Wake up, got another day to get
Through now, got another man to see
Gotta call him on the telephone ay-o
Gotta find a piece of paper
Sit down, got another letter to write
Think hard, gotta get a letter just right
Little ringin' on the telephone oh no
Gotta write another letter
No such thing as tomorrow all we want
TWO THREE GO
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head

If I tell ya what I'm doin' today
Will you shut up'n get outta my way
Someone ask me what the time is I don't know
Only know I gotta go now
No time, tryin'a get a watch repaired
No time, never got a thing to wear
Little ringin' on the telephone oh no
Hear a ringin' in my head now
No such thing as tomorrow all we want
TWO THREE GO
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head

No such thing as tomorrow all we want
TWO THREE GO
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Time
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Got the time tick tick tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head
Tickin' in my head

	Gryphon arrived at his new apartment home shortly before
five-thirty, tired out from the long trip and wishing nothing more
than to get a long shower and collapse on the couch to watch TV.  He
pulled into the garage, got out of his car, locked everything securely
up, and went inside.
	Inside, the apartment looked just about exactly like their old
one; Trauma Team apparently used the same plans for all their employee
complexes.  Even the poster placement was the same.  Carson wasn't
much for decoration, and neither was Tycho, which left all the common
wall space in the apartment to Gryphon; which suited him just fine.  A
huge holographic Dirty Pair poster adorned the wall behind the TV, and
several other anime-related holos and flats adorned the walls, as well
as a neat blueprint of the U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC-1701).
	Around six his shower was done; coming downstairs in bathrobe
and towel, he flipped on the TV and, flopping down on the sofa,
started searching the channels.  There were a lot of channels in
Tokyo, and his limited understanding of Japanese allowed him at least
the knowledge of what was on... and then he saw a face from his past,
flipping onto channel 3.  A nice face indeed, that of a very pretty
blonde woman, her hair longish and stylishly ratty, dressed in one of
those keen Eiji leather armor cloaks with the Macross lightstripes on
it, a semi-casual shirt and tie, and not-too-awfully-tight jeans.  A
face he knew all too well.
	"Oh my God," he whispered, then jumped to his feet and
shouted, "CORY?!"
	"Problem?" asked Tycho as he clomped down the stairs.
	"Look!" Gryphon shouted, pointing.
	Tycho walked over and cocked his head curiously at the TV.
"That's Cory Emerson," he said.  "How odd."
	"Yes!" Gryphon answered.  "It is!  But what in hell is she
doing in Tokyo?"
	"Looks like she's reporting the news," the big 'borg answered,
and let himself down into his reinforced armchair.  "Come on, what
network, come on," Gryphon muttered, staring intently at the screen.
Presently the stylized neon "CNN" appeared in the corner.  "CNN!  Wow,
she really has hit the big time.  She always knew she
would...wow...it'd really be cool to talk to her again..."
	"Why don't you give her a call?"
	"You bet I'm gonna give her a call," Gryphon answered,
bounding to the cyberterminal in the corner and jacking in. Directory
Assistance couldn't give him a number for a Cory Emerson, but they
could give him CNN's number...and that would have to do.  He jacked
out and dialed frantically.
	"CNN," the woman's voice at the other end.
	"Hi," Gryphon said, trying to keep his voice even.  "Do you
have a reporter on staff there by the name of Emerson, Cory Emerson?"
	"Yes, we do."
	"Great.  I don't imagine you'll give me her home number, I
don't blame you; so could you please do me a favor and give her a
message for me?"
	"Certainly, sir."
	"Would you please tell her that Gryphon called, and have her
call this number."  After giving the operator their new number and
thanking her profusely, despite the operator's pessimistic "If she
makes it to her messages tomorrow" proclamation, Gryphon hung up and
paced up and down, a bundle of tension.  Finally, he ran upstairs and
dressed, pulling on jeans and one of his numerous airbrushed armor
t-shirts, this one sporting Kaneda from Akira walking toward his bike.
	Then, running downstairs, he pulled on his old British Knights
and shrugged into his armored leather jacket. Suddenly he remembered
something that he had always known, but not consciously remembered for
a long time; Cory had given him the jacket for Christmas, the last
Christmas they were together.  Eight years ago.  He smiled, slapped
his Safematic cap on his head, and opened the door.
	"I'm going for a drive; I have to blow off some energy."
	"If she should call while you're out--" Tycho began.
	"Give her the car phone number," Gryphon called behind him,
and he was gone.  Moments later the throaty roar of his car's engine
echoed in the wake of the mighty machine's passing.  (grin)
	Gryphon drove the old-fashioned way tonight; unjacked, without
his smart goggles, not even using the HUD.  Just him, the car and the
road.  He found one of those ubiquitous Tokyo expressways and opened
her up, Anthrax blasting in his ears and memory racing across his
mind.
	Cory Emerson.  The name alone brought back a flood of memory;
seeing her face and hearing her voice on TV had slammed the control
rods of his mental reactor completely out of the core.  She had been
speaking Japanese, but the voice was the same; cool, melodic, tough.
A reporter's voice, through and through and out the other side.
	They had met in nursery school; been friends all through
childhood.  When they reached high school it seemed natural for them
to start going out, and their relationship metamorphosed into
something different, though their friendship remained undamaged by the
romance--a neat trick if you can manage it.  They were a couple all
through high school; there was never anyone else for either of them.
