Parallel Universe 004 - An alternate Gatchaman II universe by Cal
Based on the works of Alara Rogers, Ennien Ashbrook and Kathleen
Coventry, and episode 14 from the original show
All Gatchaman characters copyright Tatsunoko Productions
Brace Hoffman borrowed from Ennien Ashbrook
Bergmann (just the name) taken from Alara Rogers



         Change - Part 1


   "Change is a natural process," Rayek said with his hand on her
head, "speeded up for immediate effect. It should, by rights, be
painless. Take Gabriel-Ernest, for instance. To him, transforming
is as simple as blinking; he does it three times in a day, easily."
She nodded with her eyes closed, sitting on the chair in the living
room with the curtains drawn. "The secret is to let it happen
without consciously interfering, in a state of total awareness. We
all move in etherspace, whether we are aware of it or not; we are
all continually moulding the reality that we live in through our
minds. Essentially, you are a swarm of atoms caught in a force
field. When you Change, all you do is alter the pattern of your
force field. If you do so in a calm and lucid state of mind, the
atoms should realign themselves smoothly and without problems." She
nodded again. "Ready to try?" A third nod. A tremor passed through
her body all the way up to the skull, and organs began to shift
from within as she voluntarily commenced the physical process of
Change. Her very skin seemed to blur and crawl as it was reabsorbed
into her body for regeneration and instantly replaced by a new
layer, and her features rippled and resettled into the slightly
coarser and bonier features of otoko-Katze, the veins rising on the
backs of the hands as s/he lost even the thin layer of subcutaneous
fat that made up much of hir feminine silhouette. The whole
conversion of Change took up just under five minutes, Rayek keeping
his hand on hir head throughout the process to harmonize hir
molecular structure. When it was finished, the person sitting in
the chair was unmistakably male. He still had his eyes closed.
   "Wait for the hormone rush to die down," Rayek advised him.
"I'll straighten out your pituitary for you." He put his hands on
either side of Katze's head, and a discernible current passed
between them. When the hands were lifted, Katze opened his eyes and
blinked, looking slightly dazed.
   "How are you feeling now?"
   "A little disoriented," he admitted. "But otherwise, fine. I can
hardly believe it." He examined the palms of his hands, flexed the
joints of his wrists and elbows. Rising, he passed a hand over the
back of his neck and bent forwards to test his spine. "I can't
believe it," he repeated. "I ought to be in agony by now. Well,
agony may be a bit strong - I'm well over half of my cycle - but
all the same, I'd expect some discomfort..."
   Rayek smiled.
   "The body stores memories in the cells of the muscular system,
and reproduces them when the same situation recurs. For you, Change
has often followed death, frequently a painful death. This is bound
to leave its traces."
   "True. I hadn't thought about that."
   "Will you be Changing back immediately?"
   "I'd better. Joe's dropping by this evening, he'll freak out if
he sees me like this." Rayek smiled again.
   "I can hardly see you staying female all your life. Unless you
undergo some sort of operation, and I've already understood that
operations don't work on you. Do you want my help?"
   "Yes please." He seated himself on the chair again, and the hand
was returned to his head. This time, he took a deep breath before
Changing back into his female form.
   "There's nothing to be afraid of," Rayek said, as Change set in.
As before, he kept his eyes shut while his hormone level swayed
wildly from one extreme to the other, trying to re-establish
equilibrium.
   "Matter of habit," she explained, on conclusion. "Most of my
transformations went rather less well than this, and I'm sure it'd
go a lot less smoothly if I tried it without your help."
   "Of course it's easy when you're psychic," Rayek conceded. "But,
if it's a consolation to you, I wasn't born with the gift; I
developed it through practice, which means anyone can attain the
same. Likewise, Change will come easier to you after practice.
You've had two painless Changes now; your body will remember, and
try to reproduce them."
   "Good." She rose and stretched, contentedly testing her
regenerated frame; now that she had undergone Change without
suffering, she could enjoy its benefits, the refreshing feeling of
being in a body that was completely new and undamaged. She knew she
had various self-destructive habits, and it had always been a
source of relief to her that the damage would never be permanent.
She also knew that Rayek, like his sister, could regenerate living
tissue, both his own and other people's, and had done so on more
than one occasion.
   "You're a healer, right?"
   "Of sorts," he replied modestly.
   "Could you Change, if you wanted to?"
   "I probably could, but I don't really want to."
   "Why not?"
   "Well, as I've said, the physical body is merely a swarm of
atoms patterned according to a genetic blueprint. You have two of
these blueprints. I have only one. To change shape, I would first
have to create a second blueprint, and make it as valid, if you
like, as the first one. Basically, I'd be having two potential
bodies, both clamouring to be manifested. And I think having one
body is complicated enough." He drew back his erect, mane-like
forelock, one of the very few features he did not have in common
with his sister. "It's not for nothing that most shape-shifters
have only one alternate form. They'd go mad if they had more."
   "So, I'm a shape-shifter, eh?"
   "If you like. Question of definition, really. Shape-shifters
tend to be double-bodied, rather than double-gendered. And they're
rarely merged in the womb, although they may change shape during
gestation."
   "Like Gabriel-Ernest?" She knew it wasn't his real name, because
his real name, to her, was unpronounceable; his nickname had been
taken from a short story about a very irreverent young werewolf.
Angel, whose staunch friend and supporter he was, called him Gabi.
   "And all the members of his race."
   "They're a whole species, right?"
   "Yes, their double blueprint is passed on genetically, and
consistently enough to warrant the name of species. It must be said
that they are very well adapted to their peculiarity."
   "Would you say they were genetically engineered?"
   "I sometimes suspect they were; it doesn't strike me as the kind
of development that would take place naturally. But then I
sometimes suspect the same of our race - six-limbed mammals are
rare, even on our planet. There are only two or three lines of
them, one of those lines comprising semi-etheric creatures with
noticeable psychic abilities; but whether I should believe, as Win
does, that their origin is alien... Our planet should do as well
for them as anyone's, I should say," he concluded with a sudden
grin. Then he returned to his habitual gravity. "You are aware that
we will shortly be leaving?"
   A sadness stole over her face. "Angel dropped a hint about it.
It'll take some getting used to, not seeing you lot anymore. Plus
I'll have to go back to medicine."
   "Ask Stanley to get you prescriptions for the heavy stuff," he
reminded her.
   "I guess I'll have to go to Stanley for everything from now on.
You know, I really wish you wouldn't have to go."
   "The gate is dying," Rayek said, "and our home lies elsewhere.
If it wasn't for the time discrepancy... But we'll remember you."
   "Will you ever be coming back again?"
   "If we will, it would be too late for you, I fear."
   "Drat."
   "But before that time, we will, of course, be harassing you with
our presence on a daily basis, just to make sure you won't miss us
too much. Can we count on you for the race?"
   "Oh, definitely." Her face lit up. "Will One-Eye be there?"
   "Yes, his horse will be competing in the finals. And his sister
will put in an appearance, too. They know it's going to be your
last time, so they decided to hold a celebration in your honour. A
kind of intercultural folkloristic event, if you like."
   She looked thrilled. "What about dress codes?"
   "Considering there'll be you, me, One-Eye, Angel, Copperhead and
a shape-changer, I doubt whether they'll have any dress code. Just
come as you like."
   "Date?" she inquired.
   "We're tentatively aiming for the first of August, but the time
difference complicates things. If you try to get some time off at
the end of the coming week, so you can be ready when we come to
pick you up, everything should work out. And bear in mind your
absence may last longer than you expect."
   "Oh, that's okay. Nambu arranged for two weeks of holiday after
I finish this assignment. I can plan them at the end of this month,
the gyros are almost done anyway. It wouldn't be more than a week,
would it? Just so Joe won't worry."
   "Between a week and three days. How is your suicidal mate, by
the way?"
   "Almost got over it. I don't think he'll ever get over it
completely, though. He's spoilt, in that respect."
   "Try telling him you love him. It won't cure him, but it might
give you a few hours of respite." They both laughed. "No doubt
he'll recover when he reverts to his caring role. Provided Nambu
doesn't decide to interfere again."
   "Oh, don't worry, Nambu won't bother us any more. He doesn't
want a repeat of what happened."
   "He might try to fit you into the team. Nambu is not the kind of
character to leave people alone, or potential unused."
   She stared at him incredulously. "Me?? I don't think so. He'd
have to be seriously disturbed to do that. Besides, the team would
hardly stand for it. Forty percent of said team doesn't trust me,
forty percent hates my guts and the lone twenty percent that
doesn't almost got himself killed trying to rehabilitate himself
with his leader."
   Rayek laughed openly. "After you made him believe you were going
to abandon him in favour of your cat, house and god-children," he
reminded her. "You must admit that you are not particularly
demonstrative of your affections." She stared at him again; she had
disclosed nothing of her conversation with Joe to Rayek. Unless...
   "No, I didn't read your mind," Rayek assured her. "Joe
unburdened his own mind to me, in one of his existential crises. He
doesn't exactly like me, but he likes talking to me."
   "True, he doesn't. He thinks you look like a girl. It's not
something he can deal with very well." Rayek almost smirked. 
   "That spells trouble for your male phase."
   "Not to worry. He'll dump me anyway." She said it casually, but
her mouth corners twitched.
   "Will he? I don't think so." Rayek glanced at the watch face on
his wrist. "I should leave. I'll pass any messages along through
Angel. Give my regards to Brace and Lenore when you see them." They
said their goodbyes, and Rayek walked into the garden to do his
disappearing act. Convincingly humanoid, he nevertheless preferred
to avoid the public eye.

         *   *   *

Joe found her lounging before the television, looking dejected. The
sound had been turned low, but whatever the characters were
speaking, it wasn't Japanese. Glancing at the video, he saw she was
watching a tape, rather than a programme.
   "Why don't you watch TV like ordinary people?" he joked, giving
her a peck on the cheek.
   "'Cuz the only thing worth watching is the news, and that's just
too depressing."
   "What's that you're watching?" he wanted to know. She turned up
the volume. In a voice laced with heavy sarcasm, the bearded man on
the screen said to his gormless-looking sidekick: "Baldrick, you
wouldn't recognize a cunning plan if it painted itself purple and
danced naked on a harpsichord, singing: `Cunning plans are here
again.'" Katze snorted briefly with laughter. Joe hadn't been able
to follow all of it.
   "What is it?"
   "A reworking of a popular Christmas tale. Except this time the
good guy turns bad, when he discovers there's a better future in
it."
   "Sounds funny."
   "Is. Hilarious. You're late, by the way. Did you eat yet?"
   "Went to the Snack J. Training went okay, only Nambu had to go
give us a lecture on team spirit," he grimaced.
   "While you were squirming to get away... heh. Well, nothing much
happened here, I just spent half the day in front of the computer.
Then I said to hack with it and put on some tapes."
   "So you haven't cooked yet?" he guessed correctly.
   "Haven't had the energy. Joe, you wouldn't be so kind...?" She
looked at him appealingly.
   "Oh, all right," he grumbled. "Sheesh, I just got here. What do
you want, noodles?" He brought her the bag with the long strap, she
dug up the wallet and handed him some money. "Keep the change." He
nodded and set off on his errand. She slumped in front of the
television again, with a sad little sigh.

   "This is the way Win does it," Katze told Joe as she sat astride
his hips, her thighs firmly gripping his sides and her hands
resting on his shoulders. Pinned and immobilized, he was
nevertheless being jounced and joggled like a carriage being raced
over a road of boulders. They had retired to the bedroom
immediately after she had eaten, and Joe, still curious about hir
passing relationship with the alien female, had asked her what it
was like. Offering to demonstrate, she had instantly smothered him
in hugs and kisses, stimulating him almost to a climax, before
mounting his unresisting body and driving it into the mattress with
powerful strokes. Moaning, he tightly grasped the pillow under his
head, understanding for the first time what made some women want to
dig their nails into their partner's backs when they came. As the
waves of orgasm swept over him, he turned his head to one side,
arched his back as far as it would go and released the tension in
one long cry. She didn't cry out, but she had the tell-tale
limpness as she fell over him, her shoulder covering his cheek. She
was breathing more heavily than he was; it had been a tiring round
for her.
   "Man, they weren't kidding when they called this riding," Joe
gasped. Too breathless to reply, she brought up a hand and tapped
his arm with one finger to signify she had heard. Once she was
capable of speaking, she resumed: "Usually they kneel."
   "Who, the men?" She tapped his arm again to signify the
affirmative. "Sounds like hard work."
   "Is."
   "Phew." He tried to turn his head back, only to find her
shoulder was so high against his chin that it pushed his lower jaw
shut. Perceiving his discomfort, she rolled to one side. He rolled
over also, and fastened onto her.
   "Joe, darling, would you pass me the towel?" Tired of always
rushing off to the shower and changing the sheets every other day,
she had adopted Win's habit of keeping a towel in a bucket beside
the bed and using it to soak up the worst. Joe obligingly moved
away from her and angled over the side of the bed with one arm
until he found it. Folding it into an oversized sanitary napkin,
she clamped it between her legs and enfolded him in her customary
embrace. He kissed the velvety skin under his face, and found it
tasted of salt. Pushed by an irresistable impulse, he licked it.
   She giggled. "That's what rats do."
   "Huh??"
   "They lick your skin, when you're sweating," she explained.
   "And how would you know that?"
   "One of Lenny's kids has a pet rat. I was holding it and it
started to lick my thumb. I thought it would bite me, but Jaime
said not to worry. Also, they're really sweet when they yawn."
   Joe had some difficulty marrying the idea of rats to the concept
of sweetness. "Yech! What's a little kid doing with a rat??"
   "Rats are so adorable. And they're very intelligent," she added.
   "You're weird."
   "Sez the gun freak."
   "Hey, just because I.. Oh, never mind. You like animals, don't
you?"
   "Mmm. Some."
   "You like cats."
   "Win's crazy about horses," she said, leading the conversation
away from herself.
   "I guessed that. Kinda obvious."
   "And you've got a thing about puppies..."
   He whacked her, very lightly. "Now you stop about that." She was
quietly shaking with laughter.
   "Joe the valiant puppy saver..."
   "You shut up."
   "Rushing to the rescue of puppies in distress..."
   "Shut up, I said."
   "Brave helper of puppies in need..."
   "Shut *up*!" he barked. "Just because *once* in my life I got
out of my car to hlmph--" He struggled, then relaxed as her tongue
slid between his lips and over his teeth.
   "Just kidding, Joe," she whispered into his ear.
   "Anyway, if you want a really mushy character, take a look at
Ryu," Joe grumped. "He called me a cold-hearted jerk once."
   "I bet the departed souls of the goons he flattened would beg to
differ."
   "Okay, so he's not nice to Galactors."
   "You can say that again."
   "Look, you don't have to see him if you don't want to, do you?"
   "No, you're right. I don't."
   "So you don't have to worry about it, do you? I mean, there's a
lot of people out there who don't like either of us. So long as
they can't get to us, who cares?"
   "You're right."
   "I love you. So don't you worry. I'll take care of you."
   "Mmm."
   "So what do you say we do it again?"
   "Can't. I'm dirty now, I'd have to take a shower."
   "I'll live. And this time I'll do the hard work, okay?"
   She shrugged. "It's your funeral." Pulling out the towel, she
tossed it over him into the bucket. He reached up to kiss her,
running his hands over her back and neck. She closed her eyes.
   "I love you," he breathed against her throat. Her eyes still
closed, she nodded. He moved his hands progressively lower, and
then he moved his whole body, and when all movement had finally
ceased they fell asleep together, tangled up like a knot of wool.

