Chris Davies <cdavies@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca>




                             Bubblegum Crisis
                         Best of All the Years II

                                Episode 1.

(To review:
    (Priscilla S. Asagiri awoke in Crystal Tokyo, 2937, and was outraged 
to be told that due to the expense involved in her restoration, she would 
be forced to pay back her "debt to society".  Furious and grieving for her 
long-dead friends, Priss swore to find Lady Mars, and exact an explanation 
for her orders which led to her resurrection.  This task proceeded at a 
slow pace for six weeks, when she found herself at a meeting of rebels 
against Crystal Tokyo.  Lady Mars was also present at the meeting, and was 
rescued by Priss, who demanded an explanation for her cloning.  Mars 
explained that Priss had really been in cryogenic suspension after the 
destruction of the Knight Sabres in 2041, due to her guilt at failing to 
save Nene Romanova's life.  Priss' memories of the years between 2033 and 
2041 were still mostly incoherent, however.  She then destroyed the leader 
of the rebels, who was in fact the last Genom- built Boomer in existance.  
After recovering from her injuries, Priss began to come to terms with her 
life in the future.)
    (Sometime therafter, Priss became one of the Palladins of the Crystal 
Realm, and became involved in stopping a scheme of the Centauri Republic 
to steal a technology critical to Earth's defense.  Simultaneously, she 
began to read Sylia Stingray's collected journal in hopes of recovering 
some of her memories, and was shocked to discover that Sylia had fallen in 
love with her, but had convinced herself that Priss was not interested in 
her ... which Priss could not be sure was the case.  The shock was 
cushioned by a brief relationship between Priss and Sheila Tenkai, Lady 
Jupiter's adopted daughter -- which ended painfully due to an ongoing feud 
between Priss and Jupiter.  Ultimately, Priss took it on herself to save 
the life of Neo-Queen Serenity, using the final version of her Hard Suit 
to rescue her after she was kidnapped.  During this mission, Priss made a 
choice on which, unbeknownst to her, the fate of the world rested.  As a 
reward for making the right decision, Lady Pluto opened a gate back to 
2041, permitting Priss to rescue Sylia from her seeming fate ... and to 
realize that she did, in fact, love her former teammate.)

                                   PRISS

    <It's been a hell of a week,> I mused as I sat in the hospital waiting 
room.  The doctors had wanted to take a look at my injuries, too, but I'd 
told them to take a hike, that they weren't that serious -- a little gray 
lie.  I winced as the laser burn on my side called attention to itself.

    "Hey," came the soft voice beside me.

    I looked and was only a bit surprised to see Raye in the chair beside 
mine.  In addition to being faster, stronger, and tougher than any mortal, 
all the Senshi seemed to have the ability to make an entrance as subtly or 
as dramatically as they pleased.  "Hey yourself," I greeted her, my voice 
still a little hoarse.

    "Sit still," she said in a low tone, and reached down to touch my side 
where the burn was.  I flinched, but then the oddest thing happened.  The 
pain faded as soon as her fingers touched the burn, leaving only a weird, 
cool numbness.  I blinked a bit.

    "Don't look so surprised," Raye said.  "It's a burn, which means that 
it originates from heat.  If it involves heat, I have power over it.  
You'll still have a scar, there, but all things considered --"

    "What's one more?" I shrugged.

    She smiled briefly, then assumed a serious expression.  "I understand 
that you've been very busy?"

    "Oh yeah."

    "You wanna tell me about it?"

    I drew in a deep breath, and began.

                                 *   *   *

    Jumping into that portal was stupid.  For all I knew, Pluto was 
spreading shit so thick that I ... but it came off.

    Anyway, I found myself in a dark passageway somewhere.  A hallway, 
with circuit etchings for walls.  It reminded me, a bit, of some old 
skiffy -- "Science fiction", in quotes, for when you can't quite say it 
with a straight face.  That's skiffy. -- some old skiffy TV show set for 
this bunch of alien cyborgs' digs.

    Right.  That one.  Them.

    Anyway, the other reason -- besides the fact that I didn't trust Pluto 
as far as I thought I could throw her -- that this was a bad idea impinged 
on my consciousness.  I didn't have my gun.  I'd left it in the museum 
when I changed into the Suit, and I hadn't gotten it back with my other 
clothes in the hospital, afterwards.

    So I basically had no idea what was going on, no way to deal with it, 
and no idea how I was getting back.

    Naturally I kept on going.

    It was a long hallway.  I got the feeling that it sloped downward, 
like this is some kind of descent into the abyss -- you know the feeling?  
Dumb question, sorry -- but it finally did open up into this chamber.  I 
hung back from the entrance, to get a feel for what wass going on before I 
strolled in there, and then I saw her.

