress uniform.  Zoner was the first to react.  "Andrea?!?"
	She looked down at her name tag which read, appropriately
enough, "Andrea".  "I guess so.  You were expecting somebody else?"
	MegaZone was still stunned.  "You survived?"
	Gryphon slapped his friend in the forehead.  "Remember your
geography.  SDF-17 Denny's was next to escape pods.  Duh."  Ben, of
course, had no more clue than Zoner did that she would be here.  They
sat down and started looking at the menus.  Kei was the first to
speak.
	"I see the decor is still early vinyl."
	"What did you expect?  This is Denny's after all," redirecting
his attention Zoner continued, "So let's see if I can do this without
looking at the menu.  Bowl of chili no cheese, double Denny Burger
combo with the salad.  Bright orange dressing, no egg or 'shrooms.
Key lime pie.  Hmmm...  A coffee and a Coke....  Oh!  And a buttermilk
biscuit!"
	"Got it!" Andrea said, grinning.
	"Nailed it Zoner!" Yuri chimed in.
	"Well, some things you never forget," Zoner managed to say
straight faced, well, almost.
	Once the laughter died down the rest of the crowd placed their
orders and they started bullshitting, trying to catch up on each
others' past.
	
	"...so after the Son bought the farm Deedlit and I settled in
here to try and set up a new defense system.  We had no idea where
Gryph and Zoner were, except for the occasional report of Kei blowing
someplace up trying to kill Ben.  When she wasn't busy with that her
and Yuri were working for the 3WA.  So Deedlit and I decided to make a
living with our band and use the profits to build a new ship," ReRob
was explaining.
	"We've been working pretty hard to have it completed before
the hundred year anniversary.  Our next job was to find all of you.
So we're already ahead of schedule," Deedlit followed.
	"You haven't been doing too bad with Virtual Labs either.  You
built up quite a reputation with your work.  I've used a few of your
concepts in my work over the years," Zoner added.
	"Yeah, well, building a new ship cost a bit more than we'd
anticipated.  VLI gave us the funds we needed to do the job right.
And the customers helped fund research we ended up using in
constructing the ship.  So VLI really made the Phoenix possible,"
ReRob stated modestly.
	"Come on Rob, we all know that you're the one responsible for
her design.  Designing and building your own starship isn't an easy
task," Ben added, "I should know."
	"You been working on something of your own?" Cheryl asked.
	"You could say that," he replied with a smirk.
	"Whatcha hiding Ben?" Kevin inquired.
	"Oh nothing.  I've just done a few odd jobs here and there
over the years.  I had to keep on the move don'tcha know."  Ben cast a
sidelong glance at Kei, who smiled sheepishly.  "I spent a few years
at the University of Meizuri, kicked around Earth for a while getting
a degree or three in astronautics and the like from M.I.T., spent some
time in Mega Tokyo, studied at the Stingray Institute for
Robotics...then I had the accident with my warp drives and wound up
across dimensions...spent a year at Starfleet Academy, served aboard
the USS Enterprise under Captain James T. Kirk, commanded the USS
Invincible, NCC-1717, for twenty years, and wound up back here.  I
keep busy."
	"So, the Angels worked for the 3WA, Ben was working on the
lam, the rest of us were here, and what did you do Zoner?" Deedlit
asked.
	"I got into cybertech, real into cybertech.  I've been doing a
lot of development work underground.  That's how I make my living, I
do all the leading edge research for the corps and they pay me the big
money.  I take the risks and they get the credit.  And that's the way
I wanted it.  I made a good living and I got to stay out of the
limelight.  Hell, if it wasn't for me Ares would have gone under back
in '50 when they were coming out with their new nanite line.  They
were promising the sky and they cocked it up.  Their R&D people
screwed up big time, I stepped in and sold them the tech I developed
for my own use.  If you check the patents, Dr. Charles U. Farley is
me.  I didn't want the credit, actually I really tried to avoid it.
Being famous would have made life difficult."
	"Difficult?  How?" Cheryl asked.
	"Well, research didn't occupy all my time.  I needed to get
out once in a while..."
	"And?"
	"Being famous would have interfered with my work."
	"Which is?"
	"I kill people," Zoner replied a little harsher than
necessary.  This was followed by a rather strained silence.
	Kevin finally broke the silence, "Oh."
	"I'm not exactly proud of it, but it's something that needs to
be done.  When the law can't handle someone I go in and do the job.
The universe is a big place and, unfortunately, there are plenty of
psychos.  A lot of the cases where the hood showed up suddenly dead I
was in the area on vacation.  If there was a bounty sometimes I would
collect on it and donate the money to a fund to support the victims
families or use it to fund more research.  Occasionally I'd pick up on
a contract for spying or something like that.  It gave me a chance to
test out my equipment, and maybe I made a difference once in a while.
I'll never really know, all I know is that I ended more lives than I
can recall... or that I want to recall..."
	"Funny, I never heard of you on the news," Deedlit observed.
	"I have plenty of identities, and most of the time the
authorities are all too willing to cover for me.  They don't like
having to admit that it took an outsider to clean up their house."
	"You think you're alone in this mass death guilt thing?  Why
don't you take a look at the side of my fighter sometime," Ben
snarled.
	"It isn't really the same thing.  A lot of my work was with my
hands, or my spurs.  Looking at their face through the scope as I blow
their head off.  But even that isn't the worst.  I design cybertech.
Sure, some of what I do improves lives, even saves them, but I've also
made weapons.  There are millions of punks out there with tech I
designed trying to prove their worth by having the highest body count.
Sometimes I wonder how many lives I've taken indirectly."
	"Yeah, they're everywhere.  In fact I think I introduced one
to my companionsword in an alley the other day, he wanted my coat.
Kids today... tsk tsk," Gryphon said with mock sadness.
	"Ok, ok.  So it's a bit melodramatic.  I guess I'm just
getting tired with my life.  I started doing it while I was still down
from the loss and rather bitter.  It became sort of a security blanket
for me, a routine to fall back on.  But now that it's all in the past
I'm not really all that proud of what I've been up to.  I may have
made a lot of progress technically, but I don't think I made much
progress as a person.  I don't know, maybe if I was sure I made one
iota of difference sometime."
	"I made a lot of progress as a person, maybe I made enough
progress for the both of us.  I used to be a fighter jock, now look at
me, I'm an engineer," Gryphon quipped.
	"Oh, some progress," Yuri observed sardonically.  "Which
reminds me Zoner, you dropped this a while back."  Yuri handed him
what appeared to by a metallic ace of hearts.
	"You saved it all this time?" Zoner asked, a bit surprised.
	"It was one of the few connections I still had with you."
	Zoner's eyes misted over and he turned away to fight the
tears.
	"Yep, we're all back together again," Kevin observed solemnly.
	Once the laughter stopped Meph spoke up for the first time of
the evening, "It's hard to believe that you guys haven't seen each
other in a hundred years, well for the most part.  It's like you were
just hanging together yesterday."
	"Well, a lot of things have changed, but we are still the same
people at heart.  Things can never be the same as they were before the
breakup, but we'll find a new equilibrium," Rob answered for the
group.
	"Um...yeah.  I've never been fond of equilibrium,
myself...it's boring.  Then again, maybe my life's been a tad too
interesting of late."  Gryphon took a drink of his root beer and set
it down, lost in thought.

----------------------------------------------------------------SEVEN

	"It is better to have loved and lost than to have hated and
won."  
				--Anonymous

	"Ahh...wow.  Now this is a place."
	So saying, the reinstated Commander Benjamin D. Hutchins
flopped onto his back on top of the grassy knoll.  It was the sort of
place he had always wished Millinocket had, and had always written
into the golf course in his stories which involved that town, the
place where he grew up and was so far distant from now.  It was on
that nonexistent grassy knoll that one could sit and see, spread out
below him, the entire town of Millinocket, its lights glittering in
the early evening, his breath crystallizing before him as he sat
pensive.  In his stories, the grass knoll above Millinocket which
wasn't really there was one of his favorite places.  He and Ray had
many long and involved conversations on that knoll, before and after
Friday, August 24th, 1990.
	But there was no Ray, and no grassy knoll over the town of
Millinocket, and nothing particularly special had happened to the real
Ben Hutchins on August 24th, 1990.  In fact, his high school years had
been, with a couple of notable exceptions, singularly unimpressive,
and without a doubt carnally uneventful.  Not that it particularly
bothered him; there were always other things to pour his energies
into, to sublimate the stress in useful ways...fiction, for example.
Fictionalizing was a way of keeping himself semi- sane.  He had
continued it into college, until that day...Wednesday, October 2nd,
1991.  The day his world had turned inside out and upside down and
taken a very hard bank to the left.  (And rotated 90 degrees from the
plane of reality.)
	It didn't hit FUBAR 'til the 12th, but still...
	He stretched out, looking up at the night sky.  There had been
a time when he was afraid of the dark, but that was a while ago now,
and besides, there was no need for him to fear; there was nothing out
here which could harm him.  A cool breeze blew across the knoll,
ruffling his shirt.  He stuck his hands behind his head and closed his
eyes, smiling peacefully.  No more stress, no more running for his
life; just peace and calm and quiet.
	He heard a soft rustling that meant someone had taken up a
sitting position beside him; there was no need for him to open his
eyes, he knew full well who it was.  Nonetheless, he did open his
eyes; after all, he knew who it was, and he knew that looking at her
was fun.  He had done far too little of that over the past hundred
years, and what little he had usually over the sight of some kind of
weapon; no fun at all.
	In his stories, written centuries ago, the woman who sat on
the grassy knoll and talked with him for hours at a time went by the
name of Rachel Summers; she was a striking redhead, around 5'7", with
a mite of a temper problem.
	The woman who was sitting on the grassy knoll with him here
went by the name of Kei; she too was a striking redhead, around 5'7",
with a mite of a temper problem.  The similarities were annoying at
times.  However, they were all circumstantial; Ray and Kei were
totally and entirely different.  Night and day.  Not and real.  This
wasn't just a stress reliever after an evening of Battletech, pizza,
and too damn much caffeine; Kei was real, here, and very much alive.
	(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oi.  Isn't recursion wonderful?  I need some
sleep.  See you in the morning, kids.)
	With a sigh of contentment, he leaned back fully and dropped
off to sleep.

	Ben knew already that he was dreaming.  It was the only
explanation for what was going on, and besides, he knew this dream
well, it was a frequent one.  As before, he tried to force himself
awake; as always before, he failed.  This little drama would play
itself out to its conclusion, as always, no matter what he did.
	He was walking down the corridors of the Seventh Street
School.  This was a dead giveaway; the Seventh Street School, along
with the rest of Musashi City, was dead, long dead and buried in the
scorched ash somewhere in this very desert, beneath the wreckage of
Largo's Dreadnaught.  Also, the corridor was incredibly long, vaulted
and Kafkaesque...and cold, too damn cold.  He shivered despite the
warmth of his CVR-7.  He turned a corner and saw the door to Corridor
17; desperately willing himself to stop, he tabbed the control and
opened the door, his ElectroMax ready.
	He came barreling through the door, gun smoking, CVR scorched,
brushing past himself, and dashed off down the corridor.  Gryphon
turned, puzzled beyond repair, as he went past himself.  Then he
turned back and stepped through the door to see Kei, standing with a
look of utter shock and disbelief on her face.  At his end of the
corridor, just about at his feet, was an entire fifth-division class.
Dead.
	"Should've run when you had the chance, you son of a bitch!"
Kei screamed, her voice raw.
	"What?!" Gryphon replied, by now extraordinarily confused.
	"BASTAAAAAAAAAAAARD!" shrieked Kei.  She raised her own
weapon, tears streaming down her face, and fired.  Three times in
rapid succession, neatly blasting a "therefore" symbol into his chest.
CVR-7 shattered and flesh burned; he was thrown backward into the door
frame, feeling the cold hard metal slam his CVR back piece into his
back as the smell of charred ceramic and flesh bit into his nostrils.
Pain roared across his brain; he probably screamed, although he never
felt it, because blackness had already descended on him.
	He had never raised his own gun.
	Ben screamed and tore himself awake.  Always it came to this
point.  Always.  He couldn't escape the ending, it always forced
itself out to the finale.  That hadn't been the end of the tale; he
had awakened an hour and a half later.  Kei was gone.  He was lucky;
his CVR-7 had stopped most of the energy before failing.  As it was,
he was cruelly wounded, and as he was dragged to the evac shuttle, he
started bleeding severely.  He survived, though, and woke again a day
later in sickbay.
	And then everything went to hell.
	Now, there was just the cool and dark of the hill, the warm
glow of the city below, and Kei's concerned voice asking what was
wrong.  The very same woman who had shot him and left him for dead.
	The universe is a funny place.
	"No, I'm fine," he insisted, pulling himself up into a sitting
position and crossing his feet.  "Just a dream, is all."
	He leaned back again and, now fully awake, dropped into
thought.  He realized something, suddenly, out of the blue, and spoke
it aloud:
	"I miss Eve."
	"Mm?" asked Kei, who had been lost in thoughts of her own.
	"Eve.  I miss Eve."  Ben looked up into the night sky, found
Sol.  It comforted him to think that Earth was still there.
	"Now that you mention it...I've been wondering all these years
what's been missing from life on board ship...now I remember.  Eve was
everywhere, anytime she was needed." 	
	"Yep."
	"I remember how proud you were when she came online... going
around grinning all over the ship for days, you were so happy...I've
only seen you happier twice in my life.  Once when you saw me again in
the HoloDECstation, and once last night."
	"I wonder...if I had the facilities, could I rewrite her?"  He
shook his head.  "Probably not...she wouldn't be the same..."
	"You did a pretty decent job on me," said Kei with a grin and
a nudge.
	"I was insane at the time," Ben replied.  "Make of that what
you will..."
	A soft footstep sounded behind them; they turned.  Yuri.  "Hi,
Yuri," said Ben as Kei's partner settled gracefully to the grass
beside her.  "Didn't expect to see you here tonight..."
	"Didn't expect to see you at all tonight," Kei corrected him,
elbowing Yuri in the ribs and grinning broadly.  "What's the matter,
eh?  Forget what to do?  Huh?"
	"Cut it out, Kei!" Yuri replied, shoving Kei slightly.  "Oop,"
said Ben, "I think there's a problem here. Standard offers apply."  It
was a standard statement of his, made to friends who seemed to be
having problems.
	"Ditto," Kei added.  "So what's the problem?  You should be
bouncing off the walls!  The Team Supreme is back, Yuri, what could
possibly get you down about that?"
	"It's been almost a hundred years," Yuri said in a hollow
voice.  "He's changed...he's a different person entirely.  I want the
old Zoner back."
	"What do you mean, `changed'?  He seemed pretty much the same
when he came aboard," Kei replied.  "Didn't he seem that way to you,
Ben?"
	"Yeah, pretty much.  He's bound to be a little different, I
suppose--a hundred years in isolation will change a person as much as
a hundred years on the run will. I'm different now than I was then.
We all are."
	"He thought I betrayed him...have you talked to him yet?"
	"No...I sent him the communique that brought him here in the
first place, but I haven't really talked to him."
	"You should...he's completely different.  No.  I take that
back.  Not completely.  He's like he was when he was angsting.
Distant.  Cold, almost.  I could always reach him before...what's
happened to us?  What's happened to all of us?"  She leaned on Kei's
shoulder, sobbing.
	"Don't panic, partner," Kei said.  "I'm the one that's
supposed to get all emotional."
	"And I'm the one who always has to pick up the bits when Zoner
fucks something up," grumbled Gryphon, getting to his feet and
striding purposefully back toward the Lovely Angel.
	"Don't wait up," he called back over his shoulder. "This may
take a while."  He squared his shoulders, his fists clenching
reflexively as he built up his resolve for another confrontation with
the most fragile ego he had ever encountered.  After four hundred
years, Zoner was just as tiring.

-----------------------------------------------------------------EIGHT

	"There's no time for fussing and fighting my friend/But baby
I'm amazed at the hate that you can send and you/Painted my entire
world/And I/Don't have the turpentine to clean what you have
soiled/And I won't forget it"
				--Bad Religion

	The cabin door opened; without any preamble at all, Gryphon
stepped into the room and said, "What the hell's the matter with you?"
	"I don't understand what you mean," MegaZone replied from his
bed, "and I don't recall inviting you in."
	"I don't recall asking."
	"You do know I outrank you."
	"Stuff that shit.  Zoner, why did you come back?"
	"Thought I could use a change of scenery.  Musashi is
beautiful this time of year."
	"Oh, cut the bullshit.  You don't know, do you?  I should've
expected as much.  To me, this whole experience is a closure, putting
an end to everything that started with GENOM's frameup.  To you, it's
nothing.  You still don't trust me.  You still don't trust them.  The
judgment of Lord F's military tribunal wasn't enough for you."
Gryphon shook his head.  "I don't know what else I can do for you..."
	"Fuck it!" Zoner shouted, jumping off the bed.  "It's not you
I don't trust.  It's myself!"
	"I beg your pardon?" Gryphon asked, a bit bemused.
	"I didn't believe in you.  I believed the evidence of my
senses, however full of holes that evidence was, and it ended up
nearly costing you your life.  More than that; it did cost a lot of
people their lives.  The entire Force was destroyed.  Everybody
scattered...so many people dead.  And now you people want me to lead
you again?  I can't do it.  I couldn't live with myself if I accepted.
Listen, if I can't trust myself I can't trust anyone else.  I have no
baseline.  There's no way that I can be expected to lead anyone,
anywhere!  Like I said so many years ago, without trust there can be
no love, without love there can be no life.  The only reason I haven't
paid a visit to the local blast furnace is the work I've been doing.
Fuck, listen to me, 'my work'. I kill people!  I lost count for
goddess sake!  All I do is design new toys for any cyberpsycho with
enough credits and go hunting every once in a while.  I test most of
the things I design on myself, just for laughs ya'know?  There really
isn't much of me left. I've replaced too much.  I guess somewhere
along the way I replaced my heart and soul too.  Anyway, I'm not doing
it."
	"We're not asking," Gryphon stated, nonplussed.
	"I'm not doing it."
	"Fine.  It's obvious this experience isn't truly behind all of
us yet."  Gryphon turned around and stepped outside the door frame,
still inside the range of the sensor that held it open.  He turned
back for a moment.
	"Call me when you've figured it out."
	He left.
	"Oh, fuck it.  Why did I even bother to come back?  Everyone
would have been better off if I had just stayed in the shadows and
played dead.  They don't need me.  No one needs me, Yuri least of all.
Why?  WHY THE FUCK DID I COME BACK?!" Zoner screamed. But the only
answer was a dying echo.

------------------------------------------------------------------NINE

	"Damn!"  Scree, scree, scree.  "Double damn!"
			--Randolph Carter

	"Well?" Kei asked when he returned to the knoll.
	"He's isolating himself because he doesn't trust himself,"
Gryphon replied, a hard, sardonic edge to his voice.  "He didn't
believe in me and he's whipping himself for it.  He doesn't want to
lead us.  He doesn't want to be a part of our lives again.  He's
afraid of himself.  As usual.  I can't do a thing with him."
	"What are you going to do?" Yuri asked him, tears streaking
her cheeks.
	"Exactly what I can do.  Nothing."  He paused.  "No...I take
that back.  There is something I can do.  Are there environment suits
in the Angel capable of handling the radiation inside the wreckage of
the Wayward Son?"
	"I think standard heavy envirosuits should be able to handle
it...but why?"
	"I'm going exploring.  C'mon, Kei."
	"Wait a second--how is poking around the wreckage of his dead
ship going to help MegaZone?" Kei demanded, getting up and following
him with Yuri hot on her heels.
	"It's a surprise.  Trust me.  The only thing that can help him
may well be inside the radioactive wreckage of that ship.  I just hope
it can be saved."  He turned to Yuri, pulling a set of keys and an
identcard from his jacket pocket.  "Yuri, here.  Take your
repulsorswoop into Vesper.  This card will get you into the spaceport
slip my fighter is in.  Open up the cargo case and get Ziggy."  Ziggy
was Gryphon's personal computer, which had started out as an Intel
i80386DX/25, way back when.  These days it had a British-AnimeTech
88886XLi and a CLULESS AI driver, but that was another story entirely.
	"Okay...but why?"
	"You'll see.  Set Vision up in the wardroom and get her up and
running.  I'll be back soon, I hope with the cure for Zoner's
'condition'."
	She looked at him warily, but trust won out.  She had trusted
him even when no one else had; she certainly wasn't going to doubt him
now.  She took the keys, and the card, gave him a quick hug and kiss,
and ran for the Angel.
	Gryphon went part-way up the Lovely Angel's ramp and yanked
open a locker; inside was a heavy envirosuit, standard WWWA issue.  He
pulled it out, put it on, and powered it up.  It was made of a
marvelously compact material, an AnimeTech invention;
molecularly-scaled chainmail, basically, with an electromagnetronic
forcefield generator for rigidity and radiation shielding.  The
headpiece was not a helmet, but rather a close-fitting hood, patterned
after the battle dress of Terran ninja warriors and the under-helmet
covering of Mandalorian Deathwatch troopers.  Kei snagged another and
put it on, powering it up.  Powered up, the suits also made fairly
handy battle armor.  Always a plus for the 3WA agent on the go.
	Gryphon pulled on his helmet and swung a leg over his J-9300,
starting up and revving the plant; Kei climbed on behind him and,
making sure her grip around his waist was secure, Gryphon took off
across the ashfields.
	It was night, but that didn't matter to Gryphon; his eyes had
been in nightvision mode since dark.  He rezzed up the HUD on the
inside of his visor, fed the helmet's computer all the data his own
memory had on the location of the Wayward Son, cross-referenced it
with the latest readings from the Musashi weathersat network
concerning global radiation spots, ruled out the former location of
Musashi City, and determined the ship's position.  This took about a
second.  Then he rezzed up a pipper on the HUD indicating the wreck's
location, steered to center it, and opened the throttle up all the
way, until the roar of the thrusters in his ears had almost drowned
out the scream that was boiling in his brain.
	Presently, the wreck appeared, rolling up from the horizon and
looming silhouetted against the navy blue night sky.  Twisted,
tattered, with gaping rents in its hide, but definitely recognizable,
it lay in the sands, horribly damaged but somehow still proud.
Gryphon suppressed the twinge in his heart at the sight of it; his
work place and home for nearly three centuries, broken and dead in a
crater of glass filled by the winds with sand again.  He brought the
bike to a halt and climbed off, slinging the duffel bag he had brought
over his shoulder.
	"What are we doing here?" Kei asked through the radios in
their envirosuits, as he picked his way along the aft quarter of the
vast hull, looking for a rent large enough to get through.  (The
search didn't take long.)
	"Looking," Gryphon replied, climbing through a largish hole
near main engineering.  Kei followed, glancing quickly at the readouts
to make sure the suit could handle the radiation this close to the
wreckage of the Reflex furnace.  (It could.)
	"For what?!"
	"Please...I'm trying to remember, it's been a long time."  The
deck slanted at a good ten-degree angle, and the corridor off to port
ended in a tangle of once-molten metal.  Beyond that mess had been
ReRob's engine room.  He went off to the right, trying to recall the
ship's layout as he did so.
	The turbolifts, of course, were not functioning, but he
managed to wrench open a Jeffries tube hatch and began to climb.  His
course wound through the innards of the vessel, through sections
totally wrecked and sections nearly intact, and finally came to an
enormous, intact blast door marked "Computer Core Machine Room.  NO
ADMITTANCE."  Gryphon grinned.
	"Good.  This door isn't down.  That's a good sign...now how
the fuck do I go about getting it open?"
	Kei began to understand what he was doing.  She smiled and let
him go about it; he was obviously enjoying this, serious business
though it was.
	He popped the emergency access panel, tried a switch, and was
rewarded with a light.  "Yes!  The emergency batteries are still
functional."  He crossed to the other side and tapped in his
Umbra-level clearance code.  It failed.  "Shit.  I forgot--Class 3
lockout.  Kei, you had Umbra clearance--try your code."
	She did; with a creak of aging servos and a protest from the
slightly misaligned frame, the huge door slid haltingly open.  Beyond,
as Gryphon shone his light in, they could see instrument panels and
drive arrays, mostly smashed.  Gryphon stepped through the gap and
pulled open another emergency panel, crossing a couple of circuits and
throwing a switch.  The emergency lights flickered on.
	The core machine room was a mess.  Panels had blown out in the
overload sequence, before the quantum-vector power distribution system
had failed; drives were smashed, and even an old magtape was ribboned
about the chamber.  Gryphon ignored it and headed right for the door
in the back, which read (through the streaks of soot) "E.V.E. Central
Core Room-- AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY".  Fiddling with the access
panel again, he got the red light for emergency batteries on, and then
tapped out a code Kei had never heard on the instrument panel.
	Above the door, an LED message board flickered, then valiantly
displayed the following characters:

      [neato-keen Klingon text and graphics sacrificed to ASCII]

	The door hissed open smoothly.
	"What the hell was that?" Kei asked as she eased into the room
behind him.
	"My back door," Gryphon replied.  "I created Eve; I wanted to
make sure no one could ever lock me away from her.  So I built that
special function into the codelock.  No one else even knew it could do
Klingonese."  He popped another panel and fired up the room's
emergency lights.  Kei let out an involuntary gasp when she saw the
room for the first time.
	It was a small room, barely the size of a walk-in closet, and
contained only one thing; a black pedestal, about three feet high and
cylindrical, topped by a hexagonal black platform about a foot across.
Set into this was a large red crystal that glowed as if lit from
within.  Leads from all three walls and the ceiling led to the
crystal, stopping at the glass dome surrounding it.
	Gryphon's smile split his face from ear to ear.  "I was hoping
as much.  The backup cells are still operational.  Hell, I designed
them to last ten thousand years, if necessary."  He put his hand on
the glass dome; it flickered, but remained dark except for the glow of
the crystal.  "Hmm...not enough power."  He went to the wall, pulled
off an access panel, and messed around with some leads.  There was a
fat blue spark.  The lights went out.  "There.  Crossed over the door
circuits; we should be able to get some uptime now."  He went back and
placed his palm on the glass ball.
	It glowed to life like a plasma f/x ball, a blue glow like
Cherenkov radiation appearing around the crystal and leaping to touch
the glass opposite his palm.  The glow illuminated Gryphon's face.

		       <<< Asia: Don't Cry >>>

	On the wall opposite the door, a screen flickered into life
and Eve's face appeared on it.  She opened her eyes, then blinked.
"Commander!" she exclaimed, her voice grainy.  The image and sound
jumped periodically, barred by static.  "Is the ship--"
	"Unsalvageable, I'm afraid.  How are you?"
	Eve appeared momentarily introspective, then said, "98%
systems optimality.  Remaining 2% dysfunction due to low power and
poor audiovisual interface equipment condition."
	"Excellent.  Authorization code tak'hklah mk'hra Ulath'ka;
total system shutdown for core crystal move."
	Eve blinked.  "It's that bad?"
	"It's that bad.  I'm sorry to put you in such a cramped
system, but until the new ship is ready, I'm afraid you're going to
have to spend some time in Ziggy."
	"It's better than being in limbo for--" she paused, "--99
years and change." She paused, closing her eyes; then they opened
again and she reported, "All systems ready for shutdown."
	"Good.  See you in a few, Eve."  He removed his hand; the blue
glow disappeared.  Then the red glow from the crystal faded down to
the dullest glimmer.  Gryphon removed the glass dome carefully,
removed the crystal from its holder, and put it into his duffel bag.
	"Let's get out of here," he said to Kei.

-------------------------------------------------------------------TEN

	"When a faraway voice sounds as close as you feel...that's
AT&T."
				--Advertisement

	As he had requested, Ziggy was up and running on the wardroom
table when he and Kei returned to the ship.  He logged in and was
greeted by Ziggy's majordomatrix AI, Vision, a female AI in the style
of Eve, but a bit less...conservative.
	"Hi, Gryph," Vision said in her standard, sweet voice.  Like
Eve, she was a singer.  Her visual representation appeared on the
holoscreen, a fetching woman with brown hair (except for the peculiar
shock of green in front) and all the stage presence of Eve.  (That
particular bit of the code was the same.)  "What can I do for you?"
	"Prepare for shutdown, Vision...got another tenant coming in
temporarily."
	"Shutdown?" Vision asked, alarmed.  "Who's taking my place?"
	"No one, Vision...you'll be back up as soon as possible, I
promise.  Eve-1 needs a place to crash until the new ship is ready."
	"Eve!"  Vision's eyes went wide(r).  "She's still running?"
Gryphon nodded.  Vision had known Eve, back when Ziggy was connected
to the SDF-17's system on a pretty permanent basis.  "Well, in that
case, let me pack my things."  There was a brief pause as the VISION
logo appeared on the screen; then the picture of the AI returned and
reported, "Ready for shutdown..."
	Gryphon popped open the third drive bay, tabbed the red
control, and waited; when the LED cycled green, he pulled out the
large, blocky molecular-circuitry cartridge that contained Vision.
Snapping an adaptor around the red EVE crystal, he slotted it, tabbed
the control, and waited.
	Eve appeared on the screen and looked around, a mildly
claustrophobic look on her face.  Gryphon pulled an RS232 cable out of
his duffel bag and connected Ziggy to the wall panel.
	"Let the games begin," he muttered, and sat down at the
keyboard.