         *   *   *

He was jolted awake by a loud ring. The empty space beside him told
him that she'd wriggled out of their communal cocoon some time
earlier without waking him, which meant that she was probably a
floor below him, and closer to the telephone than he was. Sure
enough, the ringing stopped, and he could hear Katze giving her
alias in a neutral, polite, disinterested voice. Joe relaxed and
prepared to go back to sleep. He was too far away to make out the
caller's words, but she answered routinely: "Yes... yes... All
right... Yes... *What is this, some sick joke*???" Her voice had
risen abruptly to a screeching whine of fury. Snugly curled up
under the covers, Joe grinned; although she tried to adjust to her
new social position, her stock of politeness and submissiveness was
still small, and soon exhausted. "Yeah, *right*." She smacked down
the phone, and stamped up the stairs. Her eyes were flaming as she
entered the bedroom.
   "Boss man making trouble again?" he sympathized, his eyes
twinkling with amusement. Her bouts of temper never frightened him
much.
   "Your boss man, not mine. That was Nambu. He wants me to be a
backup member for the team."
   "He what??"
   She sat down hard on the bed, and rested her chin on her hands.
"If you can't beat 'em, make 'em join! Nambu always comes up with
these really bright ideas. Sort of like a certain alien I could
mention. If he and X ever changed places for a day, I wonder if
anyone would notice." She turned to Joe, her hands spread in
exasperation. "I mean, what the hell am I supposed to *do*?? Follow
them around with a set of screwdrivers and a first aid kit? Join
them on the God Phoenix? Ryu'll just love that. I have a *job* for
god's sake!! I can't just call Hakani and say sorry, I'm off to
save the world, I'll finish those calculations when I get round to
them. Damn, he might just as well have fired me."
   "Jun has a snackbar," Joe countered.
   "How she manages to keep it going under the circumstances is
beyond me. Especially with you two running up bills all the time."
Joe had finally paid his arrears to Jun after having been pressured
by Katze, who had strict principles on the matter of debts. Ken
still owed her a considerable amount.
   "Jeez, I paid mine."
   "After I almost dislocated your arm. She should be grateful to
me, I saved her from bankruptcy. Instead, she looks at me as if I
had herpes."
   "Aw c'mon. When was the last time she looked at you?"
   "When she had to haul Ken out of the stupid test plane."
   "Right. That was months ago."
   "No it wasn't. And what about the damn cat? Who's gonna feed her
when I'm somewhere in the Kalahari dodging elephant mecha? Not you,
because you'll be in the same spot. Dammit, these missions can take
days, weeks... I can't afford to stay away from home that long. Oh,
damn you, Nambu!!" she exclaimed, hitting her knee with one fist.
Joe hoisted himself up on his elbows.
   "What exactly did he tell you?"
   "A lot of bosh about my technical abilities to butter me up, and
then he said I should join forces with the team. Combine our
resources, or something. I assume that means I join the backup
team. I hardly think he'll allow me to go on the missions
themselves."
   Joe shrugged. "So what's the problem?"
   "The problem is, I'll be expected to hop off to Singapore or
Miami or wherever you happen to be at a moment's notice just
because the GP's got a screw loose, stay there until it's
tightened, and then face all the dirty looks if it turns out it
wasn't tightened properly. Plus the working conditions are shit,
emergency techs do *not* know the meaning of the word `sleep'. Plus
I'll be a prime target for Galactor activity, once they find out
about me. Once they find out about Hunt the Ninjatai Pit-stop
Mechanic, that is. If they find out who I really am, I'm toast."
   "And what would they want with Hunt the Ninjatai Pit-stop
Mechanic?"
   "Galactor has a fine nose for high-ranking scientists, remember?
Helvig doesn't have all that security for nothing. Or Ozake, or
Milos, or Nambu himself for that matter. The man lives in a
fortress. Damn, damn, damn."
   "The pay's good," Joe remarked. "You'll be filthy rich."
   "I've got all the money I need. Right now, all I want is to be
left in peace."
   "I thought you were obsessed with making money?"
   "I'm obsessed with making a living, which is something
*entirely* different. Fuck, I had a holiday coming up."
   "So? You don't have to join immediately, do you?"
   "Nambu said as from now. Quoted the damn contract before I could
tell him to piss off."
   "You'll just have to hope Galactor doesn't pull any tricks until
you're back. Or postpone it."
   "CAN'T!!" she bellowed at him. He rolled away and hid his face.
Turning her back to him, she struck her knee with her fist again.
"Damn! I thought I was *through* with Galactor!!"
   "It's gonna be all right," he comforted her, rolling back to
slide up her spine like a rearing snake. "There's been no sign of
Galactor activity lately, and the ISO people are all busy on those
radar readings. You'll get your holiday."
   "I'd better." She was still fuming. Kneeling behind her, he
kissed the back of her neck and slipped his hands around her waist,
deftly undoing the trouser belt and sliding one finger up and down
the zipper.
   "Joe, I've got work to do today."
   Smiling to himself, he continued running his finger over the
interlocking metal notches, gradually increasing the pressure.
   "I said, I've got work to do..."
   "You've got a whole day." He pulled the long-sleeved T-shirt
upwards with one hand, exposing a strip of skin above the jeans.
   "Don't. Got visitors this afternoon." She was sagging backwards
against his chest. He pushed the zipper open and slid his hand
inside her jeans.
   "Do it tomorrow."
   "I have other plans for tomorrow. And I really have to get this
finished in time."
   "Why, you want your holiday that bad?"
   "I've been invited someplace." His fingertips curled around the
elastic of her underpants, touching the hair underneath. "Oh, okay.
Make it a quick one."
   "Nuh-uh. I don't do quick ones."
   "I know. That's why I love you."
   "I love you too." He pulled her round to face him. "You said
they kneel?"
   "Who does? Oh... You're not going to...?"
   "Sure am," he grinned. She sighed. "You're as bad as your old
man." Realizing what she had said, she quickly put a hand to her
mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."
   "It's okay. He was a bastard, anyway."
   "I'm sure he was trying to do what he thought was best for you.
The Galactor way." Joe hung his head, his arms still loosely around
her neck.
   "Do you miss him?"
   Joe shook his head, his hair tumbling over his lowered eyes.
"Yes you do." He shook harder.
   "Do you miss your mother?"
   He shook his head again. "It's been too long now."
   "It's not really fair she was killed. She had nothing to do with
it. Didn't even know what was going on. I think."
   "If she had, she'd've blown the roof off," he assured her.
   She grinned. "I bet she would." They snuggled against each other
affectionately. "Funny, isn't it... You could have been my
brother."
   "Instead, you got both of us."
   "Mm. Spanning the generations." Resting his head on her
shoulder, he admitted: "I sort of miss them. Not how they were - it
was so long ago, I hardly remember what they looked like. I just
missed someone to look after me. Nambu wasn't always the perfect
substitute."
   "I know what you mean."
   "Tried his best, though."
   "Nambu doesn't have the faintest idea how to raise a child.
Heck, even I could do a better job. And god knows I hate children."
   "Uh-huh."
   "I mean, when I'm cruel, at least I'm being intentionally
cruel."
   "Is it true you're going to adopt Lenore's children if she
dies?" he wanted to know.
   "Yep. I've been nominated their official god-parent."
   "What's that mean?"
   "What, you don't know?? You were raised as a Catholic, weren't
you?"
   "Who by? Nambu?"
   "Okay, silly question." She moved away from him to undress.
Still kneeling, he asked: "Why don't you ask Lenore to adopt Grey?"
   "That'd be asking for trouble. Jaime's got a rat and Rita's got
a goldfish."
   "Sounds like they got a whole fucking pet shop. Okay, get her to
drop by here in the afternoons."
   She pulled the T-shirt off over her head, the turtleneck collar
catching on her nose, as always. "Can't. Len's got a job. Anyway,
what's wrong with pets?"
   "Nothing babe." He waited until she had struggled out of the
jeans, and pulled her onto the sloping surface of his lap. She had
to cling to him to prevent herself from sliding off. He kissed her
on the chin.
   "Welcome to the team."
   "Who, me? As what?"
   "You can be G-6."
   "Already had one."
   "True."
   "And he was a Galactor."
   "Okay, you can be G-7."
   "Mm, the seventh warrior... I like the sound of that. Do you
think I could fit my car in the GP somewhere?"

Katze strode regally forward in the space cleared as a stage in the
living room, her eyes maniacally widened, her voice strangely
chilling. "People say that I am mad! Mad, and evil. Evil, and mad."
She dropped into a more normal expression, and frowned
thoughtfully: "Did I mention evil?"
   Angel and the twins hung over the sofa, roaring with laughter.
"You're class, Sharkey," Angel managed to say. "You definitely
missed your vocation."
   "Okay, so who's next?" Rayek asked, wiping his eyes.
   "Wasn't it Florence Nightingale? No, wait, she came before King
John."
   "Florence Nightingale came first!!" Win said indignantly. "Fancy
skipping my part." Gathering the folds of an imaginary dress about
her, she sailed onto the stage with a superior smile as Angel,
taking the announcer's role, introduced her as the Lady of the
Lamp. "I am of course entirely frigid."
   Angel, Rayek and Katze simultaneously hooted with laughter. With
streaming eyes, Rayek choked out: "Can we say `miscast'?"
   Win curtsied nicely, did her little speech, and returned to the
couch. "Okay, so who's doing Cleopatra?" Three pairs of eyes
fastened onto the only dark-haired person in the room. "Oh no. Oh
nononono." "Oh *yes*!" Win cried out, dragging her reluctant
brother off the couch. He sighed, pulled his hair down on either
side of his face in imitation of an Egyptian head-dress and raised
his arms with bent elbows, the palms flatly upwards. The joke about
Cleopatra was that she had an endless string of titles, starting
with "Queen of Egypt" and ending with "Daughter of Ra", which had
to be repeated in its entirety each time she referred to herself.
With his habitual deadpan expression, Rayek faithfully went through
the routine every time, shortening it by dropping out the middle:
"...tum de dum de dum Ra, ..." and moving his hand in an impatient
circle as if to speed up the litany, before he could continue.
Katze heaved with soundless laughter, today's unfinished work
temporarily forgotten.
   "Wait till you see Lady Guinevere and John Knox," Win chortled.
   "Oh my. I have *got* to get those tapes."
   "They are being copied even as we speak," Angel assured her.
"You're going to have wall-to-wall British comedy by the time we're
through," Win added. "Plus Kids in the Hall, plus The Powers that
Be, plus The State, plus the comic books - I know someone with a
colour printer who'll let me copy practically for free. You know
`Le Genie des Alpages', don't you?" Katze shook her head,
questioningly. "It's about a herd of anarchist sheep in the Alps.
Truly hilarious, not to mention totally absurd. I've got five
parts. There must be more, but I never managed to lay hands on
them, worse luck."
   "What're the titles?"
   "Can't recall just offhand, but one of them was called `Barre-
toi de mon herbe'," Win replied. Katze instantly cracked up.
   Angel blinked uncomprehendingly. "Get offa my grass," Katze
translated for his benefit. "Oh, *those*!"
   "I translated them for you," Win told him accusingly. "Hey, that
was a long time ago. I can't remember *everything*." He turned to
Katze. "I hear you're going to race me?" She lowered her eyes
bashfully. "Wasn't it just a practice run?"
   "We'll be clocking the times though," Win said. "Say, you *will*
come, won't you?"
   "Wouldn't miss it for anything in the world." Katze resolved to
step up her working tempo on the following day; she couldn't absent
herself with the assignment still unfinished, and the deadline had
already been moved up once. If she cut back on sleep, she might
just pull it off... Provided nothing else cropped up.
   Rayek gazed at her thoughtfully. "Do you have some kind of
workload problem?"
   "No, no, not at all!... Yes, I do," she confessed. "I, ah,
wasted some time this morning, which is a damn nuisance as I'm on
a rather tight schedule right now. Plus there's housework to do and
the garden to keep trimmed, I mean it's not much but before you
know it the day's over and you haven't done a damn thing... I can
catch up tomorrow," she concluded breathlessly. Angel glanced
ruminatively at his companions.
   "Maybe we could do something to help out? I mean, if we're going
to be here every day, we might as well make ourselves useful. I
could do the cleaning, Jaana could take care of meals... What do
you think, Jan?"
   "I can take care of today's dinner, at any rate," Rayek replied.
"Tomorrow evening may be problematic, but for the rest of the week
my evenings are mine."
   "And I'll see to the garden," Win offered. "Gabriel-Ernest is
coming over to help us pack, he could lend a hand too. It's his
job, after all. Also, I could deal with any unexpected
emergencies."
   "Gabi's coming?" Angel asked. "You never told me that."
   "We called him in to transport some of the smaller stuff before
the gate went," she reminded him. "Well, Sharkey, what do you
think?"
   "Are you absolutely sure?" Katze asked. "I mean, if I put some
effort into it and avoid distractions, I'm sure I could get this
lot done without having to bother you."
   "If you work your ass off, sleep four hours a day and lock out
your boyfriend, you mean," Angel said. Win agreed: "Naah, we
wouldn't want your love life to suffer." "Glad to see you've still
got your priorities straight," Rayek muttered to his sister. Katze
blushed.
   "And what about Joe?" Angel asked. "Does *he* ever do anything,
except lounge on the couch between missions?"
   "Nuh... Joe's a traditionalist. He thinks it's a special favour
if he ever does anything around the house. Can't think how I'd
manage if it wasn't for Brace."
   "I'm a traditionalist too," Win said with an evil leer. "Of
course, our traditions are rather different..." Rayek smacked her,
then turned back to Katze. "Does Brace come here often?"
   "No. I told him it's too dangerous. Especially with you three
gone and Nambu coming up with yet another cunning plan. Listen to
this:..." She quickly informed them of the latest development.
Rayek briefly twitched a mouth corner.
   "Congratulations! Which bird are you going to be?" Win asked
gleefully. "Oh no, nothing like that. I'll just be in the backup
team. Quick repairs, retrieving information, supplying them with
new Bird Missiles, things like that. They have these little backup
units all over the world, one or more for each centre. I think they
even deal with things like passports when the team goes undercover,
but I'm not sure. Anyway, it's not a real job. I don't do anything
until Galactor strikes again, in which case I assume Nambu gives me
a call, briefs me, and sends me out to wherever."
   "And are you happy about this?" Rayek asked.
   "Not at all! It means I have to abandon the house and whatever
it is I'm working on whenever the Ninja Twits get into trouble,
which is always. Plus there's Grey to consider." She turned
imploring eyes on Win. "You wouldn't want to look after her when
I'm gone, would you?"
   "No!" Win declared emphatically. "I couldn't do that. I'm cold,
and I'm heartless, I could never give her the love and attention
she needs. Besides," she added airily, "I'm allergic to cats."
   "You are not!!" Angel exclaimed. "Allergic to cats, I mean." She
whacked him.
   "Again, Brace springs to mind," Rayek said. "Have you ever
considered officially employing him?"
   "I don't know if it's safe, he's still hiding. It would solve
his financial problems, though; I give him some money from time to
time, but I know it's not enough. And it's tough finding a decent
job with no qualifications."
   "Would it be possible to ask amnesty for him? Or would it
further endanger his life if the UN knew of his existence?"
   "That's what I'm not sure about. I'd ask Nambu, but I'm not on
speaking terms with him. And it's not something I should burden
Stanley with."
   "Oh, I don't know. Stanley might put you in touch with someone
who could tell you more about it. Someone reliable."
   "That certainly counts out Anderson," Katze said scornfully. Win
and Angel nodded their agreement. Rayek blinked slowly and
pensively.
   "So, you're not actually gonna go out there and fight the bad
guys?" Angel confirmed. She shook her head. "I'm not cut out to be
a ninja."
   "Don't be too sure," Rayek said. "The word `ninja', in its
original sense, referred to a caste of spies and assassins, skilled
in disguises and the use of poison. You may be a more genuine ninja
than your quasi-feathered friends."
   She blushed again. "Anyway, none of them trust me..."
   "Joe does."
   "And I'm not sure I'd hold out under torture. I'm a coward, you
know."
   "I'm convinced Nambu would be intelligent enough to keep you out
of risky situations, if only for his own safety."
   "What makes you think you'll be tortured?" Angel demanded.
"They'd have to catch you first."
   "And if they did, they'd do worse than torture you," Win
consoled her. This time, Angel whacked Win.
   "That's *so* reassuring," Katze agreed sarcastically.
   "To tell you the truth, I'm not all that brave, either," Win
confessed. "If I wasn't all-powerful, I'd be the biggest coward in
the universe."
   "You are *not* all-powerful," her brother told her. She smirked
at him. "Darn close!"
   "So much of what you are is dictated by circumstance," Angel
philosophized. "I should know."
   "And when the circumstances change, and you adapt to them, which
is the logical thing to do," Win supported him, "people won't
believe it, and they ask what on Earth happened to you, and they
think you've gone mad. Whereas if they took the trouble to think
things through..."
   "It was certainly that way with One-Eye," Rayek assented. Katze
roughly knew One-Eye's history. A living legend, he had twice
headed a gang of bandits with such skill that he had become a
widely feared criminal. Reformed now, he lived peacefully on his
own plot of land with his two children and a grand-child.
   "Reformed my ass," Win had snorted. "The only reason he turned
to robbery at all was because he was landless, and he didn't fancy
prostitution. He was making a living the only way he could. It's
the law that needs reforming."

