Gryphon fitted the last piece back into the Camaro's
once-mangled front suspension, rolled his creeper out from under the
vehicle, and stood up, brushing himself off.  Repairs to the damage
sustained in his ill-fated encounter with J.B. Gibson's Griffon 200A
were complete; the Interceptor was running on all cylinders again, so
to speak.  He climbed into the car, closed the door, and sat behind
the wheel for a moment, considering.
	There had been four tasks it had been imperative that he
complete before leaving, since destroying the Griffon.  One had been
the handing down of Iron Man's armor to a worthy individual to
continue on after his departure.  That had been simple enough.  He had
decided to take the Model IX Golden Avenger suit with him on his
journey, and left the old (but still quite powerful) War Machine in
the capable and trusted hands of Jim Tyrrell, who had decided to
alight in MegaTokyo for a while.  The second had been the repairs to
the Camaro; after all, if he was going to take the vehicle to the
States with him, it had to be working, and working perfectly.  That
was done.
	Two left.  He picked up the telephone and dialed the number
for the downtown AD Police offices.
	"AD Police," a voice answered.
	"Give me Sergeant McNichol, please."
	"Please hold."  There was a brief pause, followed by,
"McNichol."
	"Leon," Gryphon said.  "Gryphon.  What's up?"
	"Oh, hey.  Not much.  Pretty slow day, especially after
Saturday...I finally finished the forms this morning.  The least you
could've done is help me with them, you prick."
	"I'll make it up to you," Gryphon promised.  "Can you come by
my garage when you get off work?  I have a little something for you."
	"Sure.  Probably be about an hour."
	"Great.  That'll give me just enough time.  I'll program the
security system to let you in.  Oh--better get a ride, or a cab, or
something.  See you."  Gryphon hung up the phone and got back out of
the Interceptor, going to the corner of his garage and contemplating
the tarp-covered, long and low object that sat there.
	His Interceptor was a specialized pursuit and interdiction
vehicle, constructed by the Chevrolet Motor Division of General Motors
Corporation for law enforcement and civilian defense purposes.  It,
and all the super-cars like it, had evolved from one car, the
realization of one set of designs.  Those designs, that car, had been
the brainchild of a rich dreamer by the name of Wynton Knight.
Gryphon now whipped the tarp away from the gleaming black hide of that
very car.
	He had been amazed when one of his periodic sweeps of the
world's automotive salvage computer banks turned this find up: the
original Knight Industries 2000, discovered in storage at the old
Knight Foundation for Law and Government complex near Los Angeles,
California.  Partial designs for the vehicle had been in the public
domain for some time--as has already been pointed out, the Interceptor
and its kind were the evolution of the idea.  However, the original
vehicle and most of the details of its revolutionary onboard
cybernetic intelligence had been thought forever lost.
	The Smithsonian Institution had made a bid for the car, but
Gryphon knew what they would do with it; dust it periodically, show it
off, and never allow it to fulfil its designed function again.  They
would probably not even power up the computer and see if it worked,
let alone awaken the consciousness that Gryphon's romantic mind
fancied slumbered within it.  This fancy was not pure fiction, for the
KI2000's neural-net processor had been the forerunner of modern Buma
cerebration units.
	So, Gryphon had felt honor-bound to outbid the Smithsonian,
and when that hadn't worked (they had a lot more money to throw around
than he did), he let them purchase it, then got together with Sylia
and made them an offer.  They had thought a trade of some of Katsuhito
Stingray's original notes, sketches, and rough parts prototypes from
the first Buma project to be quite a worthwhile deal for the
car--after all, it didn't work anyway.  Gryphon had proceeded to
completely overhaul it, returning it to complete functionality.
	And then, he had realized that he had nothing to do with it.
Keeping it here in the garage would be no better than displaying it in
a musem--worse, in fact, since no one would be able to see it.  So,
after thinking about it for some time, he had come upon the solution.
Leon had put up with him and the rest of the Sabers for some time
(ever since even before figuring out who Priss, and, by induction, the
rest of them were, a short while ago), and Gryphon had recently
learned from Daley, Leon's partner, that Leon's birthday was
approaching.  It seemed the policeman was feeling a bit morose about
his impending oldness.  Gryphon figured this should cheer him up...
	He dug the wristwatch commlink out of his pocket and keyed the
car's systems on.  Immediately, a zillion little lights flickered on
the dashboard, and the sensor light in the front started sweeping.
	"Hello," the car said.  "Is it morning?"
	"No," Gryphon replied, "but Leon's coming over in a little
while, and I want to run one last systems check before you go to your
new home."
	"A complete diagnostic?"
	"All systems."
	"Right away."  The car fell silent as its onboard CyberInt
began running full checks on all of its extensive sensory systems and
drive modules.  Gryphon hung about, checking various modules that
popped up problematic and ironing out the last of the bugs, and KITT
had declared himself bug-free just about exactly the time that Leon
sauntered through the side door.
	"Hi," Gryphon said, and without preamble tossed the watch and
the keys to Leon.  "Happy birthday."
	Leon, showing a high level of dexterity, caught the watch and
the keys, stopped dead in his tracks and slipped off his shades,
saying, "Is this what it looks like?"  Of course Leon, being something
of a law enforcement historian, recognized the vehicle.
	"Introduce yourself to Leon, KITT," said Gryphon with a smirk.
	"I am the Knight Industries Two Thousand," KITT declared with
a hint of pride.  "You may call me KITT.  Could you please state your
name so that I may enter your voice print into my user verification
file?"
	"Um...Leon McNichol."
	"Thank you.  Your voice print is confirmed; you are locked in
as my primary operator."
	Leon looked at Gryphon.  "Are you serious?"
	"Of course.  Word on the grapevine is, you're feeling a little
down about your birthday, so I thought I'd cheer you up and give KITT
here a good home at the same time.  Take, enjoy.  I've even taken care
of the registration for you already."
	"Uhm...I...I don't know what to say..."
	"No need.  I'll just leave you two to get acquainted...I've
got to run.  The system will lock up when you leave.  Bye..."
	"Uh...bye," Leon replied, watching with a rather high
(considering his coolness) degree of amazement as Gryphon climbed into
the Interceptor, keyed the garage door, and roared away.
	Now, Gryphon reflected as he drove down the street, only the
hardest task remained.  He dreaded what he had to do now.

     /* Information Society  "What's On Your Mind (Pure Energy)"
			Information Society */

	He had paced up and down the corridor for five minutes, raised
his hand to knock at the door and then pulled it away as if the air
around said door had suddenly increased in temperature to over five
thousand degrees Fahrenheit, and then paced the corridor again for
more than ten minutes now.  This was ridiculous.  He hadn't had this
hard a time doing anything in his entire life.  Not even starting what
he was about to (he had a sneaking suspicion) end.
	Finally, his decision was made for him.  The door to the
apartment opened and its tenant stepped into the corridor, turned, and
saw him.
	"Oh," said Linna, "hi.  How long have you been pacing around
out here?"
	"Ten minutes," Gryphon replied.
	"Well, come on in.  The building manager just called and told
me some guy was prowling around the hall--we don't want him calling
the cops."
	Gryphon looked quizzically around the corridor and spotted the
securicam at the opposite end.  Damn things...he went inside.
	Linna's apartment was, as it usually tended to be, neat.
Gryphon stood near the door for a few seconds, trying to think of
something to say, something to do.  The routine was broken, and he was
having a hard time improvising this.
	"What brings you by?" she prompted, at length.  "You know, you
can sit down if you want to."
	"Uhm..."  Damn it!  Why am I so awkward?!  It's not like I'm
dealing with a stranger here.  "Oh, for Christ's sake!" he burst out,
irritated with himself, shaking his head as if to clear it.  "Listen,
Linna...we've been having more than our share of problems lately,
right?"
	She nodded thoughtfully, sitting down on one end of the couch.
"Yeah...I'd say so.  Where does this lead to?  Are we going to have
one of those long talks people always have on television, the ones
that never resolve anything and tangle up six or seven subplots?"
	"No," Gryphon said.  He walked round the back of the sofa and
sat down on the opposite end.  "Things don't work like that out here
in the real world."  Somehow, today, the phrase was ringing false, but
he ignored his own ears and continued, "I don't think there's any
magic way of putting right what's gone wrong...but I don't think it
has to be a big hellish thing, either.  I...oh, hell.  Language is
failing me.  Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
	She was pensive for a moment or two, then said slowly, "Yeah.
I think so."  She looked sad, then leaned across to the middle of the
couch.  "This is a goodbye, isn't it?"
	"I don't know," Gryphon admitted.  "I don't know.  I need...I
don't know what I need.  I've gotten so tangled up in work and tech
and battle, and so messed up in theophysics, and...my mind is a mess,
as I'm certain you've noticed of late.  The past week or so has been
hectic as hell, with the whole D.D. thing, and the dustup with Largo,
and the damn Killer Car from Hell popping up...I"ve been able to put
off thinking about it for a good six days now.  But I can't run from
it anymore.  I'm fucked up, and I only know one way to fix myself."
	"You're going back to Worcester."
	"Yes.  I'm going for a long, long drive, and when I get to the
end, Worcester will be waiting for me.  I can walk the dirty streets
and breathe the dirty air, and somehow it will cleanse me.  That's how
it's always worked.  Hopefully, it'll still work."
	"So what's the deal?" Linna asked, half-confused and
half-angry.  "Do you expect me to just sit here and wait for you to
'find yourself'?  We've been all through this, Ben."
	"No," Gryphon said, spreading his hands in a gesture that was
half shrug and half supplication.  "I don't expect any such thing.
That would be...medieval.  I have no right to expect anything of you,
and I don't.  I'm going to do a lot of heavy thinking over the next
few days, and I suspect you will too.  All I'm asking you to do is
think carefully about whatever you decide to do.  When I get back,
we'll just let things unfold the way they unfold.  Okay?"  He held out
his hands, palms upward.  His sleeves rode back, and she could see the
brands on his inner forearms, the pink scar tissue livid against his
pale gweep skin.
	A brief storm of emotions and thoughts passed over her face,
and when she looked up, the tear in her eye matched his own.  She took
his hands, and drew him close, and for a moment, they were kissing
like they had in the heyday of their relationship.
	"Take care of yourself," she whispered into his ear as they
embraced one last time.  "Regardless of what happens after this, I do
want you coming back alive."
	"Don't worry," he replied softly, stroking her hair.  "I
will."
				   
			  Eyrie Productions
			 in association with
		   Up Too Late Productions, DisInc.
			       presents
				   
			A Discordia Production
			  Of A WaveDrag Film
				   
			   Hopelessly Lost:
			      Stark Fist
	      (It's not Undocumented Features, really.)
				   
	  Benjamin D. Hutchins                      MegaZone
	 Copyright (c) 1993 Benjamin D. Hutchins and MegaZone
				   
				   
				DAY 0
			     176 AVENUE G
			   MEGATOKYO, JAPAN
			    14 APRIL 2033
 
	Gryphon was in the garage, packing things into the back of his
car.  He was traveling light, only taking the essentials: field
emergency kit, little black bag, a couple of weeks' worth of clothes,
toiletries, a towel, and his Iron Man armor.  Therefore, he was just
about done when the motorcycle pulled up alongside him.
	"Oi," its rider said, shoving back her visor.  "You're about
ready to take off, eh?"
	"Yeah," he replied.  "My flight's at 1535."
	There was a moment of silence, as if neither of them could
really think of anything to say; then Priss said, "Well, hey...if you
find out the road's still there, we're gonna have to do this together
sometime."
	"Yeah," Gryphon replied, as if he wasn't particularly
convinced that would be a good idea.  He closed the trunk.  "Sorry
about this.  Maybe when I get back I'll be better prepared to hold a
coherent conversation...after all, the whole point behind this trip is
to try and put my head back together..."
	"I hope you do."
	"Thanks..."  Gryphon paused, as if lost in thought, for a
moment, then put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Will you do
something for me?"
	"Sure.  Name it."
	"Take...take care of her for me, would you?  Watch out for
her.  Make sure she doesn't do something stupid and get hurt.  She's
been hurt enough because of me."
	"Ok...sure.  I can do that.  I think she's gonna be ok,
eventually."
	"Yeah."  Gryphon laughed a short, bitter laugh.  "Someday."
	"I really don't think it'll be all that bad, in the end.
Look, you made a mistake, it happens."
	"It's not supposed to happen to me.  I'm a Shaolin.  We're
supposed to be better than that."
	"Look.  Mistakes are part of life.  Doesn't the Tao have
something to say about that?  C'mon, I've watched the movie, I know
there's a philosophical tidbit for everything in the Tao.  Learn from
it, grow from it, and move on."
	"I...yeah, you're right.  You'd've made a hell of a priest."
	"Nah.  I'd never have picked up the cauldron.  Well, not
sober, anyway."  When Gryphon winced, she went on, "Sorry, sorry...go
on, take your trip, find yourself again.  When you get back, I think
the best thing for you to do is go try that apology again, and see if
maybe you can get it right this time.  Ok?"
	"Yes, Master Priss."  He smiled, his first smile of the day,
and put an arm around her shoulders in a hug made awkward by the
motorcycle and the briefcase he had in one hand.  "I'll see you in a
week, ok?"
	"See you.  And don't worry.  Everything's going to be fine."
She started the bike and rode back out of the garage.
	"I hope you're right," he muttered, throwing the case into his
car, climbing in, and pulling out.  "I hope you're right."
				   
				DAY 1
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
		   NEAR SAN BERNARDINO, CALIFORNIA
		  PART ONE: INTO THE GREAT WIDE OPEN

	The bright green Camaro left the LA area around ten-thirty in
the morning.  Gryphon had originally planned to spend a couple of days
in the city, exploring, but the Mother Road had called to him.  Two
thousand miles of asphalt awaited.  He put the accelerator down,
settled back in his seat, and just was for a while, letting the wind
in his hair become his thoughts.
	An hour or so later, he became alert as he noticed, far ahead,
a hitch-hiker.  He didn't know why, but his interest was piqued.
"Hey," he said to the dashboard computer, "scan that hitch-hiker,
would you?"
	Working, the computer replied inside his HUDshades.  There was
a brief pause, and then a wireframe schematic of a female human being
appeared.  Red, flashing outlines of two knives and a gun appeared in
various locations, and the scan of the duffel bag the individual was
carrying showed some kind of electronic device.  Subject seems
agitated, the computer reported.  Pulse and respiration are above
norms for build.
	"Hmm.  This one's gotta have a story...and I have to hear it."
Gryphon touched the brake, cutting out the cruise control, and began
to maneuver the car to the side of the road.
	Analysis: not wise.  Subject is armed and probably dangerous.
	"So am I.  Besides, like I said, I have to hear her story."
Gryphon pulled to a stop next to the hitch-hiker, who came over and
leaned over the open T-roof above the passenger door.
	"Hi," said Gryphon, lowering his shades and looking over them.
The woman was young--around his age--and pretty, a kind of pretty he
especially liked, with an unruly mop of shortish ash-blond hair, a
small, finely formed and slightly pointed nose, and wide, bright eyes.
She was a couple of inches taller than he was (not surprising--he was
not a tall man) and, insofar as he and Centurion could tell, in
excellent shape.  She was dressed in tatty jeans and a biker jacket
thrown over an oversized checked flannel shirt, and the duffel bag was
slung over her shoulder.  And, oddest of all, Gryphon couldn't shake
the feeling that she looked familiar.
	"Where you headed?" he asked.
	"Away," she replied.  "You?"
	"Worcester, Massachusetts, by way of Chicago," Gryphon said.
	"Route 66?" she asked.  Gryphon nodded.  "Keen."
	"Hop in," Gryphon invited, keying the door.  "Call me
Gryphon."
	"Dana." She threw her bag in the back and sat down, fastening
her seat belt.  "Nice car."
	Thank you, said the screen set into the dash console.
	"Ah.  My apologies, friend.  Dana, this is my faithful onboard
intelligence, Centurion.  He runs the show...I just push the buttons
and look important."
	"You have an onboard CyberInt?"
	"You know CyberInt?"
	"A little."  There was a pause.  "Look, I can't pay you for--"
	"No problem," Gryphon interrupted.  He fished in a pocket and
came up with his platinum Amex CorpCard, the one inscribed with the
name of Stingray Technologies.  "My employer will provide.  I'm taking
a paid vacation."
	"Stingray?  Cool.  They make the best gear."  She pulled back
some hair at the nape of her neck and tapped the interface jack that
hid there.  "Hey, maybe you made this, huh?"
	"Doubt it," Gryphon said, laughing.  "I work in the network
interface office, mostly.  I sysop the 'frames for R&D and the
offices.  Although if you got it in the main MegaTokyo shop, I might
just have installed it."  I doubt that, too, though; I'd've remembered
that neck.
	Her eyes--they were grey, he noticed, with the most
fascinating emerald flecks--widened ever so slightly.  "No, you're
falsin' me.  You're gryphon@macross.stingray.com.jp?"  He nodded.
"Wow.  This is cool.  There's what, 50 million people in this country,
and I hitch a ride with a net.legend."
	"Legend?  C'mon."
	"No, I mean it.  Back at UCLA you're the most famous guy in
Japan.  You've bounced half my friends out of your system.  Everybody
loves that tank game you have in the pub directory."
	Gryphon laughed.  "Actually, Sidehacker wrote that one.  I'm
really not much of a programmer."
	"You know her?  In person?  That's neat.  She's famous
too--she's the coolest netcop in the world."
	"She's not really a netcop...she works in the records
department."
	"I didn't know that.  Talk about wasted talent."
	"No kidding.  We keep trying to get her to quit, but she
won't."
	"I can't believe this.  I'm having the most cryo day."  They
lapsed into silence.
	"You mind?" Gryphon said after a minute or two, indicating the
stereo.
	"No prob, long as it's not that hiphop crap."
	"Perish the thought," Gryphon replied with a laugh, tabbing
the system on.  Moments later, slow, mournful violins filled the open
compartment.
	"Oh cool--real Tchaikovsky!  I don't believe you listen to
this.  None of my friends would ever let me play my classical stuff,
except for the techno stuff like Bachbusters."
	Gryphon was starting to have the strange feeling that it was
him that was having such a cryo day.  The famous part at the end of
the Ouverture Solennelle "1812", Op. 49 (you know, the bit with the
Czarist anthem and the cannons) came as they were passing through St.
Louis.  Dana headbanged to it.
	He moved on from there to NineInchNails (she had heard of
them, but never actually heard any of the music, and loved it) to
Canister ("oh wow, you're retro, this is so keen--these guys rock!")
and Art Deco and the Architects ("total technogrunge trip").  By the
time the musical gauntlet was done, Gryphon was satisfied; Dana had
passed the music test with flying colors, having negotiated even the
VivaldiAC/DCTMBGMinistryBeatlesBeethovenMetallica hell-ride.
	A cute computer freak who likes all this bizarre music and
stands up in open cars, Gryphon said to himself, half-joking.  Now all
she has to do is like Coke ]I[, tacos, dinosaurs, lava lamps and
Godzilla, and I'm sure I'm in love.  Then he laughed at himself.
Idiot.  You don't even know her last name.
	By nightfall, they had reached New Mexico, and were still
blistering across the desert at ludicrous speeds.  Gryphon reached
down and keyed the headlights on, then glanced right; Dana had fallen
asleep.  He smiled and leaned back.  The seats were very comfortable,
and he wasn't tired, so he figured he'd keep going until he felt like
stopping.  He put on something quiet (Vivaldi, Le Quattro Stagioni)
and cruised.
	Just as they entered Arizona, Gryphon noticed the vehicle
behind them.  He'd have noticed it earlier, but it was traveling
without its lights, about a mile and a half back.  Immediately alert,
he sat up straighter, little alarm bells jangling in his head.
	"Centurion," he said.  "Tactical mode.  Scan that car behind
us.  Are they using a UV flash or something?"