	The viewer in Zoner's room chimed and flickered; the EVE test
pattern appeared as she adjusted the color map, then Eve herself
appeared.  Zoner was not looking at the screen; he was looking out the
viewport.
	"Zoner?" Eve addressed Zoner tentatively.
	Zoner spun around.  He was even hearing ghosts.  They say the
first thing to go is the mind, this is not a good sign, Zoner thought.
Well, might as well answer, "Eve?"
	"The comm-screen."
	He crossed the room and stopped dead in his tracks.  "Eve?!
How?  I thought you went down with the Son.  This is the real you
isn't it?  This isn't one of Ben's tricks is it?"
	"No, this is the real me.  Ben rescued the memory from the
wreck of the Son."
	"So he sent you to talk me into leading them didn't he?"
	"Well, not really.  He just thought that you might want
someone to talk to."
	"Eve..."
	"Ok, I guess he felt that you would change your mind after
talking to me."
	"It's not going to happen."
	"Well, do you want to talk anyway?"
	"What the hell, can't make anything worse."
	"So what's wrong?"
	"This may take a while," Zoner sighed as he flopped onto the
bed and opened the nightstand.  He pulled out a set of interface
cables and connected the jacks on his neck to the comm-screen.  "This
should be easier for the both of us."  Zoner pressed the large green
'Go' button and fell into infinity.
	A new icon appeared next to Eve in the reality that was the
Lovely Angel's communications network.  It looked vaguely like a large
man, but many sections seemed to be constructed of circuitry.
	"Zoner!  When did you?"
	"Soon after leaving the ship.  After I heard about the loss I
sort of wigged out.  So I decided to bury myself in work, I taught
myself cybertech.  And I used myself as the guinea pig for most of it.
I do good work, if I do say so myself."
	"You don't look very cybered."
	"Well, it's easier to surprise people that way. I kept a lot
of the surface meat, but the insides are metal.  Sort of a T-eight
million.  But enough of that."
	"Yes, what did you want to talk about?"
	"I'll start from the beginning.  When things went to hell I
booked.  I just left the ship.  I was responsible for sending all
those people to their doom.  I shouldn't have left, I was weak.  If I
broke then I can break again. A commander cannot allow his emotions to
effect his judgement.  In short I failed.  In that failure I betrayed
my trust in myself.  That was worse than my feeling that Ben had
betrayed me.  Much worse.  If I can't trust myself, I can't trust
anyone else.  And if I can't trust anyone else I certainly can't love
anyone.  Without love life doesn't matter.  The only reason I'm still
alive is due to pure luck and Omega-2.  I haven't been very careful
with myself lately...  Damn it Eve, I got cold.  You know, in the last
hundred years I don't think I've loved anything, not once did I cry -
not for any of those that I killed, the only time I approached
happiness is when I was avenging someone.  I was trying to avenge all
the people I let down.  You know me, I never forgive myself for
anything.  I still hate myself for shit I did in seventh grade for
goddess' sake!  That was what, about four-hundred some odd years ago!
There is no way I'll ever be able to forgive myself for abandoning my
friends to die.  Never.  I let them down, I let me down, I washed out
at the worst time."
	"Zoner, there's no way you could have known...."
	"FUCK THAT!  It doesn't matter if I couldn't have known or
not.  I SHOULD HAVE NEVER LEFT MY POST!  THAT WAS BAD ENOUGH, I JUST
PICKED THE WORST TIME TO DO IT!"
	"WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE!"
	Zoner was just a bit stunned, Eve had never lost her temper
like that before.  "Seems I managed to piss you off too."
	"Well, I'm not going to sit here and listen to you drill
yourself into a hole.  You're a friend, and a damn good one.  You did
a terrific job for roughly three hundred years, you just made a
mistake and Murphy's Law took over.  You're only human..."
	"Not any more," Zoner snorted.
	"Ahem...  As I was saying, you're only human, and you feel
emotions.  Or at least you did," Eve added as Zoner scowled.
"Everyone was stressed.  Ben ran, Kei left, Yuri made some bad calls,
the whole crew was affected."
	"That's just it, they needed me to keep things together.  So,
in their hour of need I ran.  I should have kept it together long
enough to get everyone else shaped up.  I did it all the time, and the
one time it was the most important I cocked it up.  If I backed down
once I'll back down again."
	Eve shook her head.  "You really don't get it, do you?"
	"Get what?"
	"That's what you're doing right now."
	"Exactly.  I'm doing it now before we're staring down the
barrel of a wave motion cannon."
	Unreality flickered; Zoner was sitting at a table, looking at
a large projection screen.  Eve was wearing an old WDF uniform with
some unidentifiable but ornate rank badge on it.  "I'm afraid it's too
late for that."  The screen glowed to life, showing a map of
spacetime, depicting a region MegaZone was familiar with.  Cygnus Beta
he recognized, and Sol, and Salusia.  And what the hell was that big
red dot?
	Eve drew a box around the red dot and magnified it.  The
blowup depicted the Halstead system, an unremarkable system near
Cygnus Beta that contained nothing of note, save a space station
created by an interstellar conglomerate and taken over by another.
The station showed in its usual position, orbiting the third
planet...but the system was full of blips.  Hundreds upon hundreds of
them, in orbit around all the planets and moored in stationary
positions around the star's gravity well.
	"What the hell--?"
	Eve was silent, magnifying again on the large blip right next
to the blue dot indicating Halstead Station.  Three scans later, it
had come into enough resolution to show details.  It was a starship,
wedge-shaped, with vast expanses of flat deck, gun turrets everywhere,
and a flying bridge above the impulse thruster bank.
	Dreadnaught.
	"Uh...how recent is this picture?"
	"It's coming in from a sensor drone.  Live and direct."  She
slapped the table in front of her with the (obligatory) riding crop.
"The time for existentialist bullshit is over, Zoner.  You're needed.
Now get off your sorry self-pitying ass and do your job.  You're the
only one who can."
	"Eve, you don't seem to get it yet.  If they are up against
that then I am not the man.  I have no idea what to do, nor the
confidence to do it.  I'm just going to paint a yellow stripe down my
back, tuck my tail between my legs, and run.  I figure I either do it
now or in the middle of a battle.  Besides, it's about time for Ben to
get a command.  I figure he's up to it more than I am.  So go show him
the fancy maps and photos, I'm not your man."
	"He's seen the photos, he's getting a command.  You've been
out of the technology loop for a hundred years, my friend.  We're
beyond the level of a single ship now."
	"All the more reason to forget it.  If I don't know the tech I
can't use it effectively.  Ben knows it, Ben can command it.  They
only job I'll take is solo fighter jock.  Just me and the WarpZone.
That way when I run I'll only clusterfuck myself."
	"Excuses, excuses, and more excuses.  You don't believe them
any more than I do.  Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's a shortage
of superdimensional fortress commanders around.  You're eminently
qualified and history speaks for itself about your competence.  Who
led the Wedge Defense Force for four times the average sentient
lifeform's span?  To victory, time and time again?  The WDF never lost
under your command.  Not once.  You left.  Big fucking deal.  People
retire all the time.  Macquivr isn't much of a commander.  Everyone
knew that.  The vessel might have been better served with Mandeville
commanding, who's to say?  Maybe he's one who fucked everyone over,
why don't you go whip him for a while?  Maybe it's all Gryphon's
fault, go beat him up.  No, no...I have a better idea."
	She walked over until she was standing right in front of his
seat and leaned down, bracing herself on the corners of the desk, her
nose almost touching his.  "Maybe you should take it all out on the
one whose fault it really is."
	The screen behind her blipped into an image of Largo.
	Zoner sighed.
	"You have a flair for the dramatic, Eve, did you know that?
Still, I put q in the command.  I chose him, my fault, not his.  He
wasn't ready, and I should have seen that.  Hell, I should have made
you the commander.  You knew the ship better than I did.  Listen, I'm
just not ready."
	With that Zoner yanked out the interface cables.  "I'm sorry,
Eve.  Goodbye."
	"If you leave now you'll never forgive yourself," Eve called
after Zoner's retreating form.

	He marched straight to the Daytona from Hell and buckled in.
"Sorry Yuri," he whispered to no one in particular and punched the
throttle open.
	In only a few minutes he was linked to the beta and warping
out of the sector.  But he kept replaying his conversation with Eve
over in his head.  He dropped out of warp between systems and shook
his head.
	"DAMN SHE'S GOOD!" he screamed before reversing course and
dropping back into warp.

	   <<< Edie Brickell & New Bohemians: Forgiven >>>

	"Welcome back," Eve chimed as he re-entered the Angel.
	"Very funny, Eve, very funny.  Ok, so I'll stick around for a
while.  At least I can pick up some new tech."
	Eve said nothing. She knew the real reason he had returned and
there was no reason to gloat.

----------------------------------------------------------------ELEVEN

	"Faster, meaner, smarter...man, I hate the technology curve."
			--FastJack

	"Where are we going, anyway?" asked Zoner from the back of the
Lovely Angel's cockpit.  WarpZone had been taken in tow, and Gryphon's
fighter ensconced in the docking bay under the ship, so that they
could all make the journey to their common destination together.
ReRob and company were remaining back at Musashi, doing some
last-minute kludging on Phoenix.
	"Might as well just show you," Kei replied, toggling the
cockpit windows out of their glare-guard opacity.  Zoner gasped at
what lay before them; it was a huge silver sphere, its true size
impossible to determine, but immense, to be certain.  According to the
gravimeter, they were in a star system's gravitational well; but there
was no star.  It was then that he realized what he was looking at.
	"My God," he whispered.  "Is that a Dyson sphere?"
	"Two points for the Zonermeister," said Gryphon from his seat
behind Kei.
	"Who built it?  Where the hell are we?"
	They ignored him; Gryphon was too busy keying the comm system
online as Kei and Yuri plotted an approach and shifted the Angel's
systems to gravitic compensation mode.
	"Planitia Control, this is Lovely Angel on final approach,
bearing zero mark zero on gate one four five.  Request that you open
gate."
	"Lovely Angel, this is Planitia Control.  Gate is open.
Proceed with approach, docking bay fourteen."
	"That's Utopia Planitia?!" Zoner cried, his jaw dropping.
	The Lovely Angel swung in close to the silvery surface of the
sphere, stretching off so far now in the distance that it appeared
flat.  Its radius must have been one and a half astronomical units, at
least, corresponding exactly to the orbit of Planitia itself.  A huge
hatchway had opened in the side of the sphere, permitting the vessel
entry, and she swooped through.  And MegaZone had the first view he
had ever had of the new Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyards.
	Latticework spacedocks stretched from here to the end of his
imagination, off toward the star in the center of the sphere, so very
far away.  Some vessels were moored to the surface, other floating
free, shuttlecraft flitting here and there.  Most looked complete;
some were still in the final stages of fitting and preparation.  And
the diversity!  MegaZone counted among them Excelsior class
battleships, Bengal class carriers, Colonial Battlestars, Exeter and
Constitution class cruisers, even Alaska class battlecruisers--he even
spotted a couple of Klingon D-7s.
	"There must be hundreds of them," Zoner murmured.
	"Five hundred forty-six, at last count.  90% are ready for
battle right now; the rest need only minor fittings and adjustments,
and we're waiting for senior staff on a bunch of them."
	While they were speaking, the Angel was navigating through the
maze at nearly one-quarter impulse power, streaking past vessels of
every shape, size and description, in a sweeping turn that would take
them to the far side of the star.  And as they cleared it and came
about to the opposite side of the sphere, MegaZone found himself
looking at a ghost from the past.  Huge, blue and white, with a long,
tapering foredeck and mighty thrusters aft; Bengal class carriers, two
of them, mounted on armatures port and starboard; a majestic and proud
flying bridge; railguns like spikes from the "shoulders" of the
armatures.  The Wayward Son!
	No, he corrected himself.  It's not.  It's too large, for one
thing.  By the size of the other vessels around it, he judged the
vessel he was looking at to be over eight kilometers long.  Much
larger than the Wayward Son, which had been only 3,800 meters stem to
stern.  And its surface was different, marked with more small weapons
turrets and odd sensory bulges and things of function not readily and
intuitively apparent.  And, he noticed, mounted on the rear of the
flying bridge, aft of the bridge windows proper, was the old Wedge,
looking like another sensor array among the many that dotted the huge
vessel's hull.  Zoner's eyes slipped down its side, from the huge
impulse thrusters rearward, down the fighter carriers, to the tips of
the Tycho Naval Mass Drivers and out to the end of the foredeck, where
he could make out the words:

		    W.D.F. WANDERING CHILD SDF-23

	Gryphon had risen to his feet behind him, and now he reached
up and touched his shoulder.  When Zoner turned around, Gryphon was
pinning a small golden Maltese cross to his epaulet.
	"Admiral," he said, "Your new command."
	"Wait a second," Zoner cried, following Gryphon out of the
cockpit as Kei and Yuri made mooring arrangements, "Admiral?  I never
agreed to any--"
	"It's a fleet, therefore we need an admiral.  Can you deny
that?"
	"No, but--"
	"And as the leader of the Wedge Defense Force, you should hold
the highest rank, correct?"
	"Well obviously--but no one told me we were going to have a
fucking fleet!  I mean Eve mentioned that we had more than one ship,
but a goddess damn fleet!"
	"Trust me," Gryphon replied as they navigated the Angel's
corridors, "we're going to need it, if our intelligence data on
GENOM's strength is correct."
	"Wait a minute--where are we going?  Why isn't the Angel
docking?"
	"Admiral, Admiral...you really must get acquainted with the
new technologies," Gryphon replied, leading Zoner into a room off to
the side.  Kei and Yuri were waiting for them, having used the
turbolift.
	"New technologies, what are you--?"  Zoner stopped short as he
registered what was in the room: a control panel, facing a small,
three-walled alcove which had six round pads in a ring arranged in it.
"Oh, no.  Are these what I think they--"
	"Just step onto the pad, Admiral, and everything will be
fine," Yuri said with a smile, taking his arm and leading him up into
the alcove.
	"Yeah, fine.  Just going to scatter me about the cosmos.  You
sure this thing can handle cybered Deitans?"
	"What kind of goober are you anyway?  It's matter, isn't it?
Shut up and get on," Gryphon snapped.  "Geez, what a wuss."
	Once they were all standing on the pads, Gryphon took a small
black device out of his pocket with a grin, flipped the gold grille
cover open, and said, "Gryphon to Planitia Control.  Energize."
	They were swallowed up by a blue glow; when they reappeared,
it was in another, similar, but much larger room, and there was a
large group of people waiting for them.
	Zoner didn't notice them; he was too busy looking down at his
hands.  "Wow!  Transporter technology?  Back in the old days we
thought that was just a pipe dream, how did--"
	"You may thank your friend Dr. Petrarca for the transporters,
as well as many of our other improvements in matter replication and
transmission, Admiral," boomed a familiar voice.  "Welcome, MegaZone.
Welcome back to the Wedge Defense Force."
	Zoner's eyes widened.  There, along with an entourage of
technicians and a group of familiar faces in uniforms that Zoner
recognized as familiar, but not WDF, was Lord Wolfgang Amadeus
Fahrvergnugen himself, black battlearmor and all.
	"Wolfgang!  How's it been?  I haven't seen you in... what
sixty, seventy years?  Last I heard you and Celine were missing.  I'm
not dealing..."
	Fahvergnugen strode up to take charge of his confused
compatriot, and, as he was leading Zoner out of the room with a
friendly arm over his shoulder, was saying, "There have been many
changes, my young friend..."

----------------------------------------------------------------TWELVE

	"Think about it
					Think about it
	 Think about it"
				--Information Society

	The next three months flew by in a blur for MegaZone and the
rest, as they immersed themselves in their work and forgot about their
emotions.  The WDF had been a splintered group, its team spirit
shattered and its dynamic synergy of creative power destroyed.  The
next three months were spent reforging that into an even more powerful
force.
	And, in MegaZone's case, there was a hundred or so years of
catch-up learning to do.
	Politically, he was pretty much caught up.  He watched the
news; he was well aware that the United Galactica had collapsed under
its own bureaucratized weight seventy years before, replaced by the
trimmer, more dynamic United Federation of Planets.  It did not
surprise him to learn that one of the driving forces behind the
organization of the UFP had been Celine.  He knew that the Empire of
Kilrah was still a threat, and that the Klingon and Romulan Empires
had an uneasy truce with the Federation, too busy warring with each
other and the Klingon Republic to want a war with the primarily human
and Salusian Federation as well.  He knew that the Discordian
Confederation was keeping the Kilrathi and the Cardassians off the
Federation for the moment, while the Fed dealt with this threat from
within.  Unfortunately, the Cardassians and the Kilrathi had not had
the courtesy to start wars with each other like the Imperial Klingons
and Romulans.
	He also knew that the GENOM fleet had flattened the
Federation's Starfleet at Wolf 359 before taking Earth back by force,
and was now on its way to Cygnus Beta to finish the job, once and for
all.  That angered him, in a way that surprised him.  He wasn't aware
that he cared anything for the planet of his birth, the Cradle of
Humanity as it was called these days; but there was a certain pride in
being able to say you were an Earthman, and it pleased him somehow.
He was pissed at GENOM for taking it.
	No; the big catchup here was in tactics and strategy.  He had
been the finest starship commander in space, but that was a hundred
years ago.  Things had changed.  And besides, he had an entire fleet
to command now.  Granted, each vessel was commanded by a competent
officer; he had reviewed their records, all 546 of them.  There were
also the new weapons and fighters to consider, including the new VF-2
Victory Veritech fighters (replacements for the time-honored Valkyrie
series, designed by Gryphon himself) and the experimental Gunstars,
and the concept of carrier battlegroups like Commodore Henry Decker's
Tiger's Claw and her entourage.  The Federation Starfleet type ships
were a new thing as well; they fought differently than the slab-sided
navalesque ships Zoner was used to.  The Republican Klingons allied
with them...well...they did whatever Klingon honor demanded.
	For Gryphon, there was the whirlwind of construction
supervision on the classes of vessels he had designed; the Alaska
class battlecruisers and the new Confederation class megacarrier, the
Concordia, were his personal responsibility, as well as secondary
supervision on the Wandering Child, which was experiencing no end of
drive headaches.  He was also picking out the flight crews of the
Concordia's fighter groups and assigning staff to the vessel, for it
was to be his command when the time came.
	For Kei and Yuri, there were retraining seminars to reacquaint
them with their positions on the SDF-23's bridge, where they would be
until the crisis was over, and refreshers in large-vessel tactics and
the like.
	Meanwhile, back at Musashi, ReRob and company stretched their
legendary ingenuity and imagination to their limits trying to make the
Phoenix as battleworthy as possible.  Rob had heard of the SDF-23's
problems with the drive systems and thought he knew the answers, but
he had to complete his own ship before heading back to help them;
there was simply not time to send a pickup to take him to UP, fix the
problem, and return to Musashi.  GENOM was on their way through the
Enigma Sector; they would reach Macleod Station within the week.
	All in all, it was a hectic three months.

	Gryphon and Zoner were on the bridge of the SDF-23, buried
deep in the side of the cosmocompass, as Gryphon tried to puzzle out
why the thing wasn't interfacing right with the drive computers and
Zoner absorbed information, when the turbolift doors opened and Lord
Fahrvergnugen strode in.
	"Lord Fahrvergnugen on the bridge!" the Officer of the Deck
barked; the two officers pulled themselves out of the instrument panel
and turned to face their benefactor.
	"My friends, GENOM has taken the Enigma Sector.  They will be
here within the week.  We're out of time.  How long before this ship
is ready?"
	"I don't know, sir," Gryphon replied, wiping grease off his
forehead with a rag and sighing.  "Without ReRob here to puzzle out
that drive problem we're practically flying blind--he designed the
entire engine system."
	"I have spoken with ReRob," Fahrvergnugen told him.  "The
Phoenix is ready."
	"Great...hey, Sparks, do me a favor.  Punch up a tactical of
Enigma's border with this sector, and show me GENOM's course."  The
technician at the tactical console obeyed, and the map appeared on the
main viewer.  "Okay...now..." Gryphon murmured, perusing the screen.
	"Sparks," Zoner said, "Highlight our position, GENOM's current
position, and Musashi."  The tech did so.  "Ah-ha!" Zoner cried.
"There it is.  Look," he said, indicating, "GENOM will pass fairly
close to Musashi.  Now, ReRob doesn't have a chance against that
battlefleet, granted--but the Phoenix is faster than they are, right?"
	"Theoretically."
	"Theoretically my ass.  If Rob designed it, it's the fastest
thing in space, barring Hyper Valkyries and WarpZone.  He can get in
front of them and lead them right to us!"
	"Why would we want that?" asked Lord F.
	"Look.  Without ReRob, this ship can't fold.  He's the only
one who knows what the hell is the deal with the fold drive.  With his
instructions over subether, we got the impulse engines and the Reflex
furnaces to operating condition; for battle, that's all we need."
	"Sir, we won't be able to fire the main gun without the fold
drive operational," Sparks cut in.
	"I know that--but listen!  GENOM will enter the system.  Our
fleet engages theirs.  ReRob beams over, tinkers with the drive while
we use the lesser weapons to fight a holding action.  And then--boom!
We kick major ass!"
	"I like this plan," Gryphon said.  "The fleet has a couple of
other major weapons; hell, each Yamato class battleship has a
wave-motion gun, and the Concordia has the PTC-2."
	"What the hell is the PTC-2?"
	"It's a surprise."
	"Oh, goody."
	"Okay, look.  We need to get on the horn to Rob and let him
know about this plan.  In the meantime, I have to finish up
preparations on at least half a hundred ships, and you need to get
this beast as ready for combat as it can be without its chief
engineer.  I'm up to my eyes in work...gah, sometimes I wonder why I
wanted to be a starship designer..."
	"Thrill of creation?"
	"Yeah, that's gotta be it."  Gryphon started walking toward
the rear of the bridge.  "I'm heading over to Planitia Control to
contact ReRob...coming, Admiral?"
	"I hate that..."

	ReRob's incredulous face leaned out of the screen, the aspect
ratio warping as he got too close to the camera.
	"You want me to what?!"
	"There's no danger, Rob, really!  Well, except for the usual
dangers involved with being engaged in a war, of course."
	"You're not making me feel better about this, Gryph."
	"Look, it's simple," Zoner cut in.  "You're faster than they
are.  Stay out of their range and lead them here.  Your bird enters
the sphere, you come across to SDF-23 and get those engines working
while the rest of the fleet keeps them off.  I figure we can at least
fight a holding action if not push them back ourselves; the arrival of
the fortress should turn the tide decisively in our favor."
	ReRob sighed.  "Well...I can't say as I like it in
theory...but in practice, I think it just might work.  We'll download
all the telemetry you have on the GENOM fleet's position, establish an
ETA, and let you know as soon as we finish crunching the numbers.
Phoenix out."  The screen blacked.
	"Well...he's not thrilled, but he'll do it.  Now, it's crunch
time.  Get back to your ship, Admiral--I've got a fleet to get ready."
Gryphon grabbed up his datapad and rushed off.
	The Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyard swung into full-scale
action, a concentrated hive of chaotic-seeming activity.

--------------------------------------------------------------THIRTEEN

	"Cry havoc--!  And let slip the dogs of war!"
				--General Chang

	Gryphon stood in the turbolift, his fist clenched tight around
the orders assigning him command of his ship.  Since he had first seen
and taken over the final stages of the construction of the WDF
Concordia, it had been a foregone conclusion that command of the
vessel would pass to him when the time came; but the time was now, and
the immediacy of the whole thing burned in his mind.  After three
centuries as the Wayward Son's exec, he was finally receiving a ship
of his own, a ship almost as powerful as the SDF-17, and in many more
ways his own.
	The Concordia was his design, pulled from the databanks of the
Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyard's Sperry/UNIVAC masterframe computer,
Bombsight, when Lord Fahrvergnugen began constructing the WDF's grand
fleet, several years before.  He had sketched it out during the
Wayward Son's second repair and refit layover, after the destruction
of Neo-Worcester, and fleshed it out anytime he had access to a CAD or
VCAD terminal linked to Bombsight, keeping up with the technology
curve and updating the vessel five or six times before it was even
constructed.  He had planned to have it built when the time was right
for the WDF to branch out and form a fleet.  That time had never come
before the Breakup.
	Gryphon had been delighted when he discovered that the
Concordia was actually slated for construction; he had been intending
to claim the captaincy of a Constitution-class cruiser, to replace his
lost and beloved USS Invincible, before learning that his own personal
brainchild was under construction.  He had immediately assigned
himself as construction supervisor, replacing Lord Fahrvergnugen
himself.
	The original Concordia design had been very sketchy, nothing
but a general hull design and some very preliminary power requirement
calculations.  There had been a place in the keel design for a Class
Omega weapon, of which the WDF currently fielded three designs, and a
Class Omega powerplant and fold system.  Originally, these had been
intended to be a Reflex furnace and cannon, and the appropriate drive.
Over time that had been updated, and in the year between Gryphon's
pardon and the commencement of actual construction, it was fleshed out
and finalized.  That year had been a year of hard work indeed, and
here was the reward.  The temperamental Reflex furnace had been
superseded as a power source for vessels of the Concordia's size;
instead, she had fusion-powered impulse engines, and main power was
provided by a bank of engines of Gryphon's own design, engines which
utilized a strange combination of conventional thermofusion and wave
motion dynamics.  Very classified.
	The Class Omega weapon had been upgraded, too, but what had
replaced the fabled Reflex cannon in this ship's design was one of the
WDF's best-kept secrets.
	The turbolift stopped and the doors hissed open, and Gryphon
found himself in a drydock, similar to but much smaller than the
mammoth drydock where the Wayward Son had been constructed and
reconstructed so many times in its career.  Here, the Concordia sat
patiently at moorings, waiting for her chance to take to the stars.
From the station balcony behind the ship, Gryphon could see her two
enormous banks of impulse thrusters, like giant fins on an ancient
motorcar; the aft quarter of the ship bulged with the vast engines
that powered the vessel.  The bridge tower rose majestically,
terminating in the broad sweep of the v-antenna for the main sensor
suite just above the semicircle of crystalline windows that formed the
bridge outlook.
	The Concordia was a naval-design ship of the old school, not a
modern-design Federation vessel with its separate engineering and
command hulls, and nacelle-mounted warp-drive engines.  Concordia had
a single, solid hull, bristling with weapons, sensors, and shield
generators, with two huge operating decks for its fighter compliment;
she travelled between starsystems with instantaneous fold drive.
	The last layer of green thermocoat had been applied hours ago,
and all final checks were complete.  The WDF Concordia was ready for
launch, and just in time, too; the GENOM fleet, at last report, was a
mere fourteen parsecs out, and closing fast.  Gryphon turned and went
back into the turbolift, keying it for Transporter Station A.  Once
there, he ordered that he be beamed to the Concordia.
	After the now-familiar disorientation of transportation
passed, he stepped off the Concordia's transporter platform and
presented his command papers.  The ensign there approved them (looking
faintly awestruck at the thought of being in close quarters with the
legendary Gryphon himself), filed them, and issued Gryphon his ship's
insignia, which he affixed to the breast of his uniform tunic.  This
device allowed him complete access to the vessel; as captain, he could
go anywhere he liked.  This included through the doors to his left,
into the turbolift, and to the bridge.
  	The doors hissed open; Commander Saavik glanced up and
announced, "Captain on the bridge."
	"As you were," Gryphon said before any of his command staff
could get up.  He knew them all, as well as any commander knew his
crew, as well as MegaZone had known his own crew on the old SDF-17.
They had served together for thirty years, thirty of the happiest of
Gryphon's life without Kei, and while that wasn't as long as three
hundred, Gryphon figured it was good enough.  In some cases, that was
longer.  Saavik, for example, had been with him his entire Starfleet
career.  He arrived on the Enterprise, under Jim Kirk, a lieutenant
commander and an engineer's mate; then-Lieutenant Saavik had been
assigned to assist him.  Since that time, he could not remember a time
when she was not at his side.  He smiled and took his place in the
center seat.
	The viewer pinged; the VISION test pattern appeared, followed
by the AI's representation.  She was depicted wearing a WDF uniform of
her own, holding the rank of lieutenant commander.  "Oi, Captain," she
said.
	"Hey, Vision.  I'm glad the techs got you settled before the
fight.  Like your new digs?"
	"It's not bad," the AI replied, looking around and smiling.
"Lots of empty space, but I can fix that when I have the time."
	"All shipboard systems operational?"
	"Looks good," Vision replied.  "Computer telemetry connected
on all stations.  Not a gap in the net anywhere."
	"Good."  He addressed the entire crew present.  "I'm sorry we
don't have time for a formal launching, but the enemy is within
fifteen parsecs of the system, and there's no time to waste.  If we
aren't here to greet GENOM when they come out of hyperspace, there
won't be enough left of ReRob to scrape up.  We're defending our home
turf here, and that gives us an advantage.  I suggest we use it.  Now
then.  Status, Commander Saavik?"
	"Aye, sir," Saavik replied, turning to her screens.  "All
decks report systems ready and optimal.  Everything is in preparation
for launch."
	"Computer concurs," Vision confirmed.  "Standing by."  She
disappeared.	"Lieutenant Leeds, contact Planitia Control and
request permission to depart at Gate Four.  Mr. Hunter, viewer on,
ahead mag one."