While Rayek was occupied in the kitchen, Win and Angel had availed
themselves of the opportunity of feeding time to make a tour of the
garden. Square in form and not very large, it was like a clearing
in an open forest, excised from its natural location to be fitted
within the four sides of the protective concrete wall. The creepers
climbing up the concrete had flourished, covering it entirely.
White trumpet-shaped flowers poked out from among the ivy.
   "Unbelievable people should call this a weed," Katze said,
pointing at them.
   "Tends to strangle the lesser vegetation," Win said by way of
explanation. "The tougher a plant is, the less people value it. Me,
I'm more into natural gardening."
   "Oh, me too." Katze ran her hand over a bush with feathery
branches, the leaves releasing a strong scent of lemon as she
touched them. Although it was seven o'clock, the sun was still
high. "What season are you in, anyway?"
   "Late summer," Win said. Waveworld seasons were so long that the
modifier was not a redundant one. "Weather's perfect. Bumper crops
of whitecorn." The slight difference in life-forms and the
unbridgeable gap between human and Waveling speech obliged the
twins to invent new words, often loan translations.
   "Pity I can't eat them," Angel said despondently. "Not unless
you want to come out in spots," Win agreed. Katze put down the dish
she had been carrying, and whistled. Win suggested that Katze
devote the time before dinner to her assignment, while she herself
went out to trim some ivy. Angel offered to tidy up the living room
and lay the table.
   After dinner, they lounged in the sitting room discussing
horses, politics, and generally anything that came to mind.
Although the twins were officially and legally co-owners of their
breeding farm, Win was the driving force behind it. "Just like our
pa," she winked at Rayek, who didn't look pleased.
   "That's not what your soldiers of fortune think."
   "Ah, fuck them. If they don't like the management, they can
bugger off, and that's what I told them." Instead of the usual
servants, Win hired former mercenaries to be her stable hands, thus
giving them something constructive to do for a living while
assuring the protection of her property, for both her and Rayek's
unconventional views earned them a measure of hostility. They lived
in tents and huts near the stables, retreating to their homes or to
the inns in winter. Mostly landless daughters, they varied from
honest and trustworthy to downright criminal; the criminal types
were sacked after the trial period, or sooner if their behaviour
necessitated it.
   Joe came in as they were discussing monogamy, jealousy and
projection. "Hi, darling. You're late. How was training?"
   "Okay. Took ages though. Did you eat yet?"
   "'Fraid so. We kept some apart for you, want it?"
   "No thanks, I ate at Jun's. What's that?" He indicated the tape
playing in the stereo, a catchy mix of acoustic and electric.
   "Little River Band." Joe frowned, not recognizing the name.
"Live," Win added. "We copied it for her. Side two is Manfred
Mann's Earth Band, also live."
   "Two last-century hippie bands that survived into our lifetime,"
Rayek clarified. "They both contributed a singer to Alan Parson's
Project for the live concerts of nineteen... what was it?" "Ninety-
something," Win helped him. "Just before we left." Angel nodded.
Katze, seeing Joe was interested, turned up the volume a little.
The lyrics were in English, but, Joe reflected, most popular music
coming from outside Japan had English lyrics. Win was tapping her
nails on the chair's armrest in time to the rhythm, and when the
two-voiced refrain came round, she and Angel suddenly joined in,
each taking a different voice part. Joe was impressed by the way
their voices blended with both the music and each other.
      Hey everybody
      Don't you feel that there's something
      But you know in a moment it is gone
      I live for the day when I hear people say
      That they know and they care for everyone
      But I feel like I've been here for the whole of my life
      Never knowing home
   "You sing pretty good," Joe said during the guitar solo,
addressing Win rather than Angel. She grinned modestly and leant
her head towards Angel, as if to include him in the compliment.
"I'm a percussionist, really, but I like singing, too. We all do.
Angel usually does the first voice 'coz he doesn't play any
instruments."
   "You play instruments?" Joe asked. Katze had turned down the
volume again, and a buzz reached him: `He knows he will he's
dressed to kill - he's the night owl.' He decided to listen to the
tape at leisure some other time. Win sat up primly and put a hand
to her shapely but diminutive bosom.
   "Me, drums. My darling brother, guitar, five strings or six. He
also plays the piano, but that's a bit hard to carry around with
you. Also, I used to play an instrument called the horse-head which
is like a violin, but I got fed up with it."
   "Sounds like Jun." He embarked on a description of Jun's musical
abilities, the trio listening intently. Glad to be able to
contribute something of interest to someone at last, he allowed
himself to become more and more deeply embroiled in a conversation
on music, music-making, popular music of last century, popular
music of the last few decades, musical trends, folk music and even
classical music of various kinds. Katze sat back and merely
listened with her eyes narrowed to slits, whether in boredom or
animation he couldn't tell. He found the twins very knowledgeable
on the subject. Not only that, but they imparted some puzzling bits
of information to him; that they had no electricity and hence no
electric instruments, but a long vocal tradition; that they were a
mix of two cultures, although they considered themselves quite
cosmopolitan and open to all cultural influences, and that they
sometimes sang songs simply to practise their English. On hearing
that he spent most of his spare time here, they offered to treat
him to a musical session as soon as their fourth member arrived.
"If Sharkey doesn't mind, that is."
   "Not at all. I'm used to working with the radio on." A date was
set, and Katze sealed the agreement with the characteristic sly
smile that always gave her a wicked and sinister appearance, no
matter what her actual intentions were. He had known her for long
enough now to be able to distinguish her real expressions from the
impression conveyed by the set of her facial muscles, but he
understood what might make people want to shiver and draw away from
her.
   They continued to talk until midnight, Joe dozing against
Katze's shoulder, and Win passed her a bundle of tapes before she
left. Katze thanked her and ranged them in one of a chest of
drawers. It was something Joe had often seen her do; he surmised it
must be filled with tapes from end to end by now.
   "No electricity?" he said as they lay snuggled up against each
other that night, her cheek on his head and his cheek against her
collarbone; they were both too tired to do anything more than
sleep. "What kind of backwater do they live in?" He had been told
that they were aliens, but the concept was so devoid of meaning to
him that it had somehow failed to register.
   "They just don't have that kind of industry. They have other
things."
   "Like?"
   "Like a virtually pollution-free environment. No H-bombs. No
nuclear energy. Discounting solar energy, of course."
   "No war? No violence?"
   "Lots of it. Filthy and gory and senseless, as tradition
requires. They don't know civilization as we know it."
   "Not quite Paradise Planet, then."
   "Oh no. Well, it's thinly populated, which makes for a quieter
life. Most of the violence is where the population is thickest, and
the people poorest. Sort of like here. You may think the UN's done
a good job just because your butt is safe, but ninety percent of
this planet is still plunged in poverty and oppression. And I'm
talking State oppression here, I won't even mention what goes on in
most ordinary households."
   Sometimes, her paranoia annoyed him. "You've never been in an
ordinary household, so you can't really tell, can you?" Instantly,
her hackles rose.
   "Define `ordinary', Asakura."
   "Okay, I will. An ordinary household is where people don't beat
each other up, they don't cheat on each other and they don't have
sex with the kids or the dog. Satisfied?"
   "That's the norm you're talking about. It has nothing to do with
reality."
   "Look, I can assure you most people actually live that way. Just
because you got stuck with one set of kinky lunatics after another
doesn't mean everyone's like that. I mean, take..." He quickly
groped for an example; he had already ruled out his own family.
"Take Ryu and his parents. He's happy, isn't he?"
   "Because he's a boy. If he'd been a girl, he would have ended up
like Neko. And been pleased about it too, the blithering idiot."
   "Okay, how about your twins? They're happy, aren't they?"
   "They're hardly the norm. Not only are they freaks by their own
standards, but they've managed to antagonize half the planet with
their bids for equality. They're safe enough on their own land, but
Angel got--" She quickly swallowed the syllable and changed what she
was going to say, "bashed once because they were on enemy territory
and the thugs knew he's with them. More than once, in fact. Plus
the One-Eye case raised a lot of controversy. If they didn't have
the power they do, they'd be in deep shit. Fortunately, they--"
   "Okay, okay, I withdraw everything," he cut her off. She was
beginning to talk about things that he didn't understand, and he
felt out of his depth. "You're right, we're all a bunch of
psychopaths and nice guys don't last a day in this world. In which
case I wonder why you've got a fancy house, a job that pays
millions and half the army to protect you if you need it."
   "My scientific interest," she replied evenly. "The contract,
remember?"
   "And what about me? Why would I bother to look after someone who
killed my p--" He quickly checked himself, biting his lip.
   "Why, indeed?" she sighed pensively, with a caustic edge to her
voice. He cursed himself.
   "Because I love you," he declared, tightening his hold on her.
   "And why should I believe that, coming from someone who swore to
kill me?"
   "People do stupid things sometimes," he defended himself. "That
was years ago. And you know why."
   "No, I don't, although I could make an educated guess. Still,
how can I be sure you're not waiting for an opportunity to finish
me off for once and for all?"
   "Now you're sounding like Nambu." He sighed, preparing himself
for lengthy explanations. "Look, it wouldn't be logical. All I
wanted to do..."
   "It's all right, Joe," she interrupted gently.
   "It is?"
   "You don't have to justify yourself. I believe you."
   "You do?" After all this time, it still felt odd.
   "Yes. Now let's get some sleep. The twins are coming over
tomorrow." Her voice had become dry and matter-of-fact. "In fact,
they'll be over for the rest of the week, after which they will
disappear from my life forever. So let's not waste time arguing."