    Sylia.

    She backed up, backing away from a wall I can't see, until she came to 
just a little ways back of the center of the room, and there she stumbled 
over a briefcase.  And there she sat, on her hands and knees, with this 
... look on her face.  She looked so ... lost, helpless.  Like she'd just 
lost everything.

    And I guess she thought she had.

    Anyway, then I heard Quincy.  Big voice.  The sort of amplification 
that you'd use to talk to a stadium or a boardroom.  "You've lost, Sylia.  
Accept it.  You could never have won in the first place.  Every factor 
that could possibly have influenced the course of this battle was taken 
into account by me long ago.  Your only choice now is to --"

    It was at that point that I decided to introduce a random factor.  
Namely me.  I strode into the room, bold as brass, and said, "So, every 
factor, huh?  Including --" and I was about to say `me' when I saw what I 
was talking to.

    A whole wall of monitors -- maybe twelve by twelve -- all displaying 
the face of His Genom-ness Himself.  Quincy.  Looking *very* surprised.  
That was about the only good thing so far.  At the base of the monitors 
was what looked like a ... well, a coffin.  Now, I still don't remember 
too much about what you guys dumped me into -- okay, okay, okay, *put* me 
into, and no, I don't want a demonstration of what the difference is.  But 
to my uneducated eye, that looks like a suspended animation tube.

    Any comments?

    No, huh?

    Okay, so Sylia's staring at me.  There was absolutely nothing on her 
face.  She'd had more expression when she was explaining Rule Eleven in 
detail to Nene.  And then, slowly, she *smiled*.  Not the "you guys are 
idiots" smile, not the "vaguely pleased" smile that she'd worn a couple 
times, it was ... nothing that I recognized.

    And then she *laughed*.  Sylia laughed.

    "Oh, well-played," she said.  "Creating a sexaroid in her image.  
Well-played.  She's part of my reward, I take it?"

    And then Quincy spoke again.  Hushed.  "This is not possible.  They 
*can't* have slipped you in here -- they *can't*!  It's not possible!"

    I think that should be taken as a compliment for you guys.

    Anyway, what I said was, "Best laid plans, you know how it goes," as I 
ran over to Sylia, crying "Come on, we gotta get out of here," when she 
shot me.

    Yeah.  That's her.  It's pretty clear that she wasn't trying to kill 
me, though, or she'd have gone for a head shot.  I wonder where she got 
the laser gun.  They weren't on the street by '41, were they?  Anyway, she 
was back to Sylia the ice queen again.  "Whoever you are," she said 
shortly, "don't come one step closer to me.  It ends, Quincy.  It all 
ends."  She swallowed, and closed her eyes.  "Let the world burn.  I don't 
care anymore."

    And, while clutching my side and being less than grateful for 
cauterization, I realized what the briefcase is.  The nuke.  I wondered 
what kind of idiots Genom security were those days, since there's no way 
in hell that thing could be shielded enough to hide the bomb.

    But since I didn't want to join Sylia on the Joan of Arc expressway, I 
figured that I had to get that thing away from her.  "Hey!" I shouted.

    "Don't come near me," she said in the same flat tone.  "Whatever you 
are, you don't have the right --"

    "-- to be what I wanted to love you like I am?" I ask.

    Her eyes went *wild*.  "What?" she said, lowering the gun just a 
fraction.

    The temptation to shout *sucker* was almost overpowering, but I 
resisted as I throw myself at her, smacking my fist into her jaw before 
she could get off another shot.  Unfortunately, the briefcase went flying 
when I knocked into her, and wound up hitting the "coffin" in *just* the 
right way to fling it open.

    The face on the screen altered.  Sheer panic.  We were hitting *all* 
the unforseen developments tonight.  Sylia was unconscious, so I started 
heading for the exit with her under my arm.  Just as about a dozen Battle 
Boomers walked in.  You know, the kind with those oblong heads and more 
firepower than a tank platoon?

    Anyway, I figured that we were basically screwed, blued, and tatooed.  
She's unconscious, I dunno where her gun went when she dropped it, and 
even if I'd had it, it'd be like using a .45 on a tank.  All I'm gonna do 
is scuff the paint job.

    And then ...

    You're never gonna believe this.  Hell, I didn't believe it when it 
was happening.

    A Hard Suit kind of ... materialized a few feet away from where we 
are.  It's jet black, with no striping at all.  It looked like a composite 
of all four of the basic *kinds* of suits that I remember.

    Materialized ... like ...

    Yeah.  A bit like there was a cloaking device over it, and it turned 
off.  Makes sense.