Negative
Subject vehicle is using a passive scanning system
Examples:
	LowLite
	Thermographic imaging
	Passive IR
! ALERT !
Subject vehicle is armed:
	2 fixed heavy machine-guns
	2 laser-targeted medium anti-armor missiles
THREAT LEVEL: 2

	"I was afraid of that.  I think our new friend has some
enemies."  Gryphon reached down and keyed the tops up; within a couple
of seconds, the roof panels had slid back into position.  Then he
closed the windows and activated the onboard air conditioning.  The
changes woke Dana, who sat up, confused.
	"What's going on?" she asked.
	"Precautions," Gryphon said.  "Let's make it harder for them
to paint us."  He reached to the ECM panel and activated the radar
jammer, Silent Running Mode and the exhaust-cooler IR suppressant
system.  Under the hood, the turbine whined down to standby as the
backup batteries took over the running of the wheels.  "There's a car
about a mile back running with passive IR or LowLite or thermo or the
like.  That's not standard procedure for these parts.  I'm a little
worried."  Gryphon tabbed the windshield passive IR filter on and
killed the lights, then engaged Full VR Mode on his shades; he also
reached down behind the shifter lever, opened the small compartment,
and jacked the two interface cables which reeled out of it into his
wristplugs.  Immediately, his perceptions vibrated and stabilized as
his sensory center started receiving condition and sense data about
the car's position and mechanical status and interpreted them as
various sensations.  Gryphon didn't like direct cybernetic control of
vehicles, but this partial-control method gave him all the edge he
needed.

! ALERT !
Subject vehicle has armed missile systems
This vehicle has been painted by a laser target designator

RECOMMENDATIONS:
1. Increase Speed
2. Improve Position
3. Launch Surface to Surface Weapon

! ALERT !
Subject vehicle has >>>FIRED<<<

	"Shit!" Gryphon snarled as the missile blossomed from the
shadowy form of the vehicle behind them with a flower of orange flame.
He reached to the center console and punched a series of keys.  One
put the Camaro in Pursuit Mode, negating Silent Running; a second
activated VR Scrub, removing the roof, supports, and passenger from
his field of vision inside his VRshades, filling in the gaps with data
from the car's all-around sensor suite; another brought the weapons
systems online.
	The Interceptor surged forward with new power as the turbine
slammed back into Active Power mode, howling into the clear night air.
Gryphon put the accelerator to the floor, upshifted, hung on.  Inside
his shades, the road had become a neon ribbon, various objects were
reduced to wireframes, and a small square had been subdivided to show
a rear view of the rapidly gaining missile.  Position, velocity and
targeting information was being displayed near the center of his field
of vision.
	Laser-targeted missiles were amazingly hard to confuse; that
was why Gryphon used them himself.  The chances of one's being able to
override the control systems, find the proper blink-rate for the
receiver head, and retarget the missile before it struck were very
slim, and neither flares nor chaff had any effect on them.  However...
	Gryphon waited until the impending-impact alarms were
screaming in his ears before punching the dashboard key marked SMK.
>From under the car's rear quarter, a thick cloud of choking black
smoke, the by-product of a harmless chemical reaction similar to the
one which inflates crash bags, burst out, hanging thickly in the air
like mustard gas.  The missile plunged into the dense black cloud, and
exactly what Gryphon had hoped would happen happened.  The missile was
an older model, with a proximity fuse based on its targeting system
(which also worked like a rangefinder).  When the signal never came
back, absorbed by the black smoke, the missile took that as a range of
infinity or zero and detonated the warhead.
	Seeing an opportunity, Gryphon slammed the Camaro hard to the
right and dove off the roadway, engaging Silent Running mode again as
the car slid down into a ditch.  Applying the handbrake, he made the
car stop perpendicular to the roadway, facing back up the concrete
embankment toward the road.
	"What the hell did you do that for?" Dana asked, sounding a
bit upset.
	"Shh!" Gryphon hissed, then whispered, "with any luck, they'll
think the explosion and smoke mean we were destroyed, and drive up to
check.  Then we've got them."
	Moments later, he was proven correct; a large black
car--Centurion identified it as a Max Interceptor--drove through the
dissipating smoke cloud, an infrared searchlight painting a neon red
line in the night through Gryphon's IR filters.  The Max passed right
in front of them.
	Grinning, Gryphon threw the Camaro into gear and slammed the
throttle to the floor.  Tires barking on the concrete, the Interceptor
leapt out of the ditch and smashed, reinforced prow first, into the
passenger side of the Max, caving in the entire side of the
mass-produced pursuit vehicle and wrecking the other Hellfire, which
had been mounted on a rail on that door.  Inside, Gryphon could see
the IR signature of a person recoil in shock from the smashed metal.
Keeping the throttle down, he shoved the Max all the way across the
highway and over the edge of the concrete bank on the other side.  He
stopped the Camaro on the edge of the road and watched with some
amusement as the Max tumbled lazily down the bank, fetched up in a
mangled heap in the stream of muddy water at the bottom, and began to
burn smokily.
	The two people got out of the wreck.  One of them collapsed
ten feet or so away from it, but the other--Gryphon thought it was
probably the driver--started struggling up the bank, a large handgun
in his hand and night-vision goggles covering his face.  Gryphon
backed up ten feet or so and let him come.
	The man cleared the embankment, standing at the edge of the
road, and dropped into a perfect Isosceles stance, putting a
three-round burst into the windshield right in front of Gryphon's
face.  Gryphon grinned as they whanged off the reinforced BallisTech
plexi, slipped the car out of gear, and revved the turbine a couple of
times.
	Next the gunner tried to put out the front tires, very nearly
taking the side of his face off with a ricochet.  The tires were not
inflated; the car's active computer-controlled suspension took care of
all that kind of thing.  Instead, they were foot-thick coatings of
solid rubberized plasteel, protecting the rims from road friction and
providing superior traction to the bare metal.
	His gun empty, the man turned and started to run down the
road.  Gryphon yanked the handbrake on and thrust open his door.
	"Where are you--" Dana began.
	"Be right back."  Gryphon closed the door behind him and
started walking calmly after the man, his shades painting a pretty
thermographic picture of the area.  He could see the man
perfectly--even see his tracks.  "Arm security," he said to the small
earset microphone incorporated into the shades' left earpiece.  Behind
him, the Camaro locked up.  He reached into his denim jacket and
pulled out his Browning Hi-Power, thumbed the safety off and thermal
sights on, and raised it.
	The thermal sights were Gryphon's own idea; a small heating
element in the front blade and one small chillchip on each side of the
rear sight.  When he was "seeing" thermographically, the dots would be
lined up in a straight line, blue-yellow-blue, when he was on target.
Gryphon disdained cyberware designed to help a person shoot another
person with a gun; he had always maintained that, given enough skill,
such crutches were unnecessary, and in fact a hindrance.
	The Browning cracked twice, the sound echoing in the clear
night air.  A hundred feet down the road, Gryphon heard the man grunt,
and saw him fall, small drops of orange warmth flying from both legs.
	By the time Gryphon reached him, he had managed to get onto
his back, and was trying to reload his gun.
	"Lose the hardware," Gryphon told him.  "I took out your legs
from a hundred feet.  Don't think I can't ventilate your skull from
here."  The man did as he was told.  Gryphon reached up and tabbed his
shades into image amplification mode so he could see the man's face;
he was in his mid-thirties, balding, scared and in pain.
	"What's the deal?" Gryphon asked.  "I'm driving along minding
my own business on a clear spring night, and you show up and shoot a
missile at me.  What's up with that?"
	"It's nothing...ungh...personal," the balding man replied.
"How were we to know you'd pick--uff--the bitch up?"
	"Mind elaborating on that?"
	"Ngh...sure, why not?  Fucking I don't get paid--argh--to take
on the fucking MegaTokyo Roadmaster.  What the fuck are you doing in
fucking Arizona?"
	"I thought I was asking the questions."
	"Right, sorry.  Jesus, this hurts.  I knew I should've gotten
the--ng--pain editor.  Want a piece of advice, my friend, ditch that
hitch-hiker of yours, right now.  She's trouble.  Big...unf...trouble.
Gonna get you killed."
	"What's the big deal?  She's just a college kid."
	"It's not the girl, it's the duffel bag.  Got several gigs of
optics in it.  Top secret research data.  She swiped it from GENOM
Chicago.  They made her, but...ung...she split before we could get
her.  We picked her trail up just outside of Los Angeles.  Just my
luck she hitched a ride with goddamn Gryphon the Roadmaster."
	"You're a GENOM hitter?"
	"Fuck no.  I'm--ahh--freelance out of LA.  The money was good,
I figured what the fuck, what's another fucking netrunner?  It was
supposed to be an easy job.  Find the yahoo who picked the bitch up
and blow them both away.  No witnesses."
	"You're an LA man?"
	"For now.  I've been pretty much every place.  Me and
Pete--ouch--we don't tend to stay in one place too long."
	"How much they give you?"
	"Standard rates.  Forty thousand for me, twenty for my
partner."
	"Tell you what," Gryphon said, digging out his wallet and
signing off a traveler's cheque.  "You're a working joe, we've all
gotta make a living.  I don't want to kill you.  Here's a hundred
thousand.  Plus I'll call you and your friend an ambulance, cover your
medical expenses...what the hell, I'll even pay to get your car fixed.
Change your name, change your face, and find another city to work out
of.  Do we have a deal?"
	"Sure, what the fuck?  GENOM's no big deal anyway.  Just
another goddamn Jap company taking over the world."
	"You don't know the half of it."  Gryphon handed the wounded
man the cheque and one of his business cards.  "You need any help
getting yourself out of the country, let me know.  I know some people
in Tokyo who're always looking for people in your line of work."
	"Thanks.  You know something?  You're all right."
	"Thanks.  I try."  Gryphon snickered, and soon both men were
laughing at how ridiculous the situation really was--two guys who had
just tried to kill each other, bonding.  "No point in asking your
name--it'll be changing soon enough.  You got Trauma Team in this part
of the world?"
	"I already broke my card.  You'd better get outta here.
Thanks for everything--maybe you'll hear from me.  I'll mention the
desert nightlife so you'll know who it is."
	Shaking his head at the oddness of the world, Gryphon went
back to his car, disarmed the secsystems, climbed in, and drove off,
checking with the local commnet to make sure an ambulance was on its
way for the solo and his partner.

		   PART TWO: DOWN THE HOLE WE FALL

	They drove in silence for a few more miles, finding a motel
and checking in for the night.  It had started to rain, and the air
felt to Gryphon as though there would be a thunderstorm soon: thick
and cold.  The wind was lashing.  Odd weather, he thought, for a
desert, but not unheard of.  And they were just entering the beginning
of thunderstorm season.
	Tense and unable to sleep, Gryphon lay on one of the room's
beds with his shoes off, staring at the ceiling and trying to make
sense of his day while Dana paced nervously around.  Finally, she
stopped beside the bed, looking down at Gryphon.
	"Did you kill him?" she asked.
	"No," Gryphon replied, sitting up.  "No need.  He was a
free-lancer.  I made him a better offer.  I try to avoid killing
people whenever possible."
	"I can see that...you're sure he won't come after us again?"
	"He won't even be out of the hospital for a month.  Besides,
he wasn't after us.  He was after you.  I knew you had a story...looks
like I was right.  I'd love to hear it."
	She looked slightly scared, glanced at him out of the corner
of her eye, kept looking straight ahead at the bad print on the wall
behind the bed.  "You're gonna kill me, aren't you?"  It was more a
statement than a question, spoken in a quiet, hopeless, deadly-certain
tone.
	"Don't be ridiculous."  She glanced sidelong at him again.
"Why should I kill you?"
	"Dead, I'm worth a lot of money."
	"GENOM's money.  I wouldn't take money from GENOM if I was
starving on the street."  The venom in his voice startled her
slightly, making her actually turn and face him, a look of surprise on
her face.  "If your life bothers GENOM enough that they offer a solo
team sixty thousand US to waste you, then keeping you alive goes right
to the top of my To Do list."
	"You really hate them, don't you?  It isn't just a story."
	"Damn straight I hate them.  What was it you stole from them?"
	"Design specs for their next series of humaniform Buma.
Remember the stories about the replicants from the late teens?  The
ones that were illegal on Earth?"
	"I've met a few."  This drew a small, almost indulgent smile
from Gryphon; he could not help but feel a bit proprietary toward
Sylvie and Anri, being their "family doctor" and all.  They lived on
the fourth floor of his building, in a flat much like his own for
which he charged them a six-pack of Pepsi a month in rent.  (There
were significant penalties for default. :)
	"Apparently there were design flaws in the original
replicants, some designed in deliberately, some not.  This new series
eliminates all of those.  They're perfect replicas of humans...except
that they're stronger, faster, tougher...better.  And they're
undetectable.  The old Turing test won't work on this new series."
	Gryphon's knuckles were white.  "Eris."
	"You understand what this means, don't you."  It was not a
question.  "They can insert their new replicants--'bioroids', they
call them--anywhere they want, and the bladerunners can't even finger
them until it's too late.  They'll only spot the bioroids when the
bioroids are killing them.
	"I crashed into the 'base they had all the data on the new
series in by accident.  Freak Internet fuckup--combination of line
noise and net.split.  You know--it happens."  Gryphon nodded a small,
tight nod.  He could feel the familiar beginning of a tension headache
knotting the back of his neck.  The gears of his mind were spinning
rapidly.  "I was curious, so I took a look around.  When I realized
what it was, I grabbed everything I could and then trashed the
'base...but when I did, they made me, so I bailed."
	"Jesus," Gryphon repeated.  He was not a Christian, but he'd
always liked the sound of the word, so he said it again.  "Jesus."
	"Is that all you can say?"
	"At the moment, yes."
	She sat down next to him, looked at him long and hard, and
then said softly, "What are you going to do?"
	He thought for a moment, then replied, "I'm going to drive to
Chicago on Route 66, and from there on to Worcester, and nobody's
going to stop me.  If GENOM wants to fuck up my vacation, they're
going to have to work goddamn hard at it.  And my passenger's death
would definitely fuck up my vacation."  He turned his head to say
something more, and found himself looking right into Dana's eyes; she
had turned and leaned over to face him.  Surprised, he recoiled out of
reflex, but one of her hands caught the back of his neck, and the next
thing he knew, they were falling back onto the bed, their lips
fighting a limited surface engagement.  A flash of lightning lit up
the room's window; subconsciously, in the part of his mind which
remained resolutely undistracted, Gryphon counted until the thunder
exploded.  Two seconds.  The storm was upon them.