                         Change - part 2

She was awake, though still under the covers, when he woke to the
roar of a vacuum cleaner blended with music. He rubbed his eyes,
and tried to remember where he was. "Who the fuck..."
   "That's Angel, darling. He's doing the ground floor today. I
gave him the key and told him to let himself in. What do you say we
get up?"
   "What, this early?"
   "It's eight o'clock."
   "I call that early."
   "I call that a long lie-in. C'mon, you. Let's get to the shower
before he starts on the dishes."
   Descending after a quick shower and shave, they ran into another
visitor. The stereo had been switched off, as had the vacuum
cleaner, and Angel was nowhere to be seen. In one of the chairs sat
Ken, looking not overly pleased. "Ah. Question answered."
   "It's too early for training!" Joe protested. Katze sighed and
rolled her eyes. "Okay, so what did I do this time?"
   "Nothing," Ken said, fixing her with a pronounced stare. "Just
a social call."
   Katze raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Coffee, people?" Angel
called out, popping his head around the kitchen door. "Yes please!"
Katze called back. "Two black, one milk." She knew how Joe
generally drank his coffee in the mornings. "Fed Grey," Angel
continued. "Let *him* in," the pretty head nodded towards Ken, "Was
that all right?"
   "Science Ninjas have free access!" she answered gaily. The head
nodded again, and withdrew. Moments later, strains of a tuneful
ballad drifted from the kitchen.
   "So what brings you here?" Joe asked, staring pugnaciously back
at Ken.
   "I don't suppose you've taken much interest in ISO's latest UFO
reports?"
   "Like what, flying saucers and stuff?" Joe snorted. "Get real."
   "Haven't heard anything about an alien invasion lately," Katze
said reflectively. "Baby Sadra's got a flying saucer, though." Ken
gave her his "who-asked-you-anything" stare and turned back to Joe.
She shrugged again.
   "The radar readings are as yet unreliable, but they may be onto
something. We might have to investigate."
   "`Onto something'... Yeah, like the latest Galactor trap," Joe
said in disgust. "Wake up, Ken. UFOs were a craze from last
century. There *are* no little green men on Mars. Aliens don't
exist, and even if they did, they wouldn't be flying around in
something that looks like a giant frisbee with portholes."
   "If it's a Galactor trap, all the more reason for us to
investigate."
   "Why? They're not *doing* anything yet, are they?"
   "It pays to be prepared. And that means not taking your bracelet
off," he said, pointing at Joe's empty wrist.
   "He's just had a shower," Katze defended him. With a surly look,
Joe reached into his jeans pocket to pull out the bracelet and
clipped it around his wrist.
   "That's no excuse for becoming careless. And by the way, if you
think aliens don't exist, remember who our real enemy is - the one
we're still fighting right now."
   "The truth is out there," Angel intoned in a ghostly voice,
balancing two trays on his arms as he manoeuvered himself through
the kitchen doorway. Katze quickly rose to help him. "Coffee,
people. Sharkey, I made you breakfast." She cried out in delight as
she took the tray that he indicated was hers, containing eggs and
bacon and a pile of buttered toast. Two muffins were perched on the
edge of the plate. "Angel, you deserve a place in heaven."
   "Can your stomach handle English breakfast?" Angel asked Joe,
handing him a second tray of the same and lifting Ken's and his own
mug of coffee off it. Joe accepted it with good grace and tucked
in. "Muffins courtesy of Jaana," Angel said. "Rewarmed them in the
microwave."
   "Compliments to the cook," Katze returned, peeling the paper off
and delicately biting into one.
   "Who's Jaana?" Ken demanded. Katze shot him a watchful glance.
"A friend."
   "Jan is Win's twin brother," Angel said, eyeing Ken with the
same watchfulness, and not, Ken thought, quite as amiably as
before.
   "Ah," Ken said. "I hadn't met him yet." The tension relaxed.
   "Liked the tapes?" Angel asked Katze. She nodded with her mouth
full. "Tapes?" Ken asked.
   "We tape stuff for him, " Angel explained affably. "Old stuff,
the kind you can't find any more. Pink Floyd. Genesis. Fleetwood
Mac." "Kate Bush," Joe put in, grinning. Angel turned to him
indignantly. "And what, pray, is wrong with Kate Bush?"
   "Nothing," Joe replied, still grinning. "She just sounds like
her tits got caught in the zipper is all." Katze, who had just
lifted the mug to her lips, started choking. "Time out, everyone,"
Angel called out, preparing to thump her on the back. Neither spoke
until the coffee was safely swallowed. Ken was staring at Katze
again.
   "I didn't know you liked music."
   She arched her eyebrows at him. "Why on earth shouldn't I?"
   "It just doesn't sound very much in character."
   "You know nothing about my character, Washio." She smiled at him
disdainfully, and mopped up the last of her egg with a rind of
toast. Her plate, when she had finished, was quite clean.
   After the couple had eaten, Angel took the trays back to the
kitchen to wash up, while Katze left for the computer room to do
some work. Joe spread out a newspaper on the table and started to
clean his gun. Feeling ignored, Ken walked out through the kitchen
into the garden and sat on a conveniently placed stump, the sun
shining down on him pleasantly and the birds singing overhead. A
greyish-blue cat poked its head out from behind a bush and was gone
again. On a flagstone tile outside the kitchen door stood a dirty
dish. Surrounded with nothing but greenery, he felt a strange
tranquillity come over him. In the kitchen, Angel was singing
melodiously in English.
      Last night I heard the screaming
      Loud voices behind the wall
      Another sleepless night for me
      Won't do no good to call
      The police
      Always come late if they come at all
   In the serenity of the garden, Ken found himself thinking about
Angel. His frank cordiality, coupled with his pretty face, his
willingness to do household tasks and his high choirboy's voice -
almost as bad as otoko-Katze's, but without the sneering whine that
rendered it so excruciatingly irritating - made him worse than
effeminate, it made him infantile; yet he had a natural self-
assurance that intimidated any would-be taunters. If Joe was to be
believed, he had once been a dangerous killer; he didn't look it,
but then, Ken reflected, neither did Katze. S/he shared with him a
certain affected goofiness that suggested a false simplicity,
hiding whatever lay below. Musing on their differences and
similarities, Ken was suddenly recalled to the present by Angel's
voice ringing out on the other side of the house: "Got your gun?"
   The kitchen had been suspiciously quiet for the last half hour,
so much so that Ken had considered going back inside to look.
Instead, he walked around the north side of the house - not past
the garage, but over the narrow strip of grass running along the
house on the opposite side, and bathed in perpetual shadow from the
high wall - and caught sight of Angel and Joe leaving through the
gate, both with arms slung over their shoulders. Joe was dragging
some sort of post.
   "Where are you going?" he called sternly to Joe.
   "Target practice!" Angel answered on his behalf. "I heard he was
a pretty good shot, so I took the rifle along for a shooting match.
Care to join us?"
   "Where's Katze?"
   "Slaving away at the drawing board. Said he'd take a break at
half-past one." Joe nodded in affirmation, and dragged his post to
a relatively level patch of ground where he erected it, spanning a
cardboard square with circles and a crosshair drawn on it inside
the metal ring mounted on top. He moved away, Angel loaded his
rifle with quick, practised movements and took aim, and three shots
rang out. Joe detached the cardboard square, which had one large,
irregular hole in the centre. He replaced it with a new one from a
bag hanging from his waist.
   "Your turn," Angel said, motioning at Joe with the rifle. Joe
took a longer time to aim, but also shot the card through the
middle each time. "Right, now let's increase the distance."
   Out of his eye corners, Ken appraised Angel's rifle. Although he
didn't have Joe's expertise when it came to firearms, he could see
that it was a very light model, requiring a steady hand. The long,
slim muzzle served, he thought, to increase the reach; he judged
the gun to hold only a few bullets at a time. No heavy artillery,
this... Rather, an instrument of precision...
   "Joe?" he called.
   "Yes?"
   "What if you swap guns?"
   Joe and Angel exchanged glances. "Sounds like a good idea to
me." Angel handed his rifle to Joe. "Don't mangle it, though. I'm
attached to this one."
   "Hey, I know how to handle a gun!" Joe took aim, and fired the
remaining bullets. The shots were a bit off-centre. Angel reloaded
it for him and replaced the card; once safely out of reach, he gave
a sign and Joe tried again, this time with better results.
   "You want to try too?" Angel asked, holding it out to Ken. He
declined. "I'm no good with guns."
   "In that case, now's the time to learn," Angel said, with an
arch look that painfully reminded Ken of Katze, except that Angel,
unlike the mutant, had dark eyebrows and lashes that gave him a
lively, animated expression. In addressing Ken, he had made two
grammatical errors, and he consistently left off all honorifics,
coming across more rudely than he intended. Suppressing his
irritation, Ken said: "You can speak English to me. I understand
English."
   "Glad to hear it, buddy," Angel replied, switching to his native
language with relief. He attempted a few shots with Joe's gun -
"This thing won't snap my head off, will it?" - and they moved
further and further away, laying aim and firing until all the cards
were bored with bullet holes. Ken watched from a distance. He had
to admire the gajin's aim.
   "...always took me to the shooting range," Joe was saying. He
was reviving memories from his childhood, telling Angel a story
that the team had heard many times before.
   "So that's how come you grabbed the gun when you saw the
assassin, even though you were a little kid," Angel said. Joe
nodded. "Sorta came natural to me."
   "Like flying comes natural to Ken." Angel picked up the post and
carried it over his shoulder as they started to walk back to the
house. Ken hurried to join them, walking alongside Angel.
   "You're a good shot," he remarked.
   "Hey, it's my job."
   "You used to murder people, didn't you?" Joe glared at him over
Angel's head, but he ignored it.
   "Professionally, yes. I think I killed fifty people in six
years, not counting the extras," Angel said casually.
   "Did you enjoy killing them?" Angel rolled his eyes to indicate
that he had held this conversation many, many times. "It paid a
buck. Handy when you're an orphan."
   "Were you an orphan?" Ken asked.
   "Ma died when I was thirteen. Killed in a drug war. Her pimp was
a cocaine smuggler. She cared about him. Wanted to show it. Started
helping him, got wasted for the effort. Hell, he wasn't such a bad
guy. Took me in after the funeral. Also taught me to shoot people
for him, but, as Sharkey would say, nothing comes for free." He
grinned at Ken, showing more teeth than good nature. Joe paced
ahead to open the door of the little shed built onto the garage,
giving Ken a venomous look.
   "So you had to do it," Ken ascertained, following him inside.
"You didn't actually want to."
   "I didn't object. Had a lot of bones to pick with people at the
time." He placed the post upright against the brick wall. In the
dim light, Ken spotted a lawnmower and shelves of electronic
equipment.
   "You never felt it was the wrong thing to do?"
   Angel laughed derisively. "Ever seen the inside of a
slaughterhouse? There's a lot of shit going on that you don't know
about, and most of the time it's legal. Besides, how many people
did you kill in the last three years? More than me, I'll bet."
   "I never counted," Ken admitted. A thought hit him. "What about
your father?"
   "Don't have one as far as I'm concerned. One thing I know about
him, he picks up hookers."
   "Not the kind of father I'd be proud of," Ken agreed. Angel gave
him a slightly sour look. Wondering what he might have said wrong,
he tried a different subject. "Why do you call her Sharkey?"
   "Name from a song. Two songs. Hell, ask Joe. Or Sharkey, if
you're on speaking terms with him. You'll have to be, soon enough.
I hear he's going to be on your backup team." He went outside. Ken
followed him, shutting the door. Joe locked it.
   "And now you're living with this girl called Win?"
   "Yeah." He walked to the front door. Joe unlocked it for him and
scowled at Ken. Ken continued to ignore him.
   "Isn't she afraid of you?" Ken insisted. "I mean, she's living
with a murderer."
   "Don't you have any mail to deliver today, Washio?" Joe asked
menacingly.
   "Why should she be?" Angel asked, a note of tired annoyance
breaking through in his voice. "Look, I did it for the money. I
don't like to see people twitch and die, if that's what you want to
know. First time I shot someone, I almost threw up." He crossed the
hall and opened the door to the living room. "People do what they
do for a reason. She knows that - eek." Win was sitting in a chair,
legs crossed, smiling demurely.
   "When are you gonna figure out how to use the door??" Angel
scolded her. Joe grinned. Ken winced; if there was a single person
in the universe more twisted than Katze, it had to be Win. He could
only wonder what any twin brother of hers would be like. Katze came
in from the kitchen, bearing a tray with tea and scones. "It's all
right, people. I let her in."
   "It's not half past yet," Angel reproached her.
   "Don't care. I'm hungry, and I'm stuck. I need my elevenses."
   Ken had intended to exchange a few words with Katze privately
before he left, but with Win around, there was little hope. Now she
was reciting some sort of hold-up scene, rapidly alternating
between the different voices. Not a very effective hold-up, as the
highwayman kept losing himself in rambling soliloquys. "Now, give
me all your lupins!" "Lupins? What do you mean, lupins?" "You know,
lupins, the flowers!" "We haven't got any lupins!" "Aha! I happen
to know this is the Lupin Express!!" "Aw sh*t..." She ended with
the theme song: "Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, galloping through the
sward..." Katze and Joe were collapsing together on the couch in a
snorking heap. Ken failed to see the joke.
   "Definitely the whackiest Robin Hood parody I ever saw," Angel
approved her rendition. "Except for `Maid Marian and her Merry
Men', of course." Encouraged, Win embarked on another imitation,
this time of an old, old king with a quaking voice, addressing his
successor on his deathbed, and recalling her (yes, her) each time
she tried to leave, thinking he had finished. "Wait... before you
venture into the dark, enchanted woods, take with you this
grotesquely carved candlestick that your great-grandmother gave
me." "Why, does it have magical powers?" "No, but I've been trying
to get rid of it for years." Mingled howls rose from the sofa.
Katze was gasping and wheezing in the way that Ken had come to
recognize as laughter; observing her face and throat, he saw that
she was sucking in air, rather than expelling it. No wonder she
suffered from hyperventilation, he thought critically.
   "Greetings all," a friendly, perfectly level voice sounded from
the direction of the kitchen. "Doing your radio shows again,
Winnie?"
   "Hiiiii Jon!" Win shrilled in response, while Joe raised a hand.
Ken turned to look, then stared at the slender, black-haired,
exotically clad apparition standing by the kitchen door. Though
male - the tight leather tunic left no doubt about that - he had
long, flowing hair and a pale oval face exactly like Win's, but
grave and unsmiling; Win's with all the madness and recklessness
ironed out of it. Instead of Win's bangs, he had a fringe that
stood up stiffly like a mane on the right side of his forehead,
hanging down over the other side in a loose curl. Gracefully
tossing his hair back over his short cloak, he stepped up to shake
hands with Ken, and introduced himself as Rayek.
   "What are you *wearing*?" Ken said, still staring, when he had
found his voice.
   "The male version of a flysuit," Rayek replied urbanely, sitting
down and helping himself to a scone. On a sign from Win, Angel
hurried off to the kitchen. "Just passing through," he added to
Katze, who looked disappointed. "Oh well. You said you were busy."
   "Moving house always involves a lot of work. Here's the
Shostakovich tape I promised you," he said, handing her a tape
which she went to stack in a chest of drawers, Ken following her
movements with his eyes. "One-Eye sends his regards. He's looking
forward to seeing you again." Angel returned with a cup and saucer
and poured the new visitor some tea.
   "I thought your name was Jaana?" Ken asked.
   "That is correct," the boy replied. Unlike Angel's, his Japanese
was flawless both in grammar and pronunciation. His voice was
neither deep nor particularly high-pitched, but its quiet resonance
suggested depth.
   "Isn't that a girl's name?"
   "Go take a hike, Ken," Joe bit at him. The boy gazed at Ken
steadily. The size of his eyes was unsettling.
   "In my world," he replied calmly, "it is the name of an animal.
However, if it disturbs you, feel free to call me something else.
My official first name on Earth is Jonathan, which is the
anglicized version of my full name, and my current alias, as I've
already said, is Rayek."
   "Why Rayek?" Ken asked, puzzled.
   "'Coz he's got black hair," Win explained. Unenlightened, Ken
looked from brother to sister and back. Joe's fingers were tapping
on the armrest. "Your mail's still waiting..."
   "Oh yeah, that's right - you're the Flying Mailman!" Win cried
out. "Which reminds me, Sharkey: our mailperson's had a baby."
   "Oh, that's nice. Did she take maternity leave?"
   "No, she's flying again. Took leave in the last term of
pregnancy, though. Okay, she should've been able to do it - that's
what women are built for - but she didn't want to run a risk." "Too
right," her brother joined in. "Especially if you consider how our
parents died." Katze nodded. "She may have been light, but advanced
pregnancy upsets the balance even more dangerously than carrying a
baby once it's born."
   "Your parents died too?" Ken blurted out. He hadn't meant to -
in fact, he hadn't meant to bring up the subject at all - but it
was out before he knew it.
   "We're all orphans here," Katze said. Ken gave her a puzzled
look. "I don't have parents," she explained, "Joe's were shot, as
were Angel's, or at least his mother was; Win's and Rayek's fell to
their death, and yours - well, you know what happened to them."
   "You killed them," Ken said without hesitation. Joe glowered at
Ken warningly, but Katze put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
   "Not quite," she answered steadily. "I'll admit I helped to
cause your father's death, but the choice was his - as was the
choice to desert his family in the first place." Blood rushed to
Ken's face, but she stood her ground, flanked by Joe and Rayek.
"The missile would have been fired anyway. I wasn't going to let
the whole planet get fried."
   "Not that the ecology wasn't upset badly enough by getting half
of it fried," Rayek said. "But such considerations meant little to
the Selectran, as, indeed, did the concept of death itself. So how
was its creation to know any better?"
   Transfixed by Rayek's steadfast gaze, Ken found he didn't have
anything to say. He swallowed, and reached for his cup to cover up
his confusion. Angel handed it to him.
   As the foursome resumed their conversation, Win drawing frequent
laughs with her imitations, Ken leaned back and sipped his tea,
waiting for his inner turmoil to subside and his usual calm,
detached curiosity to take over. The twins had sparked his
interest; having come to solve one puzzle, he now found himself
confronted with three. He resolved to call again as soon as he
could. Meanwhile, he followed the conversation intently. At Win's
request, Katze was listing her childhood aliases. Some of them she
pronounced with distaste, Win bobbing her head in agreement.
"Babette? What a wimpy name!"
   "Most of the names were pretty dim. I didn't mind Kathe, but of
course that stupid Bergmann woman had to change it to Kathchen, and
you can guess what *that* became. God how I hated that woman, she
was *so* hysterical."
   Ken and Joe left not long after Rayek, Katze accompanying them
to the front door and giving Joe a parting hug on the threshold. As
they were walking to their cars, Joe caught Ken by the arm and
dragged him over.
   "I want a word with you," he hissed at his leader.