    Anyway, the Black Sabre lit into the Boomers, and they went boom.  I 
mean, whoever she was, she was death in heels.  The fact that that Suit 
was using pretty much every weapon system I'd ever seen used and a few 
that I hadn't helped.  Railguns, monoblades, force fields -- you name it.

    She'd just cut through the first wave of them -- I figure no more than 
a couple minutes -- when she pointed at me.

    "Behind you!" she said.

    No, of course not.  All that gadgetry and you didn't think that she'd 
have a vocal distort?  I'd never heard any voice like that before.

    Anyway, I darted a quick glance behind me, and there's the twin 
brother of the portal I'd dived into.  I grabbed tight onto Sylia, and 
turned back to look at the Black Sabre.  "What about you?" I yelled.

    She saluted.

    She pointed at the briefcase, and one of the LCD readouts on it began 
to change faster than it had been.  I couldn't read it, but I didn't have 
to be a genius to know what that means.

    I went through the portal just as I heard Quincy bellowing.

    And then the nuke went off.

    And here we are.

                                 *   *   *

    I could tell from just looking at her that Raye wasn't really 
satisfied with my account of the Black Saber, but she chose to let it go 
for now.  "And now what?"

    "Now I make sure that she's okay ... and start trying to get her to 
*want* to --"

    "Excuse me."

    I turned to look up at Lady Mercury, who was in surgical scrubs, and 
found myself feeling even chillier than the burn on my side did.  Her gaze 
was like liquid nitrogen.

    You know, I really couldn't win -- I smacked Mercury a good one, 
giving Jupiter an excuse to hate me, and now, after I'd thrown Jupiter's 
apology back in her face (and having been tempted to tell her to shove it 
up her ass), Mercury had apparently decided to have a hate-on for me too.  
Fun, fun, fun.

    "Ms. Asagiri, I'd like to have a few words with you about your 
`friend'."  She made the word sound like a disease.  "Raye ... under the 
circumstances, I think you should hear this too."

    "What circumstances?" I asked.

    "Lemme guess," Raye asked, wearily.  "She falls under Military 
Assets?"

    "Military and Scientific," Mercury replied.

    "Assets?" I asked cheerily, wanting in on the conversation.

    "It's how we referred to people that we recruited while we were 
running the Crystal Tokyo Society," Raye explained.  "And even today, 
that's how we divvy up the responsibilities ... well, mostly."

    She stood up, and beckoned me to do the same.  After a few moments, I 
did.

    Mercury led us to an empty office just a few feet away, closed and 
locked up the door, lit up the privacy sign, and turned to look at me with 
an angry expression.  "What in the name of all that's sacred *IS* that 
thing?" she demanded.

    "'Scuse?" I inquired.

    "She looks like Sylia Stingray, according to every file photo we have 
of her; her fingerprints, retinascan, and DNA all match up."  Mercury took 
a deep breath.  "But that *thing* shouldn't be ALIVE, by rights."

    "What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked, fairly angry now.

    She glared at me, and headed over to the desk.  A few buttons later, a 
hologram of Sylia, naked and about one tenth her normal size, materialized 
over her desk.  "Is this some kind of latter day dress-her up kit?" I 
interjected.

    "No, it's a surgical hologram."  Mercury tapped another button and ... 
the skin and muscle of the hologram of Sylia went away, leaving skeleton
and organs.  I looked away, disgusted.

    "Good God, *look* at those bones," Mars hissed.

    "From all the accounts we have of her right arm being broken, I 
suppose the reconstruction there was to be expected -- but Raye, unless I 
miss my guess, her spinal colum, her sternum ... this is *insane*!"

    "Look, what we did was dangerous!" I yelled, trying to look at the 
hologram again and failing.  "And she was doing it before any of us were.  
We didn't have any `poof it's all better now' healing magic like you lot 
did."

    Raye gave me an ironic look with her one eye.

    "Or whatever!" I shouted.  "I don't see what the big deal is.  You get 
hurt, you fix it, you do what you have to --"

    "Ms. Asagiri, you don't grasp what I'm trying to say," Mercury 
interrupted.

    "No shit, what was your first clue?" I barked back.

    She closed her eyes, and adjusted the hologram buttons again.  The 
display was just of the skeleton now, and I found that I could look at it 
without feeling bilious.  "Consider," Mercury said in a low, even tone, 
"Ms. Stingray's right arm."

    I looked at the right arm.  There were dozens, maybe hundreds of 
little cracks along the bones of her forearm, some stretching all the way 
to her upper arm.  Even telling myself that it was just some skeleton and 
not Sylia's didn't help me to not feel pained just looking at it.