      /* Pink Floyd  "One Slip"  A Momentary Lapse of Reason */

	Gryphon was not the type to move this rapidly under most
conditions; even the occasional semi-accidental encounters he had
experienced in his lifetime--the Storm Warnings party came instantly
to mind--had been with friends, people he knew well.  He had known
Dana for all of ten hours.  So what the hell was he doing?  The grain
of doubt which had risen was swept away by a hurricane of other things
that demanded his forebrain for their own use.
	Gryphon was a Shaolin priest, with the brands to prove it; he
did his best to follow their philosophical doctrines as well as using
their fighting style.  His study of the Tao (although he was the first
to admit, he wasn't really much of a Taoist, but Master Caine had
always smiled and shaken his head and said that Gryphon's heart was in
the right place) and his high degree of attunement to the processes,
rhythms, and interactions of his own body had given him a great deal
of self-control, an excellent sense of timing, and almost limitless
patience.
	It had always amused him a little what one of the unexpected
fringe benefits of this had turned out to be.  Master Caine had
certainly never mentioned it.  And at the moment, he was experiencing
a sense of purpose, of resolute intent, he had rarely felt before.

	He awoke with a start, coming up out of stage one rapidly and
distressingly, and for a moment lay completely bewildered.  Then his
memory booted up and things started coming back online.  He fell back
with a little gasp of shock and stared at the motel room's ceiling for
a moment.  What the hell had he done?  What had he been thinking?  Had
he been thinking?  He didn't think he had been thinking, come to think
of it.  He had come on this trip to get his head straightened out, not
to get all messed up in a total stranger!  Arrrrrrgh!
	He looked around in the darkness, and noticed something softly
glowing nearby.  Curious, he looked closer, and when his eyes had
focused, he realized that it was light from a glowing tattoo on Dana's
left shoulder.  It was in the shape of a shield, like an Interstate
sign, with a Sacred Chao, superimposed over crossed swords, in it and
the letters "O.D.C." printed across the top red stripe.  Below that
were three diagonal blue slash marks, with yellow edging--almost like
a badge of rank.  Gryphon was quite curious, but he had other things
to worry about right now.  He slipped out of the bed and threw on his
pants, All-Stars, and a sweatshirt, checked to be certain Dana was
still asleep, and then went down to the lobby.  They would have pay
phones there.
	They did indeed.  Gryphon chose one of the public dataphones,
mostly because they had the privacy kiosk and seat (they looked a lot
like sit-down video games, and some could even play them), climbed in,
closed it, and slotted his calling card.  Then he picked up the
receiver and punched in a long string of digits.

Card OK
*70  011  81  3  237  6342
Numeric Code ACCEPTED
Checking...
Code OK
NOTE: IT IS NOW 13:14:12 IN YOUR INGOING CALL AREA
Accessing Telecom Grid
RING
RING
ANSWER

	"Hello?" came Zoner's voice, sounding slightly muffled as a
voice picked up by a jawbone/mastoid implant system tends to sound.
	"Zoner," Gryphon said.
	"Gryph?  Where are you?"
	"Someplace in Arizona."
	"Is everything okay?  You can't be just stopping now,
it's...what...11:14 over there?"
	"Midnight fourteen," Gryphon said, "daylight saving time."
	"Oh yeah.  What's up?"
	"I have to talk to you, Zoner, I think I'm losing it in a big
way.  I've had the weirdest day."  Gryphon proceeded to relate the
events of his day, leaving out only the most exacting of the details.
	"Wow," Zoner said as Gryphon reached the end.  "That was
quick."
	"Tell me about it!  What the hell is wrong with me, Zoner?  I
don't even know this woman!  People are trying to kill her!  I picked
her up on the highway fourteen hours ago and not four hours ago
I...Christ!  What the fuck am I doing?!"
	"Calm down, dude," Zoner said calmly.  "Have you considered
all the possibilities?"
	"Well, I think I can pretty much rule out drugs, ultrasonic
mind control, microwaves and pheromones, so I guess that leaves me
being insane."
	"Aha.  You haven't considered all the possibilities."
	"What other possibilities are there?!"
	"Well, it could be love, or at least intense lust."
	"I'm not kidding here!  This has really got me upset."
	"I can hear that.  Calm down.  Have some dip.  It really
doesn't sound all that bad."
	"Doesn't sound all that bad?!"
	"Yeah.  I mean, I'm sure Edison can come up with a cure for
whatever you might--"
	"ZONER!"
	"Sorry, sorry...listen to me.  Are you listening?  Good.  Go
back to your room.  Get some sleep.  There are many things worse than
giving someone an orgasm.  In the morning, everything will be better.
All right?"
	Gryphon sat for a moment, looking at the receiver.  Then he
sighed and relented: "All right."
	"Good.  Go on back to bed.  I'll see you soon.  Bye."  Zoner
hung up.

	Zoner stared off into space a few long moments before starting
into action.  "This isn't good.  Ben's all out of character, he's
sleeping around, someone's trying to kill him...  and I'm talking to
myself again."  He rang up Leon.  "Leon, are they keeping you busy?"
	"Why, you have some odd jobs?"
	"Well, in a way.  You have some personal leave coming, right?"
	"Yeah, I was going to take a trip or something, maybe drive
KITT around some.  Why?"
	"Take the leave now.  Get KITT and come over here."
	"I don't know if I can get it that fast..."
	"You need to give some notice, right?  I'm sure Nene could
recall having a request on record.  Get it?"
	"Yeah, what's up?"
	"How's your English?"
	"Decent...  Why?"
	"We need to take a little trip to the States.  I'll have God
ready when you get here."
	"The States?  As in the United States?"
	"The very same.  Ben's in some hot water, I just want to play
guardian angel for a while."
	"Ok...  see you in a few."
	"Right-o."

	Zoner's next call was to Nene.
	"Hi dear, how're you doing?"
	"Zoner, cut it out.  What do you need?"
	"I need Leon..."
	"I know the feeling."  Nene sighed.
	"Let me rephrase that, I need Leon's help.  For that he needs
some personal time.  And that means he needs to have put in his
request some time ago."
	"Which is where I come in."
	"Right-o.  You got that request, right?"
	"Oh...  I'm sure it's in the system somewhere."
	"Do you know if it was approved?"
	"Oh, yeah, I'm pretty sure it was."
	"Great."
	"What's happening?"
	"I think Ben is in some trouble.  I want to be there to back
him up, just in case."
	"Oh...  Anything serious?"
	"Not yet, but I just have a bad feeling about this.  But it
isn't something for the, um, club to be concerned with.  Just do me a
favor, don't tell Ben we're watching him."
	"Ok.  The secret's safe with me."
	"Thanks a lot, dear."
	"You'd better stop that before Sylia hears you," Nene
chuckled.
	"Oh, but my heart aches for only you," Zoner laughed.
	"Just be careful," Nene's voice took on a serious tone.
	"Always, m'lady, always."  Zoner cut the connection.
	
		  PART THREE: STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT

	Gryphon looked at the dead line again for a moment, then
stabbed one of the large keys with a finger.  The key was marked
TERMINAL MODE.  Immediately, the kiosk went into said mode, a full
keyboard sliding out of the housing for Gryphon's use.  He dialed up
macross, the Stingray Technologies Company's main computer.  There
were seven computers in the Stingray pantheon.  Macross was the main
user machine, the "social machine", mail and news server, et cetera.
It was a DECframe 44000, and ran the latest version of MegaUltrix (or,
as it was affectionately known to those who had to use it on a daily
basis, Mulch).  Then there were the five DECstations, 24575X models
all: yamato (the one in his apartment), arcadia (Nene's home machine),
fx101 (Zoner's home machine), sol_bianca (the one in Sylia's office),
and megazone23 (gee, I wonder).  And the new machine, the massive,
overpowered Cray ZMP-14 running Crax 1919, had been appropriately
dubbed "megalord" when it had arrived the month before.  It was
reserved for compute-intensive jobs, SCAD/M final crunching,
theoretical fusion dynamics modeling, and like that.
	Once logged into macross, Gryphon tied across to megalord and
set the mighty engine to work searching by visual description keywords
for any information that might exist, anywhere in the data-accessible
world, on the tattoo Dana had.  His curiosity had not, after all, been
completely submerged.  It promised him a response, either with all
available information or Search Unsuccessful, within six hours.  Even
with a ZMP-14, the world is a large place.  Having accomplished that,
he logged out and left the kiosk.
	Just in time to see the three large men in badly cut
thousand-yen suits disappear into the body of the motel itself,
leaving the desk clerk white and terrified.  Gryphon's eyes narrowed.
He didn't need this crap.  Razorboys at midnight seventeen.  This was
really starting to suck.
	Gryphon left the hotel through the front door.  It was still
raining, which was good; it would screw up whatever extra night
sensors the boys had.  He made his way around the motel, counting
windows until he got to the window of his own room, and then worked it
open with his old student ID.  What sad locks.  He was in the room and
had his gun out of the holster hanging, under his jacket, in the
closet before the killers finished checking door numbers.
	The door opened softly; the clerk had given them a key.  Big
surprise; he looked scared enough to give them just about anything.
The lead solo edged into the room, wary and alert; from where he was,
Gryphon could see his eyes glowing dully red.  IR sensors.  Gryphon
ducked a tiny bit back behind the closet door and kept still.  Passive
IR sensors had a hard time delineating things that weren't moving.  As
quietly as he could, he eased the safety off.
	The leader walked silently, with a lithe grace unexpected in
such a large man, to the side of the occupied bed and raised a weapon.
Gryphon checked its silhouette rapidly against his mental encyclopedia
of firearms and concluded that it was a Walther P-90 with a sound
suppressor and what appeared to be a laser sight.  Time to move.
	The act of thumbing off the Browning's safety had activated
the sights; as he raised the weapon, the LEDs in the three dots glowed
in a visible-spectrum analog to their thermal pattern.  He lined them
up and fired twice in rapid succession, taking the solo just above the
right ear and smashing him against the wall.  The Walther clattered to
the floor as the dead man slid down to crumple on top of it.
	The other two men crowded into the room.  Gryphon knew he
didn't have a lot of time; the roar of the Browning would have alerted
the desk clerk, and actual gunshots might induce him to call the
police.  He brought his weapon around to bear on one of the other
killers, but the man was too quick for him, and had tackled him before
Gryphon could get off a shot.  Damned chipped reflexes--Gryphon got a
foot up under his chest and threw him off, then got quickly to his
feet and sized up his opponent.
	He was coming slowly, in a half-crouch ready stance, brows
knitted in concentration.  He tried a kick, which Gryphon dodged, and
a hand-strike combination which fared no better.  There was a
mechanical precision to his movements; Gryphon guessed the martial art
was chipped.  How depressing.  A well-placed, powerful snap kick to
his face knocked him back into the hallway.
	There was a wet, gurgling cry from behind him; Gryphon
whirled, momentary visions of terror flickering across his mind's eye,
to see the third solo sprawled outstretched on the bed, hands and feet
twitching.  Then he rolled sideways onto the floor.  Dana sat up, a
vintage K-Bar fighting knife in her hand, and calmly wiped it down.
Gryphon felt a slight wind against his back--ah, that would be the
gentleman I showed into the hall.  He snapped an elbow back and felt
it meet and crush cartilage with a crunch; then he half-turned, seized
the man's head in his hands, and twisted.
	And that was pretty much it.
	"Nice moves," Dana commented.  "I guess you really are a
Shaolin."
	"Would I have branded my arms just to be a poser?  C'mon, we
have to get out of here."
	"What about these guys?"
	"I'm sure the maid will take care of them when she comes to
clean the room," Gryphon replied with a smirk, getting into his
shoulder rig and then pulling his jacket on top of it after retrieving
the Browning and returning it to its home.
	"No, I mean, won't the police be a little curious?"
	"I imagine so," Gryphon replied.  "My Amex number should lead
them a merry chase...especially if Sidehacker is on the ball."  He
grabbed his duffel bag, slipped on his shades, and turned.  "Coming?"
	"Just a second," Dana replied, buckling her army-surplus web
belt, shrugging into her jacket, and adjusting a couple of the zips.
"Girl's gotta make herself presentable."
	They left, bags in hand, through the window into the pouring
rain, and went, using all available cover, to the parking lot.  The
Camaro sat in its corner space at the far end, looking somehow aloof
to the rain and the violence surrounding the last few minutes; inside
it, Gryphon could just make out the blinking of several red and amber
lights on the instrument panel.  Centurion was online.
	"Centurion, report," Gryphon said into his earset mike.
	Unauthorized entry has been attempted into this vehicle's
passenger and engine compartments.  All attempts have failed.  All
systems are online and operative, the text inside his shades reported.
	"Engine start.  Auto-cruise mode.  Home to this location for
pickup."  Gryphon did not like the idea of crossing the entire parking
lot in the open.
	There was a low, building whine as the turbine spun up to full
power on batteries; then the capacitors discharged and the reaction
started, with a loud electric clash and a dull, muted roar.  The
headlights came on, and the car grumbled forward, easing out of the
slot on its own and cruising toward them.  It came to a smooth stop at
the mouth of the lot.
	"Doors open," Gryphon commanded as he and Dana broke cover
behind the bush and made for the car.  They made it into the car and
locked it up without incident; Gryphon tabbed manual cruise mode on,
put it in gear, and moved out.
	"That sucked," Dana remarked after a minute or two.  "I needed
the sleep those clowns interrupted."
	"No kidding," Gryphon replied, and punched the phone online,
keying in another Tokyo number.
	"AD Police," came the voice in his earset.
	"Give me Records, please.  Officer Nene Romanova."
	"One moment."  There was a bit of annoying synthpop hold
music, and then Nene's voice came back: "Romanova."
	"Sidehack.  It's Gryphon."
	"How's your vacation going?"
	"Not so great.  Listen, I need you to find out if there was a
check on my license plates and Amex number in the last twelve hours or
so."
	"No problem.  Hang on a second."  Silence, broken by the
clattering of keys; a beep; another.  "Yep.  Someone ran a trace on
your plates and then cross-reffed your Amex number to a motel in
Arizona.  Probably verifying you were there.  Problems?"
	"Three of them, big, in bad suits.  They're not our problem
anymore, but there'll be more, and the cops are going to want to know
what happened to these three."
	"You want me to route them to the Twilight Zone?"
	"If you would be so kind."
	"Not a problem."
	"Thanks.  Hey...how is everything there?"
	"We're getting by," Nene replied.  "Some better than others.
Can you talk freely?"
	"No, but I can listen."
	"Okay.  There's something bizarre going down here.  Bits of
some new Buma AI getting stolen."
	"Yeah.  I've got something on that myself.  I wasn't talking
about the job, Nene."
	"Oh.  Thought you might be interested, sorry."
	"I've got my own problems, at the moment.  Whatever's going on
in the Big City, I'm sure the boss can handle it."
	She laughed.  "She'll be pleased to know she has such support
from the masses.  Anyway, let's see...I'm fine...Priss is fine...Zoner
and Sylia seem to be fine...Leon's his usual irritatingly charming
self--just tickled to death with your little present, by the way--he's
on vacation this week...Linna's not doing so well, but..."  Nene
hesitated.
	"But?"
	"But she's coming along," she said, a trifle too quickly, but
Gryphon failed to notice.  "Priss is being quite a help.  I don't
really know what to tell you.  She's barricaded up in her apartment,
and...Priss is the only person she'll talk to.  I get the distinct
feeling she's doing some heavy thinking, and you only get two guesses
what about."
	"Who needs to guess?" Gryphon replied, heart heavy.  "Let me
know what comes out of it, okay?  My thinking trip isn't working as
well as I thought it would.  It's turning out to be more of a reacting
trip.  But I do want to know what happens.  Call it a personality
flaw."
	"I'd call it you, finally getting a clue.  Take care; I'll
straighten out the numbers for you.  Go ahead and use the card;
everything's all set.  Plate Code 3 is now operational.  I'll let you
know if anything happens."
	"Thanks.  Bye..."
	"Bye."  The line closed; Gryphon put the phone offline.
"Well, at least that's taken care of, for the moment."
	"Problems at home?" Dana inquired.
	"Nothing I can't take care of later," Gryphon lied.  He
reached down and punched in a code on the keypad; outside, the license
plates retracted into the body of the car, replaced with California
plates (GZ3 98X) registered in the name of the JacksonTronix Equipment
Corporation, manufacturers of fine sound mixing and mastering
equipment.  That one would take some seriously nasty twists in the
computerized maze before it could be finally, ultimately, after a few
hours' work and the cracking of some nasty ice, traced back
to...nobody.
	"What's the plan?"
	"Find another motel, check in as per the usual procedures, get
some sleep, and trust in Sidehacker."
	"Some organization you've got backing you up.  I feel like the
foil in a James Bond movie.  What's next, does Q show up in the
morning with some new gadgets?"
	"That would be helpful," Gryphon replied.  "I could use some
backup."
	They found another motel shortly thereafter, and Gryphon took
a shower and then slept, very soundly, for nine hours.
				   
