Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Bubblegum Avatar #1 -- "Tin-Sell City" ❯ Chapter 8 - "Headaches, Heartaches, and Other Pains" ( Chapter 8 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

**************

Chapter 8 - "Headaches, Heartaches, and Other Pains"

**************

Another two weeks passed in relative peace for the Knight Sabers. There had only been one boomer rampage that needed to be put down, a quartet of combat boomer were released by a terrorist group calling themselves 'The Democratic Indigenous People's Worker Liberation Army', or DIPWA. Seeing as the group released the boomers in a section of the city more know for decay and criminals then its rich and influential, it didn't make much sense. Craig summed up the situation like this: "Anyone dumb enough to come with the acronym DIPWA has got to be a real moron." He followed that statement with a few choice words about Communists and Socialists that indicated they lacked intelligence and moral fiber. His political tirade was silenced by Priss hitting him with a well-thrown pillow and giving him a grade-A glare.

All four Sabers were available for this one, freeing Mackie from most of his monitoring work. This allowed him to drive the larger truck the Sabers were using on this mission with Craig riding shotgun. Hidden behind the passenger's seat, under a old blanket, was an old, but still functional RPG launcher with three grenades, which Sylia had found somewhere. "To be used ONLY in an emergency," she had sternly warned them after showing them how to use it, "And it had better be one HELL of an emergency."

To limited the possibilities of being caught like they had been last time, Mackie kept the truck moving around the perimeter of the cordoned-off battle zone. The conversation between the two male element of the Knight Sabers was limited to the business at hand. Mackie, with the ADP police bands kept Craig informed, while Craig scanned the buildings for any sign of trouble. After forty minutes, they received the 'all-clear' signal from Sylia.

The pick-up and trip back to the Lady633 building was made without incident. After Nene, Priss, and Linna left, the remaining three went up to the penthouse. Mackie collapsed on the couch, while Sylia seated herself in a chair. Craig disappeared into the kitchen, returning several minutes later with a teapot and three cups on a tray. "Tea time," he said with a tired smile.

"This late?" Mackie groaned from the couch.

"It's an herbal tea with no caffeine. I think we can all use some."

"You'll make someone a wonderful wife someday."

"Sit up, Mackie and humor him," said Sylia softly, her smile matching her relaxed mood. "I think we should discuss some things before we go to bed."

"Like me finding a new place to stay?" asked Craig, handing Sylia a cup.

"Is there something wrong with you staying here?' asked Mackie.

Craig handed him a cup. "For this long? I've been here two months. People are starting to whisper."

"Who knows you're here?"

"Try everyone in the building. I pass most of them on my morning jogs." Craig picked up a cup and claimed a seat across from Mackie. "I don't know how Sylia feels about it, but it's making me feel uncomfortable."

Mackie looked puzzled. "What?"

Craig looked at Sylia. "He's not getting it, is he?" Sylia smiled and continued to sip her tea.

"Get what?"

Craig leaned back and began rubbing his temple with his free hand. "People are beginning to think that Sylia and I are...involved."

"Involved in what?"

Sylia began chuckling sightly, while Craig looked like he'd swallowed something painful. "That's what I get for being diplomatic," he said, ignoring the amused expression on Sylia's face. "All right, In plain simple English - There's a rumor floating around that Sylia and I are romantically involved."

"But you're not." Mackie looked at each of them. "Are you?"

"We are not involved in a romantic relationship of any sort," replied Sylia, who still looked amused.

"Then, what's the problem?"

Craig leaned his head back and started muttering at the ceiling. Mackie could only catch the occasional word - 'Henti', 'idiot', 'clueless' 'appearance' and 'relationships' were the ones he heard cleanly.

"It does appear to be a romantic relationship," said Sylia. "He's a single man living with a single woman and her brother. When he's not working at the garage, he's here or close by, but he's been seen by enough people for them to assume something that isn't true."

"But he isn't your type," said Mackie.

"I don't believe this." Craig put down his teacup to use both hands to rub his temples.. "Mackie, it doesn't matter what is really going on here in this penthouse. Everyone in the building thinks I am Sylia's boyfriend. I have gotten more romantic advice in the last week then I've gotten in my entire life before I ended up here. Women look at me one way, guys another way, both sides wondering what Sylia sees in me."