		   <<< Queen: We Will Rock You >>>

	"Viewer on, sir," Lt. Cmdr. Max Hunter, his helmsman, replied.
The front viewer hummed on; it was no longer considered safe for WDF
vessels to enter combat situations with the shields over the bridge
window retracted.  Outside, the vessels of the Wedge Defense Force
were departing the Dyson sphere in an orderly manner, cruising out the
numerous gates on impulse power as the mighty super dreadnaught
fortress idled up her Reflex furnaces carefully.  Furnaces were tricky
things; it wasn't good to just ram them up to full power.  Gryphon
wondered if the engineering staff was having trouble without Rob to
guide them.  For all his self-professed lack of skill as a commander,
none, not even oft-self-critical ReRob, could fault his engineering
prowess.
	The WDF Pennsylvania, Captain John Trussell's command, cruised
past, flashing her running lights; the Concordia responded likewise.
Gryphon smiled as the Iowa class battlecruiser exited the sphere; the
Iowa was another design he had pushed for in the planning stages.
	"Captain," Lt. Vanessa Leeds reported from the comm station,
"Planitia Control reports we are cleared to depart on Gate Four."
	"Mr. Hunter, make it so.  One-quarter impulse power."
	"One-quarter impulse power, sir."  The huge megacarrier began
to move, gracefully easing out of her slip before pivoting and, for
the first time in her life, entering the outside space.  It felt
curiously like the Invincible's last trip out of Spacedock, before the
trip back across the dimensional barriers.  Part of that might be
because the Concordia's bridge module was the very same as the one on
the Invincible, removed from the wrecked Constitution-class starship
and mated to the Concordia's flying bridge structure by the skilled
engineers of the Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyard.
	Outside, the Wedge Defense Force fleet was arranged in
meticulous order.  Carrier battlegroups, composed of a Bengal or
Exeter class carrier and its assorted escort ships, dotted the skies
in tight clusters, the fighters not yet launched.  The mighty Alaska
class battlecruisers and Excelsior and Iowa class battleships stood
alone or in pairs.  Captain Erik Swimm's Federation class dreadnaught,
WDF Indomitable, hovered near Gate Twelve, ready to escort the
Wandering Child out into battle when the time came.  Groups of
Constitution class cruisers, the backbone of the WDF's Tactical Fleet,
traveled back and forth in covering patterns, escorting and patrolling
simultaneously.  The Battlestars were arrayed at equidistant points
throughout the formation, strengthening perceived weak spots, each of
them equal in size and nearly equivalent in power to the old Wayward
Son.
	They were already scrambling Vipers and Dragonflies to cover
themselves; just for a moment, Gryphon felt a pang of longing for the
cockpit, the smell of CVR-5 and the vibration of the engines behind
his back; then it passed.  This was his calling now, his duty.

	ReRob sat in his own conn, on the bridge of the Phoenix; his
fingers were dug into the arms of the chair, the knuckles of his
natural hand white, as he kept a watchful eye on the readouts of the
engineering panel in front of him.  All warp tolerances were edging
uncomfortably close to the critical level, even with full transwarp
drive engaged.  They were doing Warp 9.875, a good point two seven
five above the vessel's rated tolerance capabilities; the spaceframe
was vibrating so violently that the smaller readouts were illegible,
and her tortured wail made conversation without shouting impossible.
	"Range!" he demanded.
	"Eight point four seven and closing," Deedlit called from the
helm.
	"Lead over GENOM?"
	"One point seven six and holding."
	"Utopia Planitia in sensor range," Meph injected.
	"On viewer," Rob ordered.  The main viewer shimmered into the
view of the Dyson sphere, so small it took up a fist-sized area of
viewer, dots of light shining around it.  "Maximum magnification."
The screen shifted to a closer view, close enough that ReRob could see
the WDF fleet arrayed against the incoming enemy.  All but her
flagship; she was waiting for her engineer to return.

	The glimmering warp field of ReRob's incoming vessel became
apparent to the sensors of the WDF fleet at around the same time.  Now
all the viewers on every vessel were showing the Phoenix coming in
like a bat out of hell, magnification stepping down every six seconds.
	On the bridge of the SDF-23, MegaZone sat in his conn,
fidgeting nervously with the cuff of the new uniform tunic he had
grudgingly donned and glancing uneasily at the four-leafed admiral's
pin.  "Come on, Rob," he muttered.  This vast vessel, and all her
potential, sat idle beneath him, the familiar thrum of the Reflex
furnace under his boots very recognizable, very familiar.  His command
staff around him, ready for action; the familiar keening cry of
adrenaline across his nerves; he could almost convince himself he was
back on the Wayward Son again.
	Almost.

	"Planitia Control reports ready to dock at Gate Seventeen,"
Cheryl reported.
	"Negative," ReRob replied, getting up.  "They're going to need
Phoenix and her guns in the fight, and there's no time for docking and
redeploying.  Helm, bring us to station-keeping at quadrant four two
four bearing seven six mark three, at an altitude of 4000 meters.
I'll beam over.  Meph, you have the conn.  Do us proud."
	"I'll do my best, sir," Meph replied as he took the captain's
chair.
	Deedlit looked back as her husband stepped into the turbolift;
just before the door closed, he grinned and flashed her a thumbs-up,
which she returned.  Then he was gone, and she returned,
professionally, to her duties.  There would be time for all this, she
told herself resolutely, when they had won.
	
	"They have halted, my lord," the Buma subcommander said from
the helm station on board Dreadnaught II.
	"Is that a fact?" the man in the admiral's uniform replied,
his back to the bridge crew as he stood on the master catwalk looking
out at the passing starfield.  "At Utopia Planitia, as we thought?"
	"Yes, my lord.  The Dyson sphere is there, just as our
intelligence informed us.  And--sir!  I have ship contacts, numerous
and varied.  It'll take some time to sort out--I make at least a
hundred vessels, sir, probably more."
	"So," the admiral said, his breath crystallizing on the
window.  "They have a fleet, as well.  So much the better.  They
cannot defeat GENOM!"  He whirled.  Pink skin, slick brown hair,
glittering blue eye; a cybernetic cowl covered the left upper quarter
of his face.  It was not Largo.  In fact, except for the GENOM
admiral's uniform, the cybercowl, and the twisted, evil gleam in the
pit of the one remaining eye, it was an exact duplicate of Captain
Benjamin D. Hutchins of the Wedge Defense Force.
	"Helm," this creature barked in a raw, hard-edged parody of
Gryphon's voice, "bring the fleet out of warp and transfer control to
the individual vessels.  Scramble all fighters and prepare for a
full-scale star system assault!  Hail Largo!"
	"Hail Largo!" the bridge crew cried, and set to their duties
as red strobes began to flash.

	On the bridge of the Concordia, Gryphon saw the GENOM fleet
drop out of hyperspace.  Despite his expectations, despite his
familiarity with the intelligence data, he could not help but rise to
his feet as starship after starship dropped out of warp.  Huge,
wedge-shaped vessels formed the backbone of the fleet; Imperial class
star destroyers, by Concordia's computer's reckoning.  Scattered
through the fleet were a number of vast, black, hourglass-like vessels
which the tactical analysis computer indicated were primarily fighter
carriers.  Ikazuchi battle carriers appeared, here and there,
apparently a new model that used warp propulsion instead of folding.
(Unknown to the WDF personnel, GENOM had abandoned fold drives decades
before, when it was revealed that the unstable fuel for Dreadnaught's
fold core was largely responsible for her utter annihilation.)
	At the fleet's forefront was their flagship, an exact
duplicate of the vessel that had destroyed the Wayward Son utterly;
the Dreadnaught.  It looked much like an Imperial destroyer, but huge;
so huge the Concordia could have sailed into its docking bay.
	"Battle stations!" Gryphon ordered.  "Red alert.  Scramble all
fighters, Lieutenant Leeds."
	"Fighters on their way out, sir," reported Vanessa.  On the
forward viewer, the bridge crew could see the Concordia's crack
fighter squadrons deploying, racing one after another down the port
and starboard catapult ramps with precision timing; light Epees,
heavy Sabres, Broadsword bombers, and Gryphon's favorites, the
medium-weight, blisteringly fast, heavily armed Rapiers.  Then, the
final squadron took wing, five brand new VF-2 Victory Veritech
fighters peeling down the ramps and forming up just meters off the
deck.  The Victory was another of Gryphon's engineering triumphs, a
revitalization of the basic design that had made the VF-1 Valkyrie so
effective for so long.  These five Super Victories were the successors
to the legend of Fighter Squadron VVF-261; the Eight-Ball Squadron,
under the command of Colonel Patricia Currier, formerly of the
original Eight-Ball.  Gryphon knew his legend was in good hands.
	"All fighters away, sir," Leeds reported presently.
	"Shields up, Lt. Finney.  Bring all weapons to full power.
Stand by PT Control."
	"Shields are up," Lieutenant Commander Jaime Finney reported
from the Tactical station.  "Weapons at full power.  PT Control is
standing by."
	"All combat sensors are optimal, Captain," added Saavik.
	"All decks report ready for combat," Lt. Leeds reported.
	"Helm, impulse power.  All ahead full, set course two four
three mark one seven.  Move to engage the enemy of your choice."
Gryphon smiled slightly as he felt the vessel surge beneath him.
"This is it."
	Battle was joined.

--------------------------------------------------------------FOURTEEN

		"I've been dead once already."
			--Captain Spock

	Within instants of materializing in the Wandering Child's
number-four transporter room, ReRob was on his way to Engineering at a
dead run.  There wasn't much time.  At the door to the engine room, a
technician handed him a radsuit; murmuring thanks, Rob stripped off
his uniform tunic and boots and hauled the suit on over his trousers.
There was no time for a proper change.
	Before him stood the fold drive, a massive rectangular prism
of metal the size of an office building laid on its side.  Normally,
were it operating at optimum levels, it would be thrumming at a nearly
subsonic level, resonating with the Reflex furnace that could be heard
and felt throughout the vessel, and bathing the whole chamber in a
pleasant blue glow.  Now, it was dead, dark, silent, and cold.
	"Damn," Rob cursed under his breath; worse than he had
thought.  He yanked open an access panel and got to work.

	Up on the bridge, Zoner watched the feed from one of UP's
outer sensor arrays as the battle began.  Massed Federation-style
ships, mostly Constitution and Excelsior class, converged on one of
the star destroyers, unleashing a firestorm of photon torpedoes and
phasers from their combined weaponry.  The destroyer's shields strobed
red with the hits; finally, after one particularly hard-hitting salvo,
the portside shield generator globe imploded in a column of flame.
Instants later, a spread of torpedoes from the lead Excelsior's tubes
blasted through the bridge windows, gutting the entire bridge module.
	Very quickly, though, the destroyer's gun crews overcame their
surprise and concentrated their attacks; turbolaser bolts hammered one
of the Constitution ships, which the UP computer identified as the WDF
Hood.  The Hood turned to port, her impulse engines flaring as her
captain tried to evade, but the GENOM ship's Buma crew had her marked.
As her shields collapsed, the vessel began to heel hard to port, her
helmsman overturning.  Energy blasts and missiles ripped great holes
in the proud ship's hull as the other WDF vessels fled at full impulse
power.  The portside warp nacelle burst into a violent conflagration
as the entire pylon collapsed.  Out of control, the Hood's twisted
wreckage slammed into the foredecks of the star destroyer, and then
her antimatter containment fields let go.
	The resulting fireball whited out the monitor for a second.
MegaZone discovered that he was shuddering, and sweating cold; he had
seen battle before, hundreds of times--but never like this!  The
combat was primal, almost savage, the vessels tearing at each other
like animals.  Here a Battlestar and a star destroyer traded
broadsides, both of them burning at various decks, terribly wounded
yet refusing to give up the fight; there a Klingon D-7 class cruiser
(crewed, he was told, by actual Republican Klingons), her engine room
on fire, rammed an Ikazuchi amidships, taking both ships to hell in a
fiery mess.
	Suddenly, one of the great Yamato class battleships spoke, her
helix cannons ripping one of the hourglass carriers in half.  A star
destroyer turned to confront the vessel, which, the UP computer told
Zoner, was the class vessel Yamato, captained by none other than the
legendary Salusian Admiral Halcyon, on loan to the WDF for this
battle.  Bolts from the destroyer's turbolasers holed the Yamato's
hull repeatedly as the smaller vessel blasted away with her helix
cannons, ripping great hunks out of the destroyer's sides; Zoner
turned away, sensing the inevitable outcome of this battle, but his
eyes were drawn back to the screen by some morbid fascination.
	The fire from Yamato ceased; Zoner took this to mean that the
vessel was dead, her power plant destroyed, perhaps her crew slain.
The star destroyer continued to salvo for a moment--
	--and then the bow of the Yamato vomited forth a stream of
energy so brilliant it made the viewer go dark for an instant.  The
beam punctured the destroyer straight through, and as the GENOM vessel
twisted on its axis from the impact, fires began to erupt all through
her structure.  In just moments, the vessel had reduced itself to
smoldering junk.
	"The wave motion gun!  They actually got it to work!" Zoner
exclaimed.  He had been so busy learning about fleet operations, he
hadn't had time to get to all the technical readouts; the Yamato class
was one he had missed.  Still, he thought in retrospect that he should
probably have figured as much.
	"Admiral," came a voice from the back of the bridge.  Zoner
spun in his conn.
	Asrial, Queen of Salusia, was standing in the rear of his
bridge, looking not a day older than when they had first met at the
WDF's first reorganization in 1992.  She wore a Wedge Defense Force
uniform: the undershirt's visible collar was command-branch white. the
stripe down the trouser seams red to denote the WDF Navy.  Her tunic
was the Strategic Fleet's blood red, and was outfitted with a
Wandering Child commbadge.  Her rank, Zoner was puzzled to note, was
Commander.
	"Your majesty--what are you doing here?  This is an extreme
danger zone--"
	"I am here because I will it," Asrial replied, smiling.  "As a
Salusian of Imperial birth, I may claim that right.  This is your
ship, however, and I respect that--permission to come aboard?"
	"Granted," Zoner replied, "but you haven't answered my
question.,"
	"I am here, Admiral, because you require an executive
officer."
	Zoner was momentarily very puzzled.  Then, smiling, he
indicated the station to his right, for so long crewed by Gryphon on
the old SDF-17.  "By all means.  I think Gryphon would agree that his
post is in good hands."
	She took the seat and began to familiarize herself with the
control layouts, then reported in a cool, professional voice, "All
systems are optimal except fold control and Reflex systems.  Captain
Mandeville is currently working to correct the fold drive malfunction
and get all high-energy systems back online.  He estimates five
minutes before we are ready to deploy."
	Zoner looked back at the main viewer; the Concordia's
familiarly squat naval profile was locked in a running gun battle with
the GENOM flagship.  Her shields were flaring red and her weapons were
apparently having no effect on the huge vessel--and Zoner knew why.
	"q, open a channel to the Concordia, now!"  Gryphon's bridge
materialized in a corner of the viewer pit.  "Gryphon, this is Zoner!
I read the reports--Dreadnaught was equipped with phase shields, your
weapons aren't having any effect!"
	"I noticed that, Admiral," Gryphon gritted as he fought to
hang onto his seat, Concordia's deck shuddering underneath him with
the force of Dreadnaught II's weapons.  "Situation is under control.
Please don't distract us.  Concordia out."  The bridge projection
vanished.
	Zoner looked miffed.

	"Captain, shields are at seventeen percent and failing,"
Saavik reported in a...tense tone of voice.  "WDF vessel closing from
portside aft to support.  It's the Bismarck, sir."
	"Vanessa, warn them off.  We have the situation under
control."
	The Bismarck, a Yamato class battleship, fired her wave motion
gun.  The bolt of energy streaked forth and disappeared, banished by
Dreadnaught II's phase shields to a vacant parallel plane.  The super
star destroyer's firepower shifted from the Concordia to the Bismarck,
which backed away at full thrust; momentarily the GENOM vessel's
interest shifted back to the Concordia.
	"Vanessa!  Get me a channel to the enemy vessel!"
	"Sir?"
	"Just do it!"
	"Aye, sir...hailing frequency is open."
	"GENOM flagship, GENOM flagship, this is Captain Benjamin D.
Hutchins of the WDF Concordia.  Cease hostilities at once, or you will
be destroyed."
	The main viewer sizzled to a view of the GENOM commander, and
Gryphon suddenly found himself looking at a twisted reflection of
himself.
	"So.  It's 'Captain' now?" the replicant sneered.  "Not only
did you manage to get out of the trap I laid for you so carefully, but
you got a promotion in the bargain?"
	The battle stopped as if someone had pressed "pause" on the
Universal Remote. Everyone's eyes, on both sides, were glued to the
split screen view of the two commanders.  Kei sucked in a sharp breath
as the image appeared, and MegaZone gripped the arms of his conn a
little tighter.  He punched a key on his chair arm.
	"Engineering!  ReRob, we need full power now!  There's--"
	"I see it, I see it," ReRob's voice replied.  "I can't work
any faster than I am already.  Give me three minutes."
	Zoner sighed; there was nothing to do.  "All right, Rob.  Just
keep working as fast as you can.  Bridge out."
	Meanwhile, on the screens, Gryphon had replied with, "And you
managed to get out of the prison on Tantalus V and make your way to
your masters, who gave you command of this entire fleet?  Largo is
still too much the coward to face us in combat when the odds are even,
is he?"
	"Oh, the odds are far from even, my pathetic predecessor.
Your weapons cannot even harm my ship--and yet you threaten to destroy
me?  An empty threat, I think."
	"You know me," Gryphon replied.  "You were fully briefed on
the man you were to frame.  You know I don't make empty threats.  I
possess the power to destroy your vessel, and if you do not surrender
and prepare your fleet for boarding at once, I mean to do just that."
Gryphon's eyes narrowed.  "The animal side of me, who hungers for
revenge after what you put me through, wants to just push the button
now, but the Starfleet officer I was trained to be is giving you a
chance.  I wouldn't blow it if I were you."
	"Ah, but you are me," the replicant replied.  "Did not all
your friends believe so?  Did not the woman you loved believe so?
Tell me, Gryphon--if the people you love can think you so full of evil
and deceit as that, what kind of lovers and friends does that make
them?  No, my friend, there will be no surrender today.  Think about
what I have just told you, before I send you to the void.  Then, think
on it for eternity."  Gryphon's screen blacked and everyone else's
shifted to an exterior view of the Concordia and her adversary.  The
super star destroyer opened fire again; all WDF personnel could see
the Concordia's shields beginning to buckle.
	"Jamie...lock PT Control on target and await my command."
	"PT Control is locked," Finney replied as her panel blinked
red.  "In charging cycle."
	The lights, already at combat red, flickered a bit, and the
thrum from under the decking took on a more urgent note.  The vessel
shook under the pounding she was getting from the Dreadnaught II's
guns.
	"Shields collapsing, Captain," Finney reported.  "Front and
portside armor registering minor damage."
	"Vanessa, get me a channel one last time."
	"Open, sir."
	"Last chance," Gryphon called.
	"I'll see you in hell!" Gryphon's voice shrieked back.
	"Recheck PT lock."
	"Lock confirmed," Finney replied.  "Charging cycle completed.
All systems locked in and green-light.  The phase-transit cannon is
ready to fire."
	"Fire!"
	Finney pushed the control marked "MODE SELECT".  The muzzle of
the weapon that formed the Concordia's very keel pulsed and crackled
with white energy, then spat forth a capsule of pure white power,
which grew in size as it streaked toward the Dreadnaught II.  Zoner
groaned with the futility as he saw it unfold on his monitor; what did
Gryphon expect to accomplish?  He watched the bolt as it closed on the
outer perimeter of the destroyer's shields, expecting it to wink away
any instant.  On his bridge, the GENOM replicant of Gryphon folded his
arms and sneered, turning back to his gunnery officer to give the
firing order for his main turbolaser banks again.  He was looking
forward to seeing the helpless Concordia reduced to slag.
	Instead of vanishing, though, the bolt crashed through the
phase shields, rendering them visible for an instant as they
splintered and dissipated, and proceeded to rip into the upper decks
like a burrowing animal, shredding and melting a path of destruction
all the way back to the bridge module, which its upper edge blew away
as the lower part of the energy packet ripped through the engine room.
For an instant, before he was engulfed by the energies eating through
the bridge windows and converted into a large and rapidly expanding
cloud of free subatomic particles, the replicant of Benjamin D.
Hutchins screamed like a cornered animal.
	Dreadnaught II burst into a trillion glowing bits, sheeting
off the shields of all the nearby ships and pockmarking the
Concordia's armored hide in a hundred hundred places.
	"Excellent work, Jamie--now, Max, get us out of here,
someplace where we can recharge the shields and effect emergency
repairs.  Even with their flagship down, I doubt GENOM will
surrender."
	Gryphon was quite correct; maddened by the loss of their
commander, the GENOM ships struck back with a vengeance, their
concerted revenge knocking out a Battlestar and its Yamato class
companion almost instantly.

---------------------------------------------------------------FIFTEEN

		"I got a real bad feeling about this."
			--General Han Solo

	The resumed battle raged, more furiously even than before.
The destruction of GENOM's awesome flagship had inspired the WDF crews
to strive even harder for victory; it had also enraged the GENOM
crews, who fought like vengeful animals now.  Ship-to-ship contact
became more and more common as the vessels' helmsmen jockeyed for
position in the tightening battle.

	"Time," the bearded man in the Captain's uniform asked.
	"One forty-four," replied the younger, thinner man at the helm
of the vessel.  Around them was its bridge; sloping, elliptical, the
walls covered by viewers which were, at the moment, dark.  The large,
powerful, swarthy and bearded captain stood behind a podium topped by
a small control panel; three people sat at a horseshoe-shaped console
before him.  Everything was gold.
	"Right on time," the captain said, grinning.  "Up 'scope."
	A periscope housing dropped out of the ceiling, smoothly oiled
mechanism hissing slightly.  The captain snapped down the handles and
put his eyes to it, turning around slowly, then pausing.
	Outside, the ship's periscopic sensor array emerged from the
cloaking field that guarded the rest of the vessel.  It was also gold.
	Inside, the captain's eyes narrowed inside the eyepiece as he
surveyed the battle; momentarily, he placed his crosshairs upon a star
destroyer that was hammering relentlessly at the Pennsylvania's
forward shields; the Pennsylvania's photon torpedo spreads and phaser
broadsides raked across the larger vessel's hull, tearing out chunks
but otherwise not doing much useful harm.
	"George.  Lay in a firing solution on the destroyer that's
pounding Trussell's ship.  Shoot for the engines--I want a clean
kill."
	"Solution laid in," the helmsman replied.  "Ready on tubes one
and four."
	"Fire."
	Two photon torpedoes spat out of nowhere and tore into the
destroyer's rear, ripping right through the thruster exhausts to blow
out the engine room.  The vessel's windows went dark and she drifted,
dead.
	"Good shooting, George," the captain complimented.  "Surface
the fleet and get me a channel to the WDF."
	
	On all the WDF vessels' bridges, the main viewer suddenly
pinged to a view of the bearded captain and his golden bridge.  He
smiled broadly.
	"Wedge Defense Force, this is the WDF Leif Eriksson," he said.
"Captain Hagbard Celine, reporting.  The Silent Service has arrived!
Hail Eris!"  Behind him, a klaxon wailed twice.
	"All hail Discordia!" Zoner shouted in reply.  Things were
looking up.
	To the starward quarter of the battle zone, the shimmering,
rippling materialization effect of vessels disengaging cloaking
devices appeared.  Wobbling into view came an entire fleet of
starships; Predator class scouts and their Klingon contract-built
sisters, called Birds of Prey by their owners, D-7C cruisers, great
grey slab-sided Typhoon class strategic anti-matter missile boats, and
nimble, spindly Alpha class attack cloakers, and at their lead, a
great golden ship the size of the Concordia, proudly displaying the
golden-apple flag of the Discordian Confederation as well as a WDF
seal in black relief on her bows.
	
	Zoner punched the intercom key.  "ReRob!  You said three
minutes--and that was five minutes ago!  What's the holdup?!"
	"Some brain-damaged fuck of a technician crossed over boards
eight and nine trying to get the fold interphase patched through
Reflex Control," ReRob's voice replied angrily.  "Fried both the
boards.  I'm replacing them--it'll take a little longer than I
anticipated."
	"How long?!"
	"It'll take as long as it takes, Admiral--and it'll take
longer if you keep shouting at me."
	"Right, right...I'm sorry.  Carry on...best speed."  He let
out a great sigh and slumped back in his seat.  "Fuck."

	The arrival of the Silent Service turned the tide of battle
somewhat.  Most of the ships in the fleet couldn't fire while cloaked,
only the Eriksson and a couple of the experimental Klingon ships, but
they could decloak, fire, and vanish again.  The WDF and the GENOM
fleets were no longer stalemated.  All the WDF personnel knew that, if
the Wandering Child could just get the hell out of the dock, this
battle would be over.

	       <<< Theme from Battlestar Galactica >>>

	"Engineering to bridge," the intercom announced.
	"Zoner here," MegaZone said, punching his key.  "Rob?"
	"Repairs are completed," ReRob replied.  "All systems are
optimal.  Admiral, the ship is yours."
	"Thanks, Rob.  q?"
	"Already done.  Planitia Control has like cleared us.  Like
big surprise, eh?"
	"Helm, engage impulse drive.  Take us out from Gate One.  All
ahead standard."
	"All ahead standard, aye," Yuri replied with a smile, her
fingers tagging the keys.  The deck vibrated under them as the immense
vessel's thrusters got ready to move it; then, slowly at first, but
smoothly, they began to slide forward.  The windows of Planitia
Control passed; they could see the ops staff waving.  The Wandering
Child passed empty slip after empty slip--and then one that still had
a vessel in it, an Alaska class battlecruiser.
	"What's the story with the Arizona?" MegaZone inquired,
reading the ship's markings.
	"Engineering problems," Asrial replied.  "Captain Crocker and
his staff estimate deployment in less than a minute themselves."
	"Time to outside?"
	"Fifty seconds, present speed."
	
	"Sir!" Saavik cut into the bridge chatter, almost shouting.
	"What is it, Saavik?" Gryphon asked, turning his conn to face
the science station.
	"I do not know for certain, sir," she replied.  "I am reading
a massive subspace distortion six thousand kilometers off, at bearing
seven mark zero."
	"Along the GENOM fleet's arrival course?  Identify."
	"I am not certain, Captain," Saavik said, tabbing sensor
controls.  "It seems to be a subspace rift trace, on a regular
pattern--I would almost say it looks like the arrival trace of a fold
drive, were it not so...huge."
	"Inform Planitia Control," Gryphon ordered, turning his chair
back to the front.  "Mr. Hunter, patch through to Saavik's console and
put the distortion on screen."
	In the viewer appeared a small blue dot, hovering in space,
pulsating slowly and growing minutely with each pulse.
	"I'll be damned.  It looks like a fold trace, but you're
right, it's enormous!  What could--"
	Suddenly, the distortion grew, for a moment looking like a
bulge in the space-time continuum; then it burst like a lava dome,
pouring out white light.  A shadow blocked that light in the center,
and then it was gone, collapsing back into itself as the fold
terminated.
	A new planet had entered the Cygnus Beta system.
	"Jesus!" Gryphon shouted, coming involuntarily to his feet.
"What in hell is that?"
	"It is metallic, sir, spherical, with dimensions roughly
equivalent to that of an average Class-M planet.  Power readings
indicate massive thermofusion for power, and it's obviously fold
capable.  A battle station of some sort."
	"Ten to one it's not on our side."
	"No bet," Saavik muttered.
	"Sir, power buildup on the battle station--looks like a
weapon's charging cyc--"
	The dish-shaped depression in the metal sphere's skin, just
above the equatorial trench, fired ten coruscating green beams from
equidistant points around its perimeter; a much larger bolt then fired
from the hole in the center, caught the other ten in a pattern almost
helix-cannon-like, and streaked unerringly forth to smash into the
side of the Dyson sphere.
	The bolt of energy ripped through almost a kilometer of
carbon-neutronium, unleashing a catastrophic explosion on a portion of
the interior surface.  The WDF Arizona, just getting under way, was
blown almost halfway to the star by the impact; her warp engines and
half her saucer were smashed.  She drifted, dead.
	In the shocked silence that followed that display of power,
every viewer in the immediate area pinged, changing to a view of a
GENOM bridge and a very familiar GENOM commander.
	"Is it not amazing," said Largo, "the places in which old
friends meet?"

---------------------------------------------------------------SIXTEEN

		"War is hell."
			--General William Tecumseh Sherman

	"Fuck me."  Admiral MegaZone saw the beam rip a hole rip
through the Dyson Sphere and almost destroy the Arizona.  "Jesus, we
have to get out there.  Asrial, time to door?"
	"Fifteen seconds."
	The turbolift door opened, and out strode ReRob, still in his
radsuit.  "Reflex Cannon Mark Two.  This I gotta see."
	"Take a seat, Rob.  Enjoy."  Rob went over to the bridge
Engineering console and set up shop.

	The tactical commander on board the Vanguard had been studying
the Phoenix.  He noted that, as it was about the only ship in its
class, it had been tangling with fighters ever since the combat began.
And it had racked up an impressive number of kills.  This was getting
expensive.  The Buma issued an order.
	Some of the hot white light emanating from the Ikazuchi
Vanguard diverted from its regular targets to attack the Phoenix.

	Across the main screen of the Phoenix, lasers hammered away at
her shields.  Deedlit spun the bird hard to down starboard.
	Kevin almost attacked his console, punching in commands.
"Meph, that last barrage was from portside aft Ikazuchi.  I have her
pinged."  Whenever that ship would show up on the screen now, it would
show a computerized identification halo.
	"Thanks, Bitch.  Satori, evade pinged Ikazuchi and go in for a
run if you can."
	"Aye."  The Phoenix, as she was wont to do, spun madly evading
fire attempts.  But her hunter was relying on the simple law of
averages.  They spun around to the other side of the Ikazuchi, getting
to the side of the ship where the batteries were busy pummeling the
Kansas and thus leaving the original arc of fire.  "Cheryl, ready the
wing torps--vectoring in!  Five, four..."