				DAY 2
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
			 SOMEWHERE IN NEW MEXICO
			  PART ONE: CAVALRY

	They hit the road the next day at 0945.  Noon found them forty
or so miles east of the Arizona/New Mexico border, making decent time
and decent conversation.  Gryphon was relieved to find that the
previous night's storm-tossed intimacy had not made for an awkward
morning; instead, there was a sort of current flowing between them.
Gryphon felt at ease with Dana, at ease and open, and she seemed to
feel the same way.  They talked freely; Gryphon learned that Dana's
last name was O'Neill, that she was twenty-one, and that she was
originally from a small town near Bakersfield.  It occurred to Gryphon
momentarily that, if she was drifting, she might have no better place
to go when they reached Chicago than on to Worcester with him...but
that could wait for later.  Right now, they still had a long way to
go.
	Right around 1330, he started to feel that familiar,
unpleasant but vaguely exciting sensation that someone was on his
tail.  He glanced in the rearview and saw nothing, but the feeling
remained, and Gryphon trusted in his instincts.  Someone was back
there, someone he didn't particularly want to deal with.
	He switched on the road-radar, then tied in the nearest
available landsat feed in an attempt to get a decent God's-eye-view of
what was going on.  The nearest satellite was, as it happened, not
occupied by any priority requests (they seldom were), and obediently
bounced him a paint of the area.  He superimposed a map.  Yes, there
was someone behind him on Route 66, or at least following it (he
suspected an air vehicle), going about the same speed.  There was also
someone about a mile ahead, going quite a lot slower; a large blip,
perhaps a truck.  That one he could see; before it had merely annoyed
him, but now it was actually bothering him.  And--most
worrisome--there was a stationary vehicle at a crossroads about three
miles ahead.  Gryphon didn't much like this.
	"Looks like a trap," Dana observed.  Her road instincts were
apparently pretty good too, for she had the wary look in her eyes he
had observed before--the expression that goes with feeling hunted.  Or
maybe she could just feel the tension radiating from him.
	"We'll see about that," Gryphon replied, settling into his
seat and reaching up to patch in some controls above him in a
practiced, easy routine.  Jack.  Shades to VR.  Scrub the roof line.
Drop the skirts. Turbine to SHO.  All sensors to Combat Efficiency.
Weapons systems to Standby Mode.  Black the windows.  Okay.  All set.
He pressed the throttle and felt the Camaro respond easily, smoothly,
and eagerly.  He topped the rise and saw the vehicle ahead of him: it
was a semi truck, as he had thought, pottering along in the thirties.
Not a problem.  Thanks to landsat, he knew exactly where the other
traffic was.  He touched a couple of other controls.  Colors to black
and grey.  Light bar up and on.  Siren on.  The Camaro's siren was a
sound that raised the hairs on the back of one's neck, and most people
moved even if they didn't know what the vehicle was that was passing
them.
	Not so this truck; instead it wandered seemingly aimlessly
into the middle of the road, effectively blocking the entire pathway
and forcing Gryphon to slow down.  Then the back doors burst open and
four black-clad figures on what appeared to be high-powered
on/off-road motorbikes came bouncing out, skillfully landing in flight
and making right for him.
	They had, Centurion's scans informed him, machine pistols of
some obscure Eastern European make.  He wasn't worried about that.  In
fact, he wasn't worried about the people on the bikes at all; whoever
had included them in this job had apparently seen far too many spy
films and had no idea whatever of his capabilities.  The truck was the
more immediate worry; the truck, and how to get around it.  He hit the
key which asked Centurion for a situational assessment.

Tactical Situation Assessment
Overall Situation Threat Level: 3

Recommendations
1. Standby Jump Thrusters
2. Launch Surface to Surface Weapon

Informative: Targeting solution HAS BEEN ACHIEVED on large hostile
vehicle designate L-1.

	L-1, the truck, was a flashing red wireframe in his vision,
the flashing indicating that it was a locked target.  In the side of
his vision, a small side-view projection indicated the jump-thrust
curve over the truck and into the road-track, updating for the
upcoming curve every half second.  Plenty of clearance.  Gryphon put
his foot into the floor, watching the red and yellow striped line
creep up toward the back of the truck, indicating the optimum jump
point.  His right hand went to the gearshift; his thumb flicked the
plastic cover off the large red switch on its side, and poised over
the button itself, waiting.
	"What are you doing?" Dana inquired.
	"Just hang on," Gryphon replied.  The line was almost
disappearing under the front of the car--that would indicate he was
too close, and could not jump without striking the back of the
truck--and had begun to flash, red and yellow stripes alternating.
Gryphon punched the red button in.
	In the span of eight microseconds, several specialized
ferroceramic shutters opened in various bits of the complex
underpinnings of the Camaro, between the reinforced floorboards and
the armored full belly pan, toward the nose.  These leeched an amount
of the raw, superheated plasma from the fusion turbine and sent it
roaring back through special ductwork into four small chambers, where
it built up in pressure and intensity until the chambers, rotated by
computer control to the proper points, snapped open at the bottom like
the thrusters of a Harrier jet.  The resulting outrush of superheated
gas caused four small burnt spots on the pavement and thrust the
Camaro into the air.  The ducts toward the nose had been given more
power for this particular operation, causing the car's nose to be
higher than the tail.  As it flew, the computer corrected the angle of
the thrusters and kept supplying plasma, opening and closing various
of the ducts each microsecond to correct and alter the flying car's
attitude, keeping it heading toward the plotted landing site.
	With infinite grace, the Z/28 Interceptor arced over the
immense truck, completely cut out the tight, twisting curve the truck
had just begun to negotiate, slewed slightly to the left, and, with a
final pressurized burst of thrust for landing, crashed back to the
tarmac a good hundred feet ahead of the truck, albeit a little
sideways in the road.  Gryphon changed down two gears and nailed the
accelerator, cutting out the front wheels with his right forefinger;
the rear wheels broke traction slightly and brought the rear the rest
of the way in line before he released his finger, allowing the front
wheels to bite down as well, and with a loud bark of rubberized
plasteel on pavement, the car surged forward again, ground-effects
gluing it to the road.
	"What the hell was that?" Dana cried, eyes enormous.
	"That was an option," Gryphon replied offhandedly.
"Originally I fought the dealer on it, but he convinced me it would be
useful, so I relented and let him have it installed."
	"This thing is incredible.  I didn't know they made cars like
this."
	"They don't."  Gryphon smiled his "inscrutable" smile again.
"Hang on--we've still got the crossroads company to deal with."
	Before that could happen, though, he had a more immediate
worry.  He had been right about the car behind him, and now it charged
around the corner, motorbikes flanking it like lesser birds around a
hawk, the truck apparently having let them past.
	"Speak of the devil," Gryphon remarked, for the car on their
tail was an AV-3 Aerocop, painted in the bright blue and white colors
of GENOM Corporate Security.  Its lights and siren were on as well,
and as Gryphon ran its specs down his shades to refresh his memory,
its pilot could be heard on all-call radio.
	"Attention, unidentified vehicle!  Pull to the side of the
road and stop!  You are in possession of property stolen from GENOM
Corporation.  Be advised we are authorized to use lethal force if you
do not comply.  Pull to the side of the road and stop.  You have five
seconds to comply."
	"Let's see how sharp this guy is," Gryphon said, and punched a
key on the dash.  Immediately, it lit up, and Dana looked closely to
read its inscription: RDKLR TEF 1.  In the rear of the Camaro, a small
port opened up, and a round, flat object about six inches across and
two inches high dropped to the pavement.  A moment later, the AV-3
entered the induction sensing field projected by the small pair of
electrodes in the top of the device, and the Roadkiller mine exploded.
	A brutal yellow ball of flame erupted from where the tiny
device had been sitting, punching a ten-foot by two-foot-deep crater
into the road surface.  The AV-3 had not actually been over the mine
at the time, but was knocked sideways, skidding out of control, its
nose smashed in by the blast.  As it careened, it took out one of the
motorcycles.  The mine's subsidiary effect, a liquid Teflon derivative
dispersed upon the road surface by the explosion, claimed two of the
others, coating their tires and rendering control and balance
impossible.  Only one of the bikes avoided being taken out of the
running, ducking agilely around the out-of-control Aerocop and then
slewing the other way to dodge the spreading pool of Teflon.
	Gryphon glanced at the landsat picture again, and he didn't
like what he saw at all.  There were three other blips in the road
ahead of him now; probably Aerocops which had flown in and landed
while he was busy jumping over the truck.  Also, the bike and the
wounded AV-3 (which had recovered and was pursuing, but appeared
incapable of flight, which was a good thing) were not the only things
behind him anymore; there was something about six miles back and
coming like a bat out of hell--Centurion estimated its speed at nearly
300 mph.
	Putting the forward-looking sensors into Acquire & Lock mode,
Gryphon put the accelerator down and watched the speedometer climb,
sliding the willing Camaro through almost impossibly tight curves and
trying to get as much of a lead on the motorbike and damaged AV as
possible.  As he rounded the next bend and came into the straight, he
saw the other cars--AV-3s, just as he had predicted--arranged in a
classic roadblock formation.
	At least they don't have power armor, he said to himself.
	"They've got us, don't they?" Dana asked hopelessly.
	"No," Gryphon replied, "they do not.  Just hold on and trust
me."  Gryphon knew the strength of an AV-3's armor, and he knew the
strength of his own.  He aimed the Camaro's pointed prow at the flank
of the center blocking AV-3 and buried the throttle, leaning his head
back against the headrest.  Its profile started to flash as it grew
and grew and grew; he put his hand on the gearshift again, reaching
his forefinger forward to rest lightly on one of the toggle switches
banked on the console in front of the lever.  Then he pressed it.
	Spewing steam from its gas-launcher, the leftmost of the four
AGM-114A Hellfire anti-armor missiles shot forward, following the
pulse of the forward sensor suite's laser designator unerringly into
the polycarbide-laminate armor of the AV-3's side.  With a dull crump
and a lot of orange fire, most of the middle Aerocop flew upward in a
manner it was not designed to, while the shockwave battered the
onrushing Camaro and knocked the other two Aerocops slightly aside.
Dana cried out, startled, as the Camaro roared right through the
fireball, under the still-aloft remains of the middle Aerocop, and
streaked free on the other side as the twisted, burning wreckage
slammed down squarely into the path of the damaged pursuer.
	"Holy shit!" Dana remarked.  "That was pretty slick, Gryphon."
	"Thank you, " Gryphon replied tightly.  Things were still bad.
The other two Aerocops could probably still fly, and when they moved,
the damaged one could still get around the burning wreck.  Still, he
had three missiles left, and there were three of them.  If they took
to the air, he would be using the AGM-114A for a purpose exactly
opposite of what it was intended--surface to air instead of air to
ground--but what the hell, as long as you gave them a laser pulse to
follow, they didn't care that they were being misapplied.
	Just as he thought, the two scorched AV-3s behind them started
lifting slowly into the air, their front wheels folding into their
retraction housings.  Suddenly, though, one of them wobbled, heeled,
and, smoke pouring from the underside where the computer access panels
were, crashed into the ditch on the side of the road, exploding.
Gryphon was slightly confused, but then he saw the very odd-looking
vehicle duck around the burning AV-3 in the middle of the road, ducts
and wings and odd protuberances jutting from what appeared to have
originally been a very clean profile.  Of course he recognized it; he
had once owned it.
	"Leon!" he shouted, then keyed the radio.  "Leon, what the
hell are you doing here?"
	"I appear," Leon's familiar cocky drawl replied, "to be saving
your ass."  The black car pulled alongside the Camaro, the strange
protuberances and things dropping back into its lines and returning it
to its original black sleekness.
	"Correction:" another voice interrupted, "we appear to be
saving your ass."
	Gryphon had to laugh.  Leon had come along at exactly the
right time, and then used KITT's only real weapon--its electromagnetic
pulse generator--to destroy the one AV-3's avionics and force it to
crash.  He would probably be unable to get a bead on the other one now
that it had taken fully to flight, but it had been a very welcome
thing while it had lasted.
	The aforementioned Aerocop howled over them just then, an
ill-aimed burst from its turret machine-guns spattering the road to
the Camaro's left.  Gryphon kept going, straight on course, wondering
what was up with that other blip, which was still waiting at the
upcoming crossroads--it would probably come into view just as they
topped the rise.
	The AV-3 flew out over said rise, pivoting on its thrusters to
come back for another pass, and then, as something Centurion later
identified as a Mark III general purpose missile darted into it from
beyond the rise, burst in an attractive sunburst and plunged to the
side of the road.  Gryphon wondered what was up with that, and then
they were over the rise and he had his answer.  Sitting in the
crossroads, a wisp of steam rising from the cold-launch VLS mounted in
its hatchback, was a familiar bright-red Dodge Daytona.
	Gryphon slewed the Camaro to a halt expertly, winding up
parked right next to the Daytona, and Leon followed suit with KITT;
the three vehicles presented a perfectly unified front to whatever
might still be coming down the road.  Gryphon glanced to his right,
across Dana, and gave Zoner a gleeful thumbs-up.
	The battered, damaged original Aerocop and the one remaining
motorcycle cleared the rise and decided they had made a supremely
large error in doing so.  The biker skidded to a stop, planted a foot,
and cranked his machine around, zipping back off over the hill.  Leon
and KITT peeled out to go after him, just scraping past the skidding
AV-3 before Gryphon and Zoner coordinated their missile fire and blew
it to hell.
	Gryphon climbed out of his seat, beckoning Dana to follow,
and, grinning widely, grabbed Zoner's outstretched forearm, saying,
"What the hell is this?  I leave town for a few days, and you guys get
so desperate for my company that you come all the way here to ambush
me?"
	"Well, you know how it is," Zoner replied.  "Nene told us
about your little, um, problem last night at the motel, and since we
both had some vacation coming anyway, we decided to come on over here
and enjoy the open road with you."  He indicated the wreckage of the
AV-3.  "Looks like they'll let anybody out here these days."
	"Yep.  It's a damn shame, isn't it?  Oh, Zoner, this is Dana.
Dana O'Neill.  Dana, this is MegaZone."
	"I know," she replied, looking at Zoner with a curious gaze,
almost the gaze of a professional sizing up another.  "Believe me, I
know."
	"Er..."  Her gaze was making Zoner feel a tad
uncomfortable...that and the fact that, although he was consciously
very certain he never had, he felt as if he had met her before.  "Have
we, er, met before?"
	"No," she replied, "at least, not in person."
	"On the Net, then?"
	"Perhaps.  I've been known to get on the Net once in a while."
	Leon and KITT returned then; apparently, the biker had given
them the slip.
	"Listen, you guys...it's not that I don't appreciate your
help, but I intended this to be something of a private trip, you know?
Kind of a personal thing.  Y'know what I'm trying to say...?"  Gryphon
seemed uncomfortable.
	"Yeah," Zoner replied, "don't worry, we promise, we'll stay
out of your way.  But we'll be nearby, just in case.  It's been...
nice... meeting you Dana."
	"And a pleasure meeting you.  Thank you for your help."
	"Well, I couldn't let him get iced.  Some people would never
forgive me."  Zoner gunned the Daytona and left in a cloud of dust,
Leon in trail.
	"Shall we?" Gryphon asked Dana as he watched the vehicles
depart.
	"Yes, let's."
	"Where were we?"
	"Speeding."
	"Oh, yes, of course.  How silly of me."
	Ben floored the accelerator and shot off down Route 66.