"The important part is," said Sylia, putting her own empty teacup on the table, "that the entire situation is bringing unwanted attention on both of us. The quickest way to defuse everyone's curiosity is to have Craig move out."

"Is that a good idea?" asked Mackie. "His Japanese is horrible."

"I'll muddle through. I usually do."

Sylia shook her head. "Mackie's right. We need to upgrade your language skills before we can let you leave."

Craig stopped rubbing his temples and looked at Sylia. "Which at the rate things are progressing will be about the beginning of the next century."

"I may have a way to speed up your progress."

"Huh?"

Sylia stood. "I think we should discuss everything else in the morning. I don't think we are in any condition to have a meaningful conversation right now."

"What way?"

"I'll explain after your workout with Linna in the morning. Good night." Sylia walked out of the room.

Both men watched her leave. Craig shook his head, trying not to yawn. "You sister is spooky sometimes."

"She has a lot on her mind," Mackie replied.

"Maybe you're right." Craig stretched. "I think she's right. I'm having a problem keeping my eyes open."

"I'll help you clean up."

"Thanks."

**************

The sun rose again over the sprawling city, and its citizens responded by getting ready to go to work. Over at GENOM Tower, the change from night to day was the same. As it was a world-wide conglomerate, GENOM was always doing business somewhere all the time, and thus there was always people in the building monitoring world events and sifting through data collected and sent from overseas. The collated data would be passed on to other people who would make decisions based on that data. If the judgment was considered too important in the view of the manager, it would be passed up to his supervisor. The larger the decision, the farther up the corporate chain of command it went. Only the most critical choices ever reached Quincy's desk, as the chairman paid his subordinates to weed out the minor matters - those that didn't lost their jobs.

Still there were a few things that were not sent up and down the chain of command. One group of decisions that didn't follow this route involved illegal operations such as spying, assassination, extortion, and weapons making - the so-called 'Black Ops'. Another set of conclusions made solely at the Chairman's table consist of proposals by the small group of 'special assistants' that surrounded Quincy.

It was one of the proposals by Brian Mason that found the Chairman in the briefing room two hours before the start of the work day. There were only three people in the conference room, not including the four Boomers that stood in the corners. Quincy occupied the figurative high ground, claiming his rightful seat at the head of the table. Mason took the opposite end of the conference table, while Madigan chose to set herself to the Chairman's right.

Quincy didn't waste any time. "Mr. Mason, why did you ask for a meeting so early?"

Mason stood slowly and bowed. "Sir," he said, his tone respectful, "I wanted to ask your permission to undertake a project that could benefit GENOM."

"That does not answer my question."

"I know sir. If you'll bear with me for a moment, I am sure I can explain everything to your satisfaction."

Quincy leaned back. "Proceed."

"As you know sir, the boomer that crashed onto the tower's roof has been kept in the special isolation lab on sub-basement level seven."

"I do not need to be told something that I already know."

"Yes, sir." Mason bowed, fighting to keep the contempt off his face. You senile old fool! Despite the urge, Mason managed to keep his face composed. "And you are aware of Doctor Ming's report that the boomer in question is similar in design and construction to the boomers involved in the Lazarus project."

Mason withdrew a folder from his briefcase and walked the length of the table, ignoring the questioning look Madigan was giving him. "But I do not think you are aware of this." He handed the folder to Quincy.

The Chairman placed a hand on the folder. "And what is this?"

"It's a report submitted by Doctor Ming last night." Mason walked back to the far end of the conference table. "His report states that because of the examination work he and his team have done on the unknown boomer, he believes that he can be ready four months ahead of schedule."

Quincy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. What is the reason for this optimism?"

"By studying the boomer's remains, the team has been able to avoid research and development time. I should note that the Doctor's estimate in time save is on the conservative side. The schedule could be advanced even more then that."

"I see." He looked at Madigan, who had remained silent throughout. "Do you have an opinion on this matter?"

"If what Mr. Mason said is true, then this will be a great benefit to GENOM."

The Chairman nodded, then turned to look at Mason again. "They is something you want, I take it?"

"I believe the damaged boomer in the special isolation lab should be rebuilt."

Madigan's expression was that of surprise, but Quincy own countenance could have been carved out of granite. "And what leads you to that conclusion?"