    Woven into the bones were tiny strips of some metal ... obviously, to 
give the bone strength that it had lost by being broken.  "Okay," I said, 
"so what?"

    "Now take a look at Ms. Stingray's left patella please."

    I stared a second.  "Her left which?" I asked.

    Mercury let out a weary sigh.  "Knee," she replied simply.

    I looked in the right place and ... "Okay," I said, "she's done the 
same thing to her knee, so --"

    "Look.  Closer," Mercury said, and increased the magnification a few 
powers.

    I gazed at it for a few seconds, and was about to tell her that I 
still didn't get it when I did.

    The tiny strips of metal weren't reinforcing any breakage to that 
knee.  They were just ... there.  Strengthening the bone.

    Augmenting the bone.

    Augmenting her.

    "Okay," I said, wondering why my mouth was dry, "so she had a little 
cybersurgery done.  It's not uncommon.  She probably had it done ... in 
the times I can't remember, when things were just starting to get tougher 
than they had been --

    "Sixteen," Mercury said.

    "Y'know, cryptic interruptions really piss everyone off," I told her.

    "She had the majority of the bone augmentation done when she was 
sixteen years old."  Mercury tapped the controls and the hologram 
vanished.  "I'm not going to bother showing you all the other little 
modifications -- biological and mechanical -- that this woman has made or 
has had made to herself, because you couldn't understand them."  She 
snorted suddenly.  "*I* don't understand some of them!"

    Raye let out a low whistle.  "Are you serious?" she asked.

    The hologram was up again, showing a cross-section of the brain.  Tiny 
flashes were going on inside of it.  "Neurons do not *fire* like that, 
Raye.  *EVER*."

    She suddenly slumped back into her seat behind the desk, and for the 
first time I got a sense of just how tired she was.  "I called in a few 
favors.  Nobody I contacted in the Centauri Republic recognized any of the 
hardware that I couldn't identify.  One of the people I checked with 
seemed to recognize a *bit* of it, but denied it, and he was the one 
working on a contract with Centauri Intelligence, if the grapevine's any 
indicator.  Ms. Asagiri ... forgive me my bluntness, but what in the name 
of hell *is* she?  *Nobody* in your period was working with cybernetics or 
biotechnology this advanced.  But that's not the real issue.  From the 
indications, some of this stuff went into her body at age *eleven*!  The 
human body can only stand so much invasive surgery, and this woman seems 
to have passed the threshold when she was in her late *teens*."

    I found myself sitting in a chair that hadn't been there before.  "I 
... I don't know anything about this.  What are you saying, that she's 
some kind of boomeroid?"  <You and I are the same, Sylia,> a particularly 
horrible memory whispered at me, and I gripped the arms of the chair.

    "Boomeroid?" Raye asked, looking confused.

    Mercury shook her head.  "Under the laws active in your era, where 
someone with more than seventy per cent of their organs replaced with 
cybernetics was considered a cyberdroid for legal purposes ... no.  She 
has at most eight or ten percent of her body modified in such a manner.  
However, under *our* laws, which examine the situation based on the 
complexity and *intrusion* of the surgery involved ... as yet, I'm not 
prepared to say that she qualifies as a human.  Ultimately, it would be 
based on a psychological evaluation, of course, but --"

    "And if she's not `human'?" I snapped.  "What *then*?"

    "Then, Ms. Asagiri, we include a little note in her permanent record 
that says, Other-Than-Human, and don't make a big deal about it," Mercury 
explained, a cool expression on her face.  "For the record, my colleague, 
Caterina, whom I believe you've *met*, doesn't qualify as human either.  
*Almost* no one who knows her holds it against her."

    "Okay, okay ... that's enough," Raye interjected before I could say 
anything to that.  "The last twenty-four hours have been rough on 
*everyone's* nerves, Amy."

    "Quite right," Mercury said, slumping into her seat.  "I should be 
with my fiance, Ms. Asagiri.  He's doubtless wondering what became of my 
grand ambition to spend the week with him in carnal congress--"

    "Much more information than either of us needed, thanks Amy," Raye 
interrupted.  "What do the doctors say about Dr. Stingray at the moment, 
aside from these anomalies?"

    "As far as can be determined, she's in perfect health.  You can go see 
her any time you're ready, Ms. Asagiri."

    I hesitated for a full second, before I nodded.  "Okay.  Where is 
she?"

                                   SYLIA

    I awoke, and stared up at the unfamiliar ceilling.