	"Well, do you think they'll be ok?" Leon asked Zoner as they
sat on a bluff overlooking the road.
	"No.  I don't know who is after them, but they seem to have
some serious hardware.  I've a feeling that Dana has a big part in all
of this.  I want to shadow him, but I know he doesn't want us around.
Any ideas?"
	"Well, with KITT I can leapfrog up the highways to stay a step
ahead of him.  Why don't you follow?  You can keep the Daytona in God.
What d'you think?"
	"Sounds good to me.  KITT, what about you?"
	"It sounds like a sound plan.  I believe Leon has a good
idea."
	"Thanks.  Angel?"
	"It's a plan.  Go with it."
	"What?!" Leon jumped up from KITT's hood, where he had been
sitting.
	"What for you say 'what'?" Zoner asked innocently.
	"Angel?  What the hell?"
	Zoner grinned insufferably.  "Oh, that, Angel's just a good
friend I wrote in my spare time."
	"What?!"
	"Are we going to go through this again?  Angel's a CI I wrote.
She helps me out in the lab and she can handle the Daytona rather
well.  Plus, she's all around cool."
	 "You wrote a CI?!"
	"Stop yelling.  Yes, I did.  Well, I neural-mapped a lot of
myself and Nene helped with some of the details.  Most of the
knowledge and skills are mine, but I created a new personality base,
though I used Sylia as a guide.  It's complimentary to my own, of
course."
	"That's right, lover," Angel's voice chimed in.  Zoner winced
slightly.  Leon chuckled.
	"Of course that I might have made her a bit too compatible.  I
really need to work on that."
	"Oh no you don't.  A girl's got to have some privacy, you
know."
	"Don't you get any ideas, KITT," Leon snickered.
	"You needn't worry, Leon.  I would hate to make Daley
jealous."  It was Zoner's turn to laugh.
	"So, um...  Sylia's not jealous, is she?"
	"No, she said she'd rather I have a virtual mistress than a
real one, especially one that's partially based on her.  I think it
was her idea of a joke, I'm not quite sure yet."
	"And I don't mind if she has his body, as long as I get his
mind."  `	"Angel!  Arg.  She's not normally this bad, she's just
being this way to embarrass me."
	"Oh, you're not that way when we're alone."
	"You know, what really bugs me is I feel like Sylia and I are
her parents.  It's like being pursued by your own daughter."
	"The family that plays together stays together," Angel chimed
sweetly.
	"I see you programmed your sense of humor too," Leon observed.
	"I like you, Leon, don't make me kill you," Zoner intoned with
mock seriousness.
	"Sorry, it had to be said."
	"No it didn't.  Well, back to the original subject, I don't
have any plans.  Let's go with yours."
	"Ok.  KITT, plot the best speed course to keep us about three
minutes from Ben's position, assuming best possible speed to
intercept."
	"Done."
	"Ok, you get off after him.  I'll take the Daytona and dock
with God.  It shouldn't take us long to catch up.  We'll stay a few
minutes back."
	"What camo?"
	"I think I'll use orange."
	"Right.  I'm off."
	"Hold on...  Angel, do you have Roadmaster's transponder
signal?"
	"Yes, dear."
	Zoner ignored the tone.  "Good, link to KITT and give him the
frequency."
	"Sigh, linking."
	"Did you get the data?" Zoner asked KITT.
	"Yes, Zoner.  I must say, Angel is very... intriguing."
	"Don't remind me.  Ok, it's your show, Leon."
	"Let's hope we don't need to do an encore."  Leon raced off,
leaving a billowing plume of dust.
	Zoner slid into the driver's seat of the Daytona, jacked in,
and ran a systems check.  The multi-fuel turbine was running smoothly,
sensor nets were all running at 100%, fuel was down to half a
tank--he'd refuel back at God, the VLS pack installed in place of the
hatchback showed full readiness--14 missiles ready and two empty
boxes.  The Daytona wasn't as fast, strong, or heavily armed and
armored as the Camaro, but it was still his car.  He'd put in quite a
few hours in the Sabers' garage modifying it since Edison had brought
it across.  First to go was the four banger and automatic, the turbine
and six speed gave so much more power.  New stereo, armor, reworked
the rigging grid with some Buma tech, standard Knight Sabers'
electronics gear, reworked the rigging gear again to remove the Buma
tech after dealing with the Griffon, hundreds of minor detail changes.
But Angel was the biggest change.  Speaking of Angel...
	"Welcome home, dear."  Zoner dropped from rigging mode to deck
directly into the Daytona's mini-frame.  His black-clad icon appeared
in the matrix next to that of a lovely woman with alabaster skin and
jet black hair, clad in ethereal white robes.
	"Hi Angel, ready to go?"
	"I'm always good to go.  Hang on."  Angel kicked the car into
gear and set a course for God.
	"Very funny.  Why'd you have to be so screwy in front of
Leon?"
	"I didn't see anything wrong.  You programmed me, you're the
one who designed me to be a perfect counter-point for your mind.  And,
you gave me emotions too.  It's natural that I should love you, you
are my perfect mate."
	"Maybe I shouldn't have used Sylvie's emotional algorithms.  I
must have gotten some sexaroid programming mixed in."
	"Well, it's too late now.  It's not nice to play with other
people's minds."  Angel smiled.
	"Oh, you love to play with mine though.  I know, I know...  I
treat Sylvie and Anri just like anyone else.  I guess it's
psychological, they have bodies.  It's easy to think of them as just
one of the gang.  Even though I know you are as sentient as they are,
and capable of even more, it just doesn't seem the same."
	"You'll get used to it."  Angel floated to Zoner and wrapped
her arms around him.
	"Angel...  I'm not sure if I want to...  I mean, I have
Sylia..."
	"Sylia doesn't mind."
	"How do you know?"
	"You based my personality on hers remember?  Besides, we've
talked."
	"Oh great, the two women in my life comparing notes."
	"It's not like that, it was just 'girl talk', and you came
up."
	"Well...  I'm not sure if I mind or not.  I'm still very
confused.  I never really though about your emotions, or mine, when I
created you.  I wasn't trying to create my perfect mate.  I was trying
to create a friend, someone to help me with my work.  I guess I was
looking for a good assistant.  I was forging ahead for the sake of
doing something new, and I didn't think about the effects.  It isn't
fair to you, I know... now."
	"Well, I'm here.  You can always deactivate me.  To me it
would be like I never existed."
	"No!  No, I couldn't do it.  If you want to terminate your own
functions, that's your decision.  But to me it would be murder to turn
you off.  It would be like killing a friend.  No, I can't do that."
	"Then you will have to learn to live with me."
	"I guess I will, won't I."
	"Don't make it sound so awful, I'm sure you'll find it
enjoyable."  Angel pulled Zoner closer and kissed him.  And they were
one.

			   PART TWO: FAMILY

	"You want to tell me what that was all about?" asked Dana at
length.
	"Hmm?" Gryphon replied, turning down the stereo (Information
Society, "Now That I Have You", Hack, for the curious).
	"People don't just randomly go off to drive across another
continent," Dana said.  "Not unless they've got some heavy thinking to
do.  You can tell me anything, you know that."
	"I'm not sure it's anything you want to hear.  Besides...I
don't...don't have it quite figured out in my own mind yet."
	"Talking helps to organize.  Go on, you'll feel better."
	Gryphon sighed, and began at the beginning.  Time passed
almost without meaning as he let Centurion keep the car between the
stripes and told the story, from his inauspicious beginnings in
Worcester, his studies with Master Caine, Cheryl, the confusion of
arriving in MegaTokyo, the Storm Warnings party (including a long and
confusing attempt at an explanation of his complex relationship with
Priss, which Dana seemed, despite all odds, to understand), Linna and
their troubles and the suspended way everything had been left back in
Japan while he wandered across the continent.  He only edited it for
readability, removing all references to dimensional travel and
changing a few of the dates so that it hung together as a reasonable,
and factual in all pertinent respects, account of the life of someone
his apparent age.
	"I'm not even sure what I'm doing," he concluded.  "I never
even pick up hitch-hikers..."  He banged his head into the top of the
steering wheel, then muttered, "I don't have the faintest fucking clue
what's going on anymore," in a small, pained voice.
	She put a hand on the back of his neck, rubbed out the knot of
tension she found there, and said easily, "Maybe--just maybe--you
ought to consider a possibility here."
	"What's that?" he asked without looking up.
	"Maybe this random encounter was just what you needed to
straighten out your head.  Hmm?  I tend to forget that other people
think this kind of thing is weird--this stuff happens to me all the
time.  I'm like a force of nature--wherever I go, things happen that
probably shouldn't ordinarily be possible.  Like you, picking me up.
Or the storm.  I don't know why, but I've been dealing with this kind
of thing all my life, and I guess I've just learned to roll with it.
But maybe you needed something random and weird to happen, to shake
you up a little, make you start thinking."
	"I can't think," Gryphon replied.  "You distract me far too
much."  He smiled a bit, amused at the tone of his own voice.  He
sounded much like a besotted twit.
	"Sorry," said Dana impishly, "but I can't seem to help that."
	"Well, then, I guess I'm just going to have to learn how to
concentrate better."
	"As far as I can tell, you have no problems with concentration
at all."
	Gryphon broke, dissolving into a helpless fit of snickering
for a few seconds.  When he recovered, he shook his head, looked
serious, and said, "Bleah.  This is too weird."
	"Best not to dwell on it," Dana said.  "Tell me about your
friends back in Japan...I want to know more about your family."
	Taking the cue, he started talking again, telling her
everything he could about the folks back in MegaTokyo.  She already
knew much of Zoner and Leon, since he had explained them first, just
after the rescue, and he had explained Linna just about as well as he
could.  (Which still felt weird to him--talking to Dana about
Linna...)  Priss was also fairly well-covered (now there was a Wedge
relationship, if ever he had seen one, but he tried not to dwell on
it).  So he started with someone he felt Dana could relate to, before
going into the subject of his employer, and started a description of
his colleague, gweepsister, and chief armor programmer, Records
Officer Nene Romanova.
	By the time he finished, it was dark, and just about time to
start looking for someplace to stop for the night.  He had no idea he
would've had so much to say.
				   
				DAY 3
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
		      NEAR KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
		     PART ONE: THE HAN SOLO BLUES

	Miles melted away under the Interceptor's tires.  Either word
hadn't gotten back to GENOM Central about the failed strike attempt
yet, or, more likely, they were taking their good old time about
putting together another team.  Either way, Gryphon was vaguely on
edge for the rest of the second day and most of the next.  They saw
nothing of MegaZone or Leon, for which Gryphon was either pleased or
not, he really didn't know which.
	They had managed to just about put out of their minds the
incident in New Mexico, and as they swept out of Oklahoma and into the
little bit of Kansas Route 66 passed through before reaching Missouri,
they were talking about life and the universe in general.
	The previous evening, Gryphon had used a pay-terminal in the
hotel lobby again, and gotten megalord's rundown on the luminous
tattoo which adorned Dana's arm; it was the sigil of an organization
called the Order of Discordian Cyberknights, an affiliation of
netrunners based at the University of California at Berkeley.  The
three diagonal slashes below it were a badge of rank, as Gryphon had
suspected, and their number and the yellow edging denoted the rank of
Sergeant-at-Arms.  In other words (the readout continued), Dana was
one of the four Discordian Cyberknights charged with the
responsibility of doing battle with the combat IC while the Tech
grades went in and cracked the datawalls.  The O.D.C. was a very
well-organized group.
	Gryphon found that piece of data to be quite intriguing, but
not very informative.  The file also had a good deal of information
about the Order itself, all of which was illuminating (if you'll
pardon the expression).  They seemed to be a GweepCo-like
organization, except much better organized, and of course they were
netrunners, wireheads, not gweeps.  Gryphon had, after reading the
file, toyed briefly with the idea of having the GweepCo
G-arrow-in-a-circle logo tattooed on his own arm, but had rejected the
idea as silly.
	So, all in all, Dana appeared to be one of the white hats.
And, when he had returned from the terminal, she had again all but
knocked him down and dragged him to bed--and how could he argue with
that?
	The whole thing was just terribly surreal.  Dana was an
excellent lover, skilled, but not so polished as to remove the
spontaneity that Gryphon found so appealing.  The particular skills
and preferences of one seemed to neatly dovetail with those of the
other in a manner almost unnerving.  On the road, she was not overly
affectionate, but the nuances of the look in her eyes, her body
language, let him know that nothing in her attitude changed when they
got into the car and set off on their journey again.  He felt as
though he had been traveling with her, living and loving with her, for
years, not days.  It was bizarre, but he wasn't giving it too much
thought, preferring to simply act, react, and enjoy.  (After all, his
paranoid side insisted, it can't last--why load your time down with
rumination now when you'll just do a full post-mortem of it in your
mind later on?)  In her company, he could almost forget all the
problems circling above his head.
	They were discussing various interpretations of the Principia
Discordia, quoting bits from memory and generally having the
(extremely comical) Discordian equivalent of a religious debate as
they neared the outskirts of Kansas City.  Gryphon was outlining his
view of hot dog buns, when suddenly, he stopped speaking and held up a
hand.  His mental radar was calling him again.  Something wasn't
right.
	"I got a real bad feeling about this..." he muttered.
	The blue and red lights flashed in the rear view mirror, and
Gryphon's bad feeling got a whole lot worse.  He growled in
irritation, punched the car into combat mode, and started
accelerating.  Behind him, he could see a number of conventional
police sports cars--he couldn't tell yet if they were actual police,
or more GENOM CorpSec.  He forced himself to acknowledge that Zoner
and Leon were almost certainly out there watching him, and tagged the
transponder into Distress mode before aiming the Camaro onto the
upcoming Interstate on-ramp.
	"I hate to leave the Route," Gryphon muttered, "but I need to
get up some speed, and a two-lane highway is just not the place to do
that."  He put the pedal down and watched the needle climb, eyes
raking over the status gauges reflexively as the marvelous machine
accelerated obediently and readily.  Behind him, the flashing lights
shrank away, but they would have more ahead.  It was, he was quite
certain, an elaborate trap, using the Missouri half of city of Kansas
City as its walls.
	He had no choice.  He upshifted, and they rocketed onto the
bridge and over the state line.

		    PART TWO: IT'S A KIND OF MAGIC

	As they shrieked into the downtown area, he started noticing
more bits of the trap.  For example, the large amount of flying
objects hovering around the buildings.  Surely Kansas City didn't have
that many AV-3s, AV-4s, and helicopters around all the time.  The
construction barricades and torn-up roads and dismantled bridges
ahead, forcing him off the Interstate and into the streets of Kansas
City proper, were also probably not a coincidence.
	He also noticed immediately that nobody else was out on the
streets of the city.  He didn't like this.  Didn't like it at all.

	  He was on a long, broad boulevard; they had worked their way
most of the way through the city, and now they were trying to trap
them on the east side.  Gryphon disliked fighting in the crowded
streets of cities--not enough room to really get anything done.
Centurion informed him with alarm that four AV-4s had taken up a
formation just above and to the rear of him, supporting the wall of
cars behind them.  They were herding him, damn it, but to where?
	He aimed the Camaro down the boulevard and put the pedal down,
and before long the fast-food-laden "strip" on the far side of Kansas
City came into view.  All the lights were off.
	"What'd they do, buy the city?" he muttered, straining his
eyes to see what was ahead.
	It loomed up out of the darkness--it was that time of day when
everything is terribly hard to see, and the headlights really aren't
doing much yet--and for a moment he couldn't tell what it was.  Not
that it mattered.  Whatever it was, it was huge--too huge, Centurion
informed him with some alarm, to jump over--and it was blocking the
entire road.  He looked around, feeling the beginnings of panic; there
were no side streets here, the road was starting to lengthen back out
into a highway again.  The buildings were packed densely along the
sides of the road.  There were who knew how many somethings behind
him, somethings with lights and armor and weapons, too, he was quite
certain.  And, parked or crouching in front of the huge something
blocking the road were a rather large number of cars, AV-3s, and
various types of combat-oriented Buma, all of them bearing the
markings of GENOM Corporate Security.
	"This," said Gryphon in a calm voice, "is very, very bad."
	Then he realized what the gigantic object blocking the road
was; it was a cargo aircraft, an enormous corporate AV.  Built like a
brick, with vast, brawny fans which could lift it bodily into the air
with no regard at all for the thing's entire lack of aerodynamics.
They were trying to force Gryphon to drive the Interceptor right up
into its belly.
	And then, well, he could figure out for himself what happened
next.
	"You can't go in there," Dana said tensely, figuring it out at
about the same time.
	"Got any other ideas?" Gryphon replied, directing the question
to both her, Centurion, and himself.  He looked around.  Nowhere to go
to the sides.  Can't go back.  Can't go over.  Can't go through...
	...that left going out fighting.  He wouldn't be taken, and he
knew Dana wouldn't either.  He thumbed the covers off the weapon
firing switches, armed all systems, and prepared to see how many of
the bastards he could take to hell with them.
	And then...

	"Sir, we've got the Roadmaster trapped.  He should be at the
net in a few seconds."
	"Excellent.  Keep me updated."
	"Sir!  The Roadmaster is slowing, he's seen the barricade.
Sensors active, he's getting ready to fight."
	"A futile effort, but honorable to the end.  I would have
thought less of him had he let himself be taken.  Very well, it
matters not.  If the information be destroyed, so much the better.
Have all troops stand to and prepare for combat.  We'll let him make
the first--"
	"Sir!!  Large object coming up on the Roadmaster.  Moving
incredibly fast...  Bigger than an AV-4.  Speed currently 263 miles
per hour and increasing.  Cowpoke is preparing to engage...  Second
target detected.  It was masked by the primary.  We show it to be
small, visual coming up from Cowpoke."  A screen flickered to life.
An apparently huge object rocketed across the camera's view before it
locked onto the smaller, trailing, object.  A shiny, black, sleek
car...
	"Preparing to fire..."  The screen snowed out suddenly.  "Sir!
EM pulse of undetermined origin.  Cowpoke is out of action, two AVs
down, others on back-up flight systems.  New targets are overtaking
the Roadmaster."

	...and then the hand of God intervened.  Well, not really so
much his hand...

	Zoner laid on the airhorns as he overtook the Interceptor.
Leon and KITT swung in behind the Interceptor, airbrakes deployed and
tires smoking, as Zoner rocketed past, still accelerating.

	Dana started as the Interceptor rocked.  "What the hell is
that?!"
	Ben smiled a feral smile.  "That is a deus ex machina.  That,
my dear, is God."
	Dana stared after the rapidly diminishing form, catching the
writing down the side of the trailer: 


	##########            ##########         #############
       ############          ############        ##############
      ##############        ##############       ###############
     ######    ######      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######    ######      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######    ######      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######                ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######                ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######                ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######  ########      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######  ########      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######  ########      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######    ######      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######    ######      ######    ######      ######    ######
     ######    ######      ######    ######      ######    ######
      ##############        ##############       ###############
       ############          ############        ##############
        ##########uaranteed   ##########vernight #############elivery



     (Converted to ASCII by Derek G. Bacon--lightnin@wpi.wpi.edu)

	"Goddess!  I'm glad that's a friend.  It is a friend, right?"
	"Yeah..  Goober though he oft is, I do have to admit: Zoner
can drive, and he has nice timing."

	Zoner was in ecstasy; rigging God was such a rush.  Angel was
linked in from the Daytona in the trailer, helping to monitor the
myriad of systems.  There was no God, no Zoner, no Angel, there was
only GodAngelZoner, one unit, one mind, one soul, and other grandiose
things implying the oneness of a true Gestalt.  The power was
maddening, the thrill beyond belief.  It was too absurd to believe, a
tractor-trailer racing down the highway at 302 miles per hour.  That
was faster than a run at Bonneville.  GAZ could feel the plasteel
tires shrieking against the macadam, smoke pouring from all sides.
The fusion turbine running at 120% emergency power, raw plasma pouring
through the wastegates, leaving fire trails from the stacks.  Every
sense stretched to the limits of sanity.
	The cargo AV loomed ahead.