"Our understanding of this boomer, despite what technical value the Lazarus team has extracted from it, is still an unknown to us. GENOM is the only company that could have built it, yet, it is slightly more advanced than anything we could have produced. Parts of the design are clearly GENOM based, yet other systems are not. In short, sir, I do not believe that this boomer is from this time or place."

"Then, Mr. Mason, where is it from?"

"I believe it is either from the future or from another dimension."

"What?" Madigan stood, her expression one of disbelief. She stared at Mason as if he was drunk. "What bullshit are you trying to pull-"

"Enough."

Madigan turned to look at the Chairman. "Sir! You cannot believe this idea. It's preposterous and -"

"I said enough," Quincy said, his voice carrying a hint of menace. "Under the known circumstances and lack of data to disprove such a claim, Mr. Mason's idea has some possibilities." the Chairman's eyes never left Mason as he asked "Do you believe the boomer's memories are intact?"

"The cranium suffered severe damage, but enough is intact to make me believe that it's very possible the boomer's memories are intact."

Quincy was silent for a moment. "I will allow the boomer to be rebuilt with several restrictions. The first is that all weapons systems must be removed from the remains and no new systems installed. The second is that boomer's strength levels are to be limited to human level. Any new programming uploaded into the boomer will be limited in nature, and only to duplicate any core programming that was damaged. Finally, small explosive devices are to be placed inside the boomer's vital components, attuned to two detonator transmitters. Both detonators are to be delivered to me before the boomer is reactivated. Do you understand?"

Mason nodded. "I understand clearly."

"How long will it take?"

"Three months sir."

Quincy leaned forward. "Why so long?"

"For security and technical reasons, members of the Lazarus project will be doing the reconstruction. That means that only a limited amount of time can be devoted to it."

"Very well. Under the conditions I have laid out, you can rebuild the boomer."

Mason bowed. "I don't think you'll be disappointed in the results."

"That is up to me to decide wether or not I am disappointed or not. You are dismissed."

Mason collected his papers and strode out of the room. Quincy waited until the door closed behind his special assistant before he said to Madigan. "Do you still think that Mr. Mason is not up to something?"

The lavender-haired woman looked at her superior. "I don't know," she replied slowly. "I don't believe his story about the boomer's memories."

Neither do I." The white-haired Chairman stood. "I think your investigation should be expanded to cover this...unexpected situation. Keep a close eye on this reconstruction project. Refer all inquires to me personally."

"Yes sir. What do we do in the meantime?"

"We find out what is going on behind Mr. Mason's eyes."

**************

"Good morning," said Sylia, looking up as Craig walked into the living room.

"Is it?" he asked. "There's too much sun out there to tell." He ambled into the room, wearing jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. Still pushing his still damp hair into place, he slid into his seat across the table from Sylia.

"Eat first, then we'll talk," she said.

Craig looked at the eggs and bacon on the plate in front of him. "I'm a big boy," he said in a child-like voice. "I can get my own breakfast."

Sylia, use to this by now, replied, "It wasn't any more trouble to cook up another couple of eggs and strips of bacon. Besides, I've seen your idea of breakfast."

"What's wrong with oatmeal?"

"Every morning?"

"I've seen what passes for breakfast cereal these days. I defy you to actually find a shred of grain in some of those brands. Instant tooth rot."

"How was your training session today?" Sylia asked, looking to change the subject.

"Like most of our sessions," Craig replied between bites of breakfast."She attacked and I blocked everything she threw at me - with my face, stomach, ribs, thighs, calves..." He stopped for a second and ran over the list again. "Wait a minute, I left out forearms."

Sylia allowed a smile to tug at a corner of her mouth. "Linna said that you're improve a great deal in the last month."

"You could have fooled me. By the amount of times she's nailed me in the last couple of weeks, you would have thought I'd gotten worse."

"She said that you're giving her a challenge."

"She's putting a sugar coating on her daily whoop-assing of me."

"Those rogue Boomers will do a lot worse."

Craig nodded. The eggs were gone, as was most of the bacon. "I never said I didn't like my daily pumme -er, workouts."

"If it's any consolation, you should be ready in another month."

"It's a small consolation." He nibbled the last piece of bacon. "Now do you want to clean up and tell me what you plan is today, or reverse that?"

