mfrose@umcc.umcc.umich.edu (Martin Rose)

       Thunder Force log, Standard date November 1, 2379.  Our latest
       mission has...

       ...oh, Hell.  I can't do this anymore...

       <LOG TERMINATED>


                        Wrong Side of the Ocean
                          in association with
                    Smalltime Writers, International
                                presents
                    a tale of Undocumented Features


                        H A M M E R   T I M E :

                     D A Y S   O F   T H U N D E R


                    A TIME TO BE BORN, A TIME TO DIE


                       by Martin "PCHammer" Rose


There is a time for everything,
   and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

          - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (NIV)


   "You can get up now."
   Eiko pulled herself to a sitting position on the examination table,
swinging her legs over the side and swinging them idly for a moment.
She took a deep breath, releasing it as a great sigh, and leaned
slightly forward, grasping the edge of the bed with her hands.  "You
positive about this, Amman?"
   "As positive as negative can be, Eiko."  He put a hand on her
shoulder.  "I'm sorry."
   She looked downcast.  "So am I."
   Dr. Rashir let his hand linger for just a moment before removing it
as he stepped away from her.  "Well, I'll let you get dressed and back
upstairs, now.  We fold in..."  He glanced at a wall chron.  "Fifteen
minutes."  He stepped out of the room and tapped the door shut behind
him.
   Eiko leaned backward on one hand, resting the other on her stomach.
She regarded it sadly, thinking of the empty womb beneath it.
   Physically, there was nothing wrong with either her or Martin.
Several different doctors had verified this, on several different
occasions.  For some reason, though, they were still childless.
   It wasn't for lack of effort, of course.  Mitra forbid.  They made
love as often as they dared, always allowing for recovery time before
known deadlines.  They'd discovered, almost immediately, the hazards of
having a duo of superhumans in the heat of passion; she'd dislocated
her hip on their wedding night.  ("You only hurt the one you love,"
Martin had replied with a strained voice that very night.  She didn't
want to know what she'd done to him.)
   Damn.  What does it take?  Ah, well ... with our schedule, we don't
really have time for a kid, anyway.
   Somehow, that was no consolation.
   She hopped down to the floor, hurriedly discarding the flimsy robe
as her bare feet protested against the cold, hard surface they were
pressed upon.  Within minutes, she was in her uniform and rushing for
the bridge, her self-doubts half-forgotten.  They would have to wait
until there was time for them.  Right now, they were needed.
   Again.

   Martin's gait was slow and tired as he trudged back to the dropship.
Thunder Force had been called to this once-abandoned military outpost
just a few hours ago, hot on the heels of what had proven to be a most
difficult case involving a narcotics-smuggling ring.  Given the high
level of fatigue among his crew, he'd normally have blown off this
request to assist in the apprehension of a band of neo-terrorist
fanatics.  The fact that this base was a known stockpile of bioagent
weaponry, some of which could wipe out an entire planet's population if
exposed to open air, changed his mind in a hurry.
   As was the case almost every other time they were called, their 
"assistance" was anything but a sideline role.  The local authorities 
and Federation troops kept the terrorists' guards and the fortress's 
ground defenses busy while TF made a discreet entrance through the back 
door to find and stop anyone searching for the bioweapons.  Once again, 
the entrance proved slightly less than discreet, since Noa and Alphonse 
had to make a back door the hard way.
   Everything went straight downhill from there.  Taking conscious 
prisoners proved practically impossible -- the enemy group was so 
fanatical that its members preferred suicidal escape attempts to 
capture.  Actually finding them was even more difficult, though.  Hammer 
made a note to find out just where such a small-time band came upon even 
the old-style Predator cloaks.  The only thing working in TF's favor 
seemed to be their knowledge of the base's layout, something their 
adversaries lacked.
   At length, they'd beaten their way through enough guards and snipers 
(wasn't this supposed to be a _small_ group?) and found the search party 
proper, which, quite naturally, included the group's crazed zealot of a 
leader.  They went through the usual routine, hearing the fruitcake out, 
trying to tell him how nutty he is, then having him terminate himself in 
some gruesome fashion rather than be captured.  This one had chosen 
immolation, and took a couple of his "wives" with him, which made for a 
rather unpleasant bout of painful screaming.  Martin would have excused 
himself but for the resulting fevered assault by his followers, some of 
which proved to be mid-grade combat buma.  Even so, the fight was short, 
and its outcome never in doubt.
   He just wanted to get out of there.  He wasn't really looking where
he was going anymore; his feet were on autopilot.
   He didn't notice the slight ripple on the catwalk ahead.

   Him.  He is the one.
   The crosshairs jittered slightly as they came to rest on the tall man 
with the hat and cloak.  Tall, dark ... evil.
   The leader is gone, and that demon must pay.
   The crosshairs, indeed, the entire view began to blur.  Several quick 
blinks cleared the water which had an annoying tendency to collect in 
the eyes, and the sensation of rolling teardrops brought only renewed 
resolve.
   Never fear.  Nothing will stop me.  You shall be avenged.
   The sniper took one last, deep breath, and her finger tightened 
around the weapon's trigger.  At her command, it would fire a single 
shot capable of punching through ten centimeters of solid tritanium.  It 
would also let off a noise and flash that would surely compromise her 
location.  The crosshairs focused on the tall man's head.
   You shall be avenged ... my love.

   Noriko jogged up behind Martin.  The weight of her CVR made her feel 
sluggish, and that only added to the fact that she could never keep up 
with his walking pace.  She felt slightly stuffy inside the helmet and 
leaned her head back, bringing her hands up under her chin to raise the 
facebowl and berate him for walking faster than most of the group could 
reasonably match.
   That's when her threat sensor went off.
   Her motion detector sounded a slight ping and drew a figure for her 
benefit.  A roughly humanoid shape, crouching on the catwalk, holding a 
long stick -- a weapon, most likely a firearm given the way it's gripped 
-- intently ... watching?  No.
   Aiming!
   Noriko snapped from lethargically griping to fully alert in an 
instant.  Her next step sent her charging forward, head down, arms bent 
and hands open, ready to ram and push him out of what was certain to be 
harm's way.

   The sniper was so intent on the target that she didn't notice the 
armored figure behind him until it was far too late.
   No!  You'll spoil everything!
   By the time her trigger finger got the panicked message, her sights 
were occupied by someone else.

   Martin was rather surprised (I must really be tired, he thought 
detachedly, to be caught with my guard down so easily) to feel a hard 
push at his back which sent him sprawling forward, feet scrambling for 
position to maintain his balance.  He started to whirl in annoyance at 
the unexpected joke when he was interrupted by a rifle's loud report.  
His body now facing backward, his head snapped around and up to spy a 
whisp of smoke in front of the catwalk -- the telltale aftermath of 
gunfire.
   There immediately came the sound of more shots from what was now in 
front of him.  The attempt on his life hadn't escaped Thom's notice, and 
several hits spanged off of a silhouette of warped light high above.  
Thom cursed and grabbed a heavier weapon, which roared with anger at the 
fleeing assailant's non-form.
   Martin returned his gaze to ground level to voice a thankful apology.  
He found only a smallish figure in familiar armor lying face-down on the 
floor, with a hole in the upward-facing side of its helmet and a messy 
crimson puddle underneath.
   He turned as white as ash and spoke in a croaking whisper.
   "...riko?"
   Dropping to his knees, he pulled her up onto his legs and flipped her 
over.  His hands trembled as he undid the armor's helmet latch and threw 
the thing off of her head.
   He was met by a pair of large, vacant brown eyes, staring into 
nowhere.
   He tugged the scarf down from his mouth; his breath came in small 
shivers.  Drawing an arm around behind her and pulling her up to him, 
his unbelieving fingers traced a quivering path down her still-warm 
cheek.
   "...n ... no..."
   The hand traced a path toward the back of her head, bringing itself 
to a cup around her ear.  His fingertips were soaked in red; her soft 
hair on that side of her head was a damp mass of scarlet and auburn.
   "...noriko..."
   Other members of the group were arriving now, alerted by the shots 
fired.  Martin didn't acknowledge their presence.  His universe was 
reduced to three sensations:  the small, limp weight in his arms, which 
he pressed against himself and rocked gently back and forth, as if to 
ease its slumber ... the shallow hiss of her breath ... and the stinging 
in his eyes.  His vocabulary shrank to a single, moaning "noooooooo..."
   He didn't know how long he remained that way, whimpering in denial.  
He only knew that he was awakened by the gentle touch of someone who 
loved him.  His vision cleared to behold Eiko's sad, understanding 
smile.
   A lone tear tumbled from her eye.
   His emotions raced.  His sadness was mirrored in her love.  Her love 
gave him courage.  His courage offered him strength.  The strength 
firmed into resolve.  The resolve demanded...
   Action.
   Retribution.
   REVENGE!

   Eiko's eyes widened in fear as, in the course of a minute, she 
watched him almost visibly darken, turning from immeasurable sadness to 
unbounded rage, locking his grief away in a block of solid ice.
   He handed Noriko's still form to her.  Once she was holding her, he 
reached forward to push her eyelids closed, but stopped himself when he 
realized he was using the hand stained with her blood.  He stared coldly 
at it, clenching it into a tight fist.  With his unstained hand, he 
closed Noriko's eyelids, pulled his scarf back into position, and tugged 
his hat down, nearly over his eyes.  His cape fluttered as he whirled, 
took a step, and leaped onto the catwalk.
   "Diggy!"
   He strode silently down the catwalk, soon breaking into a run as he 
followed the path taken by the sniper not too long ago.  He offered no 
response to his wife's worriful cry.
   "DIGGY!"
   He was gone.
   She made an irritated noise.  "Somebody go after him!"
   "That would be unwise."  Tom's sagely voice carried serenely over the 
assembled group.
   Rafael nodded.  "The elf's right.  This is personal -- he has to work 
it out himself."
   Thom looked up, the way Hammer left.  He wished, for a moment, that
he could have gone with him.  "All we can do is hope.  Thorn, Dani,
check around for any others we missed.  _Together_, please."  As the
two of them scanned the area, he put a hand up to his ear.  "Noa, you
reading me?"
   "Hai, Thom."
   "Have Asuma get the beta ready for immediate departure -- we have a
med emergency here.  Eiko and I are coming up STAT.  Have Asuma call
ahead."
   With the preliminaries taken care of, Thom's attention turned to
Eiko.  She met his desolate gaze with a bit of surprise.  "There is NO 
way I'm letting you go alone," he said with restrained emotion.  "I'd
never be able to forgive myself.  The rest of you ... wait here.
Hammer'll be back."  There was a whir of machinery as Thom's armor
began to transform itself to a Cyclone.
   Eiko looked helplessly from the quiet body in her arms to the empty 
doorway at the end of the catwalk.  Damn it all ... he knew I couldn't 
follow him if he gave her to me!  But if I don't stop him, he'll do 
something he's going to regret for the rest of his life, I know it...
   She squeezed her eyes shut and thought as loudly as she could.
   Hey, you!  Up there, wherever!  You're the one he told me about -- 
the one he prays to!  I don't know if you're listening, or if you're 
really there at all, but ... somebody has to keep him from making a
terrible error, and it looks like you're elected!  Stop him!
   ...Please...