They were voted Class Couple their senior year, and everyone who saw
them said they looked quite good together, except her parents, who
didn't like him.  She didn't particularly care what they thought; her
senior year, she practically lived on his couch.  (Or so his parents
thought.)
	They were very different people; Cory with her ambitions, and
Gryphon with his driver's heart.  Cory knew from the start what she
would be: a reporter.  Not just any reporter, but the best, blowing
the lid off corporate injustice and civil iniquity.  She started
early, getting a foothold in the CNN hierarchy by interning with them
before even finishing high school.  Gryphon, on the other hand, was
indecisive about his future, not knowing quite what he wanted, when
the answer was in front of his face the whole time; Gryphon lived to
drive.  It was his life and it was what he did best.
	(Because of the fact that Cory's life was ruled by schedule,
order, and the not-enough-time-in-the-day rush of a young up-and-comer
a lot of the time, and Gryphon's by the need for speed, Gryphon once
jokingly proclaimed "their song" to be Anthrax's cover of "Got the
Time".  It stuck.)
	So, at the end of their last summer together, pushed apart by
separate fates, they tearfully said their goodbyes and moved away,
Gryphon to Night City and Cory to God knows where.  They sent a few
letters and made a few phone calls, but continental drift set in, and
eventually they completely lost track of each other.
	Gryphon did his best to forget; he didn't know what Cory had
done.  There were a couple of times in Night City when he thought he
was in love again, three he could think of.  One relationship just
ended--they decided it wasn't working.
	Another lover turned on him when she found out his background;
she was a petty social climber and felt his common background would
drag her down.  She tried to kill him, then just sort of went away.
Gryphon didn't particularly give a fuck one way or the other for her,
and tended to ignore her.
	The third died in the car crash that cost Gryphon his right
arm.  Thinking back on it in the hospital, Gryphon had realized that
he hadn't loved any of them, nor they him.  He hated himself for doing
what, in the hopelessly romantic side of his mind, amounted to
betraying Cory.  It sometimes annoyed Gryphon that he was so much the
romantic...it certainly took all the fun out of fast affairs, to the
point where he never bothered with them anymore.  The only people who
really understood him were Tycho, Carson, and...Cory...
	Cory had, in fact, done just the same as he.  She was a career
woman, and though she still loved Gryphon, she felt it best to just
try to forget him.  Like Gryphon, she almost succeeded, but for the
tiny everyday reminders that brought a strange, fnorded sensation to
the back of her mind.  She had a few boyfriends in college and later
in life, but she never could quite forget Gryphon, or how special they
had been together.  She too was something of an anachronism, a
true-love woman in an age of cheap lust and fast sex.
	Gryphon had no way of knowing this; he drove about, listening
to music far too loudly and wondering what Cory would do when she
received his message.  He started to worry that the operator would
even pass it along; Cory seemed pretty important by now, perhaps the
woman had thought him just another besotted fan.  He realized that
paranoia was beginning to set in and tried to force himself to calm
down.
	Muttering something about "bonehead" to himself, he drove home
after an hour or so on the road and made himself go to sleep.  She'd
call.  She had to.
	Gryphon fell asleep with his arms wrapped around his jacket,
remembering the two summer weeks a year they spent at his
grandfather's camp up in the woods, fishing, swimming, boating, going
for walks in the woods, and by junior year...other things.  He
suddenly found himself wishing very much he could go back to the
summer of 2010 again.
	Gryphon awoke slowly, as always; got out of bed, pulled on his
bathrobe, and went downstairs to the terminal, to log into the Net and
read his email and news.  It was around noon.  At noon-fifteen, the
phone rang, almost startling him right out of his skin.  By the second
ring he had grabbed it.
	"Hello?" Gryphon said, forcing himself to sound calm.
	"Hello," replied a woman's voice.  Familiar.  In English.
"Gryphon?"
	Gryphon's heart leaped.  It was her, all right.  "I know
you..." he said slowly, a smile spreading.  "Don't I?"
	"I think so," the woman replied.  "Your full, real name is
Benjamin Donald Hutchins.  You were born June 20th, 1996, and
graduated near the top of your class from Stearns High School, Class
of 2012.  You're an anime fan and the king of the American
Angelheads--but you don't like the American Angels."
	"Cory!" Gryphon cried.  He was very happy, to say the least.
	"Ben," Cory replied.  "How are you?"
	"Fine, wonderful," Gryphon replied.  "And you?  God, Cory,
it's been a long time."
	"I'm fine--what are you doing in Tokyo?"
	"I work for Trauma Team--my team got transferred a couple of
weeks ago.  Besides, I was sick of Night City."
	"You?  Trauma Team?  I can't picture you a medtechie."
	"No, I'm a pilot.  I fly the AV-4 for Trauma Team 261."
	"Two sixty-one.  It figures, doubly so," Cory said, an amused
tone in her voice.  "Some things never change.  I'll even bet your ID
number is 101761," she surmised.
	"I see why you're such a good reporter," Gryphon replied,
grinning.  "Are you free sometime, can we go out and get something to
eat?  I'd really like to see you again. It's been so long."
	"I'm too busy for lunch today," Cory answered, "but I should
be off work by five...how about supper tonight, around six?"