	"Stand fast.  Targets approaching," the Sergeant called from
his position at the barricade.  He could see the Roadmaster coming...
And something else overtaking it...  "What the fuck is that?!"
	The midnight blue fascia of God loomed out of the night,
growing at a frightening rate.  Smoke and flame belched into the
night, and a banshee's howl reverberating off of the dead buildings
fencing in the roadway.  Many of the more experienced combat Buma
began to edge significantly away from the cargo AV, and the rest were
becoming more unsettled with each passing moment.
	"Fuuuccckkk meeee...." the Sergeant whimpered just before
running from the AV.
	"Sergeant!  Return to your post!  They'll stop before they hit
the AV," the Lieutenant called after him.  "Sergeant!!  Damn him."  He
turned back to see the grille of God in excruciating detail.

  /*  Queen  "Gimme the Prize (Kurgan's Theme)"  A Kind of Magic  */

	GAZ howled madly as one, Zoner's feral scream, Angel's
electronic cry, and the blare of God's airhorns blending in the night.
Zoner stepped (stumbled?) over the edge to insanity as the plow nose
of God tore through the lines of human and Buma, barrelling straight
into the ramp of the cargo AV.
	The prow tore decking from the ramp before the wheels caught,
angling the shrieking demon GAZ through the air and into the hold.
	The AV was mostly composite construction, light and strong.
	God was steel and Lamin-8 armor plate, immensely heavy and
stronger.
	GAZ gutted the AV, splintering the body into countless shards.
JP-8 sprayed from shredded fuel tanks, the idling turbines shattered,
spewing hot shards forth into the mayhem.  GAZ shuddered from the
impact, shrieking in pain and insane rage.  Fire bloomed and spread
with the flying debris.  Smaller vehicles nearby were holed by flying
wreckage, many bleeding fuel to feed the fires.  A mushrooming cloud
of fire and smoke billowed from the AV, even as it was destroyed.
	And from the hellfire, God screamed on into the night, horns
issuing a cacophony of sound as GAZ laughed maniacally, liquid fire
trailing from it's sides.

	"Well, it looks like the roadblock is gone," Gryphon observed
calmly.  "Zoner has gone bye-bye, Leon.  What've you got left?"
	"Sorry, Gryphon--I'm awed beyond the capacity for rational
thought."
	"I, however, am not," KITT interjected.  "I have selected a
path of least debris through the wreckage.  Neither myself nor the
Interceptor should be unduly harmed by the flames.  Allow me to lead
the way."  KITT accelerated into the lead, Ben and the Interceptor
falling in trail.  They raced through the flames, debris still raining
down around them.  But they made it through safely, no shots fired.

	After the initial shock of what had just transpired passed,
Dana turned to Ben and asked, "Do you think Zoner is ok?"
	"Zoner hasn't been okay since 1974."
	"Seriously."
	"Ok, seriously.  I don't know.  There's no telling what the
hell driving a rig at 300 miles per hour through a barrier and
explosion, while you are the rig, will do to you.  I have a vague
idea, but my system can't handle full interface.  Side effect of
gweeping sickness.  I don't know how Chromium Lad is going to deal
with it.  I have this thing about cybernetics.  If I had anything more
than the plugs in my arm, I think I'd go completely round the bend."
	"Well, where is he now?"
	"Hmm," Ben checked the map display, "Well, he's got the
transponder on now anyway...  He's already fifty miles ahead of us,
but he has slowed down quite a bit.  Even God can't keep that pace up,
hell, he had to kill most of the drive train to pull that little stunt
in the first place."
	"That 'little stunt' just saved our asses."
	"Yeah...  But it'll still take me a week to rebuild the drive
train," Ben bitched, a smile on his face.
	"Gryphon, Leon, you there?" Angel's voice called over the
radio.
	"I'm on," Leon came back.
	"Yo," Ben called.
	"Um, I just whacked Zoner up with several dozen cc's of
Thorazine, he's going to take a little nap now.  I'll keep God going."
	"How is he?" Dana asked.
	"Pretty fried, he went over the edge--along with God--to punch
through that barricade.  Shit, he almost pulled me along too...  I'm
going to have to do a little work, no, a lot of work, to help him get
a grip on reality when he comes to.  Right now he needs to rest, he
came close to killing himself with feedback.  His heart rate was
incredibly high, temperature was up...basically, he's a wreck."
	Dana looked concerned, almost motherly.  "Take care of him.
Goddess be with him."
	"Oh, I'm taking extra special care of him.  Talk to you
later."
	"Ben, I'm going to take KITT and check on Zoner and God.  You
going to be ok?" Leon asked.
	"Yes, nothing but open highway ahead now...  Wait a minute...
Who the hell was that?!"
	"Who the hell was who?"
	"That woman."
	"Oh...  That's Angel, Zoner's AI.  Well, not his really, he
just wrote her."
	"Zoner wrote an AI?"
	"Yeah, she's in his car's neural net.  I guess he used 33/S
parts in there."
	"Oh good...  whatever."  KITT raced off into the darkness, and
Gryphon and Dana were alone again.
	"Wait, how did she give him Thorazine then?" Dana asked.
	"Oh," Ben explained, "I incorporated a combat life support
system into the cab.  You strap a little cuff around your right wrist
when you strap in, and the system can feed you via an IV if needed.
Drugs are administered the same way.  Normally it runs off of a simple
bio-monitor, but it's part of God's computer, so I guess Angel just
took over.  It's a standard system--the whole cockpit setup is from a
military aerodyne.  I have a custom unit in my shades--retractable
needle goes in behind my left ear if I need it.  I haven't yet."
	"Wow...  You guys are impressive.  You must be dangerous when
you work together on something."
	"You don't know the half, babe," said Gryphon with a grin.
"You don't know the half."
	"What is the half?"
	"You'd never believe me."
	"Try me."
	"Okay..."  He went back and retold the story--but this time he
left in the bits about dimensional travel, and the fact that he and
MegaZone and ReRob had, apparently, created an entire multiverse with
their "simple fanfiction project".
	"Wow," she said when he finished.
	"Wow?  Wow what?  Wow, that's some story; wow, is this guy
ever a nutbar; wow, what an incredible imagination; wow what?"
	"Wow, that's some story.  You've come a very long way, just to
be with me in this car today," she said with a conspiratorial smile.
	"C'mon.  Don't kid around..."
	"No, I mean it.  I believe it.  What the hell?  There are
weirder things.  Dimensional travel's been a theory of mine for years,
and here you are, proving it.  You and this car.  Damn!  Amazing."
	Gryphon shook his head.  This was just plain scary.
	"We're not going to be able to sleep in any motel around here
tonight," Gryphon said after a few quiet minutes.  "Not after they
closed up all of Kansas City like that."
	"I'm comfortable enough right here," Dana said, reclining her
seat and stretching out, "if you're up for driving all night."
	"I'm not, but Centurion is.  We should be reaching St. Louis
right around dawn...wake me a little before then, okay, Centurion."
After receiving an affirmative, Gryphon took off his shades and put
them into the compartment reserved for them on the dash, put the car
in Auto Cruise mode, and leaned his seat back with a sigh.  "What a
rotten day."
	"Could've been worse," Dana replied, reaching across the
console and taking his hand.  "We could've gotten killed."
	"True," admitted Gryphon.  "That would've sucked in a big
way."  He squeezed her hand gently.  "It's a pity," he said
flippantly, "about the motels, though, in a way..."
	Dana snickered.  "Well," she said, punching the key that shut
down Centurion's cabin monitor system, "I guess that means I'm going
to have to be a mite sneaky."
	"Sneaky" was perhaps the wrong word.  "Inventive" seemed much
more suitable...

	"Good night, Dana," he had occasion to say an hour or two
later.
	"Night, lover," she said, curling up in her own seat again,
and the use of the word startled him so, he didn't get to sleep for
almost an hour.
	Walking away from, walking away from things that move too
fast...
	Any one you walk away from...
	...wrong analogy, propeller-head.
	I wonder if she'd like Japan...

	"Oooohhhhh..." Zoner moaned as he came to.  The instant he
realized he had been unconscious he started violently, he was driving
after all...  And he was flat on his back.  But he was sitting in the
driver's seat.  Or was he?  There were far too many photons about, his
eyes screamed at him.  Of course he hardly noticed, what with the
cries from the rest of his anatomy.
	"Ow...  What the fuck did I do?"  he asked the air as he
cradled his throbbing head.
	"You rigged God through a cargo AV," Angel's voice cheerfully
rejoined.
	"Hush...  No need to yell."  He slowly evaluated the
situation.  He was in sickbay in God's trailer, last he recalled he
was a truck.  No, he was driving God toward the AV.  He shuddered at
the remembrance of the feeling, and the comparative emptiness he felt
now.  He shook his head clear, which was dumb, considering how much it
hurt to move.  "Owww....  I feel terrible."  Ok, at least he had some
grip.  Angel must have sedated him, if he felt this bad he must have
really pushed the limits.  But unless Angel had really changed....
"Angel, how did I get into sickbay?"
	"Leon moved you at my request.  I wanted to better monitor
you."
	"Oh..."  He finally noticed the EKG pads and IV he was
connected to.  Well, that explains the pain in my arm anyway.  Gah, I
feel hollow.  What a fucking rush, crashing through the AV like that.
What a feeling!  Such power, pure energy, pure thought, Angel right
with him, no, more, one with him.  He was unconsciously rubbing the
datajacks in his neck.  Oh, I really fucked this body up though.
Maybe if I jacked in I could forget it...  Yeah, I can work with Angel
or something.  He groggily pulled the IV and EKG out and off of his
body and made his way to the dataterm in sickbay.  He hesitated for a
second, then plugged into the console.  Just a little while, to take
the edge off.  He punched into the system and linked to the global
nets.  Ah, that's better.
	"Hi Angel."
	"Hi love, you really should be resting."
	"I couldn't sleep any more right now.  I thought I'd just
spend some time here with you."
	"Well..."
	"Come here love," Zoner opened his arms and Angel flew to him,
"Just for a few minutes."  And they were one.
	He pulled the plug almost ten hours later.
				   
				DAY 4
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
			 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
		      PART ONE: THE GATEWAY ARCH

	They entered the city just after dawn, but you couldn't tell
that to look at the sky; it was leaden black, and pouring rain.
Gryphon had, after awakening, changed the car's color to its original
candy-red and switched to license plate five (Maine 12475 Y,
registered to the Great Northern Paper Company), as a preventative
measure he fully expected not to work.  Dana was still asleep, and
Gryphon hadn't gotten anywhere near enough, not that he minded.
Hyperintelligence could be made to work for him in the next few
hours--he had the feeling he was going to need them.
	He felt tense as he drove into the city proper.  The lights
were on, and the usual morning "awakening-city" routines were obvious.
At least, then GENOM hadn't decided to be completely unsubtle, like
they had been in Kansas City.  Perhaps they had learned that he
couldn't be taken by sheer force of arms.  Although, he had to admit,
if they pulled the same stunt now they had yesterday, he would
probably go down now, since neither God nor Zoner was up to the stunt
that had happened last night.  But, GENOM didn't necessarily know
that.
	That notwithstanding, Gryphon had a creeping bad feeling about
this.
	Dana stirred and sat up, blinking sleepily and yawning.
"Where are we?"
	"St. Louis," Gryphon replied.  "Just on the western side."
The Gateway Arch loomed out of the gloaming sky in the distance.
	"Cool.  Can we stop by the Arch when we get to it?  I've never
seen it before."
	It was against Gryphon's better judgement, but he agreed to
it.  How could he refuse?

	The trip to the Arch was uneventful, and the Arch itself
vacant of people.  No one was around; the city was still mostly
asleep.  Dana pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders and
climbed out, walking toward the gleaming steel structure.  Gryphon got
out after her.  An afterthought--perhaps an instinct--made him grab
the silver case in the back seat on his way out.  He would thank this
impulse later.
	Lightning started flickering ominously in the sky as they
approaching the Arch, and the gloom thickened to the point of actual
darkness.  Gryphon didn't understand it, but it felt familiar.  Very
familiar.
	With an earsplitting crrrrack!, lightning slammed into the
apex of the Arch--and the entire thing began to glow.
	Gryphon remembered why the atmospherics looked so familiar.
	"Oh, shit," he cried over the now-howling wind and the crash
of thunder.  "Dana!  Dana, we have to get out of here, now!  Right
now!"  Damn it, damn it all to hell, Edison warned me about this!
Have I totally lost my edge?
	"Why?" she asked, standing under the Arch and spreading her
arms.  "It's beautiful!"
	Another, fatter, lightning bolt hit the Arch, and it sprang to
life again, crackling and glowing.  Gryphon saw the Gate opening in
the center of it, a vast portal to Somewhere Else.  And Dana was
caught in it.
	"Daaaaanaaaaa!!" he cried, and started running.
	"Stay back," she said, and though her voice was calm, he could
hear her perfectly, even over the wind and thunder.  "I know exactly
what I'm doing."
	"You're going to leap--"
	"I know.  It's time for me to go, lover.  Just remember
everything I've taught you."
	"Don't--don't go!  I wanted you...I want you to come back with
me!  Dana, I love you!"  Gryphon felt foolish, shouting into the blue
conflagration at the shadowy form of a woman he could barely even see
now, as the rain roared down and drenched him and the lightning cast
sharp shadows on his face.  "You're my destiny--you can't just leave
me!"
	"I'm not your destiny, Gryphon," Dana's calm voice replied.
"I'm just a signpost on the road.  Your destiny is waiting for you,
back in MegaTokyo.  Go, spend your time in Worcester, sort yourself
out--but go home when you're done.  Go home.  She's waiting for you."
	With a crash of light and fury, the Gate collapsed.  Dana was
gone.
	Gryphon stumbled back, his retinas dazzled by the flash, and
screamed her name into the storm.
	"Freeze!" a voice answered him.  He whirled, almost slipping
on the mud, and saw a burly man in GENOM Corporate Security armor
pointing a rifle of some kind at him.  The man was flanked by several
more, all similarly armed.  GENOM armored vehicles had surrounded the
Arch.  They and their accompanying Buma contingent had cut him off.
	Snarling with rage, he dove behind the nearest leg of the
Arch, taking--and ignoring--a bullet to his left shoulder and another
in his lower leg before he got to cover.
	As they advanced, he tore off his shirt and opened the case he
had grabbed from the car.

			 PART TWO: IRON RAGE

	Lieutenant Ric Crichton led his men toward the Arch's broad
metal leg, noting the blood.
	"We've wounded him," he announced.  "Look sharp--that case he
had could have contained some kind of weap--"
	"The rain and the storm are mirrors for my emotions," a
modulated voice announced.  Iron Man stepped from behind the arch.
"It is a good day to die.  Would you gentlemen not agree?"
	He didn't give them the opportunity to reply.

	 /*  Def Leppard  "Comin' Under Fire"  Pyromania  */

	From miles outside the city, Leon could see the flashes and
flares of the combat reflected against the lead-grey sky.  The
lightning had stopped after that weird display around the Gateway
Arch, but it was still raining, and the winds were reaching almost 65
mph.  Something heavy was going on down there, and Leon knew without a
shadow of a doubt that Gryphon was involved.
	"KITT, can't we get down there any faster?  He may need our
help!"
	"I've scanned the road patterns for the best course to the
Arch," KITT replied.  "Super Pursuit Mode is cleared."
	"Excellent!"  Leon punched the button and hung on for dear
life.

	Iron Man finished blowing the last AV out of the sky with his
pulse bolts, then turned to deal with the nearest charging Buma, a
Bu-99CX.  The old War Machine had experienced some trouble with the
prototype of this series, the Red war model; the tiny rational part of
Gryphon's mind wondered how the Golden Avenger would fare as he threw
himself against it, cutting the weapons offline and boosting
exoskeleton performance to 115%.
	It really didn't take terribly much effort to yank off its
arms, he reflected.  Probably would've been even easier without the
bullet in his own shoulder.  He kicked it in the midriff, snapping its
fiber-optic spine, and then knocked its head off with a wheel kick.
	A particle bolt from another Buma whanged off his chestplate,
knocking him back a couple of steps and upsetting his balance; the
Buma which had fired it, a blue Bu-55C, tackled him, knocking him onto
his back.  Its fingers clawed at the neckpiece of his armor as its
mouth, right in front of his forehead, opened up.
	He got his feet up under its chest and fired the boot jets at
maximum dispersal.  What wasn't vaporized flew several dozen feet.
Iron Man used the momentum to flip to his feet, then turned to blast
another Blue Buma's chest out with his repulsors.
	Then it got savage.