   Damn, damn, damn!  Why can't I do anything right?
   Panting for breath, the would-be assassin ran down a long, tall 
corridor as fast as her legs could take her.  She slipped while trying 
to make her way around the next corner, landing on her hip and cursing 
the smooth soles of her armored boots.  Her cloak was still engaged, so 
all any observer would have found was a moving distortion of the 
hallway's poorly-lit image accompanied by panicked, almost comical 
sounds.
   This was the fifth corner she'd turned in her flight, doing her best 
to elude the pursuers she was certain would be after her.  Even she had 
no idea where she was as she stumble-scampered along, brushing one hand 
against a wall to regain her balance and wishing her rifle would stop 
trying to slip out of its back-slung holster.  She instinctively reached 
up to brush her hair out of her eyes, but couldn't reach it, since it 
was inside her helmet.
   She slowed, then stopped, leaning against a support beam and gasping
to catch her breath.  She looked around in the gloom, wishing they'd
been able to get something with low-light image enhancement instead of
just targeting-assistance.
   She listened intently, but her ears were met by complete silence.
   I make an attempt on their leader, and they don't pursue me?
   Still, despite the cloaking armor, she didn't feel safe standing out 
in the open.  There was a doorway only a step away from her.  She opened 
it and began to walk in, but stopped short with a gasp.
   Where the hallway had just been gloomy, with something less than one-
ninth of all lights working, the room was black as pitch.  All she could 
make out was the welcome-mat of insufficient light cutting a narrow 
diagonal streak across the floor, and her own hint-of-a-silhouette 
refracting some of that -- the bizarre shadow produced by the Predator 
cloak.
   None of those elements could explain the pair of glowing eyes far 
ahead of her, boring through the darkness.
   Her shaking hand grabbed at her rifle, pulling it up, over her 
shoulder and back down into her other hand.  It roared twice, spitting 
yellow flame at the demon before her and pushing her away from the door, 
and she fled down the hallway.
   She turned the next corner to her left, stopped in the middle of the 
corridor, whirled and braced, clutching the rifle like a security 
blanket even as she aimed it back down the way she'd come.  She stood 
like a lamppost, breathing heavily for several minutes.
   Satisfied that she was no longer in danger, she lowered the gun and 
allowed herself a smile.
   "Hmh," she snorted indignantly, trying to shake her nervousness.  
"You're not so tough."
   "Oh, really," answered a terrifying rumble of a voice.
   Her hair nearly stood on end as she swallowed a yelp.  She spun on 
her heel, bringing her weapon around to discover exactly what she'd 
feared.
   The unbelievably tall, dark form advanced slowly toward her.  Even 
what light there was available failed to penetrate the veil of shadow 
that seemed to cling to his face for dear life.  The cape that 
surrounded him showed just a hint of violet, and the wide-brimmed 
fedora's upper side was a steely gray with a band of darker gray above 
the brim's base.
   The eyes that shone from within his personal darkness were the same.
   "GET AWAY!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she fired in his 
general direction, not really looking to make sure she was aimed 
correctly, since, at that range, she hardly expected to miss.  She 
blasted once more at him as she retreated back around the corner.
   She ran needlessly (she thought to herself) past two more 
intersections before stopping, trying to fight the rising bile of panic 
within her.  "It's over," she said aloud with a heaving exhale.  "It's 
over.  It's over.  It's over.  It's over."  She sighed, loosening her 
death-grip on the rifle.  "It's over."
   "No, it's not."
   Not bothering to hold back the yelp this time, she turned to face the 
dark ghost drifting down the hall toward her.  She squeezed her trigger.
   Click.
   "Fuck!" she spat, quickly searching herself with her right hand.
   "But we've only just met."  What normally would have been a humorous 
retort came out chillingly hollow.
   Where is that spare amm-- ah!  She opened one of her suit's small 
pockets and grabbed several shells, spilling two onto the floor as she 
fumbled to push them into place.  She nearly failed to notice the quick 
song of smooth, sliding metal; when she looked up, one of the demon's 
impeccably-clothed arms was visible, and a shining sword extended from 
the back of its wrist, swinging to point in her direction.  She tried to 
hurry her reload, barely hearing him mutter the word "blade".  This was 
followed by a peculiar sound she couldn't identify, almost like a cough.
   Then, in a rather sudden flash of orange, her rifle was much lighter.  
She only had to glance at its semi-image to determine the reason, as its 
entire barrel had suddenly gone missing, and presently clanged loudly on 
the floor, visible and severed with a clean diagonal slash.
   "DAMN you!" she shrieked, tossing its remains to the floor.  She felt 
around herself with her hands again, this time coming on a rather larger 
compartment.  As quickly as her hands could manage, she pulled out the 
smaller firearm from within the compartment -- a rather nasty-looking 
disruptor, possessed of sleek, angular lines.  She didn't personally 
know its make, but knew it was definitely what she needed now.  Its form 
quickly dissipated into the cloak's pseudo-invisibility as her grip 
synchronized it with her armor.  She pointed it toward the approaching 
shade and started to shout an ultimatim.
   He wasn't there.
   "Oh--" she began, eyes darting in every direction as she 
unsuccessfully fought a wave of panic.  Stay in control, dammit!  You 
can't let him beat you!  If he wins, no one will avenge Rand-- the 
leader!  Where is he?  Where--
   There!
   She whirled and fired at something that seemed to move in the corner 
of her eye.  The shot screamed into the wall with a flash and a puff of 
brimstone; there was nothing there to hit.
   A trick of the light.  He won't even face me.  She took a deep 
breath.
   "Come out where I can see you!"
   "Ladies first."
   Damn!  His voice comes from everywhere!  She whirled at another 
shadow, holding her fire this time.  "You fear me!"
   "I fear no one who kills in cold blood."
   She chuckled nervously.  "Such hypocrisy."
   "Such ignorance."
   "What of my leader?  He was unarmed!"
   "We never touched him."
   "He is dead!"
   "Yes.  By his own hand."
   Her eyes widened.  "LIAR!"
   "His cowardice would not allow him to face justice."
   "No ... no, you lie!"
   "Will you follow his path?"
   She grated her teeth in outrage.  Tears blurred her vision as she 
snarled her reply.  "I will see you BURN IN HELL!"
   "Sorry.  That decision is not yours to make."
   "Randall will be avenged!"
   "Randall...?"
   She cursed herself inwardly.  "That name is not yours to speak!"
   "So, you cared for him."
   "He is gone ... because of you!"
   "Because of himself."
   "IT DOESN'T MATTER!  If not for you, he'd still be ALIVE!"
   "It all comes down to that.  Revenge for a lost love."
   She straightened her aim again.  "Come OUT, damn you!"
   "You know ... we may have something in common."
   "NEVER!  I share NOTHING with you!"
   For a time, there was silence.  Then, the voice spoke again.
   "I suppose you're right.  After all..."
   She felt a hand on her shoulder.  Resisting the urge to scream, she 
instead spun to face him, to bring the gun to bear, to bring his lying 
words to an end.
   He caught the disruptor by the barrel, and she couldn't move it.
   "...what could you possibly know of love?"
   Her eyes widened as, with a slow crumpling noise, his hand crushed 
the weapon in hers.  She looked up into his twin fires of rage, 
paralyzed.
   "Would he have given his life ... to save yours?"
   She wanted to respond to the affirmative, but found herself unable to 
do so.  A corner of her mind, ignored until now, reminded her just how 
many other mistresses he had ... "collected".  She was totally devoted 
to him, and would die if he so much as asked, but ... was she just a 
face in the crowd, to him?
   "I thought as much."  He lifted the twisted ex-disruptor from her 
hand, tossing it casually aside.  "For your information, the name of the 
person who pushed me out of your path of fire was Noriko Takaya."
   Bolstered by a brief glimmer of courage, one of her hands drifted 
down to her side, and, without any sudden movements, opened yet another 
compartment.
   "She's my oldest friend -- the first friend I ever had, back in the 
old Wedge Defense Force."
   Slowly, cautiously, she pulled out the pocket's contents -- a 
vibroblade, roughly the size of a machete.  He didn't seem to notice.  
He'd certainly chosen a poor time to reminisce.
   His voice seemed to smile.  "She was beautiful, graceful, intelligent 
... couldn't carry a tune in a basket, but yow, could she dance."
   She slowly rotated the blade in her hand, feeling for the power 
switch.  Any moment now...
   "It's strange, though.  Even though I eventually married someone 
else, we never stopped being in love with each other.  I almost wish you 
could meet her."
   With one quick thrust, she snapped the blade on and stabbed at him.
   And was caught immediately in his iron grasp, far short of the 
target.
   "Almost."  The smile was gone from his voice as his grip tightened, 
compacting the armor to the point where it began pinching her arm.  This 
compromised the armor's electronic integrity rather greatly, and the 
cloak shut down, fading her metal-polymer encased form into visibility.  
With a whimper, her hand loosened, and the blade dropped noisily to the 
floor, deactivating as it landed.
   "Unfortunately," he continued, dripping acid from every word, "that 
won't be possible.  In fact, she won't be greeting anyone ever again.  
Because of YOU!"  With the last word, he threw her backward, and she 
made a sharp cry as she slammed hard against the wall of the corridor.
   The armor's damage control informed her that several pieces were now 
either cracked or dented, and that she should contact a service 
representative if she ever wanted to use the cloak again.  Somehow, that 
failed to concern her a great deal.
   "She loved me enough to give her life for mine," he growled, his arms 
vanishing as his cape closed about him.  "And I'd have gladly traded 
places with her."
   Why is he just standing there?  Who cares?  I have to get away!
   She scrambled to her feet and began to sprint down the passageway.  
Several running steps later, a shot rang through her audio pickups, but 
she didn't feel any pain.
   Ha!  He missed!  I have a chURK!
   Her thought was rudely interrupted as her legs were suddenly forced 
together at the shins, and she lost her balance.  Her forward fall was 
hastened by a hard yank that pulled her feet out from under her, and she 
shrieked as her head struck the inside of her helmet's facebowl.
   "Ow," she observed.
   A loud scraping sound accompanied the sudden sensation of being 
pulled rapidly backwards.  She soon came to a stop, and the pressure 
holding her legs together released, but she was too dazed to take 
advantage of it.  A hand gripping her shoulderplate so roughly that it 
buckled under its fingertips let her know that that would have been a 
futile gesture, anyway, and she felt herself being pulled upright and 
off the floor, her feet dangling helplessly beneath her.  She opened her 
eyes, and saw a somewhat hazy image of hatred given physical form.
   "You know," the demon said, "I was hoping you'd try to resist 
capture.  I was even hopeful that you'd prove as suicidally resistant as 
your comrades have been so far.  Because, to be quite honest ... I don't 
WANT to take you alive."
   "Who ... are you?" she wheezed.
   Even in the strangehold of his rage, his sense of melodrama refused
to allow him to pass up this cue.  "I am the terror that flaps in the
night," his voice rumbled.  "I am your personal angel of death.  I ...
am the Hammer.  And I'm coming down on you."
   Then, still holding her up by the one shoulder, he proceeded to 
batter at alternating sides of her helmet with his bare fist, grunting 
with each impact, each blow harder than the last.  His first strike 
jarred it hard enough to knock against her head.  His third made cracks.  
The facebowl shattered on the fifth -- she was seeing stars by then.  
After the eighth blow, he grabbed the helmet's remains and tore it from 
her head, not even bothering to unfasten it.