	The gunner's orders were to fire upon the Kansas, and he was
doing this with startling efficiency.  The ship they had chased
halfway across the galaxy flew into his arc of fire.  That did not
change his orders.  Then it began to aim towards his ship.  That did
change his orders.
	Across the starboard side of the Vanguard, twenty other
gunners came to the same decision.

	"...three..."
	Wham!  The bridge exploded in a thousand points of light.
	Kevin scanned his panel and turned to the command chair.
"Meph, forward deflectors are..."  Meph's head had become thoroughly
entangled in the tactical holotank.  Cheryl slumped across her wrecked
gunnery console, dead.
	Deedlit saw Cheryl's position and aborted the run, wrapping
around the Kansas.  She had no choice but to trap the bird in the
crossfire between the two dreadnoughts.  She turned her head,
surveying the damage.  She saw her captain mutilated and Kevin sitting
there in pure shock.  She tried to break him out of it: "Tefft!
Damage report!"
	Kevin got back to his senses, at least temporarily.  "Lost
forward deflectors, hit to warp core.  Estimate three minutes to
catastrophic failure!"
	"Dump the--" and Deedlit stopped herself.  The warp core to
the Phoenix was not dumpable; the nacelle was the main body of the
ship, and the intermix chamber and fuel tankage all hardmounted.
Evacuation procedure was to transport to the Daedalus, which the
Phoenix was meant to tow.  But the Daedalus was back on Musashi, as
they needed to make their mad dash here to UP.  The bridge, unpowered,
was ejectable from her station, but that would leave it in the
crossfire.  She decided she would wait a few seconds.

	"Captain!" Saavik shouted.  Gryphon turned; he could trust the
fire control and evasion to Rick and Max for the moment.
	"What is it, Commander?"
	"I have a contact bearing four four three mark one six.
Exposed warp core emissions, very bad damage."
	"On screen."
	The Phoenix appeared on the viewer, drifting without power.
Her warp nacelle was shattered, the coils visible in three or four
places.  Sensor information drifted over the viewer, superimposed.
Concordia's computer gave her two minutes to live, perhaps less, until
the magnetic field integrity on the antimatter fuel supply and
intermix chamber collapsed.  Already, subspace interference from the
chaotic energy states on board the small vessel was making sensor scan
difficult.
	"Vanessa, get me a hailing frequency.  Phoenix, this is
Concordia, do you read?  What is your situation?"
	The Concordia ate static; Phoenix's comm system had been
destroyed some time ago.
	The deck shook slightly underneath Gryphon; his vessel was
coming under fire from the Vanguard itself.  "Helm," he ordered, "put
us between that Ikazuchi and the Phoenix.  Our shields can handle
their firepower for a while, correct?"
	"Correct, sir, but I wouldn't push them after the beating they
took from Dreadnaught," Finney advised.
	"Your advice is noted.  Can you use phaser batteries to cut
the warp assembly free from the rest of the ship?"
	"I might, sir, if I had a couple of minutes--but I don't.  We
wouldn't be able to clear the warp core's explosion radius, in any
event."
	Gryphon weighed the risk to his ship against the lives on that
vessel, some of whom--most of whom--were his friends, and came to a
decision.
	"Jamie, can we handle that Ikazuchi's firepower for twenty
seconds without shields?"
	"Beam them over, Captain?"
	"It's the only chance they've got."
	Finney scanned her monitors and replied, "Aye, sir, I think
so.  Armor structure is fairly nominal--but it'll be tight."
	"It'll have to do."  He slammed a hand onto his intercom.
"Transporter room, this is the Captain.  Tie across to Commander
Saavik's panel and lock onto damaged vessel's lifesigns, all speed, at
my mark."  He looked at the screen; the Phoenix, by the computer's
reckoning, had thirty seconds remaining.  "Mr. Finney, lower the
shields.  Transporter room, mark!"  He tabbed another control as the
vessel's spaceframe shuddered with a laser barrage.  "Sickbay, I need
emergency units in main transporter room stat!  I'm on my way.
Saavik, take the conn."  He got up and ran into the turbolift.

	Deedlit's finger hovered over the ejection switch just a
moment too long; a last broadside from Vanguard destroyed the
batteries and shut down all ship's power.  A final explosion ripped
through the bridge just as she jumped to her feet.  She felt a sharp
pain in her side and began to stumble as a sudden cold dislocation
swept over her.  Everything turned blue.
	
	Gryphon pounded through the door to the transporter room right
behind Dr. Selar and the medics.  On the platform were three bloodied
forms in the final stages of materialization; on the other side of the
platform, another pattern was struggling to materialize, the field
fluctuating wildly, indeterminate.  The transporter technician was
stabbing madly at her controls, trying to stabilize the signal,
sweating and cursing as the red emergency light began to wink faster
and faster and the pattern on the platform became less and less
determinate--
	--and then it was gone, flickering out of existence like a
mirage.
	"No!" the chief shouted, slamming a fist down on her panel.
"Damn it, no!  I had her, she was right there--"
	Gryphon scanned the platform.  Kevin was there, the least
injured, obviously in emotional shock and physical pain.  His left arm
seemed to be broken.  One of the medics took him aside and began
treating his wound.  Cheryl was slumped on another pad, looking very
poorly off; Selar ran a medscanner over her, then gave terse orders to
two of the medics that she be taken to intensive care stat.  The
tightness in Gryphon's chest eased just a tad; she was apparently
still alive.  One less death in the madness.
	The third figure on the platform was Meph, Basic Nastiness'
majordomo.  Gryphon hadn't really known him, and now it looked as
though he would never get a chance, since most of the man's head was
missing.  When Selar glanced at him, Gryphon could almost swear he saw
a pained look cross the Vulcan's face, just for a moment.
	With a sudden cold shock it hit him that the missing person,
the pattern that the chief had lost, had been Deedlit Mandeville.  He
keyed his communicator, knowing full well that, save for Rob, the
people that were accounted for were the vessel's entire crew; his
trained professionalism blew through his emotions like a gale wind for
a moment's work.
	"Bridge!  Jamie, get those shields up!"
	"The shields are already up, Captain," Saavik's voice
answered.  "They were raised as soon as transporter function ceased.
Any longer and we risked losing pressure to M and N decks."
	"Good work, Commander."
	"Captain, may I inquire of the status--"
	"I'll be up shortly.  Gryphon out."  He flipped the
communicator off over Saavik's unspoken protest, and turned to the
chief, who was by this time beside herself with rage at her own
self-perceived incompetence.
	"I'm sorry, Captain, I tried--there was so much subspace
interference, the signal was so weak--I blew it, sir, I cost Commander
Satori her life.  I'll resign imm--"
	"No, that won't be necessary, Chief," Gryphon said in a tired
voice.  He felt old.  "It was a tough job, and you performed
exceptionally.  The subspace interference was so strong you
shouldn't've been able to transport any of them across...be glad we
saved the ones we did."  He turned to Selar and had a quick conference
with her, then returned to the bridge.

	On the bridge of the Wandering Child a few seconds earlier,
ReRob had gasped, his head snapping up and his eyes focusing at
infinity for a brief instant.  Rather than announcing, "Degauss," as
he usually did after such a nervous twitch (he was accustomed to them;
medical personnel had never been able to figure out a cause), he
whispered, "Deedlit?"
	"Rob?" Zoner asked, noticing his friend's discomfort.  "What's
wrong?"
	Rob shook his head, trying to come back to himself.  "Uh,
nothing.  I don't know.  I guess nothing."  Inside, he knew, something
was wrong, something had happened.  What, though?
	But they were clearing the doors.  There was no time for that
now.

-------------------------------------------------------------SEVENTEEN

	"Do you know of the Klingon proverb that tells us revenge is a
dish that is best served cold?  It is very cold in space."
				--Khan Noonian Singh

	Gryphon hit the bridge seconds after leaving the transporter
room; Vanguard and Kansas were powering clear of the Phoenix's blast
zone.  Concordia was well clear already, and blasting away at the
Vanguard with all weapons.
	"Status of enemy vessel," Gryphon asked as he took his seat
back from Saavik.
	"Moderate damage, sir," Finney reported.  "We've been unable
to penetrate their shields as yet."
	"Lock on phase transit cannon and prepare for charging cycle."
	Finney smiled grimly.  She must have deduced from his reaction
to Saavik's queries that there had been deaths among the Phoenix's
crew; her lips pressed into a cruel line as she entered computations
into the firing computer, and was rewarded with a lock-on chime.
	"Phase transit cannon locked," she reported.  "Entering
charging cycle."  Another chime.  "Cannon charged and ready to fire."
	"Mr. Finney, send them to hell."
	Finney fired.
	Vanguard disappeared.
	A cheer went up from the Concordia's bridge crew.  Gryphon
sighed.  He had not been able to save Deedlit or Meph, but at least he
had avenged them.  He wondered if that was enough, then shrugged it
off and returned to battle.

	Outside, carnage was the order of the day; the arrival of
GENOM's battle planet turned the tide back the way it came.  After
taking the potshot at the Dyson sphere, the war machine had set itself
to proving its worth against more worthy targets; within seconds, its
main gun had blasted the Battlestar Atlantia, reducing the mighty
vessel to slag in a millisecond.
	"All vessels, this is SDF-23!" Zoner shouted, smacking the
fleet communications key on his conn arm.  "Break off, scatter
formations!  Don't give that monstrosity massed targets!  Evasive
maneuvers--try to get behind it--"
	Unconcerned, the planet pivoted slightly on its axis and fired
again, ashing the WDF Hornet, a Bengal class carrier.  q immediately
set about coordinating homes for the orphaned fighters, in the middle
of all the other fleet operations he was handling.  He was the first
to admit he wasn't much of a commander, but they didn't make a better
airboss.
	The viewers of the WDF vessels blipped into a communications
view again, as they were hailed by the warworld.
	"Greetings, Wedge Rats," Largo said formally, using the title
that very few actual WDF personnel had even heard of, let alone
remembered the origins of.  "I, for those of you who do not know me,
am Largo.  Allow me to present to you my greatest invention: the GENOM
Armored Tyranny and Terror.  This is the prototype of the
battlestation which will someday soon hover over every inhabited world
in space, enforcing my rule.  I hope you consider it a worthy foe; I'd
hate for you to think you had died an unworthy death."  With a
dead-white smile, Largo cut the connection, returning everyone's
viewer to a shot of the AT&T blasting and destroying another WDF
vessel, this time the Excelsior-class WDF Sulu.

	"Bastards got the Sulu--Kei!" Zoner began.
	"Solution laid in," Kei cut him off, cool and professional.
"Reflex cannon powering up."  She scowled at her tactical display.
"Captain, the enemy ships are blocking my solution."
	"Clever bastards," Zoner muttered to himself.  "Then blast
them," he replied.  "Clear them out of the way, any way you have to."
	"Aye, sir," Kei replied, realigning her controls.
	Zoner tagged the fleetcom again, saying, "All WDF vessels,
this is MegaZone.  Clear our firezone--SDF-23 is powering up main gun
to fire.  Clear firezone."
	
	"Captain, they can't mean to shoot at that thing," Hunter
declared.  "All those GENOM ships are in the way."
	"You've never seen the Reflex cannon in action, Mr. Hunter,"
Gryphon replied.  "Get us well clear of the firezone and help out.
Jamie, target one of the bigger ships and paste it with the phase
transit cannon as soon as possible, and keep the covering fire up with
the secondary weapons."
	"Aye, sir."

	"All allied vessels and fightercraft are clear of the
firezone, Zoner," Kei reported.  "General firepath laid in; Reflex
cannon fully charged."
	"ReRob?" Zoner asked, turning to face the engineering station.
This was the first firing of an untested weapon; he wanted to be as
certain as he could it would work.
	"The board is green," Rob replied.  "She's as ready as she'll
ever be."
	"All right.  Kei: full spread, sweep firezone thirty degrees
on standard pulse duration.  Fire."
	"Full spread aye," Kei replied, and hit the striped key.

		      <<< Ministry: Psalm 69 >>>
 
	Just as her predecessor's had so many times, the foredeck of
the SDF-23 Wandering Child cammed apart into a huge cosmic tuning
fork, between which resonated the orange lightning of a Reflex
reaction.  There were a couple of differences between this weapon and
its predecessor, though.
	The first was obvious; the much large size of the physical
weapon apparatus meant a much larger charging volume, and hence a much
greater discharge.  The second was less apparent when the weapon was
at rest or charging; it had to do with a recent breakthrough ReRob had
made in Reflex superconductivity and subspace resonation, coupled with
a bit of Gryphon's wave-fusion theory.
	The Reflex Cannon Mark II fired just as its predecessor had,
the lightning firestorm ripping from the forks in a huge whiteorange
beam that spread as it clawed forth into space, engulfing several
Ikazuchis, three star destroyers, and two basestars.  All the vessels
crumbled before the blast like sand castles before a tsunami.
	In the warworld's operations center, Largo sneered.  They had
used up their hole card for the next five minutes, at least; the
Reflex cannon was a temperamental weapon, and needed to be charged
with care.  Care took time; another reason Largo rarely exercised it
in matters of equipment.  If it broke, it would be replaced.
	Then it fired again, decimating two more star destroyers and
an Ikazuchi battlegroup.  Largo stared, as if unable to believe what
he had seen.  It proceeded to fire again, and again, and again, eight
times, sweeping across a thirty-degree angle on the plane relative to
the superdimensional fortress's pitch and roll orientation.
	That, Largo knew, was categorically impossible.  He was not
pleased.
	"Destroy them!" he shrieked.  Behind him, a Buma gunnery crew
rushed to obey.

	The AT&T swung to face the oncoming Wandering Child as the WDF
vessel pitched her nose up and charged forward at flank speed,
targeting sensors probing the metallic bulk of the battlestation for a
positive targeting lock.  Kei was skilled, well-trained, even
talented, but she was no Buma; Largo's crew tagged the Child first,
and fired.
	The beam splintered fifty kilometers from impact, arrowing out
in a thousand directions.

	"What the hell?!" Zoner cried.  "Asrial!  What the hell did
that?"
	"Scanning," Asrial replied.  "A very large energy source,
Admiral--it's...humanoid?!"
	"Vaughn!" Zoner said, standing.  "Get me a hailing frequency,
tight beam.  Vaughn!  Just in time, as usual," Zoner observed.
	"Morning," Vaughn's voice replied over speakers.  "Just in
time for what?"
	"To save my ass, that's what," Zoner replied.
	"Oh.  Well, don't mention it...oh hey--I have something to
tell you.  Permission to come aboard?"
	"We're a bit busy right now--"
	"I won't get in the way."  With that, Vaughn Gross walked out
of the portside turbolift door.  "Listen, there's something important
I have to tell you, and while I remember what it is--"
	"Not now, Vaughn!" Zoner said, then with a bit more surprise.
"Weren't you just....  Never mind... Helm, correct course three zero
zero mark one four five.  Tactical, stand by on mass drivers.  Stay
away from that main gun.  Pinpoint Control, this is the bridge, are
you ready?"
	"Affirmative, sir," the intercom replied.
	"Good.  Watch those scopes.  I want all six barriers blocking
that main gun if it comes in; no sense taking any chances."
	"No, listen, this is really--"
	"I'm really busy right now--"
	"Admiral, incoming fire!"
	"Pinpoint Control, where's my blocking?!"
	"Zoner--"
	Outside, the AT&T had unleashed its main gun; as Pinpoint
Control scrambled to intercept it, it bored in on a direct course for
the bridge.
	"Will you all please stop it and listen to me for a second?!"
Vaughn screamed, finally fed up.
	Outside, time stopped.  Literally stopped.  Vessels halted in
mid-maneuver; energy beams (like the AT&T's main gun) stopped where
they were; fighters in the middle of exploding froze, half-formed
fireballs with recognizable starfighter shapes.  With a soft chime,
Gryphon appeared on the bridge of the Wandering Child, looking
confused.
	"You need to hear this too, Gryphon," Vaughn said.  "You all
do.  I know why this universe exists--and you have to know, too.
Right now."

--------------------------------------------------------------EIGHTEEN

	"Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,
however improbable, must be the truth."
				--Sherlock Holmes

		     1 AUGUST 1992 WORCESTER, MA

	Zoner, Gryphon, and ReRob roamed about the Alden Commons
engaged in a heated discussion.
	"I think I should die, some good emotional drama," Zoner
suggested.
	"Bite me, fanboy.  I will not allow you to kill yourself off,"
Gryphon rejoined.
	"How about this...we get over to the AT&T somehow, and take
Largo on in person," Rob proposed.
	"This is great," Zoner commented.
	"What is?" Rob asked.
	"Hanging out next to Alden Hall, early August, brainstorming
at," glancing at his watch, "midnight, well almost.  And you know,
Moxie isn't half bad either."
	"You tell me, guys...is this better than sex?" asked ReRob.
	"I don't know about better than sex.  Maybe just as good in a
different sort of way.  Don't get me started or we'll never figure out
how to end UF," Zoner caught himself.
	"What are we going to do with the end though?  We've got the
core group back together, the Child is dueling with the AT&T, but we
still have to take out Largo somehow.  I don't think the fans would
appreciate it if we just blew up the AT&T and killed Largo in one
move.  That's too impersonal, he's been the big evil dude and we have
to kill him in a suitable manner," Rob summed up the situation.
	"And I'd like to try to get this done by Christmas.  Ben has
Altered Appleseed done, for the most part, and I've started on my own
side story, Solitude, that happens before UF4.  Are you doing anything
Rob?"
	"Well, I have a few ideas.  I'm not sure yet."
	"Ok, and Ben's got some other stuff up his sleeves that I'd
like to contribute to.  Plus I want to get a couple of plays in for
New Voices 11, and my poetry, etc, ad nauseam... We seem to have
embarked on a tangent again...back to UF4...so, what do we do?  Ram
the AT&T a la the SDF versus Bedolza?  Is the main gun powerful enough
to take it out?  How about the...what did you call it, the phase
transit cannon?  Ben, that was your baby, what can it do?"
	"Oh, you'll find out.  Think about the name...it traverses
phase.  Otherwise, it's basically your standard anime death beam."
	"We still have to figure out what we're going to do to win the
battle and end the saga," said Rob, pointing out the obvious.
	"If I might point out, Rob, we haven't finished Part 3 yet,
technically; the details of the setup and breakup have yet to be
determined."
	"Yeah... And I'd rather not have a deus ex machina like
Iczer-1 returning or something.  Which brings up another loose thread,
does Vaughn ever find her?  Does Vaughn come back at all?  I'd like
him to," Zoner added.
	"Morning."
	"Vaughn!" the three startled authors chorused.
	"How's life??"
	"Eh... Aren't you supposed to be in Vermont?" ReRob inquired.
	"Yes.  But I met someone in London who really wanted to meet
you.  Meet Sherlock Holmes."
	"Vaughn, what's up?" Zoner asked.
	"The sky, the moon, no no no... Really, this is Sherlock
Holmes, I met him while I was working on my IQP... I brought him back
with me."
	"Good evening, I am Sherlock Holmes, but perhaps you know me
better by my other name," long dramatic pause, "Edison Bell."
	"I have a REAL bad feeling about all this," Zoner moaned.
	"I think it's funny.  Nice one, Vaughn," Gryphon chuckled.
	"We have fans in London?" ReRob asked.
	"Somehow I get the feeling that is far too simple an
explanation Rob," Zoner answered.		"Indeed, Brian."
Zoner cringed.  "My apologies, MegaZone.  That would be far simpler
than the truth.  In truth, I am Edison Bell, born in 1972, returned
from 2288, via the year four hundred thirteen million, or thereabouts.
All that, of course, you know, for you wrote it."
	"Ok...transdimensional fictional beings.  Now I understand.
Ya'know, somehow this has totally failed to shock me," Zoner calmly
stated.  "Who forgot to pay the reality bill?"
	"Us, Zone," Rob answered.
	"Overdrawn at the reality bank," Ben finished.  "How
embarrassing."
	"That does not change the fact that I am from your universe,"
Edison calmly stated.
	"Bah!  You mean we created you?" Rob asked.
	"Well, no, actually; I believe that honor goes to one Joseph
Martin."
	"If Thag created you, why do you want to see us?" Zoner asked.
	"Because there is a desperate situation that needs your
immediate attention," Edison answered.
	"To back up for a minute.  What's this about you being
Sherlock Holmes?" ReRob inquired.
	"There's no time for trivialities at the present.  We must
away now."
	"Vaughn, you going?" Zoner asked, Ben just taking in the whole
scene and Rob seeming to lose his grip a bit.
	"Why not??  Sounds cool."
	"Than let's do it."  Zoner gathered his jacket and few
belongings.  "Gentlemen, let's go.  Lead on, Mr. Bell."
	"Edison please, this way."
	Edison led them through the side door of Alden Hall.

--------------------------------------------------------------NINETEEN

 	"`Son, I am able,' she said, `though you scare me.'  `Watch,'
said I, `beloved,' I said, 'Watch me scare you though.'  Said she,
`Able am I, son.'"
			--They Might Be Giants

	"So, it really has nothing to do with Lord Fahrvergnugen,"
Vaughn was saying.  "According to the books I found in the library on
Gallifrey, you're the ultimate evil," point at Zoner, "you're the mech
guy," point at ReRob, then pointing at Ben "and it's all your fault!
Mucking up the Universe with some kind of cosmic power.  The only
question I can't figure out right now is where that power came from."
	"You're close, my friend, very close," said a voice from the
turbolift door.  Everyone on the bridge whirled--and froze in their
tracks.  For through that door were walking another Vaughn, a tall,
thin, hawk-nosed man in a deerstalker cape and hat, and another
Gryphon, MegaZone, and ReRob.
	"Bha???" said the first Vaughn, who, for purposes of
identification, we will henceforth refer to as "Reality" in order to
distinguish him from the other, hereon referred to as "Vaughn".
	"Bha???" said Vaughn in reply.  He had been expecting
something odd, but this?  This was a bit much.
	"Um," said the second MegaZone, who will henceforth be known
as Zoner-2.
	"Er," added ReRob-2.
	"Bill," finished Gryphon-2, "Strange things are afoot at the
Circle K."
	"What the fuck?" Kei added, eloquently.
	"Ditto," ReRob piled on.
	Zoner jumped on the bandwagon with "Why am I not surprised?"
	"Yaaay, crosstime," said Gryphon.
	"Oh, my..." Yuri muttered.
	"I can tell you all have a thousand questions...well, I have
all your answers," said Sherlock Holmes.
	"What is the average airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"
	"European or African?"
	"Damn, he's good.  Sorry...who are you?" Zoner asked.
	"I think I know," ReRob told him.
	"I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," said Holmes,
"although you remember me better as Mr. Edison Bell, Esquire."
	"Ding!" Gryphon said, slapping five with ReRob.
	"Edison!" said q.  "But like how'd you survive?  We all
thought you were dead for sure."
	"And indeed I was," Holmes replied.
	"And?"
	"I effected an escape," Holmes replied, as though he was
talking about an ordinary jailbreak.  "Death is a harsh mistress, but
she's not as clever as Edison Bell."  He smiled a sly grin.  "Reality
here knows that, as does Zoner."
	"Ah, sorry, not me... Wait a minute..." Zoner said, turning to
Reality as a memory block from long ago melted away.  "Reality?  You
know Death?!"
	"Well, not personally...I mean, we've never met," Reality
replied.
	"But I saw--oh, bother.  Another one.  I should have figured.
In any event, I escaped, but to the wrong dimension, and without my
travel equipment...I was stranded on Earth, in the late 19th century,
and had to wait until this Vaughn came along...I was able to harness
his latent power to bring us here."
	"But--"
	"There's precious little time, my friends, so you must listen
closely to what I have to say to you.  I am about to explain to you
what and why your universe is, and how it came to be.  Reality was
close, but erred in several particulars.  This universe arose in the
usual manner, just like all the others, and progressed quite
normally--until the spring of 1989.  Then, a young member of the Q
Continuum, the omnipotent beings who strive to keep balance in the
universe, when they're not toying with it, made human and cast out
onto Earth with no memory of his previous existence, committed an
error.
	"His name was John Todd."
	All eyes in the room turned to q, who drew back.  "Like me?
Like no way.  Coolness."
	Ignoring his protests, Holmes continued, "Todd displayed no
inklings of his previous power, expect perhaps for picking up the
nickname `q' apparently quite by accident.  Until one night in 1989
when, intoxicated and attempting to program something, q tapped his
repressed Q powers and created the HoloDECstation.  He promptly forgot
all about it, and it sat dormant, waiting for the right mind to come
along and free it.
	"That mind would not come until October 2nd, 1991.  It was
then that--"
	"--that I found the HoloDECstation in the Fuller basement,"
Gryphon finished, haltingly.  "But...what about Lord F?  He said he
created the HoloDECstation."
	"He did.  After it created him, in the past, before it had
been created.  Oh, never mind, I'm getting to that.  Haven't you
noticed that this universe seems a bit warped?  A bit odd?  Did you
think the existence of all these races and technologies that exactly
mirror fiction was coincidence?  Didn't you ever notice that the
universe was exactly the way it would be if it were the universe you
were writing?"
	"What are you saying?" Zoner demanded.
	"I'm saying that, when Gryphon here discovered the
HoloDECstation and took those first few faltering steps with CLULESS,
he did far more than create two women out of thin air.  His
subconscious mind, attuned to the station's subspace energy patterns,
reshaped the entire cosmos, right down to the ether-concept level,
into the image of his ideal.  Into what he would have the universe be
like if he were writing it as a story."
	"But the universe is also off kilter in favor of the rest of
the Rats.  Actually it seems to favor me almost as much as Ben."
	"That is simply explained.  He was calling up a gif from your
site and his mind connected that action to you.  It also helped that
you had organized the site to your tastes as it supplied the raw data.
So when his thoughts reformed the universe they were taken into
account.  Same for the rest of the Rats, they're never far from his
thoughts."
	"That's ridiculous!" ReRob protested.  "You're saying we're
all nothing more than characters in his story?"
	"No!" Holmes barked.  "Hear me out!  You existed before all
that, Robert.  And you too, MegaZone.  Your destinies were rewritten,
perhaps; your selves remained the same, and admirably `up' to their
tasks, might I add.  No, you're not characters in his story."  He
turned and indicated the three men behind him.  "You're characters in
theirs!"
	"What?!" exclaimed MegaZone, Gryphon, ReRob, Kei, Yuri,
Zoner2, Gryphon2, and ReRob2.
	"Oh, by the way, Rob...yeah.  Yeah, this is better than sex,"
Gryphon2 said.  "Look!  This is our universe.  Our characters.  Look,
Rob--there's you, with your cyberarm.  And me..."
	Before they could go on, a bright flash of light illuminated
the middle of the room, and when it faded, a sneering presence in a
WDF Admiral's uniform was standing there.
	"So, you've figured it out, eh?" said Q.  "I'll give you
credit.  You're pretty good, for a dumb monkey."  He walked over to q.
"Your cover's blown, pal; come on.  Back to the Continuum."
	"Like no way," q replied.
	"What do you mean, `no way'?"
	"Like I'm human now eh?  I'm not going back."
	"That's ridiculous, of course you're going back--"
	Holmes strode over, caught the omnipotent being's arm in his
hand and, with remarkable strength, whirled him around.
	"He doesn't want to go," Holmes said in a low, threatening
voice.  "He isn't going."
	"The hell you say, monkey...boy..."  Q trailed off as he
looked into Holmes' eyes, piercing, slate grey eyes that bored to the
bottom of his omnipotent soul.  The face was different, but he would
know those eyes anywhere.
	"You..." he whispered.  "Bell..."
	"I'm glad you recognize me, Q.  Now get out of here.  This is
no affair of yours."
	"I don't have to--" Q began, weak and defensive-sounding.
	"Go!" Holmes roared, releasing and shoving Q in the same
motion.  "Go now, before I alert the Time Lords to your presence
here!"
	Q paled.  "All right, fine!" he shouted back, petulant.  "One
of these days, Bell," he promised, and with another flash, he was
gone.
	"How did you do that?" Zoner asked.
	"My people and the Q have been enemies for millennia," Holmes
replied.  "We and the Time Lords are the only races they have ever
been defeated by."
	"Defeated...?"
	"That's not important right now!  What's important is that
this universe is on the verge of collapse--"
	Gryphon2 interrupted him.  "Incredible.  It actually is our
universe.  If I had a mind, I think I'd be losing it."  He walked over
to his counterpart, noting his rank bar.  "A captain, eh?  You've done
well by yourself."
	"You ought to know," Gryphon replied.
	"No, actually, I didn't."
	"Huh?"
	"Which brings us to my point," Holmes cut in.  "Somewhere
along the line, your universe diverged from their creative patterns.
You've outdistanced their creation.  When I brought them here they
were hashing through the ending to the third part of their fictional
saga; just at the point where the Wedge Defense Force was shattered,
the original SDF-17 destroyed.  You've passed that, hurdled the
challenge and gone right on toward your destinies without them.
	"And that is a big problem."
	Before anyone could ask why, the deck of the SDF-23 shook
violently, throwing almost everyone to the floor.  They looked outside
and gasped; everything was gone.  All the ships, the Dyson Sphere, the
AT&T, everything.  Even space was gone; in place of that was
whiteness.
	"Eve!" Zoner shouted.  "What the hell's going on?"
	"Shift to bridge life support subsystems.  There was a slight
gravitational aberration during changeover," Eve reported.
	"Cause of changeover?"
	"Design flaw in the vessel," she replied.  "No ship's
structures except the bridge currently exist."
	"What?!"
	"It's already happened.  Damn, damn, I was hoping it wouldn't
start for another couple of hours at least, give me time to fully
explain," Holmes was saying, pacing the deck.
	"What happened?" ReRob demanded.
	"Eve, what is the nature of the universe?" Holmes asked in
reply.
	"The universe is a spherical region forty meters in radius,"
Eve replied.  "Correction; thirty-nine."
	"What?!"  Zoner asked.  Then he, and the rest, saw it; the
blank whiteness outside was growing closer.  It had eaten through the
transparent duranium bridge window and the tritanium shields, and was
closing in on the viewer's projection pit.  This close they could see
it wasn't white, really, but black and white.  In fact, it looked
exactly like television snow.
	"Hey, ant wars," Zoner2 commented.
	"The black ones seem to be winning.  What is that?" asked
Gryphon2.
	"That," Holmes replied, "is the end of this universe."
	"What?  Why?" Gryphon asked, slightly upset.
	"You know, some things just will not do," q contributed.
	"I wonder if she'll be there?" Zoner mused.
	"Now this, this is a bit of a surprise," Zoner2 commented,
drawing an odd look from Zoner.
	"I told you.  This universe has slipped off your creative
tracks.  You are no longer sustaining it.  That is why you could get
no work done, earlier tonight; your creative energies, rather than
sustaining a universe, were just siphoning off into nothingness.  When
it had drifted far enough from you, it ceased existing.  The only
reason this room still exists is because of your presence, and even
that is not enough.  Even Moxie couldn't help now."
	"What can we do to stop it?" Zoner2 asked.
	Holmes looked at them gravely.  "The only way I know of to
stop this kind of dimensional accretion is to seal the ravenous void
closed, satiate it with all the existing energies of the type it
requires."
	"In this case," ReRob2 said, beginning to comprehend, "our
creative energies."
	"Quite."
	"So...how do we feed that...that void our energies?" Gryphon2
asked.
	"By feeding it yourselves," Holmes replied.
	"What happens if we don't?"
	"Then within minutes, the void will claim all.  This room, and
all these people, will cease to have ever existed."
	"Are you certain?"
	"I have been a dimensional engineer for over 413 million
years," Holmes replied.  "I have never been more certain."
	"What about all that's already gone?"
	"It will be restored if the void is closed.  No one but the
people currently in this room will know that anything happened."
	"What's waiting for us on the other side?" ReRob2 inquired.
	"I honestly do not know," Holmes replied.
	"But probably death," Zoner2 said, getting right to the point.
"It comes down to them, or us.  Well, I really have no pressing
concerns back home.  How long do we have?"
	Holmes gauged the approach of the wall of nothingness and
said, "Not long at all.  A few minutes, perhaps."
	"Okay...staff meeting, gentlemen."  Gryphon2, Zoner2, and
ReRob2 gathered in the corner of the room and talked for a minute or
two, each of them pausing to look around the room.  ReRob, with his
cyberarm and his puzzled expression...Gryphon, standing very close to
Kei, his hand in hers and looking worried...Zoner, in his conn, the
fates of everyone around him running through his mind...Yuri, looking
at Zoner and wondering what was going through his mind...q, looking
confused.  Then, they separated, walking forward.
	"We're gonna do it," Zoner2 said without preamble.
	"Are you sure?" Holmes replied.  "It will very probably mean
the end of your existence..."
	"We know," ReRob2 replied.  "But let's face it; we're just
three guys, with short little lives ahead of us, and nothing
remarkable in our futures that we can see."
	"When it comes down to our three little lives, or an entire
universe," Gryphon2 continued, "well...it really isn't any choice."
	"We'd just like a minute..." Zoner2 added.
	"By all means."
	Zoner2 walked over to Zoner, leaning close to him so that no
one else could hear.  "Listen close, my friend," he said, "I don't
have a lot of time.  You are being a dick.  You're walling.  Don't say
a word, you know exactly what I mean.  Here's my advice to me; don't.
You've got a wonderful woman there, just waiting for you to open up
and let her love you again.  Don't throw that away.  You can be happy.
All you have to do is trust in people.  Them...you...yourself."  He
smiled.  "Lighten up, chummer.  Life's too short.  Besides, if I kill
myself for nothing and you muck it all up I will be very pissed.
How'd you like to be haunted by yourself?  So, once I'm gone you kick
Largo's ass, destroy the great evil, and live happily ever after... Or
else.  Write poetry or something, get a life."  Zoner2 grinned
broadly, "Hail Eris!"
	"Thanks," Zoner replied softly, his throat gone suddenly dry.
"Thanks...a lot.  All hail Discordia."
	"Don't let me down," Zoner2 replied with a grin.  He went over
to Yuri.  "Give me a chance, I'm not really all that bad of a guy.
Actually I guess it's my fault for writing me as such a dark dickweed.
I do have to say that I like how you turned out too.
	"Hey Vaughn."
	"Yeah?"
	"Do me a favor.  When you get home make a post for me.  Let
rec.arts.anime and alt.suicide.holiday know what happened.  Few will
probably believe it, but at least they were told.  Of course let
everyone at WPI know what went down... Oh, and make sure that all my
stuff gets distributed amongst the Rats, SFS, library, whatever... And
let my parents know... Ah hell, just figure it out ok, I knew I should
have made a will.  Goodbye.  Oh, and hey, Reality: treat her right,"
he added cryptically, drawing a confused expression from both Vaughns.
	Gryphon2 shook Gryphon's hand.  "It's good to see I finally
became something worthwhile," he told his counterpart.  "My name is in
good hands."  He saluted.  "Carry on, Captain."
	"Aye aye...sir," Gryphon replied, a tear rolling down his
cheek.  Here in front of him was his creator.  He hadn't thought it
possible, and now here he was, and he was going away, going off to
die, to save his life and the lives of everyone he knew.  He felt as
though there was more he should say, but nothing would come out.
	"Kei," Gryphon2 said.  "Take care of him, will you?  He can
get a little fragile sometimes."  Kei smiled weakly, but seemed unable
to speak; she shook her head and tried to make some words.  "Shh, I
know, it's ok," Gryphon2 assured her, giving her a brief hug.
"Goodbye."
	ReRob2 went over to ReRob and took out his wallet, removing
from that a business card.  "Captain Mandeville," he said, "my card."
	ReRob took the card and examined it; printed on it were the
words