	Leon and KITT came shrieking around the last corner onto the
small parkway leading to the Arch Park (dedicated 2000) at nearly 300
mph; as they swept through the charred perimeter of wrecked AVs and
armored vehicles toward the remaining knot of Buma, Leon punched the
Emergency Braking System key and almost managed to stop before
knocking the legs right off the last of the Blue Buma.
	Iron Man whirled and stomped that one's head into splinters,
and for a moment, it almost looked as if he was going to attack KITT
before he turned again to vaporize half of the last Red with the
unibeam, then finish it off with a repulsor spread.
	It had taken Iron Man slightly less than five minutes, with
only extremely minimal help, to decimate an entire GENOM Corporate
Security Code Six SWAT Force: four AV-4s, three AV-6s, six T-99-A-1
Urban Interdiction Armored Vehicles, twenty Bu-55C Buma, six Bu-99CX
Buma, and fifteen men in Gasium K-5 armored suits, armed with FN-RAL
assault rifles loaded with armor-piercing ammunition.
	Except for the two bullet wounds he had incurred before
putting on his armor, the man inside was completely unharmed, if a bit
tired and sore.  The armor itself was running at 75% power, but that
was regenerating fast, and except for minor surface scuffing--easily
removed with a bit of polishing--it was also undamaged.
	Without a word, Iron Man launched himself into the air,
radioing God for a rendezvous pickup, and set the Camaro to Auto
Cruise mode, ordering Centurion to take it on to Chicago, where he
would, he hoped, pick it up.
	"Some vacation," Leon muttered to himself, backing out of the
smoking battlefield and driving off toward the rendezvous point.
				   
				DAY 5
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
			  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
		     PART ONE: EASTBOUND AND DOWN

	Gryphon awoke in the tiny, cramped infirmary he had designed
into the standard trailer module with a throbbing pain in his shoulder
and another in his leg.  It took him a good few moments to sort
through what had happened, and when he did, he didn't feel any better.
Still, he had to do something; he felt foolish just lying there.  He
turned on the little bed, sat up, and then tentatively tried to get to
his feet.
	The leg worked; apparently the slug had missed the bone.  He
bent and examined it; it was bound well in white gauze, and, like his
shoulder, didn't seem to hurt nearly as much as it should have.  His
arm wasn't even in a sling and, as he tentatively tested its range of
movement, appeared to be pretty much unhampered.
	"They were only flesh wounds," Leon said from the doorway.
"You were pretty lucky."
	"I don't feel very damn lucky," Gryphon growled, hobbling
toward the door.  He was more than mildly put out that MegaZone had
taken it upon himself to build another trailer module designed for his
own equipment.  For one thing, it meant that he didn't have the armor
shop, or any of the Interceptor gear.  For another, well...it just
bugged him.  Why didn't he build his own damn truck?
	"Where are we?" Gryphon inquired, going aft into the auto bay
where Zoner's Daytona was docked and sitting down at the computer
console.
	"Near Chicago.  We had to stop and make a kind of camp
arrangement at a rest area just outside the city.  The turbine finally
gave out."
	"I knew he fucking shot the tolerances all to hell with that
stunt in Kansas City," Gryphon said.  "Great.  How am I gonna get the
goddamn thing to work again?  Might have to ship the truck home from
here..."
	"Sylia's bringing the replacement parts from your lab, along
with the tandem unit and your own trailer module.  They're meeting us
in Worcester, and Angel thinks we can get at least there on backup
power."
	"Wonderful.  I knew there was a reason I put the Diesel engine
in.  It'll act like any other semi truck, but that's life, I guess.
What's the deal with Sylia, why's she bringing half of my gear to
Worcester?"
	"They're all coming over," Leon replied.  "Something to do
with the information you sent over the other day, about GENOM's new
replicant project.  Seems they made a play for one of the project
heads at GENOM Tokyo's development facility, and he ran to Worcester."
	"And they're chasing him.  Wonderful.  I just love how this is
all working out, don't you?"  Gryphon sighed heavily.  On the one
hand, it meant seeing Linna again, long before he was actually
prepared to.  On the other, the action would give him an excuse not to
think about anything that had happened to him of late.  Anything.
	"So...running pretty much all day and night on backup
power...we should reach Worcester by the day after tomorrow."
	"That's the plan at the moment, yeah."
	"How's MegaZone?"
	"I've felt better," the same replied as he sauntered in from
sickbay, nervously rubbing his datajacks, "but I've also felt worse.
Sorry about your vacation, man."
	"It's okay," Gryphon replied, waving his hand in an irritated
fashion.  "It was pretty much shot to hell anyway."  He paused, facing
the terminal, and then said without turning around, "Could you guys
possibly find someplace else to be for a while?  I...I'd like to...to
be alone..."  His voice broke.
	Without a word, Leon ushered Zoner into the forward
compartments, leaving Gryphon alone with his pain.
				   
     /*  R.E.M.  "Everybody Hurts"  Automatic for the People  */
				   
				DAY 7
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
			    WORCESTER, MA
		 PART ONE: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, JIM

	A bright green Toyota Avante shrieked around the corner from
Lincoln Avenue to Highland Street, darting between two trucks and
speeding down the Interstate 290 West on-ramp.  Some four and a half
car lengths behind it came a much older and larger car, an '89 Chevy
Camaro Z/28, with a small, understated blue light bar behind the
T-roof (which was open) and an eerie, baying siren.  Right behind the
Z/28 was a low-slung red and black motorcycle whose rider, in red and
black leathers and helmet, was almost invisible amid the striping.

	/*  Drivin-N-Cryin  "Rush Hour"  Fly Me Courageous  */

	The Z/28 screamed between the two trucks with mere inches to
spare; the bike ducked around the end of one of them, the rider's
kneeplate throwing up sparks with the acuteness of the bank, and
pulled up into a momentary wheelie as it accelerated down the ramp
onto the Interstate.
	Of course, it was five-fifteen P.M., ever such the perfect
time to have a high-speed chase in the middle of a city.  Traffic was
thick on I-290, and the driver of the Toyota was either fearless or
just less afraid of dying than of getting caught.  Unfortunately for
him, the driver of the Z/28 was equally fearless, and the motorcyclist
seemed to border on the pathologically suicidal.  The bike ducked in
and around traffic, splitting lanes, performing split-second banks
across the entire highway, lining up and shooting gaps with almost
computerized precision.  The Camaro had to settle for taking courses
with mere inches of clearance whenever the opportunity presented
itself.
	In the cockpit of the Z/28, Benjamin D. "Gryphon" Hutchins
leaned back into his well-padded seat, iridium mirrorshades glittering
as the TGVR diodes inside the coating relayed him the latest tactical
information.  The road swept past inside his goggles as a gleaming
neon strip; vehicles were wireframes with identificatory labels
attached; the guardrails were black and yellow striped barriers, the
color stripes flashing back and forth.  Course, speed, clearance to
sides, all were projected in the middle of his field of view for him.
The target vehicle and the motorcycle were both highlighted, their
wireframes strobing in red and green respectively.  Lines appeared and
vanished as the battle computer projected acceleration evasion paths
through the ever-changing maze of traffic.  Road and diagnostic data
went right to the sensory centers of his brain through the two cables
that ran from the gearshift lever's base to the twin cyberjacks in his
right wrist.  The wind roared through his hair.
	"Racer-X, this is Roadmaster," he announced into the mike
which the headset suspended from his left ear was holding in front of
his mouth. "Target is heading west on I-290.  I'm held up by the
traffic just a little bit, but Cyclotron is crowding him in a major
way, and I think he's starting to panic.  Computer projects he'll make
a break off the highway at Kelley Square, repeat, Kelley Square."
	"Roger, Roadmaster," a voice replied in his ear.  "Spyhunter
and I are on the way."
	The Camaro edged across to the middle of the center lane, then
ducked to the left as the computer showed a direct path between two
lanes, around a semi, and right onto the Avante's tail.  Gryphon threw
a downshift, felt the raw acceleration throw him back against the
computer-controlled padding of his zero/zero, and shot the gap.  He
made it with 0.79 centimeters at the nearest point.  No sweat.
	The green Toyota was only forty feet ahead of him now, and the
lane was clear.  Cyclotron was in the passing lane, gunning up beside
the Camaro, head down, attention focused.
	"All units, this is Spyhunter," a female voice announced in
Gryphon's ear.  "Police radio has four black-and-whites westbound from
Union Station exit.  You've been made, Roadmaster."
	"That's what I get for using the siren," Gryphon replied
carelessly.  "We're coming up on Kelley Square--stand by."
	The rear-view scanner pinged for attention and showed him four
police cars coming fast.  Their vehicles were bigger, so they couldn't
shoot the gaps as effectively, but they were gaining.  After all, they
were obvious cop cars, and people were getting out of their way a hell
of a lot more obligingly than they were getting out of Gryphon's.  He
braced himself for a quick exit as they approached Kelley Square.
	The Toyota shot right on by.
	"Shit!" another woman's voice cried in his headphone.  "Guys,
he went right by Kelley Square."
	"I've got it," Gryphon cut in.  "Projection--yeah, he's
getting in the right lane--he's taking Exit 12--shit!  Route 146.  Bet
you fifteen bucks he's heading for Providence.  Racer-X, Spyhunter,
recommend you move on the 146 junction--the overpass by the exit, you
know the place."
	"This had better be a better analysis than your last one,"
Spyhunter's voice rang cautioningly in his ear.  "Okay, let's do it."
	"Yeah, he's doing it--uh-oh," came Cyclotron's voice.  The
hatchback of the Avante opened up as the car angled for the offramp,
and a man in a suit jumped out.
	In mid-air, the suit appeared for a moment to disintegrate.
He was in fact just expanding and ripping out of his confining skin,
becoming large, blue, and unhappy.  The Bu-55c combat Buma came down
on its feet in the highway in front of the Camaro, its mouth opening.
	The particle bolt sizzled against the hood armor at almost the
same moment that the car ran the Buma down.  WHAM!  The Camaro bucked
as its angled prow caught the Buma just below the knees, toppling the
biomechanoid killer onto the hood.  It reached up and grabbed hold of
the top of the windshield housing, its fingers curling into the actual
interior.
	"Uh-oh," Gryphon announced.  The Buma wasn't making visibility
difficult--the shades were making it a wireframe so he could see right
through it--but having it up there with an open T-roof was not a Good
Thing.
	Neither was the huge orange semi truck which was making its
way across his path to the offramp.
	"Yaaaaaah!" Gryphon announced.  "Excuse me!"  He punched in
the jump button again, hanging tight to the controls.
	With a roar and a lot of steam, a special ducted thrust system
similar to the nozzles on an AV-8B Harrier II jet fighter collected
waste plasma and heat from the Mark III fusion turbine that powered
the Camaro, injected it with water and the tiniest bit of nitromethane
into special collection chambers in the underpinnings of the car, and
released it in a precisely calculated burst of thrust.  As it did so,
it vectored the nozzles according to a program created nanoseconds
before by a computer which was analyzing air pressure, road
conditions, the height, position, and velocity of the truck and the
Camaro, and the probable conditions on the other side.
	The dark grey and silver Camaro, siren baying and lights
flashing, Buma on the hood and all, leaped into the air as if thrown
up by an exploding mine, flew in a neat parabolic arc over the truck,
and crashed into the tarmac on the other side, rubber down.  It
bounced once, hard, throwing sparks and the Buma high into the air,
wobbled, and then bit down hard with all four wheels and rocketed off
after the Toyota.
	Behind it, the red bike ducked around the back of the passing
truck, turned the bank into a double-bank split-S, and zoomed by the
Buma, its rider's left hand flashing out to slap something round,
flat, and metallic on the Buma's back as the cycle passed at a good
eighty mph.  The cycle wheelied again as the rider accelerated as hard
as the machine could possibly go away from the blue biomechanoid.
	BLAM.

	Meanwhile, the green Avante growled around the sweeping
left-hand curve of the offramp, darted through the cleared
intersection (permanent stoplights in all other directions assure that
anyone wanting to take Route 146 to Providence has automatic right of
way at this exit), and barrelled down the tarmac toward the overpass
that led into the state highway.
	Abruptly, its path was blocked by a wall of red.  From one
side of the overpass came a bright-red-and-grey Dodge Daytona ES, of
the same approximate vintage as the Camaro chasing the Toyota.  From
the other came a truly ancient Mercedes 300SL Gullwing, painted the
same bright red as the Daytona's red parts.  The vehicles halted nose
to nose.  From the driver's seat of the Daytona came a very large dark
man with a very large black gun.  From the Mercedes came a slender,
pretty, and very expensively dressed woman with a very large
expensive-looking gun.
	The Toyota's driver panicked and slammed on the antilock
brakes; the Toyota was coming to a decent halt when one of its tires
defaulted on the remaining mileage in its contract, primarily due to
the impingement upon its sidewall of a 13.7mm copper-jacketed
projectile.  It skidded into the abutment on the left side of the
overpass and recycled itself into an Art Damage aluminum paperweight
with a resounding slam_crunch_.
	The Camaro and the motorcycle howled to a halt a few feet
behind the wreck as a blue metal leg kicked one of the Toyota's
crumpled doors open.  The Buma unfolded to its full
eight-point-five-foot height and ripped most of the roof off the
Toyota, allowing a shaken and bloodied Asian gentleman in an expensive
suit to scuttle free and start running for it.
	Even before the Camaro had stopped fully, Gryphon was out of
it, coming up over the windshield housing and sliding down the hood as
his left hand wiped the big revolver out of the holster on his hip.
They had the Buma surrounded on three fronts now.
	The red cyclist abandoned her machine as soon as the kickstand
grabbed hold, pulling off her helmet and dropping it on the seat as
she went.  The Asian suit ran as if to go right by her, but an
extended forearm threw a wrench into that plan.
	"Going someplace?" she inquired sweetly as the Asian gentleman
collided with her arm.
	"Yes," he replied, and launched a wheel kick at her face.  It
was, regrettably for him, not there to receive it; she ducked under
the attack and threw a quick crouching side kick into the structurally
important area of his expensive trousers he exposed with that
particular attack form.  The attack knocked him right off his foot,
sprawling him on his back.  In another heartbeat, the cyclist had
punched his head back against the pavement.
	Meanwhile, at the Buma farm, the blue machine stood as if
confused, the antennae around its eyes twitching as it assessed its
situation.  Two people were to its southwest, pointing large
heavy-caliber handguns at it; another was at its northwest, with what
appeared to be an archaic heavy handgun.  There was a concrete wall
and packed soil embankment blocking escape to any eastern direction.
	It turned around and charged the lone target to the northwest.
	Calmly, Gryphon said into his mike, "Interactive mode."  Then
he raised his Super Blackhawk, thumbed back the hammer, and sighted.
	BANGwhoooosssshhhhhhh(ker)BLAM!
	The weapon went off perfectly, spitting a 250-grain .44 Smith
& Wesson Special semi-wadcutter slug containing a special
nanotechnological marker beacon.  Behind Gryphon, the Camaro's
targeting computer registered the activation of the nanomarker, locked
its targeting system on said marker, activated the weapons systems,
and launched a HEAT micromissile from the grille rack at it.  The
missile followed the bullet in by mere microseconds and blew the
entire upper torso of the Buma back into the wreckage of the Toyota.
	"Looks like we're secure," Gryphon observed, holstering the
Blackhawk with a quick spin trick.
	"Looks like it," Priss agreed, dragging the bloodied and
handcuffed Asian gentleman with her as she walked up beside Gryphon.
"What shall I do with Takamura-san here?"
	"Throw him in my car," MegaZone suggested tersely, then
gentler, "Angel, please open the hatch and set it up for isolation."
	"Will do, love."
	Priss half-guided, half-dragged Mr. Takamura over and
unceremoniously dumped him in.
	The cops arrived then, skidding into positions behind both
Gryphon's car and the two red cars on the other side.  They jumped
out, hid behind their doors and waved their guns, just as they were
trained to do, except of course for the plainclothes man who
approached Gryphon carefully, sidearm ready.
	"Hold it right there, pal," the plainclothes cop said.  "Who
the hell are you?"
	"Special Agent Don Griffin, Secret Service," Gryphon replied,
nudging back the edge of his bomber jacket to reveal the badge hung in
his shirt pocket.  He pulled it out and briefly displayed the ID card
behind the clear plastic window in the other arm of the badge wallet.
"Mr. Takamura is wanted on several dozen international arms
trafficking violations."
	"Isn't that an ATF matter?"
	"The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms has
representatives here," Gryphon said, indicating Zoner and Sylia, who
were holding up their ID to the cops on the other side.  "Agent
Davidson and Inspector Corvetti.  But since this is also a commerce
crime, the Secret Service is involved.  Also, Agent McNichol here is
an FBI operative.  She's here because of the interstate angle.  We're
sorry the collar had to happen on your patch, Detective, but such is
life.  Just let us be on our way and you won't have any more trouble
from us."
	"I don't think so, Agent Griffin--we're gonna have to check
this out."
	Gryphon's tone became conspiratorial, a brotherly cop-to-cop
kind of tone.  "Look, Detective--I'm sorry?"
	"Martin."
	"Detective Martin--do you really want to fill out all the
paperwork for background checks on operatives of three Federal
services?  Do you want to draw attention to the fact that you pointed
your gun at a Secret Service man?  There's a reason we're called the
Secret Service, you know.  Look, it's a legitimate collar.  I mean,
come on.  Look at us."  He held up his arm, making the cyberjacks
glitter in the sunlight, then tapped his shades.  "Do you think anyone
but the Feds can afford this kind of chrome?"  This bit amused Gryphon
immensely; the plugs were the only chrome he had.  But Martin didn't
have to know that.
	"I can think of a few corporations," Martin said suspiciously.
	"All the more reason not to fuck with us," Gryphon said, his
smile vanishing.
	Martin drew back a step, considered for a few seconds, then
put away his gun.  "All right, Griffin.  Get out of here.  We never
saw you.  Okay?"
	"Okay," Gryphon said, his grin returning.  He clapped the cop
on the shoulder.  "You're a good cop, Martin.  You'll do good work."
He jumped over the door of his car into the seat, strapped in, and
started it up.  "We're clear, kids--mount up and let's blow."  Zoner,
Sylia, and Priss reclaimed their vehicles and got underway; the four
vehicles scattered into the Worcester streets.  Gryphon's car, the
most visible during the chase, meandered into a small back-street and
underwent a dramatic alteration.
	The light bar vanished into the roof; various air dams, ground
effects, and scoops returned to their standard Cruise Mode positions;
the license plate changed from Massachusetts, GRF-1N, to Maine, 41275
Y; and most dramatically, the entire car changed color, from
silver-and-grey to a uniform, metallic candy red.  As it pulled back
into a larger street and made for the I-290 East ramp, the T-roof
unfolded back into position and the windows rolled up.
				   