Returning at six in the evening, Joe found her in the computer
room, the door open. Although he had the key to every door and
cupboard in the house by now, she still rarely locked it when
working, in spite of security regulations. "Tsk!" he said
reproachfully, walking up to the desk to pinch her cheek. Sitting
with her back to him and her face towards the screen, she ignored
him, her hands in her hair. Over the screen ran phosphorescent
lines depicting cylinders with revolving inner parts.
   "Problems, hon?"
   "It's this damn assignment." She made a sound of acute
frustration. "Logically, I should have this wrapped up in a day or
two, but it's just bloody impossible."
   "What is, sweetheart?"
   "Oh, never mind." Saving the file, significantly enough, as
FAILED21.SIM, she closed the application and switched off the
computer. "Joe. Would you do me a favour?"
   "What is it, hon?"
   "Go to the nearest takeaway and get us something to eat. I
skipped lunch trying to work this one out, and I'm just about ready
to drop. I'll give you some cash." She unhooked her handbag from
the armrest of the chair she was sitting on, drew out a wallet and
passed five bills to him. "That enough for both of us?'
   "Should be. Okay, what do you want? Sushi, fries, curry?"
   "I don't care, so long as it's edible. You decide."
   "I'll go to the Snack J."
   Katze turned her head to quirk an eyebrow at him. "That's
certainly venturing into the lion's den. Aren't you worried about
food poisoning?"
   "Jinpei cooks," he reassured her. "Jun only comes in the kitchen
to pick up people's orders."
   "Oh, okay. Don't tell her it's for me, though, she'd put arsenic
in it." They exchanged a swift kiss, and Joe descended to his car.
Katze trudged to the shower, took a packet of aspirins from the
cabinet, squeezed one out onto her hand and swallowed it, washing
it down with a glass of water. Then she went to the bedroom, kicked
off her shoes and fell across the bed face down, her arms folded
over the back of her head.
   At the Snack J, Joe pushed open the glass door and walked
purposefully to the bar. Jun eyed him warily.
   "I got money," he said cheerfully, holding up the bills.
   "That's precisely what worries me," Jun said frostily. "It's not
like you. Right, what'll it be?" Jinpei came out to stand beside
her in his apron, his hands joined behind his back; it was early,
and most of the tables were still empty.
   "Two tofu burgers, two large helpings of fries and mustard, one
bean sprout salad and a pepperoni pizza, with *no* squid on it
please, one jumbo salami sandwich, three tacos and a strawberry
shake," Joe said. Jun didn't bother to note it down - she had a
waitress's memory - but she did frown. "Tacos? Since when do you
eat tacos?"
   Joe decided to come clean. "It's for Hunt. She sent me out to
buy us dinner."
   "What!!" Jun exclaimed, taking care to keep her voice down.
   "Coming up!" Jinpei saluted, and dashed off to the kitchen
before his adoptive sister could grab him. "Now you just wait *one*
minute..." Joe caught her by the shoulders.
   "Look, she's got to *eat*."
   "Yes, but she doesn't have to do it here."
   "She's not. She just sent me off for a meal. Coming here was my
idea."
   "Right, and now you expect me to feed an enemy?" She put her
hands on her hips.
   "She's not. And you know what Nambu said about team spirit." She
glared at him. He drew her closer, making big puppy eyes at her.
"Awww, c'mon... You'd do an old friend a favour, wouldn't you?"
   "Well," Jun said hesitantly, after a while, "it does bring in
funds..."
   "And she always pays," Joe hastened to add.
   "In a way, she owes it to us..." Joe nodded encouragingly. "I
mean, after all the trouble she's put us through, she might as well
do something useful..."
   "Exactly!!" Joe agreed.
   "Alright." Jun briskly disengaged herself and marched off to the
kitchen. "And don't put arsenic in it!" Joe called after her,
causing the few customers in the Snack J to look up. Not much
later, he was speeding back over the Expressway in the Condor
Attacker, grinning contentedly, a huge shopper full of paper bags
on the seat beside him. He had taken his own bag to avoid carrying
home his order in the flimsy plastic bags that Jun provided, and
which, Katze had pointed out, would be chucked away immediately
after the meal to add to Tokyo's waste disposal problem. She was
very environment-minded these days.
   "How'd it go?" Katze wanted to know when he returned. The
aspirin had alleviated most of the headache; the nagging ache that
still remained was purely a case of hunger. She spread a cloth on
the dinner table and unloaded the bags onto it.
   "Fine. No problems."
   "No questions? I thought there might be, given the size of the
order. How much did you have to pay?"
   "About half of what you gave me. Gave the rest as a tip."
   "Ouch. You told her."
   "I thought I should," he defended himself. "Told her not to put
arsenic in it, though."
   "You told her... aagh." Katze raised her hands in a gesture of
exasperation. "You really are a master of tact and subtlety, aren't
you? I'll just enter the five grand in the books as bribe money,
then. Surprised she took it, though."
   "Looked at it as if it was blood money. But you know how she
is."
   "Women! Always out for money. Eh?" Joe knew better than to
agree. He grinned non-committally. She brought in plates and
cutlery from the kitchen, tore open the paper wrappings and sat
down to eat. Before Joe's widening eyes, she wolfed down a quantity
of food that was totally out of proportion with her waistline, in
a briefness of time equally out of proportion with the amount of
food consumed.
   "Boy I needed that," she sighed contentedly when the last strand
of vegetable had been scraped off her plate. "Glad you didn't eat
the table too," said Joe, who had barely got through his own
helpings. "Heck, and I was worrying how you were going to finish
all that." She bestowed her most frightening smile on him. "Well,
you know me."
   "I know you eat a lot, but... Heck, wait till I tell Ryu."
   "Do you know who else eats a lot? You'll never guess."
   "Lenore."
   "No."
   "Brace."
   "Nuh-uh. He hardly eats at all."
   Someone unlikely, then. "That fellow called Wu."
   "He eats about five grains of rice a day. No, you're way, way
off. Think of someone really skinny."
   "Rayek?"
   "Close. His sister."
   "Naah." She nodded, exultantly. "Never. She's a stick. She's
half your size."
   "And she eats three-quarters of what I do." Katze pushed back
her chair and began to clear away the pile of paper and plastic
that now littered the table top. Still in a mild state of shock,
Joe rose to help her without thinking. After washing what dishes
there were, she slipped a shiny disk into the player and flopped on
the couch. A lively tune started up, mixing electric guitars with
flutes and bagpipes. Joe recognized the sound of Saint Iona and the
Carmelite Nuns, a folksy Scottish-Canadian band who used
traditional instruments and included Gaelic in their vocals. She
had bought all four of the albums as soon as they came out. He
supposed it reminded her of Kai.
   "Lonely?" he asked her.
   "Not now. But I will be." She rolled over, resting her face on
her arms. "Why do I always have to lose my friends?"
   "I'll still be there," he comforted her.
   "I know. You and Brace and Lenny, and a bunch of fugitives
scattered all over the globe, they're the only ones I have nothing
to hide from. Except for the team, that is, but they're not exactly
friends. And friends, for me, are very hard to come by." She rolled
back, facing him. "You know, my circle of close acquaintances is
about to be decreased by fifty percent. That's depressing."
   Kneeling beside her, he stroked her cheek. "The team'll come
round. They'll have to."
   "Yeah, right. They hate me. They want to see me die."
   "Jinpei thinks you're cool," he said consolingly.