   Hammer regarded her in the light -- he was standing directly 
underneath one of the few operating ceiling fixtures.  Her complexion 
was only a couple hues darker than fair, the color of someone who 
actually got out in the sun without lying around for a tan, and accented 
with thin eyebrows, high cheekbones and a smallish nose.  Her face was 
smooth, youthful and rather pretty, actually, but presently marred by 
the still-developing bruises, cuts and gashes of his retribution.  Her 
hair was fairly long, thick, wavy, and colored a deep reddish-brown.
   (Auburn hair.)
   He put his free hand on her cheek, and her eyes opened, large, tired 
and frightened.
   (Brown eyes.)
   "Good," he said.  "Keep your eyes open.  There's something I want to 
show you."  As she blinked in amazement, he reached up and removed his 
enormous hat, revealing a head of thick, sandy brown hair, cut short.  
The glow from his eyes faded, and she discovered a pair of glistening 
hazel gems.  A simple toss sent the hat whirling away, and he reached up 
again, this time drawing the scarf down and away from his face.  His 
nose was straight and of moderate length, and his lips thin and taut.
   She stared at him, trembling almost imperceptibly as he braced her 
against a wall.
   "I just want you to see," he said coldly, "that I'm a man.  Nothing 
more.  A man who's just had someone very close, and very dear, taken 
from him."
   He reared back an arm, as if to deliver a solid punch to the nose.
"It's something I think you should know..."  He released the sword from
his cocked arm, startling her visibly.  "...before you die."
   Her voice could not form the words to beg for mercy; she was too numb 
to speak, too numb to even truly care that she was about to lose her 
life.  All she could do was look at the face of the one she was so sure 
she hated only a minute ago, and wonder why she should.
   Hammer tightened his fist, took a deep breath, and glared into her 
brown eyes...
   Do it!  His rage cried out for blood.  DO IT!
   It was answered by a still, small voice.
   *Don't.*
   ...into her brown eyes...
   Vengeance!
   *Justice.*
   ...her brown eyes...
   She killed Noriko!
   *This won't bring her back.*
   ...brown eyes...
   Don't stop me NOW, damn it!
   *If not now, then when?*
   His fist clenched a little tighter.
   I must avenge--!
   *Exquise me?  WHOSE is it to avenge?*
   Slowly, ponderously, he fell to his knees, dragging her down the wall 
as he did so.  His sword-arm shook visibly, not to mention the hand 
holding her to the wall.  His eyes narrowed as his mouth twisted into a 
pained grimace.
   You cannot deny me!
   *No, YOU cannot deny ME.*

   She stared at him, amazed, as the sword retreated into his sleeve.  
His hand released her, and she slumped down to a sitting position 
against the wall as he wilted before her.  He put his face into his 
hands -- one of which was covered in dried crimson, she realized for the
first time -- and went silent, his breath coming in long, slow heaves, 
alternately inflating and deflating his form.
   As she began to regain her senses and realized that she was no longer 
in mortal peril, she became aware of how awkward the situation made her 
feel.  Sure, he was about to kill her only a moment ago.  Exactly as she 
would have done to him, and, she now realized, for precisely the same 
reason.  But where she would have killed him without remorse, for the 
sake of a shallow love that could never stand the test of time, he was 
suddenly unable to return the favor for the sake of one that did.
   He would die for it ... but he can't kill for it?
   Suddenly, love seemed a lot more complicated than she'd once thought.
   She watched him thoughtfully for a while.  What he was doing was 
painfully obvious to her, as it was something she, herself, had been 
doing not too long ago -- he was making an effort not to cry.  She 
removed the gauntlets from her armor, noting that the forearm piece he'd 
crushed about her would likely have to be removed by cutting.  She then 
reached to the base of where her helmet had been, undid the clasp still 
attached there, and removed the tattered shards that remained, pulling 
the jagged ring over her head with the greatest of care.
   Then, rather thoroughly surprising herself, she put her hands on his 
shoulders and asked, in a nervous voice, "You going to be okay?"
   He replied, his voice suddenly weak and tired.  "Yeah ... gimme a few 
minutes, here."
   She smiled.  "I'm not going anywhere."

   The other team members were rather surprised when he returned to them 
with a live sniper, albeit a battered-looking one, rather than a dead 
one.  He hopped down from the catwalk, carrying her as a father would 
carry a young daughter, and set her on her feet when he landed.  She 
didn't try to run away, nor did she make any fuss when Mandy put the 
cuffs on her.  Tom and Rafe looked at him suspiciously, but his only 
reply was a shrug.
   Martin looked around.  "Where's Eiko and Thom?"
   Tom answered quietly.  "They headed back to the Indignation after you 
left on your manhunt.  I guess Eiko didn't feel comfortable carrying a 
dead body around, and they knew you'd want her taken care of."
   Martin nodded grimly.  "She knows me too well."  He opened his cape
and gave his commpin a sharp tap.  "Hammer to Righteous Indignation."
   "Morgan here."
   "Hey Fiske, have Thom 'n' Eiko arrived yet?"
   "Yeah, they have.  I saw their little package.  I'm sorry, Hammer."
   "Thanks -- so am I.  Any idea where they went?"
   "Down to sickbay.  I suppose you want to talk to Eiko."
   "Her, or someone else down there."
   "I'll put you through."  There was a pause, and a new voice 
responded.  "Deadbay."
   "Not funny, Kor."
   "Well, it's not like anyone's just sick down here.  Except maybe your 
wife, who looked like she was going to _be_ sick if she had to carry 
Skipper around any longer."
   "You're a pillar of compassion, Korren."
   "What can I say?  I'm a sensitive guy."
   "And I'm repressed royalty.  How's everybody doing up there?"
   "Well, like I said, Eiko's probably in the commode vacating her 
digestive tract in reverse.  We're just playing the waiting game here."
   Martin lowered an eyebrow.  "I'll ask you to explain that when I get 
there.  We've got a couple things to wrap up yet down here."
   "No problem.  See ya'in a few."
   The connection closed, and Hammer furled his cape around himself.  He 
turned to face his 'prisoner', who was already being led away.  "Take 
care, Tina.  Don't take any wooden igloos."
   She looked confused for a moment, then shrugged and smiled sadly.  
"You too," she said as she walked to meet her new jailor.
   He watched her go, staring blankly at the doorway she'd exited 
through for several minutes.  The rest of the team stood silently, 
waiting for his next word.  He turned and gave it to them.
   "Let's get out of here."

   The Salusian medtech turned his head to see Martin stroll into the 
sickbay door, wearing a violet Gizmonics jumpsuit with the Thunder Force 
insignia on one sleeve and the Autobot/WDF symbol on the other.  It was 
readily apparent that he'd seen better days.  He put down his handcomp 
and nodded a greeting.
   "Hi, Kor.  Sorry if I snapped at you before."
   Korren shrugged.  "Nothing I didn't deserve.  I suppose you want to 
visit the Dearly Awaiting Departure."
   "Yeah."  He nodded tiredly.  "And you can tell me what you mean by 
that."
   "All right.  Come along, then."  With Hammer only a pace behind, he 
walked past several darkened rooms, turning at last to enter a lighted 
one.  Inside was the usual complement of diagnostic and monitoring 
equipment, surrounding a basic medical bed.  The bed itself was 
currently occupied by the still, silent, pale form of Noriko Takaya; the 
sides of her head were covered in bloodstained gauze, held in place by a 
simple wrapping.  The room, though, had one additional occupant; Eiko 
Magami Rose, who stood expectantly next to the bed, maintaining a silent 
vigil over her former rival, and who now turned to face them.
   Martin came to stand beside her.  "You okay, Little One?"
   She nodded and leaned slowly against him as he brought an arm around 
her.
   Korren, ever the blunt one, pointed to the softly beeping monitor.  
"What's wrong with this picture?"
   It took Martin a couple moments to figure out what he was asking, and 
another few to determine its answer.  That very answer surprised him 
quite a bit.  "Her ... heart's still going...?"
   Korren nodded.  "Very good.  Pulse, respiration, and blood pressure 
are all stabilizing.  Far below normal levels, mind you, and hardly what 
I'd call full fitness for humans, but not deteriorating, either."
   Martin looked rather confused now.  His voice faltered slightly as he 
tried to express his befuddlement.  "But ... her head wound ... she 
doesn't ... it was--"
   Korren put up his hands.  "I know what you're thinking.  She just got 
done receiving a flash-lobotomy, so how can she still function?  In a 
nutshell, it all comes down to what part of her brain was actually 
damaged."
   Martin started to nod, his look of confusion slowly exchanging itself 
for one of shock.  "Frontal."
   "That's right.  Her autonomic system, way down near the base of the 
brain, is unscathed and still going.  In a normal human, that would 
still be the case, but the vitals would deteriorate severely over even 
this short a time, and eventually stop.  It looks like her Detian 
physiology hasn't given up on her."  He looked down at his former 
commander.  "Whether that's 'fortunately' or 'unfortunately', I can't 
say just yet."
   Martin's stunned expression morphed into a look of extreme 
uneasiness, bordering on nausea.  The thought of Noriko living on as 
nothing more than a Detian vegetable was, to say the very least, 
unpleasant.
   Korren offered a noncommittal partial-shrug.  "It's not like there's 
any life support involved here -- her body's doing this on its own.  If 
you'd rather, we can just, you know, stop everything, though I'd have to 
tell you how to do it since I definitely won't do it myself."
   Martin slowly shook his head.  "No.  No, I -- I can't kill her."  He 
released the deepest of sighs.  "We'll just have to wait ... and see 
what happens..."
   "That's what we'll do, then."
   Reaching across the bed, Martin clapped a hand on Korren's shoulder.  
He spoke a quiet thank-you, and, without another word, walked out of the 
room.  Eiko listened to his quiet footsteps until they were no longer 
audible.
   Korren checked the readouts on the bed again.  He shook his head -- 
even the wound in Noriko's head was healing.  Her body was going on as 
if nothing had happened, unaware that there was no one to occupy it when 
it was whole once more.  His gaze then drifted across the bed, where 
Eiko remained, hands clasped silently before her mouth and chin with a 
stricken look on her youthful face.
   "Worried about him?" he offered quietly.
   She nodded slowly.
   "Yeah.  Me, too."

   <drrrrrrt>
   <drrrrrrt>
   <drrrrrrt>
   <drrrrr-KLIK>
   "Hello.  This is Nadia Davion, chief engineer of the Righteous 
Indignation.  I'm sorry, but Thunder Force is not currently taking 
assignments.  If you need immediate help, try calling the Wedge Defense 
Force or the Worlds Welfare Work Association.  If you want to leave a 
personal message instead, go ahead, but don't hold your breath waiting 
for a response.  Recent events have put some of us in a really bad 
mood."  <BEEEEP>
   With a frustrated grunt, Chris "Mako" Meadows dumped the phone's 
handset back into its cradle.  He didn't want to talk to an answering 
machine, dammit.  He wanted to talk to Martin.  He wanted to find out 
just what the hell was going on with him.  That answering-machine 
message hadn't changed in over a month, and it didn't look like it was 
going to, any time soon.
   He slumped back into his seat.  Lifting the phone's handset once 
more, he punched a practiced series of digits.  The ringback sounded 
twice before a voice responded.  "Yes?"
   "Kate Tanner, please."
   He had to talk to someone.