	"Sure," Gryphon replied.  "Where?"
	"You feel like Italian?"
	"Anything.  The important part is seeing you again."
	"You haven't changed.  Okay, Italian it is.  Do you know where
Yahagi's is?"
	"Yahagi's?  Strange name for an Italian restaurant."
	"Yes, but the food is excellent, and Shogo-san is a dear
friend of mine, so we won't have a problem with reservations."
	"You know I trust you implicitly in matters of the stomach,"
Gryphon said, his smile deepening.
	"Uh huh," Cory replied, her voice still happy-sounding. "But
do you know where it is?"
	"No, but my car does," Gryphon replied.  "Trust me, I'll be
there, at six."
	"You'll be there by six-fifteen, then," replied Cory. "And
wear a tie, Yahagi's is a nice place, okay?"
	"You bet.  And I'll be on time this time, I mean it."
	"Uh huh.  I'll see you there.  I have to get back to work
now--sorry to cut this short."  Her voice softened a little, becoming
less chatty and more personal.  "It really is good to hear your voice
again," she said.
	"You too, Cory.  You can't even begin to believe how happy I
am right now."
	"Oh, I can imagine.  I have to go--see you at six!"
	"At six," Gryphon promised, and set the phone back in its
cradle.  Then he leaped in the air, punched at nothing, and shouted,
"YEEEHAAA!"
	"What the fuck--?!" demanded Carson as he bounded down the
stairs, one of his numerous weapons at the ready.
	"What was that?!" seconded Tycho as he crowded out of his room
as well.
	"Sorry, guys--I'm just really happy.  That was Cory--she
returned my call!  We're going out for dinner tonight.  It's been
eight years, Tycho--eight years!"
	"Cory?" Carson asked.  "Cory Emerson?"
	"Yeah!"
	"What the hell is she doing in Tokyo?"
	"She's a reporter for CNN, quite important too, I guess.  I
saw her on TV last night and almost had a mental meltdown right there
on the couch."
	"Cool," said Carson.  "Just don't go yelling like that
anymore, will you?  Could've given me a heart attack."
	"Yeah, right," Gryphon replied with a sardonic grin. "If you
had a heart."
	"Hey, I had a heart--I needed the money, give me a break,"
Carson replied.
	"That's not what I meant and you know it."
	"Watch it, Gryphon," Carson said.  "You're lucky you're not
people, 'cause I hate people, and I'd have to hurt you."
	"I'm coming with you," Tycho announced.
	"You're what?"
	"I'm coming with you.  If anything goes down, you might need
me."
	"I'm going out to dinner with an old friend, Tycho, it's not
like I'm making a meet to ditch some hot guns."
	"She's a big time reporter now.  It's been eight years. People
change.  Corps recruit.  Militech doesn't like you. Understand?"
	"Not Cory.  Never Cory."
	"Sure, sure.  I'm coming anyway."
	"Fine, whatever."  Gryphon ran upstairs.  "I'm going to
shower.  No!  First I'm going to wax Maximilian, then I'm going to
shower."
	"Calm down, Gryphon, you're stressing," Tycho said calmly.
	"I AM NOT STRESSING!" Gryphon shouted.  "Now get out of my
way.  Where the hell is the Turtle Wax?"
	"In my room."
	"What the hell is it doing in your room?"
	"I used it."
	"Oh."  Gryphon dashed upstairs and came down a few minutes
later in the coverall he wore when working on the car, carrying a
bottle of Turtle Wax and some rags.
	After giving Maximilian the Deathmobile a good tuning,
adjusting, oil change, cleaning, vacuuming, de-kippling, washing and
waxing, Gryphon went upstairs and took a long, hot shower.
	"There'd better be some hot water left when he gets done,"
Carson said to Tycho in the living room, "or I'll be pissed."
	"Doesn't much matter to me," Tycho replied, changing the
channel.  As luck would have it, he went to channel 3, and there was
Cory giving a report.
	"That's her," Tycho said, pointing.
	"No kidding?  Nice."  Carson popped the tab on a beer. "Why
the hell did he ever break up with her?"
	"It's a long story," Tycho said, a tiny trace of humanity
creeping into his voice.  Only with his closest friend, Carson, and
his brother, Gryphon, did Tycho show what humanity he had left under
the six hundred plus pounds of metal grafted to and/or completely
replacing his flesh.
	"I remember the night they broke up, though...I was home for
the weekend.  It was silly, actually...neither of them wanted to do
it, but they both thought the other did, you know?  Our folks were
blind, like they usually were; I was the only one who noticed.  I
suppose I should've said something then, but I didn't think it was any
of my business."
	"Yeah, I understand," Carson replied.  "Gryphon can get
awfully mean when he thinks you're sticking your nose in where he
doesn't think it belongs."
	"Well, besides that, I was going through some changes... that
was the weekend before I went into Militech and had this done."  He
indicated his body.  "Truth to tell, I really didn't give a fuck about
anything or anyone.  I was just home to get my shit and leave."
	Carson nodded.
	"What time is it, anyway?" asked Tycho at length.
	"Dunno."  Carson checked his skullwatch.  "It's--shit!
GRYPHON!  Get outta the shower, buddy--it's five-thirty!"