         *   *   *

   "Do you think it's his kind of music?" Win asked. Katze was
kneeling by the stereo in the twins' apartment, listening with
earphones to avoid inflicting loud sympho, rock, folkrock and heavy
metal on the neighbours at ten in the morning. Win sat opposite
her, a pile of cds in their midst, while Rayek was going through a
rack of them only a few feet away.
   "Oh, definitely. You should hear the din he plays in his own
home. That's why he's so mobile - he's eternally on the run from
angry neighbours."
   "I was thinking more about the ballad-type songs," Win said.
"It's funny - I got hooked on Aerosmith after I heard `Dream On'.
I still think it rules, but it's hardly representative of their
style."
   "Here's another one Joe might like," Rayek said, handing her a
box featuring five long-haired youths ranged around a tree. The
band's name was "Jet Black Joe", but she couldn't find a title.
"From the same country as Bjork, but, unlike the Sugarcubes, they
used English lyrics from the start." Lifting the other disk from
the tray, he replaced it with his own, skipping to the right track.
"Listen to this one. It's dedicated to a former friend, and called
`Suicide Joe' - they certainly had a Joe fixation."
   "Either that or they knew a lot of people called Joe," Angel put
in. They fell silent as she listened, and smiled when she nodded.
She took off the earphones, removed the disk and switched off the
set. "Great stuff. Got any more of this?"
   "Total of three albums. The style differs on each one, though."
   "What did you think of Lynyrd Skynyrd?" Win wanted to know. "And
the Dead Can Dance albums?" Angel added. Besieged with questions,
she raised her hands to placate them. "I'd better buy some new
tapes *fast*."
   "Buy a bumper pack," Win advised her. "That's what we do." At
her request, Angel noted down the stores where the twins always
went for cheap tapes. "And good quality, too: stereo hasn't eaten
them yet. We have a Darwinist stereo - eliminates all the bad
tapes. Survival of the fittest." They laughed. Rayek left for the
kitchen to make some tea.
   "It's incredible, though," Katze reflected over the cup of
herbal brew that served the twins as tea, "that this is actually
last-century music. It doesn't sound much different from what I'm
used to."
   "Musical development sped up after the Second World War, then
stabilized itself," Rayek said. "In the nineties, we already had a
seventies revival. As the Robinson brothers said, music is
ageless."
   "Especially the folkrock type," Win added. "That concept is just
*so* old. We had the Pogues, Bleizi Ruz, Clannad - old style - and
then of course there's all the oriental crossovers..."
   "Rai, Hindi pop, modern African rock," Angel summed up. "Heck,
the whole rock movement started in Africa. Blues, Dixieland, gospel
- it was all black music."
   "What is gospel, anyway?" Katze asked.
   "Songs of the Lord!" Win declared, putting on such an
exaggerated look of solemnity that everyone laughed. "Black
religious choral music," Rayek said. "One of the few good things to
come out of the missionaries."
   "Sort of like Lenore's voodoo church?" Katze asked. Angel
nodded.
   "Angel has a great gospel voice," Win said. "Sing `Amazing
Grace' for us, darling." He stuck out his tongue, but obliged.
Katze was impressed.
   "Still," she resumed, "what actually changed, since you left? I
know some things became more popular and some things disappeared.
But if I hear Split Enz, it doesn't sound all that different from
Ursus-4. Okay, so Ursus is mainstream..."
   "That's one of the biggest jokes of the century, death metal and
diesel rock becoming mainstream," Win chortled. "Like Shakespeare -
we gushed over his plays in Lit. classes and watched them in
expensive theatres, but at the time they were written they were
performed on an open stage before a bunch of jeering proles, with
whores and the Elizabethan equivalent of drug-pushers crowding the
exits. Church wanted to close the theatres down because of it."
   "It was purely by chance that they were preserved at all," Rayek
agreed. "Not that Shakespeare is my favourite. I prefer Marlowe,
even if he tends to be harsher - he had a typically racist attitude
towards Jews. There's a new development in modern music I could
mention, by the way," he continued: "expressing anti-racist
sentiment by forming multi-ethnic bands. Cafe-Creme, the Mestizos.
And I'm not talking about musical crossovers, either; we had plenty
of that in our time. This is purely about skin colour."
   "Bon Sauvage is another one," Win added. "They're very
political. French-Canadian, so they would be." Katze nodded
thoughtfully, and the group lapsed into silence, sipping tea. Angel
poured out some more.
   "Where's Joe, by the way?" Win asked.
   "Still asleep when I left," Katze grimaced. "Left him a note."
   "Did you make any headway with your current assignment?" Rayek
said.
   "None at all. I'm stuck. I've just been wasting my time."
   "What precisely are you stuck on?"
   "Well, it's these stabilizers. They're like retro-rockets in
that they have to help decelerate for landing, but they also have
to keep the craft steady during flight. GP has them, but ISO wants
an improved version for aeroplanes, one that doesn't rip the hull
apart. Jets aren't all that solidly built, you see."
   "Passenger aeroplanes?" Rayek asked.
   "I've no idea what they want to use them for. It might be a new
military weapon for all I know. I just got the specifications and
the order to work it out."
   "And the problem?"
   "It's so damn impossible. It's like trying to redesign a
chainsaw for use in brain surgery. I ran simulations of five
different models this morning; all of them failed. Then I quit."
   "Not that I pretend to know anything about it," Rayek remarked,
"but how about applying the hydraulic principle? It's less forceful
than straight kinetic energy, but considerably more reliable than
air pressure. Most living organisms depend on it to preserve their
equilibrium."
   "Mm. That's an idea. By the way, you gave Ken quite a shock
yesterday."
   "It's the standard reaction. Both here and on the home turf."
   "Especially with pea-brained specimens like Ken," Katze said
scornfully. "You'll have to excuse him, Rayek; his mind is as
narrow as the transverse section of a human hair." "He's stupid,"
Angel affirmed.
   "Is he?" Rayek said. "I find he is a good judge of people.
Moreover, he is capable of two things that Joe isn't, namely,
assessing the situation objectively and thinking ahead; critical
qualities, in a leader. And he has that most valuable of assets, an
inquiring mind. However, I agree that his moral and intellectual
pig-headedness neutralizes most of his natural intelligence."
   "I presume he's basically insecure," Win said. "Which might also
explain why he acts so dense around women." "Trust you to bring
that up," her brother scoffed.
   "No, I'm serious!" Win protested. "He's always acting the saint,
pretending not to notice. Like with Jun, for instance. He's not
like Joe - Joe's plain shy. Ken's *devious*."
   Katze giggled. "`Devious' is not the first word that springs to
mind when describing the great Gatchaman. Still, I suppose you're
right. Nambu's pretty devious too, in that sense. In fact, he
probably got it from Nambu."
   "And his father," Rayek said. "No matter what greater good he
invoked to excuse himself, on a personal level, what he did was
just plain dirty."
   "Are you sure?" Angel asked, still unconvinced. "I'd say he was
too dim to be devious."
   "I think Win's right," Katze replied. "Still waters run deep. He
may come across as a bit of a pompous git, but when his father died
he went completely apeshit - even grossed out Joe, which, I assure
you, is no small achievement. And I remember he was always the one
to beat me up, even without direct provocation; the fact that he
did it in cold blood instead of throwing a fit only makes it
scarier. I'd say he's by far the most violent of the two."
   "Joe makes a more violent impression," Win said, "because he's
less stable emotionally - or, rather, he has less stabilizing
mechanisms. I'm convinced Ken's just clinging onto his sanity.
Underneath all his good clean Boy Scout attitudes, he's as messed
up as the rest of us."
   "Considering the often unrealistic standards he was set and the
lack of any real support, it's no wonder he prefers solitude,"
Rayek said. "What may appear as shallowness strikes me as a kind of
psychological armour. He shuts people out of his life, just as he
tries to shut out those parts of him which he has been taught to
reject as inferior; a common trait in people brought up in a
strictly regimented society. He must be immensely lonely. I suppose
any relationship with Jun would only be a burden to him."
   "He'd be afraid to disappoint her, just as he's always afraid to
disappoint everyone else," Win assented. "He'd be constantly
masking himself, dreading the day she'd see the real Ken - whoever
that may be. It's much easier to be the lone hero, projecting all
one's fears onto some evil, and then trashing it in an attempt to
overcome them."
   "Maybe that's why he hangs onto his father like that," Katze
reflected. "I mean, going totally berserk over the death of someone
you don't even *know*... Joe misses his parents because he knew
them. I don't think Ken remembers his father, except in a very
vague way. And he never mentions his mother, although she was with
him for all of her life."
   "So, in a sense, he prefers his father dead," Win said. "In that
way, nothing can tarnish the shining memory of a noble and
dedicated hero..." She snorted.
   "Spares him the disillusion, at any rate," Angel agreed. "But,
I dunno, Joe always struck me as the lonely one."
   "He's been very lonely," Katze affirmed. "He lost all the
friends he had the day his parents died, he had problems adapting
to Japanese society, and now he's a cyborg..."
   "Any form of loneliness certainly excites his sympathy," Rayek
commented. Katze smiled. "I know. I always call it the puppy
factor."
   "Joe's got a Jimmy Dean complex," Win said unfeelingly. "Had,
anyway. All things considered, he's had the best start of the lot,
excepting Ryu."
   "The death of his parents may have been a good thing," Angel
said. "If he'd grown up to be a self-satisfied jerk like his
father... Mind you, I don't know what his mother was like..."
   Katze shrugged. "Don't know, didn't see her much. Your typical
Italian mamma, as far as I could tell."
   "Wasn't Ken half American?" Angel asked. She shook her head.
"That was Jun. I thought he was, but Joe set me right. Never mind
the big blue eyes; he's as Japanese as sushi, so help me god."
   "So his name would be short for Kentaro, rather than Kenneth,"
Rayek conjectured. "Typical that he should carry even his father's
name." Win sniffed. "In a patriarchal culture, it's not uncommon."
   "True, but it helps to encourage the daddy fixation. You know
how names affect one's sense of identity."
   "What about Jun?" Katze asked. "Seems to me she'd have the same
kind of problem. She puts on the same kind of act, anyway."
   "Jun props up her ego by the authority she wields over Jinpei,"
Rayek said. "But, yes, you're right. She tries, in her way, to be
perfect. Meaning polite, demure, subservient. It's not surprising
she should have joined with a foulmouthed little upstart like
Jinpei. People tend to bond with partners who represent their
repressed qualities."
   "That's one problem I don't have," Katze grinned. "I'm totally
evil. I don't have to repress anything."
   "I disagree," Rayek said quietly. There was a painful silence.
   "It was a *joke*, bozo," Win told him, pulling his hair.
Everyone laughed. Bringing up her hands to hide her burning cheeks,
Katze smiled cautiously. "And speaking of repression," Win
continued, prodding her brother's nose with her fingertip, "if your
theory is correct, your significant other ought to be a raving sex
fiend, not a pathetic little virgin who can't ride."
   "You're dating someone??" Katze asked him.
   "Uh-huh," Angel grinned at her. "He's finally found someone PC
enough to share his bed with." Rayek rolled his eyes in a martyred
way, while Win made a two-handed sign over his head that, in their
native culture, indicated lack of sexual experience. "Viiiirgin!"
   "Hardly," Rayek said with dignity. "Besides, I know that you
amply compensate for any drives I lack."
   "Your significant other doesn't always have to be the person you
sleep with," Angel pointed out. "It can also be your evil twin."
Win whacked him.
   "What's she like?" Katze wanted to know. "If it's a she, of
course," she added shamefacedly.
   "Heterosexist bitch!!" Win mock-yelled at Katze. "She's small,"
Rayek said, a little smile playing around his lips. "Half my size,
and, as Win implied, not very good with horses. She is, however, a
superb flyer. And painfully shy, which accounts for the lack of
previous boyfriends. I'm her first mate. She's my second."
   "And only because the first one *died*," Win said. "Man is he
ever monogamous." "I'm choosy about my company," Rayek returned.
   "Are you going to get married?" Katze asked.
   "Over my dead body," Rayek replied pleasantly. She broke into a
grin. "No, I'm not the marrying type."
   "Good for you. No kids?"
   "We decided not to contribute to the gene pool even before our
parents died," Win said. "Anyways, neither of us has the patience
to deal with the little buggers. Naturally, the whole affair's set
some tongues wagging."
   "Ditto with Kai," Katze grimaced. "I'm glad nobody knows me
here."
   "Not that you made things all that easy on yourself, picking on
the KNT's homicidal maniac... You like a challenge, don't you?"
Angel teased her.
   "Joe's nice," Katze said dreamily. Angel snorted. "Tell that to
your Galactor goons!"
   "Of course, when he found out his parents actually *were*
Galactors..."
   "Certainly solved his little attitude problem," Win said.

Joe spotted her in the living room when he came down to make
himself lunch, sitting on the couch and wearing earphones. A book
lay opened in her lap, but he could see that she wasn't really
reading it. When she was too depressed to concentrate, it was her
habit to insert a random easy listening disk, put on the earphones
and press "repeat", letting the meaningless sound wash over her for
hours on end.
   "Shouldn't you be working?" he playfully chided her in passing.
She didn't appear to have heard. Impelled by a mischievous spirit,
he pulled out the plug of the earphones, expecting to hear some
kind of symphonic suite. Instead, the room was filled with
thundering drums, screaming guitars and a hoarse, frenzied voice
yelling something about secrets and a black moon coming. Joe looked
at her in astonishment.
   "Hey, BGM grosses you out after a while," she responded,
lowering the volume.
   "No, turn it back - I want to hear this. What is it?"
   "Just some stuff Win taped for me," she said wearily, increasing
the volume a little. "I'm psyching myself up for shrinktime."
   "Wow. Do you think I could copy it? How was your day, by the
way?"
   "Bloody awful, but thanks for asking. Didn't get anywhere, so I
went to the twins'. They'll be over this evening."
   "Mm. Want me to drive you?"
   "No, thanks. I'll be fine." He kissed her on the nose, removing
the earphones.
   "You sure you'll be all right, hon?"
   "'Course I will." He joined her on the couch for a quick cuddle
before she left.
   At the Snack J, he played the tape he had abstracted to an
enthusiastic audience.
   "This really rocks, aniki!" Jinpei exclaimed. Jun nodded. "Where
did you get it?"
   "Ahem... You're not going to like this..."

Ken, meanwhile, was pursuing his own investigations. Having been
granted exemption from the day's training, he was standing in
civilian clothes in the shade of a soba stall, keeping an eye on
the main entrance of a complex of buildings in the centre of Tokyo
city. Sure enough, at five past two, a tall, pale, lanky figure
rapidly walked out in a stumbling, agitated way. He quickly
followed her to the familiar red car that stood in the parking
space across the road, and positioned himself at the car's door as
she was about to pull out. She opened the door at a crack, giving
him an extremely foul look.
   "You are the *last* person I want to see right now, Washio."
   "You'll just have to bear with me. I want to talk to you.
Alone."
   She leant on the steering wheel in an attitude of fatigue, then
opened the door on the other side. He climbed in and shut it,
noticing she had shadows under her eyes. She started the engine.
   "Hope you don't mind if I move the car. This is paid parking."
   "Of course," he nodded. She was out of the parking space and
onto the road in one smooth turn, then burning rubber towards the
city limits. Ken was glad he had fastened his seat belt as soon as
he was inside; with Katze driving, it was not a superfluous
precaution. She threaded her way to a shopping centre in one of the
suburban areas, and parked her car on the open parking space
nearby. "Okay, what do you want? Just make it quick." Ken almost
sniggered at the thought of all the possible dirty replies that the
question evoked, then sobered up immediately when it occurred to
him that she would already have heard them.
   "You've changed. I want to know why. And don't give me the crap
about hormones."
   She didn't answer, bending forwards instead over the steering
wheel with her eyes closed and pushing back her hair with one hand.
Something told him she was not acting. Still, he had no patience
with her inner struggles, and he didn't intend to wait forever.
   "I asked you a question."
   She sighed and leaned back, biting her lip in an effort to keep
her voice level. "I got laid. Satisfied?"
   "You got laid?" Ken asked in amazement.
   "Yes. Now can I go home?"
   "You mean that all it took to make you normal was a roll in the
hay with Joe?"
   "I wasn't talking about Joe. All right, you've had your answer,
now go. There's people waiting for me."
   "Who was it?" Ken demanded.
   "That's none of your business. Ask Joe. Can we leave?"
   "Not until you give me a proper answer. What happened to you?"
   "Washio, I am *not* in the mood for this."
   "That's tough. Now answer me."
   "Can't you just leave me alone, dammit??" she suddenly exploded.
"I signed the fucking contract, I'm harmless!! Do you think it's
going to help anyone if you keep following me around? For Christ's
sake, what do you *want* from me?"
   Slightly shaken by the blast, Ken considered the last question.
Some form of retribution, he thought, an admission of the wrongs
committed. And a final, convincing proof that her sense of morality
had been restored. In all the time that he had known her under her
new identity, she had always avoided giving him either.
   "Some sort of apology might be nice."
   "I'm very, very sorry. Now can we go?"
   "My, that sounds *so* sincere." She covered her face with her
hands. Recalling Galactor's past handiwork, he hardened himself.
   "I'm sorry, that's all I can do."
   A deep rage suddenly took hold of him. "All you can do? You had
millions of innocent people killed and maimed, homes and cities
destroyed, families broken up, research centres bombed and vital
data irretrievably lost - damn you, you almost blew up the Earth,
and you're saying that this is all you can do??" In a movement born
of long habit, he grabbed her by the collar and dragged her round.
   In the same moment, an elbow slammed into his face and he was
thrown back against the car door, the back of his head impacting
against the window. Shocked out of his rage by the unexpected
reaction, he paused to collect his wits. She was turned towards him
with blazing eyes, her face alive with emotion. He knew that he
could easily beat her into submission, but that wasn't what he had
come for, and, under the circumstances, it would hardly be
constructive.
   "I didn't intend to do that," he said, calmer now. "I'm sorry."
   "Oh, it's all right," she said bitterly. She leaned forwards
again, her nails drumming on the wheel. "I guess hitting people
gets to be a habit when you're a Science Ninja."
   The comment stung. "Oh, I suppose you're in a position to
criticize me. Have you ever realized how much damage you've done?"
   "I'm getting there. And what about you, did you keep track of
your score?"
   He was annoyed at what he perceived as her attempt to turn the
tables; his own actions had always served to protect the Earth, and
now, as far as he was concerned, they were over and done with.
"Aren't you getting the two of us confused? All I did was try to
stop you from taking over the world and killing even more people.
Or did you think that what you did was justified?"
   "No, I was never in that privileged position." She pressed the
palms of her hands against her eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes,
a justification was given, although that didn't mean I had a
choice."
   "Why, did you need that much encouragement?"
   "After I finished my training? None at all. And let me tell you
something, Gatchaman." Moisture was seeping from under her palms,
although her voice was still steady. "You think you're so much
better than I am. You think this could never have happened to you.
You, a poor, witless, vulnerable orphan left to Nambu's cunning
ploys, with only Nambu to tell you what was right and wrong. So you
were lucky, he was on the right side. But if he hadn't been - even
if you would have known - just how much would you have done against
him?"
   Ken thought about it. It was an unpleasant thought. He continued
to ponder on it while she pulled a large handkerchief from her
pocket to mop up the tears, blew her nose, pulled out a packet of
cigarettes and lit one with a trembling hand. Automatically, Ken
cranked open the window to let the smoke out, and, taking her cue
from him, she did the same on her side.
   "Damn. I wasn't going to smoke today."
   "My heart bleeds," Ken said absent-mindedly. He was answered by
a short laugh. They remained sitting in silence while she finished
the cigarette; then she stubbed it out and raised the window on her
side. Ken did the same on his. Dry-eyed now, she asked: "So, do I
drop you off someplace?"
   "No, I think I'll come with you."
   "Suit yourself. But I've got visitors."
   "I'm sure they won't mind me."
   Starting the engine, she poised one finger over the "play"
button of the tape recorder in the dashboard, and shot him a
questioning glance. He nodded. A deceptively simple melody uncoiled
itself from the speakers, quick-paced but restful, doubling back on
itself, introducing little variations, echoing itself on different
instruments. Ken thought he could discern bagpipes, but he was no
authority on musical instruments.
   "You like music?" he asked.
   "Takes your mind off things," she said curtly.