			  THE MARRIOTT HOTEL
			   33 MINUTES LATER
			PART TWO: THE WPI PLAN

	"So, how does it feel to be a Secret Service agent, Special
Agent Griffin?" asked MegaZone, smirking.
	"Not bad, not bad," Gryphon replied with a grin.  "Sorry to
stick you in the ATF, Agent Davidson, but he mentioned it, I had to
think fast."
	"I envy Priss," Sylia announced.  "She got to be a G-man."
	"Yeah," Priss said, mock-peevishly, and thumped Gryphon hard
in the shoulder.  "Agent McNichol?  Bite me, Gryphon."
	"Hey, I told you, I had to think fast.  You think it's easy
coming up with an on-the-spot alias for someone named `Priss Asagiri'?
I have to find friends with more easily mutated names."
	"`Inspector Corvetti'?" Sylia said dubiously.
	"Actually, I was kinda proud of that one."
	"Where'd you get a Secret Service ID card?" asked Zoner.  "I
know where you got the badge--a box of Crunch 'n Munch."
	"I didn't get a Secret Service ID card," Gryphon replied,
taking the badge wallet out of his pocket and flipping the card side
up.
	"I'll be damned," said Priss.  "Where the hell did you get
that?"
	"Can't reveal my sources, I'm afraid," Gryphon replied, and
put the Star Force ID card back in his pocket.
	"I bet he made it himself," Zoner said.
	"You're lucky that cop didn't want a closer look at it," Sylia
observed.
	"Guess I distracted him with my very high level of wit and
charm...  Wit and charm measured in this instance in units of heavily
armed henchpersons, of course."
	"Is that all we are to you?" Priss asked, mock-offended.
"`Henchpersons'?"
	"Of course not," Gryphon replied with an overdone look of
mortification.  Priss looked mollified, until Gryphon continued with a
grin, "It's just mostly what you are to me."
	Every free pillow in the room was directed at his face.
	"Anyway, seriously," Zoner interrupted, "we've got Takamura,
but we made a hell of a lot of noise getting him.  They've got to know
we're here by now.  Or at least, that there's some heavy action going
down here--they might not know it's us specifically."
	"We can only hope," Gryphon told him.  "It'd ruin the surprise
if they've figured it out already."
	"Right.  So what's the next step?"
	"Who's next on the list?" Priss asked as she perused the room
service menu.
	"Umm...let's see," said Zoner, perusing the list.  "Madison
Carter.  UBM software designer."
	"He's the one Nene thinks is working on modifying the
second-generation Gates AI for the new replicant series?"
	"Right."
	"That explains why Takamura was so anxious to get to
Providence," Gryphon said.  "That's where UBM's nearest branch is.
Mom used to check in there every now and again, back when it was IBM."
	"There's no chance of his work system being on the Net...too
much of a security risk, even with top-notch ElSec," Sylia observed.
"If we want his data, we're going to have to physically get behind his
keyboard."
	"Which involves penetrating a high-security UBM facility, in a
manner that doesn't bring CorpSec, the cops, and the fire department,"
Gryphon added.  "Great.  I'm ordering a pizza from Domino's.  Anyone
interested?"
	The planning session took a brief timeout for consultation and
ordering.  Afterward, Sylia resumed, "Do we have a profile on Carter?"
	"Only a sketchy one," Zoner replied.  "Gryph's source in UBM
isn't close to him."
	"Sorry about that...all I can say in my defense is, having a
contact in the shipping department of a major computer manufacturer is
often a handy gweeping tool."
	"Or at least a means of acquiring same, cheap," Zoner added.
"Anyway, all we really know about him is that he's twenty-seven, on
his way up, motivated and pretty good with Inter-C.  Not as good as
some I could name--"
	"(android)" Gryphon interjected subliminally.
	"--but still very, very good," Zoner continued without
pausing.
	"Also," Priss added, "he's kind of cute, but he has lousy
taste in ties."
	"That's it?" Sylia asked, disappointed.
	"Well, look at it logically.  Hot young programmer on his way
up the corporate pyramid.  If he wants to make it to the All-Seeing
Eye by the time he's ready to retire, he's gotta be putting in more
than regular office hours.  And if he's a programmer, that probably
means staying late, not going in early.  Programmers have a natural
prejudice against getting up before dawn."
	"I think she's right," Zoner agreed.  "What we ought to do is
get in touch with Team 2 and have Nene crack their multiframe.  She
can pull security details and a floor plan, we can figure out where
his office is and then head down to Providence and watch him for a
couple of days, see if we can figure out his routine."
	"As luck would have it," Gryphon noted, "the Providence
Marriott is located less than a block from the Providence UBM
facility."
	"Good," Sylia said.  "The facility's in town.  I dislike
operations against remote industrial compounds--all those grounds make
for much better external security."
	"Yeah," Priss agreed.  "In the city, it's a lot easier to get
outside and then just disappear."
	"Okay," Gryphon said suddenly, holding up his hands.  "I'm
getting an idea.  What we need to do now is reorganize the teams.  I'm
assuming you agree, Sylia, that as far as extracting the data goes,
you want Nene to be the one behind the 'board.  I'm a good gweep, but
if the security is thick enough that some on-the-fly programming
becomes necessary, you want Nene."
	"I'd say that was a logical conclusion."
	"Okay.  Ooh, this is bad.  I'm the only one who knows anything
about Providence and the UBM building.  That means concentrating both
gweeps in one team.  If anything goes down back here...hmm..."  He
brightened and snapped his fingers.  "Android knows more about
Providence than I do, he practically grew up there.  I'll stay here
and you can take him.  That way if something goes really bad, you can
still have two gweeps to double-team the ElSec, and I'll be back here
to cover the Net on this end."
	"Okay...you're absolutely certain this Android can be
trusted?"
	Zoner gave Sylia his "oh, c'mon" look.  "We've worked with him
before," Zoner said.  "The gweep who backed us up on the GENOM Chiba
assault.  Gryph and I have both known him for years--before that he
was our Net coverage when we were working Worcester alone.  He's a
white hat."
	"All right; if the two of you vouch for him, that's good
enough for me."
	"Good," said Gryphon.  "Our chances of pulling this little
stunt off have just tripled, at least.  Okay.  Here's the basic gist
of the routine, then.  Sylia, Zoner, Nene and Android will be the new
Team 1.  You'll go to Providence, watch Carter, and then, when the
time's right, nab him and his data.  Mackie, Priss, Leon and I will be
Team 2--along with various GweepCo members, if necessary."
	It was not lost on Gryphon that Linna had not accompanied the
rest of the Sabers to Worcester.  Just another thing to dwell on
later.  Another document in the queue.  Joy.
	"We'll stay here and keep watching the Tower for any sign that
they're on to us.  If things go well in Providence, you should be back
by Wednesday.  Team 2 will be half an hour away, forty-five minutes at
the outside, if anything goes wrong--in a real pinch, I can be there
in around fifteen minutes, alone."
	"I don't want you using your armor unless you absolutely have
to," Sylia said in her warning tone.  "You've already established a
higher profile than I feel comfortable with.  That fight of yours in
St. Louis even made the news in MegaTokyo, although fortunately no one
connected you with Iron Man."
	"Good idea.  Um...  I'm going to jack in, check out the local
nets, see how Angel's doing, fill her in, etc.  Ok?"
	"Yeah, and while you're doing that, I'll think I'll go down to
Unpleasant Street, score some quick smack.  Jesus, you're obvious!"
Gryphon snapped, scratching exaggeratedly at his arms.
	"Hey, back off, it's not like I'm addicted or something."
	"Guys, can we get back to business?" Priss interjected.
	"Yes, but for how long?" Gryphon replied.  Zoner mumbled an
apology and jacked in.
	"You two have to work this out between yourselves," Sylia said
sharply.  "I will not allow personal problems to interfere with our
operations.  Is that understood?"
	"Don't tell me," Gryphon said calmly.  "I'm not the one who's
heading for a major breakdown.  Do me a favor, and when the day comes,
don't say nobody warned you.  But, at the moment, that's neither here
nor there.  I'd say it's time to reorganize the teams and plan."
				   
			   THE UBM BUILDING
		       PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND
			     19:41:12 EDT
			  PART THREE: STRIKE

	"Okay," said Sylia, standing by the door to the office, taut,
alert, and weapons ready.  "Get in, download the data, and get out.
We haven't time for any side trips in the filesystem."
	"Right, right, right," replied Android abstractly.  He sat
down at the console of Carter's office machine, a DECstation 35290XL,
and, grinning evilly, reset it.  (Why a DECstation in a UBM office?
Well, Carter, like many programmers, insisted on the UNIX environment,
and UBM doesn't make UNIX workstations, so...)
	"What are you doing?" Sylia inquired tensely.
	"The reboot bug," Nene explained for him.  "These machines
have an enormous security hole in them.  If you interrupt the reboot
process--"
	"--now--" Android inserted.
	"--it automatically logs you in as root."
	"Absolute power!  Ahahahahaha!" said Android as the # prompt
appeared.  "Now.  How the hell do I mount this damned optic drive?  I
hate these things..."
	"Hurry it up!"
	"Good data cannot be rushed," Android said with great mock
gravity.  "Um...Nene, isn't it?  Get on that terminal over there.  I'm
resetting the root password to a carriage return.  C'mon in and help
me figure this thing out."
	They gwept in silence for several long seconds.  Android took
the optical drive out of his pack and replaced the machine's ethernet
connection with the lead from said drive.  More gweeping.
	"Come on!"
	"Almost done..."  There was a beep.  "Got it.  Let's see
now.../bin/rm -rf *...and...power down.  Great.  Let's get out of
here."  Android got to his feet, scooping the optical drive into his
pack.
	"I couldn't agree more," Sylia said, and stepped warily into
the corridor.
	"Who the hell are you people, and what are you doing in my
office?" demanded Madison Carter, coming in to do a bit of late work.
"I'm going to call Security!"
	He was as good as his word.  In fact, when he said it,
Security had already been paged.  Alarms were going off before he even
finished the sentence.
	"Back way," Sylia said, and ran down the corridor the opposite
way from Carter.  Android and Nene followed, 'Droid hanging onto the
pack for dear life.
	Security personnel blocked their path.
	"Shit!" said Sylia, in her measured, cultured way.
	"Get down!" cried Android, and tripped Nene, knocking her to
the carpet and following posthaste.
	"I knew we shouldn't have left our heavier equipment behind,"
Sylia muttered to herself as she flattened herself into a doorway.
She punched the pager button that issued a general distress signal.
All this took but a moment.
	The security personnel opened fire a half-second or so after
that, their first burst of fire passing well above the two cowering
gweeps and perforating, rather effectively, Madison Carter.  Oops.
Sylia swung around the corner and dropped a couple of them with a
tight burst from her MP5.  The remaining UBM security officers were
trying to decide, in a split-instant, which target to shoot at.
	A second later, a red and grey car came through the wall
behind them and flattened them.  Quite well.
	Android and Nene piled into the back, thanking Eris for
granting them safe passage, or something like that.  Sylia jumped into
the front.
	"Where to, Mac?" asked MegaZone with a grin.
	"To the city," Android replied.
	The Daytona reversed and peeled away, then performed a nifty
reversed bootleg and roared off into the streets of Providence.
				   
				DAY 8
		     THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
	    WORCESTER, MA (SPECIFICALLY, FREMONT AIRPORT)
	      PART LAST: HELLO, AND GOOD-BYE, AS ALWAYS

	"You're certain you won't come back with us?" asked Sylia.
They were standing in the terminal, awaiting final fueling on the
Stingray Technologies transport which would take the Knight Sabers
back to Japan.
	"Yes," Gryphon replied.  "I've still got to sort out what I
came to sort out.  And a whole lot of things on top of that, now.  As
far as getting my thoughts in order, the whole trip was a complete
bust..."
	"I see."  She paused, considering, and looked--just for an
instant--a trifle worried.  "Do take care of yourself...when you
consider yourself fit, I want you back, as a field operative, a
developer, and...and a friend."
	He smiled, a little.  "I'll keep in touch.  I shouldn't think
I'd be here much longer than a month."  He shook her hand, and she
departed.
	"So...  Well, say hi to everyone for me.  Anyone I missed that
is," Zoner mumbled.
	"Yeah, I will."
	"We're sorry about your vacation.  I know that you wanted to
spend some time alone, I guess we sort of screwed things up."
	"I shouldn't worry about it if I were you.  I have my entire
life to be alone."
	"Um.... yeah...  Well, we'll fix God up a bit more from that
stunt we pulled in Kansas City.  We can do a bit better once I have
access to the garage."
	"Nah," said Gryphon slowly, "leave it.  It'll give me
something to do with my hands when I get back."
	"Ok, sorry about everything."  Zoner clapped Ben on the
shoulder before leaving.
	"Hey," said Leon, "take it easy, man."
	"Right.  Keep me posted, okay?  You've got my address."
	"Uh huh.  Posted on what?!"
	"Everything."
	"Oh, sure.  Should I start with the stock exchange, or the
weather?"
	Gryphon hit him in the shoulder.  "You know what I meant."
	"Right."  There was some masculine shoulder-slapping.
"Later."
	"Do you know," Priss said at length, "that I still haven't
killed you for that stunt you and MegaZone pulled at Bruno's?"
	"It had to be asked.  You never did answer me..."
	"Taking a rather unhealthy interest in my sex life, aren't
you?"
	Gryphon grinned.  "That ain't workin'...that's the way you do
it."  She hit him in the shoulder, hard.  "Take care of yourself.
Without me around to patch you up, you might start to fall apart."  He
gave her a hug and a quick kiss, and then wandered over to the
terminal snack bar, perusing the menu.
	"Hey."  Of course.  She had to arrive, sooner or later.
Always late for everything.
	He turned.  "Hey."
	"Not coming back, huh?"
	"No, not right away.  I've got some thinking to do."
	"I know that problem well...just wish I had someplace to go to
do it."
	"Yeah, well...guess some of us are just lucky enough to have
an emotional attachment to a festering hellpit of a city in the
backend of nowhere."  He put an arm around Nene's shoulders, gave her
an affectionate squeeze, and kissed her forehead.  "Watch out for the
gang for me, will you?"
	"Sure."  She squeezed his forearm, took a couple of steps,
looked wistfully back--but he had already turned back to the menu.
She sighed, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and trotted off
after the rest of them.

	Zoner slid into the driver's seat of the Daytona, resting his
head on the steering wheel, eyes closed.
	"Angel."
	"Yes, love?"
	"What is the meaning of life?"
	"Forty-two."
	"Ok, I asked for that.  No, I mean, what's the reason for
everything?  Do you ever think about it, think about why you're here?"
	"You programmed me, so I exist."
	"No, I mean overall...  Why did I write you?  Why did I write
an AI at all?  What made me write you and not someone else?  I've
helped to create a universe, I am a god in that way, and I still don't
understand why I do what I do?"
	"I'm not sure I understand."
	Sigh.  "That's ok, it comes with experience."  He sat up,
opening his eyes, which settled on an unusual object.  "Um, has anyone
else been in here since I left?"
	"No.  Why do you ask?"
	"Oh, nothing in particular."  Zoner plucked a note off of the
object.

	Dear Zoner,

	To you I entrust this gift, to be passed on when the time is
right.  It is up to your bad judgement to decide when that shall be.
In the meantime, have a hot dog bun.  Relax.

				-Dana

	Zoner reached out, picked the object up, examined it, and
burst into gales of maniacal laughter.  A golden apple, inscribed with
a single word:

			       KALLISTI

[EDITORIAL NOTE TO THE ASCII IMPAIRED: This word is actually written
in the ancient Greek letters: Kappa, Alpha, Lambda, Lambda, Iota,
Sigma, Tau, Iota, but we were unable to preserve the original spelling
in ASCII.  Sorry about that...  --G.]
	
	After much reflection, Gryphon bought a cheese dog, some
fries, and a large Coke ]I[, then went on out to his car and drove
back into the city.  Android, Derek, and Jer were going to playtest
Call of Illuminuclear Civonoporisk Encounter Wars for Hackers in Cars,
and he didn't want to miss that.
				   
	     /*  Information Society "How Long"  Hack  */
				   
			 Roll ending credits.