			  Virtual Labs, Inc.
			   ReRob Mandeville
			R&D Chief WAYWARD SON
	       "If it can be dreamed, it can be built."

	"Little did I know how true those words would be," said ReRob2
with a smile.  He turned to Vaughn.  "Vaughn, when you get back home,
could you do something for me?"
	"Sure, Rob," Vaughn replied.  "What?"
	"Tell Julia...tell her I'm sorry."
	"Will do."
	"Thanks."

	   <<< Peter Schilling: Major Tom (Coming Home) >>>

	The three authors met in the front of the bridge, a bit behind
the slowly approaching wall of nothing.  "Well," said Gryphon2, "I
guess this is it."
	"Yep," Zoner2 replied.  "Nice working with you, Dr. Venkman."
He turned and, humming "Suicide is Painless" to himself, stepped into
the void.
	"we doctors know a hopeless case when - listen; there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go," Zoner mumbled as his
counterpart vanished.
	"What was that?" Yuri quietly asked.
	"An old e.e. cummings quote I read in the Schrodinger's Cat
Trilogy long, long ago."
	"See you on the other side, Rob," Gryphon2 said to ReRob2.  He
turned, squared his shoulders, whispered a farewell to someone--no one
caught the name--and dove headfirst.
	ReRob2 turned and faced the bridge assemblage, gave them an
ornate hat salute, and silently walked into his destiny.  A second
later, a gale-force wind blew out of the void as its "surface"
crackled with blue lightning; where all the lightning met, the void
spat out a single object, which bounced across the deck and then lay
still.  ReRob's black fedora.
	For a very long second, nothing happened.
	There was a terrible ghastly silence.
	There was a terrible ghastly noise.
	There was a terrible ghastly silence.
	(Sorry, Doug.)
	The universe had returned, in exactly the state they had left
it, and time was running again.  This left the stunned SDF-23 bridge
crew with a couple of pressing problems.
	Like the AT&T main gun bolt that was heading right for the
windows.
	By the time anyone noticed it, it was far too late to do
anything about it; it was coming in like a freight train, casting a
green glow over everything it was about to disintegrate.  Zoner forced
his eyes to stay open, determined to meet his death head-on.
	Until, just as it had centuries earlier, a bolt of orange
energy took the green bolt from the side, blasting it off-course and
splintering it into a thousand thousand tiny beams that the SDF-23's
shields soaked up easily.
	"What was that?" Zoner demanded.
	"It's her!" Reality shouted.  "She's come back!"  He turned
around and ran back into the turbolift.
	"Who?" asked q.
	"Who do you think, you dufus," Zoner replied with a wide grin.
"Her!"  Outside, they could clearly see a woman, clad in pink and
black battlearmor, her thick yellow hair flying in space.  Iczer-1.
	
	Having reappeared back on the bridge of the Concordia, Gryphon
shook off his momentary disorientation just in time to see Iczer-1's
arrival.  Grinning, he opened a channel to the SDF-23.  "Hey,
Zoner--looks like the gang's all here, eh?"
	"Looks like it," Zoner replied.  "Maybe now we'll get
somewhere."

---------------------------------------------------------------TWENTY

	"Now there's another thing I want you to remember.  I don't
want to get any messages saying that we are `holding our position'.
We're not `holding' anything.  Let the Hun do that.  We are advancing
constantly and we're not interested in holding onto anything except
the enemy!  We're going to hold onto him by the nose, and we're gonna
kick him in the ass!"
				--General George S. Patton, Jr.

	The battle continued to rage for several more minutes.  Here
the smaller vessels dipped and twisted around each other, trying to
get their guns to bear, as fighters streaked across the skies.  There
a wing of Broadsword bombers pasted an Ikazuchi all over the sky with
a concerted spread, only to be decimated by a vicious TIE fighter
counterattack.  The Battlestar Centauri blazed away with all guns at a
star destroyer, firing back with equal vengeance.  The SDF-23
unleashed her main gun only once more, destroying a small cluster of
basestars and Ikazuchis; the battle was getting too spread out for
efficient use of the weapon, and MegaZone seemed strangely reluctant
to destroy the AT&T.
	The GENOM warworld, for its part, had been oddly silent, its
main gun not firing again since the attack interrupted by Iczer-1.
ReRob theorized that the weapon had been backsurged by the beam's
interruption; he couldn't estimate the damage, though.  Depending on
the extent of the damage and the speed and skill of the GENOM repair
teams, the weapon could be back up at any time, or never.  No one got
close enough for it to bring its lesser weapons into play, and it was
too slow to catch any of the WDF ships.
 	Within a couple of minutes, the GENOM fleet disengaged,
retreating at full speed to regroup a couple of AU's from the Dyson
Sphere, hiding, as it were, in the shadow of a rogue planetoid that
the Sphere had pulled into orbit.  The AT&T, being slower, cruised
after the rest of its fleet, serene in its invulnerability.  The WDF
let them go; they needed the respite just as much as their harried
adversaries.
	On the bridge of the Concordia, Gryphon studied the latest
sensor readings of the AT&T and noticed a couple of things that
interested him.  "Hmm..."  He ordered a comm channel opened to the
Wandering Child, and, when he had Zoner on the screen, said only,
"Zoner, I think you should convene a council of war aboard the '23;
I've just discovered something that should interest you a great deal."
	
	In the large conference room aft of the SDF-23's bridge,
Gryphon pointed his laser pointer at the viewer and said his piece.
	"The AT&T is equipped with a large number of fighter bays," he
pointed out, indicating a couple of them.  "Only logical, since a ship
that large and slow would need fighters of its own to deal with the
enemy.  I've been studying the thing since it appeared, and frankly,
I'm astounded by it.  As a starship engineer, I simply can't
conscience destroying it.  It's a marvel of engineering and I'd give
my eyeteeth for a chance to study it in detail."
	"Not destroy it?" Kei broke in.  "Ben, are you mad?  If we
leave that thing alone we're all dead!  They're probably getting its
main gun operational as we speak!  When they re-engage--and trust me,
they will--we're doomed unless we hit it first, hard, with everything
we've got."
	"Not necessarily.  Look, when they withdrew, they called back
all their fighters, correct?  Well, that's the whole gist of my plan.
Lieutenant Finney, if you will?"  Obligingly, Finney clicked to a view
of the AT&T, seen from its "front", the orientation it favored in
relative formation.  The viewer zoomed in on one of the fighter bays.
"These bays are connected to the rest of the vessel's internal
corridor network--logically, they have to be.  If we can get a
boarding party into one of the bays, we can make our way to the bridge
and take control of the entire battlestation.  Capture it, instead of
destroying it."
	"Capture it?  That?" asked Kei.  Then her bluster faded; a
smile crept onto her face.  Storming an installation, running around
in corridors, blowing away anything that got in her way, until the
objective was won--that was her kind of operation.  She could see,
with just a quick glance to her left, that her partner was warming to
the idea as well.  "I'm in!"
	"Me too," Yuri added.
	"Question: how do we get them to open their fighter bays?"
ReRob inquired.
	"Simple.  We attack them with every fighter we have.  They're
too far for their fleet to be able to help them--if we launch within
the next ten minutes, they'll be less than a third of the distance to
the rest of the GENOM fleet.  Bad tactics on Largo's part--he's
banking too heavily on that monster's invulnerability, and not enough
on his own skill.  Or maybe he still thinks we're stupid.  Either way,
he's made a dumb error.  Here's the distribution."  The viewer changed
to a diagram of fighter-wing layouts.
	"The Eight-Ball Squadron will lead the assault," he indicated,
"at the front of the formation.  The rest of Concordia's fighters will
join in as well, except the Blue Devil Squadron; they'll remain to
defend the ship, although I doubt it will be necessary.  Kei, Yuri,
you'll be here, in your Valkyrie; the Lovely Angel would draw far too
much fire for this mission.  All fighter groups from all vessels,
except one preselected defense group, will form up like so, and sweep
out like this--" he indicated another diagram, this one showing
fighter distribution around the AT&T's wireframe spectre-- "forcing
their defense net into action.  They'll have patrol fighters out, but
nothing that can handle this.  They'll launch fighters--at which point
Eight-Ball will engage the fighter group coming from this secondary
fighter bay and secure the bay.
	"Task Force Alpha, comprised of units Meta, Eta, Zeta, and
Omega, as well as the Eight-Balls and the Angels, will then enter the
bay.  Infantry will disembark and spread out in several directions,
relying on inertial guidance systems to reach the north pole of the
battlestation, where sensor scans indicate the bridge is located."
The viewer shifted back to the original fighter layout.
	"With only one fighter squadron apiece to defend each of our
carriers, though, and no cover at all for the cruisers and
battleships...if they mount some kind of counteroffensive, the fleet
will be vulnerable," MegaZone pointed out.
	"That's where you come in, Iczer-1; I want you to remain
behind and guard the fleet."  
	Iczer-1 nodded, then said, "I'll do my best--but what are
units Meta, Eta, Zeta, and Omega, and why is there an Eight-Ball
Zero?"
	"Observant," Gryphon said with a grin.  Unit Eta is a PT-4A
Assault Shuttle equipped with a Mark II cloaking device.  It will
carry the Shadow Security Squad and be covered by Red Squadron, from
the Battlestar Galactica.  Unit Zeta is a Salusian Model 15 attack
craft, carrying Colonel Perry Aldzinjal and his 101st FTL Cavalry
elite Marine platoon; it will be covered by the WDF Tiger's Claw's
Screaming Blue Electric Death Squadron.  Unit Omega is another PT-4,
and will carry Lt. Finney's security team from the Concordia.  Blue
Fire Squadron will cover them.  Eight-Ball Zero will be myself; I
intend to lead this operation."  He ignored the gasps of surprise and
protest to continue, "And Unit Meta...well, I can't see Zoner missing
out on an op like this--can you, Zoner?"
	"Of course not," Zoner replied with a grin as wide as UP's
Gate Four.  "But you've forgotten something," he added.
	"General Order Number Fifteen?  `No flag officer shall enter a
hazardous situation without armed escort'?  What the hell do you call
three squads of troops, a 3WA consultant team, and a platoon of Space
Marines?"
	"No," Zoner said, "I was fully prepared to ignore all
regulations forbidding me from going, when did I ever care about
rules?  No, I mean you don't need the vulnerability of that third
shuttle; I can carry Lt. Finney's security team in my Beta, and
they'll be a hell of a lot safer.  The Angels too, for that matter."
	"Right.  So much for Unit Omega.  Now, unless there are any
very pressing questions that can't be answered on the way over there,
I'll adjourn this meeting.  Everyone get where you're supposed to be."
	"One question," asked ReRob.  "Actually, two.  One: Why is
Zoner not leading this mission, as ranking officer; and two: why
aren't I on that list?"
	"One: the mission was my idea, and once we get out of the
fighter phase and into the ship, there won't be much need for
leadership; and two, you are--you're assigned to Unit Meta."  Rob
brightened.  "Now then.  Rendezvous with the Concordia in five
minutes.  Time is short."
	"Hold it," a voice Gryphon hadn't heard in almost forty years
called from the doorway.  "Don't you even think of leaving your old
point man and first marksman behind."  Gryphon turned, and standing in
the doorway were two very familiar people.  One was enormous and
metallic, an eight-foot-four Hecatonchires combat cyborg; the other
was a slender, pretty blond woman of average height, wearing grey
CVR-5, her helmet under her arm.  And he knew them.
	Of course a few others recognized them too.  Zoner just shot
an "of course" look at the ceiling.
	"Deunan?!" he said.  "Briareos?  What the hell--how did you
get here?"
	"Earth joined the Federation ten years ago, remember?" replied
the 'borg.
	"Yeah, I know that--but how--"
	"You can thank your friend with the cyberarm," Deunan replied
with a smile, pointing to ReRob.  "We saw you at his concert and
chartered the next runabout we could get."
	"But--"
	"We're official representatives of the Terran government,"
Briareos went on.  "Authorized to render any assistance possible to
the Wedge Defense Force in this battle.  So what do you say?  Could
you use another pair of good guns?"
	Gryphon grinned.  "Of course.  You're with Unit Meta.
Departure stations, please--I'd love to catch up, but I'm afraid time
is not on our side here."
	"We hear you, Captain," Deunan replied with a smile and a
salute.  "Let's go, Bri."
	Everyone scattered out of the ready room; Gryphon called for
ReRob to remain as everyone else left.
	"What's up, Gryph?" he asked, walking around the table.
	"Rob...sit down.  I have bad news."
	ReRob remained standing.  "It's Deedlit, isn't it?"
	Gryphon sighed, the pain and recentness of it all coming back
to him.  "Yes, it is.  The Phoenix got itself noticed by one of the
Ikazuchi's gunnery control officers, and took a serious pounding; she
lost helm and drifted into the crossfire between said Ikazuchi and a
WDF cruiser.  Her warp core was on the way to breach, so I put the
Concordia between the Ikazuchi and Phoenix to perform a rescue
operation.  One of their missiles got by and scored a hit just as we
did; Saavik's analysis review tells me it was a dirty nuke warhead,
designed to send out a big subspace pulse.  They must have seen us
drop our shields in their fire and realize what we were up to."
	"You were beaming them off?"
	"Yes.  Melissa O'Brien is the best transporter chief in the
fleet, Rob, but that missile did its job; she had locks on three out
of four when it hit, and she did her damnedest, but...she lost the
pattern."  Gryphon sat down and put his head in his hands.  "I'm
sorry, Rob.  I tried, but I just wasn't good enough."
	Rob was silent for a moment.  Then he said, "The others?"
	"Kevin will be all right; he had a broken arm and was in
severe shock.  Cheryl was very badly hurt; lots of broken bones, a
hairline skull fracture, massive internal injuries and some signs of
brain trauma. My CMO is optimistic, but guarded, but then, she's a
Vulcan, so she's always guarded.  Meph is dead, too; he was dead when
we beamed him over...damn it, Rob, I'm sorry.  I saved a dead man's
corpse and lost your wife.  I'm so sorry."
	Rob put his hand--his real hand--on his friend's shoulder.
"What happened to the Ikazuchi?"
	"What do you think?" Gryphon replied, standing.  "Finney
locked the phase transit cannon on her and we blew her into next
week."  He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pushing his
glasses out of the way to do it.  "Damn it...it was just a stupid,
stupid accident..."
	"It's all right, Ben," Rob said softly.  "Don't torture
yourself.  This is war; we both knew what could happen when we started
out.  I can fall apart later; right now we've got a job to do.  Let's
go do it, so she won't have died in vain."
	The two officers shook hands and marched resolutely out.

------------------------------------------------------------TWENTY-ONE

	"Niitaka yama nobore ichi-ni-rei-ya."  ("Climb Mount Niitaka,
1208.")
			--Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku

	Five minutes later, a mighty array of fightercraft streaked
toward the AT&T, which had shrunk to a dime-size dot in the sky.  In
the lead was Gryphon, strapped into the cockpit of his shiny new
VF-2XS Ultra Victory.  The Ultra was the prototype for a new class of
Victory; like its predecessor, the VF-1FS Hyper Valkyrie, it was a
special command vehicle, equipped with a much more powerful powerplant
than the average (already overpowered) VF-2, tougher myomers, a better
sensor suite, and microwarp drives optional.  For this mission,
Gryphon indeed had the warp nacelles installed; he wouldn't need the
missiles, but he might well need the speed.  Besides which, the VF-2XS
had a couple of other neat toys packed into that particular options
package.
	Arrayed behind Gryphon's fighter were the five fighters of the
Eight-Ball Squadron proper, in their gleaming white and black livery
with electric blue trim.  They were all VF-2 series as well, Colonel
Currier's of the S variety, Lieutenant Morris' J, and the rest A's.
Flanking that was WarpZone, hovering protectively close to the attack
shuttle carrying Perry's Space Marine division.  Also shadowing the
Salusian shuttle was Major Mark Luchini's Screaming Blue Electric
Death Squadron, five F-44G Rapier medium starfighters, bristling with
missiles and armed to the teeth.  Red Squadron, an elite Viper group,
were in a standard diamond formation around the Triple-S shuttlecraft.
Behind them were almost every other fighter squadron in the Wedge
Defense Force.

       <<< Roger Waters: The Bravery Of Being Out Of Range >>>

	On the bridge of the AT&T, a subordinate radar operator turned
in his seat.  "My lord!" he shouted.  "Sensors have contact with
incoming targets!  Hundreds of them, very small."
	"Fighters," Largo said.  "The idiots are sending fighters.  Do
they think my masterpiece has the idiotic reactor-shaft vulnerability?
They should know that a ship this size cannot even be powered by
modern reactor technology.  All stop; resume red alert.  Prepare all
defenses and launch all fighters."  He sneered.  "They might have
bested us," he admitted quietly.  "I might have known they would do
something stupid like this."  He turned to the window to watch the
slaughter, his smirk rapidly returning.
	
	"We're coming in on the AT&T's attack zone," Gryphon called to
all WDF fighters.  "Look sharp and stay hot; it's going to get pretty
busy around here."  Instants later, he was proven correct as every
turbolaser emplacement on the warworld opened up.  Right on schedule,
the fighter bays opened as well.
	"Eight-Ball Squadron from Eight-Ball Zero!  The bays are
open--punch those burners and let's clear out that sec bay for the
shuttles!  Blue Death, Red, WarpZone, cover the shuttles while we make
our run.  Everybody else, work on those turbolasers, and try not to
get killed!"  He rammed his throttles open and smiled with fierce joy
as the seat slammed into his back.  This fighter reacted with such
speed and power it made his old VF-1FS feel like an ancient pickup
truck by comparison.  The six Victories banked over as one and
screamed toward the secondary bay, just as twenty-five TIE fighters
cleared the doors.
	All six Eight-Balls unleashed their missiles at the same time,
a boiling, writhing swarm of explosives that lanced out and filled the
space just outside the bay with death.  Not a single TIE escaped.
Instants later they swept through the fireballs, already converting to
gerwalk mode, and into the bay itself.
	Gryphon raised the GU-14A focused particle cannon that
replaced the old GU-11 chaingun and blasted a spread across the bay's
control booth, set into the wall on the far side.  Wouldn't do for the
bay controllers to contact the bridge, after all.  He was settling
into battroid mode in front center as the other five formed a circle
on him, just like the drills.  The bay was still; no alarms hooted, no
more fighters launched.  They were unnoticed, alone in an empty,
cavernous room.
	WarpZone sent a roiling mass of missiles from its VLS system
into a swarm of TIE Interceptors boring in on the shuttles.  Zoner
wanted badly to get into a furball, but he dare not get into heavy
maneuvering with passengers in the beta module.  The Avenger ripped a
TIE fighter in half as the collimator-ring phaser on the beta acted as
a CIWS, protecting the transports.
	"Keep those damn shuttles in tight!  And keep the hell out of
the phaser's arc of fire!  Zeta, come to por..."  Whap!  Laser fire
raked the WarpZone.  "Hey!  That scratched my paint!  Die!"  The
turbolasers stabbed out into space, ending in a fireball roughly the
size of a TIE fighter.
	"Mother fucking sonofa--- DIE!"  Haywire could be heard
screaming over the tac net.  Apparently the Screaming Blue Electric
Death Squadron was seeing action too.
	"Task Force Alpha, this is Eight-Ball Zero.  The bay is
secure.  Bring 'em in!  Eight-Ball, wait until the shuttles are down,
then position for easy exit."
	Within seconds, the two attack shuttles and WarpZone had set
down, and the rest of the fighters had been ordered to break off and
retreat.  The Eight-Ball Squadron turned their fighters to face the
open bay doors and converted through gerwalk to fighter mode, position
for an instant egress.  Gryphon made certain his CVR-5 was secure and
popped the canopy, climbing out to form up with the other five pilots
in white, black and blue and slinging his swords over his back.  The
SSS's shuttle disgorged its seven-person team, and the 28 red-suited
Marines trooped out of their shuttlecraft; MegaZone, ReRob, Kei, Yuri,
Deunan, Briareos, and eight people in blue-and-black Federation
Security suits disembarked from WarpZone.  They all met on the other
side of the airlock doors, where the wide AT&T corridors diverged.
	"Okay," Gryphon said, turning to survey the team.  Zoner in
his red-and-black CVR-5; Kei and Yuri in their black suits, the
shattered hearts painted on the shoulder plates repaired; ReRob, his
artificial arm conspicuously unsuited; the five Eight-Ball pilots;
Jaime and her seven hand-picked guards; Perry, the three black stripes
very noticeable on his upper arms, marking him senior Salusian
officer, and his 27 good men and women; Gordo and his SSS, just like
they were back on Musashi that day.
	"Here's the basic plan.  Find as many different ways to the
bridge as you can.  Stay in contact on the secure band.  Perry, Gordo,
Tricia, and Jaime, you have province over the people under your
command--send 'em where you think they'll do the most good.  Zoner,
Kei, Yuri, Rob, Deunan, Bri, you're on your own, just like me.  Do
whatever you feel necessary.  Good luck everyone--with any luck, we'll
meet on the bridge in less than an hour, and this battlestation will
be ours."
	"Luck, Captain," said Perry.  He and his marines trooped off
down the nearest passageway.
	"See you on the bridge, sir," said Finney quietly, and, with a
hand signal, led her squad into the next passageway over.
	"We're with you, Gryph," said Gordo; his usual Predator's
hunting armor had been supplemented with an armored, custom-designed
pressure system, and made him look even less like a living being and
more like a terrifying death machine.  (Which he was; few knew that
the fierce Predator was also one of the Wedge Defense Force's best
entertainers...)  "I never copped to that rap on Musashi.  We'll see
ya on the bridge--I'll clean Largo's skull for a trophy for you when
you're done with him."
	"You've got yourself a deal," said Gryphon with a grin, and
the seven-man SSS scattered, activating their cloaking devices and
disappearing.
	"See you up top," ReRob said, and, drawing his blaster,
climbed--like a true engineer--into the nearest Jeffries tube.
	Kei and Yuri had nothing to say; they just checked weapons,
stowed their pressure suits into their utility packs ("they just get
in the way in an atmosphere"), and vanished around a corner.
	"Good luck, Gryph," said Currier, and the pilots went their
way as well.
	Briareos grabbed Gryphon's hand in his own massive metal paw
and said, in traditional Olympus ESWAT fashion, "Keep your head and
watch your back."  Then he clapped him on the shoulder and the two
ESWAT cops were gone.
	"You could use someone to help you watch your back, eh,
Captain?" Zoner asked with a smile.
	"That I could, Admiral, that I could," replied Gryphon, and
the two of them set off down the only unexplored corridor.
	The corridors of the AT&T were remarkably deserted; apparently
most of the station was automated, and there was no need for tons of
crew to be roaming around.  And Largo was so wrapped up in the
infallibility of his defenses that there were little or no security
forces patrolling either.  No alarms had been sounded.
	After climbing eight decks by the secondary core stairs,
Gryphon paused on a landing and turned to MegaZone.
	"This is too easy," he muttered.
	"I'll say," Zoner replied, adjusting his grip on his E-Max.
"Not only haven't we run into anything, but we haven't gotten a signal
from anyone else either.  Eris has been screaming in my ear for the
last few minutes.  I really don't like this."
	"Alpha One to Shadow One.  Gordo, do you read?"
	"Loud 'n clear, boss, go ahead."
	"Just checking in," Gryphon said.  "Encountered anything?"
	"Nope.  Couple'a guards outside the turbolift in sector three,
but they didn't even see us.  I guess your average Buma isn't equipped
with motion detectors, hey?"
	"Guess not...be careful.  It's too quiet; I'm starting to get
nervous."
	"You and me both, boss.  Shadow One out."
	"Well, nothing for it...come on," said Gryphon, and continued
climbing.  They climbed another four flights uneventfully; then, just
as they were passing the power door from Level 27, it started to open.
Gryphon flattened himself to the wall on the door's left as Zoner did
likewise on the right; a red Mark 15 security Buma stepped through.
Zoner waited until it had passed, then blasted it in the back of the
head.
	It rumbled in annoyance and turned around.
	"Oh, shit," Zoner offered as he dove to the side; the Buma's
sweeping fist slammed into the metal wall, denting it severely.
Gryphon leveled his phaser and fired.  The orange beam struck the Buma
in the chest, spinning it around and knocking it back for an instant
before vaporizing it totally.
	"Thanks, Gryph," Zoner said, getting to his feet.  "What the
hell's wrong with this thing?  I should've blown that thing's head
clean off."  Zoner popped the access panel on the side of the heavy
handgun and ran its internal diagnostic program.  He was not pleased
by what it told him.  "Shit.  Defective transducer.  This thing's
about as useful to me as a stun gun."  He holstered it and drew his
secondary weapon of choice, a Predator II heavy slugger.  "Well, when
in Rome..."
	"Right."  Sending a warning to the other units, Gryphon
continued climbing.