	"SHIT!"  The shower slammed off and the door opened quite
abruptly; downstairs they could hear Gryphon bounding out and snagging
a towel on the way to his room.  Tycho rose from his seat and headed
upstairs; he knew the routine.
	"Where the hell is--" Gryphon was saying, dressed in
underwear, white t-shirt, and socks, as he rooted through the pile of
clothes on his floor.
	Tycho picked up the white dress shirt from the back of the
chair and held it out, open.  "Your shirt?"
	"Thanks, Tycho, you're a lifesaver."  Gryphon shrugged into
the shirt, buttoned it, missed one, cursed, did it again.  Tycho next
located his black dress pants, suit coat, and finally his tie, and
handed them all to him one by one. Adjusting the tie, Gryphon pinned
it in place with his Robotech Defense Force tie tack and went back
into the bathroom to brush his hair.
	They bounded downstairs (well, Tycho didn't really bound, but
he kept up with Gryphon, who was well and truly bounding), Gryphon
pulling on his best footwear, his black Pumps, and simultaneously
snagging his keys from the endtable.  Then he grabbed his heavy gray
overcoat and matching hat, put them on, and made to open the door.
	"Good luck," Carson said.
	"Thanks, Carson.  I mean it.  Come on, Tycho--we're late!"
	"What else is new?" Tycho said calmly as they entered the
garage.  "You're really stressing.  Here."  He reached up, unjacked
his stress chip, and pressed it into Gryphon's trembling hand.
	"Thanks."  Gryphon slotted the sliver of silicon into the
chipjack on the side of his head, next to the one that made his
TechHair his original shade of light brown and the one that gave him a
rudimentary knowledge of Japanese culture.  He visibly relaxed.  "Ahh.
I'll have to give it back when we get there, though--if I'm
chip-relaxed, I won't be myself, and we can't have that."
	"Oh, heavens no," Tycho deadpanned.  Tycho pretty much
deadpanned everything.  With a chiseled metal face, there wasn't much
else he could do.  "What a tragedy it would be for you to meet Cory in
a relatively sane frame of mind."
	"It would," Gryphon said as he tossed his hat into the back
seat and strapped himself into Maximilian's driver's seat.  "A total
and complete tragedy.  I want to be me."
	"What if she's not her?"
	"What do you mean?"
	"People change.  Look at me."
	"Somehow, I don't think Cory's cyberpsychotic."
	"Hey!  Neither am I...yet..."
	"Yeah, but you'd probably go if I so much as polished your
face."
	"So don't polish my face."
	"Right."  Gryphon flipped switches and turned the key; Max's
powerplant snarled into life.  The garage door opened. The digital
dash sprang to full power.  Gryphon pulled on his helmet, checked all
the smartgoggle attachments, and jacked into the cybercontrol system,
then backed straight out of the garage and roared away into the night.
	"This calls for some special music," Gryphon said with a grin,
and slotted a CD into the player on the DeathStereoTM. Anthrax's old
cover of "Got the Time" started blasting out of the 200-watt
monstrosity, complete with bass subwoofered directly into the
computer-controlled gas-active suspension system.  To Gryphon, jacked
into the car, it was as if the bass was resonating right off his
bones.  People at red lights tossed auto-repair business cards in
Tycho's lap; Gryphon dusted them.
	It was a rather long drive to Yahagi's, as time ticked
preciously away; Gryphon was doing a good 55 mph up a 25-mph street
when he spotted the two barriers marking the valet- parking zone in
front of Yahagi's coming up on the left. Grinning fiercely, he jerked
the wheel to the left, slammed his foot down on the brake, and shifted
his balance, in the process shifting the entire car's balance.  The
Gryphon 2100 MkII Roadmaster slewed hard, skidding on its solid-rubber
tires, in a flawless bootleg turn, then slid sideways between the two
barriers, aligned perfectly with the curb.
	The Roadmaster's active suspension vented some
overpressurized, evaporated fluid; with a tremendous sigh, a huge
cloud of blue vapor swirled up from under the car. Gryphon stepped
out, hat on head, looking tremendously cool in his overcoat and huge
cloud of blue smoke.  Then Tycho got out of his side, wearing a huge
pair of pants, an equally huge raincoat, and a hat, looking like a
Volkswagen Bug II trying to be inconspicuous in a crowded mall.  The
parking attendant scowled at Gryphon, but shuddered at the sight of
Tycho and quickly parked the car.
	Gryphon grinned and went into the restaurant.  Cory was
waiting in the "hi, I'm waiting for my table" area that all nice
restaurants have, wearing a suit that almost matched his own (but for
the skirt, he supposed) and that Eiji lightpanel cloak.  He had to
laugh, he was just too happy.  Reaching up, he yanked out the stress
chip, tossed it to Tycho, and strode over to her, arms wide.
	"Cory!" he called.
	"Gryphon!" she replied, both accepting and returning his warm
hug.  With a sudden flash of "DUH", Gryphon realized something that he
supposed on some level he had always known; he still loved Cory, just
as much as he always had.
	"It's so good to see you again," Gryphon said, releasing her.
"God, you're still just as beautiful.  I can't believe it!  You, here
in Tokyo...incredible."
	"You haven't changed a bit," Cory replied.  "You're still five
minutes late, you still drive like a maniac, and you're still the same
old flatterer."  She gave him a quick kiss, just about all that was
socially acceptable in the foyer of an Italian restaurant in downtown
Tokyo.  Then she saw Tycho.