"I suggest we clean up, then talk in the living room."

Ten minutes later, they were both sitting in the living room, cups of tea in their hand - in Sylia's hands at any rate. Craig had recently found and bought a large glass mug that he used for tea. It was three times the size of Sylia's teacup, but he limited himself to one mug of tea a day. Holding the mug in both hands, he leaned back and stared at Sylia. "What's the plan, Boss?"

Sylia resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow, but failed to control the action. "Boss?"

Craig nodded. "You're the leader and you want to talk to me about something important. 'Sylia' is too informal, 'Miss Stingray' is too formal, so I'm left with choices like Boss, Leader, Commander and Overseer. I chose 'Boss'- it kind of falls in the middle."

Sylia let puzzlement drift across her face as she mentally followed his reasoning. After several seconds of thought, she dropped the idea and switch subjects. "I think I have a way of boosting you ability to speak and understand Japanese."

"I'm listening."

"The method I want to use is still somewhat experimental."

"Does it involve surgery?"

Sylia frowned. "No," she replied.

"That's good. I get queasy at the sight of my own blood."

"Anyway," Sylia continued, "there is a small amount of risk involved using this method."

Craig gave her a glower. "How small, and what type of risks?"

"The risk are minor, but at worse, you'll have a headache for a couple of days."

He shrugged. "I can live with that."

"Fine." Sylia stood up. "Meet me in the computer room in about ten minutes."

**************

Sylia was finishing the last of her preparations when Craig strolled in. "Ready?" he asked.

She waved him to the chair in front of the console. Craig walked over and sat down. Sylia picked up a helmet-like device and placed over Craig's head. The helmet, dull grey in color and with several cables running from the top and sides, covered Craig's head completely. "Can you hear me?" she asked.

"Kind of," he replied, his voice muffled. "What's this for?"

"It's part of the process. Please place your arms on the arms of the chair." Craig did so, and Sylia looped a strap over each forearm.

"What are you doing?" Craig asked, his voice taking on a note of fear.

"Minimizing the risks."

"Risk of what?" Craig half-shouted as he tried to free himself from the straps.

Sylia reach for Craig's head and push it back against the seat. There was a 'click' and the helmet was attached to the seat. Craig was bucking wildly now, screaming "Get me out of this contraption!"

"Craig," said Sylia softly. "Do you trust me?"

"Get me out of this thing, then we'll talk about trust!"

She leaned down next to him. "You've trusted me to this point. I promise you that the long-term gains will outweigh any short-term discomfort you might feel."

"What short-term discomfort?!"

"Do you want to go through with this? I can release you and we will continue to try and teach you Japanese in the traditional manner, but that could take a long time. Or, we can go through this and save both of us a lot of time and trouble."

Craig stopped struggling. "Maybe if you would tell me how this is suppose to work, I might make a better decision about this."

"Very well." Sylia stood and went over to the console. "What the device on your head does is feed data impulses from the computer directly into your brain. These impulses will be...I guess 'downloaded' is a good descriptive phase, into you areas of the brain where memories are stored, becoming in effect, memories."

"What do you mean, 'in effect, memories?'"

"You will have the knowledge that the computer has regarding Japanese words, language structure and phrasing. After that, it will be a matter of using that knowledge to polish your use and understanding of the language."

"And what's to prevent you from messing with my mind?" asked Craig sharply. "Insert a 'loyalty unto death' memory that turns me into a slave?"

"It won't work with emotional memories. I could upload all sorts of data into your brain, but I can't upload commands. I could give you the knowledge to pilot an aircraft, design and build boomers, or lead a band of soldiers. What I cannot do is influence how you use that knowledge. I cannot force you to love or hate someone that runs counter to your feelings about them."

"Have the others gone through this?"

"No." Sylia tapped a few keys on the console. "The only reason I am doing this to you is to bring you up to speed on basic skills now. This is not an option I wanted to use, but it appears I have no choice."

"Wait a minute," said Craig, his voice still shaky. "Have you tried this method on anyone?"

"I've used one person - myself."

"You've gone through this process?"

"Yes, and while it is useful, it has it's drawbacks."

"What drawbacks? Every time I ask what could go wrong, you dance away from the question."

"That's because I'm not sure of the answers."