   Eiko walked through the halls of the Righteous Indignation with a 
sense of restrained urgency.  She hadn't so much as seen her husband for 
the past five days, and she was worried sick.  No one had seen him.  No 
one knew where he was.  The AI Team couldn't locate him, though they 
reported that he'd appeared a few times at Noriko's bedside.  And he 
hadn't even visited THEIR bed for the past three weeks!
   She'd spoken to everyone on the ship, on the bridge, in Engineering, 
in sickbay, in the fighter bays, and even aboard the Tarawa.  She 
silently vowed to break both his legs if she found him.
   When.  Not if.
   At last, she'd reached her destination, the only place left to search 
without making a full sweep of the entire ship.  She wondered, for a 
moment, why no one'd looked here before, but easily answered that 
question for herself.
   Because the thought of going here gave everyone the creeps, that's 
why.
   Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she reached forward and, 
foregoing the doorchime, tapped the door-open button.  It dutifully slid 
open.
   Light from the now-opened doorway spilled like an unwelcome drunkard 
into the darkness of the room within, interrupted only by the shadow of 
the woman who'd allowed it passage.  It took nearly a minute, just 
standing there, for her to work up the courage to step into the room.  
It was not an action she took lightly; in her upbringing, she was long 
taught that the quarters of a fallen comrade should be a shrine to their 
memory.
   Noriko's room definitely fit that bill.
   Eiko looked around, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.  The 
large room of the Righteous Indignation's executive officer was 
something of a museum unto itself, a record of people, events and 
emotions.  The walls were covered with pictures, mostly photos, of 
Noriko and others.
   There's one with her and Marty.  (Crom, did he look old.)  And 
another.  There she is with Marty, Nadia, and some guy with bright red-
orange hair and glasses.  Marty again, looking older still.  Just her.  
A group photo of some sort -- Nadia and that other guy are in this one, 
too, and so is Lord Fahrvergnugen.  Another group photo, with Captain 
O'Hare this time.  Oh, that one over there must be her wedding picture.  
(She looks gorgeous in that bridal gown.)  A Thunder Force group 
picture, before the Tarawa joined up.  Looks like it was taken on 
Funkotron, actually, since Chris is in it.  Another with Marty, as he is 
now.  One of her in ... my wedding party!  Talk about memories...  One 
of her and me.  Must be just after we finally called our 'truce', since 
we're both smiling.  And --- what's that?
   Taking a few steps toward the wall, Eiko bent over slightly to 
examine two smaller photos on a shelf.  One was a photo of a middle-
aged, uniformed man, his stony, yet smiling face barely wrinkled with
age, his hair dark with just a touch of gray at the temples, holding an
adorable little girl in his arms.
   ["I was the only daughter of a famous war hero..."]
   So THAT'S what her father looks like.
   The other had her, too, but looking much more familiar, and standing 
beside a taller girl with long, dark hair.  They were wearing identical 
costumes.
   ["...Kazumi Amano, the ace pilot of the school.  She kind of 
'adopted' me as her little sister..."]
   Eiko stood up straight, gingerly taking a couple steps backward.  She 
was about to turn and leave the room to itself when she spotted 
something which seemed out of place.  There, unmoving before a large 
photo of Martin and Noriko, with her seated on his knee like a living 
ventriloquist's dummy, was a black, tall-backed swiveling chair.
   With two more legs than it should've had.
   "Diggy?" she whispered hesitantly, taking a half a step and reaching 
a hand forward.
   She was answered by a seeming eternity of silence.  Then, just as she 
was sure he somehow hadn't heard her, his rumbling voice responded.
   "I came here," he said, "to be alone."
   Her outstretched arm folded backward, her supplicative pose turning 
to a meek, apologetic one.  She hung her head in quiet sorrow as she 
walked back toward the exit.  She knew when she wasn't wanted.  Her hand 
dragged on the doorframe as she was about to step through.
   "Eiko..."
   She stopped.  His voice sounded quieter that time, and she turned 
herself to look at him, striking a devastating profile in silhouette.
   As she watched, his chair swiveled to face her.  He wore a white 
sweatshirt with a large, colorful design based on the number 3, with a 
prominent image of Sonic the Hedgehog.  His jeans looked rumpled and 
somewhat unkempt, his hair even more so, and his face in desperate need 
of a shave.  None of that mattered to her, though.
   Not when she saw the glistening streams of water from his eyes.
   "...please don't leave me..." he whimpered, his voice breaking.
   She re-entered the room, tapping the door shut behind herself.

   Martin walked silently into the oppressively sterile medical room.
This room had become a second home to him over the past month and a half,
as he spent many a waking hour with the still form of Noriko, sometimes
speaking in hopes that she'd somehow hear her, sometimes praying that
something, anything, would happen to change this damned state of living
stagnation she was in.
   And sometimes, like this time, to discover that she wasn't alone.
   Alerted by Martin's visible presence, as he had no audible one, Thom
lifted his head from his silent vigil over Noriko.  He nodded wordlessly,
as he always did.  Martin returned the gesture in kind, and, satisfied
they'd met the societal requirements for mutual greeting, they assumed
guard posts on either side of the bed, sadly regarding the lovely form
resting between them, the near-sound of the equipment being the only
sound in the room.
   Martin's gaze rose slowly from Noriko's pale, quiet face, coming to
rest on Thom's.  The two had worked side-by-side for nearly a century,
and there was still so much he didn't know about the man.  Just a
smattering of facts and opinions; Thom was another 20th-century Terran,
like himself.  Thom's lifespan was extended by external means, like
himself, though not from necessity -- he was "volunteered" for the
experiment.  Thom wasn't brash or assuming, and only harbored anger
against the people who'd used him against his will, and used rather
extreme measures to secure his cooperation.
   It was also no secret (to Martin, anyway) that Thom was quite fond of
Noriko, though he tried not to let it show.  Somehow, the prospect that
she may actually return his warm feelings seemed to frighten the man a
great deal.  Martin wondered just what could haunt him to such a degree.
"Haunt" was definitely the word of choice here -- Thom sometimes seemed
as if there were a spectre hanging over his shoulder, ready to pounce
and remove anything he showed even a shred of affection for.
   Of course, that concern was rather irrelevant, now.
   "Thom," Martin said.
   His sandy brown hair tilted backward, and his blue eyes met Martin's
without a word of acknowledgement.
   "I just ... want to tell you ... I'm sorry," Martin continued
unsteadily.  "For all of this."
   Thom shook his head, letting his gaze fall again.  "Don't be."
   "I have to be."  Martin released a frustrated breath.  "I'm the
commander.  I have to take responsibility."
   "That's the sign of a good leader," came the quiet reply.  "But
that's not what you've been doing."
   Martin just blinked.
   "You're just piling blame on yourself.  I can't let you do that."
   "Why not?"
   "That's _my_ job."
   Martin lowered an eyebrow.  "You couldn't have known."
   "Yes, I could.  I was _behind_ her."  He met Martin's eyes evenly.
"When she started running forward, I should have immediately known she'd
spotted something, but I didn't react soon enough."
   "Would you have tried to stop her?"
   "No way I could do that.  For one, she was too far ahead.  No way I
could catch'er.  Second, she knew the score.  It was her choice to make,
and she chose your life over hers.  And third..."  Thom took a breath
and released it.  "...it's what I would've done.  What any of us
would've done."  He paused.  "Ever hear of a planet named Alis, about
130 lightyears from Planitia?"
   Martin nodded.  "Heard of it, yes.  But only on charts.  Never been
on it."
   Thom nodded.  "It's quite a lovely place ... green, lush ... almost
totally uninhabited.  Just one city.  But an anti-humanity terrorist 
decided that was one city too many."  Thom closed his eyes.  "And he had
two neutron missiles to back up his convictions."
   Hammer silently allowed him to continue.
   "My partner and I were called in.  We found his base of operations
fairly quickly.  I infiltrated -- she stayed with her Valk to 'bring in
the big guns', if we needed 'em.  Well, I was able to find the leader, 
but was too slow to stop him from firing one of the pair."
   He looked toward the foot of the bed.  "KayCey reacted quickly.  She
intercepted it with her fighter -- actually caught the thing in its
hands.  She set the Valk to blow, and ejected, hoping to make it out of
the neutron radius before it went off.
   "She didn't."  His voice was a hoarse whisper.  He'd never told this
to anyone, and didn't know how much it hurt to remember until now.
   "I watched her die.  The Detian body couldn't ... couldn't recover
the damage ... and I watched her die.  And it _was_ my fault.  And ...
and..."
   Martin wanted to say something, to tell him it was okay, that it
would all be okay ... but even in his mind, the words rang false.
Soon, Thom found the strength to continue, though in a quietly broken
voice.
   "...and I loved her.  God help me, I loved her.  After the mission
was over, I was ... going to propose.  And before I could say a thing
... she was gone."
   And, he didn't add, it all just happened again.
   Martin nodded somberly.  He didn't feel quite so alone in what he
was going through anymore, which, he had to admit, was a good thing.
Still, he wasn't sure what to say in response, or even whether he should
reply at all.
   After a long silence, he reached a hand across the bed, letting it
hover about halfway to the other side.
   Thom looked at it for a long moment.  Then, deliberately, he lifted
his own hand and grasped Martin's firmly.
   They smiled.
   Then, releasing their handshake, they returned to their mutual watch
in silence.  It wasn't a chore -- it was a labor of love.
   "Y'know," Martin said quietly, "I still have no idea what about _me_
could inspire this kind of loyalty."
   Thom looked up at him.  "I can think of five things, just off-hand."
   Martin shrugged.  "They are?"
   "Well, one, there's your honesty -- sometimes to the point of
brutality.  Two, your compassion.  You never seem to think of yourself
as being above anyone.  Three, your determination ... four, your
willingness to sacrifice."
   "And five?"
   Thom looked at him, stony-faced, and said, "Your lousy fashion sense,
of course."
   There was a long period of deathly silence.
   And then, for the first time in far too long ... there was laughter.

   "Oh, for Eris's sake."
   Amman Rashir gave his Salusian comrade a sidelong glance.  "Well, do 
you want to tell him, or should I?"
   Korren folded his arms and considered the display, the source of his 
consternation.  What it told him almost seemed too fantastic to believe, 
but he could hardly deny the facts before his eyes.  "I think..."
   "Therefore you are?"
   He gave the Tarawa's doctor a firm swat across the back of his head, 
then grabbed him by the shoulder.  "I think we should both tell him."  
Walking over to the nearest wall intercom, he tapped it on, and called 
for Hammer the easiest way he knew how.  "Doctor Howard, Doctor Fine, 
Doctor Howard..."
   "Soitn'ly!"
   "Nyaag--!" both Korren and Amman stated, as Hammer's extremely 
unexpected greeting and proximity startled them both.  They whirled to 
face him, and shouted in unison, "Don't DO that!"
   "Sorry," Martin replied with a shrug, not really looking very 
penitent.  In fact, he seemed to be in a relatively good mood, and was 
actually smiling.  "I take it you wanted to see me."
   The physicians looked at each other, nodded, and returned their 
attention to him.  "There's been a slight change in Noriko's condition," 
Rashir opened.
   Martin lowered an eyebrow.  "You mean, besides her refusal to die?"
   "Yes."
   "What, her body's changed its mind?"
   The physicians looked at each other again.  "Interesting way to put 
it," Korren replied, "and more accurate than you'd think."
   Martin was rather completely taken aback.  "What--"
   Korren quickly pointed to the display on the wall, not far from where 
he and Rashir stood.  "You remember how the head wound healed in the 
normal Detian fashion, albeit a bit slowly?"
   Hammer glanced from the display to the doctors and back.  "Yes, of 
course..."
   "Well," Amman continued, "we seem to have determined why that 
particular wound closure took so long ... because it wasn't the only 
thing being healed at the time.  Or even at this moment."
   Martin shivered slightly.  Backing up slowly, he fumbled around 
behind himself with his hands, eventually locating, and dumping himself 
into, an available chair.
   "...oh, God..."
   Korren pointed to the display.  "This shows that her cerebral cortex 
has recovered about 40% of the damage.  It's taking a lot longer than 
the usual Detian healing, but that's to be expected given the factors at 
work here.  It's both advantaged in that the entire organ is safely 
enclosed, and disadvantaged by the sheer complexity of--"
   Martin raised a hand, and Korren immediately quieted.  He sat in 
shocked silence for a minute before speaking.
   "...are you still keeping her on the minimal nutrient feed?..."
   Rashir nodded.  "And if you think that may be a factor in the rate of 
healing, you're absolutely correct.  We were wondering what was sapping 
her strength so much; she looks a bit pale and gaunt right now."
   Martin nodded, half-dumbly.  "Bring it up to a full feed.  Let's make 
sure this takes as little time as possible."  He pushed himself out of 
the chair, stepped forward, and locked eyes with the physicians.
   "Take me to her."
   Within moments, Korren and Amman ushered him to Noriko's bedside.  
They assumed their stations on one side of her, tapping controls on the 
wall and bed, and were finished in less than a minute.
   "All set, Hammer," Rashir reported.  "She should at least be looking 
a bit healthier in a few days."  The two retreated from the room to see 
if there wasn't something else that needed their attention.  There
wasn't, of course, but it was the only excuse they could think of to get
out of the room.
   Martin looked down at her.  Her complexion was a moderately unhealthy 
pale, as if she were recovering from a mere disease.  Her cheeks were 
shallow, and the bones in her hands and arms excruciatingly obvious.  
They'd put her on the slowest feed rate available to sustain life -- 
none of them could conscionably bring themselves to even suggest trying 
to starve her out, which, against a Detian, could take years.  Still, 
the reason why her body mass had been slipping away had been a mystery.
   Until now.
   He knelt down beside her bed, taking one of her gaunt, withered hands 
in both of his and holding its fingertips to his cheek.
   Little Angel ... are you really coming back?