	"Who's this?" she asked, appearing calm despite the huge
'borg's appearance.
	"You remember Tycho--oh, sorry, I forgot, he got that name
later--my brother, Bill?"
	"Bill?  You're in there somewhere?"
	"More or less," Tycho rumbled.  "Good to see you, Cory."
Tycho leaned close to Gryphon and murmured, "I'll be in the bar if you
need me."
	"Somehow," Gryphon replied quietly, "I don't think I'll be
needing your help tonight."
	"Good luck."
	"Thanks."  Tycho stood back to his full eight foot four and
headed off to the bar.
	"Wow, what happened to him?" Cory asked as the maitrˆ-d'
led them to their table.
	"He had it done on purpose, believe it or not. Bonehead.  Went
to Militech and said, `Hi, I wanna work for you, borg me.'  I would've
tried to talk him out of it, but I was depressed around then, and I
didn't really give a damn."
	"What've you been up to?" she asked him as they took their
seat.  "Other than driving for Trauma Team?"
	"Oh, this and that...collecting more anime...building up more
kipple...building Maximilian the Deathmobile...trying to forget
you..."  He smiled.  "I want you to know something, Cory, right now,
and make of it what you will.  You know I hate messing around with the
indirect route, and you know I'm a hopeless romantic.  I still love
you, Cory, and I always have.  I don't know how you feel--odds are I
won't like it when I find out--but I wanted you to know that."
	Cory smiled.  "You too, huh?" she asked, semi-sadly.
	"Huh?"
	She reached across the table and took both his hands in hers.
"It was the same for me.  I'd see something, almost every day, and it
would remind me of you...I had a couple of boyfriends in college, but
part of me almost felt like some sort of cheap slut for it...like I
was betraying you or something..."
	"Yeah," Gryphon replied, surprise spreading over his face.
"Yeah, that's exactly how it was.  Well, I suppose it's a little
different...I never had a boyfriend...but what--?"
	Cory laughed.  "So here we are, Gryph, two hopeless romantics
in an age of opportunists.  I think we're safer together in a world
like this...don't you?"
	"You...you mean...?"
	"I was just thinking about you the other day...wondering if I
should try to track you down...hell, I'm a reporter, I could do it,
with enough time.  And then I get into my office this morning, and
there's your message...it was like something..."
	"...ordained it," Gryphon finished slowly.
	"God, you're already doing it."
	"What?"
	"You're finishing my sentences."
	"Hm...how'd you ever become such a famous reporter, if you
never finish a sentence?"
	"Shut up and order," she said with a smile.

	The meal was over soon enough, and they were sitting and
talking in that post-meal way that people tend to do.  "Where do you
live?" Cory asked.
	"Trauma Team provides housing for their employees...I live
over on some street with an utterly unpronounceable name, near the
main TTTokyo facility with Tycho and one of the solos from my team.
Nice guy, for a borderline cyperpsycho--Carson D. Carson's his name,
believe it or not. You'll have to meet him sometime.  You?"
	"I live a couple of blocks down the street...it's a nice
apartment.  I don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but I'm,
well...comfortable."
	"I could be, I suppose...but the TT housing is free and not
too bad, and it gives me more money to spend on my car."
	"You and your cars.  What is it this time, an old Camaro?
Some pre-unleaded iron monster like that Pontiac?"
	"No, it's a great car.  You'll have to meet it--I've had it
for a couple of years now.  It's my own design.  Well, mine and
Kenichi Sonoda's."
	"Well..."  She stood up.  "Shall we go?"
	"What about the bill?"
	"It's taken care of.  I told you, Shogo-san is a good friend
of mine."
	"Okay...I suppose I should go tell Tycho where I'm going, so
he doesn't worry--he gets awfully paranoid sometimes."

	In the bar, Tycho looked down as his watch beeped.  "Hmm," he
observed, mentally, as he looked at it.  "It's God knows when.
Gryphon's taking a while..."
	"Tycho!" Gryphon called.  Tycho looked; he was standing in the
door to the bar.  Tycho stood and clomped over to him.
	"I'm heading out...do you mind awfully walking home?"
	"No, I suppose not...it's for a good cause."  Were Tycho still
capable of smiling, he likely would have.
	Gryphon grinned.  "Thanks, chummer, I owe you one."

	"Wow...this is some kind of car."
	"Yeah...ugly as sin, isn't it?"
	"Well...I didn't want to say anything, but..."
	"It's ok, Max knows he's ugly."  Gryphon patted the front
fender of the Roadmaster (which the attendant had dropped off and then
run away from at all possible speed) affectionately.  "I built him to
be ugly.  To scare the hell out of people.  Hop in."
	"Ok--wow, big seat.  For Tycho?"
	"Yup...just hit that blue button there, it'll inflate the
supports in the middle of the seat so you can sit down and not
disappear.  Make sure you strap in."  Gryphon closed his door with a
slight hiss; Cory's did the same as she closed it.  There was utter
silence, save for the dull purr of the engine; the outside world was
completely cut off.
	"Here," Gryphon said, tabbing a couple of controls on the
DeathStereoTM.  "Remember this?"