	"Well, at least they've seen something," Kei complained.  "How
the hell did I let you talk me into this?  It's the oldest trick in
the book."
	Behind her in the air duct, Yuri replied, "And it always
works.  Odd, that."
	"Oh., shut up."
	Within a few minutes they met a grating.  Dead end.
	"So much for your wonderful idea," Kei said to her partner,
and kicked off the grate.  She dropped down into the corridor beyond--
	--which turned out to be full of red security Buma, all of
whom obligingly hauled out sidearms and sounded a sector alarm (a
station the size of the AT&T very rarely had full-station alerts)
while opening fire.
	"Shit!" Kei cried, diving into a nearby doorway, using the
forty-centimeter-or-so recess for cover.  The door opened, of course;
a glance back assured her that it was an empty conference room behind
her.  Yuri crowded into the doorway behind her, blasting away with her
ElectroMax 520; several Buma fell, chests holed, before getting up.
Kei drew her own sidearm, a PlasmaTronix 2000, sighted, and pulled the
trigger; a circular area almost twelve centimeters in radius from the
red dot suddenly became open air in the lead Buma's chest.  It went
down in a tangle of twitching biomechanoid limbs and didn't get up.
	"Yuri!" Kei cried, blazing at the charging Buma.  "We need
help!  Call for some backup!"
	"Right!" Yuri replied, keying her headset and calling for
backup as she holstered her sidearm and jacked the power couplings of
her longarm of choice into position.  Leaning into the corridor, she
took a firm grip on the forestock and opened fire.
	The Thompson Model 2127A repeating laser rifle, a perfect
replica of the old M1927A "Tommygun", started chattering out its
staccato fire pattern, the ducted gas compensator on the muzzle
shaping the superheated air caused by the laser pulses into the
characteristic "Chicago typewriter" sound.  Buma lost their foreheads
and tumbled; Yuri was not making the same mistake again.
	Kei pulled her own longarm off her back as her right hand was
holstering her sidearm; she unfolded the sleek, squarish weapon's
folding stock, keyed its power systems online, and engaged the active
sighting in a matter of two seconds while raising it to her shoulder.
The weapon, which looked remarkably like the old Heckler & Koch G-10,
began humming ominously, its muzzle glowing with a dull orange
radiance.  Yuri ceased firing and ducked as Kei dropped the red pipper
onto the chest of the leader Buma and fired, at a range of around ten
meters.
	The Remington AutoAssault-44 Plasma Shotgun roared, spitting a
neat cone of superheated plasma which withered and nearly vaporized
the Buma spearhead.  Sixteen Buma legs, attached to various vaguely
humanoid bits of twisted metal and charred, blasted biomechanoid
synthflesh, clattered to the deck as the rest retreated to regroup,
giving the Lovely Angels a short breather.
	It turned out to be very short; another Buma squad appeared
down the corridor, and a second on the other end, flanking the other
side of the door.  With their battle suddenly becoming two-fronted,
the Angels started thinking hard about their options.
	Suddenly, blaster fire echoed in the corridor.  The newcomers
on the far side of the door started dropping, heads blown off from
behind; Kei leaned her head out enough to see and discovered that the
Eight-Ball pilots had come round from the other side and bushwacked
the Buma where they stood.  Before any of them could turn around, they
had all been slaughtered.  However, the squad up the corridor was
already facing them, and opened fire; as the pilots fell back, one of
them, Pilot Sergeant McMurphy, screamed and dropped, his armor
smoking.  Kei couldn't tell how bad he was hit from the distance.  She
turned in the doorway, pulled a grenade from her belt, and sprang into
the corridor, hurling it with a shout at the Buma.  It clattered into
their midst and went off, leveling several and blackening and
distorting the walls in that part of the corridor.  Kei got back into
the doorway lest the covering fire from her own allies take off the
back of her head, and then leaned out and let the Buma have it with
the shotgun again, taking out several more.
	Yuri jacked the power grudge on her Tommygun up higher and
then ducked right out into the hall, rolling across the floor and
coming up flat against the opposite wall, laying down a thick fire
pattern all the time.  Behind her, she heard Colonel Currier shout an
order to her men to keep their fire to the center of the corridor,
which they obligingly did as the last of the Buma, five of them, bore
down on the Angels' positions.  They accounted for two more, and Yuri
blew another's head off, before Kei fired the shotgun again and took
out the last of them.  Then the WDF forces met halfway.  Another of
the Eight-Ball pilots had McMurphy slung over his shoulder, and the
wounded pilot seemed to be moving partially under his own power, so he
apparently wasn't hit too badly.
	More GENOM forces approached from the rear, blocking that
avenue of escape. The Pair and the Eight-Ball group made a fighting
withdrawal down the corridor.  It wasn't hard to figure out that they
were being herded, however, there wasn't much that they could do.

	In other areas the separate groups were having similar
experiences.  The Triple-S was boxed in on three sides, and Gordo was
out of escape routes.
	"Shadow One reporting.  We are boxed in and I feel we are
being herded into a kill zone.  Present location level 107, corridor
183.  We are being forced toward station center.  Request assistance,
over."
	"Lovely Angels reporting.  We're in a similar situation, level
105, corridor 172.  Over."
	"Finney here, we cannot give assistance.  Most of us are
currently tied up in the barracks area, we're ok, but we can't
withdraw at this time.  I sent Giotto and half the squad ahead to
clear the way to the bridge.  Over."
	"Perry reporting.  We're currently advancing on level 180.
We're doing fine, but I'm afraid we won't be able to get to you very
soon.  Over."

	ReRob had been listening to the radio exchange and after the
first call he had accessed the station layout via a service terminal.
"ReRob here, over in Armory 451.  Listen, sounds like they're herding
you to some sort of central amphitheater.  It doesn't look good,
they'll have a clear field of fire once you enter the hall.  Team
Apple, where are you?"
	"We're in an access duct just off of corridor S45."
	"Ok, that's.... umm... Level 113.  Ok, you should be near a
vertical utilities duct.  Take that down six levels to 107, then
continue along S36."
	"Ok... Damn!"
	"What?"
	"There's a blast door here..." Screeee! Clang! "...there was a
blast door here.  Thanks Bri.  We're clear now."
	"Good.  I'll meet you down here.  I should make it before
you."
	"So, what are we going to do?"
	"I've got an angle."
	"Oh... And Hanover... Goodbye," Gryphon's voice chimed in.
	"Gryph, drop it.  Listen, Ben and I are close to the command
sector.  Do what you can, dig in if you need to.  Hopefully once we
reach Largo they'll back off.  Good luck," Zoner cut the link.  "I
hope you don't need it."

	ReRob took his position in duct S36 and waited for Deunan and
Briareos' arrival.  The odds weren't good, but there was a slim chance
they could get the Triple-S and the Eight-Ball/Pair groups into the
service corridor which ran just above the entrance to the main hall.
	"ReRob, Apple is ready."  Deunan and Bri dropped into the duct
next to Rob.
	"Great.  Bri, Merry Christmas."  He pointed to a mechanism in
the shadows.  "Listen, corridor 172 ramps up and meets 183 just a few
yards before 183 enters the hall.  Just before the entrance a service
corridor P36 crosses above 183.  If we can cut through to P36 and then
down to the hallway we should be able to get them out of the pincer
trap."
	"That's a lot of work to do in very little time," Deunan
observed.
	"Then I guess we should start now," Rob answered and started
off toward the junction.

	"We're through!" Deunan called from the cut she was working
on.  ReRob and Briareos were resting after their turns with the laser.
	"Coolness," ReRob activated his comm, "Eight-Ball and Shadow,
what are your current positions?"
	"Eight-Ball.  We're close to the base of the ramp now.  Over."
	"Shadow.  We're fighting a holding battle at the corner
preceding the junction.  What's up?  Over."
	"Hold them off as long as you can.  Eight-Ball, get up the
ramp and see if you can drop the roof, seal it off from the top.  Aid
Shadow as best you can.  Do not withdraw until you get word from me.
We'll get you out.  Over and out."
	
	Rob turned to Bri and Deunan.  "We don't have much time.
Let's move."  He led them into corridor P36 and pinpointed the spot at
which they needed to cut through.  ReRob took first shift as he raced
the clock to save his friends.  He'd already lost the person most
important to him, and he wasn't about to lose more.

	"ReRob, where the fuck is that escape route?!" Yuri asked
frantically.
	"We're working on it, almost through.  Hold on," Rob turned to
Briareos, "Come on, they need us through right now!"
	Briareos didn't say a word, he was going as fast as anyone
could, but he new what was riding on this, and the pressure Rob was
under.
	Down in corridor 183 the situation was bad and getting worse.
The teams were being overrun by sheer numbers as the Buma used massed
wave attacks, and another team was digging through the rubble blocking
the ramp up from corridor 172.  Time was running out.

	"Rob, I hate to bother you, but things are getting a little
tight down here," Kei called over the comm link.
	"Just about through, hold on."  ReRob finished the incision he
had been working on, bringing the line into plumb with the beginning
of the black burn scar.  Then he killed the torch and ducked back,
gesturing to the panel he had cut out.  Briareos leaned back and
delivered a full-force side kick to the center of the cut area.
	Yuri and Pilot Officer Coltrane jumped back as a rectangle of
ceiling burst down into the corridor.  Right behind it came a hulking
combat 'borg--for a moment, Coltrane almost mistook it for a Buma,
until he noticed the sense booms and realized it was a
Hecatonchires--carrying a really large weapon.  His eyes widened as he
took in the honeycomb of barrels jutting from the front of the angular
housing, the heavy EP cable running to the large, blocky backpack, and
the flash shield, and threw himself on the floor with a strident cry:
	"Down!  Vindicator!"
	The British-AnimeTech Vindicator-X is a weapon both respected
and feared by anyone who knows anything about squad automatic weapons.
For it is the ultimate squad automatic weapon.  Each of its six
barrels is the equivalent of a TTG-X1 Man-Portable Particle Projection
Cannon.  (Or, if the arc attenuators are removed, a Remington
AutoAssault-44).  With the microfusion powerpack at full output, each
attains a maximum rate of fire of 360 rounds per minute.  There are
six of them.  In the AnimeTech Arms Division's 2387 catalog, it's
listed as a "crowd control weapon" for use in "mecha congregation
situations".  In other words, one uses it to wipe out a large, angry
crowd of mechanoids.
	Like, say, this one.
	Everyone who wasn't wearing flash compensators and bat-ears
dropped to the floor and threw their arms over their heads and prayed
to God, Allah, Eris, or whoever, that the 'borg knew what he was
doing.  They needn't have worried.
	Briareos thumbed the toggle switch on the top of the weapon.
The rotor servo clicked in, bringing the barrels up to rotating speed,
and a voice similar to that in an '88 Buick Skylark informed him,
"Your Vindicator is on."  The Buma, in the middle of making another
charge, skidded to a halt as the high, keening whine of the weapon's
rotator motor filled the corridor.  They had almost managed to reverse
their direction when Briareos pushed the trigger all the way down.

		 <<< Led Zeppelin: Rock and Roll >>>

	The sound a Vindicator-X makes when fired at full power is a
sound no one who ever hears it ever forgets.  The sight of the machine
bucking in the hands of its operator, spitting a thousand thousand
thunderbolts (all right, so I'm waxing dramatic--do you know how late
it is in this part of the world?) along a more or less straight line,
is similarly impressive.  It sounds like a cross between a high-speed
pneumatic hammer, a violent lightning storm, a really large Jacob's
ladder, and the Wrath of God.
	When it was over, ozone lay thick in the air, and bits of Buma
lay thick upon the floor.  As the others got hesitantly to their feet,
Briareos looked down at the smoking Hammer of the Gods he held in his
hands and did his version of a smile.
	"God, I love this thing!"
	"Happy birthday," Deunan replied, dropping the rope ladder out
of the hole in the ceiling.  "Going up."
	ReRob checked his watch and smiled.  He muttered to no one in
particular, "Well, the least you could do is tell me your name!"
	The timer on the little gift he left in the armory read 0:00.
	Boom.

-------------------------------------------------------------TWENTY-TWO

	"Let's toast the hero with blood in his eyes/The scars on his
mind took so many lives/Die hard the hunter"
				--Def Leppard

	The bridge doors sizzled, sparked with orange lightning
radiance, and then dissolved.  Gryphon dove through, phaser's emitter
cone glowing, and Zoner was right behind him.
	"Largo," Gryphon called across the vast chamber, his voice
echoing in the corners.
	Largo turned, his eyes narrowing.  "Ah, hello," he said with
his mocking grin.  "I was just about to hunt you down and kill you.
Thank you greatly for saving me the trouble."  He dropped the limp
figure in Fed Security armor he was holding by the throat--at this
distance, Gryphon couldn't tell who it had been--and started walking
toward Gryphon, cracking his knuckles one by one.
	"Aren't you going to shoot me?" he asked as he approached.
"One quick shot and you'd vaporize me forever, and never have to worry
about me again."
	"Can't," Gryphon replied.  "The phaser's out of juice."  He
threw it aside.  "But then, I don't need it."  He pressed a key on the
forearm guard of his CVR-5, and, with the gleam of a transporter
effect, a VR-152 Warrior Cyclone materialized next to him.  He mounted
it, started it, and accelerated toward Largo; as the latter set
himself for combat, Gryphon punched the big blue key and, with a burst
of jump jets, transformed the Cyclone into combat mode.
	Several steps back, MegaZone marveled at the neat manner in
which the Cyclone mated with the back of the CVR in such a manner as
to leave the hilts of the two swords exposed and unharmed.  Apparently
Gryphon had designed the linkup routines just for that contingency.
	Largo took three steps back and vanished into the turbolift.
Gryphon didn't even pause for the doors, and jetted down the shaft,
following his quarry's infrared signature.  He burst out of the shaft
on a lower level, looked a round, and realized where he was.
	It seemed ironic to Gryphon that the site of his first, last,
and only battle with Largo, the engineer of all his misery, should
take place in a Buma factory.  A defunct Buma factory.  He stood on
the catwalk, a hundred feet above the process floor, looking for his
quarry.
	"Largo!" he bellowed, the amplifiers in his CVR-5 making his
voice boom into the far corners of the chamber.  "Are you afraid?
Face me!"
	"Afraid?" Largo's mocking voice echoed back.  Gryphon tried to
pin it down, but he couldn't.  With the Griffin's systems--no.  Never
again.  I swore.  "Largo is afraid of nothing--least of all your
pathetic insignificance."  The Hyper-Buma dropped to the catwalk
behind Gryphon and, before the latter could whirl around, had smashed
him off the catwalk with a mighty backhand.
	The process floor rushed up at Gryphon from the right; he let
it come.  Fuck it.  There wasn't time to pull out and he wasn't going
to look like a damn fool trying.  He slammed into the process floor,
demolishing a conveyor belt, and got to his feet, noting the cracked
armor plates on his left rear quarter and right shoulder and side.
The right arm was a little slow, and his right shoulder hurt.  Big
deal.  He turned, sighted, and fired off both left forearm missiles;
the plasma explosions vaporized a large section of catwalk. Largo was
gone; his laughter echoed through the plant.
	"Your machine is insufficient for the job at hand," he mocked.
"A Cyclone?  Against my might?  I am unimpressed." He appeared from
the shadows in front of Gryphon, a good sixty feet distant.  Snarling
with rage, Gryphon kicked in his boosterjets for the leap, drawing
back a fist.
	The next thing he knew, he was on his back a hundred feet
behind his starting point.  Something had slashed his right cheek and
his nose was smashed; blood was everywhere. The facebowl of his helmet
was destroyed; he was lucky to have his eyes.
	"You are slow," Largo taunted.  Suddenly he was behind
Gryphon, hoisting him up and plunging a fist into the Cyclone's
powerpack.  Gryphon twisted like a madman, nearly snapping his spine,
whipping his left arm and connecting with Largo's temple; the Buma
hardly flinched at the full-power blow.  Then the Cyclone went dead.
Gryphon set the self- destruct and ejected it into Largo's hands; the
fireball blew out that end of the process floor, trashed Gryphon's
CVR, and engulfed Largo.
	Gryphon struggled to his knees, trying to get his vision to
focus.  His CVR-5 was burned, blackened, and smoking; the blood on his
face was caked in soot and baked hard.  The armor was gone on his
right upper arm, revealing raw, torn, burned flesh.  The entire south
end of the factory floor was burning rubble.
	Largo burst out of the rubble.  He was a little sooty, but
other than that, nothing much seemed to have happened to him.
	"Shit," Gryphon muttered, spat out some blood, and tried to
get to his feet.  He couldn't get his head to stop spinning, and the
pain roaring at him from his face and arm was turning the edges of his
vision red.  Angrily, he tried to block it.  He was running out of
options.
	"Pity," Largo said as he began walking slowly, evenly, toward
Gryphon.  "If you had used that battlearmor of yours, this might have
been a somewhat close to fair fight...tell me, please, before you die,
why you didn't use it."
	"Someone I cared for died in my arms, some years ago," Gryphon
rasped, "because I was working on that damned suit and didn't get
there in time to save her.  From you.  I swore I'd never use it again
after that."
	"Me?" Largo asked, somewhat confused.  "We have never met in
combat before."
	"No, but we would have...on October 14th, 2333...if I hadn't
been working on that damned suit of toy armor."
	"Oh."  Largo tried to place the date, failed, and replied
simply, "Pity," with a mocking grin.
	Gryphon was silent, standing defiantly, waiting to die.  Over
Largo's shoulder, he could see Zoner, ReRob, Kei, and Yuri emerging
from the bashed-out turboshaft door.
	"Goodbye," Largo continued, and punched Gryphon as hard as he
could in the chest.
	Had Gryphon been slightly heavier, or anchored to the floor,
or struck at a slightly different angle, or standing in an area with
slightly higher air pressure, the punch would have had the desired
effect; Largo's fist would have come out the back of his armor,
covered with various bits of important organs like the heart.
However, he wasn't.  The punch caved in the chestplate of his battered
CVR-5 and catapulted him the length of the process floor, where he
slammed into the wall, bounced, and fell face-first onto a large metal
rod, which proceeded to smash through the chestplate just below the
left collarbone.  He hit the floor face-down, the bloody rod sticking
into the air like a flagpole.
	"Ben!" Kei cried, starting to run to him.
	Zoner grabbed her before she got more than a few steps.  "This
is his fight, let him do it on his own.  If Largo did to me what he
did to Ben, I'd want to kick his ass myself too."
	Kei didn't seem very convinced, but she stopped struggling
against Zoner's grasp.
	Largo smiled and turned around.  Not the effect he had been
trying for, but a most satisfying one nevertheless.  Now all that
remained was to deal with the rest of these idiots and then wipe the
last of the Wedge Rats from existence at his leisure.
	Something metallic scraped behind Largo.  He turned to see
Gryphon struggling to his knees, then to his feet.  Blood was flowing
steadily from the corner of his mouth and both nostrils.  Pure hate
burned in his eyes; his bloody teeth were gritted, his upper lip
curled in a snarl.
	"Still alive, human?  Still fighting?  You should have died
while you were ahead."  Largo began strolling unhurriedly back toward
Gryphon to finish the job; after all, Gryphon wasn't going anywhere in
a hurry.
	Gryphon's gloved right hand grabbed the protruding end of the
metal rod and yanked it out, barely flinching; he spat some blood,
then tossed the rod aside.
	"You know, Largo," he said, his throat raw from smoke and
heat, "I swore once I'd never do this again...but for you, I'll make
an exception.  To deal with you, I think she'd understand."  He closed
his eyes.
	Blue lightning flickered over him, forming rapidly into scan
lines; the grid began to form something, a shape, bulky and angular--
	"You!" Largo whispered, his eyes widening.

	   <<< Queen: Gimme the Prize (Kurgan's Theme) >>>

	Detail and color flooded sizzling in, and standing before
Largo, gleaming and new, was the GRF-S4N Griffin IV Super-Heavy Combat
Hardsuit.  Zoner, up on the catwalk, pulled up short, his eyes
widening--he'd seen the suit before, but it wasn't the old Griffin
armor.  The old GRF-3N had been shiny blue metal, bulky and covered
with sharp angles, with a wide facebowl helmet and an enormous
backpack of flight jets and microfusion plant.  This suit was entirely
different, but familiar.  The helmet was designed in the old Griffin
style, but it was solid metal--it must run, Zoner thought, by VR or
in-helmet projection, or a combination of both.  The style was
slightly less angular, and a bit more compact and powerful.  The
trademark armor baffles on the shoulders and knees were still there,
but the flight jets were in a compact, folded package on the back with
sustainer jets on the backs of the calves, there was no visible bulge
of a powerplant, and the huge particle cannon that was its main weapon
was streamlined and angular, with a guard that ran back and covered
the entire left hand.
	The right arm ended in a powerful gauntlet, just as before,
and the forearm guard extended over the back of the hand, studded with
small knobby protrusions; on the inside arc of the forearm guard, cut
back along the heel of the hand, were three small muzzles.  The whole
thing was painted in a clean white, the "facebowl" was black, and most
important trim was silver.  There were smears of something red on the
chest and arms--Zoner thought it was blood.  The suit must have been
bloody when he put it away last; it's been in stasis ever since, on
the chip, he thought.  The swords were still there, grips poking out
of the thruster pack.  All this Zoner took in, and that wasn't what
was so remarkable about it.  It was the fact that he recognized the
suit, had seen it on the news and commented to himself on its
resemblance to the Griffin suit.  He focused his eyes on the helmet,
zooming in on it, and saw exactly what he had expected.
	Printed in small letters along the upper edge of the black
"facebowl" were the words:

		       K N I G H T S A B E R S

	"I'll be damned," MegaZone whispered.  "It was you."
	Gryphon gasped as the suit's medicomp assessed his condition
and shot large amounts of stimulants, endorphins, and regen boosters
into his system.  Pain spiked to a silvery high, then vanished;
fatigue evaporated.  All that was left now was the rage.
	"You," Largo repeated.  Then he threw back his head and
laughed.  "How ironic!  You were one of the great thorns in my side,
and I never even knew who you were.  I should have guessed you would
make your way to me and make yourself a problem again, but you know,
it never even occurred to me!"  He laughed again.  "So it seems not
only the legacy of Wolfgang Fahrvergnugen follows me around, but that
of Katsuhito Stingray as well!  No matter.  You're still a pulped mess
inside that suit.  Die!"  He drew out a laser blade and leaped to the
attack.
	There was a deafening sound, a combination of the crackle of
energized particles, the thump of superheated air, and the crash of a
thunderclap.  A blinding, crackling bolt of lightning streaked across
the factory.  The smell of ozone and burned Bumaflesh filled the air.
The laser blade pinwheeled gaily across the room, clattering off the
wall and rolling across the floor.
	Largo and his right hand hit the floor separated by ten feet.
The Hyper-Buma got to his feet, looking down at the charred stump that
was once his right wrist, and snarled. This wasn't the first time this
kind of thing had happened to him.
	"I'd say it's about time you learned that the Griffin is more
than just a legend," Gryphon said, and charged.
	Largo ducked aside, but the suit was fast, as fast as he was.
The last generation of hardsuits had been painfully powerful, he
recalled, and wondered how much this man's innovations had to do with
that.  He was grazed by the right fist as it passed with the force of
a speeding semi truck, sending him staggering back a couple of steps.
Gryphon fired his reaction jets, stopping on a dime and pivoting to
face Largo, who was idly amused by the fact that the flight boosters'
location and configuration, in the back and lower legs of the suit,
mirrored his own Buma's designs.  Then he put his mind back to the
business at hand.
	Gryphon closed in, slowly, inexorably; with a clatter of
unlatching lock plates, the PPC came loose, and he discarded it.
Largo suddenly wished he had his Sol satellite back.  He could no
longer see Gryphon's eyes, but he could feel the pain and hate burning
in them right through the metal faceplate, or at least imagined that
he could.  Gryphon's right arm came up, the little knobs on its upper
surface glittering in the harsh arclights of the factory floor.  Then,
as he came within arm's reach, he struck.  Largo tried to dodge, but
too slowly; the punch took him in the lower left abdomen, and he felt
a ripping concussion as two of the lower ribs were blown out.
	"That was for Linna," Gryphon said.  "And this is for Sylvie."
He raised the arm, then, and fired the center railgun.  On a good day,
long ago, Largo had caught one of these railgun spikes out of the air
and then cast it back, impaling its firer through the shoulder.
Today, though, he tried to intercept it with his right hand, before
remembering that the hand in question was no longer part of his body,
and it was his turn to take the foot-long shaft of metal through his
shoulder.  He staggered as the Hyper-Buma equivalent of pain, damage
estimates, began flooding in.  Then, marshalling his strength, he took
two steps backward and then sprang into the air in a flying forward
kick.
	Steel fingers clamped around his ankle with incredible
strength and speed, and he was flying through the air and meeting a
wall face-to-face.  More damage estimates came in as his nose was
smashed.  He turned, trying to get the world to stop spinning, as six
Gryphons advanced on him again; before he had a chance to recover,
they had all said, "That was for Anri," and then delivered a
tremendous punch to his gut that doubled him over.  "That was for me."
	Gryphon lifted Largo into the air by the throat and held him
high overhead.  Regaining some of his senses, Largo brought his hand
down on Gryphon's elbow, forcing the arm to bend and denting the
armor; as his feet met the floor, he kicked, catching Gryphon in the
abdomen and driving him back a couple of steps, breaking his grip.
Then, taking the offensive, he charged and tackled his armored
opponent.
	Gryphon got the heel of his left hand under Largo's chin and
levered him back as the Hyper-Buma's own hand sought the junction of
his helmet and shoulders (the Griffin suit had no neck per se, instead
relying on the three-layer swivel in the helmet-shoulder piece
junction).  They remained that way, locked together in straining
combat, for several seconds before Gryphon got his feet up under
Largo's chest and kicked him away, firing the leg thrusters in the
process.  Largo got to his feet a dozen or so meters away, tearing
away the burning remains of his tunic.  His surprise had gone, and he
knew his opponent's strengths now.  He was confident that the battle
would go better now.
	Gryphon sent three more railgun spikes his way as he executed
a booster charge; one of them caught him in the left thigh, the other
two missed, and then they were together again with a ringing crash.
"For Celia and her father."  Largo felt a wall hit his back, and then
part, and they were through into the next compartment over.  Zoner,
Rob, Kei, and Yuri got down from the catwalk and ran across the
process room, not wanting to miss anything.  The battle could turn
round at any moment, and they wanted to be able to help Gryphon if he
needed it.
	Gryphon needed help, indeed, but he was getting it from his
hardsuit.  He could feel ribs sliding round, but it didn't
particularly bother him, and he was quite certain that his arm was
broken where Largo had hit it, but the armor kept moving, so it didn't
matter all that much.  Pain was everywhere, but that was all right.
Pain was an old friend of Gryphon's.  He got a hand around Largo's
throat and forced him away again, then drew back his left fist.
	"This is for Kei," he said, and punched the Hyper-Buma as hard
as he could.  "This is for Yuri," he said, and repeated the maneuver.
"This is for Zoner."  Once more.  "And for Rob."  Again.  "And
Deedlit."  Again.  "And anyone else who's suffered because of you."
Pow.  Largo's head lolled for an instant, but then the Buma recovered,
and Gryphon dropped him before he could hit his arm again.  Largo
roared in rage and tried to tackle Gryphon, but the latter executed a
picturesque roundhouse kick that drove his adversary back several
dozen meters.  He pressed his advantage, closing the gap with a
screaming booster jump that became a flying wheel kick, a somersault,
and a landing that found Gryphon on one knee, facing his enemy.  Largo
tackled Gryphon again, sending him back against the wall, his thumb
prying at the juncture of helmet and shoulders again.  Gryphon's arms
hung limp at his sides; escaping Largo's notice, a foot-long blade
extended from under his left hand.
	"And this is for Nene," Gryphon grated, and rammed the blade
up under Largo's sternum as hard as he could.  Largo's world exploded
in red as the damage reports flooded his cortex; the main circulating
pump was damaged, and several backups inoperative.  77% systems
failure all the way across the board.  The main circ pump went
completely out as Gryphon forced the blade deeper, higher, lifting
Largo right off him as the Buma's grip slackened, and alarmed sensors
warned Largo of a 45% nutrient fluid loss, and rising rapidly.
Gryphon held his impaled foe aloft for a second before throwing him
off the blade and across the room, to slam into the opposite wall
fifty meters distant.  By the time Largo regained a semblance of
consciousness and struggled to his feet, Gryphon was right in front of
him.
	The armored Wedge Rat reached over his right shoulder with his
left gauntlet and drew one of the swords that hung there from its
built-in scabbard; Largo forced his eyes to focus on it.  It was a
katana, a very well-made one, with a simple eelskin grip and an
intricately carved guard showing a serpent eating its own tail.  His
still-operative sensor suite analyzed the mass and density of the
blade in a quarter-second and informed him that the metal had been
folded over 200 times.  It was also extremely old, fourteenth century
at least.
	"This sword is a thousand years old," Gryphon said then,
confirming his estimate.  "It and its companion are the only remaining
artifacts of the once-great warrior house of Asagiri, of Terran Japan.
It was given to me by that family's last surviving member in 2333, in
Mega Tokyo, on New Japan in the Enigma Sector, shortly before her
death from injuries suffered at your hands.  This...this is for her."
He took the blade in a two-handed grip, touched its point to the side
of Largo's neck, and drew it back.  Largo tried to ready himself to
dodge, but his body would not obey his commands.  His cybersystems
indicated to his vision a 99% systems failure before going totally
offline and leaving him with unaugmented vision--and even that was
starting to flicker and fade.
	"There can be only one!" Gryphon shouted, and brought the
ancient sword around with all his might.  There was a heavy chopping
sound; the blade glittered as its fine steel edge shed orange Buma
blood in a thick arc across the wall.  Zoner, ReRob, and the Lovely
Angels climbed through the hole in the wall just in time to see
Largo's head fly free of his body, bounce twice, and roll to a halt,
as Gryphon stood with his left arm fully extended, the gleaming katana
outstretched and still dripping orange blood.  Then it clattered to
the floor as Gryphon sank to his knees, exhausted.
	"Aww.... You let the smoke out," Zoner balefully observed.
	"Ben!" Kei shouted, kneeling before him and grabbing his
shoulders as Zoner and Yuri pushed Largo's body aside.  He sagged
against her, the armored suit really not all that heavy, and then
reached up with his left hand and unlatched his helmet, letting it
fall away.  His face was a mess of blood and sweat streaks, and his
eyes were sunken and hollow from burnout, but he was smiling, weakly.
	"Always...wanted...to say that," he confided, and then his
eyes closed and he fell fully against her.
	She just knelt there and held him, until the rest of the WDF
forces arrived and reported the bridge secured.  Then they took him to
WarpZone and flew him back to the Concordia, reasoning that he'd
probably want to be cared for by his own doctor.