"WHAT?" Craig yelled. He started struggling again. "That's it, get me out of here!"

"I can only speak for myself. I suffered headaches, upset stomach, blurry vision, balance problems and bouts of confusion as my brain adjusted to the new data."

"And what's going to happen to me? Is my brain going to explode?"

"No. I will monitor the procedure and make sure the data doesn't overwhelm you brain."

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"It should."

"Somehow, that isn't reassuring."

"Do you want to go through with this or not?"

"Don't lie to me. How dangerous is this procedure?"

Sylia was silent for a moment. Then she said, "There is a very small chance that you could be left a vegetable. However, I will be every second, monitoring the transferring process and your brain waves. At the first sign of trouble, I can shut it down immediately."

"Are you sure this will work?"

"As sure as I am about most things."

There was silence for a minute, then Craig sighed. "All right," he said. "I'll go through this procedure, on one condition."

"Which is?"

"That if something happens to me and you see Ishmael, you'll punch him in the nose for me, assuming he had a nose for real."

Sylia blinked, surprised by the request. "I expect when that time comes," she said with some warmth, "assuming it does, you can punch him yourself."

"But you will do it?"

"If I can."

"Fine." Sylia saw Craig straighten up in the chair. "Let's get this over with."

The leader of the Knight Sabers walked over to the console, entered a command on the keyboard, and hit the enter key.

**************

Mason stalked into the lab like he owned it. Doctor Ming looked up from a clipboard he was holding. "What is it?" he asked the Special Assistant.

Mason looked at him through half closed eyes. "I want you and the others to take you lunch break now."

"But it's only ten-thirty!" The doctor stated, his face taking on a puzzled look. "It's too -"

Mason cut him off. "I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Doctor," he said in a cold, hard voice. "I want this lab empty in one minute, or I will make each and every one of wish you have never been born. Is that clear?"

"Very well, Mr. Mason," replied Ming stiffly. "You are the boss." He turned to the quartet of technicians who were in the lab with him. "We're taking an early lunch break," he announced loudly, even though a couple of the technicians had been standing close to the Doctor had heard Mason's curt orders.

Mason waited until the door closed and sealed itself behind the last technician before he turned and looked at Largo. [Is there something wrong?] the boomer asked, sounding amused.

"The old man has Madigan dogging me," Mason replied.

[Did he agree to the rebuilding of this body?]

"He did, but with restrictions."

[Such as?]

"No weapons systems, your strength levels are to be confined to human level, limited new core programming, and installed explosive devices placed inside the your vital components."

[I see. About what I expected from him.]

"You expected him to agree?" Mason was shocked.

[Of course. I would not have sent you to propose my rebuilding unless I fully expected the proposal to succeed.]

Mason turned away and started pacing. "You must realize I'm taking a chance to have you rebuilt."

[As I am taking a chance by being dependent on you to be rebuilt. But, in order to succeed, we must depend on each other if we want our goals realized.]

"What about Madigan?"

[What about her? As long as you keep your cool, she can do nothing. The old man suspects, but unless he has proof, he will not move against you.]

Mason stopped pacing and looked at Largo. "We shall see."

[Out of curiosity, how is the plan to steal the black box from USSD going?]

"I sent in two moles, one tasked with stealing the prototype, the other with securing the plans. I've also committed other resources to the operation."

[Excellent. And the Knight Sabers?]

"I've used recon boomers to watch and record the Saber's actions. We are building a database of their suits' capabilities for future reference."

[An event that will come sooner then later. You are indeed the right man for the job.]

"We shall see." Mason turned and walked out of the lab. In the tube, the remains of the superboomer known as Largo would have smiled - if his self-repair programs had managed to restore his face muscles. But he could wait. His time was coming and woe to all who stood in his way....

**************

The knock on the door was light, but to Craig, it sounded like someone was using a battering ram. "Go away," he croaked, trying to calm the raging pain in his head. It didn't work.

He was lying on the bed in the guest room, a damp towel covering the upper part of his face. His head felt like the entire GENOM mining subsidiary had moved in and started excavating his brain. The rest of him felt drained and lifeless, as if his life force had been sucked out of him. He didn't know how long he'd laid there, and right now, he didn't care.