	"What--" Cory got no further as the throbbing bassline from
"Got the Time" filled the car.  She laughed.  "Yes!  How could I
forget--this is our song!"  She put her hand on his as he rested it on
the shifter knob, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.  When
the song was done, she said, "Ahh...my life is still like this, Ben.
Maybe even worse. Christ, there just isn't enough time in the day!
And the people I work with--graaah, I've never seen such a collection
of clowns in my life!  How CNN ever became the network it is I have no
idea, if they've always had people like this...I do the work of any
four of them..."
	"Wow...you sure you want to do this?  I mean, if you're pushed
for time already..."
	"Of course.  I need to relax a little.  You always relax me.
Do you still give back rubs?"
	"I haven't in a long time...bet I haven't forgotten,
though..."
	She smiled.  "Mmm...we'll find out when we get home..."
	Gryphon smiled.  Maybe this Tokyo thing wouldn't be so bad
after all?
	"Can I use your phone?" Cory asked suddenly.
	"Sure, go ahead."
	"Thanks."  Cory picked up the receiver and dialed.  "Hi,
Yuriko--it's Cory.  Yeah.  Listen, can you tell Giles I won't be in
tomorrow?  Yeah, yeah, I know he'll have kittens, what else is new?
Uh huh.  Bullshit--we don't need the data on the Militech thing for
another three days.  I put in overtime all last week enhancing tape on
that fuckup with Trauma Team, I have at least one day off coming to
me.  No!  Look, Yuriko, just leave him a message for me.  Tell him I'm
taking the day off, I've earned it, and if he tries to make a stink
about it, I'll personally rip out that decaying thing he calls his
liver!  Ok?  Thanks, Yuriko.  See you Wednesday."
	"Wow," Gryphon muttered as Cory hung the phone up.  "Rip tear
shred destroy kill... *SNARL*...ouch!  Glad I'm not Giles, whoever the
poor bastard is."
	"Don't spare him any pity," Cory said, disgust in her voice.
"Giles Mason is my boss.  He's a lecherous, incompetent, alcoholic
ass, and he rides my back mercilessly 'cause I won't go to bed with
him."  She shuddered as if the mere thought made her ill.
	"I take it that is just not an option?" asked Gryphon with a
sardonic smile.  "Hmm, we don't take our career very seriously, now do
we, Ms. Emerson?  Here you have a perfect opportunity for a truly
meteoric career--"
	"Which I happen to be having without the companionship of
Giles Mason, thank you," said Cory with a smile of her own.  "The day
I have to sleep with someone to advance in my career is the day I take
up professional knitting."
	"You can't knit worth shit."
	"Exactly."
	"Wow, you really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" He
extended his right hand.  "Welcome to the club. Frustrated, angry
individuals who wish 90% of the human race would just go off somewhere
and quietly die."
	"Amen," Cory replied, shaking the proffered hand.  "Even here
in Japan, I'm surrounded by idiots.  Why the hell they ever
transferred morons like Giles to the Tokyo bureau I don't know.  I
mean...shit.  You don't want to hear about this!"
	"You know me better than that," Gryphon said with a wounded
tone.  "Of course I want to hear about this.  If you don't talk to
somebody about it, you'll wind up snapping and killing Giles with a
pencil or something, and then what'll happen to this career of yours?
You must be doing something right, to get such acceptance, an
outlander here in Japan who challenges the almighty corporations."
	"Most of that is just hype...they're making a big deal about
what happened over at the Arasaka complex last weekend. I was in the
right place at the right time, what can I say? I got lucky."
	"What went down at Arasaka?"
	"Don't you know?"
	"No--until yesterday I was on a ship from Night City."
	"Oh.  A ship?"
	"Yeah.  Think I'd leave Max in the hands of some airline
baggage department?  I think not."
	She laughed, then continued, "Anyway, yeah--big doings at the
Arasaka complex last Saturday night.  An Arasaka AV-6 blew away a
Trauma Team, and I got it on tape."
	"What?!"
	"They were removing a carded patient from Arasaka grounds.  It
was a legit broken-card response.  The TT AV-4 was outside Arasaka's
perimeter when the Arasaka '6 came roaring out, and let off a spread
of missiles.  The Team pilot tried to dodge, but...boom."
	"Why the fuck would Arasaka blow away a Trauma Team?"
	"The patient they were removing was an Arasaka research
engineer killed in an extraction attempt by Militech solos. Two of the
solos were on the '4 that got blown away, and three more got away in
an R.E.O. MeatWagon Ambunaught that managed to blast its way through
the gate at the perimeter."
	"Shit...Arasaka, Militech, Trauma Team, and MeatWagon?  Have
some corporate rivalry.  Jeez.  Why were you there?"
	"I had a tip Militech was going to try an extraction from
Arasaka, probably from one of the Militech guys who wanted a little
coverage.  I was just outside the fence, using night gear and all that
other crap--a lot less convenient than the headcam, but the headcam
can't see half a mile away at night.  The job went bad; the engineer
got hit and broke his TT card.  A couple of the solos were pretty poor
off, I guess, and had MeatWagon accounts.  Then the ambulances showed
up.  Potshots all 'round, and the only people that made it out alive
were the Arasaka AV jocks and the MeatWagon Ambunaught."
	"Wow.  So you burned Arasaka's ass for blowing away a Trauma
Team AV."