   The guard, a slightly heavy-set, middle-aged woman in a dark blue
skirted uniform, opened the door to Interview Room 7.  "Step this way,
please.  Your visitor will be with you shortly."
   "Thank you."  Christina Kohle walked through the doorway, muttering
her halfhearted statement of gratitude as her eyes made a quick survey
of her new confines.  The door slid shut behind her.
   Interview Room 7 was exactly like the other twenty interview rooms in
the penitentiary; a seven-by-ten-meter room, walls non-adorned with a
drab shade somewhere between green and white, occupied by a single
table and two chairs (the chair count varied, according to the expected
occupancy) and illuminated by overhead fluorescent strips and a small
window high on one wall.  It wasn't much to look at -- indeed, Tina
reckoned her cell was more picturesque, even if it was smaller, and
decided that having to stay in a room such as this would likely drive
her barking mad within a week.
   Heaving a very large sigh, she dropped herself onto one of the chairs
and, making an impromptu cushion of her forearms, laid her head on the
table.  Her auburn hair spilled forward, across the sleeves of her
prison jumpsuit and onto the table's dull surface.
   She closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't have to face the person
she was certain would come.  She just wanted to put this entire
misbegotten episode in her personal history behind her.  She didn't want
to have to face HIM again.
   The door slid open again, and her head leaped from the table as she
turned to face the new arrival.
   "Ms. Kohle is right in here," the guard announced unnecessarily.
   "How long do we have?"  (That voice ... oh, hells, it IS him.)
   "No limit, Mr. Hammer.  Take as long as you need."
   "Thank you."
   Tina's nervous, borderline-terrified tension broke like a dropped
goblet as her visitor entered the room, clad in blue denim slacks and a
half-sleeved pullover shirt with the Thunder Force insignia near the
shoulder of the sleeve closest to her.  Instead of those burning eyes
she kept seeing in her mind, she beheld the twins of hazel; the face she
remembered so well as cloaked in shadow was open to the light, and
offered her a smile.
   And, if anything, he seemed nervous.
   The door slid shut behind him, cutting off the indistinguishable,
echo-laden sounds of the corridor.
   They watched each other closely in the long silence that followed.
Then, the visitor broke it.
   "Hello, Tina."
   "Hg--"  She swallowed a lump in her throat.  "Hello ... Hammer."
   He walked around the table, lowering himself onto the other chair and
onto the table at the same time.  He leaned forward, watching her with
little more than friendly curiosity, from what she could determine.
   "So," he opened, "how's prison life?"
   She shrugged.  "I get by, I suppose.  Not really exciting ... nothing
ever really happens.  The ultimate routine.  Just glad I'm not
claustrophobic."
   "Like the food?"
   "Should I?"
   "Good point.  Don't look like you're starving, though."
   She sat back in her chair.  "It's a nice place, actually.  Nicer than
maximum-security, from what I've heard'n'read.  I should take back my
comment about the food; it's pretty good, all things considered."
   He nodded.
   They sat in silence for a while.
   "Why am I here?" she asked finally.
   He lowered an eyebrow.  "Because you willfully aided a terrorist
group's assault and invasion of a restricted military--"
   "No, I _know_ that part."
   He blinked.  "Well, okay; a long time ago, your mother and father
loved each other very much..."
   She shook her head.  "I _mean_, why am I here in a _medium_-security
prison, trying to make small talk with a man I would have _killed_ only
three months ago?"
   He looked at her, his gaze piercing and direct.  "Because you didn't.
And you wouldn't, now.  You're better than that."
   She carefully studied her knees.  "Why do you have to be kind to me,
dammit?"
   He partially shrugged.  "I'm not out to make enemies.  I much prefer
friends."
   She made an annoyed sound, slapping an open palm on the table.  "Damn
you!  What makes you think I could EVER be your friend, after what I've
done?"
   "Well, you don't seem to quite be rushing back into the arms of the
people you _used_ to hang out with.  I figure, why not?  Give you a new
peer group.  One that's _good_ for you, for a change."
   She just glared at him.
   "While we were talking, I could tell," he said, not even
acknowledging the icicles from her eyes.  "Even while you were shouting
at me, telling me to piss off ... even while I was seeing you as a
collection of weak points and strategic deficiencies in Predator-cloaked
armor ... something nagged at me.  You were better than the rest of
them.  They all swallowed the Party Line.  They believed what your
leader told them.  That they were going to make their world a better
place.  That they'd achieved some kind of higher level of awareness, and
deserved to take the throne of society, deserved to be the new leaders,
whether those they ruled liked it or not.  You shouted defenses for ...
'Randall'.  Yes, that's the name you called him.  You loved him."
   She sat back, looking sullen.  "I thought I loved him."
   Martin snapped up a finger.  "There.  You _thought_.  That's what
everyone else missed out on.  Some claim that reason is an anathema to
greater understanding.  Personally, I prefer Galileo's view."
   "Galileo?"
   "The astronomer.  You've heard of him?"
   She nodded.  "Yes.  What did he say, that you agree with?"
   Martin cleared his throat, and assumed a Grizzled Old Man voice as he
recited to the best of his recall:  "'I do not feel obliged to believe
that the same God who endowed us with sense, reason and intellect has
intended us to forgo their use.'"  His voice returned to normal.  "So
many people let the folks around them do all their thinking for them.
It's sad, really.  Did you ever talk to him about his beliefs?  I mean,
in detail?"
   Her lips curled a hint of a smile.  "More times than I'd care to
recall."
   "Ever figure out just what drove him?  I had a few words with him
before, well, you know ... but I couldn't really make much sense of it."
   She nodded.  "I know.  And you probably got him in a bad mood, too.
When he was mad, he tended to rave a lot.  But even..."  She leaned
forward, resting her elbows on the table.  "...even during the quiet
times, when we would talk, he never really made a lot of sense.  He'd
talk himself around in circles, make wild assumptions just to support
his conclusions -- it was more an exercise in rationalization than
rationality, now that I think about it.  Every time I tried to raise a
point, he'd throw up some kind of new sub-theory to cover the hole.
Usually, if we went on long enough, he'd _get_ mad at having to defend
himself ... that's how we became lovers."
   Martin blinked.  "I don't follow that."
   She shrugged.  "I'd have to bed'im just to shut'im up."
   "Ah."
   She sighed.  "I wish I could rationalize like him, though.  Maybe
then I could just put what I did behind me."
   "Who says you can't?"
   She shook her head.  "It's not that easy ... I can still see her.  I
mean, right there, in my sights, taking the shot that should have put
you down.  I can still see the fury in your eyes.  The loss ... the
pain.  It still hurts."  She lowered her voice.  "It still hurts ME."
   He blinked at her.  "Hey, it's ... I'm not holding it against you,
you know..."
   "I _know_ that," she hissed, eyes closed.  "Why do you think it
_hurts_ so much?"
   He had no reply.
   "To know that I've done you such a terrible wrong ... that I ...
killed ... someone who'd done nothing against me ... and then, to have
the person closest to her tell me I'm worth saving, that I deserve a
second try at a life..."  She dropped her chin onto her forearm, level
with the table.  "I didn't think I could feel any lower."
   Martin regarded her carefully.  Then, something resembling his
trademark smirk, only much smaller, made its way across his face, and he
quoted quietly, "'In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his
head...'"
   She lifted her head slightly.  "What?"
   He shook his head.  "Just something you reminded me of.  Ancient
writings of a ridiculously wise man.  He pretty much predicted exactly
what you're going through, because of me, I'm ashamed to admit."  With a
deep sigh, he added, "The effect of kindness on someone with a
conscience."
   Her head dropped back down.  "That 'burning coals' line sounds about
right.  If you weren't so nice about everything, I'd swear you were
using this as a form of revenge."
   He smiled.  "So, what's your lawyer telling you these days?"
   "It looks pretty good."  She pushed herself back up.  "Since the
Following still has some active members, my willingness to talk has
proven quite valuable in the court's eyes, or so he says.  After I do,
I'll have to relocate, of course, but I wouldn't want to stay around
this place, anyway."
   Martin shrugged.  "I'd offer you a job, if we were doing anything."
   "Thanks, but I've had about all the revenge I can stand from you."
She was grinning, now.  "I'm going to seek my fortune offworld.  Check
the galactic want-ads, hop on a liner, and make an honest life for
myself somewhere."
   "That," Martin said with a smile, "would please me to no end."

   "HAMMER!  SICKBAY!  NOW!"
   The forcefulness of Korren's shout made Martin just about leap from 
his chair.  He was working on a new game for Sega/Flying Yak, his 
software company which he'd been long-distance directing for the past 
century, on-and-off, while Thunder Force was gallavanting about the 
cosmos.  Actual coding was something he'd practically been out of for 
the entire time, but he'd found that he readily reaccustomed himself to 
it.
   Peeling himself off the ceiling, he hopped to the intercom and tapped 
it to life just as Eiko was bounding up beside him.  "Korren, hey!  
What's--"
   "SHUT the FUCK UP and GET DOWN HERE!"
   That genuinely startled him.  "Korren, what--"
   "She MOVED!"
   He nearly had a stroke.
   "She--" he breathed, falling backward and away from the intercom, his 
head spinning.  Eiko caught him, barely able to keep her own balance, 
but still much more coherent than he at the moment.  Without even 
asking, she clasped his right hand in hers and did her best to set the 
Righteous Indignation's new internal speed record.  She screamed through 
the corridors on their level, sprinted down an access shaft rather than 
waiting for a lift, and bolted through what hallways and doorways 
remained, digging in her heels to come to a screeching halt at the 
entrance to Noriko's medical room.
   They ran in together, stopping at the rapidly-vacated spot beside her 
bed and leaning over her expectantly.
   "Korren, this better not be some kind--"
   "SHH!" the Salusian admonished.
   Martin swallowed the rest of his warning and lowered his gaze, his 
eyes skittering around Noriko's quiet form.  Her complexion was fair and 
healthy, a fact which, to date, he'd carefully reminded himself not to 
take as a sign of hope.  Her cheeks and limbs were now full and smooth, 
no longer sunken and bony as they had been two months before.  Her chest 
rose and fell slowly, in time with her quiet breath...
   Come to that, her breath is remarkably loud today.  It sounds a bit 
like ... like...
   ...whimpering?
   Like the dream of a child...
   "m--..."
   Eiko's fearfully choked whisper caught Martin's attention.  His head 
whirled to look at her, and then to follow her gaze downward.  She was 
staring directly at one of Noriko's small, pink hands.
   Its fingers flexed slowly.
   "mitra..."
   Martin's eyes widened in amazement, and his lips parted in a feeble 
attempt to speak words that he couldn't even begin to form.
   He gingerly traced a path down the back of her hand with his fingers.  
Her own digits spread slightly under the sensation, and her wrist 
rotated, lifting her palm from its bedward facing.  Gaining confidence, 
he slipped two fingers onto her palm, and her hand gently closed about 
them.
   His breath faltered in a sort of joy-filled sob.  He looked to Eiko, 
who looked back at him; each could see the tears forming in the other's 
eyes, and the growing smiles in their faces.  He made a mental note to 
give Korren and Amman medals or pay raises or something.  Right now, he 
was a little preoccupied.
   The rest of the team had gathered in the room, and were abuzz with 
smiles and happy whispering.  Danilia was nearly squealing with 
happiness, kept in check only by the firm hand clamped over her mouth by 
her husband, Tom.  Only Dund seemed to be missing a smile as he 
thoughtfully regarded the bedridden figure, like an unnoticed dark cloud 
over a picnic.
   Martin was nearly beside himself as, taking her hand firmly in one of 
his, he reached up to her face with the other, brushing a lock of hair 
from her eyes.  It was much longer than usual, since, for as long as 
she'd been there, it had never been cut; without her conscious 
biocontrol to prevent its growth, it grew at the normal human rate.
   As his fingers brushed her cheek, her eyelashes suddenly fluttered.  
Eiko gasped as, for the first time in four months, Noriko's warm brown 
eyes opened to the light.  Martin's hand retreated in awe.
   She began to look around herself.  Her eyes wandered to her right, 
where Korren, Rashir, and now Thom stood, nervous and expectant.  Her
head moved slightly, and her right hand rose falteringly, weak and stiff
from disuse, as her lips parted, making her breath all the more audible.
   Her gaze darted suddenly to the left, as Martin unthinkingly rubbed 
at the hand he was still holding.  Her knees rose slightly as her free 
hand seemed to stagger up to the side of her face, rubbing her cheek 
drunkenly.  All her movements seemed clumsy and unpracticed, a fact that 
didn't escape Dund's notice.
   She extended her right arm toward Martin, who stepped closer to her 
and bent down so she could reach him.  Her hand touched his chin, then 
wiped up to his cheek, tugged on his lip, pinched at his nose, and, in 
general, made a none-too-gentle exploratory run over his face.  (They 
may not have cut her hair, but they did manicure her fingernails on a 
regular basis.)
   Martin was grinning now as he took her hand in his, bringing its 
tactile examination of him to a halt, and rubbed the back of it against 
his cheek.  Her breath seemed to falter for a moment, and he opened his 
eyes to look at her.  She seemed almost on the verge of speech, but no 
words came from her lips.
   "Welcome back, Little Angel," he choked.  "We all missed you, you 
know."
   Her lips moved slightly, forming an impish smile, and she said:
   "Anngaa."
   The sound was tentative, almost experimental.  Once it was out, 
though, it was soon followed by more variations on the "Aaa" theme.
   Martin's grin faded as he was struck by a terrible hint of a thought.  
This was, as it was once put, damned peculiar.  What was it that her 
behavior remind him of?  He tried to pin it down as he quickly put his 
fingers over her lips.  The action got her attention, and she quieted.
   "Noriko..." he said gravely, lifting his hand, "...do you know me?"
   She smiled.  "Aaahaahannaa."  One of her hands fumbled to tug on her 
bedsheets in a loose fist.
   Oh ... my ... God...
   She managed to get the bit of sheet between her lips, and she closed 
her mouth around it, sucking on it.
   ...she's ... she ... oh no, oh no, oh no please no please God NO...
   He backed away from the bed, slowly, almost escaping Eiko's notice.  
When she turned to face him, she found a look of horror in his eyes, and 
a sickly pallor in his cheeks.  He bumped dumbly against the wall, 
pounding his head rather forcibly as the surprise of his initial contact 
with it startled him.  His hands groped around on it as he began edging 
toward the door, the plastic comb in his hip pocket providing an audible 
scrape, his eyes never leaving the bed.
   Noriko's sparkling eyes found him.  "Aaagaa!" she called happily.
   His face twisted and tightened as he launched himself from the room, 
leaving everyone staring through the doorway, listening to his
diminishing footsteps.  Even Noriko fell silent, leaving the previously
unnoticed, slow, rhythmic 'thump, thump, thump' of Thom's agonized fist
against the wall as the only sound in the room.