She drove fast, although at a steady speed, and the tyres squealed
as she drew up in a curve on the road leading to her house. Thrown
forwards again in the seat belt, Ken wondered how she would do on
the race track.
   Leaving the car outside the open fence, she crossed the
threshold to fall into the arms of Brace, who had come out of the
kitchen to greet her. He hugged her warmly and kissed her on either
cheek, ruffling her hair. Angel came bounding down the stairs and
also embraced her, patting her on the back.
   "Thought that sounded like your car. How'd it go?"
   "Fine... Bloody awful," she sighed, collapsing against him.
Brace, who had discreetly slipped away, reappeared with something
in his hand and a glass of water. She swallowed it, tipping back
her head to drink; Brace took the empty glass and disappeared
again, while Angel helped her out of her coat and into a chair.
Soft music was playing, Ken noted; a woman was singing about love
and loneliness in a deep, rough, husky voice not all that different
from onna-Katze's.
   "You hungry?" Angel asked Katze, gazing at her with concern. She
shook her head, faintly.
   "How far did you get?"
   "Well, Brace was going to muck out the kitchen... I hoovered
everything on the top floor except for the bedroom, so that leaves
just the windows. I'll only be a few minutes more."
   "That's fine. That's great." Angel darted an inquiring glance at
Ken. "Oh, I just met him on the way. He was kind enough to drive
home with me." Angel fixed him with a dubious look, but shrugged.
"I left Stevie Nicks on, want me to change the tape?"
   "No, that's fine. Really." He left her lying limply in the
chair, her hands hanging like crumpled wings over the armrest. She
remained sitting with her eyes closed until some colour had
returned to her face, then rose, excused herself and went into the
kitchen, closing the door behind her. Realizing that this was his
chance, Ken slipped towards the chest of drawers where she kept her
tapes and opened the drawer.
   They were tapes, all right; rows and rows of them with
handwritten covers in English and other languages that he couldn't
read, Cyrillic, what he assumed to be Arabic and funny runic-
looking lines and squiggles that he couldn't make out. He could see
only one cover with Japanese lettering, of a band called "Shonen
Knife". Quite the polyglot, he thought, remembering what Joe had
said about her command of languages, and soundlessly shut the
drawer again; he had every reason to believe that these were just
ordinary tapes, and even if they weren't, he didn't have time to
break their codes right now. Instead, he stole into the hall, where
he had noticed a pile of library books on the hat rack in passing.
He stood on his toes and carefully lifted the pile off the wooden
plank.
   As he had suspected, the topmost book, a work on higher
mathematics, was merely a foil to deter snoopers. He skimmed over
the titles of the underlying books: "Terrorism in the Industrial
World", "Incest and Trauma", "The Impact of Gender Roles on the
Child's Development", "The Psychology of Aggression", and "A
Contemporary History of The Far and Middle East". The book at the
bottom of the pile, a plain brown paperback bearing the title
"Toxic Parents", wasn't a library book at all; Ken saw that it had
been printed in 1992.
   "Joe never noticed those," Katze said, standing behind him. "And
he practically lives here." He started; he hadn't heard her come
in. Gently, she took the books from him and replaced them on the
plank. Ken glanced from her to the pile and back again,
inquiringly. "I like to read up," she responded. "I never had the
time before."
   He followed her back to the living room. Gravely, he asked:
"Does Joe know you're sleeping with someone else?"
   "Why, what makes you think I am?"
   "You said there was someone else. And I see you're getting
pretty intimate with the American."
   "Angel?" She laughed. "He's just a friend. No, that was a long
time ago. Before I got involved with Joe."
   "And Brace?"
   "Also just a friend."
   "I thought you said he was a former Galactor?"
   "He doesn't give a fuck about Galactor. They used him."
   Ken fell back into silence, musing; but before he could frame
his next question, Angel returned, hefting window-cleaning utensils
and a bucket of dirty water. Ken decided to postpone his
questioning until a later opportunity. Katze rose.
   "Should I get you coffee?"
   "Sit!" Angel ordered her. "I'll take care of it." He went into
the kitchen, and sloshing and rinsing sounds were heard from the
sink; then he returned with Brace, a tray of green tea and a large
plate of sandwiches. She smiled gratefully. Ken wondered if this
was some sort of American lunching habit she had adopted. Brace
mentioned a lack of sugar, and she assured him she still had a
whole bag in the cupboard, offering to go and get it for a refill.
This led to great hilarity, as the sugar, a brand of ecologically
grown, unrefined cane sugar sold in paper bags, had collected
enough moisture from the air to congeal into a solid, brick-hard
mass.
   "I *love* these natural foods," Katze said, pounding the bag
with the side of her hand to break the mass up into granules again.
"Just chop off a hunk whenever you need some. Man, I could brain a
goon with this." Angel remarked on the incompatibility of brains
and goons, and she laughed. Brace finished re-granulating the sugar
and stirred some into his tea, while Angel and Katze embarked on a
discussion about the ethics and desirability of development aid to
poorer countries - something Angel appeared to be knowledgable on.
Ken was surprised; he had considered the gajin a bit of an airhead,
and unlikely to take an interest in political matters.
   "But couldn't you just pass a law to restrict World Bank
interference to the really serious cases, and leave the rest to
manage their resources on their own terms?"
   "World Bank interference is what causes the whole problem! How
do you think these countries became poor in the first place?"
   Katze frowned. "So you're saying the Third World is actually an
artificial construct intended to cover up wholesale exploitation?"
   Angel shrugged. "You were there, hon. You saw it."
   "And what if the resources are unequally divided?" Ken asked,
speaking up for the first time since Angel's return. "Do you pass
quotum laws?"
   "Good question," Angel answered, "although I'll have you know
that most of the so-called Third World countries are richer in
natural resources than the countries with a highly developed
technology. Didn't think you'd be into politics, by the way."
   "He's not," Katze said. "He doesn't have the faintest idea what
kind of organization he works for. But then again, neither did I."