	"Got them good, too, I guess...TT's suing them for
unreasonable amounts of money."
	"Worried about reprisals?"
	"Not especially.  Arasaka knows that if anything happens to
any CNN Tokyo personnel in the near future, CNN will start supporting
Militech's bid to get a facility in Japan, and Arasaka just does not
want that to happen."
	"Christ, have some politics.  I couldn't stand it all if I
were you.  Me, I love my job...it's quite simply a combination of
everything I love to do best, except of course that an AV-4 doesn't
have decent wheels.  Other than that: I get to fly real fast and real
recklessly, I get lots of fun lights and sirens to play with, I can go
anywhere I have to go to reach the patient, and I can blow up anything
that tries to get in my way."
	"Sounds like your dream job.  Dangerous, though."
	"True.  By the way...where are we going?  Or would you prefer
to drive about aimlessly until dawn?  I haven't done that in this city
yet."
	"No...let's go back to my apartment and have some hot
chocolate or something.  It's early yet."
	"As you wish, m'lady.  Where's your apartment again?"

	"Nice," Gryphon commented as he stepped into the living room.
	"Shoes," Cory ordered, pulling off her low heels one at a
time.
	"Oh, of course," Gryphon said with a grin, taking off his BKs.
The entire living room was carpeted in a lush pile of light blue.
	"Ahh...I hate heels," said Cory as she padded across the
living room and up two wood-paneled stairs to the open kitchen and on
back to what he took to be her bedroom door. "I'll be right
back...make yourself comfortable."
	Gryphon obliged, hanging up his coat and hat, then taking off
his suit coat and loosening his tie before sitting down on the
enormous brown leather couch.
	"I simply must get one of these," he murmured to himself as he
sank into the soft and--surprise--heated couch. "Mmmmmm."  He let his
head sink back against the cushions and tried to get rid of some of
the "surreal day" feedback in his head.  The couch almost made him
want to fall asleep right here...
	A hand brushed the long hair back from his forehead. "Tired?"
	He opened his eyes to see Cory, looking completely un-formal
in a t-shirt and shorts, leaning over him.  "Past your bedtime?"
	"No...it's this couch...and I've been having a very surreal
day.  I haven't even been up for twelve hours yet, I can't be tired."
	She sat down beside him, leaning on his shoulder. "Well, I'm
tired.  I had the world's worst day at work today; the only good point
was finding your message somewhere amidst my cluttered mail spool.
Work is such hell sometimes."
	"But you love it," he said, putting his arm around her. "I
feel the same way about flying for Trauma Team.  It's a lot of stress,
and some of the situations don't come off well at all, but I can't
imagine life in another job.  Unless maybe it was 24-hour delivery."
	"You haven't gotten any less silly."
	"It's my defense against my memories."
	"Memories?"
	"Yeah...I haven't had a good eight years, all told.  I started
refusing to deal when we broke up and Bill went off to get himself
turned into a tank; so I started drifting around.  I ran out of money
and wound up in Night City. Goooood choice...arr.  For something to
do, I took up guitar; the only things I could do well were drive and
play guitar. Neither seemed to be a decent career option.  I had a
girlfriend for a while; she tried to kill me when she found out I
didn't have a job.  'Bout then I started wondering if it wouldn't be
nice for 90% of the population to just go away."
	Cory nodded; she could understand that feeling all too well.
"Yeah...I knew a guy in college like that.  Real snob, nice family,
etc., etc.  He once came up to me at a social and said, `Miss Emerson,
you are a very beautiful woman-- would you do me the honor of telling
me what great noble house of Europe gave rise to such a noble face and
figure?'"
	Gryphon choked.  "Ack, like have a line."  He made a gesture
and noise like a 3500-ton can of SPAM dropping onto concrete.
	Cory wrinkled her nose.  "Tell me about it.  Anyway, I told
him I was descended from such luminaries as a starving, drug-addicted
poet, the bastard son of a Norwegian prince and some random maiden,
and a family of Polish revolutionaries, and he turned white as a sheet
and made some hideously fake excuse.  Avoided me for the rest of the
year, then transferred away--felt like he had made some horrible
social blunder his family could never recover from.  People like him I
can do without.  But you were saying--?"
	"Oh yeah.  So I met this guy, Tengu, who was starting up a
band and wanted me to be his guitarist--it seems I got drunk or
chipped or something one night and started playing guitar in some bar,
totally at random, and he liked my sound. So I started playing guitar
in a retro band and trying to scrape my life together.  Things were
going good--I landed a job driving for Domino's and between that and
our gigs I made an ok living.
	"Then my uncle died and I got enough cash together to build my
dream car; I called it the Gryphon 2100 Roadmaster. Thought I fell in
love with the drummer from the band.  We were driving one night and a
Trauma Team AV-4 hit my car."
	"What?!"
	"They couldn't help it; I was cresting a hill and there it
was, pouring smoke out of a big hole in its side with a MeatWagon
Medimaster on its tail.  I tried to dodge, but...yeah right.  The
thing plowed right into the right side of the car and totally
destroyed it."
	"The drummer--"
	"Puree."
	Cory winced.  "I'm sorry."
	"Don't be.  I found out later the bitch was planning on
marrying one of the roadies as soon as she had enough money
together--a lot of which she was getting from me."