   Eiko braked hard, halting just outside Noriko's room.  It didn't take 
a genius, or even a shipboard computer, to figure out where he'd gone.  
She held her breath and listened through the door.
   Yup, he's in there.  I can hear him crying.
   She tapped the doorchime.  In response, she heard the sounds of a 
broken man attempting to compose himself, and failing.
   With a light pressure on the green doorswitch, she commanded the door 
to open, and it complied.  Light followed her into the room as she trod 
carefully on the carpeted floor, moving forward to stand beside the 
sobbing heap that was her husband, his knees and face to the ground, 
weakly beating on it with his fists.
   Lowering herself to kneel beside him, she lifted him from the floor, 
draping him over her shoulder.  They remained that way for several 
minutes, while his weeping slowly subsided.
   "...my fault," he grated, hovering somewhere on the edge of 
coherence.  "All my fault..."
   "You couldn't have known," she consoled.
   "Doesn't matter ... she's dead ... gone..."
   "She's waiting."
   He pushed himself up, blearily meeting Eiko's gaze.  "It's NOT HER, 
DAMMIT!" he shrieked, punctuating with a fist on the floor.  "She's 
alive, but it's NOT HER!"
   "I know..."
   "Damn FUCKing Detian body grew her a BLANK!  Just LOOKS like HER!..."
   "I know..."
   "SOUNDS like HER!..."
   "I know..."
   "F-- ... feels like..."
   "I know..."
   "...but it, it..."
   "I know, I know..."  She pulled him close, rocking him back and forth 
as he broke down again.  The difference in their sizes made their 
overall position awkward, but they weren't in this for any spectator's 
benefit.
   "Come on," she whispered after he quieted.  "Let's go."
   "I c-- ... I can't face her..."
   She stood, pulling him up.  "You have to.  She needs you.  She 
started crying after you left."
   He looked at her in disbelief.  "What?"
   Eiko smiled at him.  "She's like a baby now, Diggy.  She wants her 
'Da-Da'."
   With a low moan, he began to sink to the floor again.
   "OHHH, no you don't," she grunted, hauling him to his feet.  "Dani's 
having enough trouble trying to present Korren to her as a teddy bear."
   "She doesn't like him?"
   "No, the problem's him.  He hates kids.  Says they pull on his fur."
   At long last, he gave a hint of a tearful, disbelieving laugh.  "How 
can you just play along with it like this -- like..."
   "Like it's just the way it is?" she prompted.  "Like it's out of my
hands, and I'll just have to get on with my life?"
   He semi-shrugged.  "Well ... yeah."
   "I had a good teacher," she whispered, smiling up at him, "who looks
like he could use a refresher course."  She pulled on his arm, guiding 
him out into the hall, and they walked together in silence.
   "Eiko?" he asked timidly when they were in the lift.
   "Hm?"
   "What do we do now?"
   She paused, regarding him quizically.  "Do with what?"
   "The group ... the team.  Can't really use the Indignation well, 
y'know, without..."
   She gazed thoughtfully through the door.  "Yeah, I know ... and we're 
not much help to anyone in this state, either."
   He sighed.  "Not that we're really needed nowadays, anyway.  I've 
noticed more and more that we're coming in contact with the WDF-proper 
pretty frequently."  He closed his eyes.  "It's all starting again ... 
just like she'd hoped it would.  Wish she could see it."
   Eiko all but carried him out into the corridor after the lift reached 
the proper level.  He could hear Noriko wailing the moment the door 
opened.  It was a loud, pitiful bawl, like a child who had been deprived 
of a favorite toy.  Their pace quickened, and they were soon back in the 
very room.
   Dani looked at him the moment he came in, visibly relieved by his 
return.  She backed away from the bed, bringing her futile attempts to 
comfort Noriko to a quick end, leaving the auburn-haired beauty crying 
forlornly into the air, her eyes squeezed into half-closed crescents.  
Mandy and Rafe were in one corner of the room, in the waning moments of
some sort of encounter session centering on Thom.
   Martin walked forward, pulled up a chair beside the bed, sat sideways
on it to face its occupant, and laid his hand on her head.
   The moment she felt his touch, Noriko's cry went silent.  Her eyes 
opened wide, twin pools of sparkling brown with a bit of unbecoming
redness, and she looked at him.
   "Miss me, Little Angel?" he asked, smiling sheepishly.
   Her mouth immediately curled into a beaming smile as she giggled 
happily, completely forgetting the tears of only a moment before.  Her 
tiny hands reached over to him, grabbing at his shirt for purchase, and 
she rolled slightly in his direction.
   Beside himself with both sorrow and joy, Martin reached forward, 
slipping his arms under her back and knees, and he lifted her easily 
from the bed.  She curled up in his embrace, pushing into him as the 
sheet slipped demurely from her legs, silently excusing itself.
   Danilia grinned at him.  "I can tell who SHE likes."
   Korren nodded.  "No kidding.  Ever consider becoming a father, 
Hammer?  You seem like a natural."
   Eiko lowered an eyebrow at the Salusian.  "Oh, like we haven't been 
trying hard enough already.  Fine, make me feel--"
   "Eiko."
   Martin's voice was almost a whisper, but it was enough to interrupt 
Eiko's rant.  "Wha?"
   "She's asleep."
   Eiko regarded the bundle in Martin's arms.  There she was, angelic as 
ever in quiet slumber, an almost seamless fusion of attractive womanhood 
and infantile innocence.  It almost made her feel jealous again.
   "Maybe Kor's right, Little One," he continued.  "Maybe it's time for 
us to settle down, and find out what it means ... to be a family."
   Eiko blinked at him.  "Just the two of us?"
   He smiled back at her.  "No ... three.  The stork just took an odd 
route this year."
   Dund could have sworn he saw Noriko smile.

   "We go now to Network 23's Maria Meneghel, live on the scene.
Maria?"
   "Thank you, Tyler, and hello, everyone.  I'm live and direct here in
the main conference hall of the WDF Righteous Indignation where, in a
brief press conference which ended only minutes ago, Martin 'PCHammer'
Rose, leader of the special-missions group known as Thunder Force,
announced the permanent retirement of that very group to the United
Federation of Planets and the Galaxy at large.  According to Hammer,
all future requests for assistance should be forwarded to the still-
reforming Wedge Defense Force at their base on Utopia Planitia.
   "Thunder Force's primary ship, the Righteous Indignation, will be
donated to the Smithsonian Institute and placed on display as a part of
their History of the WDF exhibit.  Their secondary ship, the ISN
Tarawa, and her crew have announced their plans to rejoin the WDF as
soon as possible.  Commander Masterson of the Tarawa emphasized that
there was no enmity for the break-up, but that Hammer had earned a rest, 
and the entire Force agreed with his decision."
   "That's quite a bomb to drop on a Galaxy still recovering from a 
major shift in power, Maria.  Did he offer any explanation for the 
move?"
   "He did cite the improving condition of the WDF, particularly the 
revelation just last week that the so-called 'Butcher of Musashi' was, 
in fact, a buma created to impersonate and discredit Ben 'Gryphon' 
Hutchins, and the 'impending obsolescence', as he put it, of a small 
group such as Thunder Force in the changing galactic scene, as well as
what he only referred to as 'personal reasons'.  When asked for
specifics, he declined to comment, but it should be pointed out that
Thunder Force's second-in-command and the Indignation's first officer,
Noriko Takaya, was conspicuous in her absence from this meeting."
   "There were rumors about her or some other member of the team being 
killed in action about four months back, weren't there?"
   "That's correct, Tyler, and they've been out of action ever since.  
Eyewitnesses at the old Schernobli military base on the first of 
November of last year reported seeing a red-haired young woman, 
presumably Eiko Rose, leaving the scene far ahead of the rest of the 
Thunder Force strike team, carrying another young woman, reportedly 
matching Ms. Takaya's description, with what appeared to be a grievous 
head wound.  I think we're looking at the aftermath of that tragedy 
now."
   "Maria, from what you've seen, how would you describe the mood of the 
Thunder Force team?"
   "I think 'sullen' would just about sum them up at the moment, Tyler.  
It's no secret that this was a band of extremely close friends, and the 
loss of any one of them, particularly one so far up in the admittedly 
short chain of command as Ms. Takaya, would deal a devastating blow on 
both a professional and a personal level."
   The continuing news broadcast rambled on, though much more quietly, 
as Yuri thumbed the "mute" button on her vidscreen's remote.  With that 
completed, she let herself drop backward into her chair, bouncing lazily 
when she'd reached the seat back.
   She closed her eyes, reaching out a hand to absently scratch at 
Mughi's furry head as she actually allowed herself a moment of forbidden 
reminiscing.  It only seemed like yesterday when news of Hammer's group 
had first reached the ex-WDF grapevine.  Not long after Chris had 
visited her, as she recalled.  Deep down, they were all rooting for him, 
herself included.  The Home Town Boy Who Made Good, as it were, living 
life the way it used to be lived by all of them, doing the things that 
needed doing.  It was their assurance that things could, indeed, be the 
way they were before.
   And now, when it was finally starting to come back together ... this.
   She sighed.  At least it'd be a boost to her 3WA workload.
   She wondered what had truly become of Noriko.  Yuri remembered her to 
be a sweet girl, and shuddered to think that the rumor of her death 
could be true.  She wondered how Hammer was taking it if it was -- he 
was very close to her before she was assigned to the Indignation.  She 
smiled at the knowledge that he had someone to comfort him.  She was 
there for his wedding; it was a lovely occasion.  She wished Zon--
   Snapping her eyes open, she forced herself to sit forward, 
reflexively pushing Mughi away.  Tapping the mute button again, she
commanded the news report to continue at its former volume.  It droned
helpfully, giving her mind something, anything, to focus on.
   Anything ELSE, that is.