Ken was prevented from replying by the shriek of tyres and a long,
drawn-out, blood-curdling howl. "Oh no," Angel groaned. "It's the
Holy Terror."
   "Joe!" Katze cried out, running for the door. Angel followed her
at a slower pace, and Ken tagged along, if only to see who was
being tortured. Win had jumped out of the Condor Attacker and was
now standing with her feet planted wide apart, a pole in either
hand. "Ho! Haha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Thrust! *boiing*"
The pole bounced off her face. Ken was appalled for a moment, but
when she caught it again, he saw she was unhurt; she must have
stopped it a fraction of a second before it hit her. Tossing it at
a totally unprepared Katze, she cried: "Defend yourself,
scoundrel!" Katze grabbed it instinctively, and frantically spun
and angled it to ward off all the blows that were raining down on
her. At last Win hit it in a way that sent a jarring vibration
through its length, and snatched it again as Katze released it with
a cry, blowing on the stinging palms of her hands. Rayek cleared
his throat and helped a third person out, and together they removed
various cases from the back of the car. Joe, catching sight of Ken,
strode towards him furiously. "I told you not to come back here!!"
   "Since when do I have to take orders from you?" Ken said coolly.
Bringing his face close to Ken's, Joe said in a subdued growl:
"You're upsetting her. Now *fuck off*."
   "If she's going to work for the team, she'll be seeing a lot
more of me. She might as well get used to it."
   "It's all right, love," Katze said, coming up behind Joe and
putting her arms around his shoulders. "I invited him."
   "You did? Oh, okay," he said, sent Ken a parting glower, and
helped Rayek and the anonymous boy to carry the cases inside. Ken
followed them, wondering what was in them, and who the boy might
be. He was small and rangy, with thick dark hair, a deeply tanned
skin and elongated yellow eyes. He wasn't ugly, but his expression
was devious enough to match Katze's.
   "Musical instruments. Gabriel-Earnest," Rayek told him, lodging
the cases behind the couch. Joe sniggered. Rayek formally
introduced Gabriel-Earnest and Brace Hoffmann to each other, the
boy flashing a row of white teeth with large, pointed canines.
Although the thick brown thatch of hair hid most of them, Ken could
have sworn that his ears were pointed, too.
   "Was that you howling, Gabe?" Angel asked him, re-entering with
Katze, who was still rubbing her hands.
   "Naah, that was me," said Win, the last to enter. "I have a rep
to keep up." "For what?" Rayek scoffed.
   "Darn straight you do," Katze said, grimacing at her hands.
"Remind me never to get you mad at me."
   "That was pretty good, actually," Win said, putting the poles
against the wall. "Especially considering your height and
experience, or rather lack thereof... Assassin training paying
off?"
   "You should take on One-Eye at the race," the boy called
Gabriel-Earnest said. He had a deep, gruff voice with the hint of
a bark, not unpleasant to listen to. "Oh, I wouldn't presume to be
a match for One-Eye," Katze replied.
   "With a bit of practice... Hey, are you sure you'd rather not
come and stay with us?" Angel asked.
   "Oh joy," Rayek sighed. "A breeding pair."
   "I can't breed," Katze consoled him. "I'm sterile."
   "Either way?" Gabriel-Earnest inquired, showing his canines
again. Win, who was slightly taller than he was, hit him over the
head. "Quite frankly, I have *no* idea," Katze said. "Never tested
it."
   "Well, Gabi sure as hell isn't," Angel said. "Break him the
news, prospective pop." "Garrin's getting a litter," the boy
announced.
   Katze hugged him. "Oh, that's wonderful. Congratulations. You
must be so happy."
   "Gets me lots of hugs'n kisses from bee-ootiful ladeez,"
Gabriel-Earnest smirked. Katze whacked him and whirled round in a
huff, stalking off to sit beside Joe. The twins guffawed.
   "What's going on?" Ken demanded, feeling the need to assert
himself. "Who's getting what?"
   "Shut up, Nosy Eagle," Win said snappishly. "Gabi's having
cubs," Angel elucidated. "Or, rather, Garrin's having them, and
Gabe's taking all the credit."
   "Who's Garrin?" Ken asked, frowning at Gabi; the boy did not
look sixteen. "Oh, never mind. Aren't you a bit young to be a
father?"
   "The meanest, hottest, goodlookingest bitch in town!" Gabi
responded. "And we're going to have bay-bees!! Aayooowah! Hey, it's
my first litter," he answered the second question.
   "Their offspring are relatively simple to raise," Rayek
comforted Ken.
   "If ours were half as simple, I wouldn't so much mind having
them," Win added. "But I've seen too many people fuck up." "Oh,
ditto," Katze rejoined. She had an arm around Joe, who was looking
more happy and relaxed than Ken had seen him for a long time; they
looked for all the world like an ordinary couple. Win was launching
into one of her imitations, striking a manly pose:
      I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay
      I sleep all night and I work all day!
Angel and Gabi stood behind her, repeating all she said. The song
became progressively odder:
      I chop down trees, I put on tights, suspenders and a bra
      I wish I'd been a girlie, just like my dear papa
and the backup choir faithfully repeated:
      He chops down trees, he puts on tights, suspenders and a
bra???
   It was crazy, but it was the kind of thing Win got away with.
Now she and her companions were suddenly all called Bruce and
speaking with funny accents, Win taking the lead: "Good evening,
ladies and Bruces, we're university professors at the University of
Woollamaloo. I teach classical philosophy, Bruce teaches Hegelian
philosophy, Bruce teaches logical positivism and Bruce here takes
care of the sheep-dip." Katze and Joe were falling over each other
laughing; Ken couldn't help smiling. "Rule number one: Nooooo
poofters! Alright, what's rule number one?" "Nooooo poofters!" the
other three chorused happily. Ken glanced at Brace; the large man
was actually grinning from ear to ear. The foursome launched into
a ribald song that Ryu would have enjoyed, Ken thought, if his
English had been good enough to follow it: `Heidegger Heidegger was
a boozy beggar who could drink you under the table..' The refrain
ran round, four voices rocketing up to the high note:
      There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya 'bout the raising
of the wrist
      Socrates himself was permanently pissed...
   "Do the Robin Hood Daffy song," Joe encouraged, holding his
helplessly shaking partner. Win obliged: "...tri-ipping up and
down... And trip and trip and trip'ntrip'ntrip'ntrip'ntrip'n..."
She stumbled sideways like an inebriated crab, ending up against
the wall. Katze was howling.
   "What are those?" Ken asked, taking the opportunity of a lull in
the merriment to point at the two poles against the wall. For some
reason, this caused renewed laughter.
   "My trusty buck-and-a-quarter quarterstaffs!" Win declared.
Katze was going into convulsions. "Maybe we should show him those
cartoons," Joe winked at Angel. Angel nodded. "Wonder how he'd
react to the Eatibus almost Anythingus."
   "Wile E. Coyote," Rayek clarified, seeing Ken's puzzlement. "A
poor sod of a cartoon character who dreams up these incredibly
sophisticated ploys to catch the Road Runner," Katze added
unexpectedly, wiping her eyes. "Never works, of course."
   "And Win said: `Doesn't this remind you of a certain mutant's
efforts to conquer the Earth?'" Gabi grinned wickedly. Katze
whacked him. "Then Sharkey started crying."
   "Did NOT!!" Katze exclaimed indignantly.
   "But she got you back," Rayek said with a contented smile.
"Remember the first time she took us in the car?"
   "Astronaut training," Angel chuckled. "Just piss Sharkey off and
get him to give the rookie a ride." "Guaranteed to spread the
breakfast over a very wide area," Win agreed. "Especially if you're
suffering quantum lag."
   Ken was still captivated by the poles. "You use these for
fighting?"
   "No, we use them for ironing," Win said very seriously. Katze
doubled up. "Why, did you want to try?" She held one out to him.
   "What, with you?" Ken asked, astounded.
   "Why not? You're a Science Ninja. I assume you have some basic
skills."
   "But you're a woman!"
   Win rolled her eyes. "Get Jun to slug him," she mouthed sideways
at Joe. "No good," Katze said. "He always slugs *her*."
   "Okay, buster," she said, turning to Ken again, "I'll make this
easy on you. Take the staff - here y'are - and see if you can touch
me. Just that. And we'll see how well you do."
   They all trooped out to the open terrain in front of the fence,
and Ken stood opposite the unarmed Win, resolving to touch her
without actually hitting her. He soon abandoned his restraint, for
she was as hard to touch as a flitting fish; she could jump like a
flea and land again with a blithe expression, hands behind her
back, and she was doing jigs and backflips within his reach while
he furiously mowed around, trying to land some part of the pole on
her. Katze was laughing.
   "Stop showing off, Win!" Rayek called out, as she was completing
an intricate series of jumps while totally avoiding Ken's frantic
strokes. She was so set on finishing the sequence properly that he
almost hit her, but at the last moment she breezed out of reach.
"Ooooh, close!!" Katze called out. Then she leapt forward
gracefully, sailing past Ken and wresting the pole from his grip.
She held it up over her head in a victor's gesture and bowed
modestly to the round of applause, her hump arching grotesquely
over her head. Ken was puffing, red and sweaty. Joe clapped him on
the back in a comradely way. "She did the same to me," he consoled
his leader, as the company returned inside.
   "I think Ken's learned a little lesson today," Win said in an
imitation Care Bear voice, making her audience laugh. She didn't
seem winded at all. Sitting in a circle in the living room, they
finished the remainder of the sandwiches while Brace went to the
kitchen to make some more tea, Win and Gabi mock-snarling over a
salmon paste sandwich. Katze was watching the fight with shining
eyes and a wide grin, occasionally running a hand through Joe's
hair. Joe, too, was hugely amused. Rayek watched with a certain
indulgent benevolence, while Angel was leaning forward with that
intensity of expression born of a combination of light eyes and
thick dark lashes. Ken noted that, unlike the twins, Gabi had no
hump; his lower arms and legs, exposed by the shorts and T-shirt,
were covered with flat, silky fur that stopped abruptly at the
wrists and ankles.
   Over tea, Angel brought up the Transgalubey affair. Ken knew
about it, vaguely; an aeroplane construction company in the
Republic of Belarussia about to go bankrupt, threatening to lay off
million of workers. "And the ironical thing is, it's not because
they're bad - they've got a shining reputation - or because the
management sucks, it's purely because of the dollar rate." It
appeared that the company had taken a massive order from the Nevada
Air Force a year ago, and now that the jets had finally been built,
the dollar had sunk so much that the price contractually agreed
upon in the previous year nowhere near covered the costs of
production, and the company had sustained heavy losses.
   "So now there's going to be a massive brain drain," Rayek said,
"because the government refuses to subsidize; they've been under
Soviet control for most of last century, so they're firm believers
in the free market system." "Never mind the enormous cost of
unemployment relief," Win added scathingly.
   "But that's ridiculous!" Katze said, putting down the cup she
was holding. Joe nodded. "Can't they work something out, revise the
contract or something?"
   "I'd think you would know all about contracts," Rayek remarked.
"Not in a million years," Angel affirmed. "What, Americans passing
up a chance to make a profit? No way, Jose."
   "But they're harming their own interests! Who's going to make
the next batch for them, that fossilized corporation of nitwits
called Boeing?" "Whose planes managed to lose chunks in mid-air
even in our time," Win chuckled. "You'd better not take a flying
trip in the next five years, boss," Brace added with placid humour.
They all laughed.
   "Of course, the funniest thing would be if Galactor offered to
subsidize," Rayek remarked drily. Katze thought about this. "Hey,
why not... It could happen. I can think of plenty of reasons why
they'd want to take it over."
   "And it would be the UN's own fault," Win said. "They're
supposed to prevent these kinds of things, after all. Instead, they
just let it happen and whine about the result."
   "The UN never had much power even in our time," Rayek said. "It
was a symbolical organization, a club of rich countries pretending
to rule the world. And it only became more corrupt as time went by.
You'd do well not to put too much faith in it." Ken pricked up his
ears; he had always blamed Joe's increasingly cynical attitude
towards ISO on Katze, but now he saw that the source went deeper.
The conversation turned to Galactor, and, surprisingly, religion.
"Doesn't it strike you as odd that in a totally autocratic
organization, permitting loyalty to only one supreme authority,
most of the leading members are religious? There's Moslems, Sikhs,
Jews, Taoists, Buddhists, Confucianists, and all kinds of Christian
factions from the Born-Agains and the Second Comers all the way
down to Greek Orthodox Church... You'd think the Selectran would
worry about competition."
   "Not to mention all the God-fearing homes it put *you* in," Win
said, addressing Katze. "You've had a pretty religious upbringing,
all things considered. Still, note that all the religions involved
either allow for one supreme deity, or none at all. Our system
wouldn't work for X."
   "He may have wanted to raise me with the idea of an omnipotent
creator," Katze said, "if only to impress his own nature on me - it
helps if you have some background. But in general, I'd say there's
no connection. After all, no one knew what he was, so no one would
feel a need to worship him. I always took it as proof of human
hypocrisy that people can maintain two entirely different systems
of values side by side. Not that I seriously think these people
believed in their gods; they never managed to convince me, anyway.
And, yes, it might also have been an exercise in blind obedience."
   "Don't forget the life-after-death part," Win added. "Crucial,
if you're a Galactor."
   "Isn't the average life expectancy of a Galactor 5.5 seconds?"
Gabi asked, grinning evilly.
   "Oh, that's just the private soldiers. But they're not
religious. They're too brainwashed to think much further than the
next meal, let alone entertain notions of an afterlife. They're
animals - or rather, they're what humans imagine other animals to
be." Katze snorted. "No, oddly enough, it's the people in higher
positions, the ones that are relatively safe, who go to church.
Maybe it's because they have more on their conscience."
   "They have more of a brain left to think with," Joe contributed.
   "Probably," Angel nodded. "Plus there's the fact that every
criminal believes in hell, no matter how atheist they are."
   "There is a strong awareness of being ostracized from acceptable
society," Rayek agreed. "Irrespective of how corrupt that society
may be, or how productive the countersociety. Humans have a herd
instinct. They need to belong to a larger organism, held together
by rules that are felt to be universally acceptable - because they
emanate from a supreme authority like God, for instance. The
greatest mistake with regard to Galactors is the assumption that
they are immoral. Nonsense. They have a very strict moral system;
it just happens to be totally different from ours."
   "Are you saying that what Galactor is doing is all right?" Ken
demanded.
   "I am saying no such thing. I merely wish to point out that
there is a logic behind the functioning of institutions like
Galactor. If you can't see through to that, then any effort against
them is ultimately futile."
   Ken reddened, conscious that both his teammate and his former
arch-enemy were hearing this. "That sounds very clever, but what if
they attack? Do you go out and fight them, or sit back like a woman
and analyze while others risk their lives? How can you speak about
Galactor like this, as if they were some harmless society? They
took the lives of millions of innocent people! They destroyed whole
cities, I saw it happen before my eyes! They ruined our base,
wasting the efforts of thousands--"
   "`And they killed my *daddy*!!'" Katze finished his sentence for
him, hatefully mimicking his voice. Joe tried to suppress his
laughter. Brace politely averted his face. Ken reddened still
further, all kinds of confusing feelings rising within him.
   "That was a callous thing to say," Rayek said, turning his eyes
to Katze. She shrank under his gaze. Chastised, she bowed her head.
   "I'm sorry."
   "Don't say sorry to him, say sorry to Ken," Gabi said with a
grin. "He's the injured party." She turned to face him, still
visibly distressed by the reproof. Repressing the surge of emotion
that had started to well up in him, he marvelled that the great
leader of Galactor should be so submissive at heart - or maybe it
was just the woman's side to hir. Whatever the cause, it was true
what Joe had said: she would kill for a kind word, and die at a
harsh one. A strange pity stirred in him as she struggled through
an apology. "I shouldn't have said that," she finished bravely.
   "Ken shoulda kept his mouth shut," Joe said, his eyes narrowed.
Angel, too, was glaring at him. "Guuuys," Win said placatingly.
Brace offered another round of tea.
   After the cups had been cleared away, Win proposed they should
sit out in the garden. Gabi, whose occupation in his homeland was
tending the twins' herbs and vegetables, was eager to see it, and
various cases were lifted from behind the couch and carried through
the kitchen, Ken following behind. Katze stopped short at the
flagstone tile, bringing the procession to a halt. "Ooo yuck. A
dead mouse."
   Joe stood on tiptoe to peer over her shoulder, while Win ducked
under her arm. "You're right. Looks like Grey Hunter's decided to
pay you tribute."
   "What, by leaving dead mice on my doorstep? Please, take it
away, someone. I can't bear to look."
   "Crunch it up, Gabi," Angel encouraged his friend. Katze turned
green and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Looks fairly fresh to
me," Win said, and picked it up by the extreme tip of its tail.
Dangling it in front of her, she walked back past the receding line
of people and ceremonially dumped it in the kitchen bin. "There.
Problem solved."
   The obstruction removed, they filed out to the lawn. "I guess
you think I'm a wimp now," Katze said, beginning to blush. Win
assured her to the contrary. "I've had my squeamish moments. There
was that time with the caterpillar, for instance..." Rayek
grimaced, to indicate that he had heard it. Once, at a bus stop,
Win had spotted a large green caterpillar attached to the pavement
by the sticky mass of its entrails, its rear squished against the
brick. It was flailing about feebly, trying to free itself. "And
would you believe it, I just *couldn't* find it in myself to help
the poor creature out of its misery! Now, I'm hardly new to
killing..." Katze had turned even greener. Hastily, Angel changed
the subject to The Raven, a rapidly rising star on the firmament of
rock. Self-willed and unconventional, she was known to be Scottish
and member of the McDermott clan; she was also supposed to have
been expulsed by the selfsame clan for her caustic lyrics.
   Ken had never heard of her. "What's she like?"
   "Kate Bush meets Ronnie James Dio," Angel said. Joe grinned:
"Jun on acid with a Scottish accent."
   "A folkrock singer with an esoteric bent," Rayek said. "The
raven figured prominently in Celtic mythology." Win didn't agree:
"I wouldn't call that folkrock. It's pretty close to heavy metal."
   "Whatever. She does most of the lyrics in Gaelic," Rayek
continued. "I'd play `Eisd' for you, if I had an electric guitar
here."
   "Why don't we do an unplugged version?" Angel asked. "Win knows
it, she can do the voice part."
   "Better still, why not listen to the original?" Katze said.
"I've got the record, want to hear it?" Ken declined. Joe settled
back on the grass with an air of expectancy as the twins started to
open their cases, and Katze went to the kitchen. Ken, feeling more
interested in her than in the twins for the time being, followed.
He found her behind the sink, starting to wash up the cups and
plates.
   "They came here for Joe," she said, half keeping her back turned
to him; now that she was alone, she was quiet again, subdued. "You
don't have to stay." Outside, a cheery tune started up, consisting
of rapidly alternating voice parts and a spiffy rhythm. Looking out
through the glass of the kitchen door, Ken could see that it was
Win drumming, while Rayek played a banjo. They sounded very
professional, Ken thought. She finished the cups, leaving them to
dry in the rack and swilling out the sink.
   "You're very domestic these days."
   "I have to be. Joe does bugger all." She went to the living room
and seated herself stiffly in a chair, still turned away from him.
Outside, Win had embarked on a long and impressive drum solo,
cheered on by Brace and Angel. Ken opened his mouth, then closed it
again; having finally got her alone, he didn't know where to start.
The drum solo ended, and a rather silly song began.
   "I know you hate me," she said unexpectedly. Her voice was dead,
without emotion; he supposed it must cost her a great effort to
confront him like this. He felt another twinge of pity.
   "I pity you," he said.
   She laughed, mockingly. "I've got a bigger house, a better job,
a higher income and a rather more satisfying love life than you do.
Why should you pity me?"
   She was as impervious to his sympathy as she was to his hatred.
He decided to return to his former strategy. "You still haven't
answered my question."
   "That's because there's nothing to answer. I didn't change."
   "Does that mean you're still a dangerous lunatic?"
   Silence. Outside, the music had changed in tone, the banjo
replaced by a guitar. Despite himself, Ken listened, recognizing a
shred of melody.
      Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night
      And wouldn't you love to love her
      Takes to the sky like a bird in flight
      And who will be her lover
It wasn't entirely like the taped version; the end was spun out
endlessly, Angel's voice becoming frenzied as the guitars sang and
screamed as much as acoustic guitars can sing and scream. Joe
whistled appreciatively, and they launched into something quieter,
more gentle. This time, the voice was Gabi's.
      Wake me when the day breaks
      Show me how the sun shines
      Tell me 'bout your heartaches
      Who could be so unkind
Win's voice took over, deep and slightly roughened, so he barely
recognized it:
      Do you dream to touch me
      And smile down deep inside
      Or could you just kill me
      It's hard to make up your mind sometimes
   "What is this?" he asked. "It doesn't sound like anything I
know."
   "Twentieth century stuff," she replied, still tonelessly. She
hadn't moved. He walked to the window and displaced the gauze
curtain to survey the group on the lawn. A new song had commenced;
Win carried a drum at her hip, striking it lightly and rapidly
while Rayek raced his fingers over the guitar's neck in time with
Gabi, occasionally shaking back his hair. All three took turns to
join in the chorus, Win's percussion gradually becoming heavier.
      Maybe I'm wrong but who's to say what's right
      I need somebody to help me through the night
      World turning - I got to get my feet back on the ground
      World turning - everybody's got me down
   Another drum session ensued, and Joe came over to the window and
tapped on the pane, smiling, beckoning her. She smiled back and
nodded.
   "I'm going outside," she said to Ken, in a dry, tired voice.
"You can stay here or join us.