    Thirty minutes and twenty three seconds later, I began to remember.  I 
have often wondered why some consider perfect recall to be an blessing.  I 
certainly cannot see the advantage of being able to instantly remember 
exactly how I felt when I saw what remained of my father's corpse, or my 
fear as I approached *her* trailer, fingering the gun in my pocket, 
knowing that I would be compelled by my own rules to put a bullet through 
*her* brain if she continued to secede.

    I remember when I learned of *her* amnesia.  I was jealous.

    I remember ...

                                 *   *   *

    I fired Linna.

    I fired Mackie.

    I was alone, as in the beginning.  I waited for them to come for me, 
prepared to end it all.

    And then the phone call came.  "Ms. Stingray?  Mr. Quincy would like 
to arrange a meeting with you.  We realize that in these ... confused 
times, it may be difficult to arrange safe transportation to the tower, 
but we are prepared to give you complete company escort ..."

    I declined the escort.  For a few hours, I labored as intensively as I 
had eleven years before, when the Suits were first being assembled.  The 
problem itself was almost fundamental to the work that I'd done then -- 
how to make the weapons small enough, the armor light enough.  Efficiency.

    And then I was ready.

    One final arrangement with Fargo.  He was almost anxious to be fired, 
to escape the hell on Earth that the city has become.  The car was 
armored, the driver a tiny computer chip, so that even if I were to be 
incapacitated on the journey, it would keep going, delivering the deadly 
cargo to where it could still make an impact.

    I regretted only that Linna had been able to take her final Suit with 
her when she left.  Mackie, at least, could be trusted never to use 
*hers*, or let anyone else have it.  But if Linna used the Mark 10, she 
would make herself a target for any piece of the monster that survived 
what I was going to do to it today.  Nene's suit, and my own, were within 
the headquarters, and thus doomed.  The Silky Doll was well within the 
calculated blast radius.

    I watched the streets of this city besieged from within, this city 
without hope.  Once there *had* been hope here.  The bubble had been 
swelling, and everyone had felt the pressure, but there had been hope that 
it would abate before the explosion.

    And now I was going to be at the heart of that explosion.

    Fitting.

    And then I was within the garage of the monster, and I rode the 
elevator up.  Madigan watched me.  She gazed at the briefcase that 
contained my spear for a long moment, and finally asked "What is that?"

    "The files, of course," I lied smoothly.  "What else?"

    And then I turned to look at the burning city.  "Having once 
experienced these heights," I murmured, "it may be difficult to give them 
up ... even if one is a sage."

    I hear her gasped in sudden fear, and silently thanked Brian J. Mason, 
burning in hell, for what gift he'd given me when he'd tried to rape my 
mind seven years ago.  She no longer knew exactly what is going on.

    Payment enough for her treachery.

    At last, the elevator reached the top of the world, and I stepped out 
into his office.  He sat behind the desk, looking unchanged from what he 
had been nineteen years ago, as he'd wept crocodile tears for my father.  
"Sylia.  Welcome," he said.

    I bowed politely.

    He looked down at a monitor on his desk, and something akin to a smile 
crossed his face.  "Ah.  Madigan, I believe Ms. Tendou has made her 
decision.  Please go and ... assist her."

    Madigan blinked.  "But ... sir, I --"

    "Now, Madigan."

    Another blow to her conception of the universe.  He was not afraid of 
me, which made her wonder if she had ever been needed at all.  Madigan 
bows, and stepped back into the elevator, leaving us alone.

    The light in Quincy's eyes went dim.  "I believe we can dispense with 
these theatrics," the voice, which seems to come from all around me, said 
in his usual tones.  Behind the abandoned android's desk, a door opened 
up, revealing another elevator.  I stepped in, and descended into the 
abyss.

    The elevator opened up into a circular chamber, with a bank of 
monitors on the opposite side, which displayed a variety of images from 
across the world.  One of them caught my eye for some reason -- a 
beautiful woman, wearing a crown and an flowing white dress, with a 
furious expression on her face, silently yelling at a camera.  It repeated 
over and over again.

    Beneath the monitors was a cryogenic support capsule.  Of course, it 
was perfectly sealed, without any unnecessary glass viewports.  But it was 
obvious who was within.

    I stepped into the chamber, noting that that were are a number of 
passages leading out of it, and the image of the heart came to mind.  I 
truly had come to the center of it all.

    The monitors suddenly went blank for a moment, and then resolved, 
formed a composite image of Quincy's head and shoulders across all of 
them.  He smiled, attempting to project the image of a benevolent uncle.  
"Hello, Sylia, I'm glad you were able to join us today."

    "Why have you summoned me?" I asked.

    His smile faded.  "Requested, not summoned.  An important point, I'm 
sure you'll agree.  I asked you to come.  Doesn't that suggest a certain 
... equality in our dealings?"