   The Autobahn is the single most-used roadway on the entire planet of 
Niogi.  It starts near the Niogan Sea, progressing due south for several 
kilometers until it reaches the world's capital, Berlin.  From there, it 
hooks to the southeast and proceeds to wind its way across the rich 
landscape, eventually passing through Bonn, the largest city on the 
sphere, and going beyond to even more distant points.
   If you took the Autobahn from the southeastern city limit of Berlin, 
which is about where you would be if you entered from the spaceport, and 
drove for an hour or so at the fastest safe speed available to a 
Countach -- this Autobahn, like its predecessor on Earth, has no posted 
speed limit -- you would reach an exit which claimed to disembark to a 
city named Frankenmuth.  If you took this exit, but turned right instead 
of left, away from the indicated direction to Frankenmuth, you would 
find yourself on a stretch of semi-rural highway with a posted speed 
limit of 100 kph.  Ignoring that, as everyone else does, you could 
safely navigate this thoroughfare at about 150 kph for ten minutes 
before your progress was hampered by traffic lights.
   After passing three of these signals, the second of which would have
a Lutheran church on the northwest corner, you would find a private
drive to your right named Hasse Court.  This particular drive is
moderately-wooded on either side, only partially obstructing your view
of the three magnificent houses that were the sole signs of civilization
on this street.  The first mailbox bears the name "DAVION" in an
elaborately curly typeface, and is of a peculiar shape.  The second
mailbox bears only the number 5, which is its house's street address.
The mailman knows why this is the case, of course, since the surname
"M'krelth'nyr'knet" barely fits on the typical envelope that he'd place
therein, and is almost always misspelled.
   The cul-de-sac at the end of the street opens into a wide driveway,
and the house found there is visibly taller than the other two, even
though it's a beefed-up split-level-ranch style house, not exceedingly
unlike the other two.  As you pass the mailbox, you would note the name
"ROSE" printed on it in italicized block letters.  The house itself
bears a large number 1 on the support post for the front porch overhang,
and the house itself bears a basic wood-and-brick coloration.  There is
a garage at the end of the driveway which looks wide enough for three
cars.
   This very route was taken by a solitary rider on a Cyclone some two
years after these houses had been built and put into immediate use.
He pulled his Cyke to a stop in the driveway of the house at the end of
Hasse Court, kicking its stand into position as he dismounted.  He
removed his helmet with an easy, practiced motion and shook the rest of
his brown hair as free as the ponytail behind him before putting it
under a brown fedora.  Looking around himself, he shook some road dust
from his black duster and his black Doc Martens.
   His ice-blue eyes twinkled thoughtfully as he considered the front
door, rubbing his bearded chin before advancing toward it.  He gave the
doorbell an easy press, and was rewarded with the sound of a large choir
singing "HAAAAA-LLE-LU-JAH!", sampled from one of the numerous
recordings of Handel's _Messiah_.
   The man shook his head and chuckled.  Only you, my friend.
   It was only a moment's wait before the telltale sound of footsteps
came from behind the door.  The knob turned, and the door hinged open.
A young woman with long, scarlet hair, only a few centimeters shorter
than the man, looked out onto the porch and began to utter a greeting,
but drew in a startled breath, stopping herself short.
   "...You...", she breathed.
   The man was suddenly quite worried.
   He had no reason to be.  The girl's stunned expression became a
broad smile in another moment, and she almost leaped forward, crushing
him in an overjoyed embrace.  "GRYPHON!  Oh, Mitra, it's been ages!
Come in, come in!"  The last part seemed more like a command than a
request as she all but dragged him through the wide-open doorway.  As
she pushed -- sorry, that should be _guided_ -- him toward a sofa, she
called out toward a nearby staircase, "Diggy!  C'mon down, Gryphon's
here!"
   "Is coming, is coming!" replied a voice from up the stairs, in some
sort of false Greco-American accent.
   "Well, make sure 'is coming' sometime today!  I doubt he's here to
chew the fat with li'l ol' me."
   Ben smiled.  "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that.  Oh, and before I
forget..."  He slightly surprised the woman with a peck on the cheek.
"Congratulations."
   "Thanks," she replied sheepishly.  "I'm sorry you couldn't make it
to the wedding."
   "You and me both, Eiko," he replied.  "There were a lot of things
I'd've liked to do back then."  He lowered himself onto the sofa.
"Don't suppose you have any pictures from the occasion."
   She grinned broadly as she walked to a nearby cabinet, kneeled to
open a drawer, and pulled an enormous photo album from it.
   "Iiiiiiiiiii'll take that as a 'yes'."  Ben accepted the album,
preparing to flip through it at a polite pace, maybe pointing out an
interesting snapshot every so often.  The disc-case at the back of the
album didn't escape his notice, either, which meant he would likely
also be subjected to video of the event.  It wasn't something he was
dreading, by any means -- he'd already heard that Maria Meneghel was
in charge of the entire production, and he was looking forward to it,
truth to tell.
   That plan was derailed rather immediately as he opened to the first
page, which was completely and solely occupied by a full-length
portrait of Eiko herself, resplendant in a bridal gown so white it was
nearly painful to look at, and with the demurest hint of a blush high
on her cheeks as she smiled and faced toward some point to one side of
the camera.  His technical side managed to notice that the detail in
the photo was far above average quality; if he could spare the
attention, he guessed that he'd likely be able to count Eiko's
eyelashes.
   "Heeeeyyyyyy," Gryphon said after a moment, inherent sarcasm
finally kicking in to fill air time, "don't I know this LOVEly girl
from somewhere?  She seems AWfully familiar..."
   Eiko stifled a laugh.  "Flattery'll get you nowhere in this house,
Gryph.  Diggy's already subjected me to every compliment known to
intelligent life."
   Ben snapped his fingers in mock frustration.  "Drat."  He returned
his attention to the photo.  "Why doesn't this look like a pose?"
   "Because it's not.  It was taken during my procession.  Of all the
pictures and video taken at the wedding, he likes that one the best."
   "Not hard to see why."
   Eiko leaned on his shoulder and gave him a knowing smile.  "So.
How about you, hmm?"
   He cocked an eyebrow at her.  "Hmm?"
   "Surely you're not going to keep Kei on ice forever."
   Ben's face fell as his gaze dropped to some point below the sofa.
"Oh.  No, you're right ... but..."
   Her smile faded.  "What?"
   He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  "She's taking some
time to think things over.  The ninety years she spent trying to kill
me, and all the other people who died in her hunt, are really
weighing on her.  She keeps saying that she should have trusted me
more.  That she should have known better.  That she..."  He took
another deep breath.  "...she doesn't deserve me."
   Eiko regarded him in silent understanding.  If only you knew how
it feels, Benjamin ... if only you knew.
   "I've already told her that ... I do still love her.  But she'll
need some time to accept that, I guess."
   "Time."
   The new voice startled Gryphon visibly.  He whirled to face its
source, and readily discovered a tall, clean-shaven man with short,
brown hair.  The deep violet Gizmonics Institute jumpsuit he wore was
adorned with only a single Autobot/WDF symbol high on one sleeve.
   "'To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose
under heaven,'" Martin quoted quietly as he circled around the couch
to stand in front of Gryphon.  Extending a hand, he completed with a
smile, "Your time will come."
   Ben grinned in reply, accepting the hand.  "Thanks.  I think."
   "Been too long, Ben."
   "Way too long, Marty."
   Using the clasped hands, Ben lifted himself from the sofa, and the
old friends embraced silently.
   "Well," Gryphon began after a while, "I never pictured you as the
Happy Homemaker type."
   Martin shrugged.  "What can I say?  I have a hyperactive
traditional streak.  Besides, now that Thunder Force is down, what
else am I gonna do with my time?"
   "To be honest, which is one of the few virtues I have remaining to
my name, I was sent here on behalf of--"  He shifted his voice to a
more dramatic tone as he continued, "The New And Improved Wedge
Defense Force!"  Speaking normally, he completed, "--to offer some
alternatives."
   Martin shook his head slowly.  "Sorry, Gryph ... I'm afraid I
can't."
   Ben blinked, taken aback by the blanket refusal.  "Uh..." he
fumbled, still hopeful, "hey, look, I can understand if you're not
really overly keen on the idea, seeing as how you were the only game
in town for so long--"
   "No, no, that's not it," Martin interrupted.  "It's not because of
some grudge against the Force.  In fact, you may want to talk to my
neighbors when you get the chance.  I know Tom, Dani and Dund would
jump at the chance to get back on active duty, and Nadi-- oh, wait,
that's right, the Davions are offworld on vacation for a month or so.
Actually, I think they're helping with a display refit of the
Indignation at the Smithsonian, and _then_ they're on vacation.  Well,
we can pass the word along to them.  Anyway ... where was I?"
   "You were blowing me off.  Without really hearing me out, I might
add."
   "Oh, yeah, thanks.  But anyway, I can't take anything that would
keep me out of the house for extended lengths of time."
   Gryphon looked confused for a moment, but soon exchanged that look
for a sly smirk.  "Ah, I see.  Congratulations again, then."
   Martin glanced at Eiko, who met his gaze precisely, and they
shrugged, almost as if expressing a private joke which they'd rather
have kept private, and which really wasn't very funny.
   Ben wasn't so sure he liked being left in the dark.  "Am I missing
something?"
   Martin averted his gaze.  "You could say--"
   "Paaaa-paaaa!"
   Yet another new voice sang out, from somewhere upstairs.  Gryphon
thought it sounded familiar, but couldn't place it.  All eyes in the
room went to the wide, tall hallway that led deeper into the upper
level of the house, and his question was rather pointedly answered.
   A woman, apparently aged in her early 20s, bounded to the railing
at the head of the stairs like an overexcited toddler.  Her auburn
hair reached down just below her shoulders, and her brown eyes smiled
as brightly as the rest of her face.  She took a cautious step toward
the stairs themselves, and, grasping the bannister with both hands,
she edged her half-stumbling way down the stairs, brow furrowed in
intense concentration.
   When she was safely on the bottom, she smiled beamingly at Martin
and raced toward him, arms wide.  "Papa!  I did it!  I did it aww by
mysewf!"
   Martin grabbed her when she was within reach, whirling her around
playfully before taking her into his embrace.  "Yeah!  You did it,
Little Angel!"
   "AAAAAn-zeaux," Noriko sang, giggling a slight mispronunciation of
the word.
   Ben was completely dumbfounded, unable to even breathe, let alone
utter a reverent "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,"
which probably would have been inappropriate, anyway.
   Noriko looked directly at him.  "Papa?  Iz zat Unca Giffen?"
   Martin followed her gaze, taking note of the horrified expression
on Ben's face.  "Yeah, Noriko.  That's Uncle Gryphon."
   Noriko dropped from Martin's arms and hopped over to stand just in
front of Gryphon, smiling up at him, oblivious to his state of shock.
"HI!  Unca Giffen!" she called gleefully.
   "Uh ... h ... hi, Noriko," he somehow managed to reply.
   Satisfied that her greeting had been returned, Noriko whirled and
ran to Eiko.  "Mama, Unca Giffen is showt wike Unca Tom an' Unca
Hans'n."
   Eiko smiled back at her, lifting her easily.  "Not many people are
tall like your Papa, honey."
   Ben, rather deeply shaken by what he was seeing, was interrupted by
a corner of his mind, telling him that he probably shouldn't linger
too long.  Business-As-Usual Mode attempted to re-engage itself, with
limited success, and he forced himself to look back at Martin.  "M ...
Marty, look, I ... I can't stay long, with a fleet to rebuild and all,
but ... well, look, I'll be in touch soon, okay?"
   Martin considered him silently for a moment, then nodded, leading
him to the door.  "No problem.  It was good seeing you again, Gryph.
Congratulations, good luck, and all that other stuff."
   "Yeah.  You too."
   Ben was soon out in the driveway again, pulling the helmet over his
head, mounting his Cyclone, and roaring back toward the spaceport.  He
was halfway back to Berlin on the Autobahn when he pulled off the
road, parked his bike, pulled off his helmet, and just sat there on
the ground with the palms of his hands on his eyes.
   Eris ... please tell me this isn't real...
   He wasn't sure how long he'd been there when he heard the faint
sound of a helicopter overhead.  He looked up to see a triangular form,
quite small for a helicopter, descending nearly directly above him.  It
only remained a helicopter for a moment more, as, with a distinctive
sound of transformation, it performed a sort of mechanical origami, and
Martin landed just behind him with only the faintest tap of shoes on
ferrocrete.
   "Was I that obvious?" Ben grunted.
   Martin put a hand on his shoulder.  "I know how it feels, man."
   The only sound between them was traffic noise.
   "Marty?"
   "Yeah."
   "Tell me what happened."
   "You don't want to know."
   Ben turned and looked him in the eye.  "I _need_ to."
   Martin regarded him carefully before responding.
   "All right."  And, for the next several minutes, Martin told him, in
as much detail as he felt relevant.  When he was done, Gryph
discovered that he'd been right -- he really _didn't_ want to know.
   "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..." he began, unable to even
complete the first word.
   "I felt more than just responsible in some sort of detached,
command-position way," Martin continued, now seated on the ground beside
Ben.  "She did it to _save_ _my_ _life_.  I was RIGHT THERE, and ... and
there was nothing I could do."  He looked at his hands.  "I've never
felt so thoroughly impotent in my life."
   Gryphon nodded somberly.  "I've been there.  Not even a nice place to
visit."  He offered Martin a hand.  "I'm truly sorry, Marty.  I know
that sounds hollow, but it's the best I can do."
   Martin accepted it.  "'S'not your fault.  Mea culpa.  There's only
one party to blame here, and I see him in the mirror every day."
   Ben did not reply.
   "It was ... the first six months after she woke up were the worst.
Eiko tells me I was getting nearly impossible to live with ... waking
with a start in the dead of night, breaking down at the slightest thing,
constantly reliving that moment, beating myself senseless for not paying
attention when I was really needed."  He gave a half-hearted chuckle.
"And you thought _you_ could be an angst factory at times."
   "Sometimes.  Still, I don't quite have Power Action Self-Doubt."
   Quite against his will, Martin nearly broke.  (Laughing, not crying.
Well, both, actually.)
   "If it was that hard on you, Marty," Ben queried after he'd quieted,
"why did you keep her?  Forcing yourself to see her like that every day,
every night ... you must really hate yourself."
   "Well ... who could I turn to?  Who else could I trust, I mean,
_really_ trust ... to take care of her, without taking advantage of her?
Besides," he said, shifting his voice to a quasi-Klingon rumble, "I
could do no less, and retain ... my honor."
   "Marty..."
   "I know, I know."  He sighed.  "It wasn't just my decision.  Maybe it
was what Eiko said to me about her wanting her 'Da-Da'.  Maybe it was
the way she'd stop crying the moment she knew I was near, or the way she
fell asleep in my arms when I lifted her.  The upshot of it all is that
there was no mistaking one thing -- she may have been a completely
different person, but ... she still loved me."
   Ben looked at him meaningfully.  "And you?"
   Martin nodded.  "Yeah.  I still love her, too."  His head sank a bit.
"I think I always will."
   Ben grinned.  This wasn't that frustrating Ford Prefect grin that he
was so fond of, but a grin that plainly said that he not only
understood, but approved.  "Best way to raise a child.  Hope you'll be
available when the rest of us are having kids."
   Martin looked back at him, offering a smirk.  "Now THAT, my friend,
is a frightening thought."
   "Oh, and you and Eiko having one isn't?"
   Martin raised a finger.  "Work in progress."  Clasping hands once
more, they helped each other to their feet.
   Ben released a huff of a breath.  "Mind if I make one more pitch to
try to get you back to New Avalon?"
   Martin gave a quizzical look.  "'New Avalon'?"
   "Oh, you didn't know?"
   "Know what?"
   "UP's been expanded."
   "Really?  How big is it now?"
   "Oh, about one AU in radius."
   Martin gaped.  "One _Astronomical Unit_?  What are you building, a
Dyson sphere?"
   "Yes, actually.  The capital city of New Avalon is still under
construction, and turning out rather nicely, if I do say so myself."
   Martin just blinked at him.  "Oooooooooo-kaaaaaaaaaaaay."
   "But what I was going to pitch to you was an alternative to fleet
duty in the WDF.  The idea was at least partly inspired by your group's
work, and by some of what the 3WA does, though a bit more centralized
and with a little more autonomy from local authorities -- an arm of the
Force dedicated to law enforcement and investigations."
   "Like a Wedge Interpol."
   "More or less.  It'll go under the patently uncreative name 'Criminal
Investigations Division'.  It'll all be strictly above the board, of
course, but..."
   Martin lowered an eyebrow and smirked.  "I take it this is where I
come in."
   "You could say that.  Every so often, it mmmmmmay be desirable to
have a sort of covert operative.  You know, someone who can sneak around
the usual channels and make the busts that the normal approach can't."
   Martin nodded with a hand thoughtfully planted on his chin.  "Batman
with a badge," he said with excessive gravity.  "This definitely has
merit."
   Ben shrugged.  "Well, let me know when you're ready to move.  And
don't forget to pass my message on to the others."  He paced back to his
Cyclone, picked up his helmet, and began to mount it.
   "Ben!"
   He paused.  "What?"
   "We're holding you to your promise, you know."  Martin was grinning,
now.  "Eiko wants that front-row seat."
   Ben's grin matched his easily.  "It's hers for the taking, when the
time comes."
   Martin nodded as Gryphon closed the facebowl on his helmet.  "See'ya
soon, Gryph.  Happy trails."
   With a wave, Ben took off like a shot, matching traffic speed in a
matter of moments and leaving Martin alone at the roadside.  There he
remained for a few minutes, smiling and rubbing his chin.
   PCHammer, Cosmic Crimefighter.
   I like the sound of that.
   He vaulted himself into the clear skies of Niogi, transformed to
Rotofoil-Chopper mode, and flew back home.  He had some rather
important messages to deliver.
   And a wife and daughter to return to.