His memories of what happen after Sylia started the process were nothing more then a collage of pain and flashes of thoughts. He didn't know how long he'd been in the chair, but he had felt himself being overwhelmed by thoughts and data that seemed to flow into him like a fire hose had been stuffed into his head and turned on. He'd tried to look at the data, to understand it, but it was like quicksilver, slipping through his mental fingers.

When Sylia released him, his attempt to stand up had been a complete disaster. Only Sylia had kept him from falling on his face, his legs refusing to support his weight. Surprisingly, she had slung Craig's arm over her shoulder and managed to half-carry his almost deadweight to the guest room, saying nothing the entire time. After depositing him on the bed, she popped a couple of pain-killers into his mouth, washed them down with a glass a water, and placed the damp towel over his face, then left him in silence.

Now, that silence was disturbed. The person at the door ignored the demand, and opened it. "Whoever you are, go away," Craig growled. "I'm not in the mood for any food, conversation, requests to shut up, singing, dancing, sparring, or any activity. Leave me and what remains of my head alone."

"Is it that bad, Craig-chan?" Nene asked perkily.

"Nene, if I open my eyes and you're still standing there, I will kill you."

"In your condition?" she sounded amused.

"In my condition."

"I don't think so."

"Oh yea?" Craig grabbed the towel off his face and sat up. Several explosions went off in his mind, forcing a scream from his throat and knocking him flat on his back again. His vision was nothing but a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, none of which made sense.

"See?" said Nene, moving into his contorted vision. "Sylia sent me in to give you these. Open wide." Craig's mouth opened just enough for Nene to stick two pills into it, followed by several mouthfuls of water. "There. Feel any better?"

"No."

Nene frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just leave me alone, all right?"

"Okay," she said dubiously. He replaced the towel over his eyes, and walked out of the room. Craig stayed still as possible until the sleeping pills Nene had given him took over and dropped him to slumber.

In the living room, Sylia looked up as Nene walked in. "Well?" she asked the redhead.

"He swallowed them down with no problem."

Sylia relaxed slightly. "Did you do the other thing I asked you to do?"

Nene nodded. "He started by speaking in English, but as soon as I spoke to him in Japanese, he shifted to the new language with no hesitation. He wasn't up to a real conservation, but he understood everything I said." She frowned. "I don't think he realizes that he spoke to me in Japanese."

The leader of the Knight Sabers relaxed even more. "That means the process worked."

"Did you really have to do that to him? Use that transference process?"

Sylia waved Nene to a chair across from her. Once the redheaded ADP dispatcher had settled herself down, Sylia said, "It was the best way I knew to make him more independent."

Nene frowned. "I don't understand."

"Because of his lack of language and other skills, he wasn't much more then a baby, dependent on us for everything. We don't have the time to teach him everything he needs to know before this Largo shows up. What this process allowed us to do was skip most of the basic skills, like language and area knowledge and start with the important skills he will need to know."

"I think I see, but he doesn't look good right now."

"How did he react to your presence?"

"Like Priss, only worse. I wouldn't recommend leaving those two in the same hospital room for any length of time."

"Thank you."

"Er...Sylia?"

"Yes?"

Nene looked over shoulder towards the guest room before she said, "Why did you send me in there?"

"He isn't in a very good mood right now, most of that directed at me. I though you would be the Saber least likely to antagonize him."

"Oh. How long is he going to be like this?"

Sylia glanced at the clock on the wall. "He should be over the worse of it in twelve hours. It's not something you can recover from quickly."

"So, what do we do until then?"

"We wait, what else?"

**************

The Knights had to go out to stop a boomer rampage that night, a trio of older combat boomers had been released in a shopping plaza by a 'fringe group'. The ADP had taken out two of the three, but another trio of boomers had shown up and ambushed the police as they were moving in on the last boomer. This brought the Knight Sabers into the fight. Sylia decided that Craig need his rest more then the Sabers needed him along, so she didn't disturb him.

The fight was short and brutal, the Sabers taking out all four of the remaining boomers. But all four Sabers were bruised and sore, as the boomers had given almost as good as they got. They had made the ride back to the Lady633 building in silence.

After the hardsuits had been stored away, Sylia entered the penthouse. She was tired and bruised from being flung into a wall by one of the combat boomers. She wanted nothing more then to go to bed and sleep, but she decided to check on her guest first.