	"Ouch.  Cold..."
	"Yeah...I woke up in a hospital with a metal arm and a
reeeally pissy mood.  And then Rico, the roadie, comes in and starts
ragging me 'cause `I got his fiancee killed'.  I don't think I killed
him, but then again, I don't remember, and no one will tell me."
	She squeezed his shoulders with an arm.  "If you didn't, you
should have."
	"Hmm...well anyway...I was really close to just giving up on
people then.  Women I thought I loved betrayed me-- although thinking
back I don't think I really loved either of them--people I trusted
took advantage of me; total strangers hit me with combat aerodynes.  I
was not having a Good Life.  And then a rep from Trauma Team came to
visit me. He said the tapes of the accident from the AV-4's cameras
had shown clearly that I was a very skillful driver, and he wanted to
know if I was looking for a job.  He also offered his condolences."
	"So you went to work for Trauma Team."
	"Uh huh.  Flying the AV-4 for Team 261 in Night City. My life
was good; I had a cyberlink, finally, and it was paid for; I was out
of debt; I worked for a corporation that didn't do everything in its
power to own its employees.  I was lonely, but that was ok, I've been
dealing with that for eight years now.  I met Bill again--strange
coincidence, he was Caryn's replacement as Wyvern's drummer--and moved
into an apartment with Carson, and life was moving right along."
	"And?"
	"And, Tycho--Bill--got fired from Militech, and his
replacement starts stalking him, `making sure he doesn't go
cyberpsychotic'.  Basically, whether he is or not, according to this
neo-Nazi asshole, he is.  Tycho now has a termination order
outstanding with Militech.  That's one of the reasons we moved to
Japan.  On the other hand, I built another car, an improved version of
the first one, and I can almost forget that my right arm isn't real if
I try hard enough.  And then I turned on the TV, and there you were,
and here we are."
	"Hmm...well...I finished my internship with CNN halfway
through college, waited 'til graduation, and took a job with them.  I
started work in the New York bureau, and got transferred out here a
year ago after I started digging a little too deep into the affairs of
the mayor's office.  Out here they thought they could keep me quiet,
but that's not the case.  Too many corps."
	"What about your personal life?  If you don't want to tell me,
I understand, but--"
	"It's just that there's nothing to tell, that's all.  I went
out with a couple of guys, they were all assholes after I got to know
them, big deal.  I gave up on dating a couple of years ago.  It isn't
worth the trouble; the average guy is a jerk and I don't have time to
weed through them looking for someone special.  Too much work to do.
Besides, I get the sneaking suspicion there's only one person special
for me."  She gave him a kiss.
	"Hmm...maybe it works out somehow.  If we really are the
world's last surviving romantics, it makes sense we should be
together."
	"Maybe you have a point there.  More proof of the fundamental
interconnectedness of all things?"
	"Could be."  Gryphon paused, his face sobering.  "Are you
absolutely certain about this?  I don't want you to feel like I'm
pushing you into something you don't really want."
	"We had the magic, once.  We can get it back."  She kissed him
again.
	"Optimist."  He smiled and cracked many knuckles.  "Now then.
I believe you wanted a back rub."

	Carson was sitting bored in the living room, casually tossing
spikes into the holotarget on the far wall, when the door opened and
Gryphon half-bounded in, narrowly missing being decapitated by a
flying spike of metal.
	"Yow!  Watch it, Carson--you could've put an eye out. What's
up?  Where's Tycho?"  He shut the door and stepped into the room,
pocketing his keys and headbanging to whatever song was stuck in his
mind.
	"He went to the store--it was his turn to buy milk.  It's
three-thirty in the afternoon..."
	"I know what time it is--and the sun is altogether too loud
today," Gryphon replied, jumping over the couch to the middle of the
room, then went into the kitchen.  "Time, got the time tick tick
tickin' in my head," he was singing quietly to himself.
	"Have a nice night?"
	"Uh huh," Gryphon replied from the kitchen.  He returned
moments later chowing on a nuked chicken and cheese sandwich. "I
didn't think she'd want to get back together, but damn, am I glad I
was wrong."
	"You got back together?  Awriiight!  My man!" Carson said,
extending a hand and slapping Gryphon's shoulder. "Pretty lady, my
friend, I envy you."
	"Thanks, Carson...I--"
	The door opened and Tycho walked in, carrying several dozen
gallons of 2% milk.
	"Hi, Tycho," Gryphon said.
	"Hi," Tycho replied.  "So?"
	"So?"
	"So?"
	"So we're back together."
	Tycho put the milk down on the table, walked over, and
carefully shook Gryphon's hand.  "I was hoping."
	"Thanks.  Hmm...I'm going to get out of these clothes, and
then take a very long drive and listen to music far too loudly.  Have
a great day, gentlemen, what's left of it," he cried as he bounded
three at a time up the stairs.
	"He's gone," Tycho rumbled.
	"Completely lost it," Carson replied.
	"Absolutely, blindly and totally in love again."
	"Looks good on him, really."
	"Yeah...we'd look damn silly that way, but he carries it kinda
well."
	"Of course, we're going to have to act like it absolutely and
totally annoys and sickens us."
	"Oh, of course.  It's the honorable thing to do.  We're his
roommates."

				 fin