    I didn't even blink.  "Genom has never accepted *any* equal in any 
way.  The chaos outside is evidence of that --"

    "What's happening now is ... a mistake.  Mistakes have been made, 
Sylia, and I'm more than willing to accept part of the blame for them.  
Some of my decisions lately have been ... less than rational.  That's part 
of the problem.

    "My condition --"  The image seemed to glimpse down at the capsule 
with irritation.  "-- is deteriorating, far more rapidly than our medical 
technicians have been able to repair.  My only options are to place myself 
in *full* cryogenic stasis, wait for a technology that can effectively 
rejuvenate me, and hope that I'll be able to pay the price if and when it 
develops ... or to accept death."  The voice was firm now.  "And I'm not 
willing to do either, Sylia.  Not without an heir."

    I blinked.  He'd finally surprised me.  "You mean --"

    "Who else?  Madigan?  Until four years ago, I was *certain* that it 
would be her.  But then she got involved in that stupid situation with 
Shinohara, and she had to hire *you* to deal with it."  A short snort of 
synthetic laughter.  "And despite all the layers of secrecy and intrigue 
that were between you and her, you *still* found out who that witch was 
before she had the slightest idea who she was actually dealing with.  You 
even used her as a mole!  I was tremendously impressed, Sylia."

    My throat was dry.  "How flattering."

    He allowed himself a dry chuckle.  "Not going to give me an inch, are 
you, Sylia?"  His gaze became intent.  "Sylia, consider what you could do 
with the resources of the company behind you.  The chaos in the streets, 
the confusion and riot, they offend you?  You can stop them.  Instantly.  
You can make amends, turn the company into `the good guys' if that's what 
you want."

    "If *I* could stop it, then you could stop it, just as --"

    "Yes, Sylia.  I *could*.  Now.  But a week from now, when I'm a raving 
idiot, or worse?  What difference does it make if today I order all those 
boomers to stop demolishing houses and start rebuilding if tomorrow I send 
them on another orgy of destruction?"  He looked strangely pensive.  "It 
may be that that justification is *itself* an indication of how weak my 
grasp on my faculties is ... But in any event, I cannot let the reigns of 
power slip to someone who isn't worthy, and the only one who is worthy is 
you."  A long pause.

    "Sylia ... it's what your father would have wanted."

    Even as I exulted that he's given me the one thing that could make all 
the confusion I felt go away, part of me wondered why he'd given me that 
weapon.  "My father?  The man you had killed?  You think he would have --"

    "I had nothing to do with the death of your father, Sylia."

    "You're lying."

    "No, Sylia, I'm not.  I don't regret his death, at least not in the 
way that you must, but I did not order the death of Katsuhito Stingray."  
He gave the impression of a man bewhildered.  "Why would we want to kill 
the goose that laid the golden egg?"

    "Because he was going to reveal --"

    "Reveal what, Sylia?  His contract with us had a non-disclosure, 
non-competition clause as long as your arm.  If he tried to reveal 
something about the process of creating boomers that we didn't want our 
competitors to know, we could have sued him for every penny he had, and 
thrown him in jail to boot!  Why would we take an extralegal action when 
there were simpler and just as effective legal ones?  To throw our weight 
around?  In '22 we didn't have that kind of weight, and you don't survive 
in business by making pointless gestures like that."

    I could find fault with absolutely nothing of what he says.

    That terrified me.

    "Mason killed your father, on his own.  I don't pretend to understand 
his reasoning."  His face indicated extreme disgust.  "I don't understand 
why a grown man would become sexually infatuated with a twelve-year old.  
But whatever his reasons were, he decided you were his ideal mate -- or 
would be, when you underwent the same process he had, with the assistance 
of the data packages he took from your father's laboratory."

    No.

    "You look startled, Sylia.  Why did you think `your' package had the 
number two written on it?  From what I recall of your father, he was quite 
a chauvinist.  The first one was supposed to go to your brother, I think.  
It contained personality modification software to make its recipient into 
an `alpha male', as it were.  Yours, on the other hand, was intended to 
make you into an ideal mother-defender figure."

    NO.

    "It was I who protected you, Sylia, by making sure Mason was never in 
a position to exert an influence over you until you had become what your 
father wanted you to be.  Hard, cold, ruthless -- the ideal heir to 
Genom."

    "You are lying," I said with every ounce of conviction I had remaining 
to me.  I didn't even *sound* somewhat convinced.

    "Nothing that I've said has been a lie, Sylia.  It is your destiny to 
join with Genom, end this *pointless* conflict --"

    "Or you'll let it consume the entire world?" I asked, feeling tears 
building in my eyes, and forcing them down.  I realized that I had somehow 
fallen to my knees.