   A small light flashed just under the intercom screen on the desk,
accompanied by a light trill of a sound.  Martin did his best not to
jump in surprise, set one of the reports for a case he was being asked
for an opinion on aside, and tapped the Talk button.  "Hammer."
   The screen blipped to life, instantly showing the familiar white-
haired, moustachioed face of Commissioner Gordon.  "Afternoon, Hammer."
   Martin blinked.  "It is?"  He glanced at the chron on his desk.  "So
it is.  Looks like I managed to miss lunch again, ask me if I care."
He returned his attention to the screen.  "What's up, Commish?"
   James Gordon rolled his eyes.  If it weren't for Omega-2, I'd say I'm
getting too old for this.  "Please don't call me Commish."
   Martin shrugged.  "Have it thy way, Jim."
   "Better.  You're between cases, I take it."
   "Yeah.  Felding asked me for an opinion on his, but what I've read in
the file tells me he's on the right track.  Got something else for me?
As if I didn't hope."
   "I do, as a matter of fact.  Another contraband terrorist gang.
Ruthless bunch."
   Martin nodded.  "Anyone else tried the case yet?"
   "Yes."
   His gaze turned serious.  He knew what _that_ meant.  "And that's why
you're calling me."
   "Correct."
   "I'll be right over."
   "Your partner and I will be waiting."
   Martin paused in mid-stand.  "Partner?"
   "That's right.  She has good experience in infil operations.  She's
already picked up a few commendations, and she's only been in CID about
as long as you."
   Martin nodded appreciatively.  "I'll look forward to meeting your
wunderkind, Jim."  He tapped the screen off and marched out the door of
his office, straightening his tie as he walked.  It may not have been
his usual field uniform, but wearing the Darkwing/Shadow suit in the
office tended to be a bit distracting to his coworkers.
   The two years since his move to New Avalon had been interesting, in a
good sort of way.  It was a remarkably natural-looking environment; the
envirotechs had done an excellent job of making the place look like any
other terraformed city on any other world.  In fact, it _acted_ like
such a place, too.  By all rights, Zeta Cygni should have been
perpetually locked in a high-noon position, but it rose and set, like on
any other rotating world, and the seasons turned, reminding him rather
strongly of Michigan all those four centuries before.  Having to shovel
snow was _not_ on his list of requirements for a Better Society, but it
certainly made everything feel like home.
   One of the nicer things they'd included was a vast outskirts, with
gentle, rolling hills, forests and fields.  He and Eiko had "set up
camp" far from the developing metropolis, building a house much like the
one they'd left behind on Niogi, on a picturesque little street named
Morgan Lane -- almost directly across from the residence of New Avalon's
very designer, Ben Hutchins.  Ben himself had become a bit of a Rose
household fixture, almost another family member, and virtually a third
parent for Noriko.  Eiko agreed that this was at least partially Ben's
manner of coping with his loneliness as he awaited Kei's final decision.
   The Davions and M'krelth'nyr'knets did not follow suit, however,
preferring to remain closer to their places of work in the Shipyards and
the Tac-Fleet, respectively.  Gryphon had made a point of presenting
Danilia with a peculiar gift, one of his stranger mechanical experiments
-- the only VF-1SD in existence.  His reasoning was something along the
lines of "only someone as absurdly cute as Dani could fly something as
absurdly cute as this plane", a challenge which she gleefully accepted.
She quickly became at least as, if not even more, adept at piloting the
pudgy contraption as she was with a "normal" Valkyrie.
   Martin hadn't realized how much he enjoyed being actively working
until he'd actually gotten back into it.  He'd asked to start fairly low
on the food chain, but Lord Fahrvergnugen wouldn't hear of it, instead
translating his old WDF rank of Lieutenant Commander to a CID rank of
Detective Superintendent.  Unfortunately, one of the alleged joys of
being a high-ranking detective was the privilege of "breaking in" your
junior colleagues.
   He pushed the door to Commissioner Gordon's office open, walking in
directly behind it.  The Commissioner, as always, was rising behind his
desk even as Martin strode in.
   "Glad you could come, Hammer."
   "Pleasure's all mine, Commissioner, though the circumstances could
stand some improvement."  The door clicked shut behind Martin, and he
offered a sort of cross between a wave and a salute.
   "Agreed."  Jim handed him a file folder, which he accepted, opened
and began looking through.  "This is everything we have on the group to
date.  I'll admit it's not much, but our previous agents weren't quite
covert enough, I'm afraid."
   "Understood, Jim."  He closed the folder, returning his attention
forward.  "I seem to recall you threatened me with a partner."
   Jim cracked a slight smile.  "Come now, Hammer.  You know I take your
approach to threats.  I never threaten;"
   "I _promise_," they completed together.
   "Yes, I know," Hammer continued.  "So, she's right ov--"
   His head turned to the right, where he'd noticed someone was seated
and rose to standing position as he'd entered.  He brought her fully
into his view.
   And, staring blankly into her brown eyes, found himself rather at a
loss for words.
   Jim walked around his desk.  "Detective Superintendent PCHammer," he
said by way of formality, "may I present Detective Christina Kohle, one
of our most promising infiltration agents.  Christina, this is--"
   At this point, he noticed two things.  One, Detective Kohle was
smiling in a rather peculiar fashion at Martin; two, he was looking at
her with an expression of utter disbelief, and a hint of familiarity.
   "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized.  "Are you two acquainted?"
   Tina turned her smile toward the Commissioner.
   "We've met," she chuckled.

-- 
  The High Diggy-Hoek of Chihuahua-Wala Land  (or Martin Rose, if you must)
--------------------------- mfrose@umcc.umich.edu ---------------------------
Truth is stranger than Fiction ---------------- Stupid is a boundless concept
The Limbaugh Institute for Advanced Conservative Studies:  Ann Arbor Division