Sylia went to the guest room and looked in. The room was empty, the bed unmade, and the blanket that had been on the bed was missing. She frowned, then went to the kitchen. The kettle was on the stove, still warm from the water inside. The glass mug Craig usually used was missing from its ususal spot on the counter. Now puzzled, Sylia checked the living room, but it was empty. A fluttering curtain and a half open sliding door attracted her attention. She moved over to the door and glanced out onto the pool area. A bundled figure was slouched in one of the lounge chair next to the pool.

She opened the door and walked out into the night air. The figure didn't respond to her presence for several second. Finally, Craig asked in English, "Everyone all right?"

"We're a bit battered, but we're all right," Sylia replied in Japanese.

"That's good," Craig answered in the same language. The blanket missing from the bed was wrapped around him, leaving his face expose to the cool night. His mug as clenched in his hands, wisps of tea rising from the contents. Sylia couldn't read his expression, but he didn't sound happy.

Sylia walked over and sat on another lounge chair next to Craig's. "I think I should ask how are you feeling?"

"My head still hurts, my body feels like I've been used as a tennis ball in a Wimbledon finial, and I'm homesick."

"How long have you been out here?"

He shrugged, then took a sip of tea. "Not long," he said, staring up into the dark sky. "My tea's still warm."

"I think you should go back to bed."

"I'm not ready. I have too much on my mind."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Craig shook his head. "It's not the type of thing I like talking about."

"You can't isolate yourself. It isn't healthy."

"I've been doing it for years."

"It still isn't healthy."

"It's the only way I know how to handle it."

"No one can do that for long."

He looked at her for the first time since she'd come out here. "I could say that I am not the only one who walls their emotions off."

Sylia sighed and thought for a moment. "Do you hate me?" she asked finally.

Craig frowned. "What for?"

"For putting you through this process."

"I did, for about six hours. Then Nene came in and spoke to me in Japanese, and I understood her and talked to her with no problems. Of course, I didn't realized what had happened until after I woke up." His voice changed to one of suspicion. "What else did you stick in my head? Don't say nothing else, because I've had random thoughts flash through my mind that I know are not my own."

"I added detailed knowledge of the city and basic combat tactics. Nothing else."

Craig groaned and want back to staring up into the sky. "Ishmael has a lot to answer for," he said slowly, his voice carrying a threat. "That bastard dumped me here, and ruined my life!"

"Shouldn't you be angry at me?"

"What for?" Craig asked sharply. "You weren't the one who yank me out of my safe, if boring life, and dropped me off here. You weren't the one who saddled a vigilante team with a clueless newbie. And you weren't the one who was told he has to face a would-be boomer God who had a very big ax to grind. All you've had to do is put up with me. Where is it your fault?"

"I could have said 'no'"

"And what good would that have done? I said 'no' and look what happened to me!" Craig was shouting now, his anger flowing now. He down the last of his tea and stood, the looked at Sylia. "That bloody son of a bitch is sitting up there, laughing at me, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it! I feel like I've been railroaded into this, forced into this fight because he won't do his own fighting!"

Sylia stood and removed the mug from Craig's hands. "There's nothing you can do about this," she said gently.

"I know!" Craig shouted. "That's why I so pissed off!" He flung away the blanket and walked away.

"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" she called out after him.

He stopped and looked back at her. "Like what?" he shouted back.

"Like commit suicide."

"Why the hell should I do that? I want the chance to strangle that smug weasel, and I can't do that if I'm dead!" He began rubbing his temples. "Damn headache," he muttered.

"I think you should go in now," Sylia said firmly. "You need to get some rest."

"I've had too much rest. I'm in the mood to kill something."

"I think we have some things to discuss tomorrow, once you're calmed down." She reached down and picked up the blanket.

She saw the anger start to fade from Craig. "All right," he said in a hard voice. "I'm just tired of being a victim of fate, circumstances, and the Gods' amusement."

Sylia walked over to Craig, slinging the blanket over one arm. She carefully gripped his upper arm. "Lets' go back inside. Neither one of us is up to arguing over a subject we agree on."

Craig didn't resist the contact, though he did retrieve the blanket and mug from Sylia. The dark-hair woman guided her guest back inside, leaving the starry night sky alone.