    He was silent for a long moment.  "Playtime is over, Sylia.  Yes.  I 
*will* in all probability let the world burn if I'm allowed to go on any 
further.  And you ... you have nothing left to go back to.  Every way that 
you *could* resist us has only lead to more death and destruction.  You've 
lost, Sylia.  Accept it.  You could never have won in the first place.  
Every factor that could possibly have influenced the course of this battle 
was taken into account by me long ago.  Your only choice now is to --"

    "So, every factor, huh?  Including --" 

    My head whipped around in the direction of the voice.

    Of *her* voice.

    And *she* was there, staring up at the monitors with a confused look 
on her face.  But there was something different about her ... and 
immediately I realized that this was not her as I'd seen her only a few 
days ago, but her as she'd been seven years ago ...

    When I first ...

    Hysteria mastered me for a moment.  "Oh, well-played.  Creating a 
sexaroid in her image.  Well-played.  She's part of my reward, I take it?"

    And then Quincy spoke again.  Hushed.  "This is not possible.  They 
*can't* have slipped you in here -- they *can't*!  It's not possible!"

    "Best laid plans, you know how it goes," she snapped in his 
direction.  Then she turned and dashed towards me, yelling.  "Come on, we 
gotta get out of here!"

    I calmly produced the x-laser I'd assembled in the elevator down here, 
and fired a warning shot that singed her side.  Her momentary shriek of 
pain was almost enough to bring me to my knees.  Almost.

    "Whoever you are, don't come one step closer to me."  I prayed that 
whatever she was -- oh father, what if it is her we never found a body 
cybernetics and surgery can NO -- I prayed that she didn't realize the 
weakness that was almost overpowering me.  He, of course, couldn't fail to 
realize it.  "It ends, Quincy.  It all ends."  I closed my eyes.  "Let the 
world burn.  I don't care anymore."

    I heard her cry out.  "Don't come near me," I repeated.  "Whatever you 
are, you don't have the right --"

    "-- to be what I wanted to love you like I am?"

    My eyes flashed open.  "What?"  But ... she couldn't have known ... 
she wouldn't --

    And then I knew I'd left myself open as she flung herself at me, her 
face desperate, and the last thing I felt was her fist slamming into my 
jaw.

    Then oblivion yawned widely for me.

    Afterwards ... her assurance that this wass our happy ending.  The
touch  of her lips.  The ride in the ambulance, her hand holding mine.
All of it gently reinforcing the dreamlike unreality of my surroundings.  
Buildings woven of crystal alongside structures of steel and concrete.  An 
impossibly bright moon.

    Until at last I have had time to reflect.

    And the harshness of reality reminded me that I had no more reason to 
believe her to be ... *her* ... than I'd had before.

                                 *   *   *

    I looked up from my bed to gaze at the window set in the door of the 
room, through which shines the only light illuminating the chamber.  My 
field of vision did not permit me to see if I was being held under guard, 
but the door was undoubtably locked.

    Just then, there was an interruption of the light through the window.  
A head.  The door opened, slowly.

    It was her, of course.

    She looked at me, with an anxious expression that I had never before 
seen on *her* face, and muttered, "Um, hi."

    "Queen's Knight to King's Bishop," I said simply.

    "Huh?"

    "A recognition code that I devised for my agents some time ago.  If 
you were who you appear to be --"

    "Sylia, for God's sake!"

    "-- you would have known the countersign."

    "Look ... I don't remember that, okay?"

    "Oh really?" I asked, feeling bile beginning to gather in my stomach.  
"Why is *that*?"

    She opened her mouth to retort ... then slowly closed it.  She smiled 
a tight grin.  "Well, you've got me.  I'm *not* who I appear to be --"

    "Of course."

    "--legally."

    I stared unblinking at her.  "Excuse me?"

    "I'm a clone," she said simply.  "They grabbed my -- sorry, Priss 
Asagiri's DNA and memories in 2033, and then a few centuries later they 
grew me and put the memories --"

    "Don't be absurd," I snapped.  "In 2033, there was no way to preserve 
mental patterns available to any agency outside of Genom, and they were 
not in the habit of snatching people off the street to --"

    "They tell me that the Crystal Tokyo Society had a few jumps on the 
competition," she informed me.

    I felt my heart skip a beat.  "The Crystal Tokyo Society?"

    She blinked.  "Uh ... yeah.  That's where we are --"

    "They said that they wouldn't interfere in our affairs!" I shouted.  I 
did not wish to shout.  <Why am I shouting?> I wondered.

    "What?"