----------------------------------------------------------TWENTY-THREE

	"Turn around, turn around/It's a human skull on the ground/
Human skull on the ground/Turn around"
				--They Might Be Giants

	Gryphon awoke in a bed; he could tell immediately, by the
smell, that he was in sickbay.  He sat up.  He wasn't in a lot of
pain, really; he had recovered, mostly, from the exhaustion induced by
his hardsuit filling him full of epinephrine-Z.  The ribs and his arm
had knitted and were healing well, as was the break he suspected his
left knee had sustained during the battle.  He looked down at his
chest; the three circular scars were still there.
	He looked at the table next to his bed.  The two swords and
their tanto companion were all there, in their scabbards.  He had
taken the blade that day and replaced his own, high-tech one with it
in the hardsuit sheath; the last scion of the house of Asagiri had
been buried with his weapons instead of her own, by her dying demand.
Since then he had carried the three blades everywhere, and used them
in battle more times than he cared to count.
	He had fulfilled his last debt of honor.  His name was
cleared.  Largo was dead.  His conscience was, for the first time in
almost a century, silent.  He smiled and, gathering his will, made
those century-old scars disappear.
	"I was wondering when you were going to do that," came a voice
from around the corner.  Kei stepped into the room, smiling.  Gryphon
was somewhat surprised to see that she was wearing a WDF Navy uniform
and a captain's bar.
	"What did you do," he asked with a smile, "take over my ship
while I was out?"
	"Well, you know what they say, Captain," Kei replied.  "`If
you die, we all move up in rank!'"
	"Don't be so sure," Gryphon rejoined.  "I'm as tough as an old
boot.  It'll take a lot to kill me off."
	"Don't I know it."  They locked eyes for a moment from perhaps
six feet, weighing what they each found in the other's gaze,
reflecting on the century they had spent looking at each other only
over weapon sights, and then burst out laughing, an activity that
Gryphon found caused him a rather high level of pain, which he
ignored.
	Around then, others came into the room: Zoner, and Yuri, and
ReRob, and behind them Lt. Finney, her left arm in a sling, and Gordo,
with a small cloth bag.
	"Oi," Gryphon said, "what is this, a party?"
	"Of a sort," Zoner replied.
	"Got a present for ya, chief," said Gordo, and opened the bag,
presenting, with a flourish, a gleaming, perfectly polished human
skull, made of shiny silver metal.  Gryphon took it, marveling at its
weight and solidity, and turned it over in his hands.  There, on the
side, he could see the stamp.  

			  GENOM CORPORATION
			     TYPE 481-A-S
			 H-Y-P-E-R - B-U-M-A
			 J-2073-D-2670-S-1871

	He shook it, then rapped on it.  It was hollow, empty.  He
turned it over and gazed thoughtfully into the eye sockets out of
which had looked the red eyes he had hated for so long, traced the
line of the jaw which had laughed at him so many times with his
fingertips.
	"Well, you bastard," he said to the skull, "you're not
laughing now, are you?"

	Model 55-C Buma no. 1138-04462, currently Field Commander in
Chief of the GENOM Combined Fleet, looked up from the report of the
AT&T's capture with what, for a Buma, was a look of bleak resignation.
	"Well, that's it," he announced to the Provisionary War
Council.  "We've had it.  We--"
	"Your attitude is defeatist," his 33/S intel chief, an
abrasive little creature by the designation of DKR-2, interrupted.
"Just because they have captured the Armored Tyranny and Terror does
not mean that they know how to use it."
	"Decker," 1138-04462 said tiredly, "just how much do you know
about these people?  How much experience have you had working among
them, O God of Espionage?"
	"Physically, none," Decker-2 admitted, "but my direct
predecessor was their leader's right-hand man for a number of
centuries.  I know all that he did.  They are brave, and clever, but
lack true intellect.  They will not figure out how to operate most of
the major systems for days yet, let alone the subsystems.  We need not
fear their new toy just yet."  The little replicant grinned
infuriatingly, and 1138-04462 had to suppress the urge to rip it off
his face.  It would not help the morale of the troops any for their
new leader to start slaying his staff.
	Morale?  Hell, yes, Buma have morale.  Any automaton which is
fully self-determining will develop emotional responses after a couple
of functional decades around other reasoning beings.  Most of the Buma
troops in the Combined Fleet dated to the origin of the Federation,
fifty or so years before.  They had been quietly gathered to fleet
duties from all over known space over the past couple of years.  Some,
especially the crews of the newer Ikazuchi ships, were fairly new, and
hence fairly emotionless.  That accounted for the abnormally high rate
of destruction in Ikazuchis; their crews were fast and skilled, but
they were just machines.  The seasoned crews were kept for the better
ships.
	Most of the GENOM Combined Fleet had existed long before they
joined together to become the Combined Fleet; scattered throughout the
galaxy in task forces and border patrols, corporate convoys and space
station sentinels, their true strength had been hard to count.  Also,
many of the huge ships that had been used as freighters had been Star
Destroyers, disguised, their Marines and most of their fighters
removed to make way for cargo, but mounting full complements of guns
nevertheless, and easily converted back to combat readiness.  To
create the awesome Combined Fleet that had wiped out the Federation's
Starfleet at Wolf, pulverized the Deneb, Enigma, and Vega Sector
Defense Forces, destroyed the militias of countless worlds, and even
punched through the staunch blockades of the Salusian Imperial Navy
and the Zardon Home Defense Fleet, all Largo had to do was issue a
call and wait for all his sheep to return to the fold.  It had taken
two months for the last GENOM ship to slip quietly away from its
assigned station and rendezvous in the Halstead system.  All that had
remained was some large-fleet training, a lot of mission briefing, and
the commissioning and staffing of four new Imperial class Star
Destroyers, ten Ikazuchis, and Dreadnaught II.
	Suppressing his rage with centuries of experience, 1138-04462
turned to DKR-2 and said icily, "I am disregarding your platitudes.
Instead, I will rely on my own experiences with the Wedge Defense
Force, which, while not as direct and intimate as your predecessor's,
are much more extensive--and a hell of a lot less colored by your
arrogance."  The 33/S seemed somewhat put out by his commander's harsh
words, but held his tongue; perhaps he had seen 1138-04462 struggling
for that brief instant with the urge to kill him.
	"I was at the first battle GENOM ever had with the Wedge
Rats," 1138-04462 told the Provisionary War Council then.  "I was a
simple foot soldier then.  I fought in the slaughter that was the
First Battle of Worcester, and narrowly avoided being killed by the
Wedge Rat called MegaZone.  I escaped the city's destruction by
seconds, and only through fortitude and ingenuity."
	"You were a coward," Decker-2 translated, "and ran away before
the battle was done."
	"I was wounded," 1138-04462 replied coldly and evenly, "and
retreated to assess my condition so that I might make the most
effective contribution possible to the battle.  When it became obvious
that we would not be victorious, I assisted Largo in making his
escape.  Do you call him a coward?"  Decker had nothing to say to
this.  "In any event, I served in the Second Battle of Worcester as
well, as Largo's aide de camp, and helped him escape the rout a second
time, very nearly at the cost of my own life once more.  Since that
time, I have fought in 2,478 engagements, major and minor, with
elements of the Wedge Defense Force, all told, as an infantry officer,
fighter pilot, starship gunner, squad leader, subcommander, ship's
captain, and task force leader.  I have studied the Wedge Rats and
their tactics; I have followed the details of their personal lives,
such as they can be made available to me.  I know the Wedge Rats.  I
know how they think, how they react.
	"The Wedge Defense Force is a noble and honorable opponent,
and our battles with them have never been anything but glorious.
However, they have also never been anything but futile.  We of GENOM
Corporation believe that our mission is just, our cause is pure, and
our victory is assured because we have right on our side.  I do not
believe that this is the case."  Shocked whispers fluttered round the
table as 1138-04462 continued, "I worked closely with Largo for many
years.  I knew him as well as anyone could know him, and I tell you
this: he was mad.  His skill was great, there is no doubting that; he
built GENOM from smoldering wreckage to the corporate Titan it is
today with his bare hands.  But he was mad, obsessed with the idea of
revenge against the Wedge Defense Force, an organization with which we
have never had any real reason to come into conflict with.  The only
reason we have ever met them in combat at all is because of Largo's
overweening hatred of them.  I say the time for mindless aggression
and pointless imperialism is over.  We are a corporation, not a
nation.  It's time we got back to making good products and reaping a
large profit, and left conquest and the arts of blood to those better
suited for them."
	No one said a word for several minutes, until Decker rose to
his feet.
	"You profane the memory of our Lord Largo," he hissed through
clenched teeth.  "You suggest that we abandon the imperatives he set
for us when he created us?  We owe him our very existences--and you
suggest we turn our back on his ideals?  You call him mad--but I think
you are the one who is mad.  Or simply cowardly."
	"Hold, DKR-2," P2B(fnord)H-727, a Type 60 and the head of the
Second Fleet, interjected.  She was old, almost as old as 1138-04462,
and saw the merit in his arguments.  "Go on, 1138-04462.  What would
you suggest we do?"
	"Sue for peace," 1138-04462 replied.  "Return all our
surviving vessels to their old duty stations and resume operations as
we had before this ill-conceived debacle.  Inform the governments of
space that Largo is dead, and that we wish nothing other than to
return to the status quo, ante bellum."
	"Do you honestly believe they will go for that?"
	"No," 1138-04462 replied truthfully.  "I do not.  I believe
they will demand that we disband our fleets entirely, either
scrapping, selling, or yielding in open capture most of our vessels.
I believe they will keep a close watch on our Corporate activities,
probably for a very long time.  I believe all of us will be tried for
war crimes, and perhaps punished.  But the war will be over, and the
black streak of insanity that has for so long tainted the reputation
of our fine corporation will be erased.  We will be free of Largo's
madness."
	"You are nothing but a traitor," Decker-2 cried, getting to
his feet.  "Do you forget your origins?  You are Buma!  In that, you
have an obligation to the legacy of your maker."
	"Largo was not my maker," 1138-04462 replied.  "A computer,
the creation of a Wedge Rat, was.  The same Wedge Rat who was Largo's
maker."  1138-04462's metallic face attempted a wry smile.  "So you
see, we really are not all that different, after all.  We are all the
children of Fahrvergnugen."
	"You are worse than a traitor, then," Decker snarled.  "You
are a heretic as well.  Were Largo here, he would make you pay for
your treason."
	"He is not here," 1138-04462 roared.  "He is dead!  And his
madness should die with him!"  1138-04462 brought a hand down hard on
the planning table.  "I am Buma.  You are correct.  And my first
loyalty must lie with my kinsmen.  I do not want any more of us to die
today.  I do not want our reputation as a race of ruthless mechanized
murderers, rather than honorable soldiers, to spread any further, to
become ingrained any deeper in the collective unconscious of the
galaxy's sentient life.  If we must surrender to stop the bloodshed,
then that is what I will do--if for no other reason than the fact that
there is no way we can win this battle now."

		     <<< Queen: I Want It All >>>

	"That's a cue," a female voice announced in the open of the
chamber, "if I've ever heard one."  With a flare of blue energy, a
woman appeared in the room, opposite the head of the planning table
where 1138-04462 stood.  The old Buma had met her before, and despised
her then as now.  She was exactly the last person he ever wanted to
see appear in this chamber, and she did it at the worst possible time.
	"You are relieved of command, 1138-04462," said Iczer-2 with a
wicked grin.  "Report to your quarters.  You will be disciplined
later.  Right now, as Commander-in-Chief of the GENOM Combined Fleet,
I have a war to win.  Some Rats to kill.  A universe to conquer."
Then she threw back her long red tresses and laughed, a long, high
laugh that carried in it the edge of madness 1138-04462 remembered so
well from long ago.  She was as mad as Largo.  Perhaps worse.  He
turned and stalked toward the door; there was nothing more he could do
here, in this room.  Just before leaving, though, he turned back.
	"I was mistaken," he said to the assembled generals.  "Largo's
madness did not die with him.  I had forgotten that he gave a part of
it form, long, long ago.  If you follow it as blindly as you followed
its owner, it will lead you to exactly the same ruin, but as it
informs you, the matter is out of my hands now."  Then he departed,
the door sliding shut behind him.
	Iczer-2 decided against destroying the insubordinate Buma.
After all, he was old, and his tactical knowledge might be useful
later on.  Of course they'd have to strip his cortex and download the
memory core to get it, but that was all right; he had developed far
too much of an attitude anyway.  Time enough for that later, though.
She turned back to the table.
	"Now then," she said with a smile.  "Give me a summary of all
that has happened."

	"Zoner, we have a scrambled transmission coming in," Vision
reported from the wall screen.  "They're asking for you personally."
	"Patch it through to this screen, please," Zoner replied.
	"Here it is..."
	The screen filled with the image of a Buma crouched over his
comm unit.  Anyone watching could tell that he was nervous.
	"This is MegaZone, commander of the Wedge Defense Force, what
do you want?"
	"We've met, although you would not remember, at WPI, January
first, 1992."
	"Old timer eh?  So, what did you contact us for?"
	"I had originally intended on surrender, but at the moment, I
suffer from a lack of forces to surrender with."
	"A sense of humor, too, I see."
	"Perhaps the time is wrong for levity.  I would like to help
you."
	"Oh really, somehow I have trouble believing that.  Why the
hell would a Buma want to help the Wedge Rats?"
	"Perhaps I've seen too many battles, lost too many comrades, I
do not know.  I just want this never-ending battle to come to a close.
And for that I am willing to aid the foe I have battled against for so
long."
	"You're very articulate for a Buma," Ben interjected.
	"One picks up a few things from several centuries of PBS."
	Zoner chuckled, "Ok.  I have a feeling that you're not in a
great position, you'd be a little less furtive if you were.  What can
you give us?"
	"I was part of Largo's inner circle for many decades, I know
how mad he truly was, with his death I thought the madness would end.
Then she returned."
	"Who?"
	"Iczer-2."
	"Shit," Ben hissed.
	"There goes the neighborhood," Zoner quipped.  "So, what's the
situation."
	"I was next in line after Largo, but with her return I was
stripped of my command.  She is as mad as he ever was, but with far
more power.  She is currently aboard this ship, the star destroyer
Avenger.  She has convened a war council and will shortly launch an
all out attack on the remaining WDF forces.  There is little chance
that we will win, however, both sides will suffer terrible losses.  It
is this that I want to prevent."
	"I'm open to suggestions, either that or we can just blow the
shit out of each other and see who's left."
	"I have the central command codes for all of the major fleet
vessels.  Largo insisted on having a way to control things himself.
His ego will be the fleet's undoing."
	"Nice...  But won't the commanders know what's going on?"
	"Few know of the system, I am one of the few he entrusted with
the codes.  Largo had the designers killed once the system was
complete.  There are others who have the codes, however it will take
some time to bring the ships back online once they are under your
control."
	"So what are we suppose to do?  Immobilize your fleet and then
blow it away?  You want to minimize casualties right?"
	"There are many others who feel as I do, and yet more who
could be swayed.  Immobilize the fleet and use your access to transmit
a message to all vessels.  Offer peace and asylum to any who wish it.
I will do the rest."
	"Sounds crazy... I like it.  And if it doesn't work we're just
back to where we used to be.  So let's do it.  Iczer-2 will not be
pleased."
	"I can deal with her.  Age and experience will always overcome
youth and bravado.  I have the advantage."
	"What's that?"
	"I'm not mad."
	"Could've fooled me.  You're mad as a hatter, but it's a good
mad."
	"You mistake weariness for madness.  I only wish for this to
end."
	"Ok.... Are you ready to transmit the codes?"
	"Yes."
	"Vision, grab them and bounce 'em to Eve."
	"Will do."
	"We'll start operations in thirty minutes, does that give you
enough time?"
	"Yes, if I have not contacted you in the thirty minutes
thereafter, you must strike."
	"Don't worry, we'll be ready.  Good luck, I'll talk to you
again within the hour."
	"If we succeed, yes."
	1138-04462 burst the codes across the link and signed off.

	"Well, that was definitely surreal," Gryph commented from his
bed.
	"All in a day's work," Zoner stated calmly.  Everyone just
stared at him.  "Ok, ok, it was surreal.  I have an image to maintain
you know."
	Gryphon just said, "Fish."
	"Ok people, let's move," Zoner ordered as he ran to the flight
deck, the others in tow.
	"Hey, anyone know where they put my uniform?" Ben called after
them.

-----------------------------------------------------------TWENTY-FOUR

	"One of these days I'm going to cut you into little pieces!"
				--Pink Floyd

	"Two minutes to broadcast.  Status report?" Zoner called out
from the command chair.
	"All ships report ready, comm links open and secured,
transmitters at standby," Chris reported.
	Zoner's comm screen flashed to life, Ben's face appeared on
the screen.  "Zoner, listen, I had this idea.  Once we've gotten into
their communications net, and we control the horizontal and the
vertical, why don't we have Eve sing at them?"
	Zoner glared at the comm screen, regretting not being able to
throw something at Ben over subspace.
	"Hey, I'm serious.  I don't think it would work, but it would
keep them distracted.  Or we can use Vision, if you think they're into
something a little heavier."
	Zoner continued to glare.
	"Might even inspire the ones that are on our side.  Besides I
get tired of my chief engineer yelling at me for pushing it too far."
	The glare held.
	"We could all sing row-row-row your boat.  Or the Soviet
national anthem.  Or Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had A Deal.
I'm serious, or at least I was when I started."
	"We have less than a minute left Ben."
	"We could get Finney drunk and have her sing We Will Win, she
can't sing either."
	"Sir!" Finney's voice came through over the link.
	"Ben, what are you trying to do?"
	"You're forcing my hand, don't make me upload Minmei."  Ben
brandished a datapack.
	"You forget, I like Minmei," Zoner stated.
	"But our friend, Bill Shakespeare the Buma, might not...
Actually, I'm bluffing, this is the Oxford Galactic Dictionary.
Anyway, it was just a thought.  It was actually Vision's idea."
	The comm screen spilt.  "It was not my idea," Vision stated
from her half.
	"Ok, I was just joking.  Geez," Gryphon apologized.
	"Ok, listen, it was funny.  But in a few seconds we're turning
off their fleet.  And we may, or may not, have to go into combat.
That's sort of a priority right now."
	"Ya'know, I remember when you enjoyed your job.  Concordia
out."  The screen went dark.
	"Grumble fuck mutter...  Everyone ready?"
	"Yessir," the bridge crew chorused.
	"Ok, WRAT is on the air.  Start the broadcast."

		   <<< Pat Benatar: Invincible >>>

	Eve sent the override codes through the comm links and every
ship in the WDF bombarded the GENOM fleet with their transmitters.
Within seconds every major craft had powered down all systems except
life support and communications.  "It's your show now Zoner."
	"Thanks Eve, main screen on, patch me through."
	"Like, you're on," q reported.
	"Yo, many of you may already know who I am, but for those who
don't, I'm MegaZone, commander of all the Wedge Defense Forces.  I
figure that you knew my name, but I really haven't met many of you in
person, well, not many who are still alive.  Anyway, to cut to the
chase, I'm the asshole who shut you off."  Zoner noticed a text
message appearing on the small comm screen on his chair:

		That oughtta do it.
		Thanks very much, Ray.
			--G.

	Zoner stifled a laugh before continuing, "I know I don't have
the best rep with most of you, and I hate this diplomatic shit, so
I'll just say this.  I really don't want to have to kill a lot of you,
and I'd rather not see a lot of my friends die in the process, so how
about we make peace.  I know there are those amongst you who feel as I
do, and I will support any of you who wish to come over to our side.
I hold no grudge against you, you were simply soldiers following
orders, there is no need to continue your leaders' madness."

Well, we had a few beers, next thing you know, there we are in
Czechoslovakia.
				--G.

	Zoner let a small chuckle slip.  "Ahem... As I was saying, we
know about Iczer-2's return, and we'd like to take this opportunity to
invite those who are weary of this fight to lay down your arms.  We're
fairly diverse already, I don't see any reason not to let buma into
the club.  Of course there will be some problems, after all, we've
been trying to anihlate each other for several centuries.  But we made
peace with Kilrathi, and we can do it again.  Oh, and Iczer-2, bite
me."

	Iczer-2 came roaring out of the Avenger on a shaft of blue
light.  She did not look happy.

	--Ray has gone bye-bye, Egon...what have you got left?
	--Sorry, Venkman; I'm terrified beyond the capacity for
rational thought.
				--G.

	"That seems to have done it.  Like I said, we've got nothing
against you.  Operators are standing by."  Zoner motioned to q and the
link was severed.  "Ok folks, we've got one extremely pissed super
being out there, and the fleet could come back online at any time.
Let's be ready for them."

	Iczer-2 was seething with rage.  She would not allow herself
to be humiliated by such insignificant beings.  She would kill them
all, starting with the bastard who insulted her, MegaZone.  She would
rip out his heart and eat it while still warm, she would skin him
alive, she would.....

	Wham!
	A bolt of yellow light intercepted Iczer-2 as she raced toward
the Wandering Child. Halting both her progress and her thoughts.
	"You!"
	"Yes, sister, it is I, your elder.  I order you to cease this
foolishness or perish."
	"Ha!  You are nothing compared to me!  You're the defective,
remember?  Whereas I am the improved model, and I have not been idle
all these years."  Iczer-2 fired a blue bolt at Iczer-1.
	Iczer-1 parried the bolt calmly.  "Nor have I...sister."

	It was the battle of the century, and unlike the previous bit
of it, which everyone had been a bit too involved in to see, everyone
and his brother-in-law's duck had a front-row seat for it.  In the
no-man's-land between the fleets, the two products of GENOM's
I.C.Z.E.R. project dueled, yellow and blue light flaring, clashing,
retreating, like an ion storm raging in deep space.  Seconds became
minutes and marched steadily on into a half-hour, and the pace wasn't
slowing down.
	The problem being that, while the battle wasn't slowing down,
Iczer-1 was.  She'd already done the titanic space battle thing once
today, and well, even with Huge Cosmic Power!!!, that tends to wear
one down.
	
	"Zoner," q called about ten minutes into the battle.  "Like I
got some Buma on line one.  He says he knows you?"
	"What color is he?"
	"Like blue.  Like I haven't seen one of those for a while eh?"
	"Yeah, that'd be for me.  Put him through."  A corner of the
main viewer divided itself off and became 1138-04462's face, in such
good resolution that Zoner could see the little "GENOM" stamped in his
forehead.  "Thumbs up or thumbs down?"
	"The fleet is secure," the Buma replied.  "We're ready to
support your champion, if you like."
	"I really don't think there's much any of us can do...we
should wait and see how Iczer-1 fares, for a while yet.  If she fails
we'll have to his Iczer-2 with everything we've got."
	"Right.  I'll pass it on.  Oh, and Admiral?"
	"Yes?"
	The Buma considered.  "It's good to be right, for once."
	"Yes...I'm sure it is.  Say--what's your name, anyway?"
	"My designation is Bu-55c-1138-04462.  I am generally known by
humanoids as Kwei-Chang Caine, although I've not worn his face for
some decades now."

		?
	                --G.

	"Well, Caine...welcome aboard.  Nice to have you.  What about
the dissenters?"
	Caine attempted a smile.  "What dissenters?  You mean,
perhaps, this idiot?"  He lifted DKR-2 into the camera's field of
view.  The replicant attempted a small, supplicating grin.  It didn't
work.  "I believe I will deal with him as our maker dealt with his
predecessor, when the time comes."
	"Fine with me," Zoner replied.  "Wait a second--what's this
'our'?"
	"We Buma are the children of Largo, who is a creation of the
HoloDECstation.  Does that not make us all, indirectly, the children
of Fahrvergnugen?"
	"I never thought of it that way before...Caine, meet Abel.
Abel, Caine."

		Great.  Another mouth to feed.
				--G.

	Meanwhile, after around forty-five minutes, Super Bowl
MCMLXVIII.14159 is still raging outside.  The view from the blimp was,
shall we say, inspiring.  Gryphon found himself wondering if anyone
was bothering to tape it.  This was the kind of thing he'd pop into
the VCR, zap some popcorn, and curl up on the couch to watch on a
cold, rainy day.  This, and bad kung fu movies with Chuck Norris in
them.  Nothing like Delta Force 3 to remind you that it could be
worse.

		   <<< Metallica: Sad but True >>>

	Although not many people in either fleet could tell at the
range, the battle wasn't going terribly well for Iczer-1.  She had hit
the wall a few minutes before and was reduced to ducking and blocking;
her offensive had dwindled almost to nothing.  It was a lousy time to
be Iczer-1.  Especially with Iczer-2 so damnably aware of her
advantage, and pressing it.  The bolts of energy were flying thicker,
and soon she wasn't going to be able to dodge all of them.
	One came particularly close, a second or so later; Iczer-1
could feel its heat on her face as it zipped past, knocking off some
hair.  She shook her head and tried to slap her concentration
together.  If only she wasn't so tired.  The battle had been bad
enough, but the size of the spacewarp she had to create to get to the
battle in time had knocked a serious wedge out of her power reserves
right at the outset.  And Iczer-2 was right, much as she hated to
admit it.  The later model had a definite performance edge.
	The bolt of blue energy with her name on it flew free,
vectored toward her, and sizzled into nothing against the warm pink
skin of what appeared to be an ordinary, if rather large, human hand.
	Vaughn Gross looked at his unharmed palm with detached
interest.  "Still works," he commented offhand.  "Morning.  Hope I'm
interrupting."
	"Get out of my way," Iczer-2 commanded as Vaughn placed his
considerable surface area between the two of them.  Her voice of
command failed to impress him.  "Get out of my way!" she raged,
unleashing her considerable ire in his general direction.
	Mildly singed by the effect of a powerbolt sufficient for
crippling a large space battleship, Vaughn frowned slightly.  "That
wasn't very nice.  It's not the end of the world, you know.
Personally, I think you might be overreacting to this whole thing."
	"DIE!"  Nearly blind with rage, Iczer-2 began firing rapidly,
saturating as large an area of space as possible in his general
direction.  He kept intercepting those which seemed about to get past
him and to Iczer-1--how could anything with his size move so damned
fast?  She threw back her head and shrieked with a frustration and
anger so primal they terrified anyone who could hear them (except
Vaughn, of course).  Nearly an hour of battle, gaining advantage after
advantage, so close to her ultimate goal, to be frustrated by
this...this...person?!  It was unthinkable!  More than that--it was
unendurable.  One of them, Iczer-2 knew, would have to die.  Right
now.  And damn it all, it was not going to be her!
	She gathered all the energy and rage she could, concentrating,
feeling it build up almost materially in her hands, and then let it
all go.
	The flash was visible as far away as Salusia.  Astronomers in
most of the Enigma Sector thought it was a supernova.  Several of the
weaker view screens aboard ships of both sides burned out.  Gryphon
cursed and threw his arm in front of his eyes.
	"Augh!" Vaughn cried, squeezing his eyes shut.  "Photons!  Far
to friggin' loud!" His voice dropped into the "tiny furry creature"
area.  "Bright light!  Bright light!  Owie!"
	Otherwise, he was entirely unperturbed.
	The energy bolt continued on in a straight line until it
encountered an object, specifically the sixth planet in the Ceti Alpha
system some 445.34 parsecs distant, which it utterly annihilated
forty-seven seconds later.
	Iczer-2 floated, thinking along the same lines as your average
rock.  Curious, Vaughn strolled over to her and, not knowing quite
what else to do, took her pulse.
	"Fine," Iczer-2 murmured.  "You win.  All right?  Make
everything stop spinning."
	"I don't think I made it start," Vaughn replied.  "Might be
interesting to try, though."
	Astronomers all over known space were puzzled when, for a
catalogueable period of seven seconds, the Great Wheel of Mutter's
Spiral Galaxy stopped.
	"Wow.  I think that might have been hard.  I hunger."
	Iczer-1 made her way over.  Seeing her, Iczer-2 smiled
briefly.
	"I always knew you'd find a way to beat me, sister," Iczer-2
said.
	"I didn't.  Reality did."
	"Yes...but it took you to get him to do it."  She laughed.
"You know something?  I'm so tired...I see that old fool of a Buma's
point.  I can't imagine why, but damned if I don't."  She paused,
gathering her energy, before continuing groggily, "So...how 'bout them
Raiders?"

	"What are they doing out there, having a koffee klatsch?"
Gryphon muttered, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the viewer.  "They
look like they're laughing."

	"What are they doing out there, resting up for Round Two?"
Zoner wondered to no one in particular.  As he watched, Vaughn helped
both Iczers to a standing(?) position.  They took a couple of steps
	and came out of the corridor behind him.
	"Somehow, this doesn't come as a shock," Zoner observed,
turning his conn.  Iczer-2 waved Vaughn away and weaved up to stand in
front of him.
	"Admiral MegaZone...whose other names, should they exist, are
lost to history--like who the fuck was Doctor Pepper anyway?--on
behalf of the entire GENOM Combined Fleet, I hereby offer my
unconditional surrender.  I hope this ushers in a new era of peace 'n
harmony, and clean socks for everyone, or something like that.  Could
someone direct me...to...someplace warm and soft...and kinda
quiet-like?"  Having managed to get those words at least 3/4 out, she
fell to the floor.
	Zoner looked down and observed wryly, "Well, isn't this a
nifty little turn of events.  Arg... Take her to the Officer's
Quarters, make sure she's comfortable.  Eve, monitor her, will you?"
	"Of course."
	"We still have a few small ships to clean up, let's start a
cleaning sweep.  Send out the fighters to take out the stragglers and
search for survivors.  Everyone play safe, it'd suck to be the last
casualty of the war."
	"All right," Gryphon announced from the main viewer.  "The big
question now is...who gets to clean up the mess?  The local space
makes Earth's LEO look bloody clean."  His eyes swung down, indicating
that he was looking at Iczer-2.  "Hmm.  I think she's got the right
idea."  He got up from his conn.  "If anyone comes into my cabin for
the next twelve hours, you risk instantaneous death."  He vanished.

		 <<< Queen: We Are the Champions >>>

	"I think we all deserve a rest.  Have all the damaged craft
return to the sphere, begin transport of the wounded, and have all
fleet ships regroup on the Child. Oh, and have all the ships stand
down and go to secondary crews, I think everyone could use some rest.
Let me know when the fighters finish their sweep, and see if you can
set up a meeting with Kwei-Chang Caine sometime tomorrow afternoon.
Yuri, let's go to bed."  Zoner wearily staggered from the conn out the
door of the bridge with Yuri on his arm.

------------------------------------------------------------------CODA

Nightswimming/Deserves a quiet night/The photograph on the
dashboard/Taken years ago/Turned around backward so the windshield
shows/Every streetlight reveals a picture in reverse/Still it's so
much clearer/I forgot my shirt at the water's edge/The moon is low
tonight

Nightswimming/Deserves a quiet night/I'm not sure all these people
understand/It's not like years ago/The fear of getting caught/The
recklessness in water/They cannot see me naked/These things they go
away/Replaced by every day/Nightswimming/Remembering that
night/September's coming soon/I'm pining for the moon/And what if
there were two/Side by side in orbit/Around the Ferris sun/That bright
tyrant forever drunk/Could not describe nightswimming

You I thought I knew you/You I cannot judge/You I thought you knew me
this one laughing quietly/Underneath my breath/Nightswimming

The photograph reflects/Every streetlight a
reminder/Nightswimming/Deserves a quiet night

Deserves a quiet night
			--R.E.M.

	The core group was gathered in the SDF-23's Officers' Forward
Observation Deck; Zoner, Yuri, Gryphon, Kei, ReRob, Vaughn, Iczer-1,
and Edison.  They were strewn randomly about the room, like ragdolls
discarded by a child.  The past few days, no, the past few months had
taken a lot out of them.  Now they had celebrated their victory, and
experienced the let down that always came after a battle.
	"What a long, strange trip it's been," Zoner mumbled from his
position on a couch.
	"You can say that again," Yuri replied from a chair across the
way.
	"So, what is everyone going to do now?" Vaughn asked from the
floor.
	"Well, Wolfgang and Hagbard are going off on some 'Top Secret'
mission.  So he's leaving me in charge of Utopia Planitia, plus the
WDF.  I plan to run them in absentia from the Child.  Yuri is going
back to work with the 3WA as a trouble consultant.  We'll get together
from time to time I'm sure."  Zoner and Yuri exchanged a smile.
"Gryph is still Chief Engineer of the Yards, and with me worrying
about all the damn paperwork he'll have more time to play with all his
toys.  Vaughn, what about you and Iczer-1?"
	"Umm... Well...," Vaughn stammered.
	"We're going to explore the universe together.  There's a lot
that neither of us have seen, and we want to see it together," Iczer-1
finished for him.  She drew Vaughn into a hug and kissed him.  Vaughn
just sort of blushed.
	"Actually, Concordia and I will be on operations most of the
time.  I've decided to appoint ReRob acting Chief of the Yards during
my absence," Gryphon announced from across the room where he was doing
kendo katas.  "I feel the need to go down to the sea in my ships and
breathe the clean salt air, or some such."
	"Edison?" Iczer-1 inquired.
	"Well...  I need to get back into the swing of things.  Travel
the cosmos, see the sights, and maybe figure out just where the hell
the other yous landed up anyway.  Give them a hand, or something like
that.  I feel sorta responsible," Edison replied from the hammock.
	"What, you don't think they died?" Ben asked.
	"I've had more time to do a more concrete analysis of the
situation. And no, I now do not believe that they died.  One of them
is probably disappointed."
	Zoner chuckled.  "So, you're going to track them down?"
	"Yes.  They'll probably need a hand in getting settled.
Shouldn't be too much of a task, I have all of time to do it in."
	"Good luck.  Rob?"
	"First off, it's time to remove the scars."  He tapped his
shoulder for the last time, caught the arm, and put it on his lap.
"Somebody tell Jenna I'm going to go in and take the shoulder mount
off.  I bet auctioning this arm off should get some major moola for
the enviro effort on Musashi.  But what else? I'm going to take some
time off, I think.  Go back to Musashi for a while, scrape my heart
and mind off the floor.  I need to say goodbye to Deedlit my own way.
Maybe I'll scrape together a band and play a few of our old haunts.  I
just need some time to myself is all," Rob replied quietly from a pile
of cushions.  Then, for the first time in over three centuries, he
began to cry.
	That sort of induced a solemn mood as the group collectively
remembered all of the fallen from the centuries of war.  Despite
Omega-2 nearly half of the original Wedge Rats had met their fates.
Zoner and Edison exchanged a glance, each knowing who had been there
to greet them.  Each hoping in their own way that she had been a kind
mistress.  For his part, Gryphon, who harbored no romantic notions of
oblivion, was thinking of who they had been, and where and how they
had gone.  Fritz had been the first, before the coming of immortality.
It would not have saved him anyway.  Then Paul, mere minutes later.  A
costly first battle, that.
	Then had come the Kilrathi Wars.  Erik Swimm, on the edge of
death, taking the first step in a process that, eventually, had led
him to become the Wedge Defense Force's first full conversion cyborg.
Rich and Gary, wingmen since the Dawn of Time, gone together after the
ambush at Vega III.  Matt "Elflord" Adwin, down in flames in the
Elbereth Asteroid Belt.
	Innumerable border skirmishes with hostile planetary forces
had claimed their share as well; wars didn't care if they were
declared or not.  Jon Stott and his squad of Marines, killed when
their transport was torpedoed near the Cardassian frontier.  The
Klingon/Romulan Triangle with its endless minefields had accounted for
nearly a complete division of their Salusian allies, and their liaison
officer, Jonathan Drummey.  It had been particularly ironic that
Drummey, considered the hottest fighter pilot in space at the time,
had gone down with a troop transport.
	Gryphon sighed and slashed his katana through an intricate
pattern that would have inscribed the kanji for "love" in the air.  I
won't be forgetting any of you, he promised his gefallen comrades.
Never fear.  He thought of the last scion of Asagiri and smiled a
bitter smile, and lashed out the kanji for "vengeance".
	No one said anything for a few moments; the only sound was the
ancient sword hissing through the air.
	"Let's hope that we don't lose any more friends," Vaughn said
quietly.
	There was a murmur of consent from the group as each agreed
with the thought, yet knew it was an unlikely prospect.
	"Kei, what about you?" asked Zoner, raising his eyes above
cushion level like some kind of inquisitive periscope.
	"Hmm," replied Kei from deep within a futon.  "Now that's a
tough one.  I suppose I'll be able to stay on operations for another
three months or so...after that I guess I'll try to swing a job as
liaison to the WDF or something, so I can stay close to home."
	The room voiced a collective "?" at this.
	Kei looked from one questioning face to another, her own
expression mirroring them; then she burst out laughing.  "That's
right!  In all the action, I've never gotten around to telling any of
you!"
	"Telling us what?!" Yuri demanded, with an expression that
suggested she had strong suspicions as to the answer.  Gryphon had
stopped practicing and lowered the point of his sword.  The others all
picked themselves up out of the furniture and were hovering tensely,
waiting.
	Kei looked from one to the other again, smiling--no,
positively glowing--and, when she reached Gryphon, she made eye
contact and announced, "I'm pregnant."

		    <<< Def Leppard: Hysteria >>>

	Gryphon blinked, twice, rapidly, then swallowed audibly.  His
eyes clouded over.  His hands shook; he put the katana down lest it
drop unceremoniously to the floor.  The corner of his mouth twitched,
quirked, and then his face split in a huge grin and he threw back his
head and laughed long and loud.  He took three running steps toward
the futon; Kei met him halfway and they collided into a fierce
embrace.
	"BWWWaaaaAAAAAA!!!!!!" cried ReRob, spraying Moxie across the
O-Deck toward Iczer-1, who rather artfully dodged over the back of the
sofa.
	"Wh--Kei, that's wonderful!" Yuri cried, jumping up.  She shot
a sidelong glance at Zoner, who just looked bashful and shrugged.
	"Absolutely splendid," Edison agreed.
	"Congratulations," Iczer-1 added.  "You must be very proud."
	Gryphon held Kei, his arms crossed behind her back and hands
on her shoulders from behind, and didn't say anything for several
seconds.  Kei felt something warm and wet on her cheek and turned to
look; he was crying.
	"What's wrong?" she asked him.  "Why are you crying?"
	"Because I have to," he replied, smiling.  "I'm so happy..."
He held her tighter.  "Gods, I love you so much..."  He kissed her.
	"Every bit as much as I love you," Kei replied, and kissed him
back.  They separated after a few long seconds and took up another
couch, holding hands like high school kids and glowing like newlyweds.
Everyone in the room was lost in their own private thoughts for a few
seconds, and with an almost audible click, the cycle of life finally
turned over for the Wedge Rats, after four hundred years of stasis.
Somehow, everyone in the O-deck felt a little more human all of a
sudden.
	"Well, let's see what the news has to say tonight," Zoner
suggested.  "TV: GNN."

	The television snapped to life and the smiling face of the
Galactic News Network anchor filled the screen.
	"The top story tonight; The Empire of Kilrah has declared war
on the Federation today for the fourteenth time.  Hostilities are
expected to begin soon in the Enigma, Vega, and Deneb sectors.  This
is bad news for the Federation, as local forces were recently ravaged
by the GENOM Corporation Combined Fleet in a series of hostilities
which decimated the Federation Starfleet's war making capabilities.
It is hoped that the Wedge Defense Force will be able to support the
Federation in their efforts to maintain the peace.  Official word is
that the Federation will be officially requesting the aid of the WDF
within the week...."
	A collective groan rose up from the group.
	"Well, lovely timing as usual," Zoner grumbled.  "The Tactical
Fleet is a mess!  Oh, sure, Kirk and I can have them back into
fighting trim in a couple of weeks, but we don't have a couple of
weeks.  Bloody hell..."
	Gryphon looked at Kei.  I still have my duties...  She nodded
and smiled at him.  Your devotion to them is one of the reasons I love
you so.
	"I can have the Strategic Fleet to the frontier within two
days," he said to Zoner.
	"Make it so.  We'll keep the Wandering Child in reserve with
the Tactical Fleet, and the AT&T will remain in a defensive orbit
around Utopia Planitia.  The Concordia will be the flagship for this
mission.  I think you're ready, Admiral," Zoner added, reaching into
his pocket and tossing Gryphon an admiral's cross.
	"I'll do my best, sir," Gryphon replied, beaming, as he
removed his captain's bar and pinned the ornate cross to his epaulet.
	"Don't call me that.  Just take the damn fleet and keep the
Kilrathi from mucking things up.  I'm placing Caine and his forces
under your command too."
	"What about us?" Kei asked, indicating Yuri and herself.
	"Not my jurisdiction, you're 3WA agents.  You can do what you
want I suppose, you have more seniority than the 3WA command staff.
Just try not to do too much damage."
	"Iczer-1 and I are going to wander a bit.  Neither of us
really likes this war stuff.  But we'll be around if you need us,"
Vaughn explained.
	"No problem," Zoner replied.  "Rob, you can take off if you
want, I'm sure the yards can spare you until you're ready."
	"Yeah," Gryphon agreed.  "Soon as Tactical can relieve me I'm
going to put back in and take over the Yards personally for the next
few years anyway, and run the Strategic Fleet from port.  My days as a
fighting admiral can wait until after I've raised my child."  He
squeezed Kei's hand.
	"Thanks Zone, Gryph, but you know how I deal.  I'm going up to
the front.  Gryph, you wouldn't happen to need an Alpha pilot, would
you?"  ReRob's spirits seemed genuinely lifted by the news, but it
would take more than that to sort his head out again, and all knew it.
Gryphon attempted to imagine what his life would become if Kei got
killed, and failed, but momentarily depressed himself anyway.
	Recovering, he replied, "The Concordia doesn't have any Legios
units, Rob, but I think I might be able to dip into the TO&E and find
you a place in the Fleet somewhere...are you sure you want to do
this?"
	"Hell, yes, I'm sure."
	"All right then.  I'll assign you to Concordia for now, and
transfer you off as soon as I find an opening in another ship's Legios
squadrons, okay?"  ReRob nodded.
	"Gentlemen, ladies, I must bid you farewell, I have a search
to conduct."  With that Edison stepped out of the door.
	"Well, this has turned into a long vacation.  I've got the
Matterhorn of paperwork waiting for me in my office.  I don't believe
the number of forms you need to fight a war.  If we made both sides
fill them out beforehand they'd forget what they were fighting over.
Let's enjoy the next few days while we can, who knows when we'll get
our next break."
	Yuri led Zoner out of the room.  ReRob got up and sloped out.
Vaughn and Iczer-1 disappeared.  Gryphon got up, walked to where he
had left his sword, put it away and, turning, offered Kei a shrug.
	"So...this is it," Kei said.  "You're running off to save the
universe and leaving me to wait for you.  Funny how things get turned
around, isn't it?  Seems like only yesterday, I was going off on
assignment and leaving you on the SDF-17..."
	Gryphon smiled.  "Like I told you before...`star blessed for
having found you...star crossed because it's only to see you go.'"
	"Who wrote that?"
	"I've no idea."  He shrugged again and walked about halfway to
the door.  "Don't worry, I'll be fine.  I've got my nice big ship, and
my crew is the best there is.  We'll put the cats to rout and be back
in time for Christmas."
	Kei walked to him, embraced him, and murmured, "Just come back
to me--to us--and we'll call it even."
	"Don't worry.  Be careful.  As soon as my job is done I'll be
back, and if I have to get out and push the Kilrathi back over the
border with my hands, I'll be back in time to be with you when it
happens.  In return, don't you go doing anything foolish.  Deal?"
	"You play it safe out there, too."
	"I swear, I won't go near my fighter.  I'll stay right there
on the bridge of the Concordia.  If I try to go to the flight deck,
Saavik will have standing orders to clock me and strap me into my
conn.  Okay?"
	She laughed.  "Deal."
	"I love you.  Both of you."
	"I love you."
	A long kiss, and he was gone.
	"Now I know how he always felt," she said to the empty room,
and then went out herself.

	Gryphon arrived on the bridge of the Concordia, looking in
unusually high spirits.  The rest of his crew knew the feeling.
Guilty as the thought of enjoying warfare made them feel, all of them
could sense the excitement of action.
	Saavik noticed it first, when she glanced up at the turbolift
as he was emerging.  Coming to attention, she announced, "Admiral on
the bridge!"
	The rest of the bridge staff turned and got to their feet,
startled.
	"As you were," Gryphon ordered.  "Ladies and gentlemen, we
have another emergency situation on our hands.  The Kilrathi are
invading Deneb, Enigma, and Vega sectors again.  Tactical is a mess;
they won't be able to support what's left of the Federation fleet for
at least three weeks.  It's become the Strategic Fleet's job to hold
the line until Tactical arrives.  Less than fifteen minutes ago, Zoner
appointed me CinCSTRAT."  His bridge crew applauded.  Smiling, he
dropped the businesslike pose.  "And please...when we're doing
shipboard operations, call me `captain'."
	"Congratulations, sir," Finney said with a smile.
	"Thanks," Gryphon replied, taking his familiar center seat.
	"Welcome back, sir," said Max.  "Nice visit?"
	"The best," Gryphon replied.  "It's good to be home, though.
Departure stations, if you would.  Vanessa, get me Planitia Control
and COMSTRAT.  The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can come
back."
	"In a hurry to win this one, sir?" Rick inquired, glancing
back at his captain.
	"Damn straight," Gryphon replied with a grin.  "Kei would
never forgive me if I was off fighting some war while she brought my
child into the world without me."
	The bridge staff turned and regarded their captain with that
peculiar sense of awe people always have around expecting parents;
then they applauded again.  Embarrassed, Gryphon sketched out a seated
bow and blushed slightly.
	Vanessa finished clapping and worked the controls; as he
waited for a connection, Gryphon glanced down at the tiny screen on
his conn arm.  It blipped into life; as usual, his second officer, the
artificial intelligence who ran the entire vessel from a chunk of
molecularly aligned silicon three inches cubic, appeared, and as
usual, she smiled.
	"You seem very excited," said Vision.  "Is something wrong?"
	"No," Gryphon replied, settling back into his seat.
"Everything's just fine."

			       The End

-----------------------------------------------------AUTHORS' FAREWELL

	"Reality is what you can get away with."
			--Robert Anton Wilson

	Well, gee, it's done... Hard to believe isn't it?  As I write
this I'm sitting in Ben's place in Millinocket, Maine... It's just
past 4AM on February 8th, 1993.  Interestingly Queen's "I Want It All"
is playing quietly on the stereo.  There's still a bit to be done,
proofing, spell checking, Rob needs to look it over, but the actual
writing is done.
	If you haven't guessed this is MegaZone at the 'board...  I
drove up here Thursday night to see Ben and work on this, and a few
other projects.  It's slowly hitting me that the UF saga has an end
now.  When we started this way back in October of 1991 I don't think
any of us imagined how long we would be working on it.  Or how long
the story would actually end up.  It started as a one-shot, a way to
have some fun and relax.  Then it became an obsession, a labor of
love, we had to see the characters through to the end.  There may be
other stories in this timeline, but Crossroads is the end to the tale.
Ben and I are working on another idea, and we're all toying with
separate ideas, but any future joint projects just won't be
Undocumented Features.
	It's a weird feeling.  Kinda like sending your children out
into the world to fend for themselves.  It wasn't easy to finish the
tale, but we knew that we had to, we owed it to the readers, but
mostly, we owed it to the characters.  I want to take this opportunity
to thank Ben and Rob for inviting me to join them at the start.  They
needed a technical consultant, and they got a coauthor.  I owe them a
lot for showing me just how much I really enjoyed writing, and for
reawakening that part of me.  UF has had a noticeable impact on my
life; I've changed my major to Tech Writing, joined the campus
creative arts magazine, branched off into short prose and poetry, and
I recently received a letter from a small press group asking to
publish some of my stuff.  I'm working on other collaborations, such
as Robotech: The Misfold, and I've been asked to do others.  I find
this all quite amusing actually, since I never planned to do more then
give a little advice now and then.  I'd also like to thank the nets
for reading these stories, putting up with extensive delays, and all
the encouraging words we've received.  I hope you have enjoyed reading
the tale as much as we have enjoyed writing it.

--MZ 

--

	Wrap me high in the sky/Circle me with stallions/She flew from
peak to peak on the freedom of an eagle/So fly me courageous

	Odd, that this is one of the songs that started the whole
thing rolling.  Some Drivin-n-Cryin, a little Duran Duran, and the
intro to an old (and, to be honest, kinda lame) Leppard song; a
fistful of .gifs; a sad little over-sensitive mind, standing in the
middle of a big cold world.  So to defend myself, I started writing.
	It spilled over into the lives of others, as these things are
wont to do.  MegaZone was consulted for his expertise in the field of
anime.  ReRob was his roommate, the local Leppard aficionado, and just
an all-round cool guy whose company I enjoyed immensely.  The three of
us wound up creating something of a legend, and frankly, that shocks
the hell out of me.
	Us.
	Whatever.
	As the project went on, it had a noticeable effect on my life
as well.  Specifically, it destroyed it.  What the hell was I doing a
computer science major in the first place?  I'm a writer.  I'm a
historian.  I knew it then; I know it now.  So, it doesn't look like
my life's path will carry me back to Worcester, at least, not soon.
It's a grey, rotting pit of a city, really.  The center can't hold,
and it all goes to hell.  But what the hell, it's home.
	At least it was.
	I have just noticed that I am morbid and bitter.  Forgive me.
It's been a very long eighteen months.  Now, as I sit here and look at
it, nearly-finished creation that it is, and think of how long it's
been a part of my life, I think I understand how Patton felt when he
had no more war to fight.  I have other ideas, yes, but this...this is
my...I dunno.  My magnum opus, I suppose.  It's certainly the longest
thing I've ever finished, in terms of time and pages both.  Now what
do I do?
	You will notice that I tend to quote songs a lot.  If that
does not strike your fancy, please ignore it.

What shall we use to fill the empty spaces where waves of hunger roar?
Shall we set out across the sea of faces in search of more and more
applause?  
Shall we buy a new guitar?  
Shall we drive a more powerful car?  
Shall we work straight through the night?  
[More times than I care to count.]  
Shall we get into fights leave the lights on drop bombs do tours of
the East contract diseases bury bones break up homes send flowers by
phone take to drink go to shrinks give up meat rarely sleep keep
people as pets train dogs raise rats fill the attic with cash bury
treasure store up leisure but never relax at all 
With our backs to the Wall?

	I'll think of something.  I'll be back on the net someday.
Maybe I'll see some of you out in the big world in the coming years.
Maybe you'll see more tales of Gryphon--stories of his years in exile,
chronicles of the WDF's Golden Age, maybe even the adventures of his
son or daughter (I've yet to decide which it'll be).  Zoner and I and
ReRob stay in contact as best we can, maintaining the creative
alliance that brought us together in the first place.  I keep
defending myself with fiction, and the number of my friends who exist
nowhere but deep in the innards of Ziggy (yes, Ziggy is real) keeps
climbing.  One thing's for sure: you'll see me again, even if I have
to bow to the University of Maine's primitivism and use a Macintosh
and CP/CMS.
	Until then, my friends, to quote Corwin of Amber, goodbye, and
hello, as always.
					--G.


	"Dorothy was speechless.  She said, ``'' "
		--The Wizard of WACCC

	Whoa.
	I think I'll say it again.
	Whoa.

	A couple of years back, a short eternity ago as far as I'm
concerned, a man named Ben Hutchins started talking anime to me.  I
was just getting into the anime thing, being Zoner's roommate and all,
and I thought the Dirty Pair was cool.  He started talking about
bringing Kei and Yuri on campus, and the concept of the HoloDECstation
came to mind.  I had created it before for a short story, and left it
at that.  And that, as Paul Harvey would say, was the rest of the
story.
	I'm not a hell of a fictional writer, in all truth.  I've
tried to write on my own, and haven't gotten very far.  As a matter of
fact, I was totally absent in UF2 and didn't do too much actual
writing in 1, 3, and 4.  I think I was more of a catalyst to the text
than anything else.  In turn, I was catalyzed by Gryph and Zoner.  We
achieved a sort of resonance, and the resonance hit the net,
apparently so hard you could hear it.  It was love and intimacy, not
of the romantic or sexual sort, but of the best team I've ever been
in.  It was (and still is, despite the miles) one of the tightest
symbiotic relationships out there.
	I remember when we plotted out UF4.  It took all of three
hours, and was alluded to in the story itself.  We started throwing
out ideas, building up speed until it was hard for me to keep up
taking notes.  Then, finally, the Gryphon and MegaZone turned to each
other and shouted, "Sherlock Holmes is Edison Bell!"  I just didn't
say it fast enough to get in, and just wrote it down.  I still
remember Ben calling up the next morning, asking "Did I just have an
incredibly intense dream, or did we write a book last night?"  That's
how well this machine worked.
	We wrote this by setting few limits, and working our asses
off.  At one point, we had the fourth floor of Morgan Hall convinced
that Ben was a very successful bisexual, since the two of us would
invariably head up to his room on Friday nights, and pound out text.
Morganites had trouble with the concept of writing on Friday nights,
with Becker being so close.  We took it to the extremes, then broke
through it.  I've said it before, in truth, and in fiction, and I'll
say it again:
	If it can be dreamed, it can be done.

			--rR.

Glossary:

Well, you probably are a bit confused, especially if you haven't read
the previous stories in this series.  If you are interested they are
all available via anonymous FTP to 130.215.24.1 (wpi.wpi.edu) cd
/anime/FanFiction.  In chronological order they are dp.undocument.1.Z,
dp.undocument.2.Z, dp.undocument.3.Z, dp.uf.solitude.Z,
dp.uf.altered.Z, and this file, dp.undocument.4.Z.  Other shorts and a
tech file are currently in the works, look for them in the future
under dp.uf.*.  If you don't have ftp access, email to
megazone@wpi.wpi.edu, one of the coauthors and moderator of the site.
All fan mail will be forwarded to the other authors unless you
specifically request that it is not.  Once again, we would like to
thank all of our fans and supporters.  You make it all worthwhile.

Basic Nastiness: Back in Fall semester in '91 (while we were writing
the original UF, no less,) Vaughn put together a mixed tape by the
title of "Basic Nastiness".  It was incredibly cool, mixing everything
from AC/DC to Metallica to Devo to B.O.C. to the Akira soundtrack to
Jane's Addiction. And it had odder and more appropriate segues than
even the UF soundtrack (you know; the one which goes from "Desperado"
to "Fly Me Courageous" to "Save a Prayer", etc.)  It may not have been
divinely inspired, but it fooled us.
	Back in the real world, Tim Kutz (the bad Kung-Fu movie
himself) dropped out of WPI over Christmas break in '91-'92 (whereas,
in UF, the school dropped itself out...)  Tim took all of his gear,
about half of the E-7 silverware, and forgot to pop the Basic
Nastiness tape out of his machine before going home to New Jersey.
Thus, we have often joked about roadtripping to Jersey to get the tape
back.  Note that we are more afraid of Jersey than Kutz.
	In the UF universe, that tape was in the machine back at E-7
(which became part of the Wedge), so it didn't get destroyed at the
Second Wedge War.  However, he did go home in UF3, and probably took
it back with himself.  So we still intended to roadtrip to Jersey.
But, don't nobody tell Tim.

Dyson Sphere: A scientist named Dyson once postulated that a spherical
structure could be built surrounding a star, with a radius of
approximately one astronomical unit (i.e., about the same radius as
that of Earth's orbit around the Sun).  This structure would have the
ability to harness all of the star's energy, not just the tiny
fraction that hits a planet, and provide millions of times the surface
area of a single inhabitable world.

gryphon@world.std.com -- megazone@wpi.wpi.edu -- remande@wpi.wpi.edu