    "Their agent said that they would not interfere with us --"

    "Whoa!  When did this --"

    "When that ... whatever he was, DeGales, when he turned Nene into a 
magician.  He said that they wouldn't become involved unless ... unless 
asked."  <Oh Nene, you betrayed us.  *You*.>

    "Magician?" she asked, appearing even more confused.  And there was 
... it was an emotion I could recall seeing only once before in her eyes.  
On that first night.  Buried beneath the rage, and the anger, and the 
emptiness ...

    Fear.

    <She thinks I'm insane.>  I could not control my thoughts, and the 
prospect terrified me.

    "Look," she said suddenly, "I don't know anything about any of this.  
Like I said, my memories only go up to 2033.  I only know about anything 
after that because I read about it in your journal and --"

    And with those words, complete clarity returned to me.

    "You read my journal?"

                                   PRISS
    <Dammit.  Now what?>  I couldn't tell her what they've been telling 
me, that I couldn't remember anything past '33 because, for some 
psycho-shit reason, I didn't *want* to. 

    So what did I do?

    I grinned a little, and lied my ass off.  "Well, you've got me.  I'm 
*not* who I appear to be --"

    "Of course."  Damn, but her voice was dry.

    "--legally," I continued.

    "Excuse me?" she asked, staring flatly at me.

    "I'm a clone.  They grabbed my -- sorry, Priss Asagiri's DNA and 
memories in 2033, and then a few centuries later they grew me and put the 
memories --"

    "Don't be absurd," she sneered  "In 2033, there was no way to preserve 
mental patterns available to any agency outside of Genom, and they were 
not in the habit of snatching people off the street to --"

    "They tell me that the Crystal Tokyo Society had a few jumps on the 
competition," I interrupted.  I was gonna have to ask Raye to let me in on 
just how they had gone about doing this sort of thing, to make this pile 
of crud more believable.

    I wasn't prepared for her reaction.  She looked stricken.  "The 
Crystal Tokyo Society?"

    "Uh ... yeah.  That's where we are --" I said, gesturing towards the 
window.

    "They said that they wouldn't interfere in our affairs!" she shouted.

    <Geez, laughing and shouting, all in the same twenty four hours,> I 
found myself thinking.  What I *said* was "What?"

    "Their agent said that they would not interfere with us --"

    "Whoa!  When did this --" I interrupted.

    "When that ..." she seemed to be searching as she interrupted me in 
turn.  "... whatever he was, DeGales, when he turned Nene into a 
magician.  He said that they wouldn't become involved unless ... unless 
asked."  She looked even more stricken after that, for some reason.

    "Magician," I said, slowly.  <Oookay ...>  The prospect of dealing 
with Sylia in the way that I was going to have to was scary enough.  The 
thought of trying to deal with an insane Sylia scared the living shit out 
of me.  "Look," I changed the subject.  "I don't know anything about any 
of this.  Like I said, my memories only go up to 2033.  I only know about 
anything after that because I read about it in your journal and --"

    "You read my journal?"

    Her voice had gone down to an absolute whisper.

    "Uh, yeah.  Mackie, he had it published a few years after you -- well, 
everyone thought you were dead, but you were actually *here*, so --"

    "Get.  Out."

    I had never seen a look on Sylia's face as horrible as the one that 
was there right then, and I dearly hope I never see anything that 
frightening ever again.

    "Sylia, come on -- I mean, like I said, how else was I gonna know 
about you listening to me singing --"  The instant it was out of my mouth, 
I knew it was a mistake.

    Sylia slamming the ball of her fist into my jaw a second later was 
just confirmation.

    I stumbled back, feeling blood in my mouth.  "Shit, Sylia --"

    For the next few seconds it seemed like the only words in her 
vocabulary were "Get out."  She was screaming them at the top of her 
lungs, repeatedly.

    Almost immediately, a bunch of EMTs burst into the room, and started 
to hold her down, followed closely by Mercury, who didn't even spare me a 
glance.  She waited until Sylia was completely immobilized before she got 
close enough to administer a sedative, though.

    I turned away, feeling sick.

    Jupiter filled the doorway almost completely.  <Of course,> I thought 
vaguely, <she *would* be in charge of security for this sort of thing ... 
probably monitoring the whole thing.>

    She didn't say a word.  She didn't have to.  She just stared at me 
with those agate-green eyes for the longest moment of my life.

    Then she turned and walked away.

    I'd lied to Sylia.  Twice.  Just now, when I'd told her that I was 
actually a clone.  And before, when I'd told her that this was our happy 
ending.

    This wasn't an ending.  It was the beginning of something.

    And judging by the way I'd been handling it so far, it was doomed from 
the start.

                              To